#And removing small parts so it doesn't make sense

[albinokittens300]

!Spoilers Under The Cut!

A/N: SO...been a minute since I wrote fic but. Made sense since I have ideas floating around might as well write and share them. Please note not only am I rusty writing in general, this is my first attempt at these characters. Be gentle on me please XD. I do hope you all enjoy. Let me know what you think, and maybe I'll try and get another one out maybe before Act 2 drops this weekend. All this ended up being was a little drabble of a possible reunion between Ekko and Jinx because I need some Timebomb goodness. Isha making an appearance is a bonus! Fair warning I make some wild leaps about what goes on during Act 2, so beware this is based some of my speculation.

He lets it go on for a few turns into different allies before finally stopping.

Ekko knows his little shadow is nothing more than a child, judging by the sound of the sets on the stone and the occasional clang of metal being kicked or tripped on. He usually wouldn't be worried- but with no one chasing after and taking her back to where she belonged, he took it as the sign it was. To follow him so far means she is all alone. Having just gotten back across the bridge, helping an orphan wasn't something on the list of deep concerns. At least, not until it needed to be.

"As quiet as you are, I have to say it'd be easier to get around if you weren't hiding." He says softly. Light brown eyes peek around the corner, playing at being undercover without actually doing so. She is hard to make out in low and greeish light, but he manages. "You can come out. Not gonna hurt you. All safe, I promise."

His hair raises, though, when her gaze flicks back to where he can't see. By all appearances, she is getting permission. So the girl isn't alone. When she takes a few steps out, he tries to remain unsuspicious.

"Whose behind there?" He asks as he kneels while she approaches.

"Definitely not who you're expecting." A darker, familiar voice speaks.

Jinx hasn't even revealed herself before the instinct takes over, and Ekko grabs the little girl and puts her behind him.

Attempting to pull her away from the known danger sets off another problem, though- the little girl reacts as if she has been burned. Letting out a cry, she wiggles away from him quickly before running back and wrapping herself around Jinx. While she removes the hood of her cloak, revealing a far too proud smirk, another arm wraps around the kid's shoulder. His eyes quickly scan her other side. A few bombs are latched there, but no pistol or any of her bigger toys. It was not a situation he loved, but it was preferable to facing down a minigun.

When Ekko's eyes return to the child, he doesn't think someone so small has ever looked at him so frightened. Something screams this isn't right as he watches for a few seconds.

"Relax, this one, I'll admit, has a reason to be a bit jumpy." She says, directing the words at the girl. Then, leveling a look at him. "What was it Vi said you had to say when the two of ya caught up? About looking good for a dead person?"

"That makes three of us, then." He says back. "Wanna explain what is going on down here, seeing as you are my welcoming party."

"Ah, nothing much. War, revolution, infighting, and unifying! All of that. If you are looking for the Firelights, they aren't at the tree. Or what's left of it." She says with a wave of her hand and a shrug. The blood runs like ice at the words and he rounds on her.

"What did you-"

"Woah, woah, I didn't do anything. Those wackos from Noxus? They are the ones who tracked the tree. My only part was helping everyone out." She hisses back. When his face changes, so does hers—relaxing just the slightest bit. Helped them out? Months trapped away should mean nothing surprise him. But it does.

He sees her arms crossed, watching and almost waiting for him to decide how this will go. Deciding to match her lack of hostility, just this once, he looks around to the eerily empty and quiet lanes.

"Guess I got a lot to catch up on."

That brings a less taunting smirk to her face. "Just a bit."

[gloomwitchwrites]

Circle of Stones

Aragorn & Female Reader // Aragorn & Gandalf (Platonic)

Content & Warnings: canon-typical mentions of violence, suspense/horror, supernatural elements, Sauron’s influence, ghost story, Aragorn’s POV, pre-fellowship, canon-divergence

Word Count: 2k

A/N: Requested by @stupid-little-birdie for 3.5k Spooky Bingo (Targeted by a Serial Killer)

Tracking orcs across the North, Aragorn and his companion come upon a potential source to a string of mass disappearances. When a darker influence overwhelms him, Aragorn is taken to the halls of Elrond where Gandalf asks him for a favor.

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // 3.5k spooky bingo masterlist

Mist covers the ground, swallowing up the road ahead. Aragorn brings his horse to a stop, gaze narrowing as he observers the grey horizon. This part of the North is almost always cold and dreary, yet there is a lingering shadow beneath that stirs the nerves and dulls the senses.

"Is the town nearby?" asks Aragorn as Wess comes to a stop beside him.

Wess consults the map and nods. Moisture collects on the hood of his cloak. "Just over that hill."

Aragorn tilts his head skyward. "A storm is approaching."

Wess frowns and glances up. "Clouds are dark. We'll want to arrive before the storm does."

Aragorn spurs his horse on, the two Rangers heading for the village. The grass is muddy and soft beneath the horses' hooves, and their arrival comes with the rain. It falls steadily, bringing an extra dreariness to the small village that it doesn't need.

Word spread about people going missing in the North from tiny towns and villages. It's not unheard of but they make for easy targets. There are no walls to protect them and no guards to defend against invaders. Just a few days ago Aragorn and Wess visited a village where so many people had disappeared that only a singular family remained.

No one greets them upon their arrival. The residents remain behind their doors and windows, looking on yet poised to hide at the first sign of danger. Aragorn understands the solemn greeting. He and Wess have met the very same reluctance everywhere they've traveled.

"Are you the Rangers that have come to help us?"

Aragorn lightly tugs on the reins, bringing his horse to a stop. A woman stares back at him from under a worn hood. His heart stirs at your beauty but disperses just as quickly. Duty comes before the heart.

"We have come to do what we can," affirms Aragorn. "Whom do I address?"

You give him your name, and then gesture toward a large, two-story building in the middle of town. "We can talk in the inn. I've had a room prepared for the two of you."

Aragorn and Wess find the small stable at the back of the inn. When they enter, the inn is warm and cheery compared to the gloom outside. It seems that spirits are low but not in here.

You approach, hood pulled back, a gentle smile on your face. "I know you were expecting my father."

Aragorn removes his cloak, as does Wess, draping them over the backs of their chairs. You unclip the small clasp on yours, revealing a simple but clean dress underneath.

"Where is the Lord of this town?" asks Aragorn.

You hesitate before speaking. "Dead."

Aragorn inclines his head. "I'm sorry for your loss."

You nod, mouth a thin line. "I wish it were under more pleasant circumstances, but he is just one of many who have been taken from us over the last few weeks."

A barmaid comes over and deposits a frothy pint before each of them and a small platter of bread with cured meats and cheeses. She disappears quickly.

"We've been tracking a string of disappearances," says Aragorn.

"And it has led you here," you reply.

Wess is already shoving food in his mouth, clearly listening but far more interested in the cheese. Aragorn glances at Wess but the man doesn't appear to notice.

"It is where the trail has led us," agrees Aragorn.

Your lips purse slightly, and then you sigh as if all your bottled grief is suddenly melting.

"Tonight, you should rest. Tomorrow, there is someone I'd like you to meet."

Under a large oak tree just outside town, Aragorn listens to a young woman recount her tale.

"You are certain?" he asks as the pieces begin to fall into place.

"Aye," she affirms. "It was an orc that grabbed me while picking mushrooms. There were several of them. At least three."

"Working together?"

She nods. "Kept whispering to each other about returning to their master."

"And you weren't the only one taken?"

She visibly swallows, her eyes wet like she's about to cry. "I was put in a pen with three others. Not sure what happened to them. I just...ran when I had the opportunity. The orcs didn't follow. I don't think they even knew I was gone."

Aragorn frowns. "How far in the forest do you think you were when you escaped?"

She chews on her lip, gaze darting as she thinks. "I remember a ring of statues. Old looking. Covered in vines. They looked like lords or something. Maybe kings."

Aragorn and Wess exchange a glance. You stand off to the side, a shadow at the woman's back. Your lips are turned down in a frown, brow creased in the middle.

"Thank you," Aragorn says softly. He gently takes the woman's hands in his and squeezes, gazing into her eyes. "You've given us more than you realize."

You slowly approach the woman, placing your hands on either shoulder. "Come now. Let's get you back. Have a warm cup of tea." You give Aragorn one final glance before departing, leaving the two men alone beside the dense forest.

Wess' face is severe, his gaze focused on the wall of trees. "There is a story in these parts of dead kings buried so deep in the forest that no one would find their graves to mourn them." Wess turns his attention to Aragorn. "A circle. Plain statues. And a hole in the ground that is said to hold their corpses."

"A myth," murmurs Aragorn.

Wess grunts. "There is always truth in myth. Even if it's small."

"There is something else in these woods."

"I agree," replies Wess. "Do you think all these missing people are being taken somewhere?"

"Perhaps."

Wess tightens his cloak around him. The sky is growing dark again. "Shall we take a look?"

Aragorn enters the forest first, followed by Wess. He keeps his gaze on the ground, considering the turned soil and disturbed leaves. There is little for Aragorn to go on, but he knows the general direction in which this circle is supposed to be. Even legends and myths are recorded, and he already knows where this supposed burial ground is located.

The rain hasn't washed away everything. As the two men venture further into the forest where the trees are thicker, it's easy for Aragorn to distinguish various tracks. There are plenty of animals that travel through these parts, but there are human disturbances, and those of orcs.

A darkness has slowly creeped in across Middle-earth. It's a subtle thing, as if waiting for the perfect opportunity to plunge everything into its inky clutches.

Aragorn pauses, withdrawing his sword. Wess does the same, the two men crouching low as stone figures appear in the distance. Aragorn nods and the two men split off to either side of the circle. The air is silent and still. There are no birds or insects. Not even the soft whistle of the wind.

The bramble is thick, the bushes dense. Through the foliage, Aragorn spies Wess' form, appearing and disappearing. There is no other movement, no other presence Aragorn can pinpoint. Yet there is something, as if someone is standing directly behind him, breathing down his neck. The sensation becomes overwhelming, and Aragorn glances over his shoulder.

Nothing. Just an empty forest.

Aragorn returns his attention forward, stepping cautiously, closing in on the spot where he and Wess will meet. That sensation creeps back in, this time like two icy hands sliding over his shoulders in a cold embrace. As he exhales, his breath fogs, the air around him chilling suddenly.

Anxiousness becomes his companion, and Aragorn's feet quicken across the bramble. He circles to the other side, and Wess does not meet him.

Frowning, Aragorn straightens his legs and observes the surrounding area. There are no birds, no bugs, no sounds. Aragorn circles the small clearing, but Wess is nowhere. He studies the ground, hand hovering over the dirt and still, there is no trace of the man.

Not even footprints.

"Wess," whispers Aragorn, turning slowly. His companion does not answer. "Wess," repeats Aragorn, raising his voice.

Wess does not reply, nor does the man appear before Aragorn. The forest is silent and the statues remain solemn observers. Aragorn searches the area, inspecting the ground, only to find absence.

It is as if Wess never existed.

The icy embrace tightens to the point of suffocation. Aragorn's ribcage aches, the bones burning as if under immense pressure. He swings his sword, expecting to make contact with whatever has hold of him, but he only meets empty air.

The world darkens, consciousness slipping. He doesn't remember falling, only that the hard ground cradles his head as he stares up at the dark canopy. He cannot see the sky at all as if the trees have suddenly grown larger in the last few minutes, blotting out the grey clouds.

Drifting. And empty.

Empty.

And—

"Ranger," comes a feminine voice.

He knows that voice. He's met the woman it belongs to.

"Ranger."

Aragorn tilts his head to the side, and you appear in the dark like a candle. Your face is the last thing he sees before he slips into oblivion.

A warm dampness rests against Aragorn's brow. His eyelids blink slowly, chasing away the endless dark. Above him is a wooden ceiling. The wood warps slightly, as if his vision isn't completely clear.

"He is awake."

He knows that voice. It is your voice. The local Lord’s daughter who has taken the responsibility of everyone on your shoulders. Only a few words passed between the two of you and yet your voice is a soothing thing to him, coaxing him away from the dark.

Aragorn's head tilts in the direction of the sound. You lean against the edge of the bed, staring down at him. You smile softly and then glance away to the opposite side of the bed.

"I will shepherd him."

This voice is masculine and Aragorn does not entirely recognize it. His neck aches as he turns it, only to find a male elf with dark hair and grey eyes. Aragorn recognizes him and yet cannot place his name. It slips away from Aragorn every time he tries to reach for it.

"I am to take you home."

Home.

There are two other elves in the room that stand near the door. They watch on passively. One is a spitting image of the elf at his bedside. Twins. He knows them. Somehow.

Home. Imaldris.

That is the only explanation.

Sleep seizes him moments later, pushing Aragorn under, only to awaken in a place he hasn’t seen for several years.

He blinks, eyes burning slightly as the remanent of sleep recedes.

“Lord Elrond,” rasps Aragorn. He tries to sit up, and winces.

Elrond shakes his head and lightly places his hand on Aragorn’s shoulder. “Rest. Do not push yourself.”

"Wes—”

Elrond gives his shoulder a light squeeze. “There is someone here to see you.”

An old man with a generous beard and grey robes enters. There is no staff or pointy hat. Just a familiar, welcoming presence.

“Gandalf,” breathes Aragorn, some of his energy returning.

“I hope your journey was successful?”

Aragorn grimaces. “I wish I had something to tell you.”

“You’re looking much better than you were before,” says Gandalf, stepping around to the other side of the bed.

“Not unconscious?” counters Aragorn, and the wizard smiles.

“How are you feeling?”

He takes stalk of himself. Other than some aches, he otherwise feels normal and unharmed.

“Just a bit of needed rest then.”

Aragorn glances at Elrond. “You sent help.”

Elrond frowns slightly. “I foresaw a possibility.” He inclines his head. “I am glad that I did.”

“What of the village? And…Wes?”

Elrond and Gandalf exchange a glance. Gandalf sighs, face grim. “The village is empty.”

“I sent a small team to return, but they said they found no one.”

“Then I have failed in my mission.”

“No,” says Gandalf. “You did not. We know more than we did before.”

“A darkness grows,” adds Elrond. “The time of the Elves has passed.”

Gandalf glances at Lord Elrond briefly before returning his attention to Aragorn. “I am need of your tracking, friend.”

Strength is returning to Aragorn with every second that passes. The ache is dull and distance, nearly an old memory.

“I need you to depart to the Shire. I need you and your Rangers to stand guard there. Whoever you can spare. There are some…hobbits I need looked after.”

taglist:

@glassgulls @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado @glitterypirateduck @foxxy-126

@km-ffluv @tiredmetalenthusiast @miaraei @cherryofdeath @ferns-fics

@ninman82 @waves-against-a-cliff @beebeechaos @smileykiddie08 @chaostwinsofdestruction

@weasleytwins-41 @thewulf @firelightinferno @protosslady

[call-me-copycat]

Nooo! I got a new phone because they stopped making my old one, but this new one is completely messing up my kaomojis! ૮( ̳ т ̫ т ̳ )ა

I've never been more devastated (⁠ ⁠≧⁠Д⁠≦⁠)

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

57 / 3.2k / medic reader + Ghost + coworkers with benefits (part 1 here)

kinktober keywords: subtextual authority kink, workplace smut, rivals to rivals who fuck, coworkers with benefits?, voyeurism, edging, fingering, distracted sex, anxious sex

...

As soon as you lay back--before your back can meet the bed--Simon's hands are gripping your hips, your waist, pulling you higher on the bed, situating you the way he wants.

You’re already breathless by the time he's handled you. You stare up at him, flushed and embarrassed at your uneven breathing.

As he guides you into a comfortable position, he can feel the tension in you, the way you tense up and the way your breath comes in short, frantic bursts. "Breathe. That's it." His voice is a warm, comforting murmur.

Then he slides his hands to your thighs. His rough palms send heat to your core, and you can't help how wet it makes you. You shift, breath stopping altogether in your throat as he moves your thighs in his hands, coaxing them up and open.

A dozen catastrophic thoughts whirl around your mind, but you don't quite voice any of them. The feeling of his hands is just enough to keep you focused. You let your eyes slide closed and try to make your body relax in his hands.

He doesn't rush, Simon. But he's efficient. He puts in just enough time with your thighs--squeezing, rubbing up and down, letting his hands wander from your hips all the way to the backs of your knees--to make you pliant. You barely notice him slide your skirt up to your hips and remove the cloth barrier between him and your heat.

nsfw ⬇

He can tell you're overwhelmed. His sense of pride swells as he watches you trust him anyway. He waits for you to relax a little more before dragging his hands to your inner thighs. He slides his fingers up slowly, an agonizing crawl, until he finally reaches your heat.

The way his fingers press into your folds and his touch causes your muscles to loosen is more than enough to have you shifting around on your back, letting out a soft groan. You can't keep from twitching.

He takes notice of it. He’s careful not to show how gratifying it. His pupils dilate.

 Every single movement he makes, down to the smallest gesture, adds to the unbearable heat building in the pit of your stomach. With his every touch, he slowly, agonizingly reminds you how badly you need this. He isn't gentle. Not rough, either, although you get the sense he could be. Instead, his movements are practiced. Focused. Technical. You try to match him. You focus on the release you want, trying to help him by speeding things along. You swallow the sounds that threaten to tear out of your throat. The walls are thin, you remind yourself. Just focus on what you both need to do.

The tension starts to build, and you let your breathing quicken. Every little touch feels like it's bringing you closer and closer to your breaking point. The sensation of his fingers stroking you, homing in on that sensitive bundle of nerves, sends electricity up your spine.

Your nerves begin to light up in his hands, and your body responds even more sharply as Simon begins getting a little rougher. He doesn't want to hurt you--he wants to drive you over the edge and give you what you need.

He wants you to moan, to squirm, to cry, to let it all out in front of him. And he's not going to stop until you do.

"Talk to me, love." His voice is husky, punctuated by the wet sounds of his fingers. "Let me know what you like."

His words send another flood of heat straight to your core. Your muscles twitch and pulse and clench around nothing. Your legs start to tremble. Desperation threatens to scatter the few frayed thoughts left in your mind. His fingers work you over faster, small circles growing faster and harsher. He knows you’re close.

God, he's wanted to see you like this for so long. You look starved. Your legs tremble. your hands grip the sheets. Despite how you try to control yourself, your hips move in circles, desperate to work against his hand. As your breath grows more ragged, his hands work faster, rougher. He wants to hear you moan for him. His eyes blaze with heat as he watches you struggle to keep control. He wants you bucking and twisting, desperate to reach your climax. He wants to be the one who feels you fall apart on his hand.

You want it too. You see feel how hard he's working to get you there. But as close as you are, you can't reach it. The anxiety is still there. You’re too inside your own head, worrying that you won't finish, that you’re boring him, that this is a selfish inconvenience.

You try to banish those thoughts. But the further you try to push them down, the more they build. A groan of frustration leaves your lips as you slow, settling back into the bed. "I can't," you mutter.

He stares down at you. The frustration etched in your expression sends a pang of guilt through the pit of his chest. He watches as the anxiety takes you over, slowing your breath and undoing the intoxicating tension he'd bound up in your body. You're barely moving now. You're already resigned to ending it here. Frustration sweeps over him.

"Can't?" He tries to speak like he's not desperate to push you harder, rougher, to rail you into the mattress right now. He leans forward and lets his fingers slow but not entirely still. Is there something else bothering you? Is he not doing something right? Are you thinking of someone else?

But those questions won't help. You're overthinking already. Despite that, he can't accept that it ends here. He'll fight to keep you under him, even if you’re already resigned.

"That's alright," he murmurs. "You don't have to finish, hm? Just get yourself used to my fingers. How does this feel?"

You turn your head to the side, feeling a pang of irritation. He should just leave well enough alone. You tell yourself that, not him, because deep down you know it's an excuse. You hate that sinking feeling of disappointment, shame, self-blame. You should be able to finish, you just... can't focus.

You open your mouth to tell him off, but when he presses just a bit harder, picks up his pace just a bit more, your voice dissolves into a breathy groan.

"It feels good," you admit, your eyes fluttering closed again. "But I can't... can't get where I need to... be..." you trail off, distracted by the way his fingers circle and press that bud. Your hips move of their own volition again. It feels nice, the oxytocin washing through you. You don't want it to end. Maybe if he says you don't need to finish, it's okay for him to keep going a little longer. Just a little.

He glances down, repositioning his hand, but his gaze is snagged by your folds. Your flushed, glistening folds, dripping fluid down his hand, coating your thighs. He was so busy watching your reaction and reading your tells that he didn't realize just how goddamn wet you are.

Your heat is so inviting. He knows he shouldn't--knows he should be restrained, be clinical, at least for now--but resisting that dark impulse is impossible. His fingers stray from your clit to your slit, sliding up and down, feeling you pulse with need.

He muffles a groan, part sympathy and part lust. You really do need this. You need someone to help you. And he's nothing if not a problem-solver, right? He's the man for the job. He'll find out what you like, what makes you comfortable, what makes you cum your goddamn brains out.

You stretch your hips down with a small sigh, not quite having the presence of mind to protest as his fingers slip inside of you. The heat in your core builds in small amounts, enough to intensify the pleasurable feeling but not enough to make you feel like you’re losing control of yourself.

"Simon, you okay?" you ask, knowing he's been at it for awhile now. His hands must be tired. His wrists must be cramping. You don't want this to become a burden before he feels like he can speak up. Meanwhile, you shift, spreading slightly wider to give him more room, and let your hips glide back and forth at his pace. His fingers are impressively dexterous, even with a moving, slippery target.

God, your voice. Breathy. You don't know what it does to him. His mouth goes dry before he can respond, heat running up his spine as you spread your legs wider for him. You're relaxing. You trust him. He can't let you know how badly he wants to devour you. The way you grip his fingers makes him want to climb the walls. The way you stretch your body out right in front of him and slide your hips down on his hand makes him want to force your thighs all the way open and bury his face between them.

He keeps his voice even. His desperation can wait until he gets back to his bunk, he tells himself. "Perfectly fine. You're doing well. Stunning." The word slips out before he can stop it. He quickly moves on.. "This feel good?"

"Yes," you tell him. Short and simple. If you talk too much, you won’t be able to keep your voice down.

You should be trying to relax, wind down, and let this end naturally. But then the calloused pads of his fingertips run over a sensitive spot. You jolt and hiss in a sharp breath.

He sees it--the way your face tightens and you press your breath out. You're getting overstimulated and trying to rein yourself in. Trying too hard. He recognizes it as the usual clinical approach you prefer when it comes to the field. You're keeping your voice down, breathing evenly, avoiding the temptation to let yourself get too noisy or lose too much control.

He can’t quite find it in himself to admire your self-restraint. No, he doesn't want you to relax. He wants to see you undone.

His fingers press harder, a rougher stroke, and you jerk more harshly than the last time. "Is that where you like it?" he asks.

You grab his hand. "Nnh..."

He starts to pull his hand away, but you push his hand closer. He leans over you to stare down at your hand wrapped around his. The tangle of calloused fingers coated in slick feels strangely more intimate than erotic.

You begin to undulate your hips and grind against his hand. Your breath hitches. He's got you figured out. You don't say it, but your responses indicate you're getting closer to where you want to be. You just couldn't focus. Now you're helping him help you.

You drop all pretense of propriety and chase the high. Calls of encouragement spring out of your throat. They turn needy. You rut your hips desperately against his hand.

Simon has to dig his free hand into the sheets, and fight the urge to push you down and hold you there. It takes every ounce of restraint. He's never seen you this open. All that time spent watching your back, working with you, learning how to anticipate you--as much as he wanted this, he never saw himself with you like this.

But he shouldn't think that way. Right? This is nothing. Stress relief. Trust in your lieutenant. Implicit, privileged trust.

He works his fingers faster, rougher, more beseechingly against your soft inner walls. "Come on," he growls, voice raw. "Come on. Let it out."

You grit your teeth in frustration. You need more somehow. You need his rough palm to stop slipping around your sensitive nub and press harder. Need his fingers deeper. You push yourself against his hand. He leans forward on instinct--so you don't have to move, so he can give you more--and feels a shiver roll down his spine as he does. But the more your pretenses fall away, the more he struggles to hold his own back.

His goddamn knees feel weak. You grinding against his fingers is enough to make him want to pant like a dog.

But this is a transaction. Not personal. You're not making it there and he needs to know why. "Use your words," he growls.

You groan in frustration. You're a little beyond words at the moment.

"Eyes up, medic. Tell me what you need," he demands hoarsely. His voice is raw and low. He doesn't know whether to sound encouraging or commanding--both are what he needs you to be. He presses harder with his fingers, stroking you faster. "You need just this, like this?" Another press. "Or do you need more?"

That drop into his lieutenant voice makes you tense up. You look up at him with a weak glare. Is he serious? Ordering you around right now?

The heated frustration in your glare just pushes him to press you harder. He’d dead serious; he doesn't back down. He's made up his mind that he'll see you come apart at the seams. He'll be relentless until he's figured out how to do it perfectly.

He leans in, pressing you down, his lips at your ear. "I need to know what you need. Or I can't help you. So tell me."

You swallow, throat dry. "I don't know if I can."

Cop-out. You just love making things difficult.

"Don't bullshit me," he snaps. Tension in his shoulders stiffens his fingers. "You know what you need. Tell me how to get you there."

"You said I didn't have to," you retort as meanly as you can right now.

There it is. The prickly smartassery he can't stand. Even in his hands and at his mercy. "I changed my mind. I'm your lieutenant. It's my job to help you."

"You're not my fucking therapist."

"My job to push you, then."

The way he argues with you while his fingers are still pumping in and out of you--speeding up, you'd swear--raises more heat from the pit of your stomach. One thing you two have in common: you're stubborn. He's going to give you what you need, by God. Even if he has to convince you that you still need it.

You try to ignore how much that thought turns you on.

But Simon can tell. There's more heat than anger on your face. Your cheeks are flushed, and your eyes are wild, and he knows it's not rage alone.

You try to hold his glare. "Fine. Just... ah..." Your eyes flutter closed. Your hips buck up against his hand before you can stop it.

The way that stubbornness starts to dissolve away--that, and the way your hips buck up--makes him want to salivate. "Good work," he murmurs. "Keep going. Work with me."

"Focus on stimulating my g-spot," you manage. Then you reach down and begin working your clit with two fingers. You're all business.  

Simon can't help but be a little jealous of the way you touch yourself. He wants to feel what your hands can do. At the same time, he'd give anything to have you under him like this without the pretense--but you'd never let yourself do something so unprofessional.

It's that damn professional tone that really gets to him. The way you deal him orders like the field medic you are, even now. Not commanding, not begging--but direct. Clear and concise, like you speak to him when you’re working together.

"Good," he says. "That's good. Focus."

His hand shifts and he works his fingers faster, rougher. A little too rough. You want something more direct? He can do direct.

You arch off the bed at the sudden overstimulation. "Fuck, Simon--" You grab his fingers to force him to slow down. "Don't fucking hammer me!"

"I'm doing what you asked. If you want me to be gentle, use your words."

"Not gentle, just..." You huff and release his fingers. "A little softer. Match my pace."

He can't help but smirk as you command him. You're not used to him falling in line, are you? He eases up and strokes the bundle of nerves inside you with the same rhythm you roll your fingers. "Like this?"

"Yeah." You let out a sigh that dissolves into a soft moan. "Yeah."

"Good show." He murmurs. So good. Simon's stomach tightens. The way your body twists makes him want to bend you in ways you'd never let him do. You have him in the palm of your hand. He’s doing exactly what you want, matching your fingers perfectly, as you have him so easily wrapped around them. It's on the tip of his tongue to ask you if you want more than his fingers, but he squelches it.

You focus on the feeling of pleasure building up in the base of your spine. Soon, your body is moving of its own volition, riding his fingers, wanting the feeling so badly it's willing to pretend this is normal.

"That's right," he murmurs. "Nice and easy." You're almost there. He can feel it. He doesn't know which of you needs you to come more at this point. You've been frustrated for weeks. He's never so badly wanted someone else to use him for their own relief.

You seize up sharply, arch, and cry out as the first wave hits you. You keep working yourself--you have to wring as much pleasure out of this as you possibly can, fingers slipping as they circle your bud furiously.

At the sounds you make, it takes every ounce of self-control Simon has not to close his teeth around your throat.

With his help, you work yourself through the feeling slowly. It was sorely, sorely needed, and when it fades, you let yourself collapse into the creased sheets and close your eyes.

You seem so worn out and satisfied, Simon thinks. It's a good look. He carefully slides his fingers out of you as your breath slows. You'll be asleep in moments if he doesn't disturb you.

He should leave. You've been taken care of. You'd certainly make him leave if you weren't too breathless to speak. But he can't will himself to go just yet. A little selfishly, he wants to enjoy the sight of you like this a minute longer. He sits in silence as you catch your breath. He'd never admit it, but he's smitten. Just hormones, surely. The feeling will fade.

After a moment, he clears his throat. "Satisfied?"

"Mmhmm." The sound is almost a purr. It makes something warm spread in his belly.

Your flushed cheeks, the soft look on your face, your mussed hair, eyes closed, lips parted, flushed cheeks, hair tousled in the sheets--you're so vulnerable and open. His gaze trails down to the slick gleaming on his fingers.

He should go. He needs to clean himself up.

He stands up. You turn onto your side, your back to him. "This never happened, then?"

He nods curtly. "Never happened."

"Good." You fidget with the corner of your pillowcase. "But thanks."

He'll take it.

"Anytime," he murmurs. "Get some rest, medic."

...

part 1 / [part 2]

more Ghost / masterlist

[monamipencil]

loser! wonwoo

genre; nsfw, some fluff, mdni <3 | tw; oral, (f. receiving), outdoor sex (but not public), unprotected sex (don't do this), he's such a loser, masturbating (m.) | a/n; no wonwoo fic is complete without some nasty pussy-eating. 😌

loser! wonwoo who, as you guessed, doesn't get laid as much as other guys his age. which is completely fine, and he likes to focus on academics anyway.

loser! wonwoo whose sleep schedule, if not ruined by his disruptive habits, is ruined by all the boners he conjures in a single night. which, again, is completely fine because he doesn't jerk off as much which induces more nightly erections.

loser! wonwoo who's a good acquaintance of yours and used to act normal around you. or, at least that's what you think.

loser! wonwoo who always had a small crush on you but kept it hidden. and yes, the first time you smiled at him, it got him all sweaty and hard.

loser! wonwoo whose bubble breaks after a wet dream about you. he fucks his hand in the middle of the night, quietly groaning your name. he curses you and your fucking tight tops that always shows off your tits.

loser! wonwoo who doesn't take the hint that he's being hit on. or, he does but denies it. why would a girl like you hit on a guy like him? it doesn't make sense to him.

loser! wonwoo who's tired of finding explanations on the internet to validate his being. whether it's not getting laid as much or having constant boners, or turning down your attempts to flirt with him, it all points to one thing. he's the biggest fucking loser to grace the earth.

loser! wonwoo who cannot stand the sight of you flirting with soonyoung at all. and he knows you're doing this to mess with him. he smirks after catching you check whether he's looking or not for the hundredth time.

loser! wonwoo whose last straw is you kissing soonyoung's cheek. but what the fuck is he supposed to do? should he barge in and whisk you away? but that's out of touch with reality and he can only watch in a trance.

loser! wonwoo who gets snapped out of his trance when you appear in front of him like witchcraft. you don't say much but offer him a glare and pass him a movie ticket. “at 7pm today, pick me up.”

loser! wonwoo who does as you said. he nervously waits for you, fiddling with the leather jacket that he borrowed and fixing his hair a thousand times.

loser! wonwoo looking into a mirror and fixing a stray hair when you finally meet him outside your apartment. you try stifle your giggles when he awkwardly greets you but a part of you feels like you maybe forced this date on him.

loser! wonwoo who's freaking out because you look fucking gorgeous and his dick decides it wants to greet you as well.

loser! wonwoo who has a hard time, hiding his boner and being a gentleman at the same time.

loser! wonwoo who visibly tenses, noticing that the theatre is ... empty? his heart beat quickens and he notes your expression too. but you seem unfazed, like you expected this.

loser! wonwoo who nearly dies from palpitations as the screening starts. still no one in sight. he tries out every method known to humanity to calm down.

loser! wonwoo who freezes when you shift closer to him, thighs pressing against his. he removes his jacket when he notices that you feel cold and drapes it over you. you thank him and kiss his cheek.

loser! wonwoo who absolutely did not have a internal breakdown at that. the cold air bites his skin and his growing boner does not help at all.

loser! wonwoo who loses it when you press your chest into his biceps and look at him with your needy eyes.

loser! wonwoo who gropes and squeezes your tits. he pinches your nipples, rolling the bud between his fingers. you moan, letting him do as he pleases.

loser! wonwoo who makes out sloppily with you. he kisses you so deeply, tongue gliding over yours. his hands wander all over your body, eager to learn the crooks and nooks of it.

loser! wonwoo who bruises your skin, sucking and biting it. he gropes you, in every way he's imagined.

loser! wonwoo who fucks you with so much need. he pants, removing his pants and boxers in a hurry. the need to be inside you was greater than being caught.

loser! wonwoo who moans so prettily as he thrust his hips up, meeting yours in a hurry. “god, you're so wet. fuckk-” his eyebrows knit and his lips bruise from the sheer pressure of his teeth.

loser! wonwoo who comes in no time as you clench and milk him. you groan in unison when he pulls out, releasing his seed all over your thighs.

loser! wonwoo who apologizes and immediately gets on his knees to eat you out. he sloppily kisses your cunt and sucks on the little bundle of nerves.

loser! wonwoo who uses all the tips and tricks he read on the internet to make you cum. he presses his tongue flat against your heat, licking up a broad stripe. he noses your clit, while his tongue prods at the insides of your cunt.

loser! wonwoo who fucks you with his tongue. you moan, hips bucking into his face as he pushes his tongue in and out of you. his calloused fingers rub your clit, throwing you over the edge.

loser! wonwoo who makes you cum all over his face. his glasses fog up and your juices coat his chin and lips that shines under the light from the big screen.

loser! wonwoo who brings you home to fuck you again. he just can't seem to get enough of you. and god, was it good to live out all his fantasies with you.

loser! wonwoo who pounds you into his bed every chance he gets. and he just gets better and better at it.

loser! wonwoo who also fantasized about sharing his interests with you and taking you out on cute dates.

loser! wonwoo who's over the moon when you share his interest in books and video games.

boyfriend! wonwoo who loves when you cuddle up next to him as he plays games on his phone.

boyfriend! wonwoo who's still such a loser for you.

tags; @seungkwanschicken @aaa-sia @dokyeomkyeom @bangantokchy

@asyre @armycarat2612 @bewoyewo @gyuguys @embrace-themagic

@aaniag @nurihihi (send an ask to be on the taglist!)

[malwaredykes]

well. here she is. miss Leigh Stasik.

trans woman. stubborn, incorrigible, eccentric. communist; she has leftist in-fighting with herself on the regular. a cannibal; she has no moral qualms about this, and its both a bit of a spiritual thing and a bit of a pragmatic thing. medic (not a doctor. no medical license). she knows for sure she had some kind of significant personality change from being shot in the head, but she doesn't remember what she was like exactly before it happened, it all became this kind of distant memory soup. shes originally from west new cali, but she grew very attached to the mojave. and has a lot of contempt for the ncr. She Will Serve Crack Before She Serves This Country. thank god the army discriminates against transsexuals etc. zero tolerance for the legion, obviously.

she firmly believes she is not nice, or kind, or compassionate, but instead her actions and her general sense of justice stem from her simply doing whats the most logical and objectively beneficial. it may be true to some extent, but she might also have a wee bit of ocd of the "i am a horrible person whos at all times like 2 seconds away from committing atrocities" variety.

shes a SCIENTIST. unofficially. she doesnt have a degree nor a chosen field of study. she makes her own hrt and other mysterious concoctions, including designer chems. which she claims she ingests injects etc not for recreational purposes, but to Enhance Her Powers And Possibilities. she reads old world books about psychology so she can manipulate people better. and makes weird contraptions and doohickeys while high. shes a HACKER of course and hacks terminals and systems for fun and just to see if she can.

her stats are out there due to implants and intense training, originally they were rather average. in-game she wears combat armor mk 2, but i see her having spruced it up like this. her main weapon is the ycs/186, the unique gauss rifle, but before that she used a modded plasma pistol. which she very much enjoyed the silly appearance of. because it was so small and with so much shit tacked on and she could just hold it in one hand like a mutated revolver like Hands up motherfucker bang bang bang lol. her melee weapon of choice is the machete gladius, but she's been training to be able to wield a thermic lance.

in my head the trajectory of her actions and the fate of the mojave that follows is different from what you can do with the game, because leigh could only go for The Secret Leftist Route Which Was Supposed To Be In The Game But We Were Robbed Of It.

boone was the first friend she made after leaving goodsprings and their relationship is particularly notable. they are Comrades, Siblings-In-Arms, Worsties (like besties but fucked up). theyve seen each other at their worst. they annoy each other on purpose. theyve had serious ideological clashes with each other and some ways in which boone perceives the world drive leigh absolutely nuts. they're ride or die for each other. theyre the kind of comfortable around each other where she'll be on the toilet and smoking a cig with the door open and talking to him, while he's naked sitting on the floor removing stitches from his leg. she's done surgery without anesthesia on him. he's projectile vomited blood on her from being poisoned by cazadores. she strongly encourages him to become a traitor to the ncr and to take part in the revolution and the formation of the new independent mojave alliance. somehow, it works on him in the end. shamefully they kinda like snuggling... boone bro come to bed man its nighty night man its beddy bye time.

shes in love with lily bowen. i havent decided yet whether she actually makes a move. but she thinks lily is sooooo dreamy. and shes right. if you dont think the enormous 203 year old blue mutant woman is dreamy thats your problem. outta her way

[daydreams-after-dark]

Free Use Jail Cell, Part 2

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 (final)

Police Officer Skz ot8 x female reader

Premise: you're arrested and held for 24 hours by 8 police officers at the local police station / reader has her fantasy play out.

Word Count: 3k (part 2)

Chapter Summary: You're interrogated by 2min.

a/n: This fic will be in multiple parts because I get too impatient not to share what I’ve written so far. There will be two, possibly three installments (tag list is open).

I refer to the officers as “Officer Hyunjin”, “Officer Minho” etc just to make it quick to identify the characters. 

The whole premise is planned and explained in the fic. The story is purely fantasy, but please be mindful of content warnings, as it has potentially triggering content. I want you to be safe here on my blog.

CW: dom 2min, sex toys (various: anal and vaginal), stretch kink, harness restraints, paddles, spanking, nipple clamps, double pen same hole (toy and penis) double pen two holes (oral and vaginal), anal penetration, everything is unprotected, degradation, face slap, hair tugging, shoe on face (really quick), collar and leash, cum eating, creampie, safeguards are in place to stop everything if reader wants/needs to. Aftercare.

🚨🚨🚨🚨

Chief Chan leads you to the interrogation room himself. "Now I don't want to find out you've been insolent, you hear me? Although I know Officer's Seungmin and Detective Minho are more than capable of handling you. Go." he pushes you into the empty room, closing the door behind you and locking it.

You gulp and slowly take in the space around you. It's not a modern interrogation room. It looks like a morgue. The brick walls are cold and gray, the concrete under your bare feet is filthy. You're not sure what the dark stains that are splattered around the place are either, and you try not to think the worst. This isn't real. You remind yourself.

In the center of the room is a stainless steel table. Beside it a stainless steel trolley, with what appears to be dildos, straps, and various other paraphernalia, and - oh fuck - a paddle hanging from a hook on the side. The entire room is illuminated, barely, by a single naked globe hanging from the concrete ceiling above.

There are no chairs, nowhere for questioning to occur, but you have a sneaking suspicion that you'll be on that cold, hard slab of a table very soon.

You hear the door unlock and your heart pounds loudly. Fuck. This is it. You take a deep, grounding breath as you watch Officer Seungmin and Detective Minho enter the room.

"On your knees, pup." Seungmin spits, immediately shoving you to the ground and pushing the sole of his combat boot into your cheek. Your face presses against the disgusting concrete. He doesn't push harder than he needs to, but just the act itself makes you feel so small, helpless and filthy.

You sense the Detective walk over to the trolley, then back towards you, leaning over you and placing a leather collar and leash around your neck. Suengmin removes his boot, and Minho tugs you up until you're on your knees.

"Look at this pathetic little bitch." Minho leans over you and pushes your hair out of your face. "Someone has been a very bad little girl." He scolds. "And we're going to find out exactly what you're keeping from us." He smirks evilly.

"Up." Suengmin barks, from behind you, taking the leash from Minho and yanking on it until you're standing in front of him. He presses his body against your back, breathing in your ear menacingly, making you shudder. He snakes a hand up underneath the hem of your oversized shirt, the only thing you're wearing, and slides his fingers through your folds. "This is gonna be so much fun." he chuckles low. "Up on the table." he slaps you hard on the ass.

The table is barely big enough to fit you, and you realize it's designed so two people can access you easily from either end. You're instructed to kneel on all fours, with your feet almost hanging off one end, and your head extending precariously over the other end, so you get another view of the filthy floor.

Minho picks up a pair of metal scissors and your eyes widen as he cuts your clothing and rips it off you so you are naked and bare for them. Then you’re adorned with a ball gag with attached nipple clamps.

"We can't have you being a brat. We don't need you to say a word for us to get what we want from you." Seungmin says, as he secures the clamps tightly to your nipples. The sensation of your nipples being pinched sends a spark of arousal to your cunt and you immediately feel yourself becoming moist.

"Here. Keep this in your hand." Minho places a small device in your palm. "Press this button and everything stops immediately. You understand?" he says quietly looking into your eyes. You nod. Once he's certain you understand, he’s back in character.

The two men take their time circling you, taking you in, deciding how they are going to proceed. They look dominating, cold, mean. They start to touch you, stroke your body, your back, the backs of your thighs. All with villainous smirks plastered on their beautiful faces.

“Let’s start with a punishment.” Minho decides, grabbing the paddle.

Your eyes widen and you try to swallow, but it’s so hard with the ball gag in your mouth, and you brace yourself as he settles behind you. The impact of the paddle takes you by surprise, making you cry out a muffled sob. Again, Minho brings the paddle to your fleshy ass cheek with a loud slap. You drop your head and squeeze your eyes closed. It fucking stings, but at the same time your cunt throbs. How can this hurt so much yet feel so arousing?

Minho soothes the skin with the palm of his hand before delivering another hit. You grip onto the edge of the steel table with your free hand, while trying to stabilize yourself with the hand that’s holding your safety device. 

Another round of paddling ensues, and you’ve lost count of how many you’ve taken. Your ass feels red raw, and the tears are running freely down your face. You feel pathetic, useless, helpless. No one’s ever been able to make you feel this way before. You’ve finally found what you’ve been looking for.

“Enough.” Seungmin raises his hand signaling for Minho to stop. “Let me inspect.” he moves behind you to marvel at his partner’s work. “Fuck. Look how red she is.” He runs his palm over your red cheek and you wince. “Shh… Now now.” Suengmin purrs, but there is absolutely no hint of concern in his tone. “We haven’t even gotten started. That was just punishment for making our cocks so hard.”

You drop onto your elbows, already exhausted from “just the punishment”, and sob. Seungmin crouches in front of you and lifts your head so you’re looking directly into his cold eyes. “Hey, Pup.” He slaps your cheek, hard. The sting makes you feel more alert. “Minho’s going to do his probing now.” He raises an eyebrow. “And you’re going to be an obedient little pup and take. Every. Single. Inch.”

Your stomach drops, and you feel your juices leak from your cunt. The anticipation, the fear, the excitement of what is unfolding has your heart racing. 

Suengmin stands back up and leans against the wall to watch Minho, whom you can hear rustling around at the trolley. You hear the sound of a bottle opening and closing. Then with one hand holding your hip steady, he presses a solid, cold, lubed object against your vaginal entrance. 

“It’s just a dildo. Nothing to be scared of. Deep breath through your nose.” he commands and pushes the dildo into your cunt. The stretch feels good and you wonder why on earth you were fearful. It feels regular sized. He fucks you with it for a few minutes, until your hips are rocking back and you’re arching your back in a such away it makes their cocks throb. 

“Seungmin, come help hold her steady.” He instructs his partner, and he is at your side helping hold your hips still. You whine in protest around the gag, and then you feel Minho press the dildo in further. Your eyes almost pop out of your head and your whole body tenses, when you're abruptly spread twice as wide. You feel like you’re being ripped in two as you realize the dildo has a bulbous base. The tip now presses hard into your cervix as your opening is being stretched obscenely wide. You’re so full. You feel so full. 

“Suengmin, fuck look at how much she stretches. She’s gonna look good when two cocks are inside that slutty little cunt.” Minho declares.

“Fucking slut.” Seungmin says in a disgusted tone.

“She has to take more.” Minho says flatly, reaching for something from the trolley, and then another lubed object presses against your ass. You try to squirm to no avail, and cry out when a hand slaps you on your sore, red cheek. “Sluts have to behave themselves or they will regret it.” Suengmin warns.

You pause and try to relax as Minho pushes the device past the tight ring of muscle. “I don’t know why you’re squirming? This is just to prep you. You’re gonna have to take a much bigger one shortly.” he advises.

He’s right. After torturing your ass with increasingly bigger devices, he is ready to insert the “big” one. It’s thick and it feels endless, reaching places no one, or thing, has ever reached before. You can hardly hold yourself up, and you’re on the verge of what you can tell will be an earth shattering orgasm. You are scared. You’re not allowed to come without permission, and part of you thinks that maybe you won’t be given permission at all. Although, you are sure that they will rip at least one from you before this interrogation is over. All so they’ll have a reason to punish you further.

Minho, silently works on fucking your ass and cunt with the two oversized devices until you are a fucking mess. You can’t keep it contained any longer and a brutally intense orgasm hits you so hard you shake uncontrollably and almost slip entirely off the table.

“Fucking whore!” Growled Seungmin. “Who told you you could come?” he came around to the front and tugged your head up by your hair. “You just want us to punish you more, don’t you? Well. That’s exactly what you’re gonna get." He lets go of your head abruptly, and removes your ball gag, resecuring it around your neck with your collar. You can finally breathe properly and you start to cry.

“No. No one said you can cry. We haven’t given you anything to cry about yet.” Snarls Seungmin.

The dildos are removed and you’re repositioned onto your back, your knees thankful for the relief. But this new position isn’t any more comfortable. The table, being so short in length, means your head hangs over the edge, whilst you have no option to fold your legs up because your ass comes to the other edge. Perfect for what is about to happen.

Your legs are strapped with leather restraints to keep legs bent and folded towards your chest and your wrists are cuffed and attached to ankle restraints. You’re essentially folded in half and spread open, with no way of moving, and for them to do whatever they please. The little alarm buzzer is placed in your hand for safekeeping.

You see Minho in your upside down vision, unbuckling his belt and releasing his cock. Your mouth waters at the memory of taking him down your throat just a few hours before, and you are more than pleased when he approaches you. “Open up, time to be fed again.” he holds your face steady as he slides his cock all the way into your throat. You can take him a lot easier in this position, and he uses it to his advantage, fucking your face rough and deep. He doesn’t care that you’re gagging, or that you can’t breathe when he pushes his entire cock in and stills. He pulls out, letting you fill your lungs, and then he’s back inside cutting the air off. 

You squeak when you feel something cold, slimy and flexible being squeezed into your pussy. Minho pulls out. “Wanna see what Seungmin’s doing?” He taunts. He supports your head as you lift yourself and look down at your pussy. Seungmin is holding what looks to be a silicone or rubber snake-like device. It’s about an inch and half in diameter and so fucking long. Maybe three feet long? Your eyes widen. “Don’t be so alarmed. He’s not gonna stuff the entire thing inside you.” sneers Minho. “Now, back to being a cockslut.” he drops your head back down and resumes fucking your face.

All you’re imagining though, is Seungmin pushing more and more of that - was it a snake? A hose? Fuck, is it even a sex toy or is it some random thing from the hardware store? - into your cunt.

“Yup, that’s as far as it's gonna go.” Sighs Seungmin. It’s deep, but not filling you out too much, not like that monstrous dildo from earlier. Until you feel the tip of his cock pushing in alongside it. Minho, as if pre-empting your protests, holds you by your neck keeping you steady and deliberately fucks you hard and fast. “You’re gonna take it, kitten. Everything.” he hisses. 

You can’t cry. You can’t scream. You can only take what they are giving you. Your throat hurts, but Minho doesn’t seem like he’s going to tire anytime soon. 

Once Seungmin is fully inside you, he starts to thrust, building up the pace quickly. You’re so wet and stretched already that it doesn’t take long for your walls to adjust to him. The men fuck both ends of your body, using you like a fleshlight. Growling, grunting, making sounds of approval as you simply lay there and take it.

“I wanna fucking come in her mouth.” states Seungmin. 

They pull out of you simultaneously, leaving you gasping and gaping. You’re so empty, even with that fucking snake situation still in your cunt.

Your mouth is filled first, with Seungmin sinking into you. You can taste your juices coating his cock, mixed with lube. Like earlier in the cell, Seungmin is rougher, more erratic with his thrusts than Minho, and you gag much more as he fucks you. He runs his hands along your body then squeezes both your breasts hard. You arch off the table as he tugs on the nipple clamps. You moan around Seungmin, who must not have been expecting it, and he cums down your throat with a “how dare you, you fucking slut.”

You’re secretly satisfied as you swallow him down. “You still need your mouth stuffed. I don’t want to hear you and your pathetic little whines.” he finds the other end of his ‘snake-friend’, and starts to shove it into your mouth. He pulls some sort of extension out from the table, a headrest, so you don’t have to keep dangling your neck. How thoughtful.

Minho lubes himself up and presses himself to your anus, pushing in the entire way. He fills you so good. He pulls out halfway and thrusts back in, and it’s too much. You come again. You know they see you quivering, and they’re not happy. 

“Just keep fucking her, Minho. Might as well just force her to come over and over at this point. Until she begs us to stop. Oh wait. Her mouth’s full, she won’t be able to. Shame.” The Officer laughs.

Minho doubles down, on a mission to rip as many orgasms out of you as he can, overstimulating you in the process. How much can you take before you need to hit your safety alarm? You’re determined not to. You want to take everything. Minho grasps the snake dildo and tries to jam more of it into you, but it won’t fit, and you cry out.

“Fuck, I’m hard again. Haven’t you even blown yet?” Seungmin looks to Minho in disbelief. 

“Course I fucking have, but I’m not done, bitch feels too fucking good. Gotta fuck my cum deep into her, y’know.” he grunts. He reaches out to grab yet another device, this time a small vibrator and presses it onto your clit. “Fucking come, kitten.” He growls.

Your eyes roll into the back of your head and you convulse as you come again. Minho doesn’t stop, he continues to fuck into your ass, still hard as stone, turning you into a sobbing, overstimulated wreck.

“Again.” he pushes the vibrator harder against you with one hand and attempts to fuck you with the snake dildo, all whilst not missing a beat with his thrusts.

Where the fuck Seungmin gone you had no idea. Until you feel him tightening your nipple clamps and then pulling out the snake and replacing it with his cock.

“The detective said ‘come again’, pup.” He thrusts into your mouth and fills you with his cum again. He pulls out and wipes some on your cheek. 

One final time, you come, trembling on the table, the straps and restraints dig into your skin as you fight against your restraints. You can’t possibly take any more. They seem to know too.

Minho pulls out, and you wonder if he even came a second time. You manage a glance at his cock and it looks painfully hard, and you’re not sure why he just didn’t use you until he came again.

He pushes your cheeks wide, spreading your holes and sighs when you feel cum dribble out. He slips an anal plug in to keep the rest inside you.

The straps, restraints, chains, clamps are all removed from you carefully and you’re cleaned with warm, wet towels from a cabinet under the table.

Seungmin applies cream to soothe where you were spanked, and helps you put on a fresh oversized button down shirt, and Minho carries you bridal-style back to your cell. You nuzzle your head against him and close your eyes. You’re absolutely exhausted. He enters your cell and places you down on the mattress, pulling a blanket over you. Such a contrast to the treatment just before.

“Detective?” You whisper, looking up at him. “You didn’t get to finish.” you say in a small voice.

He shrugs. “That back there wasn’t about me.” He half smiles. “It was about satisfying you.” 

“But what if finishing you off would satisfy me even more?” You ask.

“You need your rest.” He grunts, ignoring your advances, tucking the blanket around your chin.

“It’ll help me sleep.” You plead.

“Fuck!” He sighs and looks up to the ceiling. “Where do you want my cock then, kitten?”

“In my cunt.” You purr.

He swallows hard. “Fine.” he concedes. “But -  I come inside, and you gotta keep it safe in your tight little pussy. Got it?”

You nod fervently, lifting the blanket that he’d just tucked you snugly in, and let him slide on top of you. He removes his shirt and undoes his pants with nimble fingers and frees his cock, then grips your thigh, pushing it wide and grinding against your sore core.

“Will you kiss me, detective?” You gaze up at him. 

“I don’t do kissing on the mouth.” He says flatly.

He sees you pout around that.

“I can kiss your neck. If that’s what you want.”

“Please.” you wrap your hands about his neck as he hovers over you, peppering kisses to your neck, and sucking the skin while he fucks you slow, but extra hard. You feel so full with the anal plug still in your ass. “You’re so tight, bet you’re tender? Am I hurting you?” He whispers. 

“Feels good.” you mewl. 

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum real soon. Can I fuck you evenharder?” He chokes.

“Yes.” you sigh, letting him take what he needs from you.

“I’m coming…ngh…fuck.” he thrusts his hips three more times then you feel him empty himself inside you. “Keep it in there for me.” He plants a peck on your forehead and pulls out carefully.

You’re asleep before he even leaves the cell.

🚨🚨🚨🚨

↣↣ Next up: you’re taken in your sleep by Hyunjin and Han

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[woodle-isbae]

dom tutor armin x reader PLEASE

Feeding yall b4 I dissappear again

Its really hard to understand math , why exactly are there so many formulas and even more numbers . You couldn't even focus during tutoring , not because he was boring but because of the way he spoke , the little crack his voice has when he calls for your attention. And the way he looks. Your Tutor was some Nerd you begged to help you in the library , and how could he say no to the way your doe eyes looked up at him and the little pout? he'd be the dumbest man alive to reject that offer.

''C'mon y/n. You need to focus , we have a test coming up.''

He sighed , setting down his pen and rubbing the bridge of his nose , he was tired having stayed later than usual. He wanted to help you as best as he could and decided if he stayed a bit longer he could help you study even more.

''It just doesn't make sense Minie.''

The nickname you gave him lingered on your tongue , eyebrows knit together while you pouted , getting frustrated from not being able to understand. He gave you an almost sorry look , knowing that you were almost ready to cry from the confusion.

''okay...look , why don't you get us something to drink , a water or a coffee..?''

You nodded and left your room , wanting to do anything that wasn't Math , you contemplated what to get and what he would prefer. opting out for a coffee , even if it would take some time to make you still did it, needing the boost of energy.

after what felt like forever you got the two warm drinks in hand and waltzed back into your room , The blond sitting on your bed while he scrolled on his phone , lifting his head up and thanking you for the drink. You guys took a small break , discussing about things besides why you guys are here , swinging side so side in your chair until Armin said it was time to begin again.

''I...wanna try to teach you differently''

he patted the space next to him on the bed , grabbing the textbook while you sat down. He told you to read outloud the formulas and definitions , doing as told until your words got caught in your throat , his lips grazing over your next and hand pressed on your thigh .

''Continue.''

You stuttered at some words , his lips leaving soft kisses of your shoulder and neck , his hand trailing more and more up your thigh until his thumb grazed your clothed cunt.

''Armin , wait-''

''shh..Your doing good.''

You couldn't even tell what you were saying anymore , the task that had you occupied long gone from your mind , only focusing on the way his fingers dipped into your panties and played with your clit.

''Open your legs more for me.''

And that you did , the book you held tossed somewhere onto your bed , hands gripping onto his blond locs. His other hand occupied , cupping your breast and pinching at your nipple.

He stopped what he was doing , tugging at your shirt for you to take it off along with your skirt , you swiftly removed the articles of clothing and sat infront of him with your legs slightly parted.

"Relax f'me..yeah.?"

You nodded , pupils blown out while you watched him move closer to you , placing a soft kiss on your nipple while his fingers continued their frantic movements

"Y'know Y/n...I couldn't resist saying no that day...the way you looked up at me , I could've bust one out right then and there."

He breathed out into your neck , sucking soft marks as he sped up his pace. His movements making a sudden halt , he shifted down lower and lower until face to face with your core.

"Thank you for serving me."

He said before diving in face first , mouth working on your clit while his fingers pumped into you. The overwhelming sensation catching you off guard.

Your legs locked around his head , hips jerking into and away from his face , a flash of white taking over your sight as your senses basically went numb.

"That's it...breath in 'n out for me."

He placed soft kisses on your clit and up your thighs , making his way up your torso until his head rested on your chest.

"Do you think that was enough studying for today?"

You smirked , hands planted on each side of his face.

"I mean..I do have a Biology test soon aswell.."

"Say less"

[ckret2]

Hey, so you've mentioned that Bollford will eventually play a small part in the fic... and that got me wondering. What exactly are their sexualities? Bill isn't technically any human gender (I don't think? Like he just says he's male becuase its easier?) could human sexualities apply to him? And becuase of that... what would it make Ford? Obviously he only ever loved Bill becuase he's a monster fucker... but what now? Is he actually plansexual? What's your take?

This is Bill's own answer about his sexuality, from the reddit Bill Cipher AMA:

Because the original comment was removed, a lot of later readers assume that Bill is talking about what his own gender is; but the original comment actually asked what his orientation is.

Since Bill's reply says "my dimension has" rather than "had," and he talks like he COULD file his paperwork if he were so inclined, I'm assuming that by "my dimension" he means the Nightmare Realm, not Euclydia. (If I tell you something about "my town," I'm talking about the town I live in, not the hometown I left a decade ago. Why assume Bill does differently?) So he's talking about trying to figure out his orientation in a context of mingling with alien genders, not his orientation within the context of his home dimension.

From his answer, I can conclude three things:

His orientation isn't whatever was considered normal for his culture (example: straight in a heteronormative culture), because if he was attracted only to The Things He Was Expected To Be Attracted To and never attracted to The Things He Wasn't Expect To Be Attracted To, that would be pretty easy for him to recognize.

His orientation isn't ace/aro, because if he was attracted to NOTHING that would be really easy for him to recognize.

His orientation isn't pan, because if he was attracted to EVERYTHING that would be really easy for him to recognize.

So he knows for a fact that there's some genders he definitely feels attraction to and he knows for a fact that there's some genders he never feels attraction to, and they're not the genders considered "normal" in his species, meaning he can't just make a sweeping "yes" or "no" declaration about his attraction to as-yet-unknown genders.

That's as much as we know about his orientation and that's as deep as I care to take it. He knows some things he likes and he knows some things he doesn't like and sometimes he runs into something new and discovers whether he likes it.

As for Ford, I personally headcanon him as somewhere on the ace/aro spectrum—whether that's ace-ace and aro-aro or something a little more demi/gray depends on my mood, the weather, the stock market, and what house Mercury is in.

Is he a "monsterfucker" in the sense of "experiences sexual attraction to monsters" or the sense of "has a kink for monstrosity and is turned on by the excitement of (sexually) exploring something new and strange"? He couldn't tell you.

Has he ever fallen in love? He doesn't think so. Could he ever fall in love? Is he going to fall "in love"? Define "love". What's the dividing line between "emotionally wrapping yourself around someone who fills you with awe and excitement and the contentment of being understood and fantasizing about the wonders he'll show you and the ways he'll impact your life" and "love"? Define the dividing line between platonic friendship and queerplatonic friendship. Define the dividing line between romantic love and queerplatonic love. What's the precise difference between a crush and an obsession. What's the precise difference between a special interest and a romantic interest. If your answer involves criteria like "the desire to kiss" it's no good. Ford's made out with his special interests. He's spent fifty years trying to figure out how to kiss moths.

As far as he can tell he's like this

Ford's a busy man of science, he's got better things to do than search for his precise microlabel*. (*Ford doesn't know what microlabels are.)

This is how he sees it. Forget about the actions and rituals people assume automatically come with "love" and "attraction" and "desire" and "relationships" and "orientations." You don't need to know what your orientation is. For example you wouldn't need to know you like women in order to Like A Woman, your body would just make you like her. An orientation is just a label used to categorize your observations of your body's instincts. So focus on your instincts rather than your label.

You find somebody. You like them. They like you. You want to do things with them. Don't waste time trying to figure out if you're "in love" by comparing the things you want against a hypothetical list of things that somebody in love would want: just pay attention to what you want to do with them.

Kiss? Go to movies? Talk about interdimensional quantum mechanics for eight hours straight? Hold hands? Sleep together? Bring them to family reunions? Play board games? Live together and jointly make decisions about finances, careers, education? Live next door to each other so you can see each other every day without having to cooperate on so many parts of your lives? Get joint filing tax breaks? Entrust each other to make medical decisions if one of you is in a coma?

These are a few of many possibilities. Maybe you want some of them but not others. Maybe you want some things that aren't listed. Maybe you hate this entire list. Whatever. Doesn't matter. Just figure out the things you want to do with them. They figure out the things they want to do with you.

Maybe you don't know whether you're "in love". Maybe one of you is "in love" and the other one isn't. It's irrelevant! The only benefit to knowing whether you're in love is that it provides a template with a list of things you probably want to do (kiss; sex; marry; babies; whatever)—but wouldn't you prefer to do the things you WANT to do rather than do the things you think you SHOULD want based on how you THINK you feel? You just figured out what you want from the person you like all by yourself, so who NEEDS "love"! You have a list!

Now you two can compare lists! You decide which things you both want to do and which things you don't. You compromise. You reach a mutual agreement on a way to conduct your relationship that will make you both happy. You have made...

... a plan.

(In the fic, I plan to continue addressing Bill's orientation by having him crack jokes about paperwork and answer questions like "do you like boys or girls?" with "sometimes"; and this chapter is probably as deep as I'll get into directly addressing Ford's orientation: "I only know there's been too many aliens for me to be straight." With Bill currently in human form, Ford sees him as "Bill (triangle) stuck inside a human puppet" rather than as "Bill (human)," so how Ford feels about Bill has no relevance to how Ford feels about human genders and vice versa.)

[corollaservant]

18+ mdni inexperienced Chrollo, pet names, fingering, oral (f)

Chrollo is no expert in woman pleasure. like sure he has read plenty in his life and talked to some and yeah he knows biology but he is utterly clueless on how to make a woman feel good. you have to guide him through the process of eating you out and fingering you and the first time you do? he watches in awe.

you start by pecking on his lips and bringing your body closer to his as his hands clumsily sit on his knees, he doesn't know what to do with them. you grab him by the neck softly and position them on your hips, straddling his lap and swirling your tongue inside his mouth, as he struggles to breathe, he has never kissed anyone before. he groans when you remove your mouth from his, wanting to feel you on him again, longer. you bring his slender fingers to your entrance, your hand covering his own as you move it across your cunt, you show him how to use his fingers on your folds and clit, you point to each part and he starts stroking, clumsily and kind of harsh, circling around the outer lips but you don't lose faith—you remove his hand and show him yourself. he furrows his brows and shifts uncomfortably, he doesn't know how to handle his aching hard cock interfering with the lesson you offer. you show him how you touch on your clit, how the folds are teased and you play with your smeared slick, he wants to try too and he does, with more success this time as his fingers feel way better than yours and while he hasn't touched pussy before he has skillfully used them to assassinate and flip pages on that damn book. he runs his hand vertically across your entrance and teases it, it's like he wants to enter you out of curiosity. he softly pushes his middle finger halfway in and you moan as you praise him “good boy, now go deeper” and he pumps it fully in your creamy walls as he watches you with your mouth slightly open. he can tell you feel good and more blood rushes south, he is in actual pain now but keeps going, for you.

once you tell him to add his index finger too, he realizes you like this by your continuous praises and ragged breaths, your cunt looks delicious in his eyes; almost edible and he is fascinated by the wetness dripping on his fingers. “wanna eat me too baby?” you ask him “s..sure” he hesitantly says, he wants to devour you actually “p-please show me how,” he almost begs and you bring yourself closer to his face, spreading your legs wider and gripping on his hair so that the only thing you see is his forehead tattoo as his breath hits your entrance. “lick me up with your tongue, baby start low and go higher” you say and he does just that, he’s a natural you think and so obedient. “such a good boy.. now remember where we said the clit was baby?” “mhmh” is all he can muster, his mouth occupied, tongue swirling anywhere it can, he thinks you taste like sugar and your body jerking is a pretty sight. “want you to suck on the clit gently, alright?”—he moves higher, of course he diligently memorise, your body for the next time. “don't lick baby, blow softly 'kay?” and he does better, the sensation sending chills down your spine “well done—agh–” you praise as you grind your pussy down his nose, he does not utter a word but continues whatever combination he uses on your cunt, your slick and his saliva creating a mess on his face yet he doesn't seem to mind. he senses your body convulsing and backs off, he thinks he hurt you and looks at you with concern but you reassure him, angered because you desperately want to come, to get back on business and he proceeds, sucking on your clit and running his tongue across your folds while his fingers tease your entrance, he thinks to use them on his own and what a clever man he is because seconds later he hears whispers and mewls “mhm—comin' baby agh fuck..so..so good!” and he notices your pussy pulsating on his lips, a small stream dripping down his mouth as your legs headlock him. he breaks free with ease and furrows his brows only to see you, heaving chest and widened eyes, mouth agape and disheveled hair looking at him..surprised? “How did I do?” he asks.

Chrollo would realise in retrospect he had done a good fucking job.

[thesilmarillionblog]

𝐖𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄 ── Part 3

Click here to read the first part.

Summary: In the hopes that things would improve between you, you choose to lose your virginity to your friend Dean Winchester because you have been in love with him madly for a long time. However, he doesn't feel the same about you.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x F!Reader

Warnings: Unrequited love, angst, jealousy, tension, language

Word Count: 6043

A/N: English is not my first language.

Song: 'It takes a Lot to Know a Man' by Damien Rice

While it was exhausting in some ways and occasionally involved people who were a little noisy and irate, spending an entire day at the hospital and taking care of patients felt good. It was occasionally unclear which task you had more difficulty with than the other: hunting or nursing. That being said, one of them was a little too dangerous for you.

Your thoughts raced at every word Dean said, hinting that he didn't want you to tear down your bond, as you thought back to the evening he'd spent with Jo while Sam spent his time watching TV. Though he hadn't stated it explicitly, his sharp statements with soft tones made it clear. Although you were happy that he was trying to be respectful and polite, the fact that it hurt so much made his efforts a waste.

Perhaps it would be better for you to listen Sam. Giving new people a chance and meeting them might perhaps heal whatever hurts you on the inside. But when it came down to it, you were a coward for being devoted to someone you never had and never would. Especially when you saw Dean enjoying himself with Jo there in front of your eyes, it didn't even make sense. 

As if absolutely nothing happened between you. 

It was just too much for you, yet it meant nothing to him. But because you were the one who let everything happen and didn't even inform him that you were a virgin, you had no reason to hold Dean responsible. Nothing at all. However, that was such a burden. 

You cleared your mind of thoughts and saw your colleague doing his job while you treated the small girl's hand when she reached you with her nervous mother, who was frequently repeating to her that she had warned her not to play with sharp objects. It wasn't that horrible, but you did your best to soothe her and divert her attention by carefully cleaning her hand.

You informed her mother that there were hundreds of such and even worse incidents in emergency, much like her daughter, after the sharp glass was removed from her arm. You were given the task of stitching, and you began it meticulously and with caution. Sadly, it had to be stitched. Even doing it with adults appeared to be challenging. 

She was trying her hardest not to weep when she saw the needle because she felt guilty and ashamed, but you swiftly covered it up and looked at her mother to let her know that she too needed to calm her daughter. Fortunately, she got the message. 

I was just wondering what your name is. You haven't told me yet," you inquired, trying to complete your task without drawing attention to your hands. 

“Talia,” she sobbed as she turned to face her mother as if she wanted to see if she was still angry with her.

“It's a very lovely name.” You replied, “It's good to meet you, Talia,” and gave her your name. Making sure her kid wasn't gazing at you while you were taking care of her arm, you encouraged her mother to talk to her as well. Not in an angry way, of course.

“It's not very pretty,” she said. Children typically complain about several things. 

“Why do you say that, though?”

“It sounds like 'Arya.' I was playing with Aisha when she told me that. I don't even like that name.”

If there was anything positive about kids, it was being prone to share too much. That was really beneficial for handling youngsters during an emergency, though. It would have been better, of course, if they had just been cautious and not gone through at all. It seemed to you that the other girl she was referring to was her closest friend. 

“I don't believe so. Their pronouncations are really differently,” you observed. “I has a very beautiful meaning, and it's not a very common name, which is a nice thing. Don't you think so?”

“Yes,” she said after giving it some thought. “Will it hurt?” 

“Just a little bit,” you smiled reassuringly at her. “People say my hands are really soft.”

She was unable to conceal her frightened and apprehensive look as you began stitching as her mother went on to remark about how impulsive her daughter might be at times. Additionally, you saw her continuing talking with her daughter about topics that would divert her attention. 

She inquired, “Do you have a boyfriend?” with curiosity.  She was attempting to cover up the hurt expression on her face so her mother wouldn't say anything further.

“No,” you smiled and stated. 

“Why?”

“I'm not sure.” You attempted to respond vaguely in order to get her to stop interrogating you about your nonexistent romantic life. “Adult life is difficult to comprehend when it comes to such matters.”

“Now I'm not interested in growing up. Mine is not difficult.”

You interrupted with, “Good for you,” and carefully cleaned her arm while smiling sincere at her. “It is finished. I told you that my hands were soft, right?”

You felt better as the rest of the day passed, taking care of other patients, listening to them, and doing what you could to help them. It dawned on you that becoming worn out was an effective distraction from troubling thoughts. Making yourself occupied at that moment was definitely the best thing for you because you were going to lose your mind over thinking about Dean constantly, even when you had to pee. Your body was hurting so much that you had no energy left to consider anything but resting.

You were taken aback when one of your closest friends randomly stopped by the hospital where you work right before you were about to leave. You looked him in the eye and saw that, indeed, it was him. You shivered in anticipation as you gazed at him because of the little coolness in the air. Your pulse was pounding with excitement and curiosity as you narrowed your eyes and caught him with such a focused glance that he knew you were the one gazing at him before you could.

In a tone that suggested both shock and joy, you exclaimed, “Robert?” as you approached each other. You could have recognized him sooner, a few minutes earlier, before you left the hospital.

He was your pal from college. Before you left the hospital where you both worked and joined Sam and Dean, you two were extremely close friends. With Rob, everything was simple, and he was a really nice and supportive friend; you would never deny that. But at that point, you couldn't simply bury your desire to go after the family business in addition to your own work, and it was difficult to say no to Dean. He was the one who initially convinced you. After all of your losses, you had also yearned for something different—something that could brighten you up. 

During the times you worked together, Rob was a highly professional, talented, and encouraging doctor. Even though there was a hierarchy between you at the hospital, you respected the fact that he never treated you worse than necessary or better than he should have. He was always completely aware of the lines.

But even though you've been in touch with Rob, your connection with him has been weakened since you've spent so much time with Dean and Sam. There's no denying that.

You gave him a huge, tight hug, and he chuckled, “Hey,” as if he wasn't at all shocked to see you. He knew that you were working here after all, but you didn't expect to see him anyway.

Warmly hugging him again, you said, “What are you doing here?”

He winked and added, “I was in the neighborhood,” as you drew back and gave him a suspicious look. “I wanted to see how you were doing.”

Dean attempted to divert his attention throughout the day while he fixed things and cleaned Baby. He became consumed with a sensation of rage and frustration that he just didn't comprehend. He was thinking about the past three weeks nonstop, even if nothing was wrong. Particularly the last night. 

After speaking with Jo over the phone about his intention to stop their connection and his lack of interest in pursuing a serious relationship, Dean was pleased that she accepted his request and that she wasn't interested in pursuing it further either, even though she offered him to go hunting. His and her desire to hunt were similar, but Dean didn't comprehend how different they were in fact. He was glad Jo felt the same. 

If Dean had cared a little bit more, he may have been ashamed by his obviously poor performance last night, but oddly, he didn't. He felt a lot of burden when he realized that even for a brief while, he fucked Jo thinking about you. Imagining your body under him. It wasn't fair, and he didn't even mean it. He was aware of that.

The worst thing about it was that he enjoyed it and wasn't pleased with it behaving like this. Clearly stating that one night shouldn't be enough to ruin your friendship, he shouldn't reciprocate by fantasizing about fucking you. About filling you with his—Uh. Whatever. 

All day, he tried to find a way a way to divert his attention with Baby and all things mechanical. He sometimes purposefully broke things so he could fix them again. But he also couldn't quit thinking about your most recent conversation.

It wasn't the unclear situation between him and Jo that was causing him the strain he thought it was. It didn't ease him at all to cut his links with her so quickly. He was surprised to see that you were encircling him in his thoughts, imprisoning him there. 

“You look messy,” Sam said, observing his ripped t-shirt and dirty face. 

As he bent over and looked at Sam, he said, “Thanks,” in a dismissive voice, while searching for the right tool for his car. 

“You seem to be quite busy today, aren't you?” said Sam to carefully avoid getting his shirt dirty as he gave Dean the right tool in his palm from afar. 

“You think? I guess it was a long time since I took care of Baby.”

“Yeah, for around a week. But why in the world are you behaving like a cranky old lady?”

“Sam, don't get started. I mean it.” Dean shot back immediately, suddenly becoming quite defensive. He felt like the irritation was pouring into him again, but he didn't even understand why, which was making him angrier. “I have too much to do as you see.”

“By the way, when did Jo leave? Even though I got up early, I didn't see her.”

“Yeah, she left in the middle of the night.”

Recalling the evening did not soothe his feelings, but Dean responded to Sam, stating to let the fuck him alone as soon as possible. But Sam seemed intent on playing the part of the curious bitch, as if he intended to test Dean's patience to the maximum extent possible. 

“After you two had finished, huh? She's an awesome girl, but her loudness..is definetely something else. I'm not trying to say it in a mean way, but for heaven's sake, Dean. If you two have... kinky stuff, it would be best if you spent the night at her place. I bet you two also probably made it difficult for Y/N to fall asleep.”

Dean shot a look at Sam, who was attempting to say something without coming out as weird about Jo or whatever. Sam didn't dislike Jo at all; it wasn't that he despised her. She was a little too cunning and rebellious for Dean's liking. That was a known fact. His brother was sometimes a bitch; that was true, but not that bitchy for sure. 

When Sam brought you up in the chat, Dean found it difficult to focus on his work and became disoriented while lying down beneath his car. Sam was trying very hard to get under his skin for sure.

He had become frustrated in some way by the thought that you heard him and Jo. He wasn't trying to get you to hear something or anything. Dean frowned with distaste, picturing you hearing Jo's exaggerated noises. He shouldn't have brought her home to have sex in the first place, but what is done was done. Even it wasn't right. Fuck that.

Dean attempted to lightheartedly remark, “Women have a hard time with staying silent when I'm around, huh,” in an attempt to divert Sam's attention. He attempted to change the subject at hand.

“Have you seen Y/N in the morning?”

“Why are you asking that right now?” Dean grunted and glared at Sam. He suddenly lost control of the tool he was holding and groaned in pain as it landed across his face. “God. Fuck this.”

Puzzled by Dean's odd behavior, Sam put his hands in his pockets in between his complaints. His recent behavior has been peculiar. Sam was hesitant to confront it since he thought it was likely to do with their father and other hunting experiences, but he couldn't help but wonder if he was still angry with you for what happened on the previous hunt.

Sam was appreciative of Dean for constantly watching out for him, taking care of him, and protecting him from harm—even if there were times when it made him feel like a little child. Sam knew that Dean would always be looking out for him, even if he lived fifty years old. Dean has always been overly protective, and he always will be. However, there were times he was being too much. 

“Have you?” Dean was curious and asked. Remembering your swollen eyes, he wondered if you were okay. It didn't appear like you got much sleep. 

Sam said, “Yeah,” while keeping his hands in his pockets and observing Dean's struggling with Baby. “She seemed pretty bad though.”

“Why do you say that?” Despite his best efforts to appear indifferent and normal, Dean's tone betrayed him. There was absolutely no stopping it. He was wondering if he was treating you too harshly these days. Neither Dean nor you were ever good at expressing yourself clearly.

“I'm not sure. She was quite exhausted, and her eyes appeared to be red, but I'm not sure. Her having to work and hunt at the same time must be challenging.” Sam thought you were pushing yourself a little too hard since he got to know you; however, he wasn't sure if it was just weariness or something more. He was impressed by your ambition and couldn't help but feel respect and appreciation for you.

“Maybe,” Dean interrupted, reminiscing on the way you looked the previous night. You looked so worn out, but he was too preoccupied with the talk to notice. Even though he wasn't sure whether he would believe it himself, he would prefer to pretend that you were just dizzy or sleepy. He would have said that you had sobbed uncontrollably all night, but he quickly brushed this idea from his mind as a sensation of uneasiness overcame him. “She must be tired.” 

“Did you apologize to her?”

“For what”

Sam kept rolling his eyes at Dean because he was becoming a little irritated with the way he was acting. He would claim that throughout the previous two or three weeks, something inside of him had altered. 

“For acting like a grumpy old bitch,” Sam shot back. 

Dean kept it short, refusing to elaborate on what had happened the night before. “We talked it out,” he said. “She'll start being more watchful now. By the way, is your arm okay?” 

Sam kneeled down and attempted to look into Dean's face in an effort to start a meaningful conversation, realizing that Dean was unwilling to acknowledge that his reaction was wrong. 

Sam remarked, “It's been a year since she joined us, and she's far too helpful and too kind for how you reacted there," dismissing his inquiry over his arm. Though I'm grateful for your concern, it's wrong. You need to be a little softer and gentler.”

“Do you think I don't know that?” After switching out the tool, Dean gave Sam a stern look.

“No.”

Sam grumbled in frustration, acknowledging that it would be impossible to alter Dean's perspective. “It wasn't very kind to tell someone that you have only one left to care about when they don't even have one.”

For a brief period, Dean's hands paused, and regret overcame his mind. He couldn't recall the exact moment those piercing words, as if he intended to intentionally harm you, came out of his mouth. It was never his intention to do so. Gradually, Dean's hands slowed, and he stood up, recalling that you were the only member of your family still living. For a moment, he stopped being interested in everything. 

“Now you know what you must apologize for, huh?” With a broken smile, Sam remarked. At least Dean wasn't so rigid, which relieved him. “Do you know when her shift ends?”

Dean murmured, “Yeah, I guess,” in a tone that was more controlled and calm. 

“You need to fix this; I'm serious. Give her a call, and bring her over for tonight. Having a dinner together might be a wonderful place to begin, and she'll be too exhausted anyway.”

“Don't tell me what to do.” Dean hurriedly walked by Sam, messing his hair to annoy him. He returned inside from the garage, determined not to engage in any further discourse. 

After a quick shower, Dean changed into new clothing and stood in front of the mirror, making adjustments with his hair until he was satisfied with the way he looked. He bit his lip anxiously and walked the room for a little while, considering calling you, but then decided to come get you because he knew you would be finished with work in an hour. It would be better to give you a call on the way. On the drive back home, it may be somewhat more appropriate for conversation. Driving back after so many hours at work would exhaust you too much. Besides, it was becoming late. Perhaps you might even consider eating in a restaurant.

“But why didn't you inform me about your arrival? You could have called me,” you wondered, your mouth making into a smile. It surprised you too much to see him so abruptly, even though you knew he would let you know if there was another time. 

Unexpectedly, he replied, “I actually did it on purpose.” You waited for him to continue. “I thought, surprising you about that, I'm going to work here from now on, and seeing that face of yours would be worth it.”

“Oh my god,” you said, displaying greater excitement than you had expected.

“You can't be serious.”

“I am pretty serious actually.”

When your phone began to ring, you apologized and continued to ignore Dean's calls. Rob then informed you that he had chosen to relocate after his father passed away, and you had attended his funeral around a month prior. You assumed that it must have caused some sort of trauma, but you didn't pursue the matter further since you didn't want to reopen old wounds.

You inquired excitedly, “Do you want to come over? I could make you some food so we can have an actual conversation instead of chatting under that weather. You know, it's kind of cold, and I'm sort of tired as hell,” you joked, hoping he would take you up on your offer. It has suddenly occurred to you that you have been missing your friend, an old friend you haven't fallen in love with despite knowing for years.

Dean eventually lost patience with you and, making an annoyed sound, placed his phone back in his pocket. He thought about giving you another call right after he parked and got out of his car, but if his eyes weren't playing tricks on him, you were speaking with a man. He could tell that you had ignored his calls since you were having a heated chat that briefly made him stiff. If he didn't see you giggling and even giving him a firm hug, which caused his body to tense up for a brief moment, he would say it was simply small talk.

Dean wasn't sure if being ignored was the cause of his growing ire. Since his rage had been driving him insane since the morning, he put the blame on his lack of patience. His pride was hurt by your disregard for him as well. 

With a sidelong glance at the man you were speaking with, Dean saw his rage flare up. Not feeling calm since the morning was tiring though. The man had a prideful appearance yet exuded a sense of confidence. From a distance, he could express that enough. 

His body stiffened for a moment, indicating that the conversation was... intense. So that was the reason that you ignored him for that long. 

Dean moved fast but calmly to avoid making a scene, attempting to maintain his composure despite his mind racing with thoughts. As he walked to each of you, he considered lying about his work. Maybe he would pretend to be a doctor in order to create a good impression, or he would claim to be working for the CIA or FBI in order to make dirty jokes about you and him. He would decide that soon enough.

You whispered, “Dean?” in shock as he unexpectedly appeared at your side. It was unusual for him to show up, especially considering how distant you two were in the last couple of days. He glanced in your direction, but then his gaze shifted to Robert. 

Dean glanced at you and added, “I've been calling you for some time.” It was a little judgmental, which bothered you.

Robert stared at you both bewildered, and you lied to him, “I wasn't aware,” but he didn't interject. Awkwardness suddenly filled the air. Three of you were waiting on foot as the chilly weather grew more intense. It was a really uncomfortable moment. 

As Robert extended his hand for a formal introduction, Dean said, “Can't imagine why,” while concentrating his entire attention on him. Dean talked first: “Dean Winchester.” 

Robert also introduced himself quite sweetly and kindly. He was typically really polite and mindful. You hoped Dean wasn't feeling like making uncomfortable remarks or embarrassing you in any way. He wasn't a reckless person, but when he wasn't in the mood, you just didn't know whether he knew the lines. 

Robert gave you a long stare when they finally got to meet, but he remained silent. Rather, he said, “So are you two friends or?” 

“Yeah, very close,” Dean said immediately. Robert only nodded to him. “How do you know each other?”

“Well, I'm a doctor.” Robert said, giving you a real, heartfelt smile that warmed your heart, “We've known each other for a long time and worked in the same hospital for quite a long time from my perspective since I'm always on the move. She’s a very good nurse, very talented.” When someone you looked up to complimented you, your heart skipped a beat. These days, it's difficult to find someone who values your effort.

You tensed up for a moment when Dean responded, “I know,” in a proud voice and with a sly smile. When he saw Robert smiling broadly at you, he was powerless to stop himself. Licking his lips, he added, “She has very soft hands indeed and definitely knows how to use them.”

Though Dean had no intention of making any inappropriate remarks, his patience with the man in front of him was getting thinner by the moment as he kept looking at you while he talked. Dean felt like he was getting in the mood when he observed Robert's face change. With a confused expression on his face, he seemed to be trying to figure out whether Dean meant it literally or if it was a metaphor or something.

You gave Dean a glare, but you remained silent despite your cheeks turning red from his unexpected and dirty statement. You were shocked that he chose to act this way in order to make you feel uncomfortable in front of your friend. You didn't mind when he made similar jokes when there was just you and him; nonetheless, you felt embarrassed acting in this way in front of Robert. You weren't sure of Dean's actual intentions. 

You choose to cut it off in order to release some tension. “Robb, would you like to have an actual conversation with me later, or simply come over? Of course, if you have the time.”

Dean gave you and Robert a bitter look as he realized how fast and recklessly you had welcomed a man to your house at that hour. He knew you well enough to know that you weren't someone who liked to greet guests at your place with such ease. It didn't matter how hard you tried to disguise your trust concerns; you had trust issues. You were so at ease and full of energy around that man that he wondered how close you must have been to him. Dean closed his eyes for a while, pushing the terrible pictures from his mind as he considered the scenarios involving you and him.

“Actually, I came here at that hour to visit with a different friend before spending the night with my aunt. Can we have a call for tomorrow to set up a suitable time?” Robb remarked very politely, “I guess your friend came here to pick you up,” glancing at Dean as if he required clarification from both of you.

You went to offer him a hug by saying, “Of course. I'm so glad to see you again.”

His hands massaged your back as he gave you an even closer embrace, kissing you briefly on the top of the head and telling you to take care of yourself. He promised to text you as soon as he had some spare time.

Dean gazed at you and him confused as he saw you two embrace like lovers who had met years later. He questioned whether the man's irritating conduct was intended for annoying him. He was curious as to how and when you two first connected, as well as why, given that you spent the entire year with Sam and him, you would still be so close to someone a year later. Although Dean was aware that you remained in contact with your pals, he was unaware of how close you were to one of them.

Dean was ready to say something, but he instantly changed his mind and was waiting for you to end the hug. He kind of wanted to break Robert's face and hands when he touched your back. Dean wondered when he'd felt you give him such a yearning hug. Most likely never. Considering all the times he had saved your ass, you were ungrateful. Later, he would speak about this. 

Dean turned to face you shortly after Robb departed and said, “I've called you many times.”

You apologized as he gave you a strange look. You had no idea why you sounded so aloof and cold. “I haven't seen him in a very long time. He's one of my closest friends.”

You questioned, “Why are you here?” before he continued.”Has anything happened?”

“Not at all. I arrived here to pick you up.”

“But my car-”

“I will drive you to work tomorrow, alright?” Dean watched as you began to tremble in the chilly weather. As Sam mentioned, you looked pretty tired. 

Dean felt his heart melt and sigh as he saw you shiver from the cold and appear exhausted. Even though he didn't mean to come across as so crude and distant, there was still an uneasiness between you that seemed impossible to get past.

“Fine.”

You continued to shake as you got in the car. You knew you were starving yourself to death when you heard the loud sound coming from your stomach. You had hardly had time for an adequate meal because you were so busy with work.

“You need to have dressed properly.” Dean softly remarked, “It's cold outside these days,” observing your attempts to sooth yourself by lightly massaging your bare arms.

You said in a whisper, “Yeah,” while Dean pressed a button to warm the car up. 

Your muscles gradually relaxed, and you began to feel much better as Dean drove. He turned his head to face you, giving you a little, pleased look after he heard your little satisfied sound. He liked it so much. “Relaxed now?”

Giving a quick nod to him, you muttered with a hint of gratitude in your voice. “Uhm, yes. Thanks.” 

Dean said, “So,” his gaze glued to the dimly illuminated road. “How long are you friends? You and him. You appeared to be really at ease with that guy.” 

“I think for four or five years. I find him to be a really caring and compassionate friend. I hadn't seen him in a very long time, so it was a surprise to see him, as he didn't give me a call in the first place.”

You were taken aback by Dean's attempts to have a polite, regular discussion with you. Your pulse beat with excitement and anticipation since it had been a long time since you had spoken to him in that way. All you wanted was for things to be normal between you two again. You might get by with less and normal if you are unable to have more. 

Prior to Dean addressing Robert and your friendship, you said, “Baby looks and smells amazing today. Have you just given her a wash?”

“She's a good girl all the time,” he remarked, chuckling. His hands around the steering wheel were more tightly now. “She needed to be clean and nice.”

You eagerly questioned, “Why did you come, by the way?” as the minutes ticked by in quiet. You wanted to make it seem like nothing occurred between you as well, and now it looked like a good moment to sort out things between you and him. 

“I decided to pick you up to avoid an accident after Sam warned me that you looked terrible. Are you hungry?” Dean wouldn't say 'no' to a pie right now.

“Actually, I'm starving,” you answered, sidestepping the comment Dean made regarding your appearance. You bet you did. 

“Alright.” Dean glanced at you and said, “I know a good restaurant,” in a rough voice, clearing his throat. 

Stating, “To be honest, I'm exhausted.” in a sorry tone, you waited for him to offer something else. You instantaneously forced the never-to-come-true visions away from your thoughts, even though you really wanted to go on a date with him. It wouldn't be a date, but it would be a nice moment. However, it would only get your situation worse.

“You wasted the opportunity. After that, you're going to eat anything Sammy orders.”

You smiled and responded, “I'm okay with that,” but you couldn't help but worr if Jo was still there.

Your face sank unintentionally, remembering the noises she'd made with Dean last night and how he'd been distant when you two chatted. You didn't want Dean and Jo's relationship to fail if it would harm Dean in any way, but you were unable to give up and were hoping that she wouldn't be around for tonight at the very least. Undoubtedly, your body was worn out, but your heart was spent beyond comprehension. 

Dean occasionally glanced at you, and thoughts of you and Robert were constantly racing through his head. He was thinking a lot of things at once—things that would make him see red, things that would make him angry, and things that would make Dean want to punch Robert in the face. 

“Have you slept with him?” unexpectedly Dean asked in a stern voice that made you stiffen in hurt and disgust.

Though he didn't want to sound so harsh and judgmental, Dean couldn't resist posing the question. He had to know the answer, even if he had no idea why.

You said, “What?” your heart thumping with pain. You never wanted to tell Dean that he was your one and only and how much you gave of yourself to him that night. “How could you ask such a question?”

Dean said, “It's a simple question,” as if he were defending himself. His attitude altered upon witnessing your expression transform to one of disappointment and rage. He wasn't sure if it was really necessary to get the answer. “Did you get fucked by him?”

You responded angrily, “He's my friend,” yet both of you stiffened at the words. Your body was filled with shame, and your heart ached from the burden. All you needed was Dean making no mention of wanting to cause you more damage. Wasn't it enough?

He said, “I am your friend too,” which made you tense up in your seat. “But things happen.”

You told him sternly, “You're being too much,” while doing your best not to seem pathetic or reveal how upset you were. “I can't believe you.” 

“Why are you not answering the question?” Again, he lost his temper. Dean noticed that his tolerance was wearing thin and that the pictures that were filling his mind were not helping the situation. He was aware that he shouldn't have said those things, but whatever. Fuck that. He wanted to know. He needed to know.

You snapped, “Of course not, Dean!” as a wave of rage overcame you. You wished he would have remained silent the entire way. Both of you should have stayed quiet.

Dean fought himself not to exhale in relief as a sensation of ease exploded in his heart. He didn't understand the significance of your connection with Robert or if it mattered if he really fucked you. However, the very idea was plenty to irritate him. You deserved better than this haughty, dumb man. It was such a simple question. That was it.

You didn't ask Dean whether he loved wounding your heart these days or why he was acting like an asshole. It pained your heart to see his suspicious look, even if you had no intention of telling him that he was your first to not ruin whatever you had from the beginning. If you told him the truth, you weren't sure how he would react. But knowing that he was still distant from you, you were unable to find the trust that you needed. You had no idea how he would react.

You said, “I want to go home,” in an icy tone, though you didn't actually mean it. You desired more time to be with him. It hurt so much to not be around him. Your eyes welled with tears, but you forced them back as your need for him reminded you of how pathetic you truly were to him.

He had an innate ability of ruining a nice moment just when you thought everything was going well. You realized that in order to stop him from hurting you, you needed to find a method to physically separate from him rather than cling to him. If nothing else, perhaps you could convey to him the meaning of his behavior and how easily his sharp words hurt you. Maybe someday.

“We're already-”

But you soon interrupted, saying, “My home.”

When he proposed that you have dinner at a restaurant, you should have accepted. Maybe you would chat about things that could break the ice between you, or even better, maybe you would find a way to bring up the young girl you took care of and her thoughts about love. Maybe he would act a little differently, acting more kind and cheerful rather than staring at you with rage. If only you had known which way to go to win him over, so much may have been different.

Next Chapter

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A/N: Please, let me know what you think about this one. I hope you like it. Comments and reblogs are very appreciated! They keep me going. ^^

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[diorcities]

sunbeam (ldh)

⠀ ── haechan x you genre fluff content dad!hyuck wc 0.5k directory.

haechan sleeps soundly, and among dreams and dreams to pick from, he chooses the one with the sound of your voice.

as you comb the hair of a sleeping jisoo, donghyun sets out to yap right before napping. even though most of what he says are non-woven sentences, you hear him because you've noticed that he pouts when pronouncing. the little boy with caramel curls talks nonstop and you listen intently as you fail to put him to sleep by tracing circles around his eyes, and the mere fact of looking at him as he speaks to you in a language he doesn't understand completely yet makes you think of a boy named after the sun.

you smile, perhaps because you think of him or maybe for his cozy presence next to you, keeping you warm in a rainy afternoon. and the warmth of the blankets probably counteracts the sense of augur for bad weather, but it doesn't, not when you're so close to a sun that never sets.

the days at home are all different, but there is always room for a good nap, and donghyuck has slept through the entire rain. he gets closer to you, and the smells of vanilla and orquids wraps him around; there's a gentle feeling where his heart rests and haechan knows he's lost.

his warm hand detaches from your belly and lands on the mouth of the poor donghuyn who cuts the thread of his story to remove his dad's hand with a frown; he looks like his father in certain light sometimes. “hae,” you complain as he laughs with a tint of playfulness.

you make sure to rub donghyun's full cheek who proceeds to continue babbling before turning your head to the side to have a full vision of his face. haechan's eyes are barely open and he blinks slowly. he has messy and long hair covering his forehead, making you tickles when he snuggles closer. “come sleep with me.”

“donghyun's telling a bedtime story,” you say quietly, “the one you teached him.” by the way he smiles proudly, you know he's treasuring it.

“mommy... flower.” so now he leans over your shoulder and his eyebrows arch in the utmost attention while the little sunbeam starts to loose the thread of his own babbling, slowly giving in to sleep.

donghyun's small dark eyes begin to close and his eyelids with long eyelashes flutter like butterfly wings, coming closer to you and the source of warmth emanating from your body. and even though he's finally giving in to get some rest from all the shenanigans he did in the afternoon paired up with his brother, your drowsy mind wants to know how the story ends for him.

“what happens next, love?” you whisper, kissing his forehead affectionately.

“he always falls asleep on that part,” haechan mocks with a snort before reaching out to the boy's hair where his fingers uncover his forehead.

donghyun's eyelids flutter before he breathes steadily, smiling in his dreams when haechan trace a path down to the tip of his nose. “where the enchantlings live, a sunflower saw heaven in a dandelion, and they lived happily ever after, for forever and a day.”

a short laugh assaults you, especially since now all of donghyun's words make sense, because haechan has given them meaning. and that, the feeling that makes your heart beat slowly spreads through your chest, and is warm, and it's beautiful.

“can i have you for myself now?” his deep voice sounds husky by sleep and makes your skin bristle.

you turn around as he makes you face him, registering how close he is when his lips rest on yours. and he kisses you, slowly and tiredly, with little pecks full of something akin to infinite love.

each time he kisses you this way, you can't help but think that this feeling begins with you and ends with him. and just as all roads lead to rome, perhaps yours would've always led you here, in his arms.

he welcomes you into his embrace and the faint scent of shaving cream envelops you in a homely feeling. the soft note of his cologne gives you the feelings. “always.”

it's maybe a skill to know that he's smiling even when you don't see him. but you feel it. in your heart.

he can have you, always.

[prentissluvr]

literary parallels — sam winchester

pairing : sam winchester x gn!reader ➖⟢ genre : light angst, fluff ➖⟢ cw : small injuries, few seconds of physical fighting (self-defense), no use of y/n, you have a dad and i gave him a name (rick lol), mentions of death of loved ones, sort of case fic, kinda ignores canon timeline in terms of a few minor things but canon doesn't matter much in this fic lol, poorly edited most likely ➖⟢ wc : 3.6K summary : sam is someone from your past at stanford university, and the last place you expect to see him again is on a case. that's exactly where you find him. i plan on doing a part two for this one in the future! :))

MOVED BLOGS TO @sammyluvr !! no longer active on this blog! all fics can be found there!

today is one of those days where the reality of your life feels strange, unwelcome, and somewhat foreign. it’s not as if you’re new to the hunting life; it’s just the opposite, and yet, you often feel removed from it, especially after having lived normally at college for a few years. but you were ripped back into hunting without being able to finish your degree by your father after the death of your closest cousin. 

so now you’re cooped up in a crappy motel room searching endlessly through detailed lore websites and the few books you have on you, trying to make sense of the odd patterns of killings in the small california town. that’s part of the pit in your stomach for today; the beach town, cayucos, is only three hours from stanford. 

being so close to your former university after almost a whole year brings back a whole lot of mixed feelings. mostly longing for the normalcy that you loved and lost, but also a renewed urgency to find what killed your cousin. she had been studying at a different college just an hour inland from you. when she died, you had wanted to salt and burn her body and move on. but when your father showed up with proof of odd circumstances, he pursuaded you to rejoin him in the hunting life.

the deaths in cayucos are certainly odd, but they lack the defining features that would allow you to identify the creature at fault. so, you’re searching for anything with a grudge against hot men and a killing cycle of seven years since those are about the only patterns so far. your dad is at the coroner’s office, meeting with an old hunter friend to check out the body of the latest victim.

that’s been another reminder of your brief time at a normal school with normal friends and normal hobbies. when your dad first told you he called in a friend to help, he’d asked you, “d’you remember john winchester? you met him once when you were a kid, he’s an old buddy of mine.” you shook your head and he shrugged, saying something about how it makes sense; you were young and only met him once. but the name stuck in your mind as he left, and it had nothing to do with hunting or when you were a kid on the road, stuck in motels, school if you were there long enough, or the town library if you were lucky.

that name, or the last name anyway, comes from the stanford part of your life, the one you keep cherished in the most protected corners of your heart. sam winchester was one of your few friends during your time there, and after hearing his family name spoken aloud, he’s floating through your mind all day.

he disappeared after jess, his girlfriend and one of your other few friends, died, mere weeks before your own cousin died and you left standford as well. you’ve always wondered what happened to him, the best conclusion you could come to being that he couldn’t bear her death. they were absolutely in love with each other, but you know jess would have wanted him to finish at stanford, then head to that law school he was bound to get that full-ride to. sam always had an air of strength about him, so it surprised you when you never saw him again. he wasn’t even at her funeral, and to this day, that’s your singular bone to pick with him. 

but, you can’t afford to think about him too much as you search for answers about the case. abandoning the lore websites for the meantime, you look over the police records of all the deaths that you can find, hoping to draw together any more patterns that you can use to narrow down your research. you’re jotting down a few notes, thinking you may have found something regarding accounts of a few of the men being last seen with a woman, when your train of thought is interrupted by an unexpected knock on the door.

on instinct, you draw your gun as you cross the room, looking through the peephole and silently cursing when you realize the light out front has gone out. all you can make out is the tall, broad silluete of a man thanks to the dimness of the twighlight sky.

you wait for a moment at the door, hoping he’ll just walk away after he doesn’t get an answer. but you’re unlucky, and he knocks again before calling out, “hello? rick sent me here to … help with the case, he said his kid was here. i’m john winchester’s son, sam.”

if you were in an old-timey cartoon, your jaw would’ve dropped to the floor. sam … sam winchester. it sounds just like him. trying to keep your head, you swap your gun for a nearby canteen of holy water and slip a silver knife into your pocket for accessibility. it’s too much of a coincidence for you to believe it.

you crack the door, just enough for him to hear you a bit better. “sam winchester? like stanford full-ride, lawyboy sam winchester?”

“i– how do you–” there’s a moment of silence, and you know that he’s piecing together the few clues he has; your voice and the last name you must share with your dad, the man he knows as rick. his voice is just as cautious as yours as he says your name like he can’t really believe it.

for a moment, you stop thinking when you hear his voice saying your name after so long, and you throw open the door and let him in. the light from the motel room finally illuminates his face, and it’s him, it’s really him. and the moment you think that is the moment you realize that could absolutely not be the case.

the second he turns to you from closing the door, you’re splashing holy water in his face so fast you barely catch the look he was about to give you; eyes so full of surprise and wonder and confusion and something akin to joy. you react quickly to his lack of reaction besides the normal surprise at getting splashed in the face, slashing at his arm with your silver knife to finish testing him. but he reacts just as fast as you, grabbing both of your wrists, spinning you around and pinning you to the flat surface of the door.

his hold is quite strong, but he doesn’t have the time to bear his full weight into holding you down before you react, so you’re able to manuever out of his hold with practiced ease. you lift one arm up as you yank the other down to make it so you’re able to slip down and to the side, out of his hold. then you’ve got a strong hand to his back, shoving him face-first against the door and your other arm bringing your knife to his throat.

the thought that his profile view with his pulled-taut eyebrows and the grimace on his mouth looks pretty has the audacity to float up to the forefront of your mind before you can squash it down. the whole struggle had taken mere seconds, and he resigns the minute you’ve got him pinned down.

“it’s me,” he pants, “i swear. ‘m not a shapeshifter or ghoul or anything, it was just instinct. sorry,” he explains quickly, “go ahead, test me.”

you debate saying “don’t mind if i do,” but decide that you don’t have to be teasing or snarky about it. instead, you tamp down your hesitance to hurt him, even a little bit because he still sort of feels like innocent, regular, lawboy sam to you, and you draw a thin line of blood at the spot where his neck slopes into his broad shoulder. there’s no burning, just a normal wince from his mouth, so you loosen your hold on him and step back, internally cringing at the small bit of blood beginning to slip down towards his collarbone.

“sorry,” you say, far more sincere than you would be if it’d been anybody else. this is the norm for hunters, but you haven’t quite wrapped your mind around the fact that sam is a hunter. you’d never once would have guessed, though you suppose that was the point. you had done everything you could to hide that part of your life during your time at stanford.

“it’s fine,” he gives you an awkward half-smile, just as sincere as you. “just, y’know, your turn.” you’d been so busy taking in the sight of him standing there, looking almost exactly the same, but not quite, as he had in college, that you forgot about the courtesy of testing yourself too.

“right,” you clear your throat, “of course.” without the hesitance any normal person would have, you take the knife to your forearm and splash a bit of holy water on your skin. “there we go. no demons or shapeshifters or the like. that’s good.” you feel incredibly awkward all of the sudden, still so bewildered and thrown off balance by the collision of your two words. it feels like too much of a coincidence for you to be this close to your old school, be thinking about sam winchester, a symbol of that old life, then for him to show up and flip your whole entire understanding of him. there’s just about a million things running through your mind at just about a million miles per hour and it’s starting to make your head hurt.

the movement of his hand, reaching up to hold the small cut you gave him is what brings you out of your short lived reverie.

“god, i’m sorry. let me get you something for that.” you don’t give him the time to politely tell you, “no, it’s okay,” like you know he would before you’ve turned your back and crossed the room to grab a first aid kit from your bag and some rubbing alcohol from the bathroom. “sit down,” you urge him when you turn back to him, motioning towards the table you’d been seated at when he arrived.

he complies and once again, you’re thinking about the strangeness of sharing this sort of space with him. you’re used to seeing him in libraries so big that they’re almost grand for quiet study sessions or in the dining hall with his nose buried in a book or in the lecture hall where you first met him in a gen-ed class. you’re used to seeing him on one of the grassy quads with jess by his side or him in the big, open, and fancy old university buildings. now he looks right at home in the dingy motel room, so small it feels like his tall, broad frame shouldn’t fit in here, so dim that his sometimes blue or green eyes look sort of muddy. they’re pretty, nonetheless.

you set the first aid kit on the table and pull out a large bandaid and a bit of gauze. you reasses the cut to be sure he doesn’t need any other sort of bandaging and almost sigh in relief when you see how shallow it is. sam doesn’t speak or protest that he’s fine to do it himself as you pull the collar of his t-shirt aside just a bit. you’re sure his mind’s busy with a whole load of questions for you, just like you for him. the brush of your knuckles against his skin suddenly makes his presence feel more real. whatever contact you’d had during the short-lived fight you’d had was completely surreal; you weren’t sure he was really even sam, and if he was, it would feel like a lie anyways, for his hands to be rough or so quick in a fight.

he doesn’t so much as wince when you press alcohol soaked gauze to the cut, and though the wound is small and shallow enough that you’re sure it barely stings, it still feels like a sign of his being a hunter, being used to pain. you don’t like that thought; sweet, sincere, and ever so smart sam being used to pain. as you take care of the cut, he lets his eyes wander around the room, probably taking in how familiar it is, and how weird that it’s your motel room and all of your belongings packed into a single bag and your computer screen displaying hacked into police reports and the very same lore websites he frequents to solve a tricky case.

when you’re done he thanks you with a small smile and you take the seat across from him. as your fingers had brushed over his bare skin and felt a whisper of his strong shoulders, you’d gotten the strong urge to hug him. you missed him even more than you thought. that urge doesn’t leave when you move away from him.

you make a confused face at sam when he reaches for the first aid kit and pulls out another set of bandaids and gauze. he just hands you a gauze now soaked with alcohol and nods at you.

“for your arm,” he explains, because you’ve already forgotten about that as you accept it with a questioning brow.

“right,” you chuckle softly, swiping over the cut with the gauze, then taking and applying the bandaid that sam opened for you. when you’re done you have to drag your eyes up to meet sam’s gaze. there’s tension in the room, and though it’s not bad per se, it’s begging to be addressed and you’re not sure how to even start. it seems like sam’s not sure either.

so, you choose to jump right into the fire.

“it’s so good to see you, sam,” you confess, pushing all your sincerity into your voice, “i mean, this is absolutely insane and i can’t quite wrap my mind around it, but i guess i don’t really care because it’s so good to see you. i worried about you so much after … after jess died, i mean, you just dissappeared and … and i can imagine that has something to do with the fact that you’re a hunter, which is sort of incomprehensible to me, but–,” suddenly you’re hit with a new realization. if sam’s disappearance had to do with the supernatural, you wonder if jess’s death did too. but you don’t want to ask, not right now. “oh, god, and i never got to tell you how sorry i am. i– i mean. i can’t imagine.” there’s where your voice trails off and you look to sam to be the one to say something now.

“thanks,” he answers simply, voice gentle but a little pained, rightfully so. “she was your friend, too. i mean, we were all friends. and i’m sorry i disappeared like that. i, um, well, you’re right. hunting dragged me away. it’s complicated and i’ll explain it to you later. you deserve to know what happened to jess, but– but it’s a lot.” a moment of silence allows that to sink in; so something did happen to her, something more than just faulty electrical wiring in her apartment. sam’s genuine as he goes on, “and it’s great to see you too, really. it’s so strange, i mean all of this, obviously, but it’s even stranger how close we are to stanford. i was already thinking about it, about you all on the way over, and the next thing i know, you’re the suspicious hunter throwing holy water in my face.” 

you cringe a little at that, but sam smiles a little wider than he has all night. “that’s a good thing,” he half-laughs, “i don’t care how weird this coincidence is, i’m glad for it.” his hand twitches, almost as if he’d wanted to reach over and grab your hand, but thought better of it before it could happen. “i gotta ask, did you finish your degree?” the way he asks is so hopeful, and you immediately know how much he wants the answer to be yes. he’s thinking, if i couldn’t finish, please tell me at least one of us could. that one of us poor and foolish hunter kids who thought we could escape managed to long enough to finish a degree, prove that we could make something of ourselves in the normal world. it would be so nice to see that, if it couldn’t be me, it could be somebody, it could be you.

his face falls a little when he registers the sad smile on your face. your expression is more than enough of an answer, and the fact that he wanted so badly for you to have made it makes your heart break a little, for both him and you. we deserved better, you think.

“just about the same thing happened to me,” you begin to explain, “you remember my cousin, bex?” sam nods, recalling the way the two of you acted like siblings the few times he met her, how much you liked alike when you smiled, already sad for what he suspects he might hear. “she died a few weeks after jess. she and i both grew up hunting, and we both thought we got out of it, at least for a little while. we almost lasted all four years … i didn’t think there was anything weird with her death, but … my dad showed me proof of just that at her funeral, convinced me to come back to hunting with him. she was– she was hiding something, and, honestly i’m still not sure what happened. progress on her case has been slow. real slow, so we’ve been working on others in the meantime. keeping busy, you know.”

“oh, i know,” sam sighs, and you completely believe him. you wonder for a moment what bigger things he’s digging into before deciding it’s best if the two of you stick to what’s in front of you. if you go too deep, having each other, a new kind of steady presence from better times, might start feeling too unreal again. 

you want to preserve this delicate balance, where sam is still stanford sam and you’re still stanford you, but now there’s just a deeper understanding of each other. a knowing of what it’s like to grow up with a hunter for a father, to want to get away from it all, to want a sense of normalcy, and to want to learn and become something more and say “screw you!” to all of the expections. and on top of that, knowing how it feels to get so close to the finish line, only to have it ripped out of your hands like you’re a child who’s parents think they’ve had too much candy. only it’s far worse than a half eaten lollipop in the trash because people that you love died, and it was all so much more than just chasing after a momentary sugar high. 

“i’m sorry about bex,” sam says, this time actually reaching out and placing his hand on yours for a moment. his voice is as full of empathy and sincerity as ever. “she was amazing the few times i met her. i could see how close you two were.”

“thanks, sam.” you give him a small smile because those words feel so much better coming from him than just about anyone else. with that, the air seems to settle a little, and it’s far more bearable. you’ve still got a hundred and one questions to ask and a hundred and one more things to say to each other, but to find out you have this near-exact shared experience is like having so much of the weight of loneliness lifted from your chest. and it all feels even better because you know sam. you know him already. 

sure, there’s a whole lot you missed before, but you don’t doubt for a second that the sam sitting in front of you is as kind, funny, smart, witty, sincere, adorably awkward, and good as the sam you met and came to know at stanford. in fact, knowing he grew up the way he did just reaffirms his goodness to you. it’s not easy to live like that and continue choosing to be kind and well-meaning and true to yourself. then there’s this feeling of admiration for sam, just blooming in your chest and you hold back a wide grin because the timing’s not quite right. you still can’t shake the urge to hug him.

“well,” you smile casually, if not a little rueful as you say your next words, “i think our dads will go all hunter-dad-crazy on us if we keep playing catch up. i’ll give you a run down of everything i’ve got, then we can do what dropouts from the west coast’s most prestigious school’s do best; research.”

sam’s smile matches your own, and it’s achingly familiar. “well, we can’t have those asses ruin our not-quite-stanford-alumni reuinion. let’s get to work. we can pretend it’s like the good old days, spring freshman year, all of us cramming for the way-er exam at the back of the library and getting shushed by the librarians. we can pretend john and rick are the librarians.”

for the first time in a long time, you let out a loud laugh, surprised and pulled right out of you without warning. he smiles wide at the sound and finally, without restraint, you grin back. god, you missed him.

[cookiepie111]

࿐Drink from the leche of sirens࿐

Synopsis - An injury könig comes across a lake and pretty nymph. Greek au könig x black nymph reader. No minors. Smut

Part 2 here

A/N-

An alternate to the fountain girl fic I wrote.

Think this might be the longest thing I've written. There is a Pinterest mood board here. Shout out to @cinnamonbunboii cause their comment inspired this fic. Please like and reblog!

Tags: @terra-713 @cinnamonbunboii @kneelingshadowsalome @bucca2

       𓇼 - - - - - - - - 𓇼 - - - - - - - - 𓇼

Deities are petty beings, twisting the hearts of humans when things don't go their way. König and his army may have won the battle but the casualties were high, he himself was beat and bruised. Its just a game to them and what do you do when you're losing and angry, you flip out, over turn the board and scatter the pieces. Think of a new way to win while your opponent garthers up their fallen pieces.

Scattered by the wind, what a cliche but it works, in all the commotion the soldiers were separated, placed in every which direction, on land, and both above and below the heavens. How petty all this because you lost. Somehow this wasn't the worst part of könig's day just the final cherry on top the shitty Sunday the gods gave him. His lover betrayed him, separated from his allies, battered and bruised and now there's nothing around him but trees. If not for the situation and burning rage in his heart he'd find the place quite peaceful, beautiful even, a nice place to die.

The deeper könig went into the forest the more the atmosphere changed, trees bend and shift, covering the sky above. The slow dance of leaves and bright glow of the fireflies. All of it leading up to a lake in the clearing. It all felt too to unnatural to be real, like sweet honey leading him a trap. Pressing into the wound at his side, the sharp pain brought him back to his senses, this isn't the place to lose one's mind he'd need to keep his wits about him if he wanted to live.

Even if he doesn't want to accept it there's no denying this would be a beautiful place to die. Even now he hates himself for still thinking of her, even at the moment of his death she still has place in his mind. she'd love this place, a backdrop like this would only accentuate her beauty more.

He walked close to the lake feeling the trees shift around him again. Laying back on the trees bark sword placed on the ground.

The waters surface ripples altering könig to the figure in the lake, its shape he couldn't quite make out. A head, a person maybe. This place could be cursed, it wouldn't surprise him. He stares back never removing his eyes from them watching as they stay just below the water.

If he's intruded on some beings land they'll just have to put up with him or force him out. He's got enough strength for one last fight. It is after all the way of the warrior to go out fighting he thinks, unsteady as he pushes off the tree bark.

You can't remember the last time you saw another human here, they often end up with your older sister although you doubt they've all been this large and imposing. Even injured he carries himself very well. The cut in his stomach only causing him to hunch over, you doubt the blood covering him is his own.

Once at the water's edge the thoughts of battle quickly die down. It a woman in the water, human she is not but a woman still. The skin of human women doesn't glow or shine. Their skin isn't adorned with scales of greans and blue hues around their eyes nor does their hair shift and swirl like small currents atop the waters surface like yours. No those features that were that of nymph. Women of nature blessed with great beauty. And unfortunately for könig drowners of men.

His odds are about 50/50 he wouldn't drown so easily but that wasn't a risk he wanted to take, with his body is failing him now, heavy breaths as he falls back to the ground. Eyes still on the nymph at his front, she makes no move, just watching.

It takes a few moments for her to move a few more heavy breaths and groans from könig for her to lift from the water.

When she comes out to meet him she bare. Thin pieces of fabric dropping over her waist and chest slipping under her right breast, past her womanhood, more like an accessory one would add cause they thought it looked nice than a piece of clothing. Thick curly hair swirling around her body

To think he could still get hard at a time like this.

Drowning doesn't seem so bad now if it is by her hand.Maybe a kiss from them would send him peaceful into the afterlife.

She stood over him head tilling side from side,trying to figure the man out. He hasn't said anything, he doesn't shout or draw his sword like the other men she's seen. He's also taller, bigger, more.... solid than other men, gracing a hand down his arm. Kneeling beside him, the injury is worse than she thought. did one of the gods bring him here? Or did he just wonder here himself? You held your chin swaying on your heels deep in thought

König felt delirious, he's injured, lost and now there's a pretty nymph circling round, staring, pocking and prodding at him. If this was any other situation he'd take her in the moment. Hull her over his shoulder and fuck her till scream or blesses him, gives him heavenly children. But he's tired and weak, he can do nothing but watch as she frees his egear cock from his tunic.

He's never felt like this before, grunting and wincing under her touch. He's sure she's sucking the energy out of him.  Maybe its the bloodloss maybe it the fire at the groin the licking and kissing along his shaft causing the dizziness in him, eyes shut tight and panting as he comes closer to the edge but the release never comes. feeling her tongue stroke the entire length of him as she comes up.

The next moment for könig were pure bliss, something straight out of dream. To have her now Straddling him bouncing so eagerly on his cock, was a feeling he could never forget. The sweet stretch as she sank. It was frustrating not being able to touch her, She didn't move fast enough not for könig liking. He was too weak to set the pace, his hand only able to rest on the plush of her hip. Even if she used him like a toy könig couldn't help but throw his head back in pleasure at the squeeze of her soft walls.

Her hands explored the body under her, digging into the wounds, ignoring his hisses and complaints, pushing him back down before he finds the strength to push her off. It felt hot then numb, as she dug into his wounds.

With new found strength he bucked his hips, against her. The sound of their love making filling the forest air, his hands firmly at her hips to move her at a pace he found fit, fast and messy before emptying himself inside her.

When he finally came back down from the high he finds her form shake and ripple above him. The words die on his tongue, as her form melts down, and fades away into the water

He gets up able without stumbling this time walking straight finding himself back at the army base. König's honestly not sure if that really happened or if he was just crazy. He has nothing to show for the whole ordeal to prove it was real. He knows on the brink of the death the mind can conger all sorts of things to keep one alive but nothing could explain sleeping with a water nymph. he'd like to think he wasn't deranged...To imagine sleeping with being that would normally drown you but...

The only evidence he had was his body. The open wound in his stomach gone, his whole body intact even stronger than before. He'll think about this alot after wondering if you were really real. It would be best to get you out of his mind. Yet he sees you in the lakes and bodies of water and in the faces of women passing him by

You on the other hand couldn't believe your luck! Showing off the keepsake you'd got from the soldiers.

Red bracelet shining under the sun as you turned it on your wrist to show off to your sisters. Giggling and splashing round the waters edge. You're so lucky such a strong and handsome man!

"Wow what's his name".... "You did get his name right???" ... you didn't get his name. You didn't get his name! And honestly you're not sure which army he's with you can't tell the difference between the armours

[moonknixght]

Fooling Steven Grant HCs [afab reader]

CRAZY CONCEPT but just hear me out wc: 760

⋆ The whole thing started the night Steven came over after an extra shift-- to see you peeling off a transparent mask that stuck to your skin. Naturally, It didn't look like a face mask, but instead more like an actual layer of skin.

⋆ Obviously Steven isn't dumb enough to think that it's actually your skin…

"Does this brand of mask hurt when you're removing it?"

Unless….

⋆ ..Unless you've seen countless trends of people playfully gaslighting their boyfriends about 'shedding' after periods. And obviously, this was too good of an opportunity to give up.

⋆ "What mask?"

"Th-? The one you're taking off right now, love."

"Steven… that's not a mask.."

"Wh-"

"It's skin! I'm doing my monthly shedding."

⋆ Oh the confusion in his face was palpable. At first it was like, 'You're joking, right?' kind of bewilderment, denoted by the dopey smile on his face while his brows knitted in confusion.

⋆ but that declined into actual confusion and surprise when he noticed your expressions didn't have any sign of goofing off. Only you were aware of the struggle of holding it together.

⋆ "Girls don't.. shed.. do they?"

"They do, Steven."

⋆ You could almost feel bad for him. But your reassurance kinda made him back off for a bit and retreat back into the bedroom. You were disappointed that he didn't have a crazy reaction.

⋆ But boy were you in for a treat when you came back to the bedroom. Of course, Steven, was obsessively scrolling through his phone, eyes concentrated on the headlines but as soon as he noticed you step in..

⋆ "Doesn't say anythin’ about shedding, does it? No."

He sooo proudly showed off the phone screen to you, but you already saw this coming. You knew Steven like the back of your hand, of course he was going to try sass you.

⋆ "Yeah.. that's because it's a secret. We don't really say it to all men. Because of like.. the salem witch trials. Imagine if everyone found out that women can shed skin like a snake."

⋆ He was going to call it ridiculous, but you somehow made sense, in a very, very odd way. But That didn't mean he was completely going to trust you on this yet, even if he loved you to the end of the world.

⋆ "But what about the men that know? Like.. me."

⋆ "Think about it Steven, I wouldn't be making this so obvious if I didn't trust you enough to hold this huge secret." (that was the first truth in a bed of lies, you did trust Steven with alot of things)

⋆ The best part was that you can see his brain short-circuiting. Steven is one of the most smartest people you know, so seeing such moments is very very special

⋆ Now the thing is, practically, he has small social circle, Which means the people he can ask this to is also minute. Obviously he cant ask this to Donna!

⋆ He's tried Marc but Marc is kinda gullible, the moment he broke this to him, Marc believed it because it wouldn't make sense why you'd lie?

⋆ Surely Jake can help! He's been involved with many women before, right? That's what he claimed. Anyways, Jake admits that it's true. Because god forbid Jake loses a chance to fuck with Steven

⋆ Layla came around the other day, and his mistake was asking her right infront of you. All you had to do was to show Layla the 'look' behind Steven's back, and she caught on easily

⋆ "You told him?" Layla said, just as Steven noticed that she was looking at you

⋆ but that was the nail in the coffin; Steven actually believed that women shed their skin

⋆ It was a quiet month after that incident, that even you forgot about it; until you got your period again and by the end of the week, he actually showed up with moisturizers and sweets because "It looked like it hurt to peel a layer of yourself off" :(

⋆ Steven, your sweet summer child, had bought you care products because he actually believed what you said

⋆ Obviously after that, you let him in on the actual secret that it was just a transparent mask sheet and his immediate reaction was rejoicing that he was right

"I wasn't going crazy then!! Women don't shed!!"

⋆ The absurdity of that sentence was just amazing, that you couldn't help but laugh and subsequently, it makes him laugh too

⋆ Ending the night (and this horrendous lie) by sharing the chocolate Steven bought and talking about it together is most definitely a welcome conclusion <33

[spinji]

Thinking about the parallels between how much red is in each Todoroki's kids hair and their opinion of the father they got it from.

It's not a direct comparison based on quantity, but that does play a factor. The more key element is the placement.

Shoto's is the most obvious. His white and red hair is literally split down the middle and after his revelations at the sports festival, he starts feeling more torn about his feelings surrounding his father. Eventually settling on seeing him as a good hero but a flawed father that hasn't been forgiven but has room to change.

Natsuo as all white hair, which makes sense. He's the one that's the most vocally critical and hostile to Enji in the household and is never shown to have fond memories of him. The red isn't there and never was, and neither is love for his father. ..or is there.

Natsu did have red in his hair, at least for a time. But I believe it is still there, hidden and tucked away in his current hairstyle. It's always been there, even if it stays a few small strands, care for his father will always be there whether he wants to acknowledge it or not.

At first glance Fuyumi is a similar way, her care about Enji being small and understated. She has less red than white afterall. But Fuyumi has red strands integrated throughout her hair. She is clear that she doesn't support what Enji has done but she has clear memories from before that point and that has colored her perspective. What she wants, more than anything, is for Enji to be integrated back into the family, for the family to be whole. Her red hair is inseparable from the rest of it because to her, more than any of her siblings, their father is an integral part of their family. And she's not ashamed to say it.

And then there's the juicey changes with Touya. He was born with a full head of red hair, very obviously symbolizing his adoration of Enji. He was eager to be the prodigy Enji wanted and their relationship was positive, at least at the start. It's not an accident that Enji commenting on the first few strands of white in Touya's hair comes right before the first time we see him burn himself.

As his relationship with Enji strains, he gets more white hair until there's nothing left, until their relationship has completely decayed and Touya sets himself on fire. It's gone further than Natsuo's aggression and dismissive attitude. And that hatred spreads to the entire family. His white hair isn't enough to show that, so he breaks from the family completely, with pitch black.

But it's not the whole truth. At the end of the day, it's still artificial dye and by removing that dye when he comes clean about his family ties, he also leaves himself open to that family coming back into his life.

I wonder if that red might come back too.