#I’ve only done the first encounter and now the last encounter

[rowie264]

Jinx x jinxer!reader. First meeting

You don’t really know how you ended up like this.

Truth to be told... you never really believed in your “leader”, if Jinx could even be called that. You didn't even fully dye your hair blue like the others. Just a small strand. In your eyes, Jinx did nothing but blow up the Council and redirect the Grey to Piltover. But even then… it was enough for you to make you join “Jinxers”.

You knew her actions will cause problems to Zaun. But you were so fucking done. You were too tired of being a rug under pilties boots. And maybe that was what Zaun needed to finally reach point of no return and fight back. And you wanted things to change.

So one day your hopeless gray life turned blue.

And now you were here, using your artistic abilities to portray Jinx as a kind of savior and leader of the revolution, as you were asked to do. Only instead of flag and shit you drew her with bombs and explosions. It was more like the image of Jinx you had.

“My eyes and nose are not like that.” Someone’s raspy voice reaches your ears.

You turn to face the intruder and see a girl sitting on the beam above few meters away. Somehow you just knew it was Jinx. You felt it in your gut, even though it was the first time you had encountered her.

You couldn't see her face completely hidden by the shadows, but you could see the color of her eyes. Pink, like shimmer.

“It’s the closest description I’ve got.” You say, too calm for a person who’ve met a Loose Cannon. And before you can stop yourself you add: “Maybe you could pose me so I could do it right?”

After that, there was silence between the two of you. Jinx didn't seem to expect such a reaction from you. You were surprised by your carelessness as well. She was dangerous and insane after all.

“Why not?” she says after a couple of seconds, probably agreeing out of boredom, and jumps off, landing smoothly like a cat.

As she comes over, you finally see her face. It does differ a little from what you were drawing. You also notice how short she is. She wasn't as intimidating as some people described. Although, perhaps, it was such thoughts that led many to their deaths.

You start correcting your painting, glancing at her from time to time, trying to convey her features as accurately as possible. You could lose yourself in art, even standing next to the most wanted criminal. Maybe you were crazy too?

“I'm not a hero you make me out to be, ya know?” Jinx suddenly comments after some time, looking at portrait of herself. Judging by the way she was tapping her feet, it took a lot of effort for her to stand still.

“I am aware.” You respond distantly too focused on your task, barely paying attention to anything around you. You almost finished.

“Then why?” She asks tilting her head and observing you like a hawk.

You take a step back, glancing at the wall to check everything one last time. “Why not?” you repeat her own words from earlier.

Jinx huffs, hiding that she's confused by your answer again. You're not like the other Jinxers she's met before. You treated her almost indifferently, like an ordinary stranger. Not like symbol of Zaun, not like Loose Cannon, but just… Jinx.

“So whatcha gonna do for me for posing to ya?” she casually changes the subject.

“You didn't mention that I have to pay you.” You frown at her, inwardly cursing yourself for being so carefree for not asking earlier.

“Don’t sweat it, toots, I don’t need money.” She waves her hand dismissively and you are not sure if paying with something else is any better.

“Then what?”

“Hmm… let's see…” Jinx walks around you, wondering what to ask you. “You drew me… so it would be fair if I drew on you back, don't you think?”

“Draw me, you mean?”

“I didn’t stutter, toots.” She scoffs pulling crayon out of her pocket.

“Don’t move.” Jinx orders and grabs your wrist. Without asking your permission, she starts drawing something right on your arm.

You didn’t protest – out of your safety and curiosity. Her grip was firm but surprisingly gentle. You couldn't help but look at her tattoos until your gaze landed on her face. This close, you could see her freckles. The word “cute" flashed through your mind as you stared at her in fascination.

“Here!” She suddenly announces with a beaming smile, pulling you out of your little bubble. You look down at your arm and see little pink clouds painted from wrist to elbow.

“Don't wash it off until I meet you again.” Jinx says and walks away, disappearing into the shadows without explaining anything, leaving you wondering when you'll be able to meet her once more. But to some extent… you want it to happen.

And until then, you would try to keep the clouds on your body.

[unpopularly-opinionated]

Vent post, please ignore.

Friends and I were running a Destiny dungeon blind on Monday night but we started it late and then realized reset was the next day, so we decided to postpone it for later. Then came Tuesday and they run it together without me knowing. Wednesday, I ask them when we’re running the dungeon, and get told they ran it without me. Cool cool cool. Sick invite. Thanks guys.

They tell me that one of them didn’t get the exotic drop they wanted, so they were probably going to run it again at some point. Alright cool. Granted, now 2/3 of us know the encounters so it’s no longer entirely blind, but hey I guess now they can tell me what to do so we can finish it quicker. Awesome.

Friday night rolls around, they want to run the dungeon. Alright, cool. Join my friend’s group and…oh, okay so we’re starting just from the last encounter, so I’m missing the rest of the dungeon…sick.

Okay so we start the encounter and I’m waiting for instructions. No one says anything, so I’m thinking aight maybe it’s just some ad clear in the beginning and then come the mechanics. I kill a yellow bar and am immediately scolded for doing so. Okay, sorry, I didn’t know. No one told me. Now I know I guess, I’ll kill all the other ads aside from the yellow bar. Killing ads. Killing more ads. And more ads. They’re running around doing things. I ask why I couldn’t kill the yellow bar, they tell me he’s got to be in the right spot. I ask where the right spot is, they say they don’t know yet. Okay, cool. I’ll let them figure it out and wait for further instructions I guess.

So I sit at the back of the map clearing ads because that’s pretty much all I know to do at this point. Then I get hit with the “look at him up there not doing anything”. Well, I wasn’t told what to do. “Figure it out,” he says. Sure, let me just blindly experiment to try and figure out this encounter that both of you already know and are in the middle of doing, not knowing whether or not the things I do will fuck you up or wipe or whatever.

We finish the encounter, he doesn’t get the exotic so we need to run it again. Okay cool. Maybe this time tell me what to do if you want me to, ya know, actually do something.

Nope, no instructions. Guess I have to fuck around and figure it out myself. I grab a buff from the ground. “I needed that!” OKAY COOL, MAYBE YOU SHOULD SPEAK UP AND SAY THAT. I’M TRYING TO FIGURE OUT THIS ENCOUNTER. I go into a side room and find a Hive Titan and a symbol in the room, okay cool, now we’re onto something. I recall the symbol and kill the Hive Titan and I get a buff. Alright, I bet these coincide with the symbols in the main room. I go back to the main room, and activate my symbol. Alright, I did my symbol, now y’all do yours. “No you didn’t.” Yes I did. “Holy shit, did he? He actually did something! Holy shit!” We do DPS, DPS ends, and I think okay cool, I’ve got the encounter down pat, time to do that part again.

I go back to the side room with the symbol and the Hive Titan and I kill him again, get the buff, and go back to the middle. Huh, I can’t see my symbol. Suddenly the symbol appears. Oh, okay, there it is. Huh, I can’t activate my symbol. Die trying to activate my symbol. “Ugh, can you not die.” It wouldn’t let me activate my symbol. “Yeah, you need the buff.” The buff from killing the guy? “Yes.” So the buff I had? “You had the buff?” Yes, it just wouldn’t let me activate the symbol. “Yeah, you need the other buff to see the symbol.” But I can see the symbol. “Yeah but you can’t activate it.” Sure, okay, whatever. So I let him do the symbol and we DPS again.

Cool so now I have the encounter down pat, right? DPS is over, I go back to the side room again to get my symbol and the buff. Accidentally die to the Hive Titan. “There he goes dying.”I respawn, go back to try it again, and yes because fuck me, I die again to the Hive Titan. “Why do you keep dying over there, we aren’t on that step yet.” What do you mean, this is what we’re supposed to do? “We have to build the triangle first,” he says as if this should be obvious to me. Oh, well this worked the last two times I did it so I reasonably assumed this was how you were supposed to do it. “Yeah no, it isn’t.” Cool cool cool. Thanks for telling me the first time I died. Or telling me at all, any time, ever. Literally anything.

So I Alt + F4, leave the call, and shutdown my PC. I’m done for the night. Fuck them. There’s shit talking and then there’s talking shit, and it was nothing but talking shit all fucking night from them, all about shit that was almost entirely out of my control. But sure, no, it’s obviously my fault that I didn’t learn the encounter before what was supposed to be our blind run of the dungeon.

[sinning-23]

Hot Tatted Uncles (Uncle!SukunaAu X Teacher!Reader)

I’ve fallen victim to the unkuna/uncle sukuna au so HAVE THIS

PART 2 UP NOW!!! <------- Click the link here!

_____________________________________________________

“My uncle be fighting people.” Yuji hums, your gaze immediately shooting to the toddler.

“O-Oh really?” You gulp, knowing kids say the wildest things but after you’re first encounter with the pink-hair boy's uncle, you would put it past him.

“Yeah, he. He told me uh-um-.” The boy sniffed, wiping his nose with the back of his hand, to which you sigh and directed him to the sink as he continues his story

“Uh- he told me that he beat up this guy and he- uh he won and that the guy lost.”

You fight the urge to laugh, his sentence seeming so long and incomplete. Typical toddler.

“Well we don’t fight our friends right Yuji? You be good and keep your hands to yourself?” You encourage, ruffling the boy's hair as he smiles, one of the fronts missing.

“Yeah! We use nice hands.” Yuji repeats, leaving you with your thoughts as he grabs ahold of a car to play with.

Why would you tell a 2-year-old you beat someone up?! You sigh, scrolling through your contacts, making a note to speak with his father, even though the boy hadn't done anything, it's still concerning that he might feel as if that’s okay since his uncle does it.

It’s quiet for a moment, your other three students Nobara, Megumi, and Mahito playing together….and then it happens.

WHAM!

A still silence falls over the room and soon a roar of cries as Mahito holds the top of his head. In all honestly the child was a problem so whatever he did to get smacked over the head with a wooden block was probably warranted. But the bigger problem was that you biggest fear had come to fruition. Yuji, had hit and essentially started to fight with another child, as Mahito had hit him back. You’d definitely need to speak to his father now.

The rest of the children had gone home now, Yuji being your last child as you closed your classroom down. Your class usually ended around 6:00 and it was pushing 6:15 now. Just as you were about to make your courtesy call, the door opened with the jingle of keys and a throaty chuckle.

"Look at you, giving your teacher a hard time?" The tatted male asks, scooping up a giggling Yuji with a toothy grin. You, however, were far from pleased, giving a tight-lipped smile as he just barely glances your way.

"Hi, I'm Miss Y/n, Yuji's teacher." You announce, taking a tissue to wipe Yuji's nose one last time before he left.

"Uh huh," He responds, grimacing as you wipe the snot away.

"So, Yuji had a pretty good day today, but I did have to have a chat with him about..fighting and hitting other friends." You explain, feeling smaller under his sharp gaze. His face is tatted too, the thick dark lines running along his nose, cheeks, and jawline.

"You in here beatin people up?" He states sharply at the boy who only nods with a smile.

"Yeah! Like how you said you beat everyone up!" Yuji admits ith joy and his Uncle's face falls.

"Yes so, before Yuji hit the other child he told me that you...fight people and I told him that we use our nice hands. But right after that, he had-" "Hit another kid. The parents mad?" He asks, a bit troubled now, most likely mentally cursing himself for kinda causing this whole debacle. \

"W-well I can't really disclose that. The point is, please just chat with him and hopefully, he can learn that's not okay." You explain, feeling a bit more relieved since the convo went smoother than usual. And part of you was a little... flustered with how seriously he was looking at you. You couldn't help but look at his tatted and flexed arm as he moved Yuji to sit on his shoulders.

"Yeah, well, here have my number so if anything else happens and I'm picking up you can just let me know." He hums, pulling his phone skillfully from his sweatpants pocket and

Holy shit...

You think to yourself, seeing the print just faintly. You swallow, taking the divide and inputting yoi contact.

The pair leaves, Your heart trobbbing as you take a breath. Being any type of romantically involved with your students' parents was highly unprofessional...but the rules never said anything about hot tattooed uncles.

-in the car-

Sukuna buckled Yuji into his seat, passing the child a happy meal he'd picked up as payment for a job well done.

"Nice work. How bout next time you mention your Uncles got no girlfriend either." He laughs, backing out of the parking space with your number and a grin.

Authors Note; Ok yes i wrote this on a whim I swear I'm trying to finish the stuff I had listed on my update post lmao

Also might make a part 2 for this cause I freaking love this au

[charliemwrites]

Mafia!Price warm up because I am… so tired. I’ve had back-to-back events the last few days and ya bitch canNOT hang. So, while I rehydrate and wait for caffeine to work it’s magic, here’s this:

Part 1 here

No Content Warnings

Mr. Price is the best boss you’ve ever had. He’s straightforward and blunt, but unfalteringly courteous. Likes things a certain way — his own way — but that’s nothing you’re unfamiliar with from rich men responsible for billions. At very least, he seems to respect when you challenge him.

“We’ve always done records this way,” he says.

“Yes, sir,” you answer serenely, “but that was before you had me.”

He stares you down and you beam right back, tablet balanced on your forearm. One beat, two. In the corner of your eye, you see Gaz shift. You tilt your head at your boss.

He sits back in his big office chair, thumb swiping over his index and middle fingers. A gesture you’ve been mentally cataloguing as “contemplative” — perhaps deciding if he’s annoyed or amused. You don’t let yourself get nervous seeing it; you’re good at your job and you know it. He’s going to know it too, by god.

“And what do you have to do with it, luv?”

Your smile stretches wider as you take that as an invitation to round his desk. He turns and shifts a bit to make room for you, eyebrows ticking up as you set a neatly paper-clipped report in front of him, highlighted for convenience.

“See here?” You point at one section, a list of finance records. “Inconsistencies that the accountants took two months to notice. Two!”

He grunts as you set it aside, face up, for further perusal and then show him the next set. Different highlighter (and a smiley face in the corner).

“And look here, doing it this way, we noticed the discrepancies within a week,” you explain.

He picks up the page, eyes scanning over it thoroughly before setting it down. Taps his index finger over the discrepancy (circled in bright red) twice.

“Would you happen to have the account — ah, thank you.”

You hum, smoothing the sticky note (hot pink, shaped like a heart) onto the page. “So what do you think, sir?”

He runs a hand down his face, palm rasping over his beard. But there is a grateful note to his gaze as he glances at you.

“We’ll be doing it this way from now on, then.”

“Thrilling, sir. I’ll send out a memo.”

He waves you off, frown already forming on his face. You politely leave his office, stop by the break room to make a fresh cup of tea (a dollop of cream only, no sugar) and knock on the closed door. It’s Gaz that opens it.

“For the boss,” you say. “Before heads start rolling.”

“You’re a doll,” he breathes, accepting the cup and slipping back inside.

You happily toddle back to your desk and begin calling appointment confirmations. You’ve got about a million emails and a hundred calls to make.

—

Working for Price also comes with some… eccentricities. For one, you have a driver now.

Usually Farah, sometimes her partner Alex. On the rare occasion it’s Gaz. They always usher you into the backseat. On rainy days (so, most days in the UK) they hold an umbrella over your head while you scurry into the luxury leather interior of whatever stupidly expensive ride you’re taking.

That was a non-negotiable when you and Mr. Price discussed the details of your employment contract with him. Something about safety…? You feel silly being driven to work as an assistant, but it was your first encounter with the Steel Gaze of Decision and it was unfortunately effective.

Not that you mind the rides! All three of your usual drivers are wonderful. So friendly and chatty. You love hearing about Alex’s niece and Farah’s hobbies, Gaz’s little “spats” with Soap. You spoil them with extra treats from whatever bakery you make them stop at for morning breakfast. (Always local, you love supporting small businesses and strong arm Price into doing so as well).

There’s the gun as well. You’ve only seen it once or twice, always discreetly hidden under his suit jacket. A shoulder holster, all black. Pretend that you don’t see it because… well, you’re not entirely sure it’s legal and you’d rather live in the blissful cloud of plausible deniability.

And speaking of — there’s his bodyguard. To be fair, bodyguards aren’t a new or weird presence with your bosses. Expensive men, they need protection. Ghost is a different kind though.

He always covers the lower half of his face — actually, he’s covered head to toe. Usually in black, sometimes with little skeleton or skull motifs. And he’s fucking big, which is saying something because Mr. Price isn’t a small man either.

Ghost hardly interacts with you, but he’s unfailingly polite when he does. Not talkative, but he holds doors for you, has walked you down to the car. Even once attitude-checked a guest that decided to be rude to you. Didn’t even say anything, just walked into the guy’s personal bubble and stared him down until he subsided. Then he turned, gave you a nod, and you squeezed his arm before toddling off to let Price know his appointment had arrived.

All around the vibes in the office are pleasant, if sometimes stuffy. A little odd. All of his employees are polite if not kind to you, and Price himself is a fair and reasonable man — at least with you.

(The first time you heard him raise his voice through the closed office door nearly scared the daylights out of you. He always uses a low, even tone when speaking to you, so to hear his voice booming like that was something of a shock. Even more shocking was when he opened the door — damn near throwing his “guest” out — before turning to you.

“Call Farah when you have a mo’, would you?” He asked, calm as you please.

You blinked, still having war flashbacks of your last boss. “Yes, sir.”

“Cheers, luv.”)

There’s also the “field trips” as you call them.

Mr. Price is something of a very “hands on” businessman (“micromanager” you tease when he’s in a good mood) who has a hand in several industries. One of them is shipping. Which means that sometimes you find yourself standing beside him in warehouses or at loading docks. And of course you have to go, you’re his assistant! You take meeting notes, provide information or report details. Basically act as his second brain while he reams out idiots or organizes plans.

You suck it up, but you rather hate the smell of low tide. And the occasional gusts of blood on the sea breeze from fishermen gutting their catches. Price catches you looking ill once or twice and at least makes an effort to keep things short after that.

“Poor thing,” Soap teases when you’re in the back of the car, fussing at your wind-swept hair. “Get a bit blown, did you?”

“MacTavish,” Price snaps.

That’s the other thing. Even the slightest hint of suggestive or inappropriate words at your expense are met with firm, almost harsh, reprimand from your boss. It does wonders for you nerves and your respect for him.

“Wish I’d known we were going to the docks,” you sigh, carefully picking at pins to fix your hair. “I would have used more hairspray.”

“Thought I told you?” Price says.

“No, sir, you did not,” you answer, long-suffering. “You know you can put it into the scheduling app, right?”

He blinks. “Scheduling app.”

You blink back at him. “Oh, dear. Here, look at this.”

You spend the entire ride back to the office showing him how your scheduling software works so that you don’t have to deal with any more surprise dock visits.

Previous | Next

Masterlist

[xbellaxcarolinax]

pls do virgin miguel o'hara w/ a huge cock and fucks both of u dumb 🥹

I hope this is what you meant, babe. Miguel might be ooc, idk, anyway, here ya go:

NSFW below the cut, minors DNI.

Nothing could have ever prepared you for this.

He's big—massive even. The head’s swollen, precome beading at the very tip. All that from a heavy makeout session.

You stared, almost fascinated, stunned into silence.

"...is it okay?" Miguel grunted, watching you carefully with nervous eyes. He was sitting rather uncomfortably at the edge of your bed, legs spread apart and briefs pooled around his ankles.

"Uhh…yeah," you sank to your knees in front of him, "just never seen one so...big." Miguel grew increasingly flustered at your words, even more so when you gripped him firmly in your hand, squeezing ever so slightly. His cock looked ridiculous in your small hands but that only fueled you to take up the challenge. You knew it'd hurt so good.

You bit your lip before devouring him, taking as much of him as you could. He choked, hand flying to grip your hair, and you were certain he’d take the lead and move you over his cock at the speed he desired, but he didn’t. His fingers were gentle, almost hesitant as he buried them within the strands.

It was your first time tasting him. You got lost in it, slobbering over the tip and down his shaft with the intention of taking him whole but he pushed you away, causing you to release him with a pop.

“Fuck, cariño,” Miguel panted, shaking his head, his dark hair damp with sweat, “I can’t—you can’t—it’s too much, I won’t last.”

You looked up at him with a teary gaze, wanting to make eye contact but he refused, content with turning his head to the side to look at the wall.

“Mig?” He ignored you, jaw clenched and nose flared as he fisted the sheets under him.

“Miguel,” you tried again, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand as you stood. He ignored you still and you grabbed his face in your hands, forcing him to meet your eyes, “what’s wrong?” You smoothed his hair away from his brow, hoping the action would soothe him. His eyes were lidded but he looked at you, brows arched.

“What’s wrong, baby?” You cooed.

"I don't know what I'm doing." He muttered, shutting his eyes as soon as the words left his lips.

"What do you mean?" You questioned, pressing your lips to his forehead in a chaste kiss, "you’re supposed to sit and enjoy.”

“That’s not what I mean,” he sounded frustrated, his large hands falling to your hips, gripping you tightly, “I’ve…never done any of this before.” You paused, processing his words while stroking your thumbs over his high cheekbones. 

He’s never done this before? Had no one ever sucked his cock?

Did he mean…?

Oh. OH.

“You mean you’re a…?”

“Virgin. Yeah.” He finally said, dropping his into the plushness of your breasts. 

The last thing you assumed was that Miguel O’Hara was a virgin. The man was the very definition of confidence. You’ve seen how women acted around him. It never crossed your mind that he lacked any sexual encounters. But now it made sense. You’ve been dating Miguel for a few weeks and within those few weeks, you did nothing more than kiss like the world demanded it from you. That was fine; he was an excellent kisser.

Anytime it seemed like something more would come from the kissing, he’d stop, nipping it in the bud, saying he had work in the morning. He was a busy man and, well, that was that. You thought he never had much time for anything else.

But you understood now.

“Ahh Mig, nothing to be embarrassed about,” you said sweetly, brushing the tip of your nose with his, “we can stop if you want—”

“No!” He roared, bringing you down to his lap. You could feel his erection, hot and wet with your spit, pressing hard against your clothed core. You gasped, letting your hands fall to his shoulders as he buried his face into your neck, “Don’t wanna stop. Wanna feel you.”

“Yeah?” you breathed, eyes fluttering as he nibbled your skin, “a-are you sure? If you’re not ready then—”

“I’m ready,” He growled, pressing his brow against yours, “just thought you should know, cariño. Don’t want to disappoint you.”

You rode him for what felt like hours, his giant cock slamming into where you needed him the most. You ached from the stretch of him, your cunt swollen and raw, gushing all over his length. He was a moaning mess, biting every surface of you he could: your neck, your shoulders, your collarbones, your breasts. He was insatiable, cumming within minutes of your pussy swallowing his cock. Refractory period non-existent. He’d go again and again and again till he painted you completely with his spend and you were too fucked out to speak.

Nope. He didn’t disappoint. Not even a little.

[callooopie]

Modern!Davos Blackwood headcannons (pt. Smut)

— NSFW edition—

It can’t be unlearned. I’ve known the warmth of your doorways — It Will Come Back // Hozier

I haven’t written NSFW in a bit ~3~. Bear with me while I try not to blush and cringe at my own writing T~T (also that new episode.. rip MY queen Rhaenys dude. It actually made me so bummed it ruined my night.) Also do I still use the Benjicot tags or is he now his own character now that he’s been mentioned finally ~3~ ?!

cw— NSFW, smut detailed to the best of my abilities. Minors do not interact. Interact with this and I’ll punch you so hard your ancestors will feel it I’ll-

< added one (1) new headcannon since posting >

Cool, calm, confident. That’s what Davos was. Surely it would translate to the bedroom too—it does not. He’s shy the first time around. Very much. Silent, rigid; his eyes simply darting up and down your body as you undress in front of him. The only sign that he’s there in the head is his hands gripping the comforter in his fists tightly. Before you begin, please give him a few kisses and reassuring smiles. Sitting in his lap and doing so does wonders. Run your fingers through his hair in a calming manner too.

You might have to pause, because he’s genuinely trembling out of excitement and anticipation that he cannot concentrate or continue without calming down. He just loves your touch! Any touch, all touch. Your fingers grazing against his skin, it’s like nicotine. Press your nose against his, laugh softly and kindly against his lips, and tell him it’s alright—you can wait a minute. His hands (shaking slightly still) will find their way to your hips soon enough.

Before you two experience each other more often. Before ANY sexual encounters, with you or not with you. He is the type of guy… to not know where the clit is. It’s a sad truth. You have to sit him down and literally point to where it is. No pants, sitting on the bed with your legs spread. It’s not even sexual at this point, you’re just letting him ooo and ahh at your pussy as you tell him what feels good and how to make it feel good. A lesson in anatomy that has him going (“…really?!”). Don’t worry. He gets with the program right away. When he figures shit out you won’t ever let him leave the house ever again.

If he’s already on the more experienced side and/or after you’ve both gotten comfortable with one another after months or a couple years; he is a fiend, a menace. He wants his sheets drenched by the time you’re both done. He wants you passed out, unconscious. If you aren’t being carted off to the emergency room after sex he feels he isn’t doing it right.

Speaking of.. He has sent you to the ER before. A bruised cervix that sent searing pain whenever you walked, burning aches in your muscles and bones from being bent or pulled around that. It’s something that’s never happened before and worried you enough to make Davos drive you to the urgent care. Embarrassment and a hint of disbelief burned on your face as the doctor awkwardly told you your diagnoses, splitting their gaze between you and Davos. The latter had the biggest grin on his face as he sat there like an innocent man. His apologies are a farce don’t believe it.

Needs you to sit on his face. Dude gets off on eating you like you’re his last meal, and makes it messy too.. Doesn’t matter when (or where..) but if you are not straddling his head, laying her full weight onto him—that’s basically like breaking his heart. He wants to die by your thighs that’s his goal. He is the type to grab and scratch at your thighs, squeezing flesh as he tries to pull you closer to his lips and tongue. Sometimes his hand leaves your thigh to deal with his own hardened cock—muffled and incoherent whines leaving him as he devours you sloppily and breathlessly. If he’s eating you out while you’re laying on your back; he will be pathetically grinding against the mattress.

Suck him off under his desk. Quietly slip underneath the wooden desk, he’s too focused on whatever he’s doing to even notice you undoing the string of his sweats anyways. Once he dies in-game and looks down he gets the memo, silently helping you slide them off of him as he talks to his team. Whatever you do, do not drag your tongue up from his base to his tip—especially when he’s comming to his teammates. He’ll be talking normally and then let out a nearly pornographic whine. If you choose to not be a menace off the bat and simply slide his cock in and out of your mouth; he’ll go blank in the head. He starts to mess up, mouth going slack as he splits his attention between the game and you on your knees between his legs with your tongue wrapping around his tip and licking off whatever leaking pre-cum you find. It’s the fastest he’s ever won (or lost) a game.

It’s edge or be edged in his world. Loves it when you tell him he can’t cum. A sloppy half-grin plastered on his face as you ride him. His hands holding your hips as he sits up, looking up at you from where he places his head by your chin. He’s gonna bitch and moan about it as usual, but slowly devolves into loud begging. His speech is slurred as his eyes stare up at you like your god who has the power to grant him that divine release he’s been denied for an hour.

He loves fucking you against the wall. It gives him a reason to show off his arms and muscles—and it feels good. If you have comments about your weight, your body, how will he hold you up, etc. Leave ‘em at the door, Davos does not care. He goes to the gym for this reason baby! To be able to lift you easily and hold you against the apartment wall as he pounds into you. His hands digging into the skin of where your thighs and ass meet. Wrap your legs around his waist, tangle your fingers into his hair. You’re not leaving until there’s a puddle of your arousal and cum underneath you.

Switch. He’s a switch. Let the world (and himself) believes he’s a top, only you will know the truth. And the truth is that he loves when you take control. Tie him up, slap him around, ride him till he’s crying and drooling from either edging or overstimulation—and then keep going some more. But also remember that he can easily overpower you, pinning you down to the bed or against a wall as he thrusts in and out of you with loud groans and words of praise. His hand holds your head down as he fucks you from behind, fingers grasping onto your hair as he rambles in a pleasured high. Davos is the type to tear underwear too, so be careful about that as well..

Davos is gentle, Davos is rough. No matter what, he’s mean about it. And he’s very vocal about it too. He’ll ask if you’re enjoying yourself, if you’re liking how rough he’s fucking your cunt right now—speaking of.. can you hear how wet you are right now, it’s almost embarrassing no? Ohhh, you like being used by him? Well.. he likes your sloppy pussy too—don’t worry. Made just for him, all for him. If he’s gentle he asks if you’re doing okay between the soft kisses he places on your neck and face. His face will nuzzle against your neck, soft whispers of how you feel entering your ear between groans. You’re just a sweetheart after all, aren’t you? So soft, so good, just for him. He likes how you feel around him, how soft your skin feels under his hands. So beautiful, so cute. Don’t you like how you can feel all of him as he thrusts into you slowly? Can you feel every vein and ridge? ‘Cause he can feel every squeeze and shudder from your walls darling.

Biter. I’ve got him pinned—Davos is a biter. Bites at your nipples before swirling a tongue around them and sucking harshly. Licks your ear before biting and tugging on it. He’s a bastard and bites your clit, a low chuckle coming from him as you yelp (he kisses it after, of course). Hickeys line your skin from your neck to your lower abdomen. Bite marks, prominent bite marks, are scattered across your body. No matter what, it’ll be on your neck mostly as well. From the front or the back, a bite mark will find its way to your neck. He just gets so into it! Dicking you down so roughly he just needs to latch his teeth onto your skin hard enough to draw blood. What? No he did not lick the droplet of blood up you must be imagining—

…car sex—I’m sorry I said it. At night when you both are skating or if he’s driving around with you. Sometimes you just end up in an empty parking lot.. the windows are fogged up and there’s music playing faintly, not that you care or really hear it as you listen to his moans. His hands holding your hips or waist as you slowly bounce on his cock while he sits in the driver seat. Bonus if you hold the thin necklace he wears between your teeth as you grind yourself down onto him.

Added! HE’S INTO SHOTGUNNING. Absolutely, how did I forget such a thing. Happens when you’re riding him. It’s a lazy night; him sitting in a chair, a cigarette between his fingers as you moan and whimper loudly. His other hand remains on your ass, guiding you up and down as he lets his head fall back briefly with a low grunt from his throat. He sits back up to take a drag from the cigarette, his other hand moving up from your ass to the back of your head (he gives you a parting slap to your butt). He presses your face closer to his and you instinctively part your lips, letting him blow smoke into it. He does talk you through that like he’s talking you through your orgasm, soft words of encouragement and guidance as he watches you blow it back out. It ends in him kissing you and wrapping one arm tightly around your waist as he starts to thrust up into you roughly. “In.. and out.. atta girl. There we are. Aren’t you just a good listener, my lovely lady?”

[wosoloml]

red string theory || lotte wubben-moy x reader

summary: the first time you see lotte wubben moy, you didnt actually see her.

your life was always connected because you are meant to be.

warnings: none, just fluffy fluff with my lotte girl

from this request

a/n: i hope its okay what i wrote it about lotte because i thought this request is so lotte coded

wc: 1,739 words

"Are you nervous about tomorrow?" my work colleague, who is also my best friend, Jules, looks at me with a focused expression.

A few years ago, I attended college in the USA, where I ran my own sports blog for the university newspaper. I especially enjoyed writing about the women’s football team because I witnessed the sport gaining more popularity there.

It felt so empowering to see how all the girls were following their dreams, and I always wanted to share their stories so everyone could see their passion.

I was packing all my work stuff into my bag when Jules called out my name.

"Y/N, can you please help me real quick?"

I sighed but stopped what I was doing and walked into the salesroom.

"Can you make a latte macchiato real quick? Table 7 has a big order, and I’m swamped. Sorry for interrupting you," she said.

I smiled softly at her before glancing at the girl who had ordered the latte. I barely registered her, only noticing how graceful her movements were.

It felt kind of ironic that my last customer of the day would be such a mysterious woman.

But life moved on, as it always does, and that moment faded into the countless fleeting, insignificant encounters you never expect to think about again. Until much later.

----

"Oh my girl, Jules, you made it!" I pulled her into a tight hug.

"Of course! It's your graduation today! I'm so proud of you, my little nerd."

After three years of hard work, endless studying, and way too much crying, I’m finally done. I’m now a certified sports journalist with a focus on women’s football. I couldn’t be happier.

"Now it’s time for you to introduce me to your girlfriend! I can’t wait to meet the mysterious Alessia in person."

Her smile grew even wider as I mentioned her girlfriend. "Come on, she’s right over there, chatting with an old friend from university she randomly ran into here."

----

I’ve checked my phone. 8:00. I arrived at the training ground of THE Arsenal Women’s Football Club.

When I sent my application to a few football clubs as a media coordinator, I never thought my childhood club would hire me. I spent the last few days looking for an outfit and stayed awake the whole night out of nervousness.

It’s already my second week, and I’m still not used to being around all these inspiring and energizing women. You weren’t exactly starstruck, but there was something about being around people you’d admired from afar that left you feeling slightly unsteady.

But it’s different with Lotte. From day one, she helped me with everything. Lotte, however, had a way of disarming you with her easy demeanor. When she introduced herself, it was as if you hadn’t spent the last three days binge-watching match highlights featuring her perfect tackles and precise passes.

Over the weeks, you got used to seeing her around the training ground. She always made an effort to say hi, even if it was just a quick wave or a casual “How’s it going?” Each interaction was brief, professional, and—you told yourself—entirely inconsequential. Except that, somehow, you found yourself looking forward to them.

She had this smile and the way she cared about everyone around her that sticks in my mind, and I can’t stop thinking about her even after work. It’s like we’ve known each other for years.

---

Today was Media Day, and even though I love the girls, I was relieved to have a moment for myself in the cafeteria. Suddenly, someone asked, 'May I join?' At first, I didn’t realize they were talking to me, but when my eyes met my favorite defender's, I knew Lotte was the one addressing me.

'Not at all,' I replied, gesturing to the empty seat.

I don’t want to admit it, but knowing I wasn’t paired up with Lotte for today’s interviews made me a bit sad. That’s why I’m even happier to spot her here during my little break.

She set down her tray, which held a steaming bowl of soup and a sandwich that looked far too healthy for my taste. 'So, how’s life in the media world? Still surviving?'

I chuckled at her words. 'It’s going well. After today, I have a lot of videos to edit, and I still write a blog for a college newspaper, with the deadline coming up, so I’m a bit stressed. The time difference with the USA makes it even harder. But who am I complaining to? I’m sure your schedule is even more packed.' I babbled, feeling a bit embarrassed that I hadn’t stopped talking. It was just a simple question—no need to turn it into a whole essay.

She listened closely the entire time, trying to keep up with me. "Really? You’re very ambitious about your job. I like that. You mentioned the USA. Are you writing for an American college?"

I felt seen, and it made me feel special. I adore her so much. I gathered my thoughts again to answer her.

"Yes! I went to the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill and have always had a passion for writing. They had a women’s football team that was still in its early stages. They inspired me so much that I decided to write about them in the weekly college newspaper. Sorry for beating around the bush, yes, I write for an American college." My cheeks turned red because, once again, I rambled on.

I noticed the sudden change in her behavior. "Wait, really?" She looked at me, kind of stunned and questioning. "I’ve been to UNC too, before signing professionally for Arsenal. Do you mean the North Carolina Tar Heels? I played for them while you were writing for them."

I widened my eyes in disbelief. "That caught me off guard—wow. We’ve been so close and never talked to each other."

“It’s like we were orbiting each other,” she said one day, her voice thoughtful. “Like we were always meant to meet, but the timing just wasn’t right.”

Her words stuck with me, replaying in my mind long after she’d said them.

---------

Over the next few weeks, sometimes Lotte would bring me a coffee. A few days later, I noticed something as she handed me the cup. "Since when do you get your coffee from that shop near Covent Garden? The one with the green awning?" She looked confused and stuttered, "Since forever. It's my favorite coffee shop. Do you know it?"

"Are you joking? I worked there a few years ago."

“I can’t believe this. It’s like we’ve been circling each other our whole lives.”

This connection with Lotte feels so magical, I can’t even process how life always seemed to bring us together.

“Maybe it’s fate,” you said softly, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

She smiled, a slow, knowing smile that made your heart skip a beat. “Maybe it is.”

-------

As the weeks turned into months, your relationship with Lotte continued to grow stronger. The bond you shared deepened, built on a foundation of shared history and the undeniable pull you felt toward each other.

One evening, as you sat on her couch with a cup of tea in hand, she reached over and intertwined her fingers with yours.

“You know,” she said softly, her voice quiet, “I’ve always believed in timing. That everything happens when it’s meant to.”

You looked at her, your heart full. “And what about us? What does this timing mean?”

She smiled, her eyes warm and steady. “It means we’re exactly where we’re supposed to be.”

And for the first time, you believed her.

[melobin]

first of all congratulations on hitting 2k !! i’ve never met anyone more deserving <3 love you lots 🫶🏼 can i rq “i missed you” with roommate jungwon please 🫧🪼

i love you forever !!!

જ⁀➴ roommate!jungwon x female reader

cw. smut, unprotected sex, clothed sex, no real power play involved, jungwon cums inside of the reader. wc. 2k

17. "i missed you"

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the air that surrounded you and jungwon felt tense, you hated it. if there was one thing you always enjoyed, it was your positive relationship with your roommate, but the two of you seemed to throw that down the drain a month ago when you found yourself laying under him in his bed. nails raking down his back as he fucked your senses away.

both of you tried your hardest to avoid bumping into the other, both too afraid to have the conversation or even acknowledge what happened that night. at first jungwon was hurt when he realised you were avoiding him, but he soon realised it was for the best and found himself doing the same back to you.

it was inevitable that your avoidance would be forced to end at some point, it was impossible to avoid someone you lived with for that long. most of your encounters had one of you coughing and looking away whilst the other quickly done whatever it was they needed to do before leaving the room.

the tension between the two of you didn't go unnoticed by friends who visited, you often found yourself being questioned by your friends to why it felt so tense when jungwon entered the room you were in, you'd play it off, trying to convince them they're making things up but you knew the truth.

yet, avoidance or not, you both found yourselves stealing glances at one another when you thought the other wasn't looking. even if you weren’t looking, you could still feel his eyes on you, every second that he was in your vicinity you found yourself craving the feeling of his eyes on you. the way jungwon looked at you made your skin crawl, goosebumps trailing from your wrist to your shoulder. you wanted nothing more than for him to touch you again, take you the same way he did that night, but you worried things were too far gone between the two of you now. 

so as you sat beside him on a friday evening, you tried to suppress your thoughts. usually the two of you would try and have a movie night on friday nights, just something small to relax after a hectic week, having food laid out and whatever movie you could find on netflix playing on the tv. the last time the two of you had a movie night was a month ago, consequently it was the same night the two of you ended up in bed together. it didn’t help to quiet down the thoughts that were in your head as you remembered the way his fingers trailed along your skin on the very couch you were sat on, how his lips gently pressed against your neck as he told you how bad he wanted to fuck you.

you couldn’t help but wonder if he still wanted to, if his true motives for asking you to join him for a movie night was so he could fuck you again. truth be told, you wouldn’t be against it, in fact you’d be all for it. you wanted him, bad. you knew you weren’t going to focus on whatever film he decided to pick, so you let your eyes wander over to jungwon, only to find him already looking at you.

“you okay?” he let his head lean to the left a little as he asked.

“i’m okay”

“you sure? you seem distracted” you gave him a small smile, this was the most engaging conversation the two of you had had in weeks.

“just thinking”

“what about?”

“does it matter?” he narrowed his eyes at your question, an almost small, playful smile tugging at his lips.

“yes” he moved closer to you, thigh pressing against yours “talk to me” you sighed and looked down at where his sweats touched your skin, maybe wearing shorts wasn’t your best idea.

“it’s nothing important”

“will you tell me if i guess?” you watched him carefully as he spoke, only lightly nodding your head at his question “you’re thinking about what happened last time we ended up like this” jungwon leaned closer to you, lips barely touching the skin of your neck “because i am”

you almost folded right away, almost leant completely into his touch and let him have his way with you all over again. almost. you were going to let him have you, but you didn’t want to make it that easy for him.

“avoided me for a month just to try and fuck me again?” he laughed against your neck, lips parting as he pressed open mouthed kisses to your skin.

“you avoided me, i was just giving you space” you let out a shaky breath, finding yourself sinking backwards in the sofa as he nipped at your skin “i’ve spent the past month thinking about how pretty you sounded under me, i needed to be close to you again” you’d never heard jungwon sound so desperate for something before, the last few words he spoke came out as a whine almost. there was no way you were going to be able to keep your guard up. 

“jungwon” your voice was quiet, your fingers found themself in his hair.

“shh” he paused for a second, fingers finding place on the skin of your thigh below your shorts “you don’t know how bad i just want to press you down and fuck you every time you say my name” you were speechless at his words, his teeth dug a little deeper into your neck, you knew there’d be a bruise there tomorrow.

“so do it” it was all he needed, you caved quicker than you wanted to but you couldn’t help it, nothing felt better than the way he lifted his head from your neck and kissed you. the kiss was full of tongue, saliva and desperation. he pushed you further down against the sofa, your head resting against the arm of it. 

the kiss didn’t break as his fingers trailed along the skin of your thighs, he groaned once he settled himself between your legs, cock hanging lose in his sweats, pressing against your covered cunt. he ground himself down against you, hands finding place on your hips as your legs wrapped around his waist. both of you found yourselves wanting to be as close as possible to the other, any space was too much space. if you could crawl into his skin and live in there, at this point you would. his fingers snuck under the fabric of your shirt, digging into your skin as he ground himself down against you. he broke the kiss, letting his lips pretty open mouthed kisses along your skin, his mouth felt hot against you.

“need you” he panted just below your ear, there was a slight whiny tone to his voice as he spoke “need you so bad. been too long” 

“take me wonnie, please” he groaned, nails pressing into your skin. neither of you had the patience to get undressed, instead he found himself shoving down his sweats until his cock was out, fingers pushing aside the material of your shorts so he could press himself against you. 

jungwon felt painfully hard, he’d spent the first twenty minutes of the movie working himself up, thinking about you. there had been countless nights in the past few weeks where jungwon found himself wide awake late at night, laying in his bed with his hand closed around his cock, pumping it as he desperately tried to mimic the way your warm cunt felt around him. nothing compared to how you felt, nothing compared to you. you brought jungwon a feeling he had never felt with anyone else and he wanted more.

and now he was finally getting more. he felt his head spin when he pressed the tip of his cock against your clit, dragging it down to your sopping hole. you were so inviting, it felt almost as if you were sucking him inside of you. the head of his cock broke into you, pushing into your warmth slowly. jungwon paced himself, fearing that if he moved too quickly he’d spill himself inside of you right away. he didn’t want that, he wanted to savour the feeling of you, wanted to keep you wrapped around him for as long as possible, not being sure when he’d finally get you to himself again.

jungwon moaned when he pressed the rest of himself inside of you, cock twitching as your walls tightened around him. he lifted his head from your neck to look at you, eyes shaking as he watched the way your lips parted and you whimpered at the intrusion of his cock. your arm wrapped around his shoulder, gripping his shirt as your other hand went to his hair. 

“god” he groaned as you pulled on his hair “i missed you” at his words, you pulled him down to kiss you, moving your own hips up in order to get him to move. you couldn’t stand him being inside of you without fucking you into the sofa beneath you, too desperate to feel him come undone inside of you again.

“wonnie” your voice broke against his lips, tone filled with a whined as he rolled his hips against yours, cock leaving you just to enter you again. he filled you up so well, thick cock stretching you out, leaving you aching to feel him fill you up all over again each time he pulled out.

you tried to keep the kiss going but it felt impossible, as his pace increased, so did the frequency of your moans. it wasn’t long before jungwon found himself burying his head in your neck, whining against the flesh as he fucked you. each time he withdrew his cock from you and pushed it back it he felt the lace of your panties drag against the side of his cock, it only made things more intense for him. jungwon was absolutely not going to last, especially not when he heard you say his name.

“jungwon” his name left you in a whine “fill me up, please” it was all he really needed to hear. jungwon found himself kneeling up between your legs, holding your thighs apart as he fucked you harder. hair falling over his eyes and bottom lip tucked between his teeth as he let his eyes focus on the way your cunt swallowed his cock. you left him glistening in your slick with each thrust, a gentle but filthy sound came from where the two of you were connecting. he wanted to fill you with him cum so bad, claim you as he fucked you. 

he dropped one hand to your clit, thumb pressing against the drenched, swollen bud as he fucked you closer to your orgasm. he didn’t want to finish first but he knew he was going to. with that way you were clamping around his cock and moaning so sweetly for him, he knew he was done for. he was too drained to hold it back, he needed you to feel what you done to him, needed you to feel his cum spill deep inside of you.

jungwon let out one of the prettiest moans you had ever heard when he came, hips still moving against yours, thumb still rubbing careless circles against your clit as he tried to drive you towards your own orgasm. your name fell from him as he released inside of you, the overstimulation only causing him to whine after.

“cum around my cock” he let his eyes flick to your face. your eyes were closed, lips swollen and parted, he was sure you had never looked so pretty “come on baby” you let out a noise that fell somewhere between the line of a moan and a whine as you felt your orgasm hit you, body shaking as you gripped the seat of the sofa under you, probably leaving deep scratch marks behind.

“jungwon, jungw-oh my god” was all that left you, your voice breaking as he fucked you through your orgasm, hips finally stilling once he was sure you were finished. your eyes struggled to adjust to the light in the room when you opened them, yet you still found jungwon looking down at you, cock still resting inside of you. he leaned over you, hands pressing against the sofa either side of your head before leaning down to kiss you softly.

“you’re not going to avoid me this time, right?” you shook your head “good, we should do this more often”.

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[mayearies]

SPIDERMAN CLASSIC …. miles morales ⟡

… ꒰ঌ ໒꒱

#MILESMORALES brooklyn’s one and only spiderman!

⟡ genre: fluff | warnings: platonic/romantic pov, implied aged up જ⁀➴ note!: first time actually using miles as a graphic wow also hype up my 1610 fics more damn

the large metal doors shut behind you as the music became muffled. your makeup was nicely done, your dress beautiful, but not for the one it was intended to be seen by.

yup. you got stood up at prom.

he was this guy you liked, you considered a friend. and he stood you up. the grey message from your screen illuminated on your face as you leaned against the alleyway. you were disappointed, yeah. but nothing to cry about. the thing to cry about is how humiliating it was.

you left after a few drinks, you friends toning down your sadness. but it didn’t last long. you just wish-

“hey!”

“wh-?!”

well, this was a surprise. here laid infront of you was the infamous spiderman who saved your city every day. or spiderman 2, most people called him. the only thing different was he was wearing a suit with a bowtie and flowers. and it matched your dress. coincidence? also he was upside down. that’s normal.

“spiderman?”

“yeah! that’s me,” he rubbed the nape of his neck “sorry, is it weird to see me out of character like this?”

“more or less. why are you so dressed up?”

“long story short— i’m finding a prom date last minute.”

that was both true and a lie. the boy behind the mask was finding a prom date last minute, yeah, but it was purposeful in a way. you could have swore he was younger. he sounded like a freshman or sophomore to you.

“um.. yeah. that’s all im really in for. what are you doin’ out here? arent you cold?”

“a little. i got stood up tonight by my date. sucks, huh?”

he nodded like he didn’t know. you didnt hear it from me, but, that was no mistake. he webbed the guy to a nearby alleyway a few blocks down. apparently he had been that pickpocket going around all throughout this week.

a win is a win in miles’ eyes.

“…would you like to be my date? you can say no of course i was just asking-!”

“that.. would be nice. amazing, actually.”

his lenses went wide, taking up most of his mask which was pretty cute. underneath, he could feel his face warming up. and not because he was upside down.

“really?”

“yeah! then i can brag to my friends how i went to prom with spiderman or something, it would be fun.”

“.. would you go with me if you knew who was under this mask?”

“mmm. depends. you seem sweet. my parents say you’re a jerk. you know, that week that rhino destroyed my dad’s car and blamed you? i saw the whole thing so i thought different.”

his face was heating up more, definately not because he wasn’t right side up.

truth was, miles may have been stalking you for a while. he liked you a lot but was too shy to directly confront you, so he watched from the sidelines. found out everything you liked. everything you loved. he just wishes he was a part of that list.

“also, you sound familiar. have we met?”

“what? nonononono- i’ve never seen you in my life!”

“uh huh.”

you did wonder who was underneath, now. you never suspected it would have been someone you knew, but the drastic change in tone once he dropped the fake deep voice made you wonder.

you wanted to pull his mask above his eyes to see if you did know him, but he waved his hands at the point where it reached over his nose. he seemed like a really shy guy, despite him being the hero of brooklyn.

you hummed in contentless, “well, my friends might hear an earful from me about this encounter. and how i’m going to be dancing with the savior of new york. so thanks for that, spidey.”

you gave him a small kiss on the cheek and he froze, fully expecting a kiss on the lips. peter told him about this whole ‘spiderman kiss’ thing and he wanted to try it. its how he won over mj, after all.

even if it didn’t turn out the way he hoped.

“woah..”

“didnt expect that?”

“absolutely not!”

afterwards notes: rewrote this twice also hype this up wtf

©hiimayee loves you !

[ariicandy]

Take Us to The Stars Tonight

Summary — He loves recalling the memory of when he confessed his love to you, a special place, a special moment, a special memory he will never forget.

Notes — been a while since I have wrote! It’s been 2 and a half months.. Hopes it’s decent enough to be enjoyable, haven’t wrote for aventurine properly before! Wanted to add boothill originally but I needed to get this fic out so will do another version w/ boothill!!

Warning(s) — might be ooc aventurine as stated above, haven’t really done penacony story so he probably doesn’t go to these areas

Word count — 1,140 words

It was a strange thing that Aventurine has been having feelings whenever he encounters you. He feels the need to shower you with exquisite treasures even more if this weird tingly that he is feeling is trying to tell him. It is really strange. He’s been feeling this weird aching feeling within him he cannot describe or even seem to understand what it is for a while now. It started after a while of meeting you, first seeing you while he was roaming in golden hour. Where it only seemed to be a brief conversation, now turned to an everyday routine to see each other and talk about your day with each other. It’s weird how Aventurine was yearning for you more and more now without even realizing himself. He would send more messages to you, trying to engage with you more on whatever there is to talk about or even encouraging you to continue your talk of your day.

So to suddenly realize this tingly feeling that’s always making him feel weird is because he is in love with you. It makes him stop in his tracks on whatever he might be doing to suddenly realize that his feelings towards you are of love, not just the feeling of pampering you much more. But, how can he tell you that he loves you? Do you share the same mutual feelings? Is he overthinking this and this feeling is only just to pamper you more? It’s stressing him out and knowing there is only one way to find out..

To say Aventurine was nervous was an understatement. He was overthinking everything you guys had, fidgeting with his left hand a lot more while waiting for you to come and meet with him at Aideen Park. Maybe he should have picked a better location where it’s mainly just the two of you alone without being heard. It’s not like he can just change location last minute when you are on your way from the message you sent him a few minutes ago. Now he is fiddling with the tiny shopping bag he bought a bracelet with your name on it for you. Maybe he should have gotten something more that could make up this nervous situation, Aventurine only shakes him head and sighs ready to gamble with fate of his feelings for you.

“Ah I found you Aventurine!” The sound of your voice made aventurine turn to you with his usual smirk. “Ah, look who finally made it. I got this gift for you while I was on my way over here to the park.” Which wasn’t a completely lie, to say. Aventurine did look a various luxury jewelry stores that he will think deserve to feel your touch and be the symbol of him being yours, if you do accept it of course. A small gasp was lead out by you seeing him hold the small bag knowing it was worth a lot, he always bought you luxury goods when you try your best to tell him he doesn’t need to shower you with such expensive things. He always say its okay with whatever he buys you that you know is draining his wallet without him giving it a single thought, it worries you why he likes to pamper you with such lavish gift. “But, before I give you this gift, I must tell you something first.” Aventurine words made you curious and all ears to hear, and he could see that as he continued turning his head to the left of him to gaze the sky.

“To be quite honest with you, [Name], i actually never thought this day would come to talk you fully about me. I’ve been thinking that something weird happened to me while I wasn’t aware of in my chest.” Puzzled by Aventurine’s words you asked, “What do you mean?” You showing aventurine he has your full attention solely on him he continued, “I’m not sure when it started or what specifically made me have this weird feeling in my chest. But I do know an idea of who might have caused it. Would you like to take a guess?” Aventurine now fully turns to you seeing your shock expression on wanting you to guess, did he really need to do his little tricks at this moment? While you were hesitating to answer, aventurine was also scared of hearing what you might say. He just wants to see what you might assume the reason of his weird feeling from knowing his fellow co-workers at the IPC, the deals or gambles he makes with people. “Hmm, I’m not entirely sure I can guess why. It confuses me, who did you think might be the cause?” Hearing your response, aventurine forms a tiny smile. “You, [Name].” His response shocks you, how could you be the cause that aventurine has been having a weird feeling? It is a bad thing or good thing? It’s unknownly stressing you to find out. “Huh?! Me? What do you mean??” “You, [Name], have gave me his weird feeling in chest that has been guessing for what felt like ages. Not knowing why I always had this weird happy sense with you that I could not figure out what it actually was. That was until about 2 months ago during my break when I was messaging you, the reason why.” Aventurine then started to reach for the small shopping bag that he was carrying, bringing out a small box that looked delicate. He carefully lifted the lid up and revealed a lavish bracelet that had your name written in cursive. Shocked and surprised by the gift aventurine was going to give you this beautiful bracelet out of nowhere. Whatever money aventurine spent to buy and make this bracelet for you, oh you will repay him for this how could not? “The reason is, that i actually love you, [Name]. I never realized why i always wanted to get you more things for you to have no matter what you say or try to repay me. It can never replace you actually seeing me as someone, a person, and not just doing business with me. I own you my heart, for being the person i truly do love and enjoy being with.” He grabbed your hand and started to place the bracelet on your wrist, clipping it to secure it stays on your wrist. “Knowing you, you will try to repay me or makeup for this to be even. But I only have one thing to make it even to you.” You were still mesmerized by the bracelet and hearing him know what you would have said, you looked at him, “and what would that be?” A small genuine smile appeared on aventurine’s face. “All I ask of you is, will be my love?”

[trentsgirl]

— 🤍 ⋆⭒˚｡⋆ (1.5K)

⟡ summary: trent has been your best friend since childhood, always doing everything together. however, he secretly fell for you, and you did as well. when trent finally mustered the courage to confess his feelings, it wasn’t the outcome he’d expected.

⟡ content: angst, fluff, tiny mention of domestic violence, insecurities, reader is insecure and self sabotages, first half is pure angst, he fell first and harder, confessions, kissing, reader rejects trent.

⟡ notes: thank you so much for the request. and part two would be released in a bit, couldn’t leave y’all hanging like my last fanfic. 😭

⟡ streaming: fallingforyou by the 1975.

⟡ masterlist, request, request.

“he’s done it again, hasn’t he?” trent inquired when he discovered you in his doorstep, bawling your eyes out.

throughout the years, he had witnessed countless partners enter and exit your life, inflicting both physical and emotional pain. as your best friend, trent had been there by your side through it all.

he observed you waste your life, pursuing men who didn’t have an once of regard for you.

he loathed it.

he couldn’t comprehend why you never seemed to notice him. he had always been there for you, ready to lend a listening ear and provide support. unlike those men you encountered on random dating apps, he never let you down.

if only you had looked his way, it would have been a straightforward case of unrequited love.

“let it out, sweetheart. cry all want,” trent whispered, his voice barely audible, as the two of you sat on his couch.

you held him so tightly that it became difficult for him to breathe.

nevertheless, he didn’t mind. he cherished the fact that despite the countless men who had caused you harm, you still sought solace in him and placed immense trust in him.

you sobbed, your face buried in trent’s chest. he continued to plant gentle kisses on your hair, providing solace despite the discomfort of remaining in the same position.

after what felt like hours, the tears finally stopped as you couldn’t get anymore out.

trent’s fingers stroked your hair as you calmed down and pulled away from his chest, your eyes red and swollen.

“i’ve ruined your shirt,” you sniffled, glancing at the tear stains on his clothing.

trent shook his head, looking at you affectionately, his shirt being the last thing on his mind. his sole focus was on your well-being.

“don’t worry about it,” he reassured, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear, a gesture that felt intimate more than it should be. “feeling better now? would you like me to make you some tea?”

trent’s voice resonated with a tender and charming tone that never failed to make you feel like the only woman he’s ever had eyes for, even though you doubted it was truly the case.

despite your love for him, you were well aware that he would never reciprocate those feelings as he simply deserved someone better, as you claimed.

“yes, please,” you nodded with a subtle smile, sniffling.

“you still got the cinnamon flavor one?” you asked with a sweet tone, causing trent’s heart to melt at the sound of your voice. and not to mention the look in your eyes, filled with both a plea and a dazzling allure.

trent always made sure to have a variety of tea flavors in his kitchen cabinet because he knew how much you loved tea. whenever you introduced him to a new favorite flavor, he would add it to his collection.

after giving you another kiss on the forehead, trent released his hold on you and got up from the couch. “of course. i’ll be right back,” he said and disappeared into the kitchen.

as trent brewed your tea, he contemplated whether this moment was opportune to finally confess his feelings that he had harbored for you all these years.

however, upon further reflection, he acknowledged that the outcome may not align with his desires. he was aware that you had recently ended a relationship and were in a vulnerable state, making it unfair to burden you with his feelings at this time.

a few minutes later, trent returned and placed a cup of tea on the table in front of you.

“it’s still hot, so give it a few minutes,” he informed, taking you into his arms once again and wrapping one arm around your shoulder. he sought your touch as much as you did his.

“thank you,” you whispered quietly, trying to hold back a sob, but it managed to escape. trent’s caring actions alone brought out all your emotions again.

trent gently stroked your hair, trying to comfort you. “hey, it’s okay. no need to cry anymore. he won’t hurt you again.”

you gently shook your head, your voice trembling as you spoke, “no, it’s not about him.” you were well aware that your ex could no longer inflict any harm upon you, not with trent right by your side.

“i’m just grateful to have you in my life and i don’t think i’ll ever come across someone like you, who truly sees me for who i am.”

trent was deeply moved by your words, to say the least. before he could respond, you continued expressing your thoughts.

“i mean... all guys ever seem to want is sex, and it’s exhausting,” you vented with a hint of frustration in your voice. “it’s just so scary that there’s no guarantee i’ll ever be loved.”

trent, who has loved you since childhood, leaned in closer, his comforting brown eyes meeting yours. “but you are loved,” he reassured, his voice a soothing balm to your fears. “you have your family, your friends...”

although his voice remained calm and soothing, a fire ignited within him for all the men who had caused you pain, who had made you believe that you were not enough.

“but not by the person i want,” your voice cracked, "in the way i want to be loved. fiercely. passionately. a love that makes me feel like the only woman in his universe.”

trent’s hand delicately brushed against yours, a silent gesture that sent a thrill through your body. his usually serene eyes flickered with an indiscernible emotion.

starting to speak, only to hesitate and close his mouth, as if carefully weighing his words to preserve the bond of your friendship.

he understood that confessing his feelings now would be a mistake, jeopardizing the relationship you had.

however, he couldn’t suppress his desire, his need for you to comprehend that there was someone in this world who loved and truly saw you for who you are.

“i…” trent started, his voice trailing off as he glanced down at your intertwined hands.

a weighty silence enveloped the air, pregnant with unexpressed emotions.

finally, he lifted his gaze, his eyes bearing a raw expression. “i love you, y/n.” he confessed.

your breath caught in your throat. the world suddenly felt askew, your heart fluttering like a trapped hummingbird within the confines of your ribcage.

had you heard him correctly? could this just be a cruel trick?

trent’s voice quivered with emotion as he confirmed, “i’ve always loved you,” his words faltered, “with every sunrise, every shared joke, every tear you shed, my love for you grew, silently and steadily. you are the only woman in my entire universe, y/n.”

tears welled up in your eyes. the ache in your chest transformed into a blossoming warmth.

you hadn’t been that oblivious… right?

the signs had been there, woven into the tapestry of your years together - the lingering touches, the inside jokes, the way your laughter harmonized.

however, instead of embracing his love and listening to your head as you should have done, you hesitated and withdrew, a tempest of doubts swirling within you.

no matter how much you loved and desired trent, your insecurities seemed to overpower your emotions. comparing yourself to the beautiful girls that always surrounded him and sought his attention, you never considered yourself one of them.

in your mind, he deserved someone like those models, someone who could effortlessly complement him.

not you, the girl who was always overshadowed whenever a group of guys flirted with your friends.

not you, the girl who constantly looked for validation from other men, only to be met with disrespect.

not you, the girl who remained in abusive relationships because all you wanted was to be loved, even if it meant enduring pain in the process.

“trent,” you whispered, your voice choked, “i’m so sorry, but it’s not a good idea for us to be in a relationship.”

his world splintered, the once-familiar sofa beneath him feeling treacherous. “not a good idea?” he managed to choke out, disbelief etching lines on his forehead.

“we’ve known each other our entire lives. we’ve shared everything, supported one another, and been there through thick and thin. you can’t say you haven’t something for me. you just can't.”

trent struggled to contain his frustration. he longed to yell, to shake some sense into you, and make you realize that he was the perfect man for you.

however, your own insecurities were overshadowing everything else.

you shut your eyes, hot tears streaming down your cheeks like glistening trails. “it’s not that simple, trent,” you murmured, your voice barely audible.

a deep divide formed between the two of you, the weight of his shattered hopes lingering in the air. the silence stretched, disrupted only by the rustle of wind coming from outside and the frantic pounding of his heart.

finally, trent, his voice strained with anguish, nodded. “alright, i understand.”

rather than a genuine understanding, it was an acceptance tinged with resignation.

he comprehended your rejection and your need for an invisible boundary between your friendship and the confession he had just made. he understood that pushing further would not dismantle the wall, but rather deepen the divide between you.

you tentatively reached out, your touch questioning and uncertain, seeking connection. however, he couldn’t bring himself to meet your gaze, fearing the reflection of his shattered hopes in your eyes.

trent withdrew his hand cautiously.

despite your intense longing to stay and pour out all the love you have harbored for trent over the years, the words remained trapped within you, unable to escape.

it felt as though a heavy ball had lodged itself in your throat, rendering you unable to speak the truth.

“i’m truly sorry, trent.” you whispered, rising from the couch and leaving his home.

trent patiently waited until he heard the front door open and close before allowing his tears to flow. he couldn’t believe it had come to this.

he had officially lost you.

[libingan]

— wolf’s den. (final chapter.)

summary: after finding yourself lost in the forest, you accidentally stumble across a wolf’s den. unfortunately for you, his intentions are dark and possessive—he's chosen you to be his mate, dragging you into a nightmarish world where escape seems impossible.

cw: kidnapping, dark content, noncon, power imbalance, possessiveness, violence, cannibalism, death, wolf hybrid! ghost x bunny hybrid! reader

here it folks, the final chapter! it’s done, it’s over! thank u guys for eating this shit up but honestly i feel like this was one of my… idk? i dont want to say bad, but it’s definitely not my best lolz

writing dark content isnt my forte lmao this is actually my first time writing something this gorey HAHSHWSHW

part 4 | the aftermath

the oppressive nature of simon’s control became a constant, unrelenting force as your pregnancy progressed. his obsession with ensuring your safety transformed into a tyrannical dominance over every aspect of your life. the freedom you once had was now a distant memory, replaced by a suffocating confinement that left you feeling more like a prisoner than a partner — which you always were.

the heavy metal collar around your neck was a constant reminder of your restricted autonomy. chained to the bedpost, you were confined to a small area, barely able to reach the meager portions of food simon allowed you. the food was meticulously rationed—just enough to keep you alive but never enough to fully satisfy your hunger. this arrangement made you feel like an object rather than a person.

simon’s visits were marked by his cold efficiency. he would come into the room with an air of detached concern. “you know the rules,” he’d say with a chilling calmness as he checked the small amount of food left for you. “you’re only to eat what i’ve provided. it’s for your safety and the baby’s.”

“this isn’t living, simon!” you would protest, your voice tinged with frustration. “it’s a prison! i need more space, more freedom.”

“this is for your own good,” simon would respond with a steely edge. “you don’t understand the risks involved. i can’t afford to be lenient.”

the psychological toll of your confinement was severe. each day blended into the next, marked only by simon’s harsh rules and the stifling sense of isolation. his rare visits were a grim reminder of his control, each encounter underscored by his relentless authority.

when labor began, it was sudden and brutal. the first sign came with a sharp, searing pain that made you gasp and clutch the bed. a warm rush of liquid between your legs signaled your water breaking, soaking through the bed and creating a damp, unsettling mess. the shock of your water breaking was followed by an intense wave of contractions that took your breath away. the pain was relentless and overwhelming, radiating through your lower body with an intensity that left you writhing.

the contractions came in waves, each one more excruciating than the last. you gripped the bed, your bunny ears drooping with exhaustion and fear. the room was filled with the sounds of your struggle, the heavy breathing, and simon’s calming yet authoritative voice.

simon’s reaction was a mix of urgency and a controlled demeanor. his wolf ears perked up with concern, and his tail flicked restlessly behind him as he rushed to your side. he moved with grim efficiency, his hands firm yet surprisingly gentle as he took in the scene.

“breathe, love,” simon instructed, his voice a blend of authority and reassurance. “focus on your breathing. we need to get through this.”

“i can’t fucking handle this!” you gasped, tears streaming down your face. “it’s too much. i need help!”

“you can handle this,” simon insisted, his grip on your hand steady. “push through the pain. we’re almost there. you’re strong, and we’ll get through this together.”

the hours dragged on, marked by your strained breaths and his unwavering support. simon’s hands guided you through each contraction with a combination of force and tenderness. the room, once filled with hope and life, became a grim tableau of pain and exhaustion. your bunny ears were drooping with fatigue, and your body trembled with each wave of labor. simon’s wolf ears twitched with a mix of anxiety and determination, and his tail was stiff with focus.

finally, after what felt like an eternity of agonizing pain, the cries of the newborn pups pierced the air. the relief was profound but short-lived. you lay back on the bed, utterly exhausted, your body trembling from the ordeal. simon’s expression shifted from intense focus to something darker as he held the tiny, blood-slicked bodies in his hands.

as you lay there, spent and weak, you saw simon’s gaze turn from the pups to you, and then to the blood-soaked room. your bunny ears twitched in fear, and you were barely able to muster the strength to speak.

“simon?” you whispered, your voice cracking with exhaustion. “what the hell are you doing?”

simon’s eyes, once filled with awe, now revealed a disturbing hunger. his wolf ears perked up with a predatory gleam, and his tail flicked with primal excitement. he ignored your plea, his gaze locked onto the tiny bodies.

the blood from the pups pooled around you, and simon’s primal urge became palpable. his fangs elongated as he brought one of the pups to his mouth. the sickening sound of tearing flesh filled the room as he bit down, consuming the fragile body. the blood flowed freely, staining his hands and face.

“no, simon, please!” you screamed, your voice hoarse and desperate. “you’re killing them! you’re killing me! please, just stop!”

simon’s primal instincts had completely overtaken him. he continued to devour the remaining pups with a ravenous intensity, each bite more brutal than the last. his wolf tail lashed wildly, and his eyes were filled with a primal, insatiable need. the blood smeared across his face and hands, and the room was filled with the grotesque sounds of consumption.

the once-innocent cries of the newborns were replaced by the sickening squelch of flesh being torn apart. as simon’s hunger drove him further, the blood from the pups mixed with the blood flowing from your own body. the room was now a grisly scene of blood and gore, and the smell was nauseating.

when simon had finished with the pups, his gaze turned to you with a predatory hunger. the blood, now staining the bed and the floor, heightened his primal urge. his wolf ears were twitching with excitement, and his tail was stiff with anticipation.

simon’s movements were slow, deliberate, and unsettling as he crawled toward you on all fours. his predatory gaze never left you, his wolf ears twitching with each labored breath you took. your body was weak from the intense labor, and your attempts to move away were pitifully ineffective. the blood loss had left you trembling and disoriented, and the pain was excruciating.

“simon, no…” you whimpered, trying to crawl away, but your strength was gone. “please, don’t do this. i can’t… i can’t…”

simon’s eyes remained fixed on you, his hunger growing more intense with each passing moment. “you’re so weak,” he said, his voice low and chilling. “i’ve seen what you’re capable of. you won’t be able to get away.”

he moved closer, his fangs bared and his tail flicking with anticipation. your bunny ears drooped, and you felt a surge of panic as you realized the full extent of your helplessness.

“no, please, simon,” you pleaded, tears streaming down your face. “i beg you. don’t do this to me. i need to live. i’m begging you. please, stop!”

but simon’s primal instincts had completely overtaken him. driven by his wolf instincts, he closed the distance between you with an unrestrained ferocity. his fangs sank into your flesh with a brutal force, the pain was immediate and excruciating. it was a brutal, fiery torment that radiated through every fiber of your being, far surpassing any pain you had ever felt. you screamed, the sound tearing from your throat in a raw, desperate cry. the room seemed to spin around you, and your vision became a blur of anguish and disorientation.

in those agonizing moments, fragments of your life flashed before your eyes. memories of happier days, the faces of loved ones, and the dreams you once cherished flickered like haunting shadows. each memory was a stark contrast to the searing pain you were enduring, creating a disorienting, tragic montage of your past.

the weight of despair pressed down on you as the blood flowed freely, mixing with the remnants of the pups. your strength waned rapidly, and each breath became more labored. the cold, harsh reality of your impending end settled heavily upon you.

as simon’s relentless bite drained you, the room grew dimmer, and the pain became an overwhelming wave, dragging you down into darkness.

the finality of the moment came as simon’s primal nature overwhelmed all restraint. his wolf instincts had taken over completely, and the room, once filled with the hope of new life, was now a scene of unspeakable horror. the walls bore witness to a tragic end, driven by simon’s uncontrollable instincts and primal hunger.

tags: @daniella666girl @lolololololhanma

[redrose10]

yoongi - 50

This one got a way from me a little, but I hope you like it!

#50 People are Staring

Warnings: Swearing, slightly suggestive, mean CEO Yoongi

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You profusely apologized once again for the long wait times even though it wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t your fault that this was one of the only cafes in the city. It wasn’t your fault that this cafe was located right at the entrance level of one of the the biggest and busiest corporate offices in the city, probably the state. It wasn’t your fault that your co-workers all quit or got fired within the last week leaving you with just the new guy, Jungkook.

He was a nice kid and a hard worker, but he was still not familiar with most of the drinks so you had him on the register while you did your best to get the orders done.

You looked at the receipt for the next drink,

Large coffee

2 pumps vanilla

3 pumps peppermint

2 pumps mocha

Almond milk

Whipped cream

Chocolate drizzle

Chocolate cookie crumble

Whatever happened to just coffee with cream and sugar you thought as you began to work on the drink.

Just as you finished up Jungkook came over with a scared look on his face, “Umm Y/N there is a guy at the counter who wants to speak to the manager.”

“Okay, I’ll handle it. Please take this drink for order 377.”, you sighed.

Even though you technically weren’t the manager you were the closest there was right now so you mentally prepared yourself before grabbing a handful of free drink coupons as an apology and heading towards the counter.

You came to a halt feeling your stomach drop at the sight of Min Yoongi. The incredibly handsome incredibly rude super scary CEO of MYG INC. which was located on the top floor of the office building. You’d had several encounters with him. He never smiled, hardly ever looked up from his phone and if he did it was only to make a comment belittling or complaining about something. He stopped by 4 out of 5 days a week but sent his assistant Hobi on the fifth day who was a welcomed break.

You cleared your throat before speaking, “M-Mr.Min, how can I help you?”

He looked down at you through narrowed eyes, “Y/N, I’ve been in line for almost twenty minutes. That is completely unacceptable for a mediocre cup of coffee.”

You nodded with you lips in a tight smile, “Of course sir. I apologize. It’s just Jungkook and I and he is new. We’re trying our best.”

“Yeah well it’s clearly not good enough.”, he scoffed.

You took a deep breath to keep yourself calm, before sliding over the coupons, “Again I apologize Mr.Min. Here are coupons for some free drinks.”

“Ha I don’t need a free drink. Clearly I can afford a $5 coffee which shouldn’t take this long to receive. Do better.”, he spat before grabbing his coffee from the counter and heading towards the elevators.

“Wow he’s an intimidating asshole.”, Jungkook whispered next to you.

“Yeah uh he’s something for sure.”, you sniffled trying to hold back some tears.

Over the next couple weeks things improved slightly. Jungkook was getting quicker and the owner hired two more employees, Jimin and Taehyung.

Your classes had started up again so you were moved to the evening shift which you were so thankful for. It was a little slower and you no longer had to deal with Yoongi.

Clocking in for your shift you got a text from the owner,

Jin (Boss man): Hey there’s a new guy starting tonight. He’s only working a few hours a week. Something about learning to deal with people blah blah blah. Please show him the ropes.

You: Sure thing

JIN (Boss man): He’s really handsome by the way. NO OFFICE SEX!!!

You chuckled as you tucked away your phone ready to get this shift over. The first couple hours flew by even though it was relatively slow. You had your back turned to the counter as you scrubbed away at one of the machines.

From behind you someone cleared their throat making you jump.

If you had a million guesses you never would’ve been correct about who was standing behind you in uniform.

“Uh Mr. Min?”, you questioned.

He looked more pissed off than ever.

“Y/N, I guess I am your new coworker for the next several weeks. Maybe I’ll be able to to come up with a better system to solve the slow service around here.”

“Umm uh sir? W-what do you mean coworker?”

He rolled his eyes, “Obviously I mean we are working together.”

“I know what a coworker is. My question is why is a billionaire ceo working at a coffee shop for minimum wage?”

“Because my lovely parents think I need to learn some humility and how to talk to people other than just demanding things. They said I do this or they’re removing me from the company so I have no choice.”, he said picking at some lint on his shirt.

“So I’m working here a few hours a week. I figured if anyone knows some humbleness it’s a nobody coffee maker.”

Great. Just great. Just when you thought things were looking up now you have to deal with this arrogance and rudeness.

But being the reliable hard worker you are you sucked it up, “Okay sir. The easiest thing is to learn the register first.”

He followed you over to where the computer was located.

“Okay so this row is the specials. This row is basic coffees. Then when you select a coffee it asks if you want to add any thing. That’s where you’ll find the flavorings and toppings. This row is cold drinks. This row is baked good.”

You noticed he was very quiet so when you looked up you weren’t surprised to see him staring at some blond in a short pencil skirt sitting at one of the cafe tables.

“Are you even listening?”, you questioned.

“Y/N, I run a billion dollar company. I think I can figure out a few buttons on a computer screen at a coffee shop.”, he smirked.

“Okay sir, here’s your first customer.”, you smiled as an older woman came up to the register.

“Hi, welcome to Jin’s Java House, how can I help you?”, he greeted her.

“Sure can I get a medium coffee with two pumps of hazelnut, half a pump of vanilla but make sure it’s only half a pump. Last time they definitely put too much. Then also add a caramel swirl and use half oat milk half almond milk that is warmed up so it doesn’t cool the coffee too much. I also want a banana nut muffin on the side but warm it up also.”

You felt a deep happiness as you watched Yoongi’s fingers hover over the buttons unsure of how to complete the order. Reluctantly he looked at you for assistance.

You showed him how to type in the order while Jimin got to work making it.

That was definitely a humbling experience for Yoongi who was much more open to help after that.

Working at the coffee shop certainly seemed to bring a change in Yoongi. He was friendlier, calmer. One night he even apologized for always treating you so coldly, especially that one day he made you cry. He said he came down later in the day to apologize then but you were already gone and it bothered him ever since. The two of you became a lot closer and you might’ve started to developed a small crush instead of just pure hatred for him.

You were most surprised when he agreed to work with you during a Saturday morning shift. It was a last resort when you texted him explaining the situation and that you were going to be working by yourself. When he showed up Saturday morning bright and early you were in shock. He looked even hotter than usual in his ripped jeans and sneakers and the cafe shirt. His hair just combed through and messy instead of styled back. He wore glasses instead of his usual contacts. He looked good as he greeted you with a gummy smile.

The shift was BUSY. You felt like you were running around nonstop. Yoongi even broke a sweat which you didn’t think was possible.

“I have to go in the back and get more ice water. The machine is overheating again.”, you said pointing at the old espresso maker.

“I’m just going to suck it up and buy Jin a new one. That cheap bastard. This is ridiculous.”, he shook his head.

The bucket was heavy as you did your best to carry it up front without spilling any.

“Hey Y/N, how do I ring up a strawberry milk tea aga-“

Before he could finish Yoongi turned around and crashed into you spilling the ice water all over you and the black coffee he was holding all over himself.

You hissed from the coldness running down your body.

“Oh my god I am so sorry Y/N. I didn’t see yo-“

Yoongi stopped speaking rendered silent.

He came to stand in front of you when you noticed the coffee spilled all over his jeans and shoes, “Oh sir I am so sorry. I didn’t even notice. I can’t afford to buy you new ones but I’ll try to clean them the best I can.”

You noticed the waiting area full of customers all staring at you. Mostly in silence, a few chuckles. Your cheeks started heating back up even though your body was cold from the water.

“People are staring.”, you whispered.

“Um yeah uh. Probably because um…”

You’d never seen the CEO so flustered. A blush crept up his next to his cheeks before he continued, “It’s probably because your shirt is uh…is kind of see through right now.”

You looked down in horror realizing that the water had turned your white work shirt completely see through revealing your white lace bra underneath.

You ran in the back looking for another shirt to change into when Yoongi followed close behind.

“I’m so embarrassed. I’m so sorry sir. I’m sorry about your clothes and I’m sorry I embarrassed myself in front of you and now you’re never going to like someone like me and ugh I’m so dumb. Why didn’t I wear an apron today?”, you were rambling on and not even realizing what you’d said when Yoongi came and stood in front of you again handing you a shirt he had found, “Y/N, you have to stop calling me sir. Please. Especially when you’re standing in front of me with your bra on display.”

“Um sir…I mean Mr.Min I…It’s a habit.”, you said even more embarrassed.

“Mr. Min isn’t any better.”, he shook his head.

“Here put this shirt on and then let’s go out there and finish this shift so we can go back to my place, have dinner, and then I can see this lace on full display while I make you call me sir in all kinds of ways.”, he said with a smirk just inches away from your face, “Otherwise I might just have to take you here. And Jin is going to be very upset that we broke the no office sex rule.” Your eyes widened with excitement as you quickly changed before following after him reeling with desire.

[eyesofshinigami]

It Takes Time

Rating: G

CW: None

Tags: Established relationship, implied pre- S4 relationship, minor talk of injuries, tiny bit of angst, boys being soft

Prompt: For @shares-a-vest "Love is about healing each other's wounds"

WC: 1116

Written for @steddielovemonth Day 16

Even amongst the many horrible encounters with the Upside Down Steve has had, this last one was probably the worst. Steve had done everything he could to keep Eddie out of his mess, the one thing that he could never be honest with his boyfriend about, and yet Eddie had still gotten dragged in somehow.

And almost died for it.

Steve still can’t believe that it’s over. It’s finally over. Sure, his nightmares are even worse, having held the person he loved bleeding out in his arms, but they made it. They lived. They got Eddie to the hospital and after surgeries, a medical coma, and a laundry list of therapy appointments for both of them, they finally made it home. 

Home is now the little house on First Street. It’s not much to look at, but it’s theirs. 

Kind of like them, really.

Steve is the one that brings Eddie to the house once he’s released from the hospital. He told the kids that they could come by in a couple of days, after they’ve settled in and had a chance to collect themselves. Wayne had brought over a few things right before, and he told them he'd be back in a few days as well to check on them, just a phone call away if they needed him. It was enough to make Steve tear up.

“Come on, baby, we’re here,” he says, leaning over to kiss Eddie on the cheek. His boyfriend had fallen asleep on the drive over. Steve couldn’t blame him; he could feel tiredness settling into his own bones. He’s not 100% either, but Steve won’t be able to rest until he knows Eddie is comfortable, taken care of. 

Eddie stirs and blinks his eyes, smiling when he realizes where they are. “Home?” he asks. He hasn’t gotten to see it yet, but he’s heard Steve talk about it enough. At Steve’s nod, Eddie grabs his hand and holds it for a minute. “Ours. Fuck, I can’t believe it.”

Steve smiles back. “Yup. Let’s get inside. I can show you around after we take a shower and get settled, okay?” Eddie lets out a hum of agreement and opens the car door.

They make it inside, slowly and carefully, Eddie’s eyes wide as he takes it in. Wayne and the Hopper-Byers had pitched in to give them the bare bones to start with, like a couch and a table with chairs. The only thing Steve had been adamant about getting himself was the bed, a brand new queen that they could share. When Eddie sees it, he lets out a little choked noise. “We have a bed. Our bed. It’s ours.” 

“I made sure of it, baby.”

“Can we lay down together? I can’t wait to try it out.” Eddie reaches out and runs his hand along the comforter, a soft blue to go with the dark gray sheets Steve had picked out. “I know we’re not up for anything naughty, but… it would be good to lay down with you.”

Steve can’t help but kiss him. “After our shower. I have to change your bandages, too.”

Eddie squints at him. “And yours too.” Steve goes to protest, but Eddie shakes his head and crosses his arms. “Nope, you’re not getting out of it.” He wraps his arms around Steve and pulls him close, and Steve can’t help but notice how their scars mirror each other. “If you’re going to take care of me, I’m going to take care of you, okay? We’re in this together, isn’t that what you said?”

Steve nods. He remembers the way his heart jumped into his throat when Dustin and Max came scrambling into Family Video yelling about Eddie. He remembers how he wrapped Eddie up in his arms and kissed him softly, not caring who saw, after Eddie dropped the bottle when he realized that Steve had come for him. “We’re in this together, baby. I’ve got you,” he’d said.

“It is. You got me, Eds.”

Eddie smirks at him, giving him one more kiss before he pulls Steve into the ensuite. It’s pretty tiny, barely enough room for two nearly grown men, but they make it work. They strip down and climb into the shower. Normally, they would fool around a little bit, but they’re both so tired and worn down and still healing. There will be plenty of time for shower sex later, when they’re both not quite so broken and rundown. Instead, they take turns washing each other, careful of still healing wounds and old hurts alike. Steve handles Eddie like he’s made of glass, something precious he’s worried about breaking under his hands. In turn, Eddie takes his time and works the knots out of Steve’s back, days and weeks of worry built up in his muscles. 

It feels like the first time Steve has been able to breathe in years. 

Once they’ve dried off and both put on sweatpants, Steve pulls out the first aid kit that he’d bought right after he had started getting the house together. Eddie raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything, instead they both quietly get to work.

It shouldn’t feel like second nature, patching each other up. They take turns tending hurts and rubbing creams into healing wounds, bandaging each other up as they go. There’s something that’s macabre and intimate about it, Steve thinks. 

“I’m sorry.”

Eddie looks up from where he’s wrapping another bandage around Steve’s torso. “What for, sweetheart?”

His vision gets a little blurry, the wall of emotion hitting him. “That this happened to you. That you got hurt, that all of my…” the word bullshit clogs in his throat. “All of this made you hurt. You got hurt because of-”

“Don’t even, Steve. You didn’t do this to me.” Eddie cups Steve’s face so that Steve has to look at him, even with tears streaming down his face. “I just wish I could have helped you sooner, sweetheart. With Starcourt. With the junkyard. All those things you felt like you had to hide from me-”

“To protect you. To keep you safe.” Because you matter. Because I love you. Because you were the port in the storm of all these terrible things that kept happening to me. 

“And you did, even at the end when you dragged me into that hospital out of the jaws of death. Baby, I wouldn’t even be here without you. But I’m here. We’re here.” 

“We’re here,” Steve repeats, leaning close to press their foreheads together. 

Even scarred as they are, they will heal from this. It’ll take time, and hopefully it’s the end for real this time, but Steve’s not alone.

[from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras]

🪓 Hewn and Sewn 🪡

I’ve been thinking a lot about Háma’s death again lately and started this fic for Tolkien Horror Week. And then I both failed miserably on the timetable for that and realized that what I needed for myself was to find a way for his horrifying end (it’s there in the books, and it’s not pretty) to not be totally devoid of consolation. And so it maybe wasn’t right for a Horror Week event anyway. Your mileage may vary on whether you find anything remotely consoling in it. I just love my guy, my #1, and want him to be happy. I don’t know if this accomplishes what I want, but I tried.

CW: canonical character death. He met a brutal end, per Tolkien, and that’s here, along with a fair amount of battle/war reality, incl. some blood and guts and general violence/death.

Art by @ rinthecap

**********

A body is surprisingly hard to kill. 

The first thrust of a spear may bring a man to his knees, the second fills his mouth with blood, the third can barely be extracted again from the depths of his chest, but only the fourth brings mercy at last. Until then, the body clings to its life like a sailor adrift in an ocean storm, scrabbling after any tiny scrap of floating debris and clutching with bloodied nails and broken fingers to the last vestiges of a smashed and splintered ship that somehow hasn’t yet totally disappeared beneath the roiling waves. The body finds its greatest strength at the moment of its greatest vulnerability, stubbornly refusing to relinquish its desperate hold on survival and rallying to endure unimaginable suffering for just a little longer — one more boot to the skull, one more arrow through the gut, one more blade in the back, one more, and one more, and one more — to see whether the body’s will to live can outlast the enemy’s will to kill. 

Háma knows all of this now.

He knows that the great tales of history have left out much of the truth, that the epic songs of invincible riders who slice through enemies like a scythe through wheat are more fantasy than fact. They have left out the hard work of dealing death, the sweaty, gruesome, arduous labor of cleaving into skin and muscle, hacking through sinew and bone, splitting open hearts and stomachs and lungs. They have left out the vomit and the blood and the entrails, the slippery gore that loosens grips and unsteadies footings, sending blows wide of their marks and into places that deliver pain rather than ending it. They have left out the soul-deadening horror of looking another man in the eye and realizing the only way to end his misery is to first give him more.  

These realities are seldom spoken of, threatening as they are to the necessary project of war. New soldiers each discover them on their own, and Háma was no different. He came to the army while still hardly more than a boy, an idealist raised on stories of grand, heroic campaigns and aspiring to the honor of being one of the king’s own guards. None but his mother had tried to warn him of the cruelties he was sure to encounter, for she knew well the gentle heart that beat in her son’s chest. Always the first to smile, to extend a hand of welcome, to offer quiet encouragement, to assume the best even of those who had done him harm, she knew how such a heart would rebel against those inevitable cruelties. But he had so little experience of all that was vicious and foul in the world that he couldn’t truly comprehend the warning, no matter how carefully he listened, and in the end her bleak, abstract prudence was no match for the vivid potency of his dreams. He kissed her farewell and went off in trusting pursuit of all that was noble and righteous, blissfully innocent of the ugly truth behind the fantasy.

It took only one battle for him to realize that the valiant and glorious contests of poetry were neither valiant nor glorious but rather panicked, messy slogs where nothing was simple, nothing was clear and nothing was as he expected it to be. The shock of it nearly got him killed, frozen fast in horror amidst a raging squall of bristling spears and glinting blades and hearing nothing but the echo of his mother’s words, suddenly so palpable and so obvious. Only the panic and the mess and the general disorder saved him from meeting his fate before he was able to rouse himself at last to the grim necessity of action and do what was expected of him. He waded into the carnage, he added to it, he turned aside from suffering that he couldn’t relieve, he tried not to look at suffering that he had caused. And somehow, by the grace of Béma, he survived to see the victory, though the word itself now caught in his throat, devoid of meaning.

He cried after that battle, hiding alone in a darkened corner of a stable and wracked by huge, shaking sobs that both embarrassed and reassured him, proof that the day’s bloody brutality had exposed his naive ignorance but not taken his humanity. He wondered whether that humanity could endure even one more such pitiless trial or if it would break him, changing the very core of who he was. He wondered if he was already broken in ways that he couldn’t yet understand, ways that would be revealed to him only later in the long dark of a sleepless night or the cold grip of a relived memory. He wept for the man he had been and for the man he had wanted to be, someone who might now be a stranger to him forever. 

He may have quit that very day had an older soldier not stumbled upon him and his tears, pulling him to his feet and tossing him a scrap of cloth to dry his face. We have all felt what you’re feeling, the soldier said. Anyone who is untroubled by taking lives should never be trusted with a sword. The soldier walked him over to a nearby field where neat rows of villagers were laid out to await burial — old men holding canes, young mothers in bright dresses, a few girls and boys with skinned knees or milk stains on their upper lips — all caught unaware by the enemy before the forces of Rohan had arrived to drive them back. Remember that you have killed so that people like this might live, the soldier said, and he left Háma to keep watch among the corpses, to contemplate death anew.

It seemed a simple reminder, a basic truth so obvious that it need not be spoken, and yet he had needed to hear it all the same. To be a guardian, using his strength and abilities to protect others, had been his earliest aspiration, and now perhaps that dream could protect his own heart as well, offering him the sense of purpose that would help to make the suffering feel worthwhile. He walked slowly from the silent field and back into the center of the village, where water was being drawn, animals fed, children minded, lives lived despite the tragedy to befall them. He rejoined his éored with a brief nod to the older soldier, and when they rode out again, he did so with the rent in his heart not healed but at least knit loosely together again, mended with stitches of duty and honor.

*****

Since that day he has killed many times, never unprovoked or with wanton disregard and never with the overpowering horror of that first battle, but also never with the clean, simple ease that he had once been led to expect. Each time he is forced to inflict pain on another, he feels it in his own limbs, and though he hates no man, he comes closest in his despair over those who fight him the hardest, who persist through blow after weary blow and refuse to yield or retreat. Do not force me to do this to you, his mind pleads silently, and sometimes, though it means the same thing, do not force me to do this to myself. In direst conditions, compelled to keep defending himself from an opponent with the white glimmer of bone shining out from mangled red flesh or with a dark, empty space where an eye had just been, he cannot keep these thoughts contained to his own head. Barely audible amidst the clash of metal and the thunder of hoofbeats and the groaning of the injured and maimed, he speaks the words aloud. I am sorry.

Many of these men linger in his memories, images of them emerging suddenly and unbidden from the depths of his mind while in the middle of doing other, more benign things. The man who stared up at him from a puddle of gore, tears streaming from eyes that were the same pale green as those of Háma’s youngest sister. The grievously wounded man who had spit in Háma’s face when offered mercy before plunging a knife into his own throat. The man who whimpered one word over and over as they grappled for control, a word Háma later learned meant ‘please’ in the tongue of the Easterlings. These memories tear at the stitches in his heart, testing their strength and threatening to sunder him anew.

One man in particular haunts his thoughts, lurking always in the shadows of his waking mind or the hazy, fragmented mirages of his dreams. Part of a company of Dunlendings who crossed the Adorn without leave, this man was a talented warrior, and had he only been taller or slightly larger of frame things might have ended differently. As it was, it took three heavy strokes of Háma’s sword to bring him down, and the battle-notched edge of Háma’s blade caught on something as he sought to pull back the final stroke. Forced to lean in close, to brace his foot by the dying man’s chest as he struggled to free his weapon from whatever barbed hook of metal or bone had trapped it, he found something he did not expect on the haggard, shivering face that was now only inches from his own — a smile, small but clear, and growing only wider as the man pulled in his last rasping breaths and the light slowly dimmed from his eyes.

The memory of that smile never truly leaves Háma. It follows him everywhere, as attached to his mind as his shadow is to his feet. He sees it when he stands long, lonely hours on watch in the cold and when he sits in a crowded tavern that swelters with the heat of a hundred bodies pressed side by side. It creeps up on him in the quiet wandering of his thoughts while his hands perform some common, repetitive task, or it appears with startling suddenness in the middle of pressing matters, insisting on claiming a share of his focus with the urgency of its unknowable mystery.

He dreams up a thousand different reasons why a man would smile through such agony, somehow finding happiness in the moment of ultimate despair. Perhaps the man hated his life and was glad to be rid of it at last, or he felt honor and pride in the idea of dying for his cause, though that cause was repugnant to Háma himself. Perhaps the smile was brought on by a delusion or hallucination, a vision of pleasure or comfort that shimmered with false loveliness for that Dunlending’s eyes alone. Perhaps it wasn’t even a smile but rather a spasm or tic, an arbitrary contortion of muscles masquerading as a familiar emotion and torturing Háma now with a futile search for meaning in the utterly meaningless. The only man to know the answer has taken it to his hastily dug grave. 

Háma lives these years balanced on the knife’s edge between revulsion and understanding, doubt and certainty, heart and gut. But with each battle, he learns better how to fight in a way that feels true to himself, anchored to his decency, and he learns better how to strengthen the parts of him that quail at the task, reinforcing those weak spots so that they prove all the harder to wound a second time. He patches himself with reminders of all that he fights for, and, in time, life gives him more and more to add to that armor. A beautiful wife who brings warmth and light into all of his days. A daughter who owns him, body and soul, from her first breath. Hard won respect and admiration, first from his commanders, then from the men entrusted to him, and finally from his king. He will never be a battle-hardened veteran, numb to the business of death, but he finds his way forward, refusing to let the sharp edges of those old memories and doubts carve and pare his spirit until it is shorn of all that is hopeful and joyous. Instead, he embraces the business of life, of being a husband, a father, a son, a brother, a friend, a King’s Guard, a captain, a doorward, all of his selves linked together like the rings of his mail and bringing him just as much strength. He is happy, and he is whole.

*****

And so it is that he finds himself strangely at peace on the ride to what will prove his last battle. He has spent a lifetime preparing himself for this moment, this challenge, and he will meet it with honor. The hand of fate has landed on Helm’s Deep, an unexpected turn but one that he welcomes. He knows this place, its gate, walls and keep, unbreached by any outsider in all the long years of history. A fortress and a refuge at once, it is everything that he holds himself to be: strength and shelter, protection and not aggression. If the Rohirrim are forced to this step, with the point of a sword at their backs, there is nowhere else he’d rather make their stand, defending the inviolable.

They have been warned that this fight will be unlike any other in the lifetimes of this army. This is no skirmish over the placement of a border, no periodic flare-up of ancient, simmering tensions. This is existential, a contest that will decide whether Rohan endures a little longer or falls entirely, and among their old enemies of Dunland there will be new enemies as well, orcs of Isengard that are taller, stronger, unafraid of the sun, more desirous of blood. They drink in the joy of death like a cat laps up cream, he is told. Show them no mercy, for none will be shown to you. He sees the logic of this advice even as he has no plans to follow it. He has worked too hard to keep the cruelty of the world from making him cruel in turn. He will do what must be done, but he will do it as himself, from goodness, and not in imitation of those he deems wicked.

Final commands are given. Théoden sends him to hold the gate, and though he feels ill at ease to leave the king, his one and only charge, he knows it is the greater need and he goes willingly. The ragtag assortment of defenders at the gate are his charge now — cavalry riders preparing to fight from foot, farmers of the Westfold, teenage boys whose beardless faces catch the moonlight — and he assures them that it is alright to be afraid. They will face the fear together. He feels some of that fear himself, more aware than ever of his captain’s uniform that will distinguish him among the masses, drawing attention in the one place where such attention is least welcome. But he would sooner die in this symbol of all he believes in and all he has worked for than to hide in common disguise. His uniform clothes him in courage.

The fighting itself, once it begins, passes quickly, as do most things that overwhelm. There is scarcely a second to take in what is happening before it’s happened, and things grow only more chaotic as the late night stretches into earliest morning. Fear keeps him moving, because to give in to the exhaustion, to stop for even half a second of stolen rest, is to expose yourself to the heavy stroke of an axe or a sword or a pike or any of the other tools Isengard has devised to sever the loose connections that hold a man’s body together. Fear keeps him on his feet, and courage keeps him pressing forward, unwilling to give ground toward that precious gate.

He fights this battle his way. He leaves those enemies who are injured beyond the point of threat to be collected by their countrymen. He dispatches mercy to those whose injuries have already guaranteed death, bringing an early end to their suffering. He takes no action from anger, only necessity. He kills, many times over, but always as a last resort and each time with a heavy heart, for even the orcs are living creatures, once descended from elves if old tales are true.

He is not unscathed in the struggle. Bloody weals, red and shining, cut across his cheek and throat, and his left arm hangs dead now at his side, the muscles needed to raise it severed by the point of a spear. But he is undaunted and rallies, again and again, as men and boys, soldiers and herders, guards and merchants, fathers and sons, fall all around him to the seemingly endless waves of new opponents. His luck holds, until suddenly it doesn’t.

The first sharp blow slides neatly into the narrow band of exposed leather near his shoulder, where a piece of his armor has been forcibly pried from his body. It slices cleanly through the layers of hide and cloth, cleanly between ribs, cleanly into the center of him. It stops him in his tracks, not from the pain, which is strangely delayed, but from the abrupt sensation that all the air has gone from his lungs, which leak uselessly now into the hollow of his chest. He is still standing, struggling to pull in delicate half breaths that each slice like a blade of their own, when the second blow lands, a sword at the knee that sends him to the ground. The third, a heavy, percussive jolt from a bludgeon, shivers the bones that don’t shatter outright and leaves him sunk helplessly in the muddy grass, surrounded by a pool of blood that started out as someone else’s but is soon more his than not.

A burst of flame to his left draws attention away as both sides rush toward the noise and light, and he is left for a moment on his own. Above him hangs the black, blank sky, the stars now blocked by clouds and haze and smoke. Beside him are an elderly man with no helmet and a split skull, eyes fixed open in unseeing horror, and a teenage boy, face gone grey and breathing shallow as the contents of his veins empty steadily from a gaping hole in his side. Háma would comfort him, take his hand and bid him a swift journey to the halls of his forebears, if he could only lift an arm or force a word from his lips. But there is no strength in that arm and no air to carry the sound. He manages only to inch his hand next to the fading warmth of the boy’s fingers, and he hopes the boy will feel it and know that he is there, that they are not alone. It isn’t enough, but it will have to be. 

A burning pressure builds in his chest, pushing out against his broken ribs and mangled muscles with a force that could tear apart whatever is left of him that is still intact, and somehow, above the screaming and the thunder and the clang of weaponry, he can hear a wet, bubbling sound each time he tries to inhale, as though he is drawing breath through a sopping cloth. He wonders if he might drown, miles from any river or lake or tide except his own blood that is rising in his lungs, and he uses his last gasp of energy to weakly raise his head, eyes searching desperately for a friendly face that might be able to drag him to help. But the eyes that meet his are instead cold and cutting, and they sparkle with sharp malice when they recognize the fine armor and burnished insignia of the captain of the King’s Guard. 

A voice calls in a tongue that Háma cannot understand, but he needs no translator to know its meaning or that of the answering calls. Fingers are pointed in his direction. Grips are tightened around axes and knives and clubs. Lips curl into wicked smirks as many feet advance toward him, the defenseless prey whose brutal end will send a message to no less than the king of Rohan himself. No mercy will be shown to you.

The crushing realization hits him in an instant, though perhaps he should have known it all along. This is the end. There aren’t enough allies left standing to save him, even if his wounds could be healed. The gate, the one object of his focus, is being torn now from its hinges, riven with deep fractures and fissures, and these men and orcs will pour through the gaping rupture just as soon as they are done with him. It will matter to none of them that he is as good as gone already, slowly choking to death on his own bile and blood, because they mean not just to kill but to destroy. They mean not to leave him in one piece, not to keep him recognizable even to those who love him best. They will take his life, but they will also take his identity, his dignity, his grace, his chance to be mourned over by those who would hold him, stroke his hair, kiss his brow, touch his cheek. 

He turns his head again to the young man at his side, to see one last Rohirrim face, but it has gone stony and lifeless, an unmoving mask of arrested youth. Háma studies this face, the soft down of a first beard, the skin unmarred by old scars or new wrinkles, and his heart trembles at the thought of all that this boy never got to do or have. A whole lifetime that was yet to be lived, with loves to be found, achievements to be celebrated, misfortunes to be endured, contentment to be earned. His death is a tragedy of lost hopes, of all that might have been had the boy been given even the twenty extra years that Háma himself has had. And that is the thought that brings a sudden and utter calm to Háma’s spirit, quietly reassuring despite the looming specter of gruesome execution treading closer and closer each second.

He cannot see his own imminent death as a tragedy like this boy’s, for Háma has lived — not as long as many men, but fully and well. He has loved and been loved. He has made himself and others proud. He has laughed and cried and grinned and gasped. He has seen great beauty, heard words of great kindness, tasted much that was sweet, felt hands of true tenderness. He has served a land he reveres, one that he knows in his heart will prevail and find a way off its knees to stand tall once again. He has joined himself to people worth dying for, people that he would weep to leave if not for the knowledge that he was more fortunate than most to have ever had such people in his life, no matter how briefly. A wife who was the love that made all the others irrelevant. A daughter who was every bit as perfect as she adoringly believed him to be. Another baby that would arrive in four months’ time and bring consolation and joy to its mother when she’d need it most. They will be pained to lose him, but he trusts their strength, the kind that isn’t sharp and brittle like iron but binds and flexes like thread.

Amid all the suffering of the world, he has been blessed, his fate woven together so tightly with filaments of gladness and fulfillment and favor that those things can never be sundered from him, even now at the very end. When the first axemen crowd around him at last, he doesn’t feel fear or hatred or regret. He feels only gratitude for all that he’s been given. When an enemy first takes his leg at mid-thigh and then his arm at the elbow, he isn’t thinking of the pain. He is thinking only of how one man could be so lucky, how he had somehow managed to claim not only his share of good in the world but many times that much. When a blade takes his ear and iron-toed boots prod where his ribs no longer provide resistance, he hears Brytta’s sweet voice calling his name and feels Hálwinë’s soft cheek rested against his chest. And when the last rattling breath leaves his battered lungs, sighing softly from his bloodied lips, he looks right at the man above him and smiles. 

[pretty-little-whorror]

kinktober - public space

ash williams x reader

wc: 3190

a/n: for the four evil dead enjoyers on this site. i promise if i was less employed i would post daily for this like the lord intended.

tags: semi-public sex, fem reader, fingering, p in v sex, safe/protected sex, work sex, fucking your coworkers, ash williams, ash williams and his cheesy ass one liners, and his cheesy ass nicknames, that’s it maybe but i’m tired of looking at this, also not like 100% proofread, like 83%

Ash Williams had been put against his fair share of unpleasantries. Having to kill his sister, dismember his girlfriend, get sent back in time and go toe to toe against evil incarnate. Throughout all that, he still stands by that working retail can easily be just as bad - if not worse - than all that. Ash had been at S-Mart longer than he had ever intended and dealt with more customer bullshit than one could imagine. However, he did manage to enjoy his time there in his own Ash-y way while he was there, meaning knocking boots with any coworker that he could talk his way into the pants of.

With most it was a one and done situation. Most employees stay new before they eventually leave. To Ash, this was the perfect situation - left no time for awkward talking after he had gotten done what he needed. His most recent example had been with Jenny from Arts and Crafts. A red headed hardbody that had stayed at S-Mart maybe three months. As her last two weeks wrapped up, yours began.

The Arts and Crafts department was mostly women, so word about who exactly Ash Williams was got around to you quick. Most of the talk was about his serial womanizing, however a few strange rumours of beheadings and murder were weaved in and out during a handful of gossip sessions between you and your colleagues. You chalked them up to a bad game of telephone given how out of pocket they seemed.

Eventually, you had your first run-in with Ash, and it went as expected. You managed to keep a professional smile and move on after each encounter, however that was not without acknowledging that you couldn’t blame any of the other girls for falling for his routine. He was far from unattractive and his charming demeanor did nothing to repel you. Regardless, you were determined to hold your own.

Your resistance had come as a surprise to Ash, who believes he’s God’s gift to women. However he was never one to back down from a challenge. The harder the hunt the bigger the trophy. Months of passive aggressive flirting and innuendoed bickering had only made him more determined. He had used whatever brain he had to find different ways to push your buttons without an immediate trip to HR. It would usually result with you giving him a playful eye roll before you continued back to whatever you had been doing. Today was no different of an example, but as you found yourself pinned up against a wall in the stock room, whatever exactly had finally gotten you where he wanted had slipped your mind.

This close, Ash’s cheap aftershave was almost intoxicating compared to its normal warning of obnoxious behavior to come. As your tongues pushed against one another, you could taste remnants of the mint gum he had just spit out.

His left hand made quick work to take off the ill fitting uniform as his metal one held you up against the wall. Your fingers made quick work of his own blue work shirt, pushing the fabric off his shoulders, leaving him in a white undershirt.

“Someone’s a little anxious, huh?” He words teased into your ear as his calloused hand snaked its up your back to unclasp your bra.

“If that’s such a problem, I’m more than okay to stop” Your hands dropped from his shoulders as you spoke, looking up at him. He moved his hand back up and grabbed your chin with a chuckle.

“Oh baby, I’ve got you just where I want.” His hot breath tickled against the side of your neck. “I’d be an idiot to let you get away now.” He brought your face up to his with a rough kiss, his hand dropping from your face to finish discarding your bra. He pushed his tongue into your mouth with a groan as he fondled your breast. His thumb rolling gently over your hardened nipple. You sighed into his kiss as he continued to play with your tit. He broke the kiss to look down at your chest, a string of saliva still connecting your mouth the his.


“Fuck sugar, you’ve got the prettiest tits I’ve ever seen.” He continued his ministrations as he used his other arm to raise you up, your legs now straddling his waist opposed to your hips. He quickly moved his face down to your chest, peppering nips over your other breast as his hand continued to roughly knead the other.

“Now we can’t let her sister have all the fun” He winked up at you before latching his mouth onto your nipple. You gasped at the action, the sensation of one hand rolling the hardened bud between his fingers and his mouth sucking and biting on the other causing your eyes to shut.

Ash reveled in your reaction, you could feel him chuckle against your skin as he continued. Your hand went to his head, fingers weaving through his black hair. He gave your tit one final, playful bite before his mouth went back to yours. His hand snaked down to your backside, giving your ass a quick squeeze before he set you down, his lips never leaving yours.

He made quick work of his belt, tossing it to the floor as he finished shrugging off his shirt. As soon as you heard the cloth hit the floor, his hands were on you again, discarding your pants into the growing pile of garments to the side of you. In a moment, he had you up again, straddling his waist. His mouth quickly found its way to your neck, nipping and sucking dark spots into your flesh. You sighed and lolled your head to the side, allowing him further access.

“Baby…” He whispered, his hot breath centimeters away from your ear. “Can you grab my wallet, hm?”

You giggled at the request and rolled your eyes. Understanding the request your arm snaked around to his back, snatching the wallet from his back pocket.

“Well forgive me for bothering princess,” he teased. “My hands are otherwise occupied”

“Hand” you corrected with a playful grin. In response, you felt his metal appendage pinch your ass. You gasped and slapped his arm as his mouth went back to your neck.

“That hurt, jackass!” You scolded as you felt his mouth curl into a smile against your skin.

“Well,” He raised his face back up to yours. He quickly closed the distance between you and brought your lips together. You felt his left hand sneak under the hem of your panties, slowly sneaking up to your core. “If that’s such a problem…”

You sighed as his fingers ghosted over your entrance, picking up your slick on his fingertips, at the same time, his thumb pressed against your swollen clit.

“…I’m more than okay to stop.” He pushed his index finger into your cunt as he repeated your earlier threat. You let out a breathy moan as he pushed his finger in to the knuckle.

“But I’m pretty sure you don’t want that” His voice was low in your ear. Your eyes shut as his middle finger joined the other.

“Fuck…” You murmured as his fingers worked to stretch you out.

“Shit, baby…” He breathed out as he began to curl his fingers against your walls, his thumb beginning to work small circles on your clit. “You’re so fucking wet for me, aren’t ya”

You bit your lip and nodded, your breath getting caught in your throat. Ash chuckled and shook his head.

“I think I want you to say it, baby” His mouth returned to your neck as the pace of his fingers became rougher. You didn’t speak, groaning in response instead, partially annoyed but mostly too lost in the feeling of his fingers inside you to care. You felt him like up a third finger outside your entrance and you arched your back towards him out of instinct.

“You gotta say it first, sugar, gotta tell me whose got you all hot and bothered”

You whined and opened your eyes, pleading up at him. “You, Ash. You….please” you rutted yourself against his hand as you spoke. He looked down at you with lust blown eyes.

“Good girl,” He whispered into your ear as his pushed in a third digit. You moaned at the feeling, his fingers immediately working on curling against that one, perfect spot and working with the pressured movements of his thumb against your clit. You felt the familiar building pressure in your belly as his hand worked to bring you to your climax.

“Now, how about you finish fetching that love glove out, hm?” You sighed. Your shaky hand meeting your other that held his wallet. You looked down, fingering through cards and cash until you pulled out the golden foil. You quickly dropped the leather wallet to the ground to join the other discarded garments.

“Ash…” You let out a whine as he withdrew his fingers to grab the condom. You looked up at him and pouted. He chuckled, glowing in the fact he’s taken your bratty demeanor away and replaced it with desperate begging.

“Oh, just give me a minute, doll face.” He winked as he undid his fly, pulling his pants down enough to allow his hardened dick out of its confines. You were, well you didn’t want to say impressed, but surprised he had the anatomy to match his attitude. You must have been taking a moment too long to look as Ash whistled to get you attention.

“My eyes are up here, sugar pot.” You rolled your own as he went to get the condom out of its wrapper. Before he would tear the foil, you snatched it out of his hand. Deciding to make a show of it, you tore the gold wrapper with you teeth while another hand began to stroke his member. Rolling the leaking beads of precum down his shaft with feathered strokes. You pulled the condom from the wrapper entirely and slowly rolled it down his cock.

“Atta girl,” Ash’s head tilted back with a sigh, he once again brought your lips down to his for a sloppy kiss. You gave him a few more lazy strokes before he adjusted how he held you against the wall in order to line himself up with your entrance. You breathe out a sigh l as the fat bulge of his head finds your swollen, wet hole. Out of instinct, arch into him, desperate him to satisfy your clenching body.

His lips reunite with the side of neck with an amused chuckle. “You’re so needy, hm?” He teased between peppered kissed towards the crook of your neck, teasingly pushing himself against your entrance.

His metal hand gripped your hips firmly as he pushed you down onto his achingly hard cock. Your eyes slammed shut with a carnal moan as he fully sheathed himself inside of you.

“You stretch so good for me, baby” He groans as he revels in the feeling of your sex enveloping his, your soft walls like a perfect fitting glove. You roll your hips against his, drunk on the euphoria of him buried inside to the hilt.

“Fuck, Ash-“ Your head falls back, hitting the wall behind you with a thud. He drags his cock from inside you before coaxing himself back in. You whine, working your best to sink as far down as possible in tandem with his movements.

His pace starts sultry; fucking you deeply and purposefully, his thumb resting on top of your thigh as he brought you down on him until you could feel his pubes tickle against your lower belly.

Your hands found their place, one flush against his chest and the other grabbing into his shoulder; promising crescent shaped bruises to form in the following hours from where your nails dug into his flesh.

He adjusts his hold on your hips as he picks up his pace, bouncing you on his cock. “Can’t believe I can finally fuck you.” He purred in your ear, his breath hot against the shell of your ear. His left hand moves between you, his thumb dancing over your clit andhis fingers circling where he pushed into you, getting it coated with the cocktail of your wetness and his precum that dripped out of you.

His hand then raised to the underside of your chin; his thumb lifting your head as his fingers prodded against your languidly parted lips. You further opened your mouth, allowing for the gentle intrusion. Your tongue swirled around the digits as you looked up through hooded lashes into his eyes. Making a show of cleaning off his calloused fingers. If Ash had an ounce less of self control he could have finished then and there.

He instead chuckled, his stare fixated on your mouth as you sucked his fingers. “Look at you, getting all filthy for me , hm?” His pace transformed into rough and desperate thrusts, his swollen head kissing your cervix. He withdrew his fingers from your mouth, his hand meeting his other at your hips, changing the angle he pounded into you just enough for him to be fucking directly into your sweet spot. An aching moan escaped your mouth at the change; allowing anyone who was close enough an exact idea of the wanton situation you were in.

“You sound so fucking hot for me baby, but the last thing I want right now is for someone to take this pussy away from me.” Normally, your response would be to chide him for pointing out the obvious accompanied by an eye roll. However, you just bit down on your reddened bottom lip and nodded, arching down on him further, desperate for him to fuck an orgasm out of you.

Ash's thrusts became rough and desperate, his length hitting your cervix with each powerful stroke. The change in angle caused an electric surge of pleasure to shoot through your body, your stifled moans threatening an exposing volume.

His rough and quickened pace only added fuel to the fire, you could feel the intensity building, your body desperately responding to his every movement in an attempt to bring your orgasm on quicker.

You clenched around him, your walls pulsating with need as you arched your back, meeting his thrusts with fervor. The overwhelming sensations coursing through you pushed you closer to the edge.

With each unrestrained thrust, you felt the pleasure intensify, the tension coiling within you like a tightly wound spring. Your moans threatened to grow louder as you did your best to stay quiet-biting down on your lower lip hard enough to draw blood as your head lolled aside, allowing him access to return his mouth to your neck. He callously nipped and sucked at the reddened skin as your nails dug into his skin as you desperately sought release.

As the pleasure reached its peak, you let out a guttural cry, your body convulsing in the throes of your orgasm. Waves of ecstasy washed crassly over you, leaving you breathless and completely consumed by the sensation.

Ash continued to pound into you, fucking you through as you were thrown into rapture. He felt the familiar burning of his own orgasm approaching. His final thrusts were rough and desperate as he finally came, burying himself deep inside you.

As the waves of pleasure subsided, his lips trailed back to yours, taking one last opportunity to taste you.

“You think you’re okay to stand, sweet cheeks?” He asked, his voice soft as his hand trailed down to your ass, gently kneading the soft flesh as he spoke. With a nodded response from you, he slowly pulled out from you. Out of instinct, you whined at the sudden empty feeling, still drunk on the sensation of his cock stuffed into you. He chuckled at your mewl.

“Don’t worry sugar, as soon as I can fuck that tight pretty pussy of yours again, I will. That’s an Ash Williams guarantee. ” He patted your ass and you unwrapped your legs from his waist, placing a foot on the cool ground. You almost fell to the floor as you attempted to put your weight on it. Ash’s metal hand still on your waist, he was able to keep you from falling completely. He smiled, relishing the fact he had fucked you good enough you couldn’t walk.

Knowing exactly what had made his lips curl into such a shit-eating grin, you flicked your eyes up.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” You bent down to pick up your long discarded clothes, the cool metal of his hand still on your waist. “They just fell asleep is all.”

“Whatever you say, baby” He winked, turning his attention to disposing of the used rubber, rolling it off his softened cock; careful not to make a mess. He found some garbage to toss it in and pulled his pants back up over his crotch. You cringed at the thought of whoever had to take out that trash later tonight.

“What time are you out tonight?”

The question came as a surprise to you. You raised a brow as you worked to put your pants back on.

“Six…” You responded, unsure of the intent of his question. He wasn’t gonna wine and dine you - or whatever the Ash equivalent is that was - certainly. You had never heard any report of him attempting anything along the lines of that with anyone before. “What time is it anyway?”

He turned his wrist over, looking at the watch face. “Ten after.”

“Oh,” You raised your brows, surprised you had been…occupied, long enough to round out your shift.

“You?”

“I’m out at eight.”

“Oh, well okay”

The dialogue was shallow as you finished reassembling your work clothes.

You turned to him; “Why..?”

Ash looked at you with a cheeky grin, raising his eyes from his watch just enough to look up and meet your eyes.

"We should grab some drinks after work, have a bit of fun. I'll buy, I'm feeling generous tonight."

“And here I’ve been told chivalry is dead” Your put your shirt back over your head in time with the sarcastic response.

"I promise you, my intentions are anything but chivalrous when I tell you I'll be paying." He said with a grin and tacky wink. You decided to roll your eyes playfully opposed to wasting your words.

"I can take that as a maybe?" Ash asked. "Don't disappoint me, darlin'."

“Yeah yeah fine, whatever. Where?” You folded your arms across your chest, waiting for his reply.

"The Elk, we can sit at the bar, talk all flirty like." Ash said suggestively. "Nothing better than a bottle of whiskey on the table and a pretty lady beside it."

“Just pick me up after your shift, yeah?”

"After my shift," He confirmed with a smirk. "But just so I know, that's a yes then?"

“Deduce that one yourself, jackass.” You walked away with a smirk, not sure if volunteering more of your time with Ash would pan out in your favor.