#black bin liner.

[fandomwritingbit]

I feel like if William found out that one of the cute, kind, unassuming girls that works for him was also serial killer he would definitely get horny about it. And of course when he implies to her she knows she's like "Take's one to one, Mr. Afton~" They would both just sooo messed up and fuck about it I think

Hello! Sorry this took so long, I wasn't planning to publish this 'til next month but a sudden urge to finish it struck me and here it is!

Serial killer William Afton x (afab)serial killer reader

warnings: murder, somewhat glorified, reader and William are both fucked up

It’s been 6 months since you started at the diner and by now you were more than well acquainted with your role. It came relatively naturally to you this whole customer service thing, your brightly coloured scrunchies bobbing as you kept patrons happy and balanced everything that needed doing by the end of your shift. To cut it short, you were absolutely thriving. Your bosses liked you, so much so that you’ve had your first raise already, it was all going just swimmingly. It’s just the perfect job, no one would ever think anything bad of you here, you’re just too damn cute, too damn charming. It’s really an excellent cover. 

The diner gave you more than just cover though. You've learnt some very helpful skills over these months, like what the best chemicals for cleaning are, how to remove even the most stubborn of stains and how to dispose of the things that just couldn’t be cleaned. 

At the back of the restaurant for example. Like most eateries has huge skips, always full of the week’s waste and secluded enough to offer a window of opportunity. It was very easy to get in as you had a key, that and the knowledge that your cheap-arsed employers didn’t install cctv there, and so of course you put the window of opportunity to use. Several nights of fun easily hidden from prying eyes in black bin-liners and blending in with the rest. How could it be that easy?

But, what you hadn’t considered was that perhaps you weren’t the only one using such a perfect place. 

~

He stumbled through the door like a drunkard, the high of his activity so delicious, it made his fingers tingle and a cold electric colour tint his vision. He props the doors open with a brick,  reaching into the diner to grab what he needed to get rid of, his shoes slipping in the red slick dripping from his form. God, it’s all over him, staining his shirt and leaving footprints on the floor, a nightmare to clean up, but he wasn’t worried. He had all night to sort it out, not like any of his lay-about employees would be in a hurry to chuck any rubbish out anytime soon. 

He grabs the bag, moving it over to the bins and opening the one furthest from the door. Taking a bag off the top, he undoes the half-arsed knot and sets about getting rid of his evidence, a baseball cap, one of his branded teddies and a blunt statuette; each smeared in the blood on his hands. He packs them into the bag and again ties it up. But he’s too careful to leave it at that, and removes the bags closer to the bottom, intending to shove the incriminating one down where no one would find it. And it’s there at the very bottom of the skip that he sees it. It’s such a sobering sight that he freezes for a moment, confusion flooding his features. 

A kitchen blade, a large one stained with crusted blood, he was sure of it. That browning red was so familiar, Hell it was all over him now, the smell very apparent. But that wasn’t his. The bins were emptied only two days before and whilst he is an efficient man, he wasn’t that good. He reaches down to touch it, but stops inches away. Right next to the knife was something else. As he plucks it from the rubbish, it all clicks into place. 

~

At the end of a busy shift, you walk down the staff hallway more than relieved, absentmindedly taking off your apron a few paces before your locker. There was nothing special about to day, but it was fucking rushed, hardly a moment to breathe and right now nothing sounds better than going home and spending you day off in bed. When you’re done shoving your apron inside the locker and slinging your bag over your shoulder, your body instinctively tenses at an awareness of a presence behind you. So you shut and lock the door as quickly as you can, before facing your boss. 

“Oh hi, Mr Afton. Just about to clock off.” You smile brightly, so sweetly that he almost doubts himself, almost reconsiders what he’s about to ask you. Almost.  

“Don’t yet. Come into my office, I want to talk to you.” There was an amused tone to his voice, like there was a hidden joke you weren’t aware of and did not understand. But that was nearly always the case with Mr Afton, everyone said so, said that they dreaded when he was on shift because they couldn’t tell if he liked them or was a hair away from sacking them. And right now, you feel the same. But surely he liked you? How could he not?  

“Yeah, okay.” You try to keep your voice obliging and happy, following the nod of his head for you to walk past him, down the hall and into his office. You’ve been in here before, using his stapler on some leaflets or asking for extra change in the till. It’s always a cold room, hardly decorated and a little imposing, very much in line with the man himself. 

There’s a heaviness in the air that you don’t want to break, so you wait for Mr Afton to ask you to sit, watching him from your seat as he leans against his desk. He’s enjoying this too much, the slightly startled expression on your pretty face, like you have no idea what this is about, like you’re thinking about anything you could have possibly done wrong. He almost believed you.

He half smiles before breaking the silence with small talk. “Been busy today?” He wants this to be slow, but the temptation to just out you prickles at him.

You blink, a little surprised at his casualness, it was out of character but not exactly unwelcome. “Yeah, pretty crazy. We managed alright though.” You hope he’s asking for the sake of asking, not expecting you to recall anything too specific because the shift was a complete blur. 

He hums, a handsome smirk spreading across his face, “Well I’m glad. Chris was supposed to be in today, he called in sick last minute. Which I’m sure had nothing to do with today’s footy match.” You giggle, yeah, Chris wasn’t the brightest for that one. His grin fades as he looks thoughtful for a second. “Some people are so good at lying, it’s insane. Don’t you think?”

Your eyes go wide in suspicion. “Yeah, I suppose so… We all do it sometimes.” You keep smiling in an effort to keep this conversation light. 

“Not you though. You’re too honest, there’s hardly a sick day to be found on your record.” You nod, thinking that maybe this was a compliment, or commendation, maybe he was going to reward you for such good work? His posture then changes as he again grins. “If you were going to lie it must be about something very… serious.” He watches the way you subconsciously shake your head and it tickles him, you really have no clue where this is going to go and it’s just delightful. 

Unable to reach his conclusion you just out right ask. “Uh… what’s this about, Mr Afton? Have I done something wrong?” 

“Undoubtedly.” He continues teasing. ‘Something wrong’ doesn’t even begin to cover it, though it would be hypocritical for him to say so. The glee he’s getting from dragging this out is immense, but he’s just dying to see that cute little face of yours drop when he reveals your disgusting hobby. He sighs, “I found something the other night, you know. Something very interesting.”

Your eyes narrow as you look at him in disbelief, maybe a small part of you knows just from the malice in his eyes that he has you because a sudden dread seizes hold of you. “Sorry- I don’t follow…” You’re confused, he couldn’t know what you’d done, he just couldn’t but if he did… 

“You’ll get there, sweetheart.” He speaks mockingly before slowly standing and walking to the other side of his desk and opening the top drawer, humming a tune as he does so. You watch him fingers tapping against each other in anxiety, you can’t help but notice the heavy looking paperweight on his desk, it’s a cube carved out of some polished stone, the corners sharp.

“This.” His words force your gaze from the object to him, and the small piece of fabric pinched between his finger and thumb. Just continuing to stare at it, it doesn’t trigger anything, until he tosses it down onto the desk right in front of you. 

It’s a scrunchie. A light pink scrunchie, patterned with crusted blood. And then it hits you like a freight train. You can see yourself wearing it, two low ponytails resting on your shoulders that night. People told you how cute they looked on you. How didn’t you notice it was missing… Well, your mind was on other things that night.

You move your eyes to him, goosebumps all over your skin as you mind races. And at seeing your strained expression he laughs, unexpectedly and meanly. “God, your pupils- that is really something.” You look crazed, frantic, maybe even terrified, it was like nothing he’d ever seen yet still achingly familiar, it's frightening in the most delicious way, making his trousers cling to his growing erection. 

“I…” You start but instantly falter, gaze flicking between your boss and this paperweight. The darkest part of you is frightened into planning by this discovery. It’s far from you but you could reach it if you tried, just across the table, you just need to wait until he’s distracted but right now his attention is solely focused on you. You just need to wait-

“You’d never be quick enough.” He cuts through your train of thought like he could read your fucking mind. “I’m not completely stupid, though perhaps scaring you into a corner isn’t the best idea.” His tone is full of ridicule.

“What do you want?” You say hoarsely, too much emotion in your mind for you to think clearly. If he knew what you did -what you are- why are you here? Surely he’d have called the police and by now you’d be in an interview room surrounded by coppers. Surely, they’d have already found your pattern and linked as much to you as they could. But no. You’re here, in his office.

“I’m not here to bargain with you, love.” He chuckles, “I’ve seen where you live, there’s very little you could offer me.” Though he can certainly think of something very sweet you could offer him.

“-You’ve been to my house?” You say slowly, his mocking passing you by somewhat. This was too much to learn at once. 

“I had to do some research. You know, a knife in a bin is one thing. A fella in a river put a name to the weapon. But then,” His eyes are wide with animation as he talks, “I remembered another man in the same river, a few weeks ago, stabbed to all hell. Then I found another… I must say, you’ve done well not to be caught.” 

“A-re you gonna call the police?” Your voice cracks on the first syllable, making the rest of your question quiet.

He pauses in thought, the silence tortuous. “...No. I can’t have them poking around. I don’t want any other unsavoury acts coming to light.” 

At those words you suddenly dawn to a realisation, that look in his eye, that devious glee that at first you thought was just teasing. Was something else. Something very dark. It makes you exhale, an odd and sinister calm settling over you, enough for you to relax your posture in this chair and glace around the room. You know what you’re looking for and find it easily, a missing persons poster pinned to a pinboard just on his left. 

“That kid…” You speak lowly, utterly enthralling him. And he follows your eye-line to said poster, his eyebrows raising slightly. “He’s dead?” The question is pretty sure on your lips, a cruel confidence to them that showed the spark to you he’d been looking for. 

“Probably.” It’s noncommittal, but amused and you can just see the disturbed actions in his eyes. It’s crazy, like a monster in human skin.

“You killed him, didn’t you?” The words are so weighted, they tear aggressively from your throat, an unintentional emphasis that cuts through the room like a razor. And the harshness of his grin is more than confirmation. “You’re a fucking murderer.” You laugh incredulously, disbelief melting away by the second. 

“Takes one to know one.”

[octuscle]

Cursed Ken, part 5: Kev, the bouncer

"Ajith" meant "the invincible one". What a silly name. Ajith thought of it regularly. But what could he do, he couldn't help his name. Ajith was one of those IT nerds that everyone needed but no one took seriously. Ajith was the first to arrive in the morning and the last to leave in the evening. At some point, his hard work would pay off. He was sure of that…

It was already quite late when Ajith walked towards the cafeteria. The coffee machine in his department had already been cleaned and switched off. And if he wanted to keep going for another two hours, he urgently needed a coffee. The corridors were deserted. He heard footsteps coming from somewhere. A giant was heading towards the exit. A muscle-bound guy with a shaved head. Obviously one of the janitors. He was carrying a bin liner. Suddenly Ajith saw something fall out. A box. And although it would certainly have been sensible to point it out to the janitor, Ajith didn't. Instead, he walked as inconspicuously as possible towards the box. Ajith immediately recognized the box as a prototype toy. Professionally made. But clearly not a product that would be on a toy store shelf in this packaging. Or in a sex store, Ajith thought to himself. The young man on the packaging didn't look as if Ajith would let his daughter, whom he didn't yet have, play with it. And definitely not his son.

But Ajith was clever enough to realize that there was a market for this type of prototype. Fags were certainly willing to spend a lot of money on something like this. And Ajith could more than use the money. He cursed not having a jacket or a bag with him. But there had to be paper bags in the cafeteria for the sandwiches you could get there. And even if he had just found a treasure, he still had a few things to work off and he needed a coffee to do so.

Ajith's leather pants creaked with every step he took. He loved the feel of the unlined black leather hugging his thighs. As expected, the cafeteria was deserted. Only a young guy sat bored at the cash register, playing with his cell phone. When Ajith put the tray with the Coke and pastrami sandwich down at the till, the impressive bulge in his leather trousers had to be almost exactly at eye level with the young man, who was lying more than sitting in his seat. The young man's eyes widened in shock as the sight and smell of the leather snapped him out of his daydreams. Ajith asked with a grin if he liked the sight. The young fellow grinned and said that he had seen worse. He kneaded the bulge that appeared in his jeans. Ajith was sorry, but unfortunately he had to work. But he would be at Boxers HK from 22:00. If he felt like it, he would be happy to welcome him there.

Kevin wondered why he was actually sitting here in the cafeteria eating a really bad sandwich instead of eating at the store where he worked before his shift started. Shit, where was he anyway? Oh yeah, right… He had hooked up with the guy working the register for a quick blowjob via Grindr. And the boy had blown like the devil. And that had made Kevin hungry. But now he was late. If he wanted to be on time for his shift, he had to take an uber. Fortunately, there was one available nearby. The driver also seemed to like the passengers getting into his Prius. And Kevin wasn't exactly disgusted either. He liked Indians. They were polite and pleasant customers. And submissive and docile in bed. At the next red light, Kevin moved from the back seat to the passenger seat. And his driver didn't necessarily reach past the gearshift more than once by mistake. No wonder with an automatic gearbox. And with the pole sticking out of Kevin's pants. Shit, after the driver had operated the wrong gearshift a few times, he had to pull over again. And suck the pole next to the gearshift.

Being late was not good. But Kev was basically reliable and his boss overlooked the ten minutes. However, starting the service completely horny was never perfect either. Customers tended to stare at Kev's crotch rather than his face because of his hard-on. And with a hot guest, Kev sometimes disregarded the rules of the club. If the guest was a potential after-hours victim, he was allowed in the club. Kev was perhaps not the toughest bouncer in town. But he was one of the hottest and horniest.

[blueberrypancakesworld]

A hope for recognition and deceit

Sir Pentious x fem!reader

warning : fluff, comfort, hug, mention of violence and death (it's hell so yeah)

Summary : After another defeat at the hands of Angeldust and Cherri Bomb, Sir Pentious finds himself in the garbage of hell where he is surprisingly offered help that doesn't suck?

Info : So this cute fluffy one-shot is for @thatsthewrongwallcraig it was very nice to write for him very gladly more and again. Have fun with our little sweet sir snake and everyone else too ;)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The loud beeping and noises of little creatures running around could be heard, smoke was coming out of every place where the bullets of the guns had destroyed the airship and flames covered the airship like a second layer.

The home-made technology was going crazy, not reacting as it should and the ship was about to hit the bottom of hell in a few minutes.

But in this chaos stood Sir Pentious with folded arms and a disdainful expression, who neither listened to the questions and shouts of his little helpers nor seemed to be aware of anything and seemed to be done with all this. ,,Boss! We're about to crack like an egg!" shouted one of his little helpers, shaking his superior's coat and trying to convince the snake demon to get out of here somehow.

The serpent's tongue came out from between the lips behind which were the long fangs, an annoyed hiss that became a weary hiss. The ,,Well then, all of Boord's men…a new plan is coming!" he exclaimed, striking an almost heroic pose and grabbing his little egg-like subordinates before dashing for the exit. But as bad luck would have it, just as he was about to jump out, the airship collided with the ground and he hit the ground with a thud, directly onto something soft and smelly.

,,Oh no, we're dead," he heard the first wail of his egg boys, who apparently in their naivety thought they had died, and with a sigh the demon stood up and looked disparagingly at the garbage dump.

,,No, you idiots, we're still in hell…let's go back to the-" he venomed and was about to go to his airship when it made one last explosion and a cloud of smoke came towards him, coloring him completely black. Just as he was about to let out a frustrated scream, he suddenly heard footsteps and a friendly voice asking him, ,,Do you need help?".

A question that almost made him laugh out loud and couldn't have been more inappropriate. This was fucking hell and not a mercy seat where everyone got a cookie for every shot.

,,No, I don't," he protested and was about to slap her hand away when he tripped over a bin liner and landed at her feet, making her smile. ,,I think so, come on, it looks like you need a shower," she said and pulled him back onto his snake tail, seeing his astonishment and simply dragging him behind her.

Pentious shcien was confused and wanted to get away but the demoness with the twisted horns like a goat and the poisonous green eyes wouldn't let him.

,,You really insist," he muttered and saw her nod as they walked through the streets for a moment and Sir Pentious recognized the district they were in. ,,Thank you misss" he mumbled not knowing why it felt right to say thank you and felt his snake tail bob slightly.

Far away from the hotel but probably better for the moment. ,,Miss, that's not necessary, I-" he tried enruet but by then she had already pulled him in and pushed him into her apartment. ,,Not at all, I'm happy to help," she said and he saw her smile behind the slightly pointed teeth that looked like his.

A glance at his helpers, however, let him know that they were comfortable and were already looking at the furnishings and having fun. ,,Please, I'll make some tea and you freshen up there, how about that?" she asked, tilting her head slightly and for a moment he thought he saw her green eyes light up.

,,Please, I'll make some tea and you freshen up there, how about that?" she asked, tilting her head slightly and for a moment he thought he saw her green eyes light up.

He thought for a moment but when he still smelled the burnt smell on him, which was actually topped by a more sublime odor, he also knew it was time. ,,Thank you and a herbal tea if you can miss" he asked giving her something like a small smile that made his fangs flash before the snake demon disappeared into the bathroom and water could be heard.

While the demon went under the sporadic shower with a towel that seemed halfway unused, the water boiled on the demoness's hand, who simply heated the kettle with her power and looked curiously at the little eggs while the opening and closing of a door was not heard by anyone.

When the tea was slowly ready and the tea bags were giving off a dark, slightly greenish color, the goat-like demoness was already blowing and was pleased to see her guest emerge from the bath in much better shape.

,,Now you're back to your old self," she said and handed him his cup, which he took somewhat reluctantly, his claws touching her hand and it seemed somehow hotter than any hellfire.

,,Thank you, yes, the shower was necessary," he admitted to her, blowing lightly and they both drank the first sip, which turned into a pleasant sigh. ,,Now you look like a true lord again," she admitted after a brief moment of swaying and he saw her turn away from him but could feel the warmth she gave off.

,,Well, I am, you saved the one and only Sir Pentious, my dear," he said and placed his claw on her hand for a moment, a brief moment between them before he hastily withdrew his hand, surprised and embarrassed at what he had done, and they both drank their tea again.

An ongoing conversation here and there about his actions, her kindness and the place in hell. But the time was good, so much so that she suddenly, embarrassed, pulled out a photo, ,,I took this when you attacked the brothel-could you…sign it?" she asked and Sir Pentious felt proud to have such an admirer in his chest. That she admired him because she perceived that there was someone who cared about him.

,,But of course, miss, I'd love to," he had replied with a smile before taking the pen she had drawn and leaving his sweeping neat handwriting on the picture, seeing how she smiled and was glad to have a fan, an admirer and another nice one.

,,Thank you that means a lot to me," she said and the snake demon smiled for a moment before looking out the cracked window to see that another "day" was dawning and hell would soon be plunged back into chaos worse than the last.

,,I think I should get going…an airship doesn't build itself, does it?" he asked to his helpers, who moved their heads in different directions and Pentious rolled his eyes.

She took the cup from him and made an inviting motion towards her door, ,,My door is always open…for the biggest demon in hell," she said and he nodded, putting his hand on the knob as he felt her embrace, brief yet fervent, which he returned almost reflexively.

,,And my airship for a round trip and a few good pictures misss" he waved goodbye to her as the door closed behind him and the demon walked down the street with his little helpers.

Not hearing the giggles as the green-eyed demon simply took the purse in her hands out of his jacket in a hug, another robbery of thousands but even if it was worth it her gaze softened and a warmth stole into her gaze as she saw the photo and hugged it to herself...maybe she wouldn't rob him the next time they met, a shared airship ride would be all the nicer.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[classyburd]

why has james forrest arrived at the scotland nt camp with a black bin liner of stuff like his missus has just chucked him oot the hoose

[sparklewrites1]

Galas Are Gay

Kate Bishop x Fem!Reader

About: Kate Bishop spills wine on you at a gala, and you meet again a month later

A/n: THERE WILL BE A PART 2 AND POSSIBLY PART 3! just give me time to make it lol

A/n 2: the French man is insignificant.

Warnings: idk how to write subtle flirting, idk how tk write people crushing on each other. Idk how to write romance.

Word count: 1.7k

Proofread? Not really

-

January 19th

A few heads turn at the sound of glass shattering and a gasp.

“Oh, my gosh! I am so sorry!” The woman panicked as she swiftly picked her glass off of the ground. 

“It’s quite alright.” You chuckled as you wiped your chest and sleeves down with your gloved hands.

“No really, I- I’m so sorry. I- There’s a private washroom somewhere around here, I can take you there to uh- clean up.”

While waiting for your response, The woman looked as if she was analyzing you, you were wearing a satin maroon red mermaid dress with sheer flutter sleeves. Your lips were decorated with a dark red lip gloss, your eyes had liner on them, the liner was decorated with small gems. The woman opened her mouth to say something but she quickly closed it as a rose tint grew on her cheeks. Was she going to compliment you? You’d subconsciously hoped she would say something about your outfit or your makeup, as you were extremely proud of what you had put together. Even though it wasn’t much, considering you had very little time to get dressed. But your attention was rather focused on the wine stain more than it was on the compliments you hoped to receive.

“Well then, lead the way.” You said, holding your hand out to the black haired woman.

She hesitantly grabbed hold of your hand and strode toward the exit of the ballroom. She opened the door and you both continued walking through what seemed to be endless hallways, until you reached a white door framed in gold.

“This is it.” She stated, referring to the door. “There are some towels and other stuff in there that you can use to clean yourself.”

“Thank you.” You grabbed the doorknob and turned it before entering the washroom. 

-

The floors were marble and so was the counter, a few feet away from the counter was a toilet. On the counter there were various soaps and luxurious goods. You felt as if this was somewhere you weren’t supposed to be, even the air smelt expensive. You sauntered around the room, looking for where the towels were kept. You were searching for a minute or so until you finally found some large towels in the cabinet below the counter.

You brought the towel to the neckline of your dress and gently wiped as much of the wine as you could off of you. You tried not to scrub too hard because the material you were wearing was fragile- and expensive.

After you were finished you threw the towel into a nearby bin that had other used towels inside of it. You turnt away from the counter and headed towards the door. When you opened it, you were surprised to find the black haired woman standing outside of it, presumably making sure no one else tried to enter while you were occupying it.

“You done?” She turned towards you.

“Yes. Thank you for the help and,” You smiled and reached inside of your cleavage and pulled out a $100 bill. “Thank you, for giving me an excuse to leave that horrid place.” She stared at you dumbfounded. 

“I- Uh- I can’t accept this.” she stuttered while a pink tint grew on her cheeks.

“It’s alright. Take it.” You grinned at her stretching your arm toward her.

“I can’t I-”   She was cut off by an older woman who was walking in your direction.

“Kate! Where have you been? I’ve been looking all over for you.”

“Mom!” The woman, you now know is Kate exclaimed, slightly startled. “I was just helping her,” She gestured toward you, “find the bathroom, because I… Spilled wine on her.” Kate finished, looking slightly embarrassed.

“Oh!” The older woman turned to you. “I apologize for my daughter's clumsiness. If you want, I can pay for the damages on your dress.”

“No, no. It's fine, I can pay for it myself.” You told the woman. You turned toward Kate. “Thank you, again, but I really must be going.” You informed her. You took your hand in yours and placed your other hand on top. Kate was confused as to what you were doing until she felt a paper like material in her hands.

“Buy yourself something nice.”

—-

February 14th

Kate took a deep inhale as she sat down on the edge of a grand fountain. She needed a moment away from all the people, the questions, the music, and the dancing, she needed a break from it all. She took a few more deep breaths, even though it felt like there was never enough air entering her lungs. She raised both of her arms to place her hands on the back of her neck. She let out an exasperated sigh as she stood up from her previous seat on the fountain. She took out her phone to check the time.

9: 42 PM

18 more minutes. 18 more minutes and Kate could finally be done with this place. Her mother had practically forced her to come to some extravagant Valentine's Day fashion show. The actual fashion show was nice but the rest of the event was the most grueling experience ever. Half of the conversations Kate overheard were people who were just yapping about their business deals and their riches. The other half was just endless gossip about some popular rich people caught up in gang and mafia business.

After a few hours of standing around and chatting, Kate finally had enough and went outside for a breather. And that's how she ended up by the fountain.

Kate stuck her hands in the pockets of her dress pants, and headed towards the entrance of the palace that was rented for the event. She sauntered through the halls of the palace until she reached the door to the dining area, the location the guests currently occupy. Kate lingered outside of the door for a few seconds until an oily voice spoke behind her.

“Would you like some champagne, Madame?” Kate turned around to find a man who seemed to be in his early thirties, with a heavy French accent standing behind her holding a tray that had one singular glass of champagne sitting atop it.

“Sure, why not.” She smiled as she grabbed the stem of the glass. “Are you from around here?” She asks. The man gave her a curious look, “Oh- Uh, You know because of the uh, the French accent.” She clarified.

“I am a man of many places.” He responded before lowering the empty wine tray and tucking it under his arm. “This place, included.” He said before turning away and ambling down the hallway before reaching a door and going through it.

Kate stood in her spot, with a bewildered look on her face. Kate stayed in that position for about a minute until she finally snapped out of her daze, and back towards the entrance of the dining room.

When she entered the dining room she was met with the sounds of lively conversation, glasses lightly colliding with each other, and forks scraping plates.

Kate moved herself to a far corner of the room and leaned against the wall. She raised her head to look at the white walls that were gilded with gold, and the colossal chandelier that hung over the enormous dining table. Kate continued to study the gilding on the walls until she heard a somewhat familiar voice.

“I recognize you.” Kate lowered her gaze from the ceiling, only to find you, the woman who she had embarrassed at the gala she was forced to attend about a month ago. “You spilled wine on me.” You beamed.

“Oh, It’s… You!” She exclaimed, realizing she had never gotten your name from the exchange last month.

“I’m [Name].” You put your arm out, signaling for a handshake. She takes your hand in hers and gently shakes it, you give her hand a light squeeze before letting go. “I didn’t expect to see you here, Kate.” The way you said her name made her heart flutter.

“I actually came here with my mom, the woman you met last time we saw each other.” Kate informed you.

“If I didn’t know that I would’ve thought you were a runway model.” You smiled at her. Goodness Gracious, your smile was gorgeous, Kate once again, took in your appearance, this time you were wearing a strapless pink mermaid dress and a white corset with gold accents. Your lips had a clear gloss painted upon them, and your eyes had tiny pink hearts painted on the inner and outer corners.

“Same goes for you.” She said. She was almost surprised she didn’t stumble over her words like she usually would in the presence of a beautiful woman.

“I actually am.”

“Pardon?”

“I’m a runway model, among many other things.”

“Oh.” Kate muttered. She now remembers getting a small glimpse of you during the fashion show, but she could barely even see your face through the large crowd. “Yeah I saw you during the show, but I could barely get a good look at your face.”

“Is that so?” You queried. For a split second Kate could’ve sworn she saw your eyes glance toward her lips.

“Y-yes.” She managed to get at least one word out of her mouth during her gay panic.

“Well, Kate, I would like to talk to you for a little while longer, but I have places to be.” You announced, “But before I go, I would like you to have this.” You reached into your white clutch and pulled out a piece of paper and a pen. You took the pen and wrote down something on the paper, after finishing your writing, you handed the paper over to Kate.

“Is this-”

“My number.” You grinned. “My personal number.”

-

Kate sat upon the sheets of her bed, she was now in the comfort of her home, in her pajamas, staring down at the piece of paper you had given her. She held the paper in her left hand while her phone was in her right. She opened her contacts app and typed in your number. She didn’t want to bother you by calling you, so she settled on texting you. She didn’t exactly know what to type so she decided on something simple.

{Kate}

Hi.

[little-asami]

I want you to fully embrace this scenario, where you are deeply captivated by my cuteness and feel a strong urge to take me with you, thinking it’s perfectly acceptable since no one is around to stop you. As your sweet and shy little doll (⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)⁄, I will be entirely bound and silent, unable to resist or assist.

Start by gently and carefully binding my hands behind my back and taping my legs together. My mouth will be softly stuffed with socks and sealed with tape, ensuring that no sounds can escape and that I remain completely quiet. ✿(｡•́‿•̀｡)✿

With a tender touch, place me into the pillow sack, making sure I fit snugly and comfortably. Given my petite size, it should be easy to arrange me so that every part of my restrained body is securely encased. Once I’m nestled perfectly in the pillow sack, smooth out any excess fabric to ensure I’m snugly and tightly packed. ✧(✿◠‿◠)✧

Next, cover the entire pillow sack with a black bin liner. Make sure it’s tightly sealed with no gaps, completely concealing and securing me. (ღ✪v✪)ღ

In this state, I am nothing more than a delicate, lifeless doll, waiting for your next move. I’m prepared to be picked up and carried away, simply an object for you to handle and use as you see fit. My only purpose is to be your quiet, disposable toy, existing solely to fulfill your needs and whims. ✧(✿◠‿◠)✧

[last-starry-sky]

Girl's Night Out - ch. 2 pt. 2

friday|saturday|sunday

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

pairing: Ghost x shy!goth!f!reader

rating: E

summary: Oh boy, it's the morning after. Reader has no clue what to do but Simon seems content to make himself right at home. 🙂

word count: 7.7k

warning: mdni, not beta-read but edited by me until I wanted to claw my eyes out, a truck-load of self doubt and issues from reader, size difference 💀, oral (m receiving), facial, cum eating , fingering, tooth-rotting domestic fluff, the beginning of reader's mask and authority kink. a/n at the end!!!!

Repeating my warning hear for all of the chapters, I have committed the ultimate, unforgivable sin in this: Ghost is maskless. So if that ruins it for you, sit this one out.

saturday

The wind was howling against your window when you woke, shaking the panes in their casings with every fresh clatter of rain. The barest hint of sunlight crept low and blue from under the curtain above your bed. It was enough to see what was in front of you, which was Simon’s chest. It rose and fell with his deep, even breaths. He was rolled back haphazard, half on his back, head falling over the side of the pillow which was squished mostly under his shoulder. It looked terribly uncomfortable. His right arm was on top of the duvet, the left splayed on the bed above and behind you. A remnant of when he held you last night. 

He was asleep still and you didn’t want to wake him. You just wanted to stay where you were: curled into his chest, tucked away from the cold autumn rain of the outside world, soaking in his warmth, but you really had to pee. You were lucky that you had split apart somehow in the night. You scooched down the bed on your side, just a bit at a time, taking care not to move the sheets too much or make the mattress creak. You only lifted yourself upright once your bare feet hit the cold floor.

You hissed involuntarily before you could stop yourself. Fuck, it was just as cold as last night, and now you were naked. Sitting on the end of the bed, you grabbed the first piece of clothing you saw: a black blob rolled into the blanket that revealed itself to be a t shirt. Without a second thought, you threw it over your head and stood up. 

You tiptoed slowly out of your bedroom, not making a sound. You couldn’t hear any of your neighbors yet. Good. You breathed a sigh of relief as you quietly stepped into the bathroom, closing the door gingerly behind you. Your relief flipped upside down when you turned on the light. Looking in the mirror over your sink, you were horrified to see your black lipstick from last night smeared over the bottom of your face. Your hand flew up to your mouth to muffle the small gasp you made. The rest of your makeup had fared no better. Your eyes were ringed by black halos from your eyeliner and mascara, which had also shed a million little black hairs down your cheeks. 

You decided that now was not the time to freak out about this. You grabbed a fresh washcloth out of your linen closet and drenched it in makeup remover. You sighed as you scrubbed the cloth over your skin. The itchy, grungy, feeling of old makeup clogging your pores slowly dissolved as you rubbed your face. When you looked back in the mirror you only had a little bit of liner stuck in the deepest of the fine lines around your eyes. You could live with that. 

You pitched the cloth onto the top of your dirty clothes bin, which was overflowing. Another haunting reminder of the chores you were supposed to be doing, should have done last night instead of going out. You grabbed your toothbrush, wet it for just a second under the tap, and started to brush your teeth. Zoning out, you couldn’t have convinced yourself in that moment to have preferred sitting in the cold basement of your apartment, waiting for the washing machine to finish its cycle, instead of getting the best dick of your life. 

Your eyes shot back to the mirror, minty foam leaking down your chin. Fuck, that reminded you, it was Saturday. You had to take your birth control for the day. You spit in the sink and wiped the side off your face with the back of your hand. Thank GOD you remembered on time. 

You turned off the light and crept out of the bathroom. You heard Simon softly snoring in bed. Still good. You made your way across your living room to the weak morning light that fell in from your open windows. You HAD to remember to close those today, it was getting too damn cold. The pitter-patter of the rain had stopped already, leaving cool, silver puddles dotting the street. You kept your pills in your purse, which you remembered hanging up before you left last night. You unzipped the middle pocket, extracted the round container, opened it, and punched out the little white pill. You swallowed it easily.

You put your pills back in and zipped up your purse. You could feel the pill slowly, annoyingly dragging down your throat. Nothing a glass of water couldn’t fix. You walked into the kitchen, a little more bold now that nothing you had done so far had woken up Simon. You turned on the tap to fill your glass. Your pipes made a bit more noise than you were used to, groaning and rattling in the walls, or maybe you were just paranoid. 

While you were sipping your water, your stomach gurgled. Oh yeah, you hadn’t eaten since your lunch at work yesterday. You sighed and set your water behind you on the counter. Just something quick, you told yourself as you took your frying pan off the hook above the stove. You cut a pat of butter and threw it in the pan before turning it on. The soft click click click of the gas lighting was a soothing reminder of your usual routine. You let the butter melt while you took out the carton of eggs and loaf of bread. You put the bread in the toaster and clicked it down. 

You cracked the egg into the butter. The crackle that erupted was far louder than you expected. You almost pulled the pan off the heat. Instead, you froze. You stood stock still while you listened for any sign you had woken Simon. In the near silence of the apartment, you heard a small creak, like the springs of your mattress shifting, the soft shuffle of sheets, and then a groan. 

Fuck. You had woken him up. You sighed at your egg, the fucking bastard. You swirled the pan around. It’s edges were nice and set, almost crispy. You flipped it with a flick of your wrist and set in back down to cook on that side. You might as well start the coffee if he was up. You heard his feet hit the floor hard with a soft fuck before the mattress squeaked as he stood up. You filled the back of your coffee maker with water, no longer needing to cringe at how loud the water came out of the faucet. You heard Simon wander out of your bedroom as you were measuring the coffee. Your heart thumped in your chest. 

He didn’t come to the kitchen, though. Instead, he walked right into the bathroom, not shutting the door behind him. Somehow, that made you more nervous than if he had found you in the kitchen. You clicked the button to start your poor little coffee maker. It hissed and grumbled as it started to boil the water. You turned back to your egg. It was almost done. Now you had time to think of what you were going to do or say once he came out. God, what were you going to say? Thanks for the sex? If you want to leave, don’t feel guilty about it?

“Smells good,” he said behind you, voice groggy, making you jump.

Your heart was beating out of your chest as you flew around to face him. How was he so fucking quiet? He was leaning on the threshold to the kitchen, shirtless, with your bottle of mouthwash in his hand. You were staring back at him, wide eyed and stunned speechless. He also had black lipstick, your black lipstick, smeared across the bottom of his face.

He pointed the bottle at you, his eyes tired rather than intense this morning. “There’s where m’ shirt went to.”

You looked down at yourself with a groan, your hands covering your face. How hadn’t you noticed? It fell down to your thighs for god’s sake! You heard him throw back a swig of the mouthwash with a satisfied hum. You could have died right there. 

The toast popped. You whipped back around, threw the toast on your plate, slid the egg onto it, picked it up and shoved it in his hand. 

“Here!” you squeaked, “Eat!” You could feel the blush burning your cheeks. 

He took the plate from you silently, mouth still full. You pushed past him to dash back to your bedroom. You heard him spit into the kitchen sink as you blew though the clothes on your floor, desperately searching for anything else to put on so he could have his shirt back. You shucked off his shirt once you found one of your own shirts and a pair of black sweatpants that were only a little stained. 

Simon was standing against the kitchen doorway, eating now off of the plate, when you came out of your room. You tossed his shirt at him, which he caught with his free hand. 

“Sorry about that,” you said quickly. He just nodded and stared at you as he chewed his toast. You motioned to the table and chairs right in front of him. “Sit down. If you want. There’s coffee too.” You couldn’t take his stare seriously while he was covered in your lipstick stains. “I’ll be right back,” you said nervously, heading back into the bathroom. 

You grabbed the cloth you had used to clean your face and doused it in a fresh round of makeup remover. When you came out of the bathroom Simon had sat down and put his shirt on. You noticed he was a little too large for your chairs. You handed him the cloth which he only stared at. You motioned at the bottom of your face.

“You have . . . my lipstick . . . all over,” you said with a wince. He seemed to understand your stilted explanation, because he took it from you and rubbed it over his mouth and chin. “Coffee?” you asked, backing away from him toward the kitchen.

“Yeah,” he answered, looking at the black streaks left on the washcloth, still groggy and gravelly. 

You threw yourself into the kitchen. You poured two cups of black coffee, put in another piece of bread to toast and cracked another egg into the pan. 

“Get it all?” he asked as you came out with the coffee. He turned his head for you to inspect.

“Yeah,” you answered, taking the cloth from him, “All good.” You tossed it in the direction of the bathroom. 

You were about to walk past him again to finish your own breakfast when he stopped you. 

“Sorry about last night,” he said awkwardly. 

You felt your heart drop. What did he mean? Your brows knit together in confusion. Was he about to drop something huge on you? But he wasn’t saying anything more! You just stood there, awash in a mix of emotions. You heard the toaster pop up. Your egg was very definitely overcooked by now. 

“What . . . do you mean?” you asked nervously, “I-” you stopped yourself. Don’t say anything to sound clingy. “Last night . . .” you trailed off.

He took mercy on you and answered your stumbling question. “Shoulda taken more time with you. Kinda rushed things,” he said crossing his arms over his chest, silence falling between you, “Egg’s gonna burn,” he said throwing a glance over his shoulder. 

You rushed into the kitchen. It wasn’t burned, not yet. You let out a disappointed sigh as you slid the solid chunk of egg on to the toast. You hated an overdone egg.  

“‘s good,” he said as you came out of the kitchen, biting into the perfect runny yolk. It made your mouth water. You took a seat at your little table opposite him. 

“Thanks,” you said, sipping your coffee, glad at least one of you had an appetizing breakfast, “Just an egg.”

You could have just sat in silence with him and ate your breakfast, but your curiosity was piqued and he had made you a little brave. Besides, he had brought it up first.  

“What do you mean?” you asked, swallowing a bite of your egg and dry toast. You had forgotten the butter too, shit. “That you . . . rushed?” 

He stared at you, halfway through a very messy, eggy bite. 

“Didn’ expect you to be so . . . small,” he says swallowing his bite. You almost choked on your coffee. “Should have slowed down. Made it better for you.” 

“No. No no no,” you said clutching your cup, “Everything was great. Last night was . . .” Simon was still staring you down, hunched over your table: a plain, serious expression graven on his face. He clearly didn’t believe a word of your breathless babbling. You sat back and looked down into your cup in your lap. “That was the best night I’ve ever had,” you mumbled, watching the coffee swirl in circles. You wondered how honest you sounded to him. 

“Weren’t lying then?” he asked straightening up a little. He slid his coffee toward himself, the ceramic loud against the table. His yolk was oozing out over his plate. You stared wide eyed at him, not sure what he was asking you about. He lifted up the cup to take a sip. “Last night. Said you’d never cum like that before.” Your cheeks were burning. “That true?” he asked setting his cup down. How can he act so fucking nonchalant? How can he stare at you like that? Was this everyday conversation for him?

“Yeah,” you said quietly with a nod. You picked at the edges of your toast, no longer hungry. You let out the breath you were holding. Why hold anything back now? You thought back through your handful of past sexual experiences. “Lucky if I ever cum at all, to be honest,” you added. 

“You fuck anyone before?” he asked. Good god, he thought you were a virgin. You wanted to evaporate. 

You couldn’t look him in the eye, so you ran your fingers around the rim of your coffee cup. “Yes! I would have told-”

“How many?” he interrupted, leaning his crossed arms on the table, creaking as he did so. 

You thought for half a minute. “Five?”

That didn’t satisfy him. His mouth pressed into a scowl. “Don’t seem very sure on that.”

You angrily set your coffee cup on the table with thunk. Fine. If he wanted honesty, he would damn well get it. 

“The first time I had sex I was 19. It was in the back of a guy’s car I had went to school with. The second time was with my boyfriend, two years later. There was another boyfriend after him. It wasn’t until I moved. . .”  You suddenly froze, biting your bottom lip. You didn’t want to get into that part of your life.

“Don’t need a history,” Simon said breaking the few seconds of silence that had fallen. “Didn’t want you to feel like you had to lie. I don’t care who or how much you fucked before me.” He picked up his toast and took another bite. It left a string of yellow yolk running down the corner of his mouth. “‘s long as you liked it, tha’s wha’ matters.”

You took another sip of coffee, a comfortable silence falling around you as the rain clouds cleared outside and the early morning sun started to really shine through your windows. A worm of a thought, started by that line of egg running down his chin, started to work around your brain. You had enjoyed last night. A lot, but what about him? You leaned your head on your hand and looked at his as he ate. Simon was sopping up his egg on his plate. He had wiped the egg off his face, but there was a hint of yellow still trapped in his stubble. 

“Did you . . .” You started to ask. His head popped up to look at you. “. . . like that? Like, really like that?”

“Wha?” He asked around the last bite of his toast in his mouth.

“Last night . . .” you paused blushing, “When you came on me?” 

He coughed as he swallowed. A smile bloomed across your face, hidden in your cup. 

“Yeah,” he said pulling his dark eyes off his plate to stare back at you.

You set down your cup, gently this time, on the table. “What about . . .” You asked, not looking him in the eye. He leaned in toward you, over the table again, on his elbows. He was interested. “. . . if you came on my face. Would it be the same?”

He sat back in his chair with a groan. He ran a hand back though his hair. You chewed at your bottom lip, unsuccessfully willing your smile to dissipate. 

“You serious?” he asked.

You nodded. “I wanna know.”

He pushed his chair to face out from the table with a squawk. “Then why don’t y’ come over here and find out,” he said darkly, bidding you over with a wave of his hand. 

You were out of your chair in a flash. It felt weird to be standing over him, in between his long legs as they splayed out from the chair and his heels dig into the floor. He held out his hand, the one on his tattooed arm, to steady you as you kneeled down in front of him. Your breath was already shaking. He groaned again when you ran your hands up his thighs. Every twitching movement of his thickening cock was right in front of your face, visible through his briefs. You couldn’t help yourself, you pressed down to nuzzle it. His hand came back down to to palm the back of your head. 

“Sure about this?” he said with a groan, leaning farther back, bucking his clothed cock against your face. “Couldn’t take it all before.”

You had no plans to take it all, but he didn’t have to know that. You pulled away to pump your hand up the length of him. You weren’t trying to show off or do any tricks. You just wanted to make him feel even half as good as he had made you last night. It amazed you that he was already fully hard. The man was efficient if nothing else. You squeezed your hand as you came to the tip. You heard his head hit the wall as he stifled another groan. 

“Yeah,” you whispered with a nod. “I’m sure.” 

Your hands curled up around the band of his briefs. He let you pull down his underwear. His cock was flush, tip leaking, against his shirt. You leaned in again to mouth at the tip, tongue flipping up from the bottom of the head to collect the pearl of salty release. You gripped the base of his cock before he could buck up, whining as he grabbed at your hair. He quickly rearranged his hands to rake back your hair from your face. Another bubble of cum pushed deliciously from his slit. He groaned, watching as your tongue lapped it up. 

“Fuck, you feel good,” he said huskily as your hand started to pump up and down his cock as you sucked at the tip. “That fuckin’ mouth . . .” he trailed off, thumbing at where you were suctioned to him. You took a little more of him in as you sucked down, tongue lapping at the underside of the head, your hand working slowly in tandem. He let out a gasp of a breath. “Hands ‘r fuckin’ soft too.” 

You hummed around him. His praise made you grip him that much harder, work his cock a little faster. You had to keep him talking, had to hear what he wouldn’t say normally. 

“Y’ like that?” he asked, “Like doggin’ this big cock an’ y’ can’t even take half of it?”

You hummed again. You continued to pump him while sliding all the way to the tip before sucking it hard. The shout and salty taste you got in return was delightful. 

“Nah, love,” he said palming at your face with those big hands again. You could tell he was looking at you, had been the whole time. He was enjoying the show just as much as your mouth on his cock. “Not gonna cum like that, remember?” You switched hands, cum and spit squishing between your clean fingers, as you started to suck again. “Don’t get anything besides my own hand most nights. Gotta enjoy this.”

His comments only added fuel to your fire. It was easy to forget he wasn’t just some guy. He was a soldier. How long he was away from home, away from family, it made your heart ache. The way he seemed to bend to your small, simple acts of intimacy, like when you rubbed his chest or made him breakfast, made you question when was the last time he’d had those things. You couldn’t save him from everything, the loneliness, the danger of his job, but you could get him off, so you did what you could. 

You knew you weren’t a rockstar at giving head, but you were trying your best. Simon seemed to be enjoying it, at any rate. His head was thrown back again, using his hands on your face to gently rock your mouth back and forth on his cock, with your hand working the rest. 

“Tha’s it. That’s it, love,” he gasped. 

It was only a few pumps more before he ripped you off his cock. You tottered back on your knees, eyes half-closed and mouth still gaped open, not really ready to help with what was coming next. Simon wrapped his left hand around your neck, keeping you in place, as he jerked himself to completion. 

The first stripe of cum lashed artfully across both of your closed eyes, as if he had planned it. From then on, you were blind. You heard him gasp as the rush of euphoria of his orgasm hit him. Them you heard him laugh. It was a small laugh, just a ha under his breath, but it made you flush. Another stripe fell over your cheek to your nose. He pulled you in closer as the third spurted across the corner of your mouth. You licked at it as he let go of you, his rapid breathing filling the room. 

“Fuck me,” he whispered, his thumb tracing the blob of his cum where it ran down your cheek. 

You were about to ask if he could help you clean off, when you were hauled up into his lap by his strong hands. You also didn’t expect for your faces to crash together. You tried to pull away, thinking he had made a mistake in his post-nut haze, but his hand pulled you right back. His tongue lapped over your mouth. You gasped in surprise, and then opened your mouth for him. You tasted his cum when your tongues finally met. He pulled away too soon and you groaned at the loss. He wasn’t paying attention though. His tongue laved over your cheek and to your nose. A soft oh escaped your lips. He was collecting his cum from your face. Then he was back at your mouth, tongues pumping mindlessly together, both moaning as his salty cum mixed with your saliva and his. 

This man was something fucking else: totally wild underneath that stoic facade. He was pulling you out of your comfort zone and you were loving it. 

You still couldn’t see when he pulled your faces apart. Your fingers were twined with his as they held either side of your face. He was breathing hotly into the space between you. 

“Les’ get y’ t’ the shower, yeah?”

You nodded, letting him set you down to stand as he stood up from the chair with a groan. Your wooden dining chairs were not comfortable. Then he picked you up, as he had last night. You squealed again, not expecting it. He even pinched your butt again. 

“D’n worry, love. Let me take care a y’,” he mumbled into your shoulder. 

The few steps to your bathroom passed quickly. He kept you held in his arms as he leaned into the shower to turn on the tap. The sound of water raining down and steam filling the small space was soothing. He set you down in front of him and stripped you of your clothes, first your shirt, then your pants. He guided you to turn around, as if you didn’t know your own apartment, and into the stall. 

You let the water pelt over your head for a few seconds, groaning with pleasure at how good it felt. You were long overdue for a shower and you could feel it. You had gone all day at work Friday, trapped in your stuffy office clothes, then the sweat and excitement from going out, plus the sex, it made you feel beyond grungy. You reached up and pumped a handful of body wash into your hand by memory. You lathered it over your cum coated eyes and face. You sighed as it rinsed off and you were able to open them again.

You heard clothes hit the floor, adding to the piles of dirty laundry you had planned to take care of today. You turned to watch Simon shuffle off his briefs and socks through the wavy glass. He gave you a dark look.

“Mind if I join? Save water ‘nd all.”

You nodded, turning to grab your shampoo. So practical. So military, you thought. You lathered your scalp as he stepped in behind you and you pretended that this was completely normal one night stand procedure, or that you even knew that procedure. You allowed him to crowd you under the spray of the water with his massive, muscled frame as he reached over you to grab some of the shampoo you had just used. You tipped your head back to let the bubbles rinse from your hair.

He was staring down at you as he cleaned his own short hair. You broke eye contact immediately to grab your conditioner. How could he be so on, so intense, all the time? You scrunched the conditioner through the ends of your hair.

His soapy hand trailed up your side, caressing your stomach, ribs, and breast. You shivered. His other hand joined, cupping your breasts and pulling you flush to his chest. He lightly squeezed your breasts in his hands, rolling your nipples in his thumb and forefinger. You gasped into the steamy air, hands still caught up in your hair. He released your breasts, smoothing down your chest right to your cunt.

“Ah, Si!” you whined, untangling your hands from your hair to grasp at his forearms as his fingers parted your folds. He leaned down to kiss at your neck, his fingers gently stroking at your slick clit and labia. Fuck. You hadn’t noticed how wet you had gotten. 

“You always get wet suckin’ dick?” he asked circling your hole before stroking slowly up to your clit. “Or is this just f’ me?” You wriggled against him, but his hand kept you in place.

“You don’t-” you gasped out, trying to tell him he didn’t have to get you off.

“Said I would clean y’ up, didn’ I?” he rumbled into your ear. 

You sighed, leaning your head back into his chest, acquiescing to his plans. You’ve known him for less than two days, but you still stupidly trusted him. He reached into the corner and squirted a pump of soap into his hand with one fluid motion, his other hand not leaving you. He smoothed the fragrant purple gel over your chest, lathering it across your shoulders as it dripped in soapy rivulets between your breasts. He used both hands to swab the soap down your arms. His hands came back up to knead at your shoulders. He pressed his face into the crook of your neck.

“Smells good,” he said, tickling your neck when he talked.

“Thanks,” you sighed, relaxing into the roll of his thumbs on your shoulder blades. You picked your head up to squint at the bottle through the steam. “Orchid and black currant.”

You fell away as he soaped up your back, kneading in small circles down your spine. You crossed your arms against the shower wall, letting your head rest against them with a groan as he massaged you. He stepped forward, pinning you farther against the wall, soaping your stomach, then your chest, then your breasts. He sighed as he squished your soapy breasts in his hands again. You leaned your head to the side, water slicking your hair to your face, letting a whine fall free.

Before you could say anything, he pulled your boneless form away from the wall flush with his chest. His one hand released from your breast, sliding straight down to your sex again. You bucked and whined as he began to rub circles around your clit, this time in earnest. You were losing yourself in his hands until you felt his cock knocking against your lower back. 

“Si,” you moaned as he squeezed your nipple. 

You pushed your butt back against him to make sure you were really feeling what you felt. He groaned as his cock slid against your soapy ass. Yep, it was.  

“How are you hard again?” you asked looking back at him bewildered. 

His eyes were dark and glassy. He shrugged at you. Shrugged! 

“Don’t get this very often,” he grunted, rocking forward into your butt again. “Gotta take advantage when I can, y’ know?”

You let out a small laugh, turning your head away. He leaned down to kiss at your neck and work your clit again. 

“Don’t mind it. Wanna do this for you,” he said into your ear.

“Then kiss me,” you demanded, looking up at him through the falling water. 

He didn’t wait long to satisfy you, locking lips with you as you spun around so fast you almost slipped. His arms were there to catch you, though. He picked you up again, squishing your wet, soapy flesh to his. You squealed as you threw your arms around his neck and tried to hold on. You felt too slippery, even in his arms, you knew you were going to fall. 

“Si!” you yelled, pulling away from the kiss, “Can’t do this in here!”

He smiled at you, shuffling you to one hand so he could lean forward to turn off the water with the other.

“Didn’t plan on it.” he said walking you out of the bathroom.

-

After he had brought you back to bed and pulled two orgasms out of you, you and Simon spent the rest of the day doing what you had actually planned: laundry and cleaning. 

It felt comfortably domestic to have someone to help with these menial tasks. Almost disturbingly so. It frightened you how easily you both fell into it. Simon stepping right into his self-assigned role of Strong Man. Many of his tasks revolved around carrying things he deemed too heavy for you. He also took a lot of initiative for being a practical stranger to you and your space. While you sorted another bin of laundry, he washed the dishes. You didn’t even have to ask him, not that you would have. When you peeked your head in to the kitchen see why the water was running he gave you a little nod and continued on with his self-assigned task.

“My dirty dishes too, love,” he’d said with a shrug. 

You were beginning to love how he called you that: love. You tried to stop it, but it wormed into your heart. You knew it was just an English thing. You’d gotten used to it long ago. You thought back to the first couple summers you’d spent with your dad here: just two young kids - you and your older brother - with pretty much free-run of the the city to work out the culture shock while your dad was busy everyday, either running his own firm or in the process of finishing his own recent move back to his home country. 

You tapped your fingers against the hardwood as you sat cross-legged on the floor of your bedroom. He had never asked for more from your mother while you and your brother were children: more time, more that his assigned holidays. Then, you were both adults, moving around the country, busy with college, relationships, and jobs and never able to take him up on his invitations, despite his offers to pay for plane tickets. Never able to, that was, until it was too late.

Simon stuck his head in your room while you were piling another heap of black clothes into a laundry bin, breaking you out of your thoughts.

“Timer’s up,” he said leaning down to pick up the heavy bin. “Come on,” he said motioning for you to follow. 

-

After you came back to your apartment, in the middle of setting up your drying rack, he stepped into the bathroom and started looking about. If you knew him better, you would say he was nervous. 

“Mind if I clean?” he asked, arms crossed, looking into the dusty corners you’d let go for far too long.

“The bathroom? You sure?” you asked laying your black sweaters and socks over the rods. You never liked cleaning bathrooms which was a large reason why it was in it’s current state.

“Yeah, I don’t mind,” he said leaning down to search for your cleaning supplies under the vanity, “Like a good mess to get into.”

“Helps you think?” you asked.

“Helps me stop thinking,” he said turning into the bathroom, leaving you with more questions but too uncomfortable to push for answers. 

Whatever, you thought. If it helped him and you got a clean toilet and shower out of it, who cares. You heard him start shuffling things around the little room, taking your shower products out of the stall, you guessed from the hollow plastic sounds, and left him to it.

After all of your clothes were hung, you wandered into the kitchen to look over what you had in your refrigerator. You heard Simon walk across the living room behind you and dig into his jacket. He was unzipping various pockets looking for something. You concentrated on using up what you could with this dinner before you put more thought into buying new groceries for the coming week. You were chewing on your thumb, standing in the open door of the refrigerator, when Simon came around the corner. 

“You got bleach?” he said in a slightly muffled voice.

“Down with the laundry,” you told him, not looking up. 

You pulled out a few ingredients from the drawers before turning around to face him. You almost jumped when you did. He had a black gaiter mask pulled up over his nose and a pair of black gloves on his hands. To block the chemicals, you told yourself. It was such a small change, but it made him look so much more intimidating. Usually, you had his whole face to soften his hard stare, the faded scars, his resting scowl, with most of it covered, though, it was just you and those eyes. 

He started at the food in your hands: an onion, a bulb of garlic, two tubs of cheese, a pack of sausage and ground turkey. 

“What’s all that for?”

“Dinner?” you squeaked, flushing and feeling very scrutinized under his stare. Fuck. Why did you like it so much? 

“Oh,” he said with a nod, looking at your wall clock, “It’s getting late,”

You felt your heart drop. He was going to leave. Or make an excuse to leave. Stop, you told yourself. He’s just a guy. He can leave if he wants, but you don’t want him too, though. He doesn’t-

“You hear me?” he asked forcefully. 

You fucking clenched at that. What the fuck was wrong with you, for real. 

“No,” you admitted weakly, “Zoned out.”

He sighed and pointed at your hands. Why were those black gloves making his hands that much more attractive? Oh you were so fucked. 

“What’re you makin’?” 

“Oh!” you exclaimed, “Lasagna!”

He leaned silently against the doorway, thinking of something. Your heart was pounding, waiting for him to speak. 

“That sounds fuckin’ good,”

You smiled, hugging the ingredients awkwardly to your chest. 

“It is! I mean . . .” you said letting your arms fall a little slack. “You’ll have to judge for yourself.”

“I will,” he said, dark eyes sliding over you as he turned back around.

You stood where he had left you for a few moments, trying to figure out what the fuck had just happened and why you were acting like this. You let out a long breath, turned around, and decided to just not confront that train of thought. You hummed happily as you shoved the image of Simon in his black mask and gloves to the farthest back corner of your mind, and set about making dinner. 

Simon kept a bit of distance at first, only popping back in to tell you it was time to bring up the last load of laundry, which he ran down for. You were able to cook the noodles and chop the vegetables in peace, but by the time you were browning the meat, he was like a six-foot tall dog. Instead of begging, however, he was stuck to your side, melting you with those big sleepy eyes while picking bits out to “sample”.

“If you keep eating it, there won’t be anything left for the top!” you said swatting his fingers from the mozzarella. 

“’m helping,” he said, mouth full of cheese and a smirk on his face. He had pulled his gaiter down to his neck and shoved his gloves in his back pocket. “Meat needs more salt.”

“The cheese adds a lot of salt. Don’t tell me how to cook,” you said wagging your spatula at him. “How about you take the dry clothes off the rack and I’ll let you help me finish putting it together?”

“Fair ‘nuff,” he said turning on his heel and heading to the living room, eager either for an order or to get out of range of your hands while you had access to wooden utensils. 

You had finished the laundry about an hour ago, all that was left was to fold and put everything away. A job for tomorrow. Simon had finished the bathroom too. It still reeked of bleach, which stung your eyes too much to even walk in, but it was cleaner than you’d ever seen. Even the grout was white again. 

You spread the meat sauce on the bottom of the pan and smoothed it out with your spatula. Laying the noodles down reminded you of your mom. She had always given you the job of laying on the noodles. You could still remember sitting on the countertop as a little girl, helping her make Sunday dinner. As you grew up she had let you do more. When you cooked the noodles today, it was exactly as she had told you all those years ago: slowly and constantly stirring them in your largest pot, with plenty of room to cook, so they didn’t stick together or break. 

The cheese mixture came next, carefully spooned on and spread out. You were reaching for the meat sauce when Simon came up behind you, wrapping his hands around your hips. 

“Smells delicious, love,” he said sending a shiver down your spine, “Can’t wait to eat.”

“Thanks,” you said blushing, ladling the sauce over the cheese, “I like to cook.”

“Damn good at it, too,” he said nuzzling your neck.

“Don’t say that ‘till you’ve tasted it. You’ll jinx me,” you said with a laugh. You pulled the pan of noodles closer. “Do you want to help?” you asked picking one up.

“Sure,” he said letting go of your body, “If you don’t mind me messing it up.”

“It’s lasagna,” you said with a shrug, “Even if it’s messy, it’ll still taste good. Besides, I made this when I was a kid, I think you’ll do fine.”

He leaned in and pecked a quick kiss on your lips. It knocked the breath out of you.

“Thanks,” he said against your mouth, his nose caressing yours as he pulled away.

Oh my god you were falling for this guy. 

You cleared your throat, knocking the thought out of your mind. You set the noodle across the sauce and waited for Simon to follow. He carefully picked up a wet, wiggly noodle, holding it like it was an alien creature, before setting it down next to your noodle in the pan. He looked to you for approval. 

“Good!” you said with a nod, “Keep going. Only one more for the layer.”

You shuffled away from him, down the line of your counters, to grab a glass and quickly filled it with water. You gulped it down like you were dying. You could feel your heart beating too rapidly in your chest. Fuck, you thought gripping the cool glass tightly, willing yourself to come back to reality. You’ve known this guy for less than two days. This was not happening. 

“What next then?” he asked, hunched over the pan, inspecting the layers.

“The ricotta,” you said pointing to the bowl filled with the white and green-flecked mixture. 

Simon picked it up and looked at it just as he had the pan, eyeing it almost with suspicion. 

“You . . . pour it on?” he asked, looking at you.

“No,” you said setting down your glass. You walked back over to him and gave him the spoon you had been using for just the cheese, because you were anal like that when it came to cooking. “Dollop on about half of what’s left with the spoon, then spread it out,” you said gently, feeling like your mother.

You observed as Simon followed your instructions perfectly, if slowly. He handed you back the bowl when he was done. 

“Never would’ve had the patience t’ figure this out,” he mumbled, stepping back to let you do the rest. 

“It’s not for everyone,” you said sweetly, stepping over to layer the meat sauce over the cheese. “Besides, it’s almost done.”

He was content to lean against the counter and watch you do the rest. The oven beeped while you were sprinkling the extra cheese over the top. After you had safely deposited it in the oven to bake, Simon still lingered around you in the kitchen. You stared at each other wondering what to fill the next hour with.

“Could do the dishes,” he suggested.

“We’ll just have more later,” you said with a sigh, “Let’s relax.”

You popped off from the counter and walked over to your couch before flopping down. You pulled your blanket around you with a sigh. 

“Not gon’ argue with that,” he said rather cheerily following you.

You had taken up most of the couch when you landed on the couch, so you didn’t know what Simon planned to do when he joined you. You hadn’t expected him to scoop you up, blanket and all, settling down across the couch with you wrapped in his arms. You laughed and wriggled as he tried to squish you into a more comfortable position on his lap. 

“Quit movin’,” he chided you, palming the back of you head, gently pushing you to his chest, “Relax.”

You sighed and snuggled against him. He was awkward to get comfortable against, but he was warm and made you feel safe. Night had already fallen. It was dim in your apartment, lit only by the light in the kitchen and the streetlights that came in under your curtains. You closed your eyes as Simon ran his fingers through your hair.

“Gonna fall asleep,” you warned him, a yawn sneaking out.

“‘s okay,” he soothed, “I’ll get y’ up when the timer goes off.”

You nodded, falling more and more comfortably into his arms, until you were asleep.

Simon had been true to his word, softly shaking you awake an hour later when the oven timer went off. He also begrudgingly followed your instructions to wait another fifteen minutes to let it cool and set once he had taken the pan out of the oven. He had been easy enough to distract from his hunger, though. You had thrown your blanket around his shoulders and pulled him down into a kiss. That’s how you ended up hauled onto the counter, with Simon standing between your legs absolutely devouring your mouth. You almost forgot about dinner entirely, but when both of your stomachs growled, you knew you had to pull apart.  

One piece of lasagna perfectly satisfied you. It was richer and saltier (you knew Simon had added more while you were distracted) than you were used to for your meals, so you ate it with several glasses of water. That had only made you fuller. Simon, on the other hand, devoured half the pan. After you were done, you just sat and watched him eat, absolutely blown away at his pace. You weren’t used to anyone with that level of appetite, even your brother when he was a teenager didn’t compare. 

“‘m ready for bed,” he said sitting back in his chair with a groan, throwing his fork on his plate after polishing off his fourth piece. 

You had been watching him over your glass of water with wide eyes and an amazed smile. “Go ahead,” you said setting down your glass and collect your dishes, “I’m going to get the leftovers put away. Be right behind you.”

He was still collapsed in the chair when you took the dishes to the kitchen. You dumped them in the sink next to your mess from making dinner. Tomorrow, you reminded yourself. You grabbed a small container, scooping the last piece of lasagna into it. While you were putting the container in the refrigerator you heard Simon finally sit up and head to your bedroom. All you had left was the dirty pan. You placed it on top of the mountain of your other dishes. When nothing came tumbling down, you turned off the kitchen light and made your way to the bedroom, to Simon, through the dark of your apartment. 

a/n: happy (late) halloween everyone! thank you all so much for your likes and comments! I see them everytime i log on and they overwhelm me in the best way ❤️ i need to work out some kinks (lol) with the next part, so i'm aiming for posting closer to this weekend instead of friday!

[aces-to-apples]

could you perhaps be enticed into writing more codakin? with:

❛ you’re such a tease. ❜

❛ you know where to find me. ❜

you’ve written them so fabulously before 💖

This ask is. From January 2022. I wish you all a very I live in shame :margehiding: but hey, here's a visual reference lol? Note: Cody is deeply horny and thirsting hardcore under the cut

Cody hadn’t been present on Geonosis for the start of the war, but he was assigned to lead the 212th Attack Battalion under General Kenobi barely a month later.

Alpha-17 had given him a full briefing before shipping out, and an entire section of it had been dedicated to the behavior and neuroses of both the general and the general’s commander: a Padawan-Commander by the name of Skywalker. One-Seven had hardly been complimentary but the briefing had been helpful in dealing with them both, even after Skywalker was promoted to general himself and took ARC Trooper Rex with him to the 501st Legion.

(The captains’ tiles look good on Rex, when he’s forced into his dress whites, but that’s hardly the point.)

It’s been nearly two years since that briefing and Cody has more than enough experience to put together his own hours-long briefing just on Skywalker himself.

There are so many things about him—how his mind works, how his brain works—that Cody doesn’t think anyone else in the galaxy knows. Not Kenobi, not Commander Tano, not anyone else who’s ever shared his bed, even. And even so, Cody would never have guessed it before they started breaking formation together, but—

“You’re such a tease,” he hisses, low and resentful, as Anakin struts past.

The Jedi shoots a sunny smile back at him before reaching the front of the room and proceeding to contort himself into several showy, highly flexible poses, ostensibly to warm up. His shirt stretches with him and these poses in a variety of new and vaguely life-changing ways.

Shirt, of course, being a generous term for what the little padawan-commander’s devious mind has conjured up.

If Cody wasn’t sure she’d have let on long before now, and in a much louder fashion, he’d assume this was a deliberate attack on her part. Psychological warfare, even. If Rex knows, of course, then it just might be, but ‘get Cody so horned up, in front of a crowd of unaffiliated brothers, that he nearly bites a data-pad in half’ is not a Rex-typical form of retaliation.

The pants are—fine.

Brown fabric in a twill weave, they have a loose fit for a wide range of movement and only stay up thanks to the valiant efforts of a thick letheris belt. Of course it also has an eye-catching bar of silver for a buckle. Cody thanks every god large and small for that belt, buckle be damned. Without its stubborn presence keeping some semblance of modesty, Cody might actually shame the whole of the 212th with his lack of subtlety.

The training room is large and padded thickly, made for and used to the acrobatic nonsense of Jedi cadets. At the front—leading a mixed cohort of brothers from various assignments just barely maintaining a sense of propriety through said showy stretches—Anakin isn’t even wearing boot-liners.

And then that damned shirt.

Cody has seen glittering, sinuous dancers wearing more of a shirt than that kriffing thing.

He wants to rip it off—possibly with his teeth—and replace it with something with more coverage. Possibly himself.

At the back of the room, he watches Anakin slide his legs out to a 90-degree angle, bend, and place his hand flat on the mats. Someone finally breaks and wolf-whistles, to which Anakin simply flashes a smirk at the whole room and pushes himself up onto just his hands. Cody would be noting down the whistler for disciplinary action if he wasn’t desperately adjusting himself in his codpiece.

The shirt.

The shirt is practically nothing—or nearly so.

A black scrap of fabric dug out of a garbage bin, if Cody has to guess. It stretches obscenely around Anakin’s bulk, cut off at the diaphragm and leaving his soft belly exposed. No sleeves or real neckline to speak of, horizontal cut-outs bare inches above what’s already generous to call a hem.

The diamond cut-out in the center of his chest is the last straw.

High on his left pectoral, just under the clavicle, is a little spot of brown pigment. Cody knows that little spot intimately and with great fondness. Lying flat, the shirt covers it; showing off for an adoring crowd, the fabric twists and bunches, flashing that little spot to keen eyes.

Each time seeing it makes Cody want to stalk up to the Jedi and block everyone else's line of sight. And then bite it. Or something.

Cody has never been the jealous sort. He's from Kamino, how can he be? He's never owned a thing in his life, much less had an exclusive claim on a lover. That his jaw aches from grinding his teeth is—abnormal, to say the least.

Obnoxious, even.

And General Anakin kriffing Skywalker has the gall to enjoy it. The air around him practically crackles with his delight, even as the stupid kriffing outfit is supposed to embarrass him, or whatever Tano’s intention.

Cody has been through actual physical and mental torture modules constructed by sadists and abusers and yet, the 90 minutes that Anakin spends leading the assembly through a series of stretches and moving meditations are the longest of his life. In fairness, he wasn’t fully armored, in the middle of a crowded room, painfully aroused for the torture modules.

By the end of the time slot, Anakin’s hair is darkened and his skin glistening slightly with sweat.

He flashes an exasperated grimace at his padawan—the first indication of discomfort since he strutted into the room to start—but dismisses the troopers but his usual warm half-grin and takes their farewell-ribbing with grace. Cody watches his shoulders slump just slightly when the final trooper turns away, before he rallies.

The strut returns and Cody, unthinking, grabs his wrist as passes on the way to the exit.

Anakin meets his eyes through his helmet visor and words fail him. What is he supposed to say? ‘That was unbearably hot, never do it again’? ‘Fuck me before you go or else I might explode’? ‘May I pretty please, with a moonberry on top, suck you off’?

He hesitates too long.

Anakin Skywalker can be achingly sweet and often is, but he can also be unbearably smug and self-assured. His eyes and smile darken, becoming something wicked and teasing, and he hooks gentle fingers around Cody’s utility belt and tugs him just barely closer. Trails those fingers up the center of his cuirass. Taps them just over his sternum, where he knows a small sunflower is inked brightly, just between his pectorals.

If his helmet was off they’d be sharing breath, foreheads nearly pressed together, as close to a kiss as they can get on a battlefield.

“You know where to find me,” he murmurs, low and deep, irises nearly swallowed by pupil as he keeps Cody’s gaze.

Then fingers tap sharply against his armor and Anakin rocks back on his heels, ruffling his curls and smiling sunnily. He whistles something jaunty as he swaggers away—a normal song at one point, probably, but most likely a filthy rendition thought up by bored troopers on campaign—and Cody can’t move or speak for several moments.

If he moves, he’ll do something very much not acceptable in public, either by himself or after hunting Anakin down through the halls; if he speaks, it’ll be to moan or whine or beg, damn the consequences of whoever hears. So he stays still and quiet as a stealth mission. Until sense returns.

Or his brain boots back up.

Once it does, though, ooh…

He is going to get his revenge for that, one way or another.

[mlmxreader]

I Miss Summertime | John Soap Mactavish x m!reader

@mockerycrow asked: “if you die, i’ll kill you” soap x male!reader 👀

summary: it's a difficult thing to adjust to, to come to terms with, when someone you love leaves so suddenly.

tws: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH :), swearing, death & war mentions

support your fanfic writers by reblogging what you read & enjoy

Coffee stains on the floor from where cups had spilled ever so slightly and no one had noticed. The sound of crackling electrics, a soft hum more than anything else. The whoosh of the ceiling fan, and the soft breeze that filtered between the gaps in the curtains.

A bed large enough for two, now half empty and cold to the touch. Two pillows left undisturbed on one side, the others stained with snot and blatant teardrops.

A large wardrobe, half empty with black bin liners sitting nearby. Ghosts of someone who was once held near, who was once cherished and beloved. Black bin liners, piling up slowly. Packed with great reluctance and the refusal to admit what had happened.

The sounds of sobbing, echoing throughout the house. A ghoul, wailing as it trudged along the familiar laminate flooring.

A kitchen once filled with life, where two men had danced and sang on more than one occasion; a kitchen where smiles and kisses had been shared as if they would never end.

A kitchen, now dark and empty.

Pots and pans littering the sink. Crumbs and stains everywhere. Dust collecting, starting to sink down.

A house haunted by a spectre who was not yet dead, but who had no heart left to give.

The phone sat on the counter, the case smeared with whatever; notifications from family and friends, all trying to reach out to you. To tell you that you did not have to be a ghost, a spectre.

A phone ignored time and time again, and when the calls came, was only picked up for a few seconds to decline them. The wallpaper still untouched, still a picture of two men who were grinning at one another in front of a pub. That was years ago.

Nothing was the same anymore, nothing could ever be the same.

You sat, lonely and isolated, staring at the framed picture; Soap, just a few days before it had happened, smiling brightly and so full of life. You couldn't help it, sharing an uncounted tear of grief.

Mud and blood spilled in foreign land, and although you had tried, you couldn't understand.

Your fingertips traced his face, squeaking slightly as sweaty skin met cool and dusty glass; the shape of his jaw, his pale eyes, that silly haircut. You could still hear him laughing, the sound bouncing at the back of your skull; something that you would never hear again.

You sighed heavily, your chest felt hollow and your stomach seemed to be resting by your ankles.

Had it been a worthy sacrifice?

Or had he died for the same imperialistic, selfish reasons that all the others had?

Had Soap died for a war that was over nothing more than brutality?

You shook your head, sighing heavily as your gaze was brought to the canvas picture on the wall; you and Soap, together. It had been taken by Gaz, your best friend from school who had introduced you to Soap in the first place.

Gaz, who you loved dearly, but couldn't bring yourself to talk to even though you knew he would understand and he would be there.

The picture had been taken on a hilltop, where you and Gaz were always wandering off to whenever you had the time. Soap was grinning as he held onto you, and you could remember it all so clearly.

The way Soap laughed as he kissed you softly, telling you not to let him fall when going up a particularly steep part of the hill.

The sound of his harsh and heavy panting when you reached the top.

His calloused fingers gently raking up and down your arm as he laid beside you amongst the tall grass.

Your name on his lips when you and Gaz were kicking a ball about, only for it to smack Soap right in the face when Gaz gave it a particularly hard kick.

The smell of the sweet summer air.

The sun on your back.

Summer used to be so kind. Not anymore.

You missed summertime. You missed the moments with Soap that, at the time, you took for granted. You tilted your head back, closing your eyes as you cursed yourself for being so stupid. Your last words to him screaming in the back of your head.

"If you die, I'll kill you."

How could you have been so stupid?

You should have told him that you loved him. That you were going to add his last name onto yours before he married you so that he would always be with you, even when he was a thousand miles away.

You should have told him to be safe. You should have told him that you were his husband, and you didn't care about actually getting married. That you just wanted to be with him.

Fuck.

You were an idiot, well and truly.

You got up, painfully aware that there would be no grumble to tell you to get back into bed, even though you still paused and waited for it; you closed the bedroom door, something that you never did before.

Except for the time that you were trying to hide Soap's surprise birthday present and lied, telling him that you needed to make a phone call.

It clicked shut, and you shuddered, a heavy sigh leaving your lips as you crashed back into bed. Leaving his side untouched.

"Oh, John Boy," you breathed out, vision blurry and head pounding, nose blocked and throat raw and thick when you swallowed. "Why'd you have to leave me, huh? Why'd you have to leave me all fucking alone? Eh? Can't you fucking see, you selfish prick? I'm lost without you. I... I don't know how to go on without you, you fucking wank stain."

You sniffled, shaking your head as your bottom lip tremble, a soft gasp more than a breath leaving you as you pulled your knees up; trying to make yourself as small as you could, hoping that all of the cruelty and selfishness of war would swallow you up, somehow.

That it would just drop you into the back of its throat and be done with it.

"Soap... fuck..." you whimpered. "I don't know if you can hear me or not... but you're a fucking asshole for dying on me. I don't know what the fuck to do, anymore... I just... I miss summertime. I miss you."

[kwallanghae]

thirst | wen junhui

member: wen junhui - seventeen

content: comedy, vampire! junhui, reader who does not believe in the supernatural

summary: junhui can’t let anyone know about his darkest secret, and luckily even when staring directly at it, you refuse to believe in silly things like vampires.

word count: 1.2k

warnings: description of blood and drinking blood, language (cursing), hospital setting, mentions of masturbation, somewhat suggestive

ahhhh thank you so much for 100 followers! this is a quick drabble i wrote just to say thank you (and also ever since limbo came out i’ve been itching to write about vampire junhui)

Jun drank hungrily, feeling drips fall down his cheek. He wiped at the corners of his mouth, greedily licking up every last drop. God, there was something so humiliating about it all. The hiding in the shadows, the stealing, the thirst, the bloodlust. Yet, as he finally quenched his ever growing thirst, Jun couldn’t find it in himself to care. All he wanted was to drink, and in the storeroom of his local hospital at 4AM, that was what he was going to do. 

He knew he was getting sloppy. Every so often a pained moan would slip from his stained lips, or blood would fall to the floor, staining the carpet. He wanted to hiss at every wasted droplet, but all he could do was drink with more and more fervour.

“What the fuck?”

That was, until the lights of the hallway shone onto him, hunched over several empty bloodbags, with crimson lines along the sides of his mouth, and you staring at him in disgust. 

“I swear, it’s not-“

You rolled your eyes, pulling on your gloves before stepping into the closet, grabbing at the empty bloodbags. “Three bags? C’mon man. You better be donating loads to make up for this.”

Junhui’s eyes were wide at your behaviour, and he licked his fingers, wiping away at the blood on his cheeks, swallowing a moan as he got one last taste of the sweetness. 

“Aren’t you… scared?” He whispered, only for you to groan, jabbing at his shoulder with a pointed finger.

“You’re really committing to this bit, aren’t you?”

“Huh?”

“Come on!” You walked over to the bin, dropping the bags in the liner, and closing the lid. “You were moaning as if you were mid orgasm, in a hospital. During your shift, I might add. I mean, I know not much happens in graveyard hours, but still.” As you spoke, he got closer and closer, still hazy from his latest feed. And the fact that he was interrupted before he could finish. And now you were right there. “It’s like you wanted to be walked in on. Honestly, I thought you were jacking off.”

“WHAT?”

“Get over yourself, what I saw is even weirder.” Junhui knew he couldn’t argue that. His composure was weak, threatening to slip away entirely. Your scrubs were fairly form fitting, but you had one pair that was just one size too big, and those just happened to be the ones you had picked out today, leaving your collar and neck particularly exposed. Junhui wondered what would happen if he trapped you in a corner. What noises you would make if he just…

“Stop staring at me like that you weeb. God, are you still horny?”

He gasped, taking a step away from you. “I am not a weeb!”

“Oh? Then what are you?” You challenged, your tone bored. Junhui was filled with rage. You should be terrified! 

“Isn’t it obvious?” He asked, stepping towards you, flashing you a look of his pearly, sharp teeth. You didn’t step back, but you didn’t exactly make a move to get any closer either. 

“Junhui, I don’t know what you think people are into, but the whole gamer aesthetic, never goes into the sun or eats fruits and vegetables, and uses cheesy lines like ‘stay away’ is really old. You’re not from twilight.”

What. 

“It’s not a bit, wait, I go out.”

“I’ve literally never seen you when it’s not pitch black. And you’re so pale.”

“It’s a skin condition!”

“Yeah, sure. Tell yourself that. Just get out and get some vitamin D, please.”

You moved towards the door, and Junhui’s bruised ego almost let you, but he was filled with a sudden determination, and slammed the door closed before you could let yourself out. He couldn’t let you go, not after what you had just seen. And you smelled oh so good…

“I’m not letting you leave so easily.” He whispered huskily. He waited for your reaction, for the swallowed gulps, the whine, the whimpers, the- wait why were you rolling your eyes again?

“Again, Junhui, this isn’t really my thing. You’re like two seconds from putting cat ears on me and nibbling on my neck.” 

Junhui couldn’t stop himself. He wished he could, but it slipped so easily. 

“Did you just… moan?” Junhui was so fucked. “Oh my god! Do you like me or something? I’m not gonna lie, you’re hot and all, but you’re so fucking weird, man. Stop drinking blood to make yourself seem emo.”

“I’m not doing this to seem emo!”

“Fine, goth, whatever. Just let me leave please, I have a long shift and I don’t need you humping my leg.”

He slammed his hand above your head, trapping you between him and the wall. “It’s not to seem emo. I need to feed.” You were silent. Junhui smirked, he had finally gotten you to shut up. That was, until you started giggling. 

“Hahahaha, wait, are you saying- hmmhhhh- that you’re a vampire? HA! Hahahahaha!” You could barely speak through fits of laughter, doubling over to hold your stomach. If he was human, Junhui would have gone red in the face. 

“Stop laughing!”

“Oh my god, I’m going to start crying.”

He hit his hand against the wall in frustration, which of course, only made you laugh more. You began chewing on your bottom lip to control your giggles, but if you kept doing that, you were going to break skin. Two minutes ago, Junhui was scared he was going to do something that risked exposing him, not something that instead risked your teasing laughter and his ever growing sense of humiliation. He dropped his head so it was aligned with your neck, that shook and bobbed as you laughed, taking a sneaky whiff.

“Stop smelling me, loser. You’re not gonna convince me you’re a vampire.”

“Shut up.”

“You shut up! You occultist.”

The closer he was to you, the more his hunger grew, and the more your laughter frustrated him. Junhui swore, four more seconds like this and he was going to do something he would regret. With all the strength he had, he pulled himself away, off the walls, allowing you space to leave.

“Aww, are you embarrassed now?” You laughed. “Serves you right for stealing all that blood. You better find some B- donors soon.”

Junhui kept his gaze trained on the floor, trying his best to let his bloodlust subside. Your giggles slowly died down, and you moved away, patting his shoulder sweetly. 

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone about this.” You told him, and he looked at you in surprise. “Yeah, weirdly enough, this isn’t the first time I’ve seen one of you interns drinking blood. Soonyoung, in pediatrics, I caught him doing the same thing.”

Junhui smirked. How have you seen this multiple times and remained so blissfully ignorant of his true nature?

“Promise?”

You nodded, and quickly leaned towards him. His breath hitched as you placed a delicate kiss on the corner of his mouth. If you were more observant, you would have tasted the traces of blood still there. You winked at him, walking out of the closet, closing the door behind him. 

How sweet.

i’m not entirely sure what this is or what it’s turned into, but i hope you enjoy!!

[belladoesmakeup]

Blogmas : Finally trying Charlotte's Liquid Liner

Hi guys,

We all know by now I adore Charlotte Tilbury, it is by far my most used makeup brand ever and you can imagine I have tried most of her products by now. However one item I have never tried is her liquid liner, I own so many liquid liners I try to use up the ones I have before I buy new ones. I finally decided to have a clear up and I ended up binning 5 dried out eyeliners. I guess that happens when you only use your favourite ones but it finally gave me an excuse to get the Charlotte Tilbury Feline Flick Eyeliner in shade Panther , £25.00

Now Charlotte is known for the iconic eyeliner looks and liner constantly goes viral for being a long-wear, waterproof, ultra-matte formula. What I personally love about this formula the most is that it has a super precise applicator tip so it is really easy to draw the perfect wing. I have been using this liner for almost a month to really test it out and see what I think and I adore it!

I have worn this liner by itself, I have worn it on top of glitter eyeshadows, matte shadows and it looks just as good every time. I've had black liners before of course but this liquid formula is almost a jet black that is so pigmented it's mind blowing. I love this formula because once you apply the liner it isn't going anywhere!

If you need a black liquid liner for party season then I really recommend you trying this liner because it lasts all night and looks so sleek on your eyes. As always all products mentioned are linked above.

Lots of love,

Bella x x

[natjennie]

"pot, kettle, black" "oh! spoon, bin lid, orange!" "what?" "i thought we were playing two things and a color..." OKAY jesus christ elf's one liners sometimes...

[robynonposh]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Kate Spade Black Leather Longacre Court Leather Gold Chain Handbag.

[su-z123]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: NWT Forever 21 black and white one piece swimsuit.

[jwood718]

Had the sudden realization the other day (or maybe a couple months ago) that we have a vacuum bottle collection. It wasn't intentional, it just kinda' happened that a bottle would occasionally be purchased--and, loathe to bin anything that's useful, they accumulated.

From left, at the back: two Stanleys (including one that's very classic: it has the dual twist-stopper); four Thermos brand bottles (the gray carafe was got, like, 30 years ago, and it's arguably the progenitor of the bunch); and two Icy Hot bottles (with cork stoppers!). The two in front are both Thermos, the black one purchased specifically to carry milk from kitchen to work for coffee; the little (literally) half-pint sized camping bottle is the most recent purchase, bought mostly 'cause it's, well, cute.

The full-sized Thermos camping bottle at the back right is one of those that's all original parts today, but they're not all original to each other (yes, like John Dies At The End). The barrel, the cap and the cup all came together, but the liner and the screw-on stopper are replacements--showing off the truly after-market possibility of the internet: years after hardware stores no longer had replacements for these (they did, once upon a long time ago, like 30 years back) there are today people who manage to find this shit and sell it to people like me. Likewise the dual twist-stopper on the older Stanley: for years, it couldn't be carried (not very well, anyway) 'cause the stopper was cracked, and the rubber seals were dried out, but someone on-line had one for sale in the original packaging--sold!

Ha.

Jake and Rachel, 2024.