#love my wine tasting like soap

[vurlient]

Collapsing on the bed rn...

eepy as fuck

[ecstarry]

the one where james has to bath a tipsy regulus prompt by @star4daisy

“Please stay still.” James laughed at his very tipsy lover.

Regulus had his eyes closed and swayed slowly from side to side. James attempted to steady him by holding his arms. “Love, I’m going to undress you and then get you in the shower, is that okay?”

A sweet and quiet "mhm" left Regulus' lips. He fumbled with his shirt buttons, but after a minute of struggling to undo the first one, James intervened.

“You are so smart and good with buttons,” Regulus declared. “Too good, actually. Have you done this many times?

“What, unbutton your shirt?” James gladly responded to Regulus' drunken questioning.

"Yessss," Regulus drawled, his words elongated in that unmistakable tipsy way he'd always denied once sober. James finished unbuttoning the shirt, gently sliding it off one arm at a time. He leaned in, placing a soft kiss on Regulus' chest, then started unzipping his pants.

"Wow, Potter. You should buy me dinner first," Regulus quipped, laughing at his own joke.

"I have done exactly that, and apparently, more than enough wine too," James replied with a chuckle.

Once Regulus was undressed, James gently guided him into the bathtub, the water set to the exact temperature he knew Regulus liked. Taking care of Regulus came naturally to him. Every new detail that Regulus shared, James attentively listened, making sure he will always love him correctly. 

Carefully, James began washing Regulus' hair, his movements tender and delicate. He softened as he watched Regulus relax under his touch.

"You're good at this too, Jamie," Regulus murmured.

"Thank you, love," James replied, rinsing his hands and delicately wiping away the shampoo threatening to drip into Regulus' eyes. Regulus purred contentedly at the gesture.

Then, he took Regulus' favorite shower gel and began scrubbing him softly. As he worked, James pressed soft kisses all over Regulus' body, unfazed by the taste of soap on his lips. There were moments when Regulus would chuckle and tell him that his kisses tickled, prompting James to kiss him even more until the chuckles turned into full laughter, filling their bathroom.

As James turned to reach for the towel, Regulus grabbed his shirt and pulled him back.

“Baby, wha—” James started, but it was too late. He tumbled into the bathtub, fully clothed. Regulus burst into laughter and playfully splashed water to ensure James was completely soaked. James stared at him, taking in the sight of the dark, wet curls, the droplets of water on Regulus' face, the curve of his mouth, the veins in his neck, and the pink of his lips. He allowed himself to savor every detail of the moment.

Regulus' cheeks flushed under James' lustful gaze. James extended his arm and gently touched Regulus' lips, tracing them with his index finger before slowly moving his hand to hold his chin. Regulus melted under his touch, leaning into James' palm with a contented sigh.

“You’re a bit wet,” Regulus pointed out, chuckling to himself at the understatement.

James laughed with him and leaned in closer to whisper, “Now it’s time for you to shampoo my hair.” 

Regulus pouted. “But I’m drunk.”

“You should’ve thought about that before pulling me to the bath with you, love.” James’ voice was tender. 

“Okay, I’ll try my best.” He promised.

Regulus got closer and began undressing him. James was delighted to be touched by Regulus—he always was. His boyfriend was attentive in his own way. He didn’t quite catch the shampoo before it got into his eyes, but he was gentle when untangling James' hair.

After his drunken attempt to shower James, they stayed there, their laughter prompted simply by silly looks.

“You look quite good naked, has anyone told you that before?” Regulus teased. 

“Okay, love, time for bed,” James announced as he stood up. He grabbed a towel for Regulus and wrapped him. He looked like an angel, a precious being that James had the honor of taking care of. 

James dried himself up and pulled the human burrito close to him, his arms wrapped around him. 

“Thank you, Jamie.” Regulus whispered into his chest. 

“It was my pleasure, love.” He meant it. He always did.

[mellowwillowy]

CW: A literal Serial Killer, obv gore description.

Yan! Serial Killer who didn't expect to fall head over heels for you, his supposed next victim. Don't get him wrong, he still wishes he could just yank those eyeballs out of your eye sockets and dip them into his cup of tea but he will refrain from doing so, just yet.

Yan! Serial Killer who loves to hide under your bed and waits for you to either fall asleep, stay up like a bat, or do your business. He's savoring every little noise you make like a fine wine.

Yan! Serial Killer who will actually stay in your home like he lives in it. Won't hesitate to make himself a dinner if you are a heavy sleeper (can always just knock you out with sleeping pills). That said he will also shower in your home, savoring the scent of the products you are using

Yan! Serial Killer who actually helps you in one way or another! Oh goodie, you ran out of soap! Here, let him refill it for you. Wait, you got a stain on your shirt. tsk tsk tsk, this will do justice. Hm? Are we running out of eggs? A visit to the market will solve the problem!

Yan! Serial Killer who loves to collect the eyeballs of anyone who dares to look at you for more than 5 seconds adoringly. He's lucid enough to differentiate which one to be spared and which one is not.

Yan! Serial Killer who almost squeals happily when you acknowledge him indirectly. "Perhaps my fairy godmother has finally come to help me," you quoted.

Yan! Serial Killer who can't help but stroke one out on your sleeping figure, his hand lifting your pajama up to reveal your chest. He will go as far as to rub his cock against your sex then whoops, plunge it into your hole <3

Yan! Serial Killer who contemplates whether he should cum inside you or not. One thing leads to another, and he chooses not to (It's rather troublesome to wash you up so he just came inside your mouth <3

!! Gore Warning !! (You don't have to read it if you are not a fan of it, nb: Cannibalism and Necrophilia + Backstory)

Yan! Serial Killer who somehow adores the idea of gutting you and feeling your innards, tasting how your heart beats against his tongue, or playing with guts as though he is making dough.

Yan! Serial Killer who adores you so much that he won't stop rutting against you, fucking you despite your state, cold and unmoving. Dead. He might even treat himself by burying himself deep in your guts huh?

Yan! Serial Killer who will not let death separate you two. Didn't you know that the reason he fell for you? Ah, you didn't know why he is branded as a serial killer too right?

Erickson is a man of wonder, due to his upbringing as the first heir of an infamous dukedom, he has been spoiled rotten with everything he has always wanted.

Nonetheless, he feels like he has never even once been given what he truly wanted because the supposed first heir is supposed to be his twin brother, Noel, who came out first.

In the mansion where his family resided, there was a servant who caught his twin brother's heart. A girl, or a boy? He pondered. It appeared that you were an orphan that his mother took in out of pity for your state.

It was not love nor fascination. It was the urge to take and destroy what Noel possessed and adored. And this kept going even until the three of you grew up as adults.

He would do anything to tarnish his brother's life, his position, his honor, and his beloved. That would also include you, his unrequited lover whom he accidentally met during his killing spree.

It was boredom that killed him and killing people kept him away from boredom. But you? You surely would not fail to ease his boredom for you were whom his brother longed for. And what Noel longed for would be what Erickson longed for as well, alas loving you in his stead.

[mistydeyes]

This is my first time doing this!!!!! can you please do 141 with a rich reader! Like she buys them cars,supplies,homes,etc but not in a sugar momma way like “ I’m make money……..and my love language is gift giving” like imagine them walking into her house mansion and is like “this is 10 times bigger than my flat building” and she’s like “oh shush….besides this is your home now” or when she picks them up to go to the pub she pulls up in their dream car and their like “love your car” she like “it’s yours” and throws the key. And when they give her gifts she ADORES them (it’s some purfum she likes) she’s just loves spoiling her baby and they don’t know how handle Being so special! CAN YOU PLEASE MAKE A REACT ON THIS ITS BEEN ROTTING MY MIND

hehe thank you so much for requesting! we love expensive taste and a woman who's love language is gift gifting!!

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summary: When the 141 met you, they had no idea what kind of life you came from. However from extravagant vacations to luxury vehicles, you make sure to treat your man right.

pairing: Taskforce 141 x fem!reader

warnings: swearing

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price

Looking at John, you can tell he enjoys the more expensive taste in things. Holidays are always a joy for you both as you spend your hard-earned salary on practical yet extravagant gifts. For your anniversary, you wanted to impress. Earlier in the year for your birthday, he had gotten you a bottle of Baccarat Rouge 540 and you were over the moon. It had it's own shelf in your home and he always made sure to compliment the rich, sultry scent when you wore it. This inspired you as you dragged John to the bright red building in Grasse. You had spent the last week in the south of France, seeing the sights and enjoying the extravagance of wine and pastries. He had been wondering where you were going as you maneuvered through the streets and eventually walked up the path. "This is the final part of a French tour," you smiled as you entered, "a perfume-making class!" As he chuckled at the idea, you checked yourselves in with the minimal amount of French you knew. "What made you pick this?" he asked as you waited for your perfume instructor. You looked around at the various creations and bottles that glistened in the afternoon sun. "You always talk about wanting to find the perfect scent," you commented, "especially when you have one of your fancy military balls or ceremonies." He nodded as he cozied himself onto the leather couch. "Well looks like this is the perfect place to do so," he smiled, kissing you on the forehead. "Don't worry, I'll make sure to pick an expensive-smelling one for my luxurious husband."

soap

"This can't be right," Johnny mumbled as he arrived at your address. You told him you lived in the English countryside and he expected a cottage fit for a granny. He was not expecting a castle that looked like it stretched various football fields. The exterior was extravagant and he was calculating the price of your marbled columns before you opened the door. "Johnny, a pleasure to have you," you smiled as you let him into the foyer. He took a minute to look at the not one but two staircases you had leading to the upper floor. Furthermore, the interior looked like a smaller version of Versailles. He thought he knew luxury when he saw Price's flat but that was a shoe closet compared to this. "Are you alright?" you questioned, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You live here?" he asked and gasped at the way his voice echoed amongst the mansion. You laughed for a moment before looking back up at him. "Yes, I do," you replied as if it was a silly question, "it's quite nice." He turned back to you with a shocked face. "This is more than nice," he said, gesturing to your extravagant home, "I was not picturing this during the drive." You blushed a little at the realization that this wasn't the typical home he had been accustomed to. "Well do you want a house tour?" you offered and he immediately took the offer, "let's start with the first library." "There's multiple?"

gaz

Kyle looked at his watch as he wondered where you were. "The missus running late?" Price asked as he searched for his car keys. "Probably had a meeting or something," Kyle said, looking back down at his phone, "perks of dating a CEO I guess." Just as Price offered him a ride, a silver Rolls-Royce Spectre came revving in front of the two awe-struck men. "Sorry I'm late boys," you said as you got out, "hope Kyle stayed out of trouble long enough, John." "He's a good one, Y/N," Price replied as he gave you a quick hug. He smiled back at you before waving off and walking over to his own vehicle. "This a new company car?" Kyle asked as he examined the pristine exterior and the practically silent hum of the EV engine. You had a small smile on your face as he tapped the front of the car and looked into the windows. "It's new but definitely not company-issued," you smiled, wrapping your arms around his torso. "Didn't think you needed a new car," he continued and the suspense was killing you. As you opened the car door and sat in the red leather passenger seat, Kyle looked at you dumbfounded. "You want me to drive?" he questioned as he moved the seat back into a comfortable position. "Of course, babes," you said, practically bursting with happiness, "you should drive your own car home." There was a brief moment of mixed screaming and excitement as he realized this was his. Once he was finished (and you stopped laughing), you turned on the seat warmers. "Go ahead," you smiled, "take us home in your new toy."

ghost

Simon was never one to gorge himself on the finer things in life. He would save 80% of his paycheck and spend the rest at the grocer's or off-license. He often would have to hold you back from ordering items for him or buying something at Armani on a whim. "Return it." you could hear Simon say behind you and you sheepishly closed your laptop as you knew you had been caught. "You need new jeans though," you tried to convince him but he shook his head. "I could get a pair of Wranglers for less than £47.50 on sale," he responded and that's how most conversations ended. However, you had spent your time finding him an expensive gift that you knew he would value. "What's this?" Simon asked as you pushed over a small parcel. "I know you don't celebrate your birthday but I got you something," you smiled before sitting down with him on the couch. He shook his head as he ripped open the packaging. Inside was a small box that depicted a pair of sturdy-looking earplugs. "For when you exercise or go on runs," you commented, "they're Beats Fit Pro." He opened up the box and you watched as he adjusted them into his ear. "You know I can just use those wired ones," he said before trying them out. You shook his head as he admired the noise-canceling quality. He was enjoying the gift no matter how much he said it was unnecessary. "Well if you don't like them I can always return them," you joked, reaching your hand across the couch to get them before he pulled it away, "yeah, that's what I thought."

[mcflymemes]

ATLANTIS: THE LOST EMPIRE (2001) PROMPTS *  assorted dialogue from the film, adjust as necessary

it's been my experience when you hit bottom, the only place left to go is up.

i sleep in the nude.

about time someone hit him. i'm sorry it wasn't me.

i didn't say it was the smart thing, but it is the right thing.

i came down the chimney. ho ho ho.

we've done a lot of things we're not proud of. robbing graves, plundering tombs, double parking... but nobody got hurt.

maybe somebody got hurt, but nobody we knew.

will you look at the size of this? it's gotta be half a mile high at least.

our lives are remembered by the gifts we leave our children.

you're so skinny, if you turned sideways and stuck out your tongue, you'd look like a zipper.

hey look, i made a bridge.

as far as me goes, i just like to blow things up.

come on. tell the kid the truth.

does it match my dress?

it was like a sign from god.

i got your four basic food groups: beans, bacon, whiskey, and lard.

you have disturbed the dirt.

what have you done?

if you give back every stolen artifact from a museum, you'd be left with an empty building.

i gotta admit, i'm disappointed.

you ask too many questions!

who are you? who sent you?

do not be such a crybaby.

now tell me your story, my little friend.

trust me on this one. you don't wanna know.

if you're looking for the pony rides, they're back there.

what else have you got in there?

forget your jammies, [name]?

you're gonna want a pair of these.

i think we've seen how effective my decisions have been.

have i left anything out?

you did set the camp on fire and drop us down that big hole.

i took this job when my dad retired.

you are a scholar, are you not?

who told you that?

let's go over it again, just so we got it straight.

we're all gonna die.

someone needs to talk to that girl.

for the good of the mission, i will go!

tonight's supper will be baked beans. musical program to follow.

hey, i had nothing to do with it.

i'll have to quit my job.

you didn't just drink that, did you?

don't move, don't breathe, don't do anything...

carrots? why it it always carrots?

with something like that, i would have white wine.

we can't let him do this!

okay, now you can go.

how was my accent?

we are not thriving.

where are you going?

don't take no for an answer.

look, i have some questions for you, and i'm not leaving this city until they're answered.

somebody's gonna have to suck out this poison.

i thought you said he only had guns!

mercenary? i prefer the term "adventure capitalist."

do you wanna do my job? be my guest.

i'm gonna need you to fill these up.

thank god i lost my sense of taste years ago.

why don't you translate, and i'll wave the gun around.

this was not part of the plan.

you do swim, do you not?

your heart has softened.

you would have slain them on sight.

what they have to teach us, we have already learned.

something wrong with your neck?

so i guess this is how it ends? fine. you win.

get back! i've got soap, and i'm not afraid to use it!

look at all those tattoos!

i've got a bone to pick with you.

any last words?

i really wish i had a better idea than this.

i know i'm forgetting something.

you're the one who got us here.

you must've read it a dozen times by now.

sometimes i get a little carried away.

all will be well. be not afraid.

i hate fishing. i hate fish. hate the taste, hate the smell, hate all them little bones.

you will not regret this!

hard to believe he's still single.

can you drive a truck?

no time like the present.

i love it when we win.

you pick now of all times to grow a conscience?

[yanderestarangel]

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐊𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐌𝐊1 | 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐀𝐑 𝐌𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐘!𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐋 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐏𝐓

TW: age gap, sugar!relationship, milf sindel, gn reader, power play, switch!sindel, v!sex, mommykink, use of sex toys, fingering, riding!face, overstimulation, oral ( f!re ), smut, praise.

SUGAR MOMMY!SINDEL - Who met you when you first visited her castle with other local servants, you were looking for a job and she found you adorable, looking you up and down, wanting to make you embarrassed on purpose.

SUGAR MOMMY!SINDEL - Who will slowly seduce you with her friendliness and cordiality, telling you how beautiful and polite you are, asking you what kind of adorable little creature you are and why you are there.

SUGAR MOMMY!SINDEL - Who will make you a friendly proposal, for you to keep her company in exchange for money, you will only need to take care of a few things, such as combing her hair, helping with makeup, choosing her clothes for party days and sleeping with her on lonely nights.

SUGAR MOMMY!SINDEL - Who likes to spoil you with large amounts of money daily, expensive gold-plated jewelry, diamond rings, necklaces and high-class clothes, all custom made for you.

SUGAR MOMMY!SINDEL - That makes you give small innocent kisses on her lips, sweet kisses that taste like the most expensive Edenian wine, while her hands rest on your chin, connecting your lips even more with hers.

SUGAR MOMMY!SINDEL - Who is jealous of anyone who gets too close to you, wrapping you in her arms in a tight hug, while placing your nose between her breasts - the smell of fresh lavender and soap was something warm, making you blush as she tangled her fingers in your hair, with a territorial look on you, marking you as hers.

SUGAR MOMMY!SINDEL - Who rides your face practically all day long, calling you a good boy/good girl for sucking her pussy so well, saying she'll spoil you with expensive gifts if you make her cum. "-Yes... my darling... just like that.. oh fuck- you're so good! Make mommy cum please.!"

SUGAR MOMMY!SINDEL - Who buys vibrators and sex toys for the two of you to use together, she loves using vibrators on you while you finger fuck her, she controls every strong or weak vibration in your core, making you overstimulated... and she won't stop until make you beg "-Come on baby... just use words, tell mommy sindel what you want..."

SUGAR MOMMY!SINDEL - Who likes to see you whimper and beg to cum while she fingers your cute hole, or fucks you with a strapon while you suck on the empress's soft and full breasts, making her moan and smile, stroking your hair. "-Not yet my little pearl, you'll only earn the money if you can hold on a little longer, okay? You'll only cum when mommy lets you."

𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓻𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽𝓼 𝓻𝓮𝓼𝓮𝓻𝓿𝓮𝓭 ©𝔂𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓵 2024. 𝓭𝓸 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓬𝓸𝓹𝔂, 𝓻𝓮𝓹𝓸𝓼𝓽 𝓸𝓻 𝓽𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓼𝓵𝓪𝓽𝓮

[marsbutterfly]

Headcanons: The Five Senses Of The Human Body After Losing Hanji Zoe

a/n: this has been sitting in my drafts since last year, since part 3 part 1 came out. I miss them. I miss them a lot :(

warnings: fem!reader, grief and mentions of hanji's death. NSFW once you get to touch: masturbation, dildo riding, praising, crying afterwards.

You see Hanji in the old books that collect dust in the old shelves in your room. The pages that never got the pleasure of being touched by their fingers, the words on the pages that never once got to see those whiskey brown eyes.

You see Hanji in the apron that hangs in the kitchen, still covered in flour from the cake they tried to bake not long ago. They kept saying they would wash it and get it clean before baking again but they never actually got the chance to do it.

You see Hanji in the box of extra sets of glasses that sits on top of the dresser. Actual frames and battle frames, broken glasses and brand new ones they never even got the chance to wear.

You see Hanji in the stack of paperwork they left behind. Unfinished drafts for new flying machines, titan experiments with Armin's Colossal Titan, a few half-written love letters dedicated towards you that you had never read until a few days ago.

You see Hanji in the dark corners of the bedroom, where their jacket hangs from the chair. A spot you haven't touched in weeks, if not a month. Not since before the rumbling even started because you know they were very particular about the places they kept their things.

You smell Hanji in the dirty bed sheets they left behind. The covers are still messy and thrown around, half hanging from the bed as you haven't had the courage or the strength to fix it. You can still clearly see the image of their body laying around naked, an arm over their face while their leg is on top of yours.

You smell Hanji in the half empty bottle of shampoo and conditioner in the bathroom. In the soap bar that has been broken in half because they couldn't find a replacement, so they tried their best to make it last.

You smell Hanji in the field of flowers right outside the city, a place where the two of you would go whenever they needed time away from the job as the commander. Sunflowers had always been their favorite.

You smell Hanji in the rain that pours outside your window. The memories of when they would go outside and allow themselves a few minutes of peace and quiet, just feeling the water against their clothes and their skin, moments that the two of you could share together.

You smell Hanji in the dirt, no matter where you go. Gardening had always been an activity the two of you shared, even if you were not the biggest fan of dirt and grass. But you could never deny them anything, not when it caused such a big smile to take over their face.

You taste Hanji in the leftovers you got from their favorite restaurant on the very last date the two of you went on together. A small place hidden behind all the buildings of the capital, where the waitresses knew you by heart and already knew your order.

You taste Hanji in the bottle of wine you had saved for the day the two of you got married. You never had the chance to savor it together so you take it to the area where you built a small gravestone for them and pour some on the empty ground, knowing that not even their body is down there.

You taste Hanji in the dragon fruits that Levi brought back for you. He knows those were their favorite and therefore he knows you, more than anyone, need to taste them again to feel connected to the person you had grown to love the most.

You taste Hanji in the food you accidentally made slightly too spice for you because you were so used to making it like that for them. You end up adding too much pepper and you are all too used to drinking lots of water during meals to make sure they are happy. But they aren't here anymore.

You taste Hanji in the tea bags that never got open, bags and exotic leaves that were confiscated from the military and the two of you stole from the Military Police, bag that you now have to try on your own because Levi is too busy traveling the world and rebuilding society and Hanji... Well, they aren't here anymore.

You hear Hanji in the old recordings Kiyomi Azumabito had saved from when all of you were having secret meetings away from Paradis. To be able to hear their voice again after witnessing their death, to be able to hear their laugh and the seriousness all combined into one recording. You could almost picture them next to you again.

You hear Hanji in the birds that sing outside. They would wake up as soon as the sun would rise and study the birds while sitting on the window ledge, a cup of tea in one hand while the other held a journal against their thigh, the pencil tightly gripped in between their fingers.

You hear Hanji in the way that you speak. After so many years as lovers and even more so as friends, you couldn't help but acquire some of their mannerisms. The jokingly pronounce T's at the end of your sentences, the loud burst of laugh when you first begin, the subtle roll of your tongue when you pronounce a few words.

You hear Hanji in the street music around the area that used to be surrounded by Wall Sina. Most of the performers know you by name, from times before the rumbling, when you and Hanji would walk together along these streets and slow dance to the sound of the instruments.

You hear Hanji in the moans you let out. Their name still falls from your lips and you can hear their voice, calling you a "good girl" and "what a wonderful job you are doing for me, Moonlight." Their praises still echo through the walls of your heart.

You touch Hanji every time you touch yourself. As soon as your eyes close, you lose the feeling that you are the one doing it to yourself as you begin to imagine their fingers inside of you once more, their thumb brushing against your clit.

You touch Hanji every time your fingers aren't enough and you have to resort to wrapping the strap they used to wear around a pillow. The way it slides inside of you and you cling to the pillowcase, imagining it's their shirt, you cry out their name and a few tears come out of your eyes against your will. You ride the strap until you are crying their name so loudly half the town can hear. You most likely cry afterwards.

You touch Hanji every time you run your fingers above your naked skin, trailing the hairs like a feather falling from a flying bird. You touch the areas of yourself you hate the most and you can almost listen to their words of love, about how beautiful you are and how they could never love anyone like they love you.

You touch Hanji every time the palm of your hand covers your nipples. Every time you squeeze your breasts at the exact same strength level they would and whimper at the feeling, lying to yourself that this is actually them, that they are still here and touching you in such an intimate manner.

You touch Hanji every time you close your eyes and you are finally able to dream about them. About a life in which they didn't have to sacrifice themselves, that you didn't have to see their body fall to the ground. You touch their face and see them smile once more, a sight you are so scared of forgetting, you smell their skin and you hear their voice in such a sweet tone you can almost taste it,

"I miss you."

[willowed-wisp]

I’m really fucking drunk right now

But the request is to just make Soap and Ghost happy, however you decide to do that 😭

Complete freedom of uhhhhhhhh prompt just that, idk, I’m floating off the face of the earth right now I am not here nope nowhere too much wine I think but it was fun 👍

mistletoe [ ghost ]

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I hope I did well with the request given, it said to make Soap and Ghost happy. And the boys do need some love. And anonymous, I feel you- my exact though process on wine lol

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Christmas, the time of giving… even in the military… even in its special branches. You were the only female on your squad, which meant one thing. You would be the only one getting them presents, because that’s just what you did at the festive season.

No missions, but you did find out from Price the most vagrant member of the teams’ phone number; being placed with him and Soap on most occasions.

When he didn’t respond to your text message to meet up, you set Soap on the case. You didn’t have family, Johnny didn’t speak to his and Simon you really had no clue about… the 23rd December rolls on, you had been up since four in the morning from habit but decided to get prepared. Cutting carrots… getting the roasties ready to cook later… Yorkshire pudding mix ready to go… Turkey in the oven…

Before you knew it there was a firm knock on the door and it was ten o’clock, and you’d expected to just see the postman before they went on their holiday leave. “Somethin’ smells good… watcha cookin’?” Johnny brushed straight past you to the kitchen, and the biggest surprise was seeing Simon Riley on your doorstep.

“He’s not wrong…” He said, rubbing is feet on the mats on both the inside and outside. Taking his boots off, you smiled at his politeness. You had never hung out with Simon, he kept himself to himself. Though you thought Johnny pushed him into coming over.

Entering your kitchen, stood Johnny MacTavish with a finger dipped in the eggnog… looking like a guilty child when you entered, “It wasn’t me, I swear…” You waved it off.

“A bit of gun grease never hurt anyone…” Knowing how messy the job proved most of the time, “How does it taste? The eggnog, not gun grease…” Ghost just stood leaned against the door frame connecting kitchen and living room. While Johnny tasted.

His eyes electric giving a hum, “Oh my god, Simon, you’ve got to try some…” Eyes lingered on you and then Johnny.

“I’m driving back, remember…”

“Come on, Lt… I’m sure Y/N doesn’t mind us staying until later, do you?” Head shaking with a dim smile on your lips.

Opening the overhead cupboard, “I even stocked a couple bottles of bourbon…” A brow raised by Simon beneath the hood and Johnny chuckled.

He shook your shoulders from behind you, “How can you say no to these faces?” Both giving your best mopey frowning.

Simon’s arms folded, “Use that technique in negotiations? Because I’m not turnin’ down a bottle of bourbon…” Johnny released your shoulders, returning back to the eggnog jug. “I wanna know why we’re actually here?” You hadn’t realised he’d slipped to stand directly beside you, and you felt your knees numb at the height of the man you’d spent hours of missions with…

It felt like you were under interrogation, “I thought you both deserved a homemade Christmas meal instead of a ready-made spag bol from the shops…” Only comprehending how close the man was to you, pushing off the island countertop and checking the turkey…

You had ushered the men to sit at counter on stools, Johnny had a jug of half gone eggnog in hand and Simon a whiskey glass. Simon more than Johnny marvelled how you worked around the kitchen, a spring in your step and a cheeky glint in your eye. A nudge to his right side, “Y’ staring, Lt…” He didn’t respond to the Sergeant, knowing fully well… maybe it wasn’t a good idea to go to your house and stay for an alcohol catering pre-Christmas meal.

But he couldn’t help it, “Need any help?”Talking to an optimistic person was what he craved and you seemed to be the only one in 141 that was a ray of sunshine in the storm ahead.

You queried, “You any good with mashing potatoes?” You swore you had never seen fluffier potatoes after Simon had finished up with the saucepan. “I’m impressed… and you alright there, Johnny?”

“Me nanna always slipped m’ some eggnog when I was a wee lad,” His cheeks ruddier than usual, and his smile wider. Let alone his speech, Simon and yourself sharing a humoured look at barely being able to understand your teammate.

Simon nudged him, taking the jug passing it to you, “Think you’ve had enough of that, Sergeant. Barely fuckin’ understand ya…” You giggled into your wine glass, taking a sip; meeting Ghost’s eye contact. He’d forgotten to take his mask up as the drink sputtered down his neck and onto his white shirt, “Fucks sake…” Discarding his jacket.

Johnny from the side, “Shit, bourbon stains like a bitch…” Simon didn’t care about the shirt, he just didn’t want to spend the entire day with an orange stain down himself.

“Throw me the shirt, I’ll get it out in a jiffy…” He cocked his eyebrow at you, “Not shy are you, Ghost?��� In no time, his shirt was off and a flash of white caught in your hands.

His chin jerked up, “Work your magic then, love…” You couldn’t believe Simon Riley was taunting you, attempting to avert your gaze from landing on that toned chest and his broad shoulders. Relatively easy being around muscled men your entire career, though you were disappointed when his hoodie came over to block his skin. All while you used bicarbonate and white vinegar, scrubbing until the darker patch faded till it was barely there.

“Á voila!” Holding up the large T-shirt, “just need to chuck it in the wash.” Throwing it in with a bundle you had yet to put on. The alarm going off for the oven. Thinking a curse, tackling so much at once. Opting to run to the washing machine, throwing some washing powder and conditioner in. Returning back to the kitchen, alarm on snooze but met with the sight of Ghost carving the turkey, his collarbones defined and visible as was the top of his chest. The hem rising just enough to see the band of his boxers.

Johnny just smirked at you, merry as could be watching his squad members mentally undress each other between half-lidded gazes. “So you’re good with all kinds of knives?” You didn’t mean it to come out like a purr but it had, dishing up the roasties. Johnny was setting the three table places- he shot you a smile. A knowing one, that you had harboured a crush on your superior since you joined the SAS.

Simon Riley just had a swagger about him- a cockiness to his aptitude. He was also caring, whether he accepted that compliment or not. He had saved your life more times than you could count, you’d had his back countless in turn. Partners in stealth and then Johnny was brought into the dynamic, you’d hit it off immediately- you viewed him as an annoying, endearing brother all the while Ghost commented flirty jokes to you. Never enough to have intention but he still said it.

Never knowing much about the man, for all you knew he could have a wife and kids at home.

But the way he was acting, it could be a Christmas miracle that Lt. Simon Riley returned whatever flicker of a feeling you held for him. Fingers brushing against each other as you reached for the same cutlery set bundled beforehand by Johnny. Simon’s whiskey beside your wine while you had staved Johnny on lemonade. “I’m comin’ ‘ere for every Christmas… how did you ge’ the turkey like tha’,” It warmed your heart, you knew Johnny didn’t speak to his family all that much and that his Christmases were spent alone. “Wha’ abou’ you, Lt?”

Simon had his mask up below his nose, and had been munching away. Simply giving a shrug, before digging into more. If he hated it, he wouldn’t be going in for more on the plate.

“You’re okay with us stayin’ the night?” You had been the one to suggest it, and your house had three bedrooms. Though Johnny seemed content sleeping on the sofa- passing out after finishing off the jug of eggnog. You had draped a blanket over him. Simon was holding his whiskey well and hadn’t overdone it unlike the man asleep like a baby.

You were glad to be upstairs, avoiding Johnny’s snoring. “We’ll leave in the mornin’, so you can get shit ready for your family to come over…” That was the sad truth and he saw it on your face.

“I don’t have anybody round Christmas time…”

“No family?” It wasn’t like Simon to ask, the whiskey had loosened him up.

Your head shook, “My parents died, they’d been disowned by their families… so I’m usually on my own with a ready made spaghetti bolognese on Christmas,” You were too close to him- a wall overhead. Only noticing then that a stray mistletoe sat in that spot all year round. Your parents used to make an effort to kiss under it every day…

“We’re under mistletoe…” His gruff voice spoke too effortless while a blush covered your cheeks; maybe from the wine but maybe from how naked he was under that hoodie- forgetting that his shirt was still in the wash. “You’re gonna have to take it off?”

An arm around your waist as you wobbled. “What do you mean?” His other hand removed the mask he always made an effort to wear even while eating. But there he was, a normal man with a charming grin and puppy dog eyes. “Simon…?” Unsure of him…

“I wanna kiss you, Y/N…” And you sealed the deal, lips on his- stood on tiptoes with his palms keeping you upright. He was fire against you, your fingerprints were invisible when marking his neck. It was like a wave calmly drifting to shore, like Simon all together. Something that could be so violent yet tender, especially beneath your touch. Your lips off his, finding comfort in the eyes you’d known for years. “Did you want us to stay in the morning?”

Pondering, “Don’t you have family who want to spend Christmas with you?” A shake of the head with a lopsided grin on his face.

The man shrugged, “We never did anything for it, it’s just another day,” that’s when he grabbed your hand, “But I’d love to spend Christmas with you… and Johnny…”

The three of you ended up making another Christmas dinner on the 25th, Johnny got drunk on eggnog and ended up doing karaoke while you and Simon held hands under a blanket. A snap of you three on your Polaroid and added to your kitchen’s cork board and a picture from Christmas evening of you and Simon Riley in bed- no mask but the fact neither of you were wearing clothes wasn’t obvious.

He would come back after dropping Johnny off on Boxing Day… “Shit! I forgot to give you two presents…” He pulled you back onto the sofa as you went to rush away.

“You gave us something better than a present…” Before planting a kiss on your temple, “And your cooking was perfect,” cuddling into you watching a cheesy Christmas movie. Kind of like the one you had just lived out.

————

cod m.list | request guidelines | ghost m.list

[stararch4ngelqueen]

cute bath with jason, candles and bubbles and light music playing and he’s sitting behind you and giving you kisses as you just talk about eachothers days

—

Time Written - 10:50 p.m

—

“I saw somewhere that they sell these trays that hang on the tub, like hooking on the edges. You can use it to read your book inside. With a glass of wine or tea, or scotch too.”

Rough fingers along your back rolled any remaining knots in your muscles, calloused hands gently stroking along the junction of our shoulder and neck.

“Scotch?” Jason huffs in amusement. “C’mon, y’know I’m not a scotch guy.”

“Whiskey, bourbon. Whatever,” you giggle, leaning your head forward as you swipe along any stray wet hair, only to feel his fingers completely halt.

“You forgot my tastes??” Jason expressed with complete shock at this horrifying discovery. “Baby, I’m hurt.”

Any further giggling was unavoidable as you see his face; twisted into mock pain, his lips formed into a tragic quiver as he gives his version of puppy dog eyes.

“An’ here I was, so very very proud of myself to drive all across town to that lush store you like so much, All for the bath salts!” Vocally expressing his pain, he clutched his chest in one hand, dramatically swooping his damp curls back to dress his palm over his forehead.

“Oh my god, Jason!”

“And they weren’t even on sale!” Jason continues on, leaning his head back further with feigned agony. “I spent good money on my woman, an’ she forgets that I’m a bourbon man!”

“Jason stop it!” You turn yourself just a little more, both hands coming out of the milky waters to settle along his upper arms.

“I got you that bottle of Four Roses earlier, I know what my man loves.”

Jason smirks whilst withdrawing his hands from their prior positions. He can’t help but laugh a little himself, lowering one of his hands under water to rest along your hip.

“What I love is that pretty look on your face, Doll.” He pinches your chin with feather-like softness before kissing you.

Coming home to this everyday; you, was a gift.

Getting to spend every minute in your intoxicating presence. What drug or alcohol could be possibly infect himself with when his brain provided such ecstasy with one look at you?

The lights were dimmed, the water still clung to its toasty warmth. The milky waters seeping with sweet soap, pearlescent powders, crushed oats and herbal oils.

An exquisite tastes of both lavender and honey soothing elegance, bodies dripping in glittering gold.

In some cases, you didn’t wanna do anything sexual when Jason came home. This bath, for example, both of you were naked yes, but it was possible to not think such thoughts in a precarious state.

Your one and only was home safe and sound, You loved nothing more.

Jason was more than okay with that.

If you weren’t up to it, neither was he. Vice versa.

A perfect, consensual balance.

This was much better than a book, even better than a drink. The sleep he always got after these baths were heavenly, nearly slumbering like a baby each time.

“After the day I’ve had, I prefer this right here instead of a drink.” Jason re-swipes his soaking wet hair back along his head, growing slightly irritated from his dipping curls dripping onto his face.

“What a way with words, handsome.” You smile as you turn your body slightly, letting your upper half settle more comfortably against his. His hand settles along your back, running soothing circles against your glistening skin.

“Jason.”

“Hm?”

“If I did buy you that bath tray, would this mean you’d read to me in here?”

“Probably,” he replies, pondering over which book exactly. Also if he believes he could be comfortable enough with literature in the tub.

“Might as well do some skincare too,” you ponder over the idea, to Jason’s confusion.

“Like, some eye masks or something. Make it a spa day.”

Jason remained… intrigued, adamant. Only eye masks he’s seen you use were those glittery jelly ones you put under your eyes. He’s tried them once, per your request. They weren’t bad, but he didn’t understand the uses to this day.

“You’re just giving Dick more things to talk about.” Jason chuckles, his eyes closing as your hand readjusts his sopping wet, snowy curl out of his face.

“As if he needs to know what we do. This is our time, remember?”

“Mhm.” He leans close, pressing a kiss along your cheek before leaning just a little lower, leaving a softer peck underneath your ear.

“Our time.” He murmurs, feeling your head lean against his touches.

“The day I can dress you in a bright pink robe—“

“Babe no.” Oh boy. “C’mon—“

“-With feather lining and fuzzy slippers. You’d look adorable!” Your purposefully cheery accent had him groaning your name in false irritancy against your neck, rolling his eyes.

“There’s no deal you can make with me for that to happen, Princess.”

“I can be very persuasive, Mister Todd,” your tone drops from its cheerful tease into a more slow, much familiar tune he was well accustomed to.

His chest rumbles with amusement, teal eyes narrowing with interest in your statement. You’re really eager for him to do such? Now you piqued his interest.

“I’d like to see you try, pretty girl.”

[loves-alibi]

Ik you JUST posted it but will you please continue on the vampire soap whenever you can😞🙏I loved it

ugh you’ve twisted my arm

original drabble

how you meet vampire!soap

***

He can’t keep his eyes off of you, and he isn’t good at hiding it. Stuffed in the corner of the pub at a table with three other men, his eyes are on you. You’d tell him to fuck off if he wasn’t cute. And if he hadn’t been sending you drinks all night.

Through the haze of your third (fourth?) espresso martini, you don’t try to hide your ogling. There’s a glow to him, light bouncing off of his skin and drawing you in. Despite his ridiculous haircut, he’s remarkably handsome— strikingly so. If he looks this good in a dark pub, you dare to wonder how he looks in the sun… if that skin becomes sunkissed when summer finally comes.

You’re too busy memorizing the way that his cheeks plump up when he smiles

Your friends get bored of the stolen glances. They tell the bartender to send him a drink on your tab. Send him a pint, guys like that! The bartender tries to convince you to not send over a drink. Dumbly, you trust your friends.

The pint lands on his table and you see his mates chuckle and tease him. You watch with fearful eyes until he slides the pint to one of his mates— a hairy fellow with unusual facial hair. A pit might as well have opened up and swallowed you whole.

Your friends go silent and start apologizing to you. You’re too busy waving them off to notice the figure approaching you. At least, until a throat clears behind you.

It’s him. His eyes are so blue up close.

“Thank ye for the pint,” he says. He’s scottish. Nice. “But I think I’ve had my fill for tonight.” He waves at the bartender behind you, a friendly smile on his face. He has a set of impressive pearly whites, accentuated by extended canines. You lean in to get a closer look. You’ve never seen canines like his before.

“Johnny.”

A friend taps your shoulder. “Night, hon,” she says with a smile. You throw her a goodbye and catch a look at your other friends. They’re positively geeked, giggling and giving you thumbs ups. Johnny seems to notice, but doesn’t mind. He’s smirking, though it’s more to conceal his amusement than cockiness.

You tell Johnny your name. He repeats it, the sound of each vowel rolling off his tongue like a melody. His lips are so red. You want to run a thumb over them. They’re stained, the alabaster skin around his lips smudged to a just-kissed pink. Funny, you think. Not a lot of men like him spend their nights drinking wine in pubs.

“You have plans tonight?” You ask. His face falls, and in an instant you feel stupid for even asking. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be forward—“

“No, no,” he croons. “I have plans in the morning. I’d have to leave you before sunrise.”

“It’s fine if you don’t want to—“

He doesn’t let you finish, pulling you in for a kiss. He tastes heavy, like petrichor bottled up into a man. You groan into his mouth, he takes the chance and slips his tongue deeper.

A few people clear their throats around you. You should feel insecure, you want to, but you can’t find it in you to pay attention to anything that dares to not be him. Johnny nips your lips before pulling away.

“Trust me, bonnie,” Johnny says. “I want to. But I want to do it right.”

“Do it right,” you nod dumbly. Your lips still sting where he had dug in. “Yeah. Let’s do that.”

Johnny chuckles. The sound of it is deep and smooth and goes straight to your core. “Be here tomorrow at five, yeah?”

A girlish smile pulls at your lips. “I’ll see you then.”

[lemon-russ]

Sometimes I just want to take care of Mortarion, cook for him, give him a nice bath, with a massage and take care of his skin with soft lotions, so I can get my hands all over him. And then wrap him in a soft fuzzy bathrobe and tuck him into a freshly made bed. That boy needs someone to take care of him, and he sure as fuck isn't going to do it himself

I got carried away, partially because @moodymisty won't stop talking about the stinky nasty man and I NEEDED to wash him.

Get cleaned, idiot.

Tags: @sleepyfan-blog @undeaddream @scriberye @lisikk,

and thank you for dividers @squishyowl

Mortarion x F!Reader

(Actually i dont think there's any reference to the reader actually being fem?)

CW: kinda gross Mortarion stuff, vague suggestiveness

Word count: ~2000

Mortarion trudges through the threshold to your shared chambers. You gasp and shoot up from your seat where you had been reading. He'd been gone for months on a mission, and you weren't expecting him home for a month still.

“Mortarion!” you say, rushing to his side. He blinks slowly, turning his tired gaze onto you. He takes a moment to fulky process you're there.

“I… return.” He rasps through his mask.

You frown, seeing the grey circles gathered under his eyes, his gaunt cheeks. He always looked ill, but today he looked a foot in the grave.

“You look exhausted, my love.” You say gently, leading him to a chair. He sits with a soft groan, slumping back and letting his head roll back. His robes are dirty and stiff from being worn so long, and you wrinkle your nose. You're glas the serfs brought fresh laundry today.

“It was a long, long ordeal…” he rasps again. You sit on the arm of the chair and push back his hood from his face. His grey hair, greasy and dust caked, falls around his face to his shoulders. You ran a hand along his cheek and he looked up at you tiredly with his cloudy green eyes.

“Here-” you say softly, standing, “you must have not had a decent meal in weeks, let me get you something-”

He blinks, scrunching his brow and raising a pallid hand a bit as you scurry away from the chair.

“You don't have- come, we have serfs for that-” he weakly protests, but you're already out the door.

You return quickly with a spread of cheeses, fruits, meats, and some wine. Mortarion couldn't get drunk, but he sometimes enjoyed the taste. You place it on the sidetable nearby, hopping back next to him. This time he places an arm around your side, but carefully as not to touch you.

His pale eyes soften at the plate. “…thank you. That is… very kind.” He says, reaching for his respirator.

You watch him take the gas infusing mask off, and wince when he starts gasping rattling sounds. You hand him a cloth to cough into, and rub his wide back as he hacks and wheezes while his lungs struggle to rebuild themselves enough to breathe unaltered air. When he's able to breath mostly uninhibited, he swallows a few times and looks up at you again, a thin sweat on his brow.

“You don't have to… always stay with me, when I take off the mask…” he croaks weakly. You smile and give a soft sigh.

“It's alright. I can handle it.” You say gently. You bring him over the tray, and he scrunches his nose and coughs when a tart fruit hits his tongue. He instead gulps some wine, then sighs.

“Tastes… awful, at first.” He mumbles in his hoarse voice.

“I know, my love.” You soothe, rubbing his shoulder and ignoring the dust and blood caked robes. “But your taste will kick back in soon like always.”

You slide off the chair again, and his dry, paled lips give a small frown. You smile back. “I'm going to run you a bath while you snack.” You say, flittering over to some cabinets. You start gathering scented herbs and oils and soaps.

Mortarion gives a resignated sigh. “Very well, then… I have… learned better than to fight with you on this. Go make your soup.” He gruffs, halfheartedly waving a hand your way.

You giggle. He may give you attitude about it, but you suspect some part of him liked the comfort and attention, as antithetical to his personality as it was. But he had to keep up appearances.

You leave him to his food, hearing him occasionally cough over a bite, and head to your bathroom. You asked Mortarion to build a spacious bathroom when he asked how you wanted your chambers. He delivered, a large heated bath pool set into the floor, big enough that he could sit fully submerged. You turn on the water and throw in the oils and herbs.

Ginger, because he looked like his muscles were sore, and it helps his throat and cough. Lavender and chamomile, to help with the stress you could see in his tense shoulders. And some jasmine scented epsom salt for- well, everything else going on with his cracking, healing skin. Plus, you like the smell.

When the pool was sufficiently full, you return to him, now resting with his head back and an empty tray. You smile, content that he has real food in him, and gently take one of his hands in both of yours. You purse your lips at how bony his knuckles feel.

He cracks a red rimmed eye at you. “Is there something you'd like?” He asks, voice sounding a tad clearer.

You pout. “Come, before the water cools.”

He lets out a deep, rattling sigh, but seems too tired to argue. He rises with a groan, and dredges after you as you lead him to the bathroom.

His clothes are… well. They're going in the burn pile. Mortarion doesn't do laundry, so much as replace clothes. The serfs enjoy the lack of washing, but the tailors don't love the constant sewing of huge outfits.

He watches you, expression unreadable as you start undoing his various belts and ties. You free his hooded robe, and he helps you slide it off his shoulders, leaving him bare armed in a loose, sleeveless tunic. You undo the belt to that, fumbling with the knot around his hips, and glance up at him when you notice he's staring.

His face looks taught, and your brow knits. “My love…?”

He squeezes his tired eyes shut, making a small noise. “Its- nothing.” He hisses, turning his head away.

You frown, but shrug and go back to fiddling with the tied fabric. The dirt seems to have made the knot hard to loosen, but you manage to free it, and toss it aside and start tugging at his soiled tunic. He groans a little, but leans to help you tug it off. He kicks off his boots himself, and when you reach for his pants, he gently grabs your wrist, dwarfing it in his hands.

“I can manage the rest.” He says, voice strained. You smile and step back, watching as he peels the pants off. He gives you a look, before sighing and peeling his loincloth off as well. You don't know why he makes a spectacle of getting undressed. You've seen it all before. And more.

You giggle, but move a stool over for him. He sits, and lets you take buckets from the bath to rinse off the more offensive dust and grime. You'd prefer his bath not immediately turn black when he touches it.

When he's rinsed, he trudges tiredly over to the pool and lowers himself in. He hisses through his teeth as the water hits his cracked skin, but lowers in anyway, leaning so only his head is unsubmerged. His grey hair- brighter now without so much filth- splays across the tiles. You smile and sit behind him cross-legged on the floor.

You drizzle some flowery scented shampoo on his hair, and start massaging your fingers into his scalp as it lathers. He sighs a deep breath, sinking into the pool a little more. It takes a few rinses and lathers before you're confident his hair is actually clean, but his dull gray hair is now shiny silver once again.

You undress yourself next, and he tilts his head up to peek at you as you do. You giggle. Again, he acts like you aren't getting in the bath lole this. You slip in with him, his eyes never leaving you.

“What?” You chuckle softly.

His eyes roam your body, and he almost smiles the tiniest bit. “Nothing. Please, continue with the frivolities.” He replies, settling back again.

You do just that, using a loufa to gentley exfoliate the skin that was cracking and shedding as his body recovered from the gas.

He makes a small groan now and then, moving every so slightly to give you better access to him as you scrub sweet soaps into his skin. You make him roll over, and he does so, propping arms on the side of the pool as you nearly climb his back to scrub and exfoliate.

He looks half asleep by the time you're done, and his shoulders are slouched in a much less tense way. The red around his eyes is now pink, and his pallid skin is starting to look less translucent and waxy as the heat and healing slowly brings a hint of blood to his face. And, apparently, other places as well, you chuckle to yourself.

You run a comb through his hair, detangling it with scneted oils. He watches with half lidded eyes as you sit in his lap, gently tugging out knots.

“Why….?” He mumbles, letting one of his hands splay across your small back.

You smile up at his tired, soft face. “Why what, my love?”

He sighs and rubs his thumb over your spine. “Why… this? Me…?” he murmurs.

Your face softens, and you set the comb aside so you can cradle his face between your hands.

“Because you're you.” You say gently.

He sighs and lets his cheek rest in your small palm, eyes fluttering closed. You stay like that a moment, stroking his cheek and cuddling in the warm waters.

When the water starts to chill, he sighs and pulls you up with him as he stands.

“You'll catch a cough if we stay.” He says quietly.

He places you carefully on the tile floor, and you're quick to scurry over and fetch towels- one to wrap around you, and a massive one for him. You hold it up to him with a grin, and he cuckles a rattling sound, coughing slightly from the exertion.

He kneels so you can toss the fluffy towel over his head and dry his hair, then the work it down his shoulders and back.

When you've given him a once over, he plucks off your own towel, making you squeek, and plops ot over your head. You giggle and towel off your own dripping hair, and when you pull it off, you see Mortarion holding your robe out for you.

“Last time you caught a cough,” he says, “you couldn't get up for days. Don't walk around cold and wet, you're too… frail.” He grumbled.

You smile and chuckle as you slip into the robe. “I get sick one time, while you're always sick, and I get lectured…” you huff softly.

He makes a small grunt. “It's different.”

You roll your eyes, but tug him to the bed, and he doesn't protest when you urge him to lay on his front, crawling up to the plush pillows and letting his face flop into them. You smile at the sight, the pale king, face first on a bed, hair fanned over the pillow, looking like a kitten that was fighting off falling asleep right there.

You scoot to the bedside table and take the oatmeal and honey lotion you have made just for him. His only response when you start working it over his broad shoulder muscles is a resigned, tired groan. You follow the contours of his back, working your hands over his fair skin, kneading away at his muscles, down his arms, over his fingers.

You make him roll to repeat the process over his chest, sruggling to push into the firm muscle. You take a break to shake out your tiring hands, and notice mortarions eyes are shut, and his breathing is slow and rythmic.

You smile, returning to massaging the sleeping primarch down his thighs and calves. When you are content that youve worked out at least some of his muscle knots, and lotioned all of him you could reach, you sit back and smile.

Clean, fair but slightly pink toned skin, silvery hair slightly disheveled over his face, the dark circles of his eyes fading already as he slept. The peacefulness of his sleeping face, silvery lashes fluttering as he dreams, lifts a worried weight off your shoulders.

You pull a few covers up over him, slipping in beside him. He automatically hooks an arm around you, holding you to his chest like a stuffed animal without stirring his sleep.

With a heavy, worn and contented sigh, you rest your head on his shoulder, taking in the smell of lavender and honey, and let your own eys fall shut in sleep.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

super duper congratulations on 5k, you absolutely deserve each and every one lovely ! i’m sure you’ve got a ton already, but at the suspiciously low number of soap requests, may i ask for an enemies to lovers ? perhaps in a ‘constantly-butting-heads-to-the-point-where-everyone-around-them-is-bashing-their-skull-in-from-annoyance’ to lovers sense. and maybe a dash of forced proximity? i know he’s a literal ball of sunshine, but i will enemies to lovers-fy any character i can get my hands on and you do the trope justice every! time!! of course, only if you would like to, sending love! <3 xx

—A Song of Gnashing Teeth

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [There was never a day where the two of you weren't butting heads - everyone was at their wit's end. Of course, you would both be forced to cooperate at some point.] ❞

“Stop moving,” the command comes in from your right ear, fizzling in and out as the connection pops. The comms were spotty in the higher altitudes, and even as the sweat stuck to your skin and the bugs buzzed, it still tried its best to come through. 

Just as you were trying your best not to snap.

“I’m not moving, Captain MacTavish,” you ease out. “I’m lined up.” 

Sniping in South America was the mission for the next two months—targets lined up with terrorist connections that needed to be six feet under per Shepherd’s orders ASAP. Two teams had been sent out, but only to work together for this instance. Yours, obviously, and the second belonging to a man you’d not seen in years.

The taste was still bitter in your mouth when you were around him, though.

“Don’t lie to me, Dearie—scope’s shakin’ more than a drunk after his sixth bottle.” Your eyes glare ahead, a sneer building slowly over your lips.

“You’re one to talk?” You scoff, dense foliage swaying as you focus on the head of one of your targets. Your men listen intently over the line as the two Captains bicker—all in the town below waiting to do a snatch-and-grab of one of the individuals you would need to interrogate. “Moscow, Russia, five years ago,” you speak in clipped sentences. “Target in her penthouse. White curtains swaying in the breeze. What do you do, Soap? Oh, that’s right,” you growl, “you shoot the damn marble statue thinking it was her after two bottles of shit wine.”

There’s a click of a tongue over the line. A smirk easily heard that leaves you fuming.“I remember I happened to be a bit distracted that day, Hen. Not as much as you, though, aye?”

“Only thing I was distracted by,” you flick off your sniper rifle’s safety, undisturbed by the blatant insinuation. “Was your ability to not fucking see clearly.” 

A low grumble wafts out, cutting the line a few times. 

Your joined unit all seem to try and stop their hands from slapping their faces in annoyance—the connection heavy with tension and anticipation. Whoever decided it was smart to put the two of you together either thought it would be funny, or they hoped you could both get past your own egos for the sake of the mission. 

As if. 

“I’m taking the shot,” you sigh. “Team One—get ready to intercept the second target on my go.” 

For once, the Scot seems to agree with you, voice coming back to that serious gruff bark. “Two, keep the area locked down; no need to let the others get too excited and pop off shots. Save our arses the trouble.”

You let your finger slip down to the trigger, eye open and stance relaxed—taking into account distance and wind as you level to notch three. 

“On my go,” you say again, the comms lighting up with affirmatives. “Three…two…” Your finger squeezes just as, “Go,” is muttered into the air. 

In the scope, you watch the head of your target explode into a mess of blood in black and white, the spray flying into the air like rain only to fall once more as the body drops. 

The conjoined teams do as they’re told, moving in the middle of chaos to grab at the second mark—one needle to the neck later, and it’s a limp form that they drag into the back of an awaiting van. 

“Mission success. Pack it up and let's get goin’.” John’s voice breaks you out of your focus, letting you blink at the disappearing van before you shift your head away entirely, taking a low breath. “Shepherd’ll have new orders.”

“‘Course he will,” you grunt, moving to push up into your knees and crack your back. 

It’s only after a moderate hike back into the woods that you see him waiting, having trekked back from his perch as well, through bugs and branches. The rifle is slung over your back, just as his is loosely held in front of him. 

“John,” you mutter in greeting, slapping away a mosquito. Blue eyes glance your way, scar moving as a smirk meets your eyes. He never changed—even that mohawk is still the same. A disheveled dog down to the bone in his mouth.

“Dearie,” a firm nod is leveled. “Nice shot, then.”

“Ironic,” your head tilts, slowing as you meet him a few feet separated. A silence settles like steel to the hard floor, the long pause that draws on tension as a tight cord. 

John clears his throat, watching you as your eyes narrow, brow twitching. 

He steps once more towards you with one foot, leaning in.

“I suppose this is where I wait for you to slap me,” he tilts his head, still smirking. 

“I’m thinking about it,” you draw, blinking slowly. “Don’t tempt me, MacTavish. I don’t need disorderly conduct and assault on my record.” 

“Done worse.” You scowl.

“You’re acting like you want me to do it, damn freak.”

“I’m just saying I’d be expecting it, is all.” Smooth chuckles waft out as your hand waves in exasperation, walking forward. It’s only after you’re about to move into the trees and disappear from view that he calls once more to you. 

Your feet slow, but don’t stop.

“I really did miss you.” Eyelids moving just a tiny bit wider, your lips thinned out. Boots shuffle in the grass from behind you. “Thought you’d come back eventually, aye?” 

You stay silent, body still near the sentinels of old tree trunks. 

The parting of the two of you could have gone better—there were some things that couldn’t be fixed. You’d always be at each other’s throats, needless of missions or personal matters. 

You look over your shoulder to lock with digging blues—the structure of John’s face always seared into your mind so much so you could draw it even if years had passed.

“You never gave me a reason to stay.” 

He blinks in surprise, but you’ve already shifted away, heart pinched. 

“Good working with you, Captain,”  you say, already gone. Memories linger in the air, suffocating you. Your eyes close tightly, and you grit your teeth. “Call me if you need me.”

A shout echoes above the yells from the town far into the distance, meeting your ears. 

“I plan on it!”

You huff under your breath, but your skipping heart betrays you.

[sunshine-and-moonshine]

Hail storms

Requested: No

Warnings: Spicy 🌶, Religious themes (Kyle’s), Oral Sex (Kyle’s) Toxic relationships (Simon’s), Angry Sex (Simon’s), Bondage (Alejandro’s), Spit Kink (Alejandro’s)

Characters: Kyle “Gaz” Garrick, Simon “Ghost” Riley, Alejandro Vargas

Word Count: 1,448

A/N: New layout, woooooo!!!

Gaz - I’m Not An Angel

I wasn't always this way

I used to be the one with the halo

The weight of the gold cross on his clavicle burned as he watched you from across the pub, the sound of Soap’s laughter, of Price’s scolding words, of Ghost’s heavy breathing, it all faded into the background. Like the static of an old radio that you could never tune quite right. But you, you were clarity. The perfect pitch of some singer rising above the other soft noises.

He’d never had a one night stand before. Thought about it, prayed about it, but he could never bring himself to do it. Could never bring himself to let himself taste the sweet fruit of sin that he so often craved. The same one his pastor warned him of when he was but a boy, years before the man that sat in his place now. But he finds himself crossing that threshold now, the devil tugging him closer, a marionette on cursed strings.

“Hi.” He says, as he sits beside you, fingers trembling as he holds onto his mug of cheap beer. “I’m Kyle.”

But that disappeared when I had my first taste

And fell from grace

The taste of you in his mouth was sweeter than anything he had ever had, more than the grapes his mother used to pack in his lunch tin when he was younger, but yet you were also more bitter than the wine that followed communion bread. Innocence turned to pain and fear and blood. But none of it could ever be more holy than. No holy relic would ever be able to bring him to his knees the way flesh between your thighs did.

And when you ran your nails through the stubble of his hair, your eyes piercing and heavy as you stared down at him, he knew the cross he wore meant nothing anymore. A false idol, trying to take your rightful place in his heart. He squirmed impossible closer, tongue out as he panted for air, so desperate to keep tasting you that he was barely a centimeter away.

The chain of his cross broke easy under the grip of his fist, and he heard the soft ting of it hitting the floor, before it was lost to him.

It left me in this place

I'm starting to think, maybe you like it

Kyle woke last the next day, an unusual occurrence considering his line of work. The smell of freshly brewed earl grey curling pleasantly in his nostrils, rousing him from the pleasant warmth of your bed, flaccid cock hanging at his thigh when he slips out from beneath the sheets.

“Love?” He mumbles, feet dragging on the ground, feeling all too much like a newborn lamb, limping after its shepherd after just being born. Like the world was made anew, with you as his guiding light.

And that light led him to the kitchen, where you leaned against the counter, dangling his cross between your pretty fingers.

Meeting his eyes as you let it slip into the trash.

Ghost - I Miss The Misery

When you tell me you'll make it worse

(I'd rather fight all night than watch the TV)

The front door slammed open, your shoulder blades digging painfully into the hardwood as Simon rammed you into it, his hands ripping away at your clothes (clothes he bought you, clothes he loved on you, clothes he always loved to take off), your own tearing away at his skin, nails shredding away at skin like cheap paper, leaving raw bloody lines on his back that were sure to sting .

Some bitter and angry part of you hopes that the next time he tries to have a sleazy fuck with someone else, that they’ll see this. See what you do to him. And know that they’ll always be insufficient by comparison.

Cause no matter how hard you fought, no matter how loud you got. There was a simple truth you needed everyone to know about him.

He was yours. Now. Always. Forever.

I hate that feeling inside

You tell me how hard you'll try

“Promise I’ll get better.” He’s whispered in your ear countless times, curled around you after the latest round of angry sex, clinging to you like a lifeline, like he hadn’t had his hands curled around your throat not even half an hour ago as he told he how much you pissed him off, how much he hated you. “Never do it again. Promise, Love.”

And it was always a lie.

But he promised everytime, even knowing it was futile, fragile, already broken. Floating in the air like the moans you let out in the bedroom, under him with his teeth buried in your shoulder. Fucking you like he wanted to kill you with his dick. Headboard slamming into the wall so hard it cracked, brittle paint chips falling to the floor. And you couldn’t deny how god damn good it felt, everytime you fought your way back towards each other. Like opposing magnets, like heaven and hell.

But when we're at our worst

I miss the misery

The morning after, he was in the front room of the house, grouching and grumbling loudly about how he had to fix the hole the doorknob made again. His side of the bed was still warm from his gargantuan body, making you curl into it, seeking him and his heat out without specifically calling for him, though you knew he would come running with only a word from your sore lips. Eager to flee back to your side and crawl above you once more.

You smiled into the pillows, one full of teeth and mischief.

You couldn’t wait to do it all over again.

Alejandro - Do Not Disturb

Let's take our clothes off

I wanna show you my hidden tattoo

“This is cute.” You chuckled against his lips, back pressed firmly against the cool wall of his apartment, running your fingers over the crow tattoo that arched over his broad hip. The beady eye of the mischievous avian staring right back at you.

“Yes, what every man wants to hear during sex. Cute.” Alejandro laughed in return, darkened hazelnut eyes gaining a hint of amusement as he took your hand and placed it right on the patch of black ink. “Go ahead, touch it. You’re the only one that’ll ever get to see it.”

“Only me, huh?” You cooed in an almost mocking tone of voice, raking your nails along the razor sharp feathers of the ink bird. His skin jiggling pleasantly for you when you reared your hand back to give his ass a playful little slap, the sound of it reverberating in the room along with his grunt. “Well, aren’t I just honored?”

That nobody ever gets to see but you do

Oh baby let me taste ya, shake ya, tie you up and break ya

Hands tied above your head with a silk tie, his silk tie. A brilliant deep blue that stood out against the barebones gray sheets and pillowcases. Blue digging into your wrists in a delicious combination of pain mingling with pleasure. The same as his hips slapping against you with every inward thrust.

“Such a good pretty thing you are.” He huffs, leaning forward and pressing your knees to your chest, constricting your airflow just the smallest bit, white starbursts flashing behind your eyelids. “Letting me tie you up and have my way like this. Gonna let me spit in your mouth next?”

In response, you simply opened your mouth and let your tongue roll out.

'Cause I've been alone, left on my own for too long

Oh damn, too long, too long, too long, I say come on

“Come on.” He huffed, tweaking your nipple, grazing his teeth over the thin skin that stretched over your collarbone, a bruise or two sure to form with how rough he was being. “Come on, come on, come on.”

And come you did, with seizing muscles and flailing legs, a high pitched cry crawling out from your lungs and bursting out your swollen mouth, tears streaming down your cheeks in rivers as you throw your head back in ecstasy. Barely even noticing the way his hips started to stutter before he spilled inside of you, thick white seed covering your insides. Rolling his hips a few more times to really push it all in before he pulls out and collapses beside you, narrowly missing crashing on top of you.

“So….” You start after a few minutes of you both catching a breath, turning to him with sparkling eyes and a mischievous grin. “Round two?”

[dearmantis]

Dried Flowers

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova/The Darkling x fem!Reader

Summary: After killing another person who tried to earn your hand in marriage, Aleksander finally manages to get you right where he has always wanted you.

Warning: murder, slut-shaming, blood, obsession, manipulation, dacryphilia (kind of? not sexual, he's just weird about tears??)

Word Count: 2k

Authors' Note: My ability to form sentences in English is slowly disappearing. What is grammar? I don't know anymore. What is logic? I don't know that either. I think I know nothing at all, actually. I also didn't proofread this at all and this isn't my native language, just fyi.

The blood tints the water a beautiful rose colour, similar to the petals of a flower Aleksander has seen you wear in your hair a few days ago.

He's washing his hands slowly, making sure to get every single drop off using the strongest smelling soap he owns in hopes of removing the metallic smell from his skin and a small brush to get the dried flakes out from under his nails.

His gaze moves over to the mirror, checking his shirt for blood splatter in the reflection, but he luckily finds nothing. There are some drops on his face, the red covering his cheek, nose, and parts of his forehead.

He has licked the ones that landed on his lips off a while ago, enjoying the taste of it like an expensive wine as he watched the man bleed out on the floor, his blood forming a small puddle beneath his body while his weak voice begged for mercy.

When he's sure that he got everything off his hands, he grabs a small handkerchief and dips it into the water before using it to remove the blood from his face. He has no time to waste, but he wants to make sure he looks right nonetheless.

In an hour, you will realize that your Lord Peter will not come to your planned shared breakfast. You will send servants to his room to check on him and they will discover the letter he forged, explaining how the Lord wanted to use you as a distraction after falling for a young woman in Ketterdam during his travels and recently decided that he loves her too much to stay away from her any longer.

It will break your heart, but sacrifices must be made, and breaking your heart now would be better than breaking it later after you truly lost your heart to him.

It was a shame, really. Lord Peter had been nice, one of the few nobles in Ravka who did not openly talk badly about Grisha, but Aleksander still couldn't let you marry him. No, you had to stay here, right in the Grand Palace, and Peter would've dragged you to his estate close to the border, never to be seen again.

And Aleksander needs you here. You can't leave. Ever.

After the blood is fully washed off his face he washes the handkerchief and places it on the windowsill to dry in the rising morning sun before opening the window and moving to dump the bloody water into the bed of flowers growing below.

Then he sits back down at his desk and moves to continue with todays paperwork while he waits, patient like a cat that knows that the little mouse will walk right into its mouth.

An hour later you are sitting on his lap, hands tightly holding onto his kefta while he uses the handkerchief he used to remove the blood from his face to dry your tears, carefully dabbing the soft, freshly washed fabric against your skin.

"I just don't understand why this keeps happening." He hears you whisper under your breath, his eyes still focused on the tears rolling down your cheeks. You look so beautiful when you cry. Ethereal. Magical. "Why am I never enough? Why not?"

He can feel a painful pinch in his heart when he hears your words. It's not you who isn't good enough for them. They aren't good enough for you.

You, his beautiful little Princess who boldly stands up for his Grisha and gets harassed with horrible rumours in return. Who gets shamed and threatened and withstands it all despite your softness, like a wild flower surviving the most destructive storms.

"She's under the Darklings spell."

"Nobody wants to marry her except the General and now she defends him to make sure he doesn't loose interest."

"The poor girl is being manipulated by him. He uses her as a shield to protect the Grisha and the stupid thing is too blind to see it."

"He must've fucked his magic into her and it scrambled her mind."

So much gossip surrounds you, but you never complain. You don't even mention what they say about you, probably fearing that he will distance himself from you as well after finding out how people talk about you. That the last friend you have left will leave, unwilling to have his reputation ruined even more.

But he would never leave you. In Aleksanders eyes, you're the only honourable otkazat'sya currently alive in all of Ravka. He will do everything in his power to make sure you stay right here with him and influence politics further. You're a sensible person. Good. Kind. And you work hard to make sure people understand and respect the way you see the world. You fight for change.

So you have to stay right here with him.

"You're more than enough." He answers softly, dropping the handkerchief onto the sofa next to you before his hands move up to cup your face, making sure you're looking him in the face and see the truth in his eyes.

"You are so much better than anyone in Ravka understands. You have a soft, caring heart, and those who do not understand it see it as weakness. But I understand. I understand your strength."

Every single word that falls from his lips is calculated, his voice soft and kind in hopes of making you more susceptible to him.

"And you understand me. You understand how I see the world. What needs to change to make sure Grisha and otkazat'sya can live together in peace. You are perfect."

You don't understand him, not yet, at least, but you will. He will make sure of it. You will understand it all. His little flower.

He lets his hands move down to your waist, and your head immediately drops to rest on his shoulder, your face pressing into his neck.

"Why can't I just marry you..." Aleksander hears you murmur, almost entirely soundless, and he has to fight the smirk trying to find its way onto his lips.

"What was that?"

An embarrassed whimper leaves your lips, a sweet, pathetic sound that he would love to hear forever. "Forget it."

"No, no. Come on, don't be shy." Aleksander encourages, carefully drawing circles on your back while you press your face closer to his neck.

"It's stupid."

The Shadow Summoner doesn't respond, instead choosing to simply wait until you manage to collect enough confidence to repeat and explain yourself. You need to make this step on your own.

"My father will not stop until I'm married. He will continue to set me up with new people in hopes of marrying me off to get me out of the Palace."

You lift your head to look into his face, probably fearing that he won't understand you if you keep whispering against his neck, forcing you to repeat this whole thing a third time.

"And the people he chooses will continue to run away from me. Even the nicest people leave me behind and instead pick a different fate for themselves. For some reason, everyone seems to agree that marrying me is not worth it, a destiny too cruel to live through. No one ever stays with me. No one except you."

New tears sparkle in your eyes, and Aleksander decides it's the most beautiful sight he has ever had the privilege of witnessing. When you cry, all of your emotions are so visible in your eyes. You hide nothing, the mask that all nobles in Ravka wear washed away by the tears rolling down your face. The fact that you trust him to see all of your vulnerability and weakness fills him with glee.

"So I thought that maybe... maybe it would be an option for us to marry."

Before Aleksander gets the chance to respond, you begin talking once more, making it clear to him that you will probably start rambling.

"Of course, that's stupid. We're friends, and I really don't want to ruin this, and I know that I just did that by mentioning that I think we should marry, and I'm really sorry. It's pathetic and honestly disrespectful to you to ask you to marry me just because I'm sick of being alone and I'm pretty sure my father wouldn't even allow it so we would have to do it in secret which isn't fair to you and I-"

He cuts you off by carefully touching your face once more, willing his gaze to soften. He needs to at least pretend to be vulnerable right now to fully get you where he wants you to be.

"It would be an honour to marry you, moya tsarevna. It doesn't matter if in secret or in front of all of Ravka. You are my best friend, and it would be a privilege to be tied to you legally and free you from this constant pain of losing every person you get close to in the same breath."

Leaning forward, he presses his forehead against yours, hoping that the physical proximity will make him seem more honest than he truly is.

"But I don't want you to marry me just because you fear that you will end up alone. I want you to decide for yourself that you want a future with me. One where we can fight side by side for Grisha and Otkazat'sya to live in harmony."

He would marry you right now if you simply ask him. It's the ideal end to his plan, after all. If you were married to him, he wouldn't have to keep killing all of your friends and possible marriage candidates because you would already be tied to him and the Little Palace. You could never leave. You would be here with him forever.

Or, well... until you died from old age. But that's a problem he can solve, he's sure of it. He will make sure his little flower will live on and continue fighting with him. You're part of this eternal battle now, and he will not let you escape it though something like death.

It really doesn't matter why you want to marry him, but it would make the future easier for him and yourself if you simply learned to love him romantically. You'd also probably be more likely to forgive him for the more controversial ideas he has if your heart is full with love for him. As much as he wants to grab you and drag you over to a church to get it over with, he needs to be patient.

The end is in sight, there is no reason to rush things and risk mistakes later. This is the foundation for a bright future.

The worst thing that could happen is that you choose to wait and get to know another Lord who your father wants you to marry.

Another person for Aleksander to kill.

And then, when his dead body slowly starts to decompose in the flowerbeds of the Little Palace alongside the other people he has killed for this, you will find your way back into his arms for comfort and decide that you will marry him. There's no reason to force you to marry him now.

"I would love to be married to you, General. It would be an honour for me as well. You are a great general and an even greater man. I respect you more than anyone else. I promise it's not just because I fear to disappoint my family and end up alone. I have always admired your protective and caring nature, and I genuinely believe that you could be a great husband. One that I can easily love."

He moves your face back to the crook of his neck, his arms wrapping around your waist and pressing you tightly against his body. He can't hide the wide grin on his face.

The mouse walked into the cats open mouth. You are his.

[ryuzakemo128]

Another Idea/ One shot

Pairing: Poly! 141 x Italian Mafia Princess

Content Warnings: Italian Mafia Princess, swearing, house party, female reader is wealthy beyond commercial means, college au, 141 are football players.

“I don’t care what you think. I have enough on my plate already. I already know I’m undateable and unfuckable. I don’t need you shoving it down my throat you cock sucking son of a bitch.” You snarled at them. You weren’t sure who you were angrier at, yourself or them.

Who would want to date a goth girl like you anyway?

The one studying death like its your own soul laid to rest into the fresh soil beneath your feet.

Who were they to deny you from dating someone else?

What you didn’t expect them to do was to ruin any potential dates you would have had with anyone else on the college campus. It frustrated you to no end. You didn’t need more protection than you already got from your father’s insistence on bodyguards.

The four of them that mocked you were pests in your finely groomed garden that you can’t seem to be rid of. “Ugh, please tell me you’re leaving to a house party to get drunk off cheap tasting beer or whatever. I cannot wait to be rid of you four. A moment of peace is long overdue.” You stated as you continued to study.

You had your plans written down in your study journal and everything. Tonight, it will be your first night of peace. Hopefully those four would decide to join a frat there and move while they were at it.

If they did decide to join one, you would have many nights of peace, right?

You were relaxing to Italian opera, eating pizza, giving yourself a well needed facial, while the shark documentary played on the television.

Though when John Price slept with you one night? You had hoped he would have forgotten it by now. You couldn’t wait for him to reveal that he was moving to frat house with his mates. You were hoping and praying for it.

You had assumed it was a moment of ‘weakness’ on his part and never brought it up in conversation. Not that you would have organically. Only that you did that for your own selfishness. If you could call it that.

As you were getting ready for bed after dinner, study and your moment of relaxation.

Your phone buzzed with a message from Soap, one of the four guys who had been giving you grief. It read, "Hey, we're actually throwing a house party tonight. Want to come?"

"I have a date with myself. I can't stand being with too many people at once. The infestation of noise is enough to wish for a swifter death than anything." you texted back hoping that would be the last of it.

But it wasn't.

As if the lord is laughing at your ‘mistake’ and ‘misfortune’ from right up above you. Not like you were a religious sort. You just enjoyed imagining the would be god as a fickle thing.

Soap texted back faster than you appreciated or had the time for. “Come on, you need to let loose. It'll be fun, I promise.”

“My kind of fun is Italian opera, pizza, a nice shark documentary in the background as I sip my lovely Italian wine as I lounge upon my couch. Therefore, I think I am regarded as ill-mannered and under dressed for the occasion.” A polite rejection. Wordy for someone like yourself. But a rejection all the same.

You added in, “I have nothing that will seem appealing to you in terms of attire. Therefore, henceforth, I shan’t bring myself to leave myself to leave my hearth under dressed.” You silently thank your father for that one.  

You hoped he would go back to whoever he was sticking his tongue down and leave you to your solitude of madness. Your hearth, home and bastion of pure tranquillity. Just it was back in Rome with your grandmother, and parents.

At least you were insulted or mocked there. You were while you were in ‘Great Britain’ or whatever it decided to call itself after Brexit occurred.

“Before you go talking ‘just wear what you have on’. You don’t get the art of dressing up. Nor do I expect you to enjoy the sight of it neither.” You sent back to Soap in a text hoping to ward him and his fuck buddies away from you. “And I can’t afford to miss out on my night alone. Before you complain, all house parties are the same shit in college. All about either getting high, getting laid or fighting in the front yard.”

“It’s all the same with you and quite frankly I don’t want more of it. I want less.” You texted rapidly.

Rapid enough for your nimble fingers at least.

You were sticking to your guns, weren’t you? You knew where you weren’t wanted, and you weren’t going to cross over that river anytime sooner or later.

“Like water and oil, I am sure you understand why your group and me will never belong together, never mix and always remain apart.” You added in for some final touches.

Divider Template: @cafekitsune

[chugging-antiseptic-dye]

•°. *࿐ joshua

◦ words: noble, appear, soap ( <500 words)

◦ trigger warning: inappropriate and excessive use of italics

playlist : 711 by toneejay || she wants me (to be loved) by the happy fits || romcom by rob deniel || lihim by arthur miguel || ngayong gabi by hey it's je

.・゜゜・・゜゜・．.・゜゜・・゜゜・．.・゜゜・・゜゜・．.・゜゜

The chandelier loomed over your table and you couldn’t help but take a huge gulp from your wine glass. Was it really your fault for being nervous when it was only your third date with the man of your dreams?

Speaking of said man, he was sitting across from you in a black v-neck formal shirt and pants. His glittering gold necklace had the same sparkle as the chandelier and you didn’t know how to look at him. Half-convinced this was a disaster, you wanted to bolt from the face of the earth.

Thank god your inner turmoil couldn’t be felt by Joshua. He was calmly working his way through the sirloin steak (thoughtfully paired with a 2020 'Duemani' Cabernet Franc). Holding down the panic, you try to copy his demeanor. The small talk between the both of you was automatic as it was taking all your concentration to make sure you were perfect. But as the minutes passed, you appeared to notice an anomaly: a grimacing Joshua Hong. Surely you were losing your mind. Since when does someone like Joshua grimace? Even if it was for a second?  Never.

But it was true. Whenever he had a bite of the mashed potatoes, he steeled his face for a bit. In a flash, your mind went into overdrive and you blurted out,

“Oh my god, do you have a carb allergy?”

Pin. Drop. Silence.

Perplexed, Joshua replied, “No, I don't. Um, why did you think so?”

Feeling like you already dug your grave, you decide to dig deeper since you were already dead to yourself.

“Well, you looked like you wanted to spit out the mashed potatoes so I thought you had an allergy. I am so sorry!”

“Oh.” Joshua’s face started to turn beetroot red. He mumbled, “It tastes like soap.”

Leaning forwards to catch his words, you reply, “Huh?”

You didn’t know someone���s face could turn that red. He blurted out his confession in a slightly louder voice.

“The potatoes had parsley in it and it tasted like soap to me.”

You deadpanned, “And why were you eating soap, Joshua Hong?”

He sputtered out in embarrassment, “I didn’t want to look like an idiot in front of someone like you.”

A smirk formed on your lips. “Like what?”

“Beautiful and too good to be true.”

Now, two people were blushing into their plates. But as the irony of the statement dawned on you, giggles slowly burst out until your whole body was shaking. Wheezing, you asked, looking right in his eyes,

“Joshua, Joshua, please tell me you didn’t eat soap just to appear noble?”

One beat later, both of you erupted into uncontrollable laughter. To the rest of the people in this swanky french place, you two might look like madmen but, in this moment, the two of you became human to each other.

.・゜゜・・゜゜・．.・゜゜・・゜゜・．.・゜゜・・゜゜・．.・゜゜

if anyone wants me to write about a specific member, please send me an ask with the member name + three words from this word generator)