#beer bottle washing machine

[seppasolution11]

"How Seppa Solutions Helps You Maintain a Clean Image with Efficient Bottle Washing"

Seppa Solutions is a major supplier of glass bottle washers that are designed to speed the bottle-cleaning process while maintaining high hygiene requirements and a positive brand image. These machines handle high production demands and speed up turnaround times by washing thousands of bottles in a fraction of the time it would take to do it by hand. Thanks to Seppa Solutions ' cutting-edge cleaning methods, every bottle is clean and prepared for packaging or reuse. They encourage bottle reuse, reduce the environmental impact of glass manufacture, and cut the cost of purchasing new bottles. Businesses that choose Seppa Solutions are not just purchasing a machine, but also partnering with a company that will assist them in succeeding in a competitive market.

[januaryembrs]

Hi!! Could I please order a spicy hot chocolate for Spencer Reid? (Like you know, the ones that people put cayenne pepper in?!)

You’re an incredible writer and human!

BROTHER'S BEST FRIEND | Spencer Reid x Reader

description: your brother brings home his dorky college classmate, Spencer

length: 2.5k

warnings: spicy, SMUT (omg Em attempts smut and even then its pretty tame but why are my hands shaking), minors dni! heed my warnings this is not for you minors!! nipple stuff, mens genitalia mentioned, Spencer and reader get horny for one another oop. I really hope this is okay I've literally written smut once and even then I second guessed myself so much. SEASON ONE GLASSES SPENCE. BROTHER'S BEST FRIEND SPENCE. smut under the cut.

You felt eyes on you without even having to turn where you were stuffing laundry into the washing machine, your face sweaty with the midsummer heat. 

“Jesus Christ, you look like Hot Topic threw up on you,” Your brother’s voice resounded as two sets of footsteps entered the kitchen, and someone cleared their throat where you were bent over, denim shorts riding high up your ass cheeks. 

Flicking a look over your shoulder, you pulled the spoon full of peanut butter out of your mouth, yanking a headphone out of your ear to address him. 

“Don’t shit your pants, dickbrains, it’s all I have until my clothes are clean,” You snapped at Ryan, tongue dancing with the creamy, sweet spread, and your eyes dropped to his left where his best friend fussed over his sweater cuffs, a duffel bag on his back, and your eyes softened as you saw Spencer looking flushed in your kitchen, “Hi, Spence,” 

“Hi,” He peeped shyly, and you smiled widely at the obscenely tall boy who had been to your house a number of times. Ryan had met Spencer on the first day of college, or at least his first day. For Spencer, it had been six years already, his third doctorate well underway, and the two had quickly bonded over something dumb and nerdy you’d never bothered to take note of. You clicked the dials on the machine to a low setting, pouring some detergent into the drum and pressing the ‘Start’ button.

“You guys doing homework?” You asked, fixing where your shirt slouched off the side of your shoulder, exposing your lack of bra and baring your collar bones, and you were quick to catch the way Spencer’s hazel hues fell there with something fleeting and guilty in his expression. 

“We’re not twelve years old calculating how many watermelons Sally and Jess have all together,” Your brother scoffed, screwing his lips in annoyance, just as much as any twenty year old pumped full of hormones and energy drinks. “We’re writing a paper on thermodynamics; Spencer’s staying over tonight,”

Rolling your eyes at his know it all snark, you pulled a face back at him, despite the fact you were one year older. You looked to his left where Spencer stuffed his hands in his pockets, his cheeks pink as he caught himself like a fly in honey in one of your usual arguments. 

“Do you want a drink, Spence?” You offer, ignoring Ryan’s shitty attitude, heading over to the fridge and swinging the door open, your fathers bottles of beer clinking together where they lay flat on the top shelf. 

“Soda would be great, please,” Spencer murmured, trying not to stare as you leaned over, those little, black hot pants skirting up so far his face felt feverish and he forced himself to look at the linoleum tiles in a scrambled attempt to control his thoughts. 

He felt like a kid again, with a stupid little crush on the older girl who batted her lashes and called him Spence and smiled at him like you knew exactly how you made that big brain of his turn to mush when you spoke to him. 

Handing him a Coke, he tried to ignore the way your cold fingers brushed and avoided your gaze at all cost.

“Thankyou,” He said, his voice cracking in the very middle of it in a way that made him feel like a total loser, and he heard you giggle, his neck growing a prickling hot. 

Before you could say much else, his friend grabbed his sleeve, tugging him in the direction of his room where you couldn’t bother them anymore. 

Spencer was thinking about your laugh the entire afternoon, until they gave up writing and turned to watching Star Trek, the evening air quickly turning humid and dark, and he begged the tightness in his boxers to leave him be for even just a second.

Only, he found no such luck, tortured by the thought of you being just a single flight of stairs away from him. 

–

You were doing dishes by the time you heard him again. Assuming it was Ryan, you made no effort to greet him since it usually was only responded with a grunt or cuss anyways. 

Except you could tell by the footsteps that were too careful, the presence that was too soft, even by the way he cleared his throat nervously, that it certainly wasn’t your obnoxious brother who had come into the kitchen for a midnight snack. 

Whirling around at the sound, Spencer stood on the other side of the dining table you'd been sitting at just a few hours ago eating pasta and listening to your mom recounting her stressful day in the office. Thin, framed glasses perched on his nose, ones you’d never seen before, glinting in the light from the oven as he blinked at you behind the lenses. 

“Spence,” You said with a tired smile, eyes dropping to his shirt and plaid trousers, “Cute jammies,” 

He paused for a second, looking down to the grey Doctor Who set, a diagram of the TARDIS splayed across his chest, and he blanked when he tried to figure out if you were kidding or being genuine, “Thank you. You too,”

He didn’t know why he’d said it, maybe because that’s just what you do when someone is being kind, except only then did he look at what you were wearing, and impossibly so it was even more scandalous than what you were wearing earlier. 

A tank top, if he could even call it that with how far it rode up, and a lacy pair of blush underwear, a pretty white bow resting just below your belly button. 

Following his gaze as it devoured your exposed appendage, you grinned at him devilishly, “Sorry, it gets pretty hot in my room at night,” 

“Y-yeah I can imagine you-you’re hot,” He stammered, realising what he said when you raised a brow at him, “B-because you’re a floor up, I mean, and heat rises because hot air has a lower particle density than cool air although some physicians believe-”

“I know what you meant, Spence,” You said with a smirk, moving around the table to stand in front of him, your feet padding softly against the cold floor. Looking up at him with a tilted head, you inspected the frames you realised were a mahogany brown now you were close enough to see them properly, you peered past the lenses and right into where his doe eyes stared back at you, skittish and flustered, “Are these new?” 

Spencer licked his lips nervously, “I used to wear glasses when I was a kid but now I wear contacts,” He said, rubbing clammy palms over his trousers. He could smell your detergent from here, the same one he’d seen you pour over your laundry just a few hours earlier, ‘Blossom breeze’ or something girly and sweet and floral like that. He didn’t know the brand, but it was entirely intoxicating, except he suspected it had nothing to do with the liquid and more to do with the fact he could see your nipples pressing against your shirt when you stood so close to him, “Girls don’t really think scrawny guys in glasses are.. hot,” 

You sniggered, though your brows furrowed the slightest bit, “Who told you that?” 

“Lot’s of girls, more than once actually, it’s just kind of common knowledge,” He fumbled, his chest pricking with nerves when your fingers moved up to grip his waist gently, thumbs danced down his hip bones, the gentle touch alone stirring his cock into a painfully hard stance. He gulped, the sound loud in the sombre twilight of the kitchen, and for a guy who had aced every single test he’d ever taken, who played chess against himself for fun to guess his next five moves, Spencer had no clue where he existed outside of your body so close to his, looking at him like he was a puppy begging for treats if he gave paw. 

“I think those girls are absolute boneheads if they can’t see how pretty you are, Spence,” You said his name as if it was the only one that had ever mattered, and he couldn’t help how his chest swelled at the sentiment, even if he wasn’t so off guard as to actually believe that. You’d always had this way of making people feel special, he saw it at your family barbecue last Summer, when your cousins flocked around you like you were their Queen Bee, how you seemed to make waiters and waitresses alike flush under your preening smiles and 'please's and 'thankyou's whenever you took Spencer and your brother out for dinner. 

“T-thankyou,” He replied after a thick breath, his chest rattling as you pulled him towards your calm figure, and he let himself be guided like he were leashed, “Y-you’re pretty too,”

He wanted to tell you so much more than that, that you were beautiful like all the popular girls at school were, only humble and kind like the golden part of you glittered inside too, except before he could even attempt at expanding on his three pathetic little words he’d stammered through laboured breaths, he effectively got fully disconnected from his brain when you leaned in towards his face and brushed your nose against his, testing the waters. 

Your gaze trailed up to his innocently, so close he could feel your minty breaths fanning over his bottom lip, and he guessed you’d already brushed your teeth ready for bed. 

“You really think I’m pretty, Spence?” You asked naively, even if he knew it was just because he forgot how to speak when you were too forward, as if you were trying not to spook a deer. He nodded quickly, his eyes zeroing on where your mouth was mere centimetres away from him, one single shiver in his spine and he would be kissing you, and like you’d heard his train of thought, you pushed your lips against his softly, his body jolting with an electric shock. 

There could be sirens surrounding the entire house and he would be none the wiser, because in mere seconds his blood was rushing through his eardrums, sounding like radio static, and it was only when he felt the vibration of it against his mouth did he realise you’d whined, and his hands sprung to life, cupping both your cheeks and tugging you closer to his face as if he was clinging onto every second of the feeling. 

Spencer groaned, a sound he didn’t even realise he was going to make until he felt your fingers squeeze him lightly, and he snapped back into his body like a hair tie slinging him back into a world where the girl he’d had a teeny, tiny, maddening crush on for months was making out with him in her kitchen. 

“‘Gotta be quiet, baby, my parents are asleep,” You said, breathless as you ripped yourself away from him, despite the fact he was insistently pulling you back towards his mouth, and you smiled up at his urgency, “You ever kissed a girl before, Spence?”  

He sighed, and you’d never counted him as sassy until you heard it, almost spoiled and bratty now you’d given him a taste of heaven and held it back from him for the sake of small talk.

“Once, at recess in fifth grade, but it wasn’t like this,” He said, yanking you back towards him ravenously, and you let him devour your lips again, grinning into his desperate mouth, “Never been like this,” 

You weren’t sure whether he meant himself or what was likely a peck on the lips between kids as a dare, but you didn’t think too hard about it, as you slotted yourself back into his rough hands, calluses on the insides of his right fingertips from the years holding a pen so hard he might just break it. He felt your mouth open, and he followed your lead, your tongue feathering out with a shyness you showed nowhere else. And it was like every single statistic and number and fact about sharing saliva flew out of his head with wanton need as he dove right for the source, the tip of his tongue meeting yours with a warm nudge and he heard you mewl in pleasure. 

Spencer didn’t know what had come over him. Only moments ago he’d been too nervous to even look at you in fear of stumbled around a few syllables and calling them words. Yet here he was, his glasses slipping down his nose and pressing against the bridge of your own, your chest pressed so close to him he could feel your nipples pebbling against his TARDIS shirt, and it was like it was then he remembered you had no bottoms on except your panties. 

He hooked a hand underneath one of your legs, hiking it up to his waist and pushing even further up against you, the sudden movement making you gasp, your lower back hitting the dining table as his pubic bone ground against the ball of nerves that had been aching since you caught him shuffling around your kitchen in his damn Doctor Who pyjamas. 

Sliding his broad fingers up, your skin spread into gooseflesh and it was your turn to become putty under his touch as he bravely grabbed a handful of your arse, though his touch was still light and uncertain if he was crossing any boundaries. The change in position meant you felt yourself leaning back, your spine spreading out like a cat in warm sunlight, and he was quick to accommodate you, ever eager to please as Spencer was, moving away from the warmth of your mouth and kissing his way down to your pulse, the feeling of it making both of you hum on quietened tones in pleasure. 

“Why have we never done this before?” You asked breathlessly, your chest rising frantically as you gasped for air, a hushed moan bleeding into your airways. 

Spencer held you upright with one of his long arms, thought his mouth devoured a path over your collar bones, heading right for where your breasts lay in wait, and he didn’t even bother trying to remove your top as he kissed over your nipple with hungry, warm lips. 

“I dunno, probably because Ryan wouldn’t be too happy with me trying to fuck his sister while he’s eating dinner,” Spencer said without thinking, his tone sharp and witty as ever, like the noises you were making and the desperation in your touch seemed to rewire his thoughts into something overindulged. 

But you laughed, loud enough you slapped a hand over your mouth to stop yourself from waking up the whole house, because you had no idea how you’d explain to them why you and Spencer had ended up half sprawled on the dining table as he practically fixed himself onto every inch of you. And without warning he chuckled too, the vibration blowing over your skin that was already humming with excitement. 

“Do you think we could do this more often?” You asked, raising yourself up onto your elbows as his hands spread over your stomach, riding your top up just the smallest bit so he could kiss over your stomach, his pupils blown out into planets behind his glasses, his cheeks tinged raspberry red, his gaze drunken like he was in some sort of sugar rush only ready to stop when he’d gotten his fill, though at the rate he was going Spencer thought that day might not actually come. 

You were a drug, a nectar he’d never come close to, and he felt like every kiss to your skin only made that well in his stomach dig deeper and deeper, possibly never running dry as his every thought overflowed with drops of you, and your smell, and your taste, and your tongue. 

Missing your lips, he moved back up to your face, crashing his mouth back onto yours as your fingers raked through his hair, the sensation jolting his rod like appendage into you own pelvis, the two of you shivering with the feeling of it. 

“I think we can arrange that,” He murmured, and you grinned up at him devilishly as he fiddled with the cotton hem of your underwear nervously, his boldness wearing off as he saw that glint in your eyes that spelled trouble. But he understood that nervous and excitement felt so similar it was easy to mistake one for the other, perhaps even mesh both together at the same time, and the logical explanation for his clammy hands and racing heart seemed to soothe him the slightest bit. 

He loved sleepovers at your house.

[sadhours]

dirty laundry

billy hargrove x fem!reader

masterlist • requests open

cw: 18+ minors dni, established relationship, smut, public sex, swallowing c*m hehehe I missed billy

🧡🧡🧡🧡

it’s kind of fitting. after a weekend of partying, you had to do some laundry. so monday morning, 9 AM, you’re sitting in the laundromat beside your boyfriend. you’re hungover. billy smokes a Marlboro and the smell is making you nauseous. you’re nursing a sprite he’d bought you from the vending machine. he has a coke. you’re somewhat regretting not indulging in the breakfast beer billy offered you but the thought of the booze had made your stomach twist something wicked. the shitty speakers spill a tinny “dirty laundry” by don henley.

“this songs actually pretty badass,” billy mumbles around the butt of his smoke, tapping his scuffed motorcycle boots.

you frown, “i like don henley.”

your boyfriend laughs, it’s a loud bellow and you really wish you had that beer to dull the headache splitting your head. but you love his laugh.

“like him like you’d suck his dick or…?” he teases and you roll your eyes despite the way it pains you.

“no, not my type,” you grumble. “i like his music.”

there’s a liquor store two stores up. you keep rubbernecking out the window at it and your boyfriend picks up on it. he reaches over and squeezes your knee, “regretting not having a beer with me this morning?”

“a little,” you gripe, “the lights are too bright, your cigarette stinks and i’m so tired.”

billy leans close to you with a pout, eyebrows furrowed. he looks adorable, even though he’s condescending you. “want me to go get baby a shot and a beer?”

“would you?” you ask, all wide eyed in a silent beg you know gets him.

he smirks, leans forward and bites your nose. it pulls a giggle from you which is exactly what you need. “i’ll be back,” he grabs your face and squeezes it before pulling away and heading out the door, it chimes with his steps. you lean back and watch his ass saunter down the sidewalk in his too-tight Levi’s.

once he disappears into the liquor store, you bring your attention back to the washing machine. watching as your clothes spin in circles, which doesn’t do anything positive for the spinning happening in your gut so you look away quickly. billy’s hard to keep up with but you’ve never had so much fun in your life. and he’s so sweet, really, when he wants to be. you’d kind of saved him when you brought up him moving him after only a month of hooking up. you were shocked when he jumped at the opportunity but that was before you met neil. it makes sense now. your boyfriend is free to be himself, and you love every bit of him.

he’s quick in the liquor store, returning and hopping up on the row of unused washing machines opposite the chair you’re sitting in. he opens up the black plastic back and displays a little bottle of Jack Daniels.

“come get your hair of the dog, baby,” he says in a seductive voice, all low as he wiggles his eyebrows. you extend your hand and then his brows furrow, “I got you trained better than that. C’mere, girl.”

you exhale with a frustrated sigh but obey your sexy beyond belief boyfriend. standing up and taking the few short steps to situate yourself between his thighs.

“atta girl,” he purrs, opening the shooter and pressing it to your lips, “head back, foxy.”

you lean your head back, downing the shot in a quick three gulps. he hums, all satisfied as he watches. the whiskey isn’t sitting in your tummy the best but the way billy chases forward and licks a drip off your chin quells any sickness. he follows it with a filthy kiss, tongue dragging against yours as his right hand grabs the back of your head, knitting his fingers into the roots of your hair and tugs lightly. a helpless little whine escapes from your throat but billy swallows it, smiling into the dirty kiss. once he pulls away, he smirks, eyes darker than before.

“better?”

you nod, biting your lip as you look to him. billy retrieves the shooter he bought for himself and downs it easily, like it doesn’t make his stomach curl. then he hands you a tall can of beer, opens it for you before he does. you take an eager sip to get the bitterness of the whiskey off your tongue. billy chuckles, it’s deep and rattles his chest. he nudges his nose against yours, “i know that look.”

“s’your fault,” you mumble, cheeks hot as you admit, “‘cause you kissed me like that.”

billy hums, hooks his knuckle under your chin and tilts your head up a bit. “like this?” he whispers back before pressing his lips to yours hungrily. licks into your mouth like you’re not in public and has your spine tingling, thighs warm and cunt aching. you respond by kissing him back just as desperately, putting your beer down beside him before both your hands move to grip his white t-shirt. his mouth tastes like whiskey, cigarettes and Billy. You get lost in it, moaning pathetically as you make out like a couple of high school kids.

Then the dryer buzzes, loud and jarring. You pull away, groaning softly before strutting over to the machine. You open it, grabbing a cart and wheeling it over. You tug all the clothes into basket, reaching in deep and wiggling your ass because you can feel your boyfriends eyes on it. You don’t even realize he’s jumped off the washers and made his way behind you until he’s kicking the cart away and grabbing onto your hips.

“you missed something,” he tells you, all nonchalant.

“huh?” you peer inside the massive dryer but you don’t see anything. billy’s hips meet the fat of your ass, pushing your upper half deeper into the machine.

“it’s really in there,” he says, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your leggings. his other hand presses on the middle of your back, bending you over completely into the dryer. “almost there, you’re so close.”

you giggle, knowing exactly what you’re asshole of a boyfriend is doing. he pulls your leggings down to your thighs, moving his hand to rub your pussy through your underwear. you moan softly, still playing his game as you pretend to reach for the clothing he says in deep in there. billy’s impatient though, tugs your underwear down with your leggings. feels the slick collecting at your hole and hums, rubbing his fingers in circles at your entrance. his fingers are so thick, you can feel him stretching your hole just from the teasing. hangover suddenly forgotten, you’re spreading your legs and silently begging for him to slide inside you.

billy teases, “aw… keep reaching, baby… you’re almost there.”

his middle and ring finger slip inside your dripping cunt, the stretch delicious and intoxicating in their own right. he drags the pads of his fingers against your walls, pushing in and pulling out. your brains already fuzzy, eyes rolling back before your lids flutter shut. he laughs, soft and sultry as he fucks you with his fingers. out in the open. anyone can walk in here or hell, walk by and see your boyfriend bending you into the industrial dryer and fingering you senseless. the rush of it only make your cunt slicker.

he scissors his fingers, stretching your hole open wider as he smoothes his other hand over the expanse of your back.

“god, you’re so fucking wet,” billy exhales, his voice echoing slightly into the drum of the dryer. hits your ears something fierce. has you pushing your ass back at him. you moan out, nails dragging against the metal of the dryer as he finger fucks you open.

you don’t even hear the sound of his zipper or the shuffle of him pushing his jeans back. suddenly he’s pulling his fingers out and you feel the round, thick tip of his cock pushing at your pussy.

“fuck, billy,” you gasp, arching your back just slightly.

“atta girl,” he purrs, “so wet and desperate for my cock, yeah?”

“yeah— ah!” your response is hijacked by a moan, result of billy snapping his hips forward and completely sheathing his girthy cock in your fluttering hole.

he groans, a vibrating and sexy sound. let’s you know you feel so so so good for him. he doesn’t go slow, a hand on the small of your back and the other on your hip as he bullies his cock deep in your walls. billy always makes you feel like such a desperate slut. knows he can use and abuse your hole whenever and however. and how the fuck could you say no? the stretch is fucking unworldly. his cock is a goddamn masterpiece. crafted by the gods themselves to help please. if there ain’t nothing else to live for, billy’s cock is all you need.

once he’s inside you, you’re fucking gone. cockdrunk in a second. his hands move to knead at your ass as he pummels into you. rough and reckless. so billy. reality slips, you’re not even thinking about how the two of you are in a public place. fucking so filthy, so rough where there’s nowhere to hide. if you get caught, you get caught and you don’t fucking care. both so zoned in on getting off.

your hips slightly ache from where they bounce against the edge of the dryer but the sensation of Billy deep in your cunt dulls any pain. his cock pulsing as it drags in and out of your fluttering walls. you squeeze him, want him buried so deep and dirty.

“that’s it, slut,” he groans, voice deep as it bounces around the drum of the deeper, “taking my cock like a good girl.”

you whine back, not able to do much else. there’s no way you could form sensible thoughts. you ache to tell him how fucking good it feels but it’s useless, would fumble out of your mouth like word soup because billy fucks you stupid.

it’s a fucking joke when he moves his hand around your hip to rub at your clit. his goal is to get you to cum as quick as he can, because once those skilled fingers start strumming against your clit, your legs are shaking and your voice is uncontrollable in the moans bellowing from you.

“you gonna cum for me?” he chuckles, circles firm and quick against your clit, “so easy. such an easy slut for me, ain’t ya?”

“billy…” you cry in a plea, a whiny and pathetic sound. you’re on the edge, you can see it. each little stroke of his fingers and each drag of his cock against your tight walls threatens to toss you over it.

“ya wanna cum?” he spits, fingers working faster, “cream all over my cock, be a good slut for daddy.”

that sends you. a deep breath and sinking over the edge you go, crying out in absolute ecstasy as his cock works you overtime. drags your orgasm out with his fingers not letting up. you’re dead weight after, billy’s hands moving to your hips to hold you up as he barrels his cock faster and faster into your sensitive cunt. he pulls back rather quickly, grabbing your hair and pulling you out of the dryer.

“on your knees,” he instructs and you obey, hands on his thighs to steady you as you stick your tongue out flat. eyes wide and needy as you gaze up at your boyfriend. a curl has fallen into the center of his forehead, blue eyes dark with lust as he fingers move to grip his cock, jerking it in quick and firm strokes. “that’s it, good girl, yeah…”

he busts, spilling cum into your eager tongue. you love the taste of billy’s cum. abnormally sweet for a guy whose diet consists of booze and red meat. and when billy cums, he doesn’t close his eyes. he stares down at you, his lips part and you can see the swell of his tongue against his lower lip as he moans. you swallow, licking your lips so you don’t miss any.

he reaches for the back of your hand, scratching at the back of your scalp as he smiles warmly down at you. after a beat of lovingly looking at each other, you both get dressed. you plant a sloppy kiss on his lips before moving to transfer the load from the washer into the dryer. billy sits on the chairs and lights up another cigarette.

“you’re something else, foxy,” he grins, cheeks flushed all pretty.

[shojizbae]

Rave Baby

Spencer Reid x Reader

After a long case, some of the team pitstops at your apartment, and Morgan takes the liberty of searching through some memories. He comes across some scandalous photos that light a fire in Reid.

This last case was challenging. To make it worse, the power had gone out in DC due to a blackout. With a chirp, I told the team that I always had a generator and that we could cool with some coronas in my fridge. Hotch had declined, stating the necessity of returning to his wife and son. I had thrown open all the windows and cranked the AC, attempting to push out all the hot air. With my permission, Derek had distributed beers from my fridge and found a bag of chips.

A battery-powered radio was located, and my CDs were run through to find something to unwind with. With a sigh, Emily sank onto my couch and sipped her beer.

"Uhh, I can't tell you how nice your apartment is."

"Yeah," JJ groaned from the corner, holding her hair up and sticking her face in the AC vent. Derek was still looking through my belongings when he came across a Scooter CD.

"Well, well, well, where did a girl like you find this type of music?" I looked at the album cover.

"Oh, that's from my college days." I tried to dismiss it. This isn't the sort of stuff I would share with my coworkers.

"Really? Let's go ahead and pop this in."

"No don't!" I tried to launch it at him before he could open it, but it was too late. A few photos I took the night I bought that CD slipped into his lap.

"Woah ho ho!" Spencer, who had been content to sift through my shitty romance novels, peaked his head up like a prairie dog at the sound of Derek's chuckle. "What do we have here?" He held up one photo, and I hid behind my beer bottle.

"That was years ago," I whined

"What is this?" Spencer came to the group, attention fully peaked

"It's (Y/n). At a rave." Spencer snatched the photo out of Morgans's hand like a cat but Emily nearly yelled

"Shut up, let me see." she slammed her glass bottle on the table and grabbed one of the photos from him

"No way," JJ stated, following Spencer into the circle to look at the evidence. "I could never imagine you at a rave. I've seen you get upset that you left your clothes in the washing machine."

"They'll get moldy," I whined

"Holy shit. Where was this?" Emily inspects a photo of me in a bikini, fluffy leg warmers, and a matching bucket hat. "Look at your butt where were you hiding this." She makes an attempt to check me out, but I sink further into my couch

"I don't know, I was never sober in the 72 hours around a rave."

"Oh yeah? What did you take?" Morgan begged

"All sorts of crap, mostly hallucinogens. My rave mentor told me music is better when you're high."

"So why'd you stop going?" Emily asked

"I grew up."

"You grew up?" JJ asked, putting the photo on the table

"Yeah," I rubbed my hands up and down my thigh and sighed. I wasn't entirely ready to trauma-dump the team, but here I was. "My uncle, who basically raised me, passed on Thanksgiving in the sophomore year of my bachelor's. Hallucinogens made it easy not to grieve, and loud music blocked my ability to think. I would dance around and tell everyone that 'tonight was the night,' and I was 'finally free,' but I would just see him after a while. He would ask me, 'Why are you doing this, my dove?'. I couldn't ignore him anymore, so I just stopped. Put all my teeny bikinis in a box and put it past me." I cleared my throat, realizing that I had put a damper on the mood

"We could play the CD. I think I'll still remember the rhythm." I switched in the discs and let the synth radiate through my living room. Immediately, I felt the groove, letting it carry my limbs airily around me. I felt myself disconnect as the beat continued to pump. Before I could drift away wholly, Emilie's voice brought me down to earth.

"You packed all this away? That means you still have it?"

"Yeah, in a box in the back of my closet." before I could discover my mistake, she darted to the back of my apartment, and JJ took off with her.

"Oh hell, I gotta see this." Derek got up and dropped the last of the photos. Reid dutifully packed them up and sifted through the photos, stopping on one.

"What did you find, Spence?" I crawled toward him slowly. I gasped at the photo. My Rave mom, Zoe, who was only 4 months older than me, and I were posing together. He sifted through the images with it and stacked them. I gasped at the image. The photo on the top was of Zoe throwing up a peace sign, showing the neon pink paint on her palms, and a green hand was playfully on my throat. Both of our bodies had been splattered with neon ain't, but noticeably, I had two big hands brink on the triangle bikini we wore. One pink, one green.

The picture below was of Zoe and I very dramatically kissing. Zoe had made smudged hand prints on my ass. I had a leg up on her hip, and you could see drool and lipstick around each other mouths.

"I hardly even remember that night, and I thought it was trendy to act gay." I pulled the pictures from his hand and returned them to the case. "I'm sorry you had to see that."

"Why are you apologizing? Y-you had fun."

"Yeah, but you're my colleague. This is embarrassing and you probably are ashamed of me."

"Actually, I'm jealous. In college, I had no friends and didn't go to parties. I was, I am, a loser. You had fun."

"Did you not hear my spiel about using drugs not to think?"

"Yeah, but you were hot." That shocked you. He was only two beers deep, and Reid was spilling his secrets.

You laughed in shock.

"Spencer, you can't say things like that." I slapped at his chest playfully.

"WELL!" I could hear Derek's strained voice. "This!" he put the giant plastic tub on the floor next to us. "This is one heavy bucket of slutty clothes."

"I want to try something on!" JJ greedily popped the snaps on the cover. With giggles, JJ and Emily started pulling out bikinis that looked like they were made out of spider webs.

"Woah ho ho!" Derek giggled, holding up a low-rise thong. "I hope you wore a jacket."

"Alright, that's enough!" I grabbed it from his reach

"Hey, could I borrow one of these?" JJ asked. "Will has been asking for something new."

"Yeah, but don't borrow it. I don't want it back." I made a face of disgust

"Yeah, I might want to just wear one around my apartment?" Emily held something balled up

"Take as many as you want. I won't wear them again. I should sell them. I could finally go on vacation."

"Woah woah woah, if you sell these, what will you wear on vacation?" Derek joked

"Clothes." I snatched another piece of hosiery from him. My knees cracked as I stood and got another beer from the kitchen. "Now, get out of my panties." I swatted him with the bottoms as I walked by

by some stroke of God, the lights flicked back on, and across the street, I could see the surrounding building come back to life.

"Well, I've got to get to my house before my ice cream spoils." Emily stood and collected a few pieces of fabric.

"Yeah, and completely unrelated. I have to call Will." JJ juts out her lip in an admission of guilt. They snuck out the door, giggling and tucking crazy fabric in their bags.

"I should get going too, wonder boy. You need a ride home?"

"No, I should be fine. There's a train in the next hour." Reid was still immersed in the photos.

"Well, don't bug her too badly." He left with a wink

"Why are you still looking at those? They're ancient."

"The date on the back says 1998, making you 20 years old. You're 28." Finally, he puts the photos down. "I'm having a hard time picturing you going to a rave. You only read sappy novels from the seventies. I saw three copies of Tuck Everlasting on your shelves." All the talk from my coworkers and the five beers in my system made me more than angry and bold.

Stupid ideas were my biggest export when I was inebriated.

"Well, I know the FBI has kept me in shape. I'm going to my bedroom and try these on." I gave a coy smile as I took a handful of sets and strutted off to the back of my place.

"W-what do you mean you're going to try them on."

"I've gotta see if they still fit."

[nikkento-writes]

“What are you doing here?”

You let out a sigh, knowing instantly who it is breathing down your neck as you peruse the refrigerator for a can of beer. If it isn’t his voice, then it’s his massive, overwhelming presence that’s a dead giveaway. No matter where he is, how many people are in the room with him, Toji just knows how to draw attention.

Without a rush, you reach deep inside for a can, not caring what brand it is. When you resurface, you turn to look at him, opening your beer with a snap, unbothered and unfazed to see your ex-boyfriend here, glaring at you.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he repeats, with emphasis.

You take a sip, shrugging. “Drinking a beer.”

He crosses his arms, eyes narrowing at you. “Smartass,” he mutters under his breath. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

Rolling your eyes, you argue, “Says who?”

“This is my fraternity. Us breaking up means you’re no longer invited.” He looks you up and down, gaze particularly focused on your very, very short skirt. “Especially in that.”

There he goes again, clearly unchanged since the breakup. He always liked to police what you wore out, even though he had no issues parading around in skin-tight t-shirts and sweatpants showing off his big, bravado self. It’s no use arguing with someone who refuses to see the hypocrisy in himself. Feeling especially spiteful tonight, you say, “Well, Shiu seemed to think it was okay.”

He hides it well, but you know you’ve struck a nerve. There’s the slightest twitch in his lip, right where his scar is. “Kong invited you?” The words come out through gritted teeth, his fist clenching the beer bottle so tightly you think it might shatter. On second thought, maybe he doesn’t hide it so well.

You give him a shit-eating grin. “Yeah. And he told me to wear his favorite skirt, so I did.”

Now you’ve really done it. But Toji being the tough guy he is will never show you how much you get under his skin. He scoffs, leaning in so close to you that you feel his hot breath as he speaks. “You really piss me off, you know that?”

You don’t back down. In fact, you challenge him, pressing your mouth to his ear to whisper, “If it makes you feel any better, I’m wearing your favorite panties.”

As it usually goes with you two, the mood switches from seething anger to intense erotic energy. It takes less than a minute for Toji to grab you by the wrist and push his way through the crowd, stuffing the two of you into the frat house laundry room. He props you up on the washing machine and eats you out, the panties he bought for you on Valentine’s Day wrapped around his cock while he strokes it.

The story about Shiu and the skirt is totally false. You made it up to rile Toji up, knowing he’d want to make his mark on you once he heard it. He rips your skirt off, tearing it at the seams. “Toji!” you yell at him.

“Oops,” he smirks, tossing it behind him. “Guess you can’t wear those anymore.” He bends down to lick your clit again, slurping and sucking until you come, moaning his name. A few more pumps and he’s coming too, shooting his load all over your panties. “But you can still wear these,” he purrs into your ear, making you put them back on, soaked with his cum.

Despite everything that happened that led to the breakup, fighting and bickering over the stupidest shit, acting like assholes just to spite one another, you and Toji just can’t seem to stay away from each other.

[quillcraftconquer]

John 'Soap' MacTavish X Female Reader Pt. 2

Pt 1:

TW: Smut, as per usual.

You’re shaking the Captain's rough hands, offering a small smile of pleasantries before being introduced to the other team members. 

At 5 in the fucking morning.

You try to ignore the fact you just woke up mere hours ago, accompanied with a pounding headache and sore body. How much mouthwash does it take to rinse the taste of beer and one night stand from your mouth, you wonder, following Captain Price’s footsteps to the group of men. 

Jesus Christ, what do they feed these men?

You thought the Captain was big, but now that they’re turning to face you, you notice that the one wearing a...halloween mask? is noticeably bigger. You’ve already heard the spiel about him, not only from Captain Price, but from every other soldier who knew about Task Force 141. No, he doesn't take the mask off. No, he doesn't have a picture, anywhere. Yes, he is a little strange, but generally a nice guy with some witty banter. You shake his hand, notating the taut way he carries himself and the way his eyes flicker around like a pinball machine under his mask. If you bottled up a beehive and shook it, it would resemble this man's body. 

Ghost.

You can feel yourself nodding at their introductions, your hand sliding from theirs as you make your way down the line. You pause when you reach a much shorter, thicker body than the rest, no hand extended in front of them like the others. You glance up from the Union Jack flag you had dissociated into, meeting the wide, hungover blue ones staring back at you.

No fucking way.

A sound threatens to emit from you, something between a gasp and a laugh, at the audacity the universe has to put your one night stand in front of you, let alone on the same team. You can only presume this man, John, you hazily recall, is thinking the same thing as his mouth opens and closes like a dying fish. 

Soap.

Sgt. MacTavish. Johnny. Soap. You barely process the words until they’re repeated louder, angrier from the man next to him, the one they called Ghost. His hand whips out, connecting with the back of Soap’s head, ruffling the mohawk he had slicked back. As if it restarted his brain, his hand shot out, grasping yours and giving it a quick, firm shake before dropping it like it was on fire. The others start to dissipate, continuing packing away their bags onto a truck that was filled with items ready to bring you to the next base. You studied John, no, Soap, watching as he shifted uncomfortably on his feet.

Sgt. MacTavish.

“I outrank you.” 

The words come bubbling up before you can push them down. More heat flushes Soaps face, a red tinge warming his cheeks as he turns away from you silently, stalking back towards his team. You can no longer contain your laughter at the absurdity of the situation, doubling over as you clutch your stomach. The others, Gaz and Ghost, look at Soap in question, wondering what short conversation could have transpired to leave you in that state. 

The base is devoid from any comforts of home, the only luxurious thing about it being the dual showers, separated by a large concrete wall and two curtains. You bask in it, letting the warm water wash away the last bits of the alcohol induced sluggishness your body was clinging to. The sound of the curtain jerking open next to you causes your eyes to spring open, the dog tags thrown haphazardly over the wall, dipping into your side of the shower.

John MacTavish.

“I would have thought a member of an elite task force would have carried more than one condom in their wallet.” You thought aloud, smirking as you heard the muttered “bloody hell” from the other half. You quietly left your shower stall, throwing open the curtain next to yours and stepping inside of the water quickly. Soap moved to the side, eyeing you cautiously as you grinned at him. His eyes dropped to your naked body, his gaze heated as he slowly made his way back up to your eyes. 

“What're you doing?” He asked, casually resuming washing his body. He stopped again, watching as you settled on your knees in front of him, bracing yourself on his thick thighs.

“Thought I’d return the favor.” You mocked him from your earlier encounter, taking his hardening cock in your hand as you gave a slow lick from the base to the tip, swirling around it before taking him fully in your mouth. Soaps head knocked backwards, a shiver running through his body and emitting as a guttural moan when you reached the base, eyes watering and mingling with the shower droplets hitting your face. You gazed up at him, past the tightened abdominal muscles littered with dark hairs and towards his blue eyes, ones that you were beginning to grow fond of, gazing down at you. The water from the shower had ruined his well maintained mohawk, the hair now curling forward and brushing the hairs on his brow. 

You attempted to withdraw, your cheeks hollowed as you sucked, until his hand met the back of your head and stopped you. 

Oh. 

“I didn't even know your name until Price told me.” Soap observed, watching you with a bemused look, your lips wrapped around his thickness. You tried to move back off of him in an attempt to throw a witty remark, but he held you in place, stepping forward slightly until you were kneeling almost between his legs and tilting your head back until he could push into you again, deeper, almost straight down.

Oh. Was he upset?

“Didn't. Even. Know. Your. Name. But. I. Remembered. How. Good. This. Fucking. Mouth. Feels.” Soap groaned, each word punctuated by a thrust of his hips and his cock bumping the back of your throat. You let out a small noise, the act of him letting you use your body causing an ache between your legs. He glanced down at you, letting out a groan at the sight. Your hands were wrapped around his thighs, clutching to his ass as he continued to thrust, his cock twitching in your throat. 

“Wont forget it now.” He panted the promise, his hand shooting out to brace against the wall as he pulled you by the back of your neck closer to him until your nose was buried against his pubic bone. He threw his head back and moaned your name, thick ropes shooting down your throat, forcing you to swallow. Finally, his hand dropped, allowing you to stand freely in front of him under the (now cold) water. 

“Next time you say my name,” You said, brushing your hand across your lips to gather the small bead of cum that threatened to leak out, sucking it back into your mouth greedily.

“Put ‘Lieutenant’ in front of it.”.

[randomshyperson]

Shameless - Milf!Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: The book club forces Wanda to go to a bookstore in downtown Westview, where she meets you. Or the one where Wanda tries a new hobby and finds a reason to end her marriage.

Warnings: (+16), some dirty implications but nothing explicit, mentions of make-out, no cheating (but intent), strangers to lovers, milf-horny wanda, compulsory heterosexuality and mentions of homophobia, an attempt at the 80s scene, some angst but a happy ending. | Words: 7.525k

A/N-> I don’t know where this came from.

General Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad

-&-

The book club had been Agatha's idea.

A harmless little pastime is how she would describe it during the weekly community meeting. Some short and simple speech about how modern housewives needed distractions while their husbands were at work and the kids were at school, anything that would please the ears of the preacher and the town council enough for the men to ignore the remnants of card games or bottles of alcohol that appeared whenever Agatha organized any “ladies' meetings” - as she liked to describe it.

Wanda and almost all the other women were happy to participate - and that is, almost all of them since Dorothy had not joined anything Agatha was involved in for two years now, ever since the blonde refused to visit the nightclub that was inaugurated downtown, commenting that it was not a suitable place for family ladies, and in Wanda's opinion, missing out on one of the most fun evenings she had ever had.

This time, Agatha's new invention was weekly meetings of a book club, which for the older woman, was the perfect excuse to get away from her husband Ralph and his strong odor of cheap beer and their grumpy son who apparently didn't know how to take glasses to the sink. Two hours a week to stay off chores and focus on her friends, and as a bonus, to read and discuss the literature she would have had access to if higher education was something women were encouraged to earn.

Wanda was one of the few in the quiet Westview who had a degree - It had been a shared dream of her and her mother Natalya, who wished to see both her children off to college and it was a fortunate thing that it happened before her sad passing. The most unfair thing about that was that despite her mother's wishes for Wanda’s independence, once Natalya was gone, all that Erik did was encourage her to leave college and look for a husband, the last of which Wanda eventually gave in to in her senior year. Jarvis Vision Stark was a couple of years older than her and was completing his degree in Engineering, and to almost everyone in her class, that had to be true love. He was a good-looking young man, with a good family and education, and he seemed so in love with her. With that in mind, Wanda tried to love Vision with the same intensity that he said he did, but with the passing of the years, and the arrival of the children, the fantasy dissolved into a boring routine and conformism.

Despite those issues, her twins, Billy and Tommy, were her most precious treasure. And they were also the only thing keeping her marriage on track, Wanda dared to think.

Getting a divorce, in the traditional Christian-Jewish community of Westview, would be a scandal under any circumstances. Sometimes, when she ventured to imagine being someone with this kind of courage, Wanda could only imagine the look of disappointment on her father's face when he heard the news, and the thought was soon shoved away like dirty clothes in the washing machine.

At least Wanda had Agatha. Her long-time, trusting friend, with whom she could share torments like this, and complain about slack-jawed, obstinate husbands.

And there was also now the book club.

Westview only had one library close to home, and well, Agatha had been clear in her instructions. No cheap or religious literature, she warned with a cigarette between her lips, gesturing with one hand when one of the girls asked about what the first meeting would be like. 

"Bring something interesting." Agatha suddenly gave a little smile, the same kind when she managed to bring a bottle of liquor hidden away for the Saturday church service. "Scandalous, if you dare."

They all sighed in surprise, complicit for the whole thing. Some began to whisper among themselves, but Wanda knew what she would have to do. There was nothing of the sort in Westview, so she would have to leave the residential neighborhood.

She woke up on Tuesday, dropped the kids off at school, and made breakfast. for Vision, who didn't even bother to say thank you, not happy to hear that Wanda was going out, but courteous enough to offer her a ride, which she declined almost immediately. She had the distinct impression that it was a way of being monitored, and she couldn't bear to deal with it when she was already so nervous. 

Taking the bus downtown, she went straight to the new commercial village of Westview. She caught a glimpse of some neighbors, who worked in the local shops but didn't say hello to any of them.

She walked until she found a bookstore, a small, old building with carts full of books at the door and advertisements that, although scattered and colorful, were easy to understand. It was a very cozy place, which made Wanda smile for a quick fantasy about having tried to work with books after her graduation if she hadn't been pregnant at the time.

A bell rang when she entered, but no one greeted her for the first few minutes she was inside. It gave her just enough time to go to one of the nearest bookshelves and run her fingers through the rows of books, a smile playing on her lips.

"Didn't you hear the door, Pchelka (little bee)?" A voice caught her attention, and Wanda turned, trying to see between the shelves. At a glance, short, red hair attracted her eye, and she blinked to find the face of a very pretty woman offering her a gentle smile. "One minute, sweetheart. We'll be right with you."

Wanda opened her mouth to say she wasn't in a hurry, sympathetic to the number of books the redhead was carrying, but in the next second, the woman disappeared between the columns and she didn’t have a chance to say anything at all. 

The bookstore remained empty and silent for another half minute, but once Wanda made mention of turning her attention back to the books behind her, a ladder opened from the ceiling, and out of it jumped a figure in an apron, and out of instinct, Wanda hopped away. 

"So sorry for the scare, Miss." You apologized with a soft chuckle at the scene, closing the attic in a single motion and running your hands through your hair and shoulders in an effort to blow off some of the dust. "We are reviewing the inventory. How can I be of assistance?"

Her breath caught in her throat at the image of your gentle and playful smile. She felt so foolish.  In all her 32 years, when was the last time she had been tongue-tied, if ever? 

You raised one of your eyebrows, and repeated the question, bringing a new color to her cheeks. Wanda broke into a clumsy giggle at the same second.

"Sorry, you caught me by surprise." She managed to cover it up, adjusting a lock of her hair and then moving her hands to smooth her clothes, suddenly unsure what to do with herself. "I’m…looking for a book."

You cracked another smile, finding the scene quite amusing. This older, breathtaking woman, all shy and adorable around you. "Well, we have lots of those." You teased, and Wanda felt her stomach do a complete turn at the sound of your raspy giggle. Maybe she was getting sick. Yeah, that would explain her body’s out-of-control reactions.   "What are you looking for, or perhaps a name...?"

"Wanda." She interrupts, and you frown in confusion. Taking a deep breath, she holds out her hand. "I am Wanda Maximoff."

Despite the strangeness of the moment and the fact that she didn't understand that you wanted the name of the book and not hers, you smiled warmly and repeated the gesture. Wanda has never hated work gloves as she does now, a curiosity burning to know what your skin would feel like on hers, the thought bringing such a strong color to her ears that she needs to look away immediately, barely catching the name that you mention next.

She clears her throat, and adds: "I'm actually joining a book club and the only guidance we had was to bring something interesting." And she risks looking you in the eye to add. "Scandalous."

You find it funny, even adorable if you could put it that way. Maybe it's because of the color of her face when she says it. Or maybe it's because these college students - Wanda judges you to be one for your apparent age - are more modern than she would have been and don't bother with this sort of subject.

"Hm, I think I can help with that." You retort with a thoughtful expression, beckoning for Wanda to follow you deeper into the store and she does so only after taking a deep breath.

The columns of poetry make her bite her lip in curiosity, some of the names Wanda recognizes from her own years as a student, but it is only when you are in the last aisle with the little gold plaque labeled "Sapphic Literature" that Wanda thinks she has stopped breathing.

You do everything very calmly. Climbing up one of the stairs, and taking some time to read the titles, you take a small book from one of the higher shelves and walk back to Wanda, whose face is almost Natasha's hair color now.

With a smile, you hold out the book, but don't let go, holding the item as she does. 

"There's nothing more scandalous than this for a small town like Westview." You say. "But if it's too much, Miss Maximoff, I can always suggest something different. You know, like stuff about the first war or Russian philosophy..."

"N-no, this is fine." She interrupts you, grabbing the book strongly and pulling it close to her chest. You don't know if she's trying to hide it or keep it from fleeing, but it makes you chuckle. "Thanks for the help."

"No problem." You reply, studying that face for a moment. Wanda swallows dry but holds your gaze. You clear your throat as soon as you realize you're staring. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"

She almost sighs, her knees going weak at just the line her thoughts take. Shaking her head, she offers you a small smile. "No, that will be all." She says and practically runs off to the edge of the store, back to the cashier.

The redheaded woman is taking care of the payment now, and Wanda doesn't notice the look you exchange with her because she's too busy sensing your presence coming behind her.

"Excuse me, Miss Maximoff, let me wrap this up for you." Your whisper near her ear makes her shudder from head to toe, and it is fortunate that you grab the book from her as Wanda is sure she would have dropped it on the floor.

You walking away is the only reason Wanda's legs stop shaking.

"Good choice, ma'am." Commented the attendant as soon as you put the book on the counter to be scanned. Wanda noticed the small badge spelled out in silver letters "Natasha" stuck to her apron. "We are also fond of sapphic literature around here." She added with a complicit smile.  Wanda didn't understand why it seemed like a code for something, she was too distracted by the movements of your hands storing the book in a pretty bag. She remembers forcing a smile, paying with trembling fingers and practically running out of the bookstore, feeling your gaze burning into her back.

The bell made another noise on the way out, and with the bookstore empty, Natasha's laughter filled the air.

"How do you always find our people?" Questioned the other impressed, but you laughed short, shrugging.

"I won't deny that I have this ability, but in this case, how can you say? You saw her for like, three seconds."

Natasha shook her head, checking the cashier. "Oh, please, she was eye-fucking you this whole three seconds.” Declared the redhead, ignoring your protest at her choice of words. "Besides, it's kind of obvious by her not freaking out over sapphic poetry, isn't it?"

You sigh, somewhat disbelieving. "I don't know, people are more friendly nowadays." You try, but Natasha gestures away as if she doesn't agree.

"Your problem is that you're too naive, Parker." Retorted the redhead with an amused expression. "Women like me, experienced not old, are not so friendly. We come from different times, different generations. You couldn't go around reading gay literature anywhere, hardly found any to be fair. If she wasn't like us, she would have caused a scene at the mere suggestion."

"Alright, Romanoff, I believe you." You grumbled begrudgingly while grabbing one of the last boxes to be checked off the desk. "But that doesn't mean she was interested in me." You stated, but Nat snorted incredulously.

"I bet you five bucks she'll be back next week!" Retorted the redhead, but you only chuckled, letting her increase the bet as the distance grew.

-&-

A tense silence grew with every second in the crowded room. 

Wanda sat there, almost not breathing until she finally realized what she had just done. Read. The room began to spin next. She gripped the pages hard enough to wreck the book in her lap, but just as panic was about to overwhelm her, someone sighed loudly.

"Well, that was definitely scandalous." It was Monica, and the good humor of the comment made the room explode into little giggles.

The girls began commenting among themselves excitedly in the same second, some still somewhat hesitant and embarrassed, but definitely thrilled about the whole thing. Wanda felt a gentle hand on the back of her back, through the exposed part of the plastic chair.

"Just breathe, Wanda, everything's fine." It was Agatha, who was still sitting next to her. Who didn't hate her for reading a passage from Emily Dickinson in the middle of the book club, who was still her best friend. Wanda only managed to mumble a weak, whiny yes, and Agatha looked at her with concern before announcing to the entire room that they would take a break before the next reading. Wanda doesn't remember getting up, but she didn't breathe normally again until on the outside balcony of the Harkness Residence. "Here, honey."

The glass of water helped, and Wanda had just returned it to Agatha when the window door opened again. It was Monica, with an almost proud smile, who spoke only after sliding the glass door closed again.

"I have to say, Wanda, you have guts." Her friend joked, and Wanda grimaced.

"What...?"

"I didn't know there were more of us in Westview, Aggie. You could have told me." Monica complained to the older woman, giving Agatha's arm a gentle pat. But the woman just smiled awkwardly, looking at Wanda as if she were seeing her for the first time.

"She never mentioned it, I'm afraid." Agatha commented, and Wanda felt like she might throw up at any moment. "Hey, breathe honey. It's okay, all right? You're safe with us."

But Wanda put a hand over her chest, feeling it tighten. "My god, what I just did... They will tell my husband... my father will hear about it-"

"Hey, Wanda, here. Focus on me, darling, breathe." Agatha grabbed her hands, trying to help her control the panic and tears that began to roll down her face. "Honey, it was just a poem. Nothing is going to happen, okay, you just brought what I asked for, and none of them minded. Nothing has changed, now breathe. You're safe, Wanda."

“Of course, I would ruin the book club.” was the first thought she had hours later when she woke up before the time to pick the boys up from soccer. She didn't have to do it though - Agatha left a little note saying that she had taken care of everything and wished her rest. 

Monica drove her home so that Agatha could close the meeting without raising any more suspicions about Maximoff's state, who had had a panic attack because of a poem read aloud. If the other neighbors knew, it would create chatter, and Wanda simply couldn't handle that.

Monica left her safe and sound in her house, wrapped in blankets, and didn't mind staying until Wanda cried herself to sleep. And Wanda woke up alone, feeling worse than before as if a very embarrassing secret had been revealed to the world and was mocking her outside the bedroom walls.

But her children were back in no time, and as they rushed to the shower, she went to thank a very concerned Agatha Harkness.

"Are you feeling better, sweetheart?" Asked her friend gently holding her arm. Wanda didn't meet her eyes, nodding.

"Thank you for dropping the boys off." Murmured her quietly, swallowing before adding. "And for earlier. I didn't mean to bring any trouble."

Agatha gripped her with more determination. "Listen here, Wanda, it was no trouble at all, okay?" Assured the woman, who although in a serious tone, still had very gentle eyes. "You are my best friend, Wanda Maximoff. Nothing will ever change the care and love I feel for you. When you're ready to talk about today, about this part of you, I'll be here. And Monica too. You are not alone, honey. You never have been." There was a different complicity in the last sentence, but Wanda only sighed in relief, nodding and finally relaxing when Agatha hugged her.

She thanked her again between silent tears and Agatha only left when she was sure Wanda believed her words.

-&-

It took Wanda three weeks to return to the store. Not that you were counting, or thinking every day about the middle-aged woman who had a gay panic attack with your poor attempt at service. Not that Natasha didn't shut up about it.

And as luck would have it, you were alone in the store because your boss, who you also called a friend, was out picking up some orders and her sister at the University of New York, and well, it had been a slow day until the doorbell rang in the early afternoon and it was Wanda.

"You again." That was the first you managed to say, almost sighing and hating how affected it sounded. Luckily, Wanda seemed equally happy and relieved to see you again.

"Hello." She greeted, repeating last week's gesture of adjusting a lock of her hair. She looked different from before, more elegant, with a dark jeans jacket expensive enough to have come out of a magazine, and a dress underneath that made you swallow dry. 

You had no idea how long she spent in front of the mirror trying to choose the right outfit with two neighbors weighing her choices.

Trying to play it cool and sound as casual as possible, you add:  "Wanda Maximoff from the book club, right? Did they like the poems?"

She hesitated in a nervous smile, looking around as if to check if there were no other customers and satisfied with the distant presence of a boy in the Vinyl's Discs area and a lady further down the hall, as she practically whispered, "You were right. It was scandalous enough for Westview." She teased, managing to get a short laugh out of you that made her stomach do flips and her cheeks turn a rosy hue. It was decided, she wanted to hear the sound again and would do anything to be the one to make you laugh.

"Well, I'm glad to hear that." You retort with a little smile. "I hope you enjoyed the book too, though." Your addiction makes Wanda's heart skip a beat. So you cared if she was the person who enjoyed the reading, it wasn't all about a professional suggestion on how to make an impact on the book club as she presumed. Well, Agatha was right. 

Risking, probably everything, Wanda commented: "Oh, I definitely loved the reading. I had a good time imagining the scenarios she described." Despite the confidence in saying it, she was blushing, and the way she spoke as if a secret between the two of you and with your knowledge of how erotic Emily Dickinson's stories were, was the reason you knock over half the stack of books you were trying to organize onto the floor.

The noise attracted the attention of the other customers, but you forced a smile and gestured that everything was fine before you ducked down, quickly beginning to pick everything up while Wanda looked at you with a certain amusement, as if she had just confirmed a theory.

"Sorry. You caught me off guard." You mutter in embarrassment, and Wanda chuckles, ducking down as well. She helps you with the last of the fallen books, and in the gesture of returning them, your hands rub together and the whole world stops for a second.  Just long enough for you to look at her, and then to step away at once, clearing your throat. Wanda does the same, and before you have a chance to say anything, the record customer interrupts you.

It has to be the most annoying sale you've ever made. He stalls you for long minutes, and all you can do is watch out of the corner of your eye as Wanda slips further into the back of the bookstore, and you lose sight of her. To make matters worse, when the man finally leaves, familiar vehicle parks in the back of the store, and less than five minutes later, two figures with heavy boxes appear.

Yelena has gotten a haircut, and you have a moment of shock to deal with that. The next, she is making a terrible impression on the other customer in the store, the cookbook lady, who immediately grimaces as soon as your friend practically jumps on you. Whether it's the display of affection or Yelena's tattoos and rebellious posture, the woman leaves the store muttering lowly. 

You pay no attention to this, grinning as you match Yelena's hug before she lets go of you.

"сука, next time you lock up the semester, at least stop at the dorm to smoke with us!" Complained your friend as she leaned on the counter where she had left her magazine supply box. Natasha dropped hers with a tired grunt, and once the books were secured, she gave a warning slap on the feet that Yelena threatened to put on a shelf. 

"There won't be a next time." Natasha answers for you. "She's giving up for good."

Yelena lets out an exclamation, but you grimace. "That hasn't been decided, Romanoff." You defend yourself. "I just needed more time. I think I'll just switch vocations. Again."

Natasha giggled, but Yelena patted you on the shoulder. "Hey, don't look so down. I also think about quitting Fashion every week, and every week I remind myself that no one is as talented as Yelena Belova and the world must not be deprived of my masterpieces." The comment makes you and Natasha laugh and roll your eyes. 

The redhead pushes her sister by the shoulders away from the counter. "You said you came here to work, not get in Parker's way. Find something to do-"

"Oh, sure, I'll get us some coffee." Yelena interrupts, letting go of her sister's hands. She points a finger at you. "Cappucino or-"

"Sorry." Wanda's interruption makes the three of you look at her at once. She is intimidated, but only for a split second. Forcing a smile, she raises the book she holds at face height. "I was hoping to take this one."

You take an awkward step forward, and it is enough for Yelena to acquire an expression as if she just has won the lottery. Busy taking care of Wanda's purchase, you don't even notice the sisters' exchange of glances.

As you wrap up the book, you try to disguise the trembling in your hands. 

"I couldn't really thank you for the recommendation." Wanda speaks suddenly. You smile awkwardly, holding out the bag with the book on the counter.

"It was no trouble at all, Wanda." But she extends her hand over yours, and your heart stops.

"I really appreciated it, sweetheart." That's what Wanda says, stroking your skin with her thumb. "We have meetings every week, and maybe, you could join us in the next…"

You opened your mouth like a fish, babbling like a fool and completely in shock at the invitation of the most beautiful woman you have ever seen in your life. “I-I…”

"Would love to, of course." Yelena elbowed you so hard that you pulled your hand away from Wanda’s to massage the spot. She offered her worst-intention smile to Wanda, the kind she only used at college parties when she wanted guys who would never have a chance with her to buy her drinks. "She's a first-rate nerd, she'll love it, ma'am. I’m Yelena, by the way. My sister, Natasha, is the owner here. And since we’re talking about hanging out, did you know that we do friends' reunions around here? You're more than welcome to join us."

Wanda adjusts awkwardly, a little surprised. "Oh, what kind of reunion?"

Yelena sighs thoughtfully, shrugging. "Well, I don't want to call it a college party, because even though we're all college students, it's not done on NYU grounds and is reserved for fewer people and the drinking is much better..."

Chuckling short, and adjusting the bag on her wrist, Wanda denies it with her head. "It's a kind invitation, but I think I'm too old for such things."

"What nonsense!" Yelena retorts gesturing indignantly. “ "With all due respect, such a beautiful woman will completely enhance the party. And well, my sister always attends with her friends, and you must be the same age..." You bite the inside of your cheek hard, you love your friend but she is charming and beautiful and is clearly flirting with Wanda to annoy you. Wanda blushes, and Yelena knows she's won this one. Emerald eyes search yours, and you find that the one who might have won is actually you.

"Will you be there?" She asks, and having trouble hiding a smile, you nod. With a sigh, Wanda looks at the expectant blonde beside you. "I think I could show up for a little bit-"

"That's fantastic!" Yelena gets excited, not even waiting for Wanda to confirm before she ducks down on the counter and finds one of the invitations to these parties that Natasha hides near the cashier. 

You barely had a chance to say goodbye to Wanda, with Yelena and her party directions, but at least you had confirmation that the woman would be there for the last weekend of the month, the typical date when those meetings were organized. And the realization had you sliding to the floor behind the counter with one hand on your chest.

"My god I think I'm having an anxiety attack-"

"No, that's a gay outburst triggered by a hot milf." Yelena cut in with a roll of her eyes, crossing her arms as she approached you again. "You gonna have to put it together, 'cause we need to pick out what you're going to wear next week, on your hot date with her.”

You're as red as a tomato. "It's not a date! It's a book club!"

Natasha - who hadn't said anything about the interaction until now - burst out laughing, and teased "Hm, that's what young people are calling it these days."

"You two are terrible." You complained embarrassed, shaking your head in disbelief at the giggling sisters. "We don't even know if she's interested."

Natasha chuckled. "Of course she is. Sapphic poetry the first week, and now she comes back just to stroke your hand. Yes, Parker, everyone saw that. If that's not interest, I don't know what else to call it."

Sighing in defeat at the sisters' complicit gaze, you stood up again. "Let me get back to work." You grumbled, but still, Yelena followed you with thousands of ideas about what you could wear.

-&-

Book club sessions allow you to get to know Wanda better. And inevitably fall in love with her as you never had with anyone else, at least not at that intensity.

Unfortunately, a meeting full of middle-aged women with a certain willingness to gossip about any subject, especially the unusual friendship of the young college student from downtown with one of the most respectable ladies in the neighborhood put practically a watch on your back. All your moments with Wanda, stolen touches and long glances between snacks and reading verses for the next few weeks came burdened with the worry, especially for her, that the rest of the world could see all too well what was going on between you two. 

And there was also the great frustration that in fact, nothing was actually happening. Aside from the undeniable attraction and warm affection you developed for each other, you were just book club buddies. You couldn't even call Wanda a friend, in fact, you wouldn't want to. All you knew about her family was Agatha or Monica telling you, the other was limited to any other subject but this one. 

Pretending not to know or just accepting that Wanda had a life beyond the safety of your afternoons together hurt all the same.

Your only hope of progress for what was happening came at the end of the month, with the arrival of the reunion date between your friends. It was the most intimate event Wanda could attend and you had a feeling there would be no going back for whatever might happen that night.

The Thunderbolts was what the group of friends you and Yelena were part of called themselves since the beginning of college. And unlike Peter and Kate, or even the freshmen, America and Kamala, who were all set on what profession they would follow after graduation, you had already dropped three courses in total. Starting out in medical school as your parents would have liked, switching to applied biology with Peter until you tried computer science with America, you finally dropped out to work with books with Natasha. It was the closest thing to happiness, even if it meant lousy pay. 

But ignoring this, what was certain about you and the Thunderbolts was that you guys knew how to throw a decent party. 

The loud music didn't escape much from the top floor of the store because two years ago Natasha had gotten glassware with sound isolation for the rehearsals of the Red Skulls - her ex-girlfriend Carol Danvers' rock band - that kept neighbors from calling the police.

The drinking was taken care of by Natasha's friends, and well, it was always good stuff. There was also plenty of food and lots of weed, grown naturally in T'Challa's private greenhouses.

It was a college party, there was no denying it, but still, you went up to the roof, waiting for a woman twice your age who had a wedding ring mark on her finger.

Wanda almost didn't show up, and when she did, she was accompanied by a very beautiful woman. 

Natasha also had a thing for older women and was half drunk, a dangerous combination. Since Wanda was your flirt, the Romanoff wasted no time in approaching the other one, who introduced herself as Agatha Harkness and was more than happy to accompany the redhead on her tour of the studio apartment that made up the second and third floors of the bookstore.

You were trying to remain calm and mannerly around Wanda, but it was almost impossible not to become a mess when she was absurdly gorgeous in her half-open social shirt, smelling fucking good from yards away. 

As the night wore on and you both struggled to stay included in conversations with other people you knew - from Steve and his military school stories to Kate and her hilarious jokes - you began to wonder whether you were getting drunk on beer or on Wanda's perfume in your senses.

Fleeing back to the roof in the hopes of getting some air, you were about to consider leaving the party when Wanda found you again.

"I lost you for a second down there." She commented as she approached, hugging her body to the cold night around you. Your natural instinct would be to take off your jacket, but it suddenly seemed too intimate.

"Now you've found me." You returned with a small smile, glancing at her when she got close enough, only to find that she was already looking at you.

Swallowing dryly, you grew shy about her intense gaze and shifted to the hands she was smoothing on the ledge beside you. Wanda just stood there, close enough to touch until she leaned in a little to whisper.

"Did I do something to upset you? You're hiding from me."

Closing your eyes for a moment, you sighed before risking a look at her. "Agatha told me about your marriage." You state sincerely, and Wanda swallows dryly. "I'm not stupid, and I'm no good with games either. There's a husband, so I just won’t get involved. I'll only get hurt-"

"I'm very attracted to you." Wanda cut in, also decreasing the distance between your faces. Your heart simply stops and your breath catches. If she kissed you now, you'd probably say thank you. With a sigh, Wanda brings a hand to the collar of your shirt, pushing you away gently as a warning to herself. "She didn't lie. Agatha. I have a family, children, and a husband."

It was like a bucket of cold water on your head. But Wanda didn't let you move, keeping her grip on your shirt, and this was probably the only thing holding your tears too.

"I haven't stopped thinking about you since we met." She continues to confess as affected as you are, her green eyes desperate and hopeful. "I haven't felt this way in such a long time..."

But you choked, pulling away. "I don't want to be some game, Wanda. Some secret. And I hate to share-"

"Oh, darling we're so alike." She interrupted a short, possessive chuckle, grabbing your wrist and putting your arm around her before you could move further. The attraction was almost liquid over your limbs, pulling you towards her and you gasped, pressing your face into her collarbone before you lost control for good and take her for yourself in this roof, damn the consequences. "I thought your friend Yelena was more. My skin itched at the thought of her touching you, I almost came back here and burned the entire bookstore." She confessed in your ear as she slipped her arm around your shoulders to hug you. The intense embrace increased your heart rate, and it didn't help that Wanda was playing with the lobe of your ear between her teeth.

"Stop saying things like that or I just might..."

"What? Tell me what you’ll do with me." Wanda challenges equally affected and you lose it, digging your teeth into her collarbone and sucking hard. She whimpers, knees buckling as her hips thrust up towards yours, but all you do is force her back against the edge, your firm hands on her waist keeping her from gridding herself on you as she wants to.

"I could fuck you right here, Wanda. Send you home smelling of dirty sex." You assure her darkly, your hands playing dangerously on the limits of her blouse. All Wanda does is groan rusky in your ear, wishing you would do as you say. “I bet you’ve waiting for me to.”

The smug phrase almost takes her sanity completely: Wanda grunts needily, trying to grab your wrist and force your hand between her legs, but you pull away hard, leaving her a slack mess trying to balance on wobbly legs with the help of the wall.

"I won’t be your mistress, Wanda Maximoff." You warn hoarsely, yet determined. You adjust your messy hair. "Sorry, but this little game of ours ends tonight."

Wanda hesitates, biting her lip. You hold up your hands, to point at the ring finger, reminding her of her condition and in a way, mocking her as well. Wanda hates the way she feels herself throb between her legs because of your smirk. 

She thinks she would have gone after you if Agatha hadn't appeared on the roof, reminding her with a certain irony that it was time for “respectable ladies” to go home.

In the car, her friend noticed her quiet, sulky posture.

"Did that girl say anything to spoil your evening, dear?" Harkness asked in a mixture of curiosity and concern, and all Wanda could do was let out a wry laugh, one hand adjusting her hair.

"No, Aggie." Wanda retorted sincerely. "I'm more sure than before about what I told you last week."

Agatha hummed in understanding, remaining silent for a long moment of thought. As she passed a sign toward the residential neighborhood of Westview, she spoke:

"I know a lawyer. Miss Walters. Divorce specialist." She began, ignoring the tense posture the other had acquired. “Former family friend, who always said that if I called, she would give me a special discount. Ralph owns the house, so splitting from him would have meant goodbye to Westview, and well, he never bothered me enough to lose you."

Wanda's eyes widen as she understands what her friend is saying, and she stares at her with tears in her eyes. But Agatha smiles through the mirror reflection, shrugging.

"Nicholas may be a difficult boy, but he also deserved to have a mother around." She continues. "And we have fun, you and me and the girls, don't we darling?"

Wanda agrees tearfully, nodding. Agatha chuckles, making the last turn and the landscape becomes several little houses alike.

"Just make a decision while you have time, dear." She continues a bit more hurriedly, stealing glances at the houses that still have lights on. "That beautiful woman today, Natasha, reminded me of a youth I sacrificed. I am old, Wanda. Affairs are fun, but I no longer have time to start a life with someone I really care about. You do, and you don't even have to. You have a chance to be with someone you really feel passionate about, if only for a week."

Agatha parked the car, and the porch light came on. Vision was waiting for her at the door, a half-stern expression due to the exit he didn't agree with - An unusual pastime for a family lady, they had discussed before she left.

With a sigh, she said goodbye to Agatha and got out of the car. Jennifer Walters' phone card was in her pants pocket.

It could take four to five weeks of staring at the bookstore doorbell to finally see the face you wanted to see enter that bookstore. You would be surprised enough that Wanda looked even more beautiful since the last time you saw her, and that this almost made you lose your balance on the ladder you had climbed to organize books on the top shelf.

This time Wanda would ask for a book in the law section, just for the entertainment of studying your reaction when, after demanding that you wait for her to find what she was looking for, she would press a book on divorce against your chest. Wanda would have just over five seconds for you to understand what she was getting at, before she was pressed into the shelf and grabbed by the thighs to be lifted into the air, your mouth glued to hers and her legs locked around you.

The messiest, hottest make-out session she never had as a teenager, but it would make her feel like one again. Hands determined and curious as your tongue ripped out sounds inappropriate for a bookstore, until the bell rang again, and you had to part in gasping breaths.

Wanda would grab your shirt collar before you could go to meet the customer in the lobby to ask you out on a date. On the first date, you could talk about her children, about how the joint custody was going to work out, and how much time you would have to get to know each other. On the second you could go out to eat, and on the third Wanda would feel your fingers on the back seat of the car on the drive home.

Wanda imagined all this on the way, twisting the lawyer's paper between her fingers. 

"Welcome home, Wanda." Vision greeted her, giving her room to enter. Wanda forces a smile, as she removes her hand from her pocket to pass her arm around her spouse for what would probably be the last hug she would give him as his wife. “Did you have fun?”

“I did.”

-&-

It's your night shift.

Natasha has a habit of closing early on weekdays, with the exception of Fridays where she allows reading shifts for all the sleepless geeks, as she calls all the late readers who come to the bookstore after six in the evening.

The day has been quiet so far, and well, you've been too depressed for the past weeks since you decided to move on and get over Wanda Maximoff.

So of course when the bell rings and you lift your eyes from a superhero comic, it's her at the door.

A weary sigh escapes you at the almost apologetic expression of the woman fidgeting with her scarf, and without giving her some other reaction, you lower your eyes again.

"Good evening, Y/N." She greets politely, her voice hoarse.

Turning the page, as if actually reading the words crammed in front of you, you retort, " We're closing soon, so make it quick."

A smile plays on her lips at your response. "Well, I guess that'll be up to you." She retorts, and you frown in confusion, looking up only to watch Wanda turn the sign from open to closed, and lock the door.

You feel your face warm from the lust glint her eyes acquire, but you manage to raise an eyebrow.

"Don't tell me you came all this way to murder me."

She chuckles playfully, approaching at a slow pace while her hands work to remove her coat and leave it on top of one of the endless stacks of books in the reception area. "Is the place empty?"

You bite your lip as she puts on a show to remove her gloves, almost losing the train of thought. "Not really." You mumble, catching the other woman's brief disappointment and hesitation. Closing the comics in your lap to store them under the counter, you clear your throat. "There's an employee area behind this door." You let her know in a husky tone, and Wanda glances behind your shoulder for a moment before stepping around the counter. 

You hold your breath at having her so close now, but she doesn't break the short distance between your faces, leaning in to touch the doorknob. You take a deep breath, and her free hand seeks yours in your lap.

She entwines your fingers together and it takes you a full moment to notice the ring missing in hers. Wanda smiles when she realizes you understand.

"I signed the papers this morning." She whispers it as a secret between you, stroking the back of your hand with her thumb and enjoying the way your skin feels warm. "I was going to write, to let you know, but I decided I wanted you to have me entirely."

You swallow dry, shuddering at the confession. "Oh, that's... nice to know." It's all you manage for the moment, surprised you can still hear her speak when your heart is so loud in your own ear drums. Wanda bites back a mischievous smile and opens the door.

"Come, you can show me how much you appreciate my fairness."

You feel your face burn and grunt in embarrassment. "You're so full of yourself." You mumble, not resisting the tug she gives to get you inside. 

Barely inside when the door closes behind you, your back hits the wood and desperate hands tug your uniform jacket open. Wanda's gasping breaths mingle with yours as she kisses you roughly. 

Her hands work at your belt, but you slow the frantic pace to something so intense and intimate that Wanda melts against you, a moment later green eyes staring up at you tearfully.

"I didn't lie." You begin to explain hoarsely. "There are three customers in the café. They'll notice if we... There's no rush, Wanda." You smile at her tenderly, your hands on her cheeks. "Have dinner with me tonight. You can walk me home."

Her eyes sparkle with happiness, and Wanda nods in agreement, kissing you as a promise. One she will never be ashamed to fulfill, doesn't matter if not even the law allows it.

[splatashahowlett]

kitchen confessions

logan howlett x reader

to be honest, you didn't even know how your body could function on a daily basis with the amount of sleep you were getting each night but you couldn't do anything about it. so here you were, sitting on a kitchen stool, notebook in hand, spoon in the other. trying to enjoy the remains of your favorite ice cream.

life wasn't easy when you lived in a school, you could say goodbye to any kind of privacy and to all your favorite food that you would try to hid on top of cupboards. the fact that you were older than every students here didn't help. but you were grateful above anything else.

when charles found you, you refused his proposition at first. but you came to the realization that you had nothing to lose. that's why you didn't mind having trouble sleeping everynight. you got used to going into the kitchen and sketching in your notebook. you could finally breath without worrying about people asking very intimate questions (those kids wil be the death of you).

but what you weren't used to was having company.

all you could hear was the noise of your pencil scratching against the paper and the loud humming of the washing machine next door supposedly on silent mode... but you found it comforting in a bizarre way.

your dissociating state was disrupted by a grumpy voice coming from the door leading to the hallway.

"doesn't anyone sleep around here?".

startled, your eyes connected to a tall figure leaning against the doorframe. his arms were crossed and eyebrows slightly furrowed. you recognized him as the guy rogue told you about, was it nolan ?

rumour has it the professor asked him to join the xmen decades ago and his only answer was "go fuck yourself".

"only two of us are awake -well, three with you-" you answered, getting back to your drawing. you know that aside from you ,the only person awake at this time of night was the kid always glued to the tv whose name you forgot. your heard the bear-looking guy sighed and open the fridge.

"is there any beer in this kitchen?" he huffed, probably still emerging from his sleep. you chuckled softly, amused with his animal-like behavior. maybe you shouldn't but you thought he was cute. not in a "i'm interested in him" way of course, but more in a "he looks like he listens to katty perry in his free time and dream about adopting thousands of kitten even if he would never admit it" kind of way. this must have been something to do with your mutation considering you could see people's aura and "true nature", if that's even a thing...

"this is a school, but you can find some soda in the cupboard on your left" you answered, still smiling.

you certainly weren't expecting it but ater grabbing a bottle, he pulled out a stool from under the kitchen isle and sat infront of you. okay maybe you also thought he was cute in a "i'm interested in him" way. I mean, it's also like he did it on purpose: walking around the house in a white tank top probably a size too small for him which made his biceps pop out.

so naturally you acted like you didn't care about him at all (or so you thought).

"are you afraid of me?" his question caught you off guard and the face you made must have been really funny cause you could swear you saw the corner of his lips twitch upwards at the sight of it.

"excuse me?" you asked, waiting for further explanation.

"your heart is racing" he answered, taking a sip of his drink. you didn't even question what you just heard and gave the first excuse that came to your mind.

"coffee" you hoped the guy couldn't also sense lies. he raised his eyebrows and smiled, knowing you didn't drink coffee in, at least, the last three hours.

after a not so awkward silence, he finally decided to speak up: "I'm logan", still keeping his eyes on you.

"y/n" you settled fot the shortest answer, wishing he could not see through the crush you were developing for him.

"not so friendly huh" he said, almost disapointed. you sighed and even felt a bit guilty for not making any efforts.

"I"m sorry, I'm just exhausted. it's nice to meet you logan" you hoped this answer would be enough for him cause you don't think you would be capable of more for tonight.

"trouble sleeping? at least I won't be the only down here everynights" in usual, the thought of not having your alone time anymore would push you over the edge and you would probably start crying, but in this case, it didn't feel so awful. this may be the reason why you felt bold enough to ask a very personal question: "nightmares?"

logan froze and you immediatly regretted opening your mouth. but you still waited for his answer, afraid to make it worse if you said anything else.

"yeah" he nodded "what about you?" he added.

"same issue" you answered, happy he felt comfortable enough around you to tell you about it. this was also one of the benefits of your mutation, your own aura was singular. everybody felt at ease around you, some of your friends even used you as an ambulant aspirin.

"you wanna talk about it?" now that was surprising. you didn't know the guy but he definitely wasn't the type to listen to you ranting about your struggles. at first you were resilient about it, but then you realized that it's been a while since you had let someone in, and even if the grizzly seated on a stool that was most likely to break under his weight may not be the best person to open up to, you felt a strong urge telling you that you could and should trust him.

"just some traumatic experiences. being a mutant in the 21st century is far from being easy; people take advantage of that" you answered, not as uncomfortable as you thought you would be. logan nodded and kept his eyes on you.

"yeah, same issue" he articulated in an empathic tone.

so you both spent the night talking about things you shouldn't have to go through, hoping that some day you'll be brave enough to learn to live with those harrowing memories.

weeks passed, then months...and you found yourself falling harder for logan each day. you two grew quite close and you valued your friendship with him which is why you still didn't tell him about your romantic feelings for his stupid face.

but you had enough of being scared and anxious so you decided today would be the day. well the 8am version of yourself did, it's now past 10pm and you still didn't tell him anything. but you knew he was coming to the kitchen like every other nights.

right as when you started getting lost in thought you felt a hand on your shoulder, logan's. you didn't even jump, used to him sneaking up on you.

"hello there" he said, happy to see you. you couldn't bring yourself to look at him so you just muttered what seemed to be a "good evening" under your breath.

"you good bub'?" he asked, stopping in his tracks. you loved that about him, he didn't necessarily show it but he cared deeply for everyone in the mansion, and you hoped he cared in a special way about you.

"yes, sorry. I'm just bored" you grasped on how stupid you sounded when your words reached your own ears

"you do realize that has to be the worst excuse you ever came up with, right?" he laughed, and sat on the same stool from the night you met.

you knew it, but you still weren't ready to admit what was plaguing your mind.

"I'll be there when you're ready" logan interrupted your train of thoughts almost like he could read your mind: another thing you loved about him.

logan knew exactly what you were thinking about, cause he was also thinking about the same thing: he really cared about you. so he took your hand in his and squeezed it, as a sign of reassurance. he gently stroked your knuckles with his thumb and kept his eyes on you. he couldn't get over the fact that you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

"do you want a drink?" you said, hoping to release some tension and make up for your lack of enthusiasm when he walked into the kitchen. he only nodded, keeping his words for something much more meaningful. so you stood up and opened the fridge. you knew logan was right behing you and it killed you; why did he always had to do that ?

so when you turned around, you found yourself only inches away from his torso, you looked at his eyes for the first time of the night. logan took the two bottles from your hands and placed them gently on the cupboard next to him. never breaking eye contact. your heart was racing and breath quickening: was this a dream?

once his hands were free, he gently took your chin between his fingers and muttered: "I don't know if it's the way you talk, your gorgeous smile, or the way you brought me the intimacy of being understood, but I think that I may be falling in love with you"

you stopped breathing for a second and looked at him with your wide eyes.

"nevermind, I think it's the way you were completly oblivious of my feelings for you from the begining" he added while smiling and closed the space between your lips. you kissed him back (duh) and wrapped your arms around his neck. you couldn't help but smile hear to hear; your smile grew ever wider when you felt logan also smile against your lips.

to be honest you didn't even know how your body could function on a daily basis with the amount of love you had for this dude...

[bowlofsoob]

YEONJUN AS YOUR COLLEGE RA

yeonjun x gender neutral reader

strangers to friends to lovers, college setting

started out as you and yeonjun only communicating for things via dorm life but after a party breaks the ice you start to catch feelings for him after becoming friends with benefits

notes; idk if it’s different in other countries but RA means resident advisor and basically it’s the person in charge of your dorm floor and in charge of everyone

__________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

The night was alive and the air was thick with multiple lights and smoke that you and the other students could have been underwater. It seems your roommates had gone all out with the smoke machines placed at the front of the dorm, blanketing it, as if it was a completely different world compared to the other silent dorms on the same floor.

You awkwardly nursed a cup of beer in your hands near the door as you anxiously wait for Yeonjun to arrive. It was stupid, but if you couldn’t have him you’d at least like to befriend him. Or take a body shot off of him. More so the latter.

“Hey,” you hear, a voice so low in your ear you almost jump and drench yourself in cheap beer.

“Hi,” you swallow, turning around and coming face to face with the man of your wet dreams.

You shove your drink into his hand, “Glad you could make it.”

“Wouldn’t miss the first party of the year,” Yeonjun lazily smiles, downing the cup in a second, not even flinching once.

A group of boys followed behind him, immediately running in and jumping to the music as Yeonjun stayed near you.

“Show me to the drinks,” Yeonjun hums, holding up two bottles he’d brought.

As you both walked deeper into the dorm you could hear the roar of the students and music thrumming straight through your body and into your eardrums. Bodies moved around you like sweaty gnats, the dim lights strung up on the walls being the only source of light guiding you through the hall beside Yeonjun, flickering between violets and hues of blue. It fit the theme perfectly for that night.

Once in the kitchen Yeonjun went to work pouring himself a drink.

“You want one of my famous drinks?” Yeonjun asks, rolling up his sleeves as he leans back on the counter.

“Famous?” you smile, “According to whom?”

A cold glass was shoved into your hand, liquid sloshing precariously against the edge. You brought the drink to your lips, the fizzling sensation causing a nostalgic feeling to wash over you. Yeonjun immediately drank one of his own, gulping it down as you cheered him on. He raised his arm above him once he was done.

“Pretty good, right?” he laughs, already working on another drink for you both.

It was at that moment you were ready to strip right then and there. There was something so intimate about you both being the only ones in the kitchen, red lights flickering every other second and illuminating Yeonjun’s sly smirk. His eyes on you.

“I suppose,” you shrug, “Get a couple more in me and we’ll see.”

“I like your vibe, Y/n,” Yeonjun hums, this time just making one drink and walking over to you. “I call this one the Lover’s Shot,” he slurs, bringing the glass to your lips.

“You use that line on everyone?” you question, letting Yeonjun tilt up your face with his finger and pour the concoction down your throat.

“Nah, specially curated for you,” Yeonjun answers, wiping the astray alcohol that missed your lip with his thumb.

“It’s…something,” you strain, the alcohol burning your throat, but not as much as Yeonjun’s eyes boring into yours.

“Not the best review but I’ll take it,” Yeonjun murmurs, placing an experimental hand on your waist. You try not to shriek as you feel your stomach churn.

You offer no words of protest as Yeonjun’s slender fingers slide underneath your top, caressing your bare skin.

Maybe it was the alcohol filtering your senses but a part of you wanted to make-believe that the entire campus’ crush wanted you too.

“I could show you something a bit tastier,” Yeonjun says, gently pinching your waist.

You feel hot.

“Yeah?” you manage to get out.

“Is this alright?” he innocently murmurs before kissing you on the corner of your mouth.

His breath against your cheek is soft and unimaginable.

“It is,” you answer before moving your head so his lips land on yours instead. You tried not to smile as you felt his pillowy lips upon yours, his other hand on the back of your neck as he tilted it.

The hairs on the back of your neck stand up as Yeonjun guides you and presses you against the counter, slipping a knee in between your legs as you reach over the tug on his hair.

“My room?” you slip out in between kisses.

“How about mine?” Yeonjun smiles, breath hot on your neck, “Nobody there to bother us.”

That was enough for you.

__________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

the next morning and few weeks;

[souliebird]

[[addict]]

Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating Explicit

summary: Your life revolves around Matt. His does not revolve around you

Or: depression skews reality

wordcount: 5k

tags: depression, explicit sexual content, blood, angst, p in v sex, oral (male receiving)

---

Monday

You wake up alone. 

This is of no surprise to you, and you force yourself out of bed despite your desire to bury yourself into your covers and stay there. 

You stumble into the kitchen, feeling bleary and still half-asleep, and start the process of making coffee. You dump still warm grounds into the trash before filling the basket with your preferred blend and starting the little machine. You wash the mug lingering in the sink, then start making your breakfast. 

You don't need to think about your routine as you do it - you've done it hundreds and hundreds of times. You just do it. 

Coffee. Bagel. Orange. 

You watch the morning news highlights, listening but not taking in the various stories that flash on your screen. Fighting in Paris, all sorts of elections, Hollywood, and political scandals - it all washes over you without leaving an impression. None of it matters to you. None of it concerns anything Matt would be involved in.

Once you finish your small meal, you clean it up and switch your laptop over to your work VPN. 

It is nothing glorious. You translate legal documents from English into Spanish as a contractor for a handful of firms around the city. Very rarely is it anything of interest - a majority of it is human resources based - but it makes good money, and you don't need to commute. You stay in the apartment most of the day, trying your best to make it into a home.

As you think over word choice, you do chores. Laundry gets hauled down to the basement, the sink and shower get a deep clean to wash away any trace of blood, and you write out a grocery list. You dust and air out the apartment between paragraphs. You don't exchange many emails. You don't get any calls.

The hours pass in silence until your phone alerts you it is a quarter after five. You shut down your VPN and return to the kitchen. Chicken, rice, and vegetables will be tonight's dinner - you know it is a favorite and you've worked out the unspoken schedule to know this is the ideal day to serve it. You work quietly, half focusing on your knife work and half zoning out. 

Five minutes to the hour, the door to the apartment opens and Matt is home. 

“That smells wonderful, sweetheart,” he says as a greeting, dropping his things off at the front door. You can hear his practical movements as he puts everything in its right spot. 

“It should be done in ten minutes,” is your soft reply. That is just enough time for him to get settled in and drink about one third of a beer. It took you a few weeks to get the scheduling down right, but now you have it down to an art for various recipes. “How was your day?”

Without completely breaking attorney-client privilege, he tells you about the ongoings at the office and catches you up on whatever happened with Foggy and Karen over the weekend. As he does, he loosens his tie and takes a seat at the table. You place an ice-cold open bottle in front of him without fanfare, then flit back to the kitchen. 

Dinner switches the conversation to Daredevil. Matt tells you his plan for the night and you silently convert his words into future actions for yourself. He's going out with Jessica, which means more surveillance than fighting. You'll need to have ibuprofen ready, as spying tends to stress his senses rather than his body. 

You get a kiss before he goes to do his pre-Devil work out and another before he ascends the stairs to go into the night. He tells you not to stay up, but it's part of the script and you both know you'll be waiting for him right where he left you. 

Tuesday

“Foggy isn't going to believe me,” Matt grumbles as you gently pat concealer around his eye, covering the blooming bruise.  

“It's just absurd enough to be believable.”

“But it's the truth,” he huffs before his lips turn into a pout, “How does it look?”

You step back and examine the man in front of you. He has the start of a massive black eye and you can't help but feel bad for him. For once, this is not a Devil related injury - there was a freak accident with the shower. The water pressure in the building has somehow been cranked to maximum and your poor pipes are not equipped for that - the threads holding them together are barely there. They had no chance against suddenly being slammed into and there was no way Matt could have been prepared for the shower head to shoot off the wall and right into his face. 

You frown and your mood must shift because he deflates, “Foggy is not going to believe you.”

You set the makeup you specifically got to cover up his nightly hobby aside and push Matt's coffee towards him. He takes a long sip from it before throwing his head back with a groan.

“I've been doing so well,” he complains. There is some sort of swear jar-esque deal the two of them have going on about Matt's bruises, but you don't know all of the details. You do know Matt's lost a fair bit of money from it, though.

You pat his shoulder sympathetically before getting up and heading towards the kitchen to finish packing up his meals for the day, “This doesn't count.” 

“Will you tell that to Foggy?”

“I'll tell that to Foggy,” you promise.

You see him get up in the corner of your eye and disappear back into the bedroom to get dressed for work and you can't help but sigh. You'll give Matt's friends a heads up text so they don't freak out on him. Misunderstandings are bound to happen otherwise and they'll probably all have a laugh about it once the Devil's Pride is soothed.

You finish up packing lunch, a midday snack, and the ingredients for a hearty protein shake. Matt will be going to the gym right after work today, then from there will go out as the Devil. You aren't keen on him carrying his black suit around in his gym bag, but it's not something you're going to argue with him about. 

With how busy the office has been lately; he's been a bit scatterbrained about the smaller things. 

You've convinced him to at least drop off his bag on the roof as he starts his patrol, so he doesn't leave his day clothes at Fogwell’s overnight. You'll go up and collect them at some point, so they don't end up staying up there and getting forgotten about. 

You won't see Matt again until he comes home to sleep. 

You hope you'll be able to figure out how to fix the shower by then.

Wednesday

You put away the last of the clean dishes, then turn to face the apartment in front of you.

It's a beautiful day and light is streaming in through the windows, highlighting how stark everything is. Your laptop is waiting for you on the table, along with a mental list of things you need to get done today. 

But you don't want to. 

You don't want to do any of it. You don't want to do anything. You don't want to think. You don't want to feel. 

You just don't want to. 

So you wipe your hands on a dish towel, then make a bee line right back to bed and crawl in. You curl on your side, place your phone on Matt's pillow, close your eyes, and just Don't. 

You drift in and out until your bladder starts to demand you get up, so you do. You use the restroom then return to bed, checking your messages as you settle back in. 

There's one from Matt, asking if you would like Thai for dinner. You have no will to think about what you'd like to eat - honestly you don't want anything - so you tell him that Thai sounds great. You double check your alarm is set, then return to your nothingness. 

It's easy to get lost in Blankness. It's nice to not feel anything. The crushing negativity you are so used to is gone and all your disgusting thoughts are silent. 

You don't simmer in doubt that every action is wrong. 

You don't question why your life revolves around Matt. You don't think about how you would crumble without him or how he'd be fine without you. 

You don't consider what love is to him and how deeply rooted it is in just staying. You don't wonder if he just doesn't want to be alone again. 

You don't feel completely consumed in your feelings. 

You just are. 

Sometimes, you wish you could stay like this forever - suspended in emptiness. 

But then your alarm goes off and you have to be human again. 

You check your messages to make sure you really did get a text about dinner, then finally drag yourself to go shower.

You have to be presentable before Matt returns. 

He doesn't comment on your still wet hair or lack of conversation. You eat in mostly silence, occasionally commenting about the food. 

Karen calls as you're gathering up leftovers to go into the fridge. Whatever she has to say to Matt has him swearing and going to the wardrobe to start getting his suit out. You don't ask what is wrong, you simply gather up the dress shirt he tosses towards the couch as he begins to change. 

He doesn't kiss you as he rushes up the stairs.

He doesn't tell you to not wait up. 

The door slams shut as he disappears into his own Darkness, and you sit on the couch to await his return.

There is no silence. The city mocks you with each siren, scream, and honk. 

Thursday

You're putting away groceries when your phone alerts you to a text. 

It's from Matt and simply states, “I hate baseball bats.”

A small noise of sympathy comes up from your chest. He had gotten a few good whacks with one last night to the point he let you wrap his chest. Luckily, nothing had been broken, but it had not been a pretty sight. 

You've already put the ice packs in the freezer for when he gets home. You don't think he'll be going out tonight if he's actually admitting he is in pain. 

Maybe you can listen to the next few chapters of the audio book you've started together instead. The thought makes your stomach turn in a nervous hopeful way. 

You return his message with an inside joke of sorts, typing out the words, “Baseball bat emoji. Heart break emoji.”

He replies back seconds later with, “Sad face emoji.” 

It pulls a little smile to your lips, and you think about Matt dictating the text to his phone for the next hour. 

Friday

“You smell so good,” he purrs as he nuzzles against your neck, his scruff scratching you just lightly. 

You tilt your head to the side to give him better access and you can practically feel his pleased hum in your chest. His fingers dance at the hem of your shirt, pushing under to barely just feel your skin. He's got you crowded against the front door, so all of him overwhelms you while he teases.

He's been like this all night. As soon as you stepped into Josie's, he had his hands all over you - your thigh, your lower back, wrapping his arms around you from behind. He's only had two beers, but they have loosened up his tense shoulders quite a bit. 

You know what he wants and you're more than happy to indulge. You've been craving his touch. His attention. 

You don't care if it's a quickie before he leaves you to belong to Hell's Kitchen again, you just need something from him.

Anything. 

You dig your nails into the shoulder of his suit jacket and whine out your inner desires, knowing he'll give in when he's like this, “want to get on my knees for you.”

He moans in response, grinding against you to let you know how much he also wants that, and you lower yourself down to be trapped between him and the door. Skilled hands make quick work of his belt, and you don't bother to push his pants and briefs down. You get his half hard cock free of its confines only to swallow it.

Above you, Matt throws his head back his head, gritting out a long low, “Fuck.” 

You give him no time to adjust, knowing exactly what he likes in these moments, and begin to work him over. One hand grips his tree trunk of a thigh and the other loosely circles around the base of his cock - the first keeps you steady and the second from him slipping out of you. 

You focus on his head, pushing your tongue up as he slides out of the depths of your throat, then swirling it before you begin to suckle. He buries his fingers into your hair, swearing more, as you do so. That only encourages you and you begin to pump him as you work to get him to full hardness.

His musk is dotted with the saltines of precum, and your mouth begins to water. You do nothing to stop the drool gathering in the corners of your mouth and let it spill out as you enjoy yourself. 

Self-control is out of the question - the moment Matt’s hips begin to twitch, you encourage it, tugging at his thigh. He doesn't need to be told twice. 

You close your eyes and relax your jaw as he starts to fuck your throat. 

All of you becomes encompassed in him. He's all you feel, all you smell, all you taste, all you hear. 

He grunts and groans as he thrusts in and out of your mouth, holding your head steady so you can't chase him as you want to. You want to be held down; his cock buried deep in your throat until the heaviness of him is imprinted on your tongue. You want him to coat your insides with him, so you never forget his taste. 

You want him to use you and that's exactly what he does.

“Fuck, sweetheart, fuck,” he chants, and you don't want him to stop. He's not ruthless, but he isn't kind with it, barely giving you a chance to breathe between each movement, and making your brain start to blink in and out of awareness.

You feel him start to twitch and pulse along your tongue and you whine in distress around him. 

You don't want this to end so soon. You need him. You need this. 

Before you can process what is happening, Matt is pulling you back up into standing and directly turning you to face the door. Your brain automatically clicks with what he is doing, and you scramble to undo your pants. You barely get them unbuttoned before he is yanking them and your panties down your thighs. 

You arch your back with anticipation as he lines himself up. You expect him to tease you, to rub the head of his cock over you to spread around the juices you've soaked your panties with, but he doesn't. He pushes into you in one smooth motion and your eyes roll into the back of your head. 

He grabs you by the throat from behind, just under your chin, and turns his hand so he can also stick two of his fingers into your mouth and continue to make you drool. You're practically pinned to the door as he slams into you over and over, hitting that sweet spot each time. 

“So fucking wet,” he growls into your ear, squeezing your throat just enough to make your vision go spotty. “About to cum from just sucking on my cock. Don't even need to touch you, do I? You'd be happy being my little cock warmer.”

You would. You yearn for it - sitting under his desk while he works, keeping him happy. You just want to be with him. You need him. 

You need him. 

He breathes your name, then demands, “Cum on my cock.” 

Saturday

Matt has taken the spot at the dining table while you've curled up on the couch. You both have your respective workstations set up and have been buried in reading for hours. 

A strange, pleasant calm has washed over you and wrapped you up in a lightness.

These are the days you dream of.

Soft, quiet mornings where you can just be with Matt - there's no distractions or chaos or vigilantism. It is just the two of you, together. 

Whenever he has gotten up to get something, on his way back to his seat - he always makes sure to check in on you all and it sends your brain into an absolute tizzy. Acknowledgement from him makes you feel warm in so many ways. You don't think you could ever get enough of the way he says your name when he wants your attention. It's like an angel’s song - or the Devil's. 

You know it won't last long - he has a meeting with Foggy after lunch to meet some people who can't meet during the week - so you bask in what you have. You've been stealing glances all morning because you love to watch him work. He gets this little crease between his brow when he's listening to a transcript, and it really is the cutest thing. You just want to go over and kiss it and remind him to relax his forehead. 

But you know he's so very busy and you don't want to distract him with something so silly. He barely has enough time in the day as it is, between all the ways he helps the people of Hell's Kitchen, and lately he's just been adding more and more to his plate - more clients, more patrols, more everything except you. 

You aren't jealous. You know how needed he is and you are grateful to be in his life at all. You get to be the one to take care of him and be in his bed at the end of the night, even if you spend many of those nights alone. 

It just makes moments like these so much sweeter. 

So, when he gets up again and heads to the kitchen, you can't help but turn and watch him. He starts another pot of coffee, and your eyes just go heart shaped as you admire how his shoulders move under his shirt. 

“Anything interesting?” He asks with a bit of cockiness, and you know he's aware you aren't focused on your work.

You place your chin on the back of the couch and hum, “This company has one of the best sick leave policies I've ever seen. Think I might quit my job and go raise plants in Arizona.” 

Matt snorts at your answer and teases, “Do you know anything about raising plants?”

“For three weeks guaranteed paid vacation and two paid sick days a month, I'll learn.” 

He turns to face you, tilting his head to one side in disbelief, “Two paid sick days a month? What is the catch?”

You nod, then pretend to huff, “You have to live in the middle of nowhere Arizona.” Matt makes a face of disgust, and you laugh into your hand, a smile blooming across your face, “That's why I'm only considering.”

“I'm glad, I'd prefer it if you stay here. I'd miss you too much if you were in the middle of nowhere Arizona.” 

You spend the rest of the day practically glowing over Matt admitting he'd miss you. The words will live in your heart and head forever.

Sunday

You've never been stalked and hunted by a wild animal, but this is what you imagine it would feel like. 

The Devil has come home earlier than expected and it looks like he crawled his way out of Hell. He's in his black suit, or what's left of it, and is covered in his own blood. His nose is dripping, probably broken, staining his mouth red. His shirt is barely hanging together and various fresh shallow cuts litter his torso. His Muay Thai ropes are dirty with grime and what you expect to be others’ blood.

He slowly came down the stairs from the roof then began to circle around the couch, each step deliberate and calculating, and he has not let up. 

The air in the room is so heavy. You can't breathe because you don't have a protocol for this. You can't tell if he's angry or upset - he hasn't said a word and he's not expressing himself in any way, but Danger is exuding from him. 

You sit straight backed on the couch as the Devil continues his path around you, his head tilting in different directions ever so slightly. You don't know if he's tracking something or waiting for some sign. You can't tell when he's like this. 

Finally, he stops in the spot halfway between the couch and the bedroom, only partially angled towards you. He begins to undo the ropes stabilizing his wrists, letting them drop to the ground without acknowledgment. You watch them like they are snakes, ready to slither at you with an attack. His gloves quickly join the pile, but then he raises a hand towards you, palm up like he wants you to take it.

He confirms his intentions with a low, “Come here.”

You're worried and confused with how he is behaving, but you don't dare disobey the Devil. 

You slip out of your seat and make your way to him in silence, reaching to take his hand when you get close enough. To your surprise, he brings it up to his face and places a light kiss to your wrist, over your pulse point. 

“Do you know who I am?” He asks, voice low and laced with an unsaid promise. 

A shiver runs up your spine and you manage to answer, breathing out, “Matt Murdock. Daredevil.” 

He pulls his lips back into a snarl and you fear you've got the question wrong somehow. 

Keeping your hand in his, he steps towards you, one achingly slow step at a time, until you are practically chest to chest. He dips his head and brushes the tip of his nose against your neck. You can hear him inhale. 

“I hear their frightened little whispers. I hear what they call me - not just the Devil of Hell's Kitchen. King of Hell - this is my territory and I protect it with a ferocity,” he whispers into your skin. You close your eyes and try to keep your breathing from going shaky. 

It is not just fear and confusion coursing through you now. His words, his rasping, is going straight to your cunt. You haven't encountered The Devil in so long you've forgotten what it does to you.

He presses his free hand against your lower back, moving you so you are flush against him. Your hand goes to his chest, just under his shoulder where his shirt is still intact and not sticky with who knows what. 

“Do you know what that makes you?” he growls against you and all you can do is shake your head.

You don't interact with many people, and you doubt anyone in Hell's Kitchen is talking about you. 

You are of no interest to anyone. 

The Devil bumps his nose against your earlobe before giving it a light nibble and telling you, “My Queen of Hell.”

Air catches in your throat and it feels like your entire being short circuits. What does he mean, you're his Queen? 

You've never done anything to deserve such a title, but you aren't going to disagree with him. If he wants to call you this, you will relish in it. 

As you are still trying to process things, you are suddenly lifted into the air by your thighs, and you have to quickly wrap your legs around the Devil so you don't start flailing. Like you weigh absolutely nothing, you are carried to the bedroom and with care you do not expect, laid out on the bed. 

The Devil, mask, boots, batons, and all, crawls over you, going straight for your throat. He starts with his lips but quickly dissolves into dragging his tongue and teeth wherever he can get. It's slow, methodical, like he has a goal with his lavishing. 

You don't care about his intention - you are melting into the bed under him, desperate for him to not stop. Whatever he is doing, whatever has got him in this mood, you want more of it. 

Hesitantly, fearing you might disrupt the atmosphere, you wrap your arms around the body above you, one hand going to scratch at the back of his neck, trying to silently encourage more attention to your neck. He obliges and teeth scraping against you turns into biting. He wastes no time in leaving his first mark on you, then another, and another. 

“You're mine,” he tells you as he starts on the other side of your throat, “Belong to me. You're mine.” 

You arch at the words, cunt clenching around nothing. He is correct. You are his - you've belonged to him the moment you met, and you will until the day you die. 

He is your everything.

“I'm yours,” you agree, barely above a whisper. 

The Devil drags his lips from your neck only to crash them into yours. It's like being pulled under by a wave - a force you can only just accept and go with. He tastes like smoke and copper, but you don't care. You only want more.

You want to be consumed. 

And it feels like that is what he does. You kiss until you feel like you can't possibly breathe any longer, then he is pulling away to start moving down your body. He pushes your shirt up to start a trail of kisses and bites towards your stomach.

“My Queen,” he growls, and you can only throw your head back with pleasure at his words, his actions, “My Persephone. Mine. Whatever you want, it's yours. Anything. Give you Fisk's head on a platter. Or do you want his heart? I'll rip out his throat with my teeth for you.”

You want to comment it looks like he already has, with the state he came in in, but all you can manage to say is the truth.

“I just want you.” 

Your shirt is pulled off and tossed to the side before he is on you again, biting at your lips as he does what you want. He grinds his cock into you, and you can feel just how hard he is. You tug at the remains of his shirt, and it is also quickly discarded. 

You can feel him moving over you, probably trying to get out of the rest of his armor, but you don't pay attention. All your focus is on the way his mouth is moving with yours - dominating and controlling and firm but in no way actually hurting you. 

Nothing to ever hurt you. 

When he pulls back, he does so enough to sit up. 

You whine at the loss of his touch, but it is balanced when he finally removes his mask, and you can see his beautiful face again. 

It's a little sick, but you like him like this - bruised and battered and bloody. You like the physical reminders of who he is and what he is capable of. 

You reach up to press your hands to the mottled skin around his ribs, still healing from the baseball bat. He hisses at the contact, but his now free cock gives a violent twitch. You know which reaction to trust. 

Your sleep shorts and panties are unceremoniously removed, and you and the Devil are left nude. You are hauled up to be on your knees with him and once again you are held against his chest. He cups your jaw with both hands and kisses you firmly.

“Take such good care of me,” he mumbles between nips and bites, “Let me take care of you, my Queen.”

You want that. 

You want that.

 You want him to take care of you - to focus on you - to be his everything. You desperately nod against him, shaky whispers of “please” coming from you. 

He lays you back down and guides himself into you with far more care than you'd expect in the moment. It's steady until he's fully sheathed in you, then he is over you again, burying his face into your neck. 

“Mine.”

“Yours.”

He starts moving then, slow, steady, and deep, like he's trying to savor every roll of his hips. 

It's heady and with the way he's back to worshiping your neck, you're quick to sink into a place of pure bliss only he can send you. 

He starts to mumble against you as he devours you. You hear catches of your name and ‘my Queen’ and ‘mine’, but you hear something about Sin and love and need. Your brain refuses to link the words together and you don't need it to understand them right now. 

You just need Him. 

You roll your head to the side so he can dig his teeth into a new spot and through half lidded eyes, you spot the mirror you've added into the room. Using it, you watch the Devil make love to you, his body half shrouded by shadows. 

He's so fucking beautiful.

As your thighs begin to tremble and pressure builds up in your core, you notice smears of darkness on your face, your neck, and your arms.

It is the same darkness that the Devil is drenched in. 

He's covered you in his blood. 

You're coated with him. 

Inside and out.

The realization sends you over the edge and you scream his name for all your subjects to hear.

Monday

You wake up alone.

This is of no surprise to you.

a/n:

I see this with multiple interpretations ;)

a/n2: theres not a baseball bat emoji

[seppasolution11]

How Glass Bottle Washers Can Boost Your Business Efficiency: The Seppa Solutions Advantage

Running a business in the beverage industry comes with its unique challenges, and one of the most significant is maintaining high hygiene and efficiency standards. When working with glass bottles, ensuring cleanliness is paramount—not just for regulatory reasons but also for the safety and satisfaction of your customers. However, how can one achieve the ideal balance between effectiveness and quality? The answer may lie in technology; many businesses overlook the glass bottle washer.

What if I told you that implementing the right glass bottle washer could help streamline your operations, improve sustainability, and reduce costs? In this article, we’ll explore how a glass bottle washer, particularly the solutions offered by Seppa Solutions, can significantly enhance your business. Let's dive in.

The Importance of Clean Glass Bottles in Your Business

Why is it crucial to focus on bottle cleanliness in the first place? Hygiene, branding, and product safety are critical to customer retention and legal compliance. Clean bottles reflect the care and quality your brand puts into its products. Would you buy a drink from a company that doesn’t take cleanliness seriously? Probably not.

By implementing a dedicated glass bottle cleaner, businesses can ensure each bottle meets high cleanliness standards, eliminating any potential risks from contamination. Moreover, it helps maintain a positive brand image, as customers expect not just great taste but also a product that meets or exceeds hygiene standards.

How Glass Bottle Washers Improve Efficiency

Glass bottle washers are designed to streamline the bottle-cleaning process, making it faster, more efficient, and more reliable. These machines offer businesses the ability to wash thousands of bottles in a fraction of the time it would take manually. The efficiency boost translates into quicker turnaround times and the ability to meet high production demands.

With automation, you reduce human error and inconsistency. Machines like those provided by Seppa Solutions offer advanced cleaning technologies that guarantee every bottle is spotless and ready for reuse or packaging. Can you imagine the increase in productivity when cleaning is no longer a bottleneck in your production line?

The Economic and Environmental Advantages of Glass Bottle Washers

In today's environmentally conscious market, reducing waste and promoting sustainability are more important than ever. A industrial helps your business embrace a more sustainable approach by promoting bottle reuse rather than single-use solutions. By doing this, the environmental effects of trash disposal and glass manufacture are reduced.

From a financial perspective, a industrial bottle washer helps reduce costs associated with purchasing new bottles. By cleaning and reusing bottles efficiently, you cut down on material costs, making your operations more economical. The long-term savings can be substantial—an investment in a high-quality bottle washer often pays for itself over time.

Why Seppa Solutions Glass Bottle Washer Stands Out

Now that we’ve covered the benefits of glass bottle washers in general, let’s take a closer look at why Seppa Solutions is a leader in this space. Seppa Solutions offers cutting-edge automatic bottle washing machines designed for a wide range of industries, from beverages to pharmaceuticals.

Their machines feature state-of-the-art cleaning technologies, including multiple cleaning cycles, high-pressure jets, and energy-efficient systems that ensure each bottle is thoroughly cleaned. Delivering efficiency and sustainability is Seppa Solutions' primary goal. Their glass bottle washers are known for low water consumption, energy efficiency, and reduced chemical use, which aligns with today’s eco-friendly business trends.

To further fulfill the unique requirements of various enterprises, Seppa Solutions offers customized solutions. Whether you run a small craft brewery or a large-scale bottling plant, Seppa has a bottle washing machine that can be customized to your operational requirements.

Choosing Seppa Solutions: The Smart Business Move

Investing in a glass bottle washer is not just about improving hygiene and efficiency—it’s about making a strategic decision for the future of your business. Seppa Solutions stands out because of its commitment to quality, innovation, and customer support. When you choose Seppa, you're not just buying a machine; you're partnering with a company that will help your business thrive in a competitive market.

By opting for Seppa Solutions, you ensure your bottle-cleaning process is handled by a trusted partner that offers long-lasting, reliable machinery. The company also provides excellent after-sales service, ensuring your operations continue to run smoothly long after the initial purchase.

Is a Glass Bottle Washer Right for Your Business?

So, is it time for your business to invest in a glass bottle washing machine? It's definitely yes if you value sustainability, efficiency, and upholding a spotless reputation for your brand. Not only do glass bottle washers streamline your operations, but they also reduce costs and contribute to an eco-friendly business model. And when it comes to choosing the right solution, Seppa Solutions stands out as a leader in the field.

Their innovative designs, commitment to quality, and focus on sustainability make them the ideal partner for businesses looking to optimize their bottle-cleaning process. In the end, investing in a Seppa Solutions glass bottle washer is an investment in the future success of your business.

[shot-of-truth]

Sex Drive*

summary: basically just a threesome with luke and mgk that has been sitting in my drafts for about two years.. yes I'm horrible.

warnings: everything filthy; breeding, degradation, slapping, choking, double penetration, squirting.. the lot, you know?

word count: 8k of pure filth

Luke knew Colson long before they signed with Interscope records but he can not recall ever talking to him. What he knew though was that this man never failed to put on an amazing show and even better parties, according to their mutual friend Ashley. He heard about many of his positive traits and he tried to remember them while the lanky dude with about a hundred tattoos downed his fourth shot of tequila for that night. His best friend was a big fan of his music, that much he recalled, always blasting his newest album Hotel Diablo in the car and singing along loudly. Luke even overheard her talking about Colson releasing a vibrator as part of his Valentines Day merch, he wasn’t sure if she ever bought it… which wouldn’t surprise him though. The lead singer eyes the tall rapper talking to a few girls on the other side of the room and questions himself whether or not he should start a conversation with him, for the sake of Fleur. Luke’s christmas party is in less than a week and he just knows that Fleur would be the happiest girl on earth if he invited him. So that’s what he does, after his drink is finished he makes his way over to the man that is about as tall as he is and introduces himself.

He mentally thanks himself for deciding to come to Interscope’s Christmas party as both of them lose themselves in a chat about music and their shared love for pop punk, especially Blink-182.

That was the story of how Luke’s friendship with Colson, in the industry known as Machine Gun Kelly, started. You could leave it at that if it wasn’t for Luke’s infamous christmas party that he threw at his house every year, which Colson was invited to… of course. And that was where he met Fleur.

With her brown skin and braided hair she made her way through the hallway, carrying a few bottles of liquor that she seemed to have brought from her car. “Let me help you!” Luke spoke quickly, taking two bottles of rosé from her before kissing her cheek and telling her to make herself comfortable, which shouldn’t be too hard since she basically already lives at his place.

Colson watches the scene unfold in front of his eyes, leaning against the wall and picking his beer up for a sip. The girl that just walked in is drop dead gorgeous, in his eyes at least. He loves the way her dress hugs her curves and he absolutely fucking adores when she throws her head back to laugh at something Luke said. He picks up that she’s not wearing a bra, her nipples visible through the fabric… he swears he didn’t mean to stare, he just randomly notices. He’s a lot taller than her and it makes his cock swell just a little bit as he imagines all the dirty things he could do to her. Keeping his composure though, he walks over to his girl of the night, setting the beer down on the table and greeting her with a simple “hi!” If he didn’t look close enough he wouldn’t even have seen the excitement on her face as she looks up into his eyes. “Oh look who Luke invited..” She smirks, bringing the sparkling wine to her lips, her red lipstick leaving a stain on the glass. 

“Actually… now I’m really glad I came.” He shoots back, taking her hand and shaking it. “Colson.” He speaks, not letting her hand go until she tells him “Fleur”. After hearing her name he can’t help but think that she really does smell like a flower, like daisies actually… a soft smell, like a warm Spring day. 

It does get better though, half an hour later when both of them are lost in the crowd together, her body pressed against his, he can make out her coconut body wash under the thin layer of sweat on her neck. His hands are on her waist and he guides her to the beat, fingers digging into the flesh beneath her shirt. He feels her ass press against his crotch and he just knows that she is doing it on purpose. He leans his head down to plant a quick kiss to her neck, a satisfying sigh leaving her mouth. “We got two options, Colson. You either follow me now or I’ll find a room and a way to get myself off like I do with my vibrator.” Straight forward, no bullshit. Her hands brush against his crotch and she throws him a kiss before disappearing, leaving Colson a horny and drunken mess in the middle of the living room. Without thinking twice he finishes his drink and follows her until she opens a door at the end of the hallway and waits for him to step inside. When he does, she’s lying down on the bed, a seductive smile on her lips, just waiting for him to come over and fuck her brains out. Colson has other plans as he quietly closes the door and exhales, leaning against it and licking his lips. He watches her every move with hungry eyes, images of him filling her mouth with his cock prominent on his mind. But he’s got time tonight… more than enough. He is going to make her beg. Still leaning against the door, he moves his fingers, motioning for her to come over. His arms crossed on his chest, his gaze is fixated on her walking over to him. 

The size difference makes her heart race and she looks up into Colson’s magnificent eyes, a wave of heat taking over her body when he presses his lips to hers, testing the limits. He tastes like beer and her taste reminds him of the disgustingly sweet watermelon vodka. Fleur is standing on her tippy toes and she’s grabbing onto his shirt, Colson’s teeth lightly biting down onto her bottom lip, waiting for her to open up. Tongue licking into her mouth, he huffs quietly, squeezing her butt while he’s at it. While the two of them are making out against the wall, hands all over each other, Colson pushes his left leg forward. The fabric of his jeans meets her panties and if it wasn’t so dark he would have been able to see her mouth opening and forming an o-shape. Fleur hopes he can’t feel the damp spot on her panties against his leg, hopes she doesn’t make a mess on his ripped jeans. But when her lover for the night stares at her, breathing heavily for a few seconds before mumbling a low “fuck” and connecting their lips for a needy kiss again, all her worries are gone. Large hands still on her ass, he pulls her forward with such force she collides with his hard chest, her barely covered pussy sliding against his leg. 

He then gets a loud moan out of her, dick straining against his briefs. “Wanna be a good girl for me and get yourself off on my thigh? Wanna beg for it, slut?” Colson’s voice is needy, sexy and raw but his eyes show curiosity, as if he wants to ask her: is this okay? Do you really want to do this? Her knees almost give in when Colson calls her a slut, the humiliation having a strangely unexpected effect on her, panties now drenched in arousal. And Colson feels it, god does he love it. “Please… wanna use your thigh..” This is so fucking filthy and taboo, begging for her favorite singer to let her grind against his tattooed leg. Just when Fleur thought it could not get any better, he bites her earlobe and whispers: “want you to call me daddy if we’re gonna do it properly… know it gets you off, so… try again.” From what she can make his look out it looks challenging, he wants to see her crack, wants nothing more than for her to fall right into euphoria because of him. All of this already feels too good to be true but when she moans “daddy please… need your thigh” he breaks and pushes his leg up, right against her clit while holding her in place with his strong arms. Her moans are music to his ears while both of them start grinding against each other, rolling away from the door and onto the wall, him slowly feeling a wet patch forming on his blue jeans. 

Both of them are so caught up in one another, bodies tangled together, sounds of pleasure falling from their lips, they don’t even notice the door opening and a perplexed Luke standing in the hallway. His eyes are bloodshot and he looks helpless, red stained shirt that used to be white clinging to his body. “Fuck I’m… shit..” he stammers, catching Colson’s attention. Luke’s heart feels like it’s going a million miles an hour when he locks eyes with his best friend being held up by one of his co-workers… if you can call him that. He hates that he gets hard just from looking at her messy hair and smudged make-up. But what he hates the most is that the size difference between the two of them makes him break into a sweat, imagining if she’d also look this small on his lap. Right now Luke is really fucking thankful for the lack of lighting in his room because he’s certain they would have both seen his bulge. 

He swallows the lump in his throat, trying not to look at her exposed lace thong that is now visible since her dress has ridden up. “I just… new shirt..” His voice comes out dry and he mentally facepalms himself for not being able to bring out a normal sentence as he points at the wine-stain on his shirt. “Come in… close the door.” Colson orders, surprising both him and Fleur. A new thought formed in his head just a few seconds ago, something even more filthy than making her beg for his cock. He wants to see her beg for two cocks, he wants her to be absolutely fucking wrecked by the end of the night. Kells has never been one to share his girls but right now he just could not give a single fuck, unable to form a coherent thought. The younger one hurries to close the door and make his way over to his closet, pulling out a random shirt. He’s unaware of the four eyes watching him as he takes off his dirty shirt, Fleur having climbed down from Colson’s lap and sneaking over to her best friend. His skin is kind of sweaty and hot but she doesn’t mind when reaching her hand out to trace her nails down his back, examining his broad shoulders. The girl immediately picked up where this was going when Colson pressed his hard on against her tummy the moment Luke had closed the door. He wanted this and she wanted Luke, young, innocent Luke, as well as the rapper with his dominant attitude.

The two of them could not be more different if they tried, Colson’s skin splattered with ink while Luke’s remained pure and creamy white. Their personalities are completely different but the thought of Luke having a kinky side to him that she doesn’t know about makes her stomach twirl and do backflips. Colson does not have Luke’s broad shoulders but he’s just as tall as the 22 year old, the two of them easily towering over Fleur. 

All of them notice the dim light in the corner of the room that Luke turned on when looking for his shirt. It illustrates his skin when Fleur touches him, goosebumps rising on his arms. “Stay.” She whispers, fingertips on his bare back, caressing him. His eyes are closed while he rubs them, certain he’s had one too many this night because this can’t be happening. It’s simply not possible that Fleur is hugging him from behind now, arms wrapped around his torso. Before he can process what’s happening, she has him turned around, curls dangling in his face. He nervously looks over to Colson and sees him taking his shirt off, the tattoos looking like a second skin. What he also notices is that the other guy in the room does not have an ounce of body fat, he’s like a fucking spaghetti noodle. And it makes Luke feel a little bit insecure, being exposed to both of them. It’s all gone from his mind when she kisses his collarbone while standing on her tippy toes, she can’t get higher than this. Her lips are so soft and it makes Luke’s knees buckle just the slightest bit, especially when she kisses down towards his nipples, flicking her tongue over the right one. Her wet muscle dances over his skin, down to his belly button and she can taste the red wine on his skin, which someone had splashed over his shirt just a few minutes ago. 

At this point she is kneeling on the floor in front of him, knees digging into the soft carpet, marvelous eyes digging into his as she gazes up at him through her eyelids. Luke could swear he forgets how to breathe that very moment because now he can definitely sense where this is going and he clearly fucking likes it. “You little whore… got Luke all hard and now you’re being a fucking tease? I don’t think that’s nice at all.” Colson’s voice catches both of them off guard, he is a lot closer than he was just a minute ago, standing behind Fleur. She just licks her lips and tries not to let Luke see how turned on she is from being treated with little to no respect from the older man… so pathetic. Suddenly he grabs her hair with just a bit of force and pulls it, making him look up to her. “Fucking answer me when I talk to you, toy.” His voice is dripping with lust and he sounds dangerous, his gaze though is examining her body language to make sure she’s alright. “Yes daddy.. I- I’ll make it up… to him.” Luke is fucking shocked when he sees her smiling after mouthing the word ‘daddy’ with a bittersweet voice, his jaw falling open, cock thickening even more. He needs attention and he needs it there. Even though he is not so sure if he’d be able to contain himself now that he has his gorgeous best friend on her knees for him and his friend calling her a slut. He keeps quiet. Before Fleur can process it, Colson is bending down and grabbing her jaw, making her whine. “You better.” Colson says calmly and then he slaps her cheek, not too hard but enough to make the slap echo through Luke’s bedroom. “Mouth open” he then instructs, Fleur obeying him. Before any of them can comprehend what he‘s trying to do, he has collected some saliva and he‘s spitting it right into Fleur‘s awaiting mouth. 

It‘s only when Luke whines quietly, being so fucking turned on it hurts, that both of his friends are reminded of his presence. Colson wants to speak for him, wants to tell the gorgeous woman with the braids in her hair to take Luke‘s cock into her mouth already when Luke speaks, his voice laced with neediness. “Will you take my cock into your mouth, babygirl? Be a good girl for us?” He swears he doesn’t think straight when his thumb reaches out and caresses the sore skin on her cheek that Colson slapped a minute prior. Fleur presses her thighs together to get some sort of friction because now she’s basically dripping down her legs. There’s something about Colson being rough with her, demanding and dominant, but Luke praising her and calling her babygirl and good girl. Maybe that’s just what she needs, someone pushing her limits and someone else reassuring her. Her best friend opens his fly, pushing his jeans down just a bit, she waits impatiently. He’s wearing briefs and Fleur can see the outline of his dick, painfully hard. “Give it a kiss, lovie.” Luke mumbles, playing with her hair. So that’s what she does, she kisses him through his boxers, her tongue wetting the fabric, licking over his head where she swears she can taste just a little bit of pre-cum. Fleur’s hands slowly pull Luke’s briefs down, cock springing free. He’s hard and heavy and he hisses when it hits the rather cold air. 

“Get naked.” Colson orders from the bed, palming himself through his pants, watching the scene unfold in front of his eyes. The woman wants to reach for the hem of her dress when Luke already pulls it off of her, careful as to not rip it. She pulls her drenched thong off of her legs and before she can stop herself, she throws it over on the bed, next to Colson’s head, a cheeky smile on her face. He grabs it immediately, an animalistic growl leaving his lips. “God you fucking whore… dripping for both our cocks?” He doesn’t expect an answer when he lies down on the bed, sniffing her panties. Fleur instead looks up to Luke, his skin red. His dick is about an inch away from her face, average in size but rather thick. The veins running up his shaft are downright sinful, not to mention his pretty pink head. She wraps her hand around it, her tongue licking over his balls, a quiet moan coming from Luke. She never thought she’d be in this position, on her knees for her best friend. Luke on the other hand fantasized about this many times before, preferably in the middle of the night, with his slicked up cock fucking in and out of his fist. 

She collects his pre-cum and lubes up his dick with it, slowly jerking him off while putting his balls in her mouth, swirling her tongue around them. Luke thinks she looks content, batting her eyelashes at him. So he moans, a devilish combination with her slurping sounds and her fingers moving around his wet cock. It’s so fucking hot, not just metaphorically. To Fleur it feels like the temperature has risen to around 100° Fahrenheit since Luke has entered the room, her hair slightly sweaty as the curly haired man carefully gathers it in his hands so it wouldn’t fall in her face and get in her way. She listens closely and hears Colson moaning quietly while she kisses the head of Luke’s cock. Trying not to think about her glistening pussy being on full display to Colson, she licks Luke’s pretty dick up and down, his body reacting immediately. He fists her hair tighter when she finally takes him in, her warm, wet mouth engulfing him… and Luke has a hard time not cumming on the spot, thinking about what her pussy would feel like if her mouth is already heaven on earth. A pornographic moan leaves his mouth and Kells can’t help but smile, excited for what this night has in store for him and the others. The gagging sounds coming from the beautiful girl kneeling on the floor, combined with her spitting on Luke’s cock every now and then make the rapper throb. She has him so fucking deep in her throat, Luke just has to pull her away after a few minutes and kiss her forehead, out of breath. Tears are streaming down her face while she sniffles and gives him the cutest smile someone could give after taking a dick down their throat. His stomach almost does back-flips from her simple gesture, his thumb wiping her tears away and a whisper leaving his mouth: “So good to me, baby… took me so well, I loved it.” He holds on for a second, thumb swiping over her bottom lip, her warm mouth allowing him in. “Think she deserves a reward, am I right Kells?”

His shy smile turns into a confident smirk as he watches Colson get up from his previous position and walk over to the two of them. Before Fleur can even register what is happening, he is kneeling down behind them, licking a stripe up her soaking pussy, all the way from her clit to her entrance, her legs almost giving up and making her drop to the ground but Luke catches her, holds her hair and presses his lips to hers. Fleur’s eyes are shut in pleasure, little mewls escaping her slightly opened mouth, going over right into Luke. Colson is gripping her hips so tight that she’s sure she will find his handprints on them later in the night when she’s all by herself again, eyeing herself in the massive bathroom mirror. His tongue softly presses against her clit, face buried between her legs as he gets a taste of her. Luke can see that his friend is hard behind her, boxers pulled down to his ankles. 

Colson’s fingers find her entrance after eating her out for a good five minutes and he slowly inserts one finger, examining her reaction as she throws her head back, mouth opening. He’s sitting down behind her, one hand slowly pleasuring her, other one pulling her back by her hair so she’s settling down on his lap. The younger man has a smirk on his lips as he sits down in front of his best friend and loosely wraps his hand around her throat, making her teary eyes look up at him. He kisses her softly before licking his thumb and slowly bringing it to her clit, earning a soft sigh from her. The combination from both Colson and Luke pleasuring her is too much for Fleur, nails digging into Luke’s shoulder, trying to hold on to something as her body shakes. “What a dirty fucking whore.” Colson mumbles in her ear, right as he lets go of her hair and slaps her rosy cheek. Once, twice.

In her hazy mind, she notices Colson’s fingers disappearing and Luke’s slowly rubbing over her clit, slowly sending her over the edge and making her let out a pornographic moan, legs shaking. It feels like heaven to her. “Yeah, let go baby… sound so pretty when you cum for us… such a good girl.” In her overstimulated mind she notices lips on her neck, kissing and nibbling on that sweet spot that leaves her legs shaking as she’s coming down from her high. Out of the corner of his eye, Luke sees Kells still stroking himself behind her, hand on her hip. “Mind if I have a taste?” He asks the older one, as if Fleur isn’t even present, as if she has no say in this… and it turns her on so much. “All yours, man,” Kells smirks and steps back a little, leaving enough room for the singer to get behind his best friend and trace his finger over her soft thighs. A shiver runs down her spine and she jerks away from him at first, the sensitivity of her first orgasm still washing over her. “Aw baby, know you’re so sensitive… but I’m dying to taste you, need to have you right now.” With that, Luke picks her up and gently throws her on the bed that Colson is already sitting on. He’s fully naked now and for a quick moment Luke checks out all his tattoos that seem like a second layer of skin. “Lu, please…” His best friend is slowly grinding against nothing, her pussy so fucking wet in front of him, she’s almost dripping onto his bedsheets. 

The sound of her breathy moans and pleas has his dick impossibly harder between his legs, throbbing for her… but she has to wait, cause Luke reaaally loves hearing her beg, he decides. “Please what?” He mocks her, slowly settling between her thighs, rubbing the inside of it. “N-need you.” A slap echoes through the room, before Colson speaks. “Speak up bitch, how is Luke supposed to know what you n-n-need when you can’t even form a proper sentence, huh?” His big hand rubs the slightly sore skin on her cheek and she swears she has never been more turned on in her entire life, Luke still kissing right next to where she needs him the most, teasing the shit out of her. “So fucking pathetic, you didn’t even get our cocks yet and you’re still fucking dripping for us…so cock drunk you can’t even speak properly.” Luke settles down on the bed finally, placing her legs over his shoulders before kissing the inside of her thigh again. His blue eyes look up at Fleur, tears of frustration in her eyes and it has him concerned for a teeny tiny bit until she reaches her breaking point and blurts out: “Lick me Lu, pleaaaase.” He dives in immediately, like a starved man eating his first meal in a long time, devours her pussy. His hands hold her legs open and his tongue laps up all her juices, while she’s fisting the duvet behind her, arching her back in the most sinful way. Everything feels so fucking good right now and when she looks for just a second she sees Luke grinding against his sheets while he sucks on her little bundle of nerves. On top of that, he fucking moans against her, the vibrations making her let out a loud scream.

She’s close already, can feel her second orgasm of the night creeping up somewhere deep inside of her. Absentmindedly, her hands tangle in Luke’s hair and give it a hard thug and she expected everything but the fucking whimper that came out of his mouth, telling her, without any words, to do it again and again and again… so she does, fisting his hair and rocking her hips against him while he sucks on her clit, so hard it has stars dancing in front of her eyes. “Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me.” He licks her through her orgasm, moaning loudly as well. He doesn’t stop until she’s whining, crying and shaking for him to stop. Kells is still sitting behind them, hand in Fleurs hair while he strokes himself lazily. 

She’s coming down slowly, breathing heavily and looking for the two men in the room with her. “How do you want us?” Kells asks, suddenly next to her. Fleur is dizzy, needy and aching to finally be filled. Trying to articulate a sentence, to let both of them know that they could do whatever the fuck they want to her as long as their hands don’t leave her sweaty hot skin, she fails miserably. The only thought prominent on her mind right now being her idol and her best friends using her body in downright filthy ways, at the same time, in whichever way they choose. Soft lips close in on her nipple, the sudden cold wetness a contrast to her hot skin. With her eyes slowly opening, Fleur notices Luke to her right, his fingers stroking his rock hard cock while Kells on her left side is desperately trying to draw her attention back to him by digging his hands into her side, grabbing her hard as he sucks on her most sensitive spot. 

“Poor baby, look fucked she is Luke.. maybe we should just leave. Think we’ve been super generous today, haven’t we? Two orgasms should be plenty.” His tone suggests that Colson does not plan on being anywhere near done with his new prized possession, Fleur however, in her fucked out state, does not seem too okay with the possibility of not getting what she was singing up for all along. “Nooo, please sir.” Her voice comes out raspy, an aftermath of swallowing down Luke’s dick not too long ago. A quiet “need more” follows right after, hands reaching out to Kells and Luke on either side of her. The two singers immediately make eye contact as a soft chuckle forms on the younger one's lips. “Aren’t you a little selfish, baby?” His usually honeysweet voice seems to be dripping with evil intentions. “You only take, take, take… look at Kells. Have you touched him at all tonight, huh? Bet he’s been dying to stuff you with his cock all night and you have just given him zero attention.” Knowing looks are being exchanged between the two males, as if they have done this sort of thing a million times before. “Honestly Luke, why am I even asking? Pretty sure Fleur is gonna be a good little slut for us and take us however we want her.” 

It’s dark in the room, however the rapper does not miss the shiver that runs through Fleur’s body at his words. He waits for a signal, anything to let him know he was wrong about his assumption and nothing follows except the quietest moan… he’s done for. Crashing his lips onto hers like it’s the last thing he would ever fucking do in his life, Colson takes control again, pressing Fleurs tiny body deeper into the mattress. The little whispers between the two men go unnoticed by her, so does Luke grabbing certain objects from his nightstand. “Look at me.” She watches Kells rip open a condom with his teeth before taking a first closer look at his massive dick resting between her thighs, the last bit of dominance that was still within her slowly withering away. What the fuck did she get herself into here? “I can’t wait to fuck that tight little pussy, ruin it for everyone but us.” “Next time you even think about going over to Matt’s house, I bet you’ll only be thinking about this. Will just get disappointed by everyone but us, will forever think about this-” Luke drags the last word out with his hands around her throat. Him bringing up the hookup with one of their mutual friends stings and she is about to say something before catching herself again. She is at their mercy and scolding her best friend right now when he has been nothing but an angel to her all night does not seem fair to her, not even in the headspace she is in right now. 

Not with the stickiness of her two previous orgasms and her momenteral arousal slicking up her thighs and sore entrance. Contracting her pussy around the cool air in Luke’s room, she would not dare disobey any of them right now, just needing to be filled. Having waited so long for the past hour, she closes her eyes in anticipation, goosebumps decorating her brown skin. “Babydoll, look at daddy when he stuffs you with his cock,” Luke whispers, hand slowly stroking his dick and watching the scenario in front of him play out. His other hand holds Fleurs head up, wrapped around her throat so the woman can easily watch as the second man in the room pushes forward, engulfing himself in her wet heat. 

The moan that leaves her lips is straight-up pornographic- loud, needy and echoing around the room. So erotic that Kells loses himself in it, the sound going straight to his aching dick that is being gripped by Fleurs tight cunt like a viper grabs her victim. Ready to devour him and so deliciously full of him, none of them notice they are holding their breath until he breathes out “Holy shit, god. You feel so fucking tight.” Gushing around him it’s like he can feel her heartbeat even through the condom as he gives his first thrust deep into her. “That’s it, baby. Taking him so well,” Luke whispers into her ear, simultaneously wiping the tears that run down her cheek away. Fleur feels so positively full with Kells’ head bumping directly into her cervix and giving her that sweet sting she knew she’d feel as soon as she laid eyes on him. She can’t control the tears of pleasure that stream from her eyes as he sets a brutal pace while Luke holds her fragile body in place. It feels as if there are hands all over her body, touching her, feeling her, pleasuring her. 

She’s floating somewhere up there, she’s sure of it as Colson suddenly stills all the way inside of her to catch his breath, dick throbbing. Her legs wrapped around his waist shake, pulling him in closer. She doesn’t mean to, never ever, but with everything going on right in front of her she doesn’t realize Luke leaves his spot. Doesn’t realize he hands Colson the bottle of lube, who slowly pulls out of her. “Ride me, angel.” Luke demands from next to her, laying down on his mattress. “Yes sir.” Fleur replies, just needing that feeling of being full again. Her entire body aches from the previous orgasms, her thighs burning as she swings her leg over Luke’s muscular thighs, straddling him quickly. “Keep calling me sir and we might just fill up that pretty little pussy, darling.” An involuntary moan slips past her lips at the thought, her wet lips slowly sliding over Luke’s erection that pressed up against his stomach. He hisses and throws his head back the same moment Kells gathers Fleurs hair in a makeshift ponytail and pulls on it- enough to make it sting and inevitably enough to get her attention. “You better stop teasing right fucking now and sit on his dick, do you understand me?” 

Luke’s hands dig into her hips, making sure to leave marks that will be visible to anyone that tries to touch their little brat for the next few days. The thought makes his heart race, both in anticipation and anxiety… remains of him, her best fucking friend, and Colson being on her body as another guy enjoys her the way they are doing right now. All his senses are on high alert, skin feeling on fire as Fleur positions him against her entrance and slowly sinks down on his cock, juices coating him and pooling around his base. In his fucked out state he just now realizes he never thought of grabbing a condom and he wants to say something, it’s a thought slowly making its way from the back of his mind to the front, threatening to spill past his lips until- 

“Fuck Luke…” It’s not the pet name she’s been using all night, it’s not for Kells’ enjoyment, it’s only meant for him as his dick pulses inside of her wet, warm cunt. His best friend gasps, hands tangling in the singers damp curls and it feels like heaven to him, so snug around him he can feel her fucking heartbeat against his dick. “M-Move, flower.” Colsons lips capture hers as she slowly starts moving, making sure to go all the way up until he almost slips out, teasing him, before sliding back down on his thick erection. All those years of them being friends and she just now asks herself why the hell they haven’t done this sooner? When he looks so ethereal below her. The curls, the full, plump lips of his, everything about him screaming angelic. Whereas the man next to her with his fully tattooed body and mean demeanor gets her off just the same, his hand now grabbing her neck as he settles in behind her. The pace she settles for is slow, almost torture for the blonde on the bottom who just feels like he needs more. More of her wetness coating his dick, more of the moans she tries to stifle everytime he’s deep inside her. The good friend act, the fucking soft act he’s kept up all evening is wearing thin but what finally pushes him over the edge is when she chuckles, almost fucking laughs at him shuddering when she lets his dick almost slip out and the cool air hits his sensitive tip. 

Her face is buried in his neck, not being able to read his facial expression. Colson however grins to himself, visibly noticing Luke’s whole demeanor change. In one swift motion, Luke pulls Fleur down until she’s flush against him, his dick pressing hard against her cervix. A loud moan echoes through the room, thighs trembling against him. She tries to move away from him, her best friend being too fucking deep inside of her but both Luke and Colson are keeping her in place. “I’ve fucking had it with you. If you wanna act like a brat I will fuck you like one.” “You’re too nice for that.” And she almost instantly regrets it the moment the six words leave her mouth. Based on the expression on Luke’s face she knew he wasn’t playing from the beginning but now she’s really in for it and she’s almost positive Colson and Luke will both ensure she afeels pleasure like she’s never felt it before. 

“See, babygirl. We were gonna be nice, you know…” Luke’s voice is dangerously calm and it has her on edge. She opens her mouth to say something but just the shake of his head makes her decide against it. And suddenly she hates how obedient she is in his lap, dick still filling her to the brim. He sits up, face now inches away from hers and she can make out his darkened eyes. You could hear a pin drop in the room right now, the atmosphere tense. One sound, a cap being popped open behind her makes her aware of the other person in the room being much closer than she thought he was, wanting to turn around but Luke captures her face with his right hand. “Eyes on me.” A whine builds up in her throat, her hips slowly grinding against him because it’s painful how wet and desperate she is at this point. She wishes Luke would just fuck her, do something, anything and she wishes Colson would let her suck his dick while Luke pounds into her. “We were gonna be nice and take you one at a time. Didn’t want you to feel overwhelmed… but baby, tell me. What’s the point of having two dicks in the same room as you if you don’t have both of them inside of you at the same time?”

It’s like her heart skips a beat as her mind drifts to places she’s never explored before. She wants to tell him no, that’s too much. She could barely handle Colson abusing her little pussy, how was she supposed to take both of them at the same time? But Fleur looks at Luke and behind his hard expression his eyes soften a little. He’s her best friend who has known her for years. Why would he do anything to her he knew she couldn’t handle? Luke’s got some dark thoughts that he plans on executing within the next hour but he’s not a monster, far from it actually. Meanwhile Colson settles in behind her, softly kissing her neck all the way from her ear down to her shoulders as his hot breath fans over her skin. His tattooed arm wraps around her and grabs her left boob, teeth slightly sinking into her collarbone. If it wasn’t for this short distraction she surely would have noticed his head nudging her hole, about to press in, right next to Luke’s dick already inside of her. He hisses next to her ear, a guttural groan following immediately after once he pushes in, her pussy impossibly tighter this time. “O-oh my ffuuu-“ It dies in her throat, not that she could have said more anyways as Luke pulls his best friend down, kissing her passionately and pulling her flush against his chest so it’s easier for Colson to reach deeper.

He’s nestled right in there, stilling for a second before Luke pushes up, hands holding Fleur in place by her ass so he can move alongside his new, tall friend. “Holy fucking shit, that feels good,” Kells breathes out quietly. “Isn’t that little pussy squeezing us so tight, Luke?” He sounds completely fucked, his head pressing right against that spot that has their girl of the night seeing stars. She can’t think straight, pain and pleasure overtaking every other sensation she could be feeling that very moment. But Luke is holding her so tight and whispering sweet nothings in her ear, kissing her head and pushing her hair to the side so it would not interfere with her breathing. “Best one I ever had, Kells. Such a good little whore for us, aren’t you baby?” It’s more like a rhetorical question since he knows his best friend is too far gone to answer with anything but a lewd moan anyways. One hand presses down on her stomach, almost making her cum right then and there. They establish a diabolic rhythm, one of them pulling back while the other drives themselves deeper and deeper into her dripping cunt over and over again. It’s excruciating and Fleur feels like she’s on fire, her orgasm building and building as she’s being fucked at a slow pace but with determination from both of them. It’s like their hands are all over her and she probably couldn’t tell which ones belong to who, just that someone feels her shake and sob against the younger ones chest and decides to rub the swollen bud between her legs, dripping wet. Right where she wanted it the most this entire time. “Gonna cum on our cocks, huh? Doesn’t it feel so fucking good to actually be properly fucked?” It’s like Luke can’t control what he says, his best friends pussy and Colson rubbing against him making it way harder not to cum on the spot. But he needs to hold on, desperately needs to see the look on her face when she cums first. “Y-yes sir.. yes daddy.. please please l-let me.” Fleur whimpers, so fucking close and just waiting for their permission to tip right over the edge. A harsh smack being delivered to her left asscheek by Colson is exactly what does it in combination with their dicks hitting her cervix once again, his thumb still rubbing circles over her and Luke stilling inside of her, digging her nails into her waist. 

Her pussy pulsing and squeezing him is almost enough for him to shoot his load into her, and a lot of it. Calming himself down, he breathes in and out heavily, trying so hard not to think about the way her eyes squeeze shut and- wetness coating his thighs? A dark chuckle follows from behind, followed by Colson pulling out of her slowly, his dick still rock hard. “Did you just fucking squirt on us baby? Made a proper mess on Luke’s damn bed, didn’t you?” Luke lifts her up gently, sliding out of her- much to her dismay which she lets him know with a quiet whine, suddenly feeling so empty. “I’m sorry bro, but I need to taste her.. am dying to stuff my face in that cunt and taste how fucking sweet she is.” Colson lets them know, more directed at Luke than Fleur. “No, I c-can’t… sens-sensitive.” She tries to argue but to no avail, Colson’s mind is made up. “Shhh princess, Kells just wants a little taste.” He turns her around on him, her backside now against his chest while the rapper kneels down between both their legs. The moment his tongue comes in contact with her clit she’s thrashing around on top of him, trying to get away from the tall man who has his face buried in her pussy, lapping up her juices. Luke holds her in place, kisses her head and inhales the scent of her freshly washed hair while watching the scenario in front of him unfold. While he is glad for this little distraction to recover for a minute or two, his dick is still painfully hard and throbbing, Fleurs ass moving against it not making it much better. 

Stars dance in front of her eyes as the woman tries to control her breathing, too overwhelmed with Colson sucking and moaning against her. “If you don’t stop fucking moving, Luke and I will coax another five orgasms out of you, I don’t give a damn if that means we’ll be here all fucking night.” His tone is mean, demanding and almost threatening. “If I wanna taste our pussy, you will let me.” With that he is back to devouring her, nails digging into her soft thighs and leaving marks behind. What scares her the most is not another orgasm, it’s the fact that the orgasm is being delivered by no one other than her favorite singer who already made her explode on his dick before. And if she does that again in his face, she might as well just dig her own grave. Little does Fleur know that is just what he has been trying to achieve all along, fingers slipping inside of her and expertly finding her sweet spot. Her soft cries of overstimulation mix with the wet slurping sounds of his mouth, sucking and licking all over her. “Can feel you squeezing my finger, you wanna make a mess all over daddy again?” He speaks, breath fanning over her oh so sensitive clit. “N-no Ke-Kells, I-” Instantly a quick slap is being delivered to her thigh, the sting traveling up to her already sensitive pussy. “That’s not my name. Try again.” And she is so close, the muscles in her lower abdomen contracting as she grinds against Kells’ face, just wanting that one final push that he delivers with his mouth closing around her most sensitive area and his ring- and middle finger curling inside her. “Daddy!” It hits Fleur like a train, ears ringing, muscles spasming and liquid gushing out of her once again. Over the bed, over his fingers, over Luke, over Kells’ face. Helping her ride out her orgasm, the older man of the two kisses her thighs softly, rubbing the rest of her arousal all over pussy

“I know you’re so sensitive right now baby, I get it. But I think Kells and I really really wanna fill you up. Gonna let us use that pretty cunt one last time? Been dying to cum in you.” Hazy eyes stare up at him and even though it feels hard for her to move, four orgasms really taking a toll on the poor girl, she nods. That’s what she has been fantasizing about all night, since Luke walked into the room to discard his wine stained shirt, leaving all his girls and the few girls lusting over him out in his living room. “Need to hear you say it, lovie.” He’s gentle this time. His tip, covered in precum, nudging against her opening and just waiting for her verbal confirmation. “Need you Lu… need you Kells.” It’s barely a whisper but Luke lets it slide, coating himself in her arousal once more before pushing in from below her, Fleurs back still against his chest.

Kells wraps his hand around her neck, gently now, making her watch his long, hard dick sliding into her for the last time that night. He comes to think that she looks so tiny like this, sandwiched between the two skinny 6’3 tall men, the thought alone bringing him close to filling her up like he’s been wanting to for hours. It does not help that he can see their outlines, a slight bulge in her lower belly from the two cocks stretching her out. He thinks he’s done for, losing the rhythm he settled in with Luke, breathing quickening. “Gonna fuck that cum so deep into you.” He growls, tightening his hold on her neck. Fleur tries to reply, tries to focus on the pleasure of him still being inside of her but nothing is working anymore. Everything hurts in a good way and she knows that there is no way she’s going back out to that party later. She knows that this time they really can’t force another orgasm out of her fragile body, not that she needs it. Fleur just needs to feel their cum inside of her, dripping out of her, the soreness for the next few days, all of it. Even Luke is barely holding on by a thread, stilling inside of her and just letting his coworker push in past him, rubbing so deliciously against both of them. “Holy shit. Gonna put our babies inside of you, baby, yeah? You want that?” Luke has no idea what came over him but it seems to be affecting her when she clenches around them and lets out a pornographic moan.

Luke cums first, having edged himself all night, and coats her walls with spurts of cum, seemingly never ending. The whine that leaves his mouth is downright sinful and so so hot to her ears as it mixes with Colsons sounds of pleasure. “Fuck fuck fuck” He breathes out loudly, releasing right after and burying himself in her to the hilt. Thick ribbons of cum fill up her vagina, an evidence of both of them actually being there… an evidence that she actually just fucked her idol and best friend at the same time. For a short period of time she registers nothing until a warm, wet cloth brings her back to reality, both of them kneeling down between her thighs and staring at her with a worried expression. “There you are love… did so well for us. Took us like a champ, we’re so proud of you.” Luke presses a soft kiss to her nose as the other man wipes off the residue of them from her thighs. “Gonna kick everyone out,” he mumbles, more to Kells than to her. “You staying with her?” It’s supposed to be a question but the way he words it leaves no option for no.

The second Luke puts on his pants and a fresh shirt, Colson pulls the blanket over her naked frame, letting her cuddle into his side. 

“Sleep. We’ll be there when you wake up.” 

[roosterm3attrash]

101 ways to kill Barney Calhoun

I ended up making this list by going through multiple servers and people so here cuz I found it in my phone notes

Anyway the brilliant minds of the half-life fandom

1.) Waited pressure plate with tnt under it

2.) im going to leave mines under his mattress

3.) i’m setting a rake on his floor so he steps on it and whacks his face

4.) I'm giving him a bomb disguised as a cigar

5.) barney death 3: he ate what elvis presley ate….

6.) I would kill Barney Calhoun by slapping him so hard on the ass that it gives him cardiac arrest

7.) I drop him onto a pit of venomous snakes

8.) Im going to give Barney a beer but instead of beer it will be filled with deadly neurotoxin

9.) “now gordon, ive been keepin an eye out on this combine hideout for a while. they seem to walk in a certain pattern when crossing over to the entrance, which makes me think theyve buried mines all over the place. now, ive memorized the pattern, so im just gonna sneak on over, and you follow my lead, alright? dont worry, i know exactly where all the mines are.” and then he explodes

10.) that one episode of sponge bob where he eats the exploding pie and explodes

11.) set up tripwire then he falls into a tiger pit

12.) I type kill npc_barney into console

13.) slap the boobies off his chest so hard them fly around the world and hit the side of his head like water balloons

14.) i could marry him and slowly feed him mercury over a span for 3 years until he dies of mercury poisoning

15.) He tries to become a wwe wrestler but gets killed in a freak accident mid match

16.) I would kill him by making him a pizza but it’s covered in big chunks of lead but it’s hidden in the sauce and it’s a Chicago style pizza

17.) bring him to a highway and kiss him so hard he gets knocked onto the road and gets ran over

18.) Peeling him apart by the dna strand and eating it like spaghetti

19.) barney gets trampled by a stampede of horses

20.) giving him under the counter off brand viagra

21.) put him in a washing machine and turn it on

22.) shark attack

23.) pit of sharks

24.) barney gets criticized so badly he dies

25.) barney sits in an uncomfortable chair for too long

26.) He gets his arm caught in a bear trap w a beer used as a lure

27.) HE BECOMES THE CAT THAT TRAUMATIZED HIM. HE….YKNOW…..

28.) he gets stuck in a swimming pool like hes in the sims and dies from getting exhausted and drowning

29.) barney roasting marshmallows but his stick ignites into flames and he burns to death

30.) ATTACH SO MANY BALLOONS TO BARNEY HE FLOATS AWAY INTO THE SKY NEVER TO BE SEEN AGAIN

31.) barney gets rejected by gordon and he gets so sad his body shuts down

32.) I kiss him so tenderly on the lips that he melts into a puddle and dies

33.) i throw him in to a volcano so that he melt into a puddle and dies

34.) "I’ll turn him into a flea, a harmless, little flea, and then I’ll put that flea in a box, and then I’ll put that box inside of another box, and then I’ll mail that box to myself, and when it arrives…I’ll smash it with a hammer!"

35.) stick a bottle of beer into his throat, the whole bottle

36.) give Barney Calhoun a beer can full of poison

37.) hang a piano over the toilet and wait

38.) i think barney should have his spine ripped out through his mouth

39.) he goes to a bar and tries flirting with the bartender and the bartender takes out a shotgun and kills him on the spot

40.) punch him so hard in the penis that he shatters like a brittle glass

41.) bite him in half

42.) I'm grinding him in a giant shredder

43.) bro took a bath in hot mac 'n cheese

44.) i put him ina giant caldron full of water and i begin boiling him down to gelatin and broth

45.) barney accompanies the crew to the borealis and he steps over thin ice and gets dunked into the below zero water and freezes to death

46.) barney calhoun gets carried away by a tornado

47.) took barney on a vacation to Hawai’i and pushed him into a volcano

48.) He dies and he's never mentioned again and nobody cares

49.) died of tummy ache

50.) Stepped on by a strider

51.) shrinked until he disappeared completely

52.) blasted into the sun

53.) Stab him with 300 pencils made with real lead

54.) slip and falls and dies

55.) put him into a Minecraft furnace

56.) Barney ignores the wet floor sign and slips and cracks his head

57.) while swimming in the swimming pool he swims to fast and smashes his face against the pool's wall

58.) he gets a concussion and drowns

59.) i want to put him through a lunchmeat slicer

60.) He falls off a dumb huge cliff

61.) he lives his life to the fullest and at his deathbed at age 93, June 29th, 6:12 am he passes away

62.) he eats a burgie with too much grease and gets a heart attack

63.) testicular cancer

64.) He should get sucked into a fan while trying to fix it at Black Mesa and literally no one comes looking for him

65.) The Pita Bread Room

66.) slipped on a Banana peel

67.) ran over by a crap ton of shopping carts rolling down the hill

68.) barney overheats in a fursuit

69.) he has sex so bad that he dies

70.) Barney dies because i fucking kill him with a shovel 🖕

71.) barney eats the gas station sushi

72.) barney faints via twirling around and holding his hand in front of his forehead, and then slowly lying down with a flower in his hands to indicate death

73.) When they turn off the suppression fields he just blows up

74.) barney gets crushed by a giant boulder thats all i got son

75.) barney goes to the beach that makes you old

76.) His head spontaneously combusts and pops like corn

77.) erectile dysfunction

78.) we should also have him get carbon monoxide poisoning

79.) barney gets gaussian blurred into nothingness

80.) he eats 20 year old expired mcdonalds burger and contracts the worst case of food poisoning youve ever seen

81.) Have we done tying him to a train track like a damsel

82.) he dies in a glue trap

83.) barney develops lactose intolerance over the years of combine occupation and he drink milk and then dies from shitting hinself to death

84.) he should chocke on his favourite food

85.) barney gets lead poisoning from a 1990s garfield glass mug

86.) he chokes on plastic

87.) barney gets thrown throw a glass window from a 15 story building

88.) gordon gives barney a wedgie so bad that he splits in half and dies

89.) gordon and barney divorce and barney dies from heartbreak

90.) alyx and gordon have enough of barney’s snoring so they smother him in his sleep with a pillow

91.) he trips while walking with gordon and impales himself on gordons crowbar face

92.) if he were the size of an ant he'd be ok instead he blows up like a watermelon and his remains are fed to lamarr by a very delighted kleiner. he fucking hated barney

93.) dog roughhouses with barney and accidentally obliterates his spinal cord

94.) barney gets poisoned to death by his own chumtoad

95.) coats him in eggs and flour and fries him

96.) snatched by a hawk and eten alive

97.) barney gets to participate in a danganronpa killing game and gets executed

98.) barney opens the love-letter-for-you.txt.vbs file and it kills him

99.) elaborate rube goldberg machine to drop an anvil on barney

100.) barney dies in an Iron Maiden

101.) we should put barney under those old timey stone tablets meant to squish and torture people and make them talk

[keep-on-burnin]

this short little piece was requested by my lovely friends, you know who you are😇 enjoy some drunk and lovey bob<3 also unedited cause I’m lazy ;)

the only sounds in the house were the washing machine rumbling quietly in the background and an old record you’d thrown on. You sat lounging on the couch of your living room, book in hand and half empty wine glass on the table. A stupid rom-com that you weren’t too interested in played on mute across your TV screen. The sun had already set and the sky was now filled with stars. A cool breeze from the ocean blew into your little home through a slightly cracked open window, gifting a pleasant scent of salt water.

You didn’t get much alone time nowadays. All the hustle and bustle that comes along with being a US Naval Aviator rarely let up, and when it did, you’d usually be enjoying a few pints and a round of pool at the Hard Deck with your fellow officers. Tonight though, you’d decided to let Bob go off on his own in favour of finishing a couple loads of laundry and a bottle of wine.

It was nice every once in a while to have time alone with yourself to catch up on all the missed self-care. Bob was always good at reminding you to take care of yourself, though he was kind of a hypocrite.

Tonight was yours to unwind and his to let loose. He was always the one to stay sober at the Hard Deck, politely declining every beer in favour of a glass of water to ensure that both of you and your friends had a way of getting home safe. He was ever the gentleman. Before he left though, you had told him to go have fun and if he needed you would pick him up when he was ready. So, it was quite the surprise to hear the crunching of gravel in your driveway and the sight of old yellow headlights beaming through your open window.

You heard faint slurred sentences of, “I can walk by myself,” obviously Bob, and “You’re plastered, Robert” which could be non other than Rooster.

You could only assume that Bradley was the designated driver tonight, poor soul. You’d had your fair share of DD nights and taking care of drunk aviators was not easy, especially a light-weight like sweet Bobby.

The sound of your front door flying open and a muttered “shit” could be heard from the entry way. You thought about getting up to help your boyfriend, but ultimately decided to sit back and enjoy the show. In your defense, you never got to see Bob drunk, like, ever. Once he passed through the threshold into your softly lit living room you realized just how drunk he really was. His normally gelled back and neat hair was askew, his cobalt eyes drooping, and his signature tipsy smirk was sitting on his lips.

He leans, a little ungracefully, against the doorway.

“Honey, I’m home!” He chirps, that stupid smirk growing wider.

Shaking your head and huffing out a laugh, you slide your bookmark into place and set your paperback next to your now empty wine glass.

“How was your night?” You ask, already full well knowing it must’ve been great.

Bob doesn’t move from his spot against the door frame, he just looks at you and smiles. That fucking smile that makes you weak in the knees. Thank god you’re sitting on the couch or you probably would’ve fallen face first into the carpet, but despite that, you rise to your feet and make your way over to him. Once you’re standing close enough, Bob practically throws all of his body weight on you, making you stumble back a couple steps. You laugh heartily as you let him nuzzle your neck and leave kisses along your skin.

“Night was good. I missed you though.” He confesses, breathing in the subtle scent of your perfume and sighing out once you begin to comb your fingers through his soft hair.

Moments like these were your favourite. Just you and Bob in your own little world, loving each other, holding each other. It was true bliss.

After a few minutes, Bob pulls his face away from your neck and smiles a lopsided, lovesick grin at you. Oh yeah, he’s hammered.

“How much did you drink?” You ask with a giggle, moving your hand down from his hair to the side of his face.

“Too much tequila.” He all but whispers, not wanting to speak too loudly in fear that this moment between you two would end. His soft eyes bore into yours, and now your sporting the same lovesick smile he is. Bob begins to sway back and forth slowly to the new song on the record. Of course it’s a classic love song from the 50’s that he knows by heart, so he sings it to you. It’s romantic, slurred words and all.

It truly feels like a movie. You and Bob dancing under the soft yellow light of the living room, one of you tipsy from wine, the other one plastered from tequila and cheap beer and both smiling like idiots in love.

The silence was nice and comfortable, until Bob said something you’d never thought would come out of his mouth, especially in this state.

“Will you marry me?”

“What?” You ask back in disbelief, chuckling at the very sudden question.

Bob would normally recoil while his pretty face flushed with a dark pink, but drunk Bob is a different breed. He just smiles wider, if that’s even possible, before continuing,

“I love you so much honey, and I wanna love you everyday for the rest of my life.”

The confession surprises you to say the least, but you know that drunk words are sober thoughts, you also know that sober Bob has probably been stressing about that question since the day he met you. So of course, with a teary eyed smile you answer his question by saying,

“Ask me again when you’re sober” and you sealed the deal with a kiss.

[hannahssimblr]

The road towards home is long and dark. The streetlights taper off after ten minutes, and as we reach the major stretch of road toward the beach, the only light is from passing cars and the faint glow of cats’ eyes under the moon's light. But the stars are out, clear and bright and spectacular. 

Evie and I have stopped saying things to each other. Initially, she was apologising for being too heavy, for borrowing my hoodie, for imposing and being an inconvenience in all the ways she could think of, but she was wrong. She’s a perfectly lovely passenger, whether she likes it or not.  

But it is quiet now, and I can’t think of anything acceptable to say to her. Perhaps it’s that the journey home is long, and with the extra weight, I am concentrating on keeping the bike balanced and upright. Maybe I am awkward and have forgotten how to converse with girls. Or maybe the comfortable silence feels more courteous to the sleeping countryside. 

About halfway through our journey, a silhouette rises, inky black against the deep blue sky, from behind a thicket of trees lining the road. A church. Several times in summers passed, I cycled as far as it, just to have something to do. 

Years ago, when my parents first bought the beach house, it was a community hall, then it was a meeting place for model railway enthusiasts. I used to watch them through the windows, waiting for them to notice me so I could say whatever rude thing I had saved up and run away, weaving through the crooked gravestones before they could catch me. 

It’s abandoned now, though nobody ever bothered to bolt up the door. I’ve been visiting on and off throughout my summers, sometimes just reading the graves, sketching, and poking around with the vague hope that I might find something interesting like a mummified skeleton or a book full of ancient secrets. 

Last year I brought Michelle, and she decided to give me an awkward blowjob in the pew. She didn’t want to kneel on the floor among the broken glass and discarded beer bottles so she sort of hovered over me in a frog pose, then had to stop because her thighs were cramping and she realised she was overcome with an unshakeable sense that God was judging her. She’s not even Christian. For me, it was the opposite, and I felt more like I was having something related to a religious experience, but I understood her point of view. 

There is something very Catholic about Evie Kilbride. I suspect she’ll like the inside of this church. Any church. Aren’t they known to enjoy ecclesiastical sites?  

“Do you want to see something?”

“Yeah.”

I turn my bike down a rocky path where all residual light vanishes, and the darkness envelops us. It’s more overgrown than it’s ever been, with twigs and branches lightly whipping against my arms and legs. When I skid to a halt thatch of nettles sting my ankle. I swear under my breath and rest my hands against the churchyard wall. I know that my eyes will adjust to the darkness, but I’m having a hard time seeing even what is one metre in front of my face.

I ask Evie to hand me my Nokia, and she snickers as she pulls it out of my hoodie pocket. “Nice phone. Is it the new Blackberry?” 

It’s heavy and solid like a brick. “Ha ha. Can your Blackberry do this?” I find the right button and light blasts from the torch at the top of it. It’s a highly embarrassing piece of technology, the kind of gadget that someone like Liam would carry unironically, but it’s the only phone that has ever made sense for me to have. It doesn’t break no matter what I do to it. I have dropped it, kicked it, and left it out in the rain. Last week it survived a spin in the washing machine.

The light glances the jagged cap of the wall. It’s mossier and more dilapidated than last year. Nevertheless, it looks sturdy enough to hold me. With my phone in my mouth, I take a running jump at the wall, my hands finding purchase with ease. I remember when I was smaller, and this was so hard. All of those years ago when I was… I shine the light down at Evie, waiting expectantly at the bottom. 

…About her height. 

Once I have scanned the other side of the wall for any shopping trolleys or bits of rock that might complicate our landing, I turn back to find her struggling up the side of the wall. 

“Give me your hands.” I place the phone down and haul her up. She’s light, I knew that already, but she is nimble too. With a fluid swing of one long leg over the wall she sits facing me for a beat. Two. 

She drops my hands.

My torch surveys the other side one last time before I determine it's safe enough to leap off. I land with a soft thud on the overgrown grass, then reach for her again. 

“It’s too high.”

“I’ve got you.”

Slowly, she scoots to the edge of the wall and cautiously turns around to ease herself down the side. One foot scrapes along the side and I grab her immediately, my hands firm on her waist as I lower her to the ground. 

She’s breathing quite hard. 

“Are you alright?”

“Yes.”

“If you want to go home, I can take you home.”

“No, I want to stay.”

“Alright.”

My phone light shines onto the uneven ground, the mounds of grass, some flattened by footfall, some over grave sites, while the headstones jut from the earth in broken clusters. 

“Where are we?” she says. A snarl of blackberry briars tugs on my sock, and a rain beaten cider can in the middle crunches underfoot. 

“Oh, we’re in a graveyard.”

“Yeah. This way.”

I lead her to the church doors, which rattle as she reaches out and lays her hands flat against them. With her mouth agape, she stares up toward the steeple. 

“A church,” she breathes. “An abandoned church.”

God, she’s weird. 

“Can I show you what’s inside?”

“Is it safe?”

I shrug. “Yeah.”

The door is stiff as I push on it and it creaks open with the scrape of dried leaves against the tiles. The torch sends a beam of light down the aisle, punctuated with litter and debris. As she walks, I guide her gently away from any pieces of the broken window that have splintered on the floor.  

“There, look,” I say, and point the torch at the stained glass window above the altar. Remarkably, it is still intact, even when most else inside the church has been so thoroughly vandalised. “This is what I wanted you to see.”

She steps closer and stares at it for a long time. It’s a nice window, that much is objective. I have always liked the style of the religious figures. The woman, an angel, I think, with her long, languid shapes, has hands that meet in prayer as her long neck lolls to the side. A male figure kneels at her feet, a crystalline tear on his cheek as he weeps. About what I don’t know, it’s a scene I’d find in the Bible. maybe, if I ever became a person compelled to read it. Its appeal isn’t in its meaning so much as it is in its style. How gothic it is. The level of intricacy. 

“It’s incredible,” Evie says. 

“Yeah, I thought you’d like to see it.”

Her eyes dance with intrigue as moonlight shimmers through the glass and throws abstract colour over her face. “Thanks for showing me.”

“A bit emo, isn’t it? They both look so sad.”

When I glance at her, she's looking right back.

I want to kiss her. 

My eyes run all over her face, and my heart picks up in my chest. “Do you believe in ghosts?” 

“I d-”

I switch off the torchlight.

She shrieks, and just like that; I have successfully destroyed the moment. In the rafters above, a cauldron of bats comes to life, flapping and squeaking as Evie gasps, “Jude! Don’t do that!”

“Sorry! Are you scared?” I reach for her through the dark, finding her wrists, her pulse jumping under the skin. “I’ve got you, you’re fine.”

“That was mean,” she whimpers, and I feel bad. Usually, things like this are funny, and everyone thinks so, but I didn’t really take the time to consider how the outcome might be different in a church with a haunted ambience.

“It was, I’m sorry.” I switch the light back on and point it towards the ceiling so that she can see the bats retreating, and that none of them, in fact, are coming to bite her. 

She slips free of my grip and smoothes down her hair. “I could almost feel them clawing at my head.”

“They wouldn’t.”

“They might.”

Another shudder rips through her. “let’s get out of here. I can’t stand the thought of them coming back down and… getting me, or whatever.”

With a swift turn, she marches toward the door while I follow behind, sheepish, and more convinced than ever that something is indescribably wrong with me.

Beginning // Prev // Next

Corresponding LG Chapter [2]

[octuscle]

hey man, just saw your story about the guy getting long hair and a bit of muscle. wont lie, thats the absolute dream, Im also already starting to lose my hair at 22 and would love to have longer hair again. I'm also way too into growth curses right now. Maybe I should take a trip to the hair dresser, think he could give me an embarrassing cursed mullet that just keeps making me get bigger and smellier until im a freaky bodybuilder?

"Strengthens the hair roots, strengthens your body". What a stupid slogan. And the design of the cheap-looking bottle was probably created by an intern who was fired immediately afterwards. What's more, the hair tonic smells like the locker room of a high school football team. That's the only good thing about the stuff. You massage it into your thinning hair. And feel reminded of times long gone. Shit, it was hot jerking off with the other boys. You get a hard-on… Somehow you were expecting a miracle with your hair. But nothing happens. Well, if you already stink of the sweat of pubescent boys, you might as well go training.

Yes, the training was better than usual. More weight on the barbells. More repetitions. But you're also sweating a lot more than usual. And when you change your clothes after training, you can see your armpits. Shit! What a bush! The smell of musk is breathtaking. On the way to the shower, you change your mind. You put your clothes back on from training and put on a sweat jacket. And you go to the pub on the corner. There's a boxing match on TV. Quite a few of the guests look like they've been boxing themselves. It smells of beer, tobacco, sweat and frying fat. You stroke your hair. It feels fuller than usual…

When you wake up in your student digs the next morning, something is different. Posters of 80s bodybuilders on the walls. Pull-up bar on the wall. Sandbag from the ceiling. You take a deep breath from your armpit. And reach for the dumbbells. Fuck, you're a machine. Eat, work out, eat, work out, eat, sleep… Sometimes showering. Sometimes washing your hair.

"Strengthens the hair roots, strengthens the body". A shitty slogan . But it's your first sponsor. And the product suits you.