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jar0fhoney · 9 months ago

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PART 1 - PART 2 - PART 3 (NSFW) - PART 4 - PART 5 (NSFW) - PART 6 - PART 7 (NSFW) - PART 8 (NSFW)

You started having the dream again. The disembodied eyes of your father floating in a black void. Just the eyes. Nothing else.

And for hours- and it really felt like hours- they would just stare at you. The eyes never moved, or blinked, or did anything other than hang in the air. But there was a terrible sense of dread when you looked into them. You couldn’t force yourself to look away.

And so that was why you had been losing sleep. You didn’t tell your mother that though. When she asked what troubled you, you made up some excuse to quell her worry. You could never tell her the truth; the truth that there was some piece of you left which never recovered. But guilt nearly destroyed your mother, and you couldn’t bear to let it fester in her any longer.

On Sunday you spread all of the ingredients the orc man gave you across your table. He didn’t even tell you the measurements. Your mother glanced down at you as she made her way to the root cellar. She stopped in her tracks, “By the Gods, are you making golden eggs?” You cocked your head at her questioningly. “Where did you find turmeric all the way out here?” She grabbed a pinch of it, “And so much of it too!”

“Uh-“ Your mother had a sparkle in her eyes that you hadn’t seen for a few years. She chuckled to herself, “Years ago. Many many years ago. There was a very nice orc family who lived just down the path. The wife taught me this recipe.”

Orc family? This was the first you have heard of an orc family. “You never told me you had orc friends Ma!” You jeered at her. She smiled warmly. “You hadn’t been born yet, of course you wouldn’t have remembered. Your elder sister loved playing with the little orc girl.” She reached for a jar from the cupboard and began concocting the mixture. When she was done the eggs swirled around in the vibrant yellow brine.

There was still turmeric left over, and your mother was so excited to show you how it could even be an excellent clothing dye. She took one of your more drab frocks got to work.

You weren’t used to feeling pretty. Sure, you knew you weren’t ugly by any stretch of the imagination. But to feel pretty? Beautiful even? It had been years.

But today, on regular Monday, you felt radiant. Your mother actually gasped when you stepped out of your room. You looked like a dream in the yellow shade your mother had dyed the fabric. She insisted on arranging your hair specially to go with the dress. “It’s just another Monday, Ma. Any more primping and I’ll be over-dressed.” The older woman sighed, kissing you on the forehead, “Fine go along now… before I start braiding daisies in your hair.” You giggled and practically skipped out the front door. Tucked in your basket was the jar of golden eggs.

The town square was nearly vacant, save for a few other shopkeepers opening up for the day. And then you saw the trio of orc men sharpening their arrows and adjusting the tension of their great longbows. You reckoned they were just about to leave for a hunt. Curse the Gods for your lingering gaze, but you made direct eye contact with one of them. You made direct eye contact with him. The orc you had bloodied and bruised the previous week.

Something (probably a lack of self-preservation) compelled you to start walking towards the bunch. If your mother could make peace with orcs, why couldn’t you? “But this isn’t a peaceful family with children, they’re trained killers, y/n…” You thought to yourself. The little muscle inside your chest was puttering away as you got closer. The two other hunting mates had started to notice your approach now. Your orc acquaintance had sort of a surprised yet dumb look on his face as you stopped before him.

”You didn’t write me a recipe, but you can thank my mother for knowing how to prepare these.” You extended the jar to him. His friends were snickering to themselves, and the orc just sat there staring at the contents of the jar. One of his buddies guffawed and whacked a big hand onto his back, “This simpleton can’t read to save his life… won’t be getting any recipes from him!”

You also held out the two silver pieces he had given you, and dropped them into his open palm. “And I can’t take these. Not after I injured you. Can we consider ourselves even now?”

“Khargaad, you didn’t tell us this was who the scuffle was with.” The other orc friend chuckled, “And look at that, not a scratch on her. Guess she won.”

Khargaad. Was that his name? Or was it a word in their mother tongue? He shot a venomous look to his friends, and with that they backed away leaving the two of you alone. “These look… like they’re supposed to,” He said in a tone of mild surprise. “Your mother… She knows other orcs?”

Was he trying to make conversation with you? “Um- Yes! Yes, it was a long while ago. They lived down the road from my family. It was before I was born, but they got along well from what I hear,” you replied. There was a deeply awkward pause before he glanced quickly at your dress. “Oh!” You gasped, “my mother taught me about this as well. The yellow stuff you gave me is an excellent clothing dye.”

“Yes, I know.” His tone was a little gruff. You felt foolish for telling him what he probably already knew. “Your name is Khargaad?” You blurted out. A hint of color rose to his cheeks, “Yup. Khargaad. And- um- what may I call you?”

”y/n,” you replied with a nervous smile. Silence hung over the both of you for a second. “Well, I’ll be on my way.” He said, turning on his heel to join his hunting mates. “Stay safe out there!” You responded. Your inner-self cringed, that reply was probably too familiar. He glanced back at you one more time before jogging to catch his friends.

The next day Milo found you sweeping outside the shop. “Why were you talking to those orcs?” He spat at you. You didn’t look up at him, “Just customers.” This technically wasn’t untrue.

”You don’t have orc customers”

”Says who. You?” You snorted at him, pushing the dust from the cobblestones onto his shiny leather boots. He yanked the broom from your grasp, “Why are you wearing that?” He hissed. You glared at him, wrenching the broom back from his grasp. “It’s none of your fucking business-“

“Let me buy you new dresses, y/n. You look like an orc.” You straightened a bit. “What do you mean?” Milo rolled his eyes. “It’s turmeric. They often dye their clothes with turmeric. It looks ridiculous if you ask me…” He trailed off. You were tired of this conversation, leaving him standing in the street. He didn’t bother to follow you inside.

The rest of the day was uneventful. You spent the last hour hammering some boards over the window still shattered from your target practice.

You didn’t notice Karghaad watching you across the square.

Thank you to everyone’s sweet comments, and to those who wanted a part 2 😘

@kennedyabraxas123 @allthecraftandthings @sunndust @blushycadaver @whyiamadegenerate @beaniebaneenie @reads-stuff-quietly

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r-memberme · 2 months ago

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double it | k.m

⎯⎯Then, in the most insufferably smug voice imaginable, Klaus drawls, “Careful, sweetheart. You’re starting to look like you actually know what you’re doing.”

warnings: non I think

part I part II

She sizes up the hole before her, eyes flicking over the curve of the ramp, the steep drop, the maddening little loop-de-loop that stands between her and victory. A clean shot, just the right angle, the perfect amount of force—if she lands it, she might just stand a chance.

The problem? Klaus is watching her like a predator tracking its prey, arms folded, head tilted, amusement curling at the corner of his lips.

No pressure.

She exhales slowly, steadies her grip—correctly, this time—and squares her stance. Focus. Precision. Patience.

Then, in the most insufferably smug voice imaginable, Klaus drawls, “Careful, sweetheart. You’re starting to look like you actually know what you’re doing.”

Her swing is immediate, driven more by sheer spite than skill.

The ball soars forward, catches the loop at the perfect angle, spirals through the air in a flawless arc, and—miraculously—plunks into the hole with a quiet finality.

Silence.

She blinks. Then gasps, triumphant, spinning toward Klaus with wide eyes. “Did you see that?”

His brows lift, and then, slowly, a grin spreads across his face. “Well, well, well.”

A laugh bursts from her lips, breathless and gleeful. She throws her arms up in victory. “Ha! Take that, Michelangelo!”

Klaus chuckles, rich and indulgent, the kind of sound that makes her feel like he’s letting her have this moment. “Indeed. It seems I’ve underestimated you.”

“Oh, you definitely did.” She plants her putter in the ground like a flag of conquest, still giddy. “And now, you owe me a favor.”

Klaus exhales a dramatic sigh, pressing a hand to his chest as though gravely wounded. “So it seems.”

She hums, considering. “What should I ask for?”

His gaze darkens, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. “Anything your heart desires, love.”

Something about the way he says it—soft, teasing, with a challenge laced beneath the words—makes warmth creep up her neck. But she refuses to let him see that. Instead, she tilts her head, smirking.

“I could make you carry my groceries for a week.”

Klaus scoffs. “Hardly a punishment.”

She taps a finger to her chin. “Or I could make you wear a ridiculous hat in public.”

Klaus levels her with an unimpressed look. “Choose wisely, love.”

She grins, savoring the rare upper hand. “Oh, don’t worry. I intend to.”

And just like that, Klaus smirks again—like he knows something she doesn’t. “In that case, allow me to raise the stakes.”

She narrows her eyes. “What do you mean?”

He steps closer—too close. Close enough that she has to tilt her chin to meet his gaze. Close enough that she can catch the hint of challenge in his voice before he even speaks.

“Double or nothing,” he murmurs. “One more shot. Win, and I’ll grant you two favors.”

She eyes him warily. “And if I lose?”

Klaus’ smirk turns downright wicked. “Then you owe me two.”

She hesitates. This is dangerous. She’s already won—walking away now would be the smart choice.

But Klaus is watching her like he already knows exactly how this will end.

And damn it, she wants to prove him wrong.

“…Fine,” she says, shaking his outstretched hand. “Let’s do this.”

Klaus chuckles, low and pleased. “Oh, I do love a good gamble.”

༊*·˚

She exhales, steadying herself as she steps up to take her shot. Klaus leans on his putter nearby, watching her like he already knows how this will end. Infuriating.

She ignores him, focuses on the course. This hole is trickier—an awkward incline leading to a narrow bridge. If she gets the angle wrong, the ball will veer off into one of the many obnoxiously placed sand traps. But if she gets it right—

She lines up the shot, pulls the club back—

Klaus hums. “Would you like a bit of guidance, love? Perhaps a refresher on technique?”

She grits her teeth. “No.”

His grin is audible. “Suit yourself.”

She swings. The ball rolls smoothly up the incline—

She stares at the ball, sitting smugly at the edge of the hole, taunting her.

One inch. That’s all it needed. One inch, and she would’ve won. Instead, it wobbled at the rim and rolled just short of victory.

Silence lingers between them. Then Klaus exhales a long-suffering sigh, shaking his head like a man forced to deliver devastating news.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs, faux sympathy dripping from every word. “So close, and yet…”

She scowls. “Don’t.”

“But I must.” He steps closer, slow and deliberate, a smirk curling his lips. “You owe me two favors now.”

She groans, dragging a hand down her face. “I don’t suppose you’ll show mercy?”

Klaus feigns consideration. “Tempting. But no.”

She huffs. “Fine. What’s the damage?”

He watches her, something unreadable flickering in his gaze. Then, with far too much amusement, he declares, “You’ll have to accompany me to dinner.”

She narrows her eyes. “That’s not fair.”

Klaus arches a brow, all innocence. “On the contrary, love. It’s entirely fair. You agreed to the terms.”

She can’t argue with that—not when she shook his hand, not when she walked right into his trap. But something about the way he’s looking at her, like he’s already won more than just the game, sets her on edge.

Still, she straightens, determined not to give him the satisfaction. “Fine. Dinner.” She tilts her chin. “But if you think I’m letting you pick some candlelit, over-the-top—”

“Oh, I will be choosing,” he cuts in smoothly, far too pleased with himself. “And I’m afraid you’ll have to trust my taste.”

That is, undeniably, a threat.

She groans, rubbing her temples. “This is why I should’ve walked away.”

Klaus chuckles, and then, as if to drive his victory home, he reaches out—fingertips barely grazing her wrist, just enough to steal her attention. “And yet, you didn’t.”

The warmth of his touch lingers even after he steps back, shouldering his putter like a knight with his sword, smug and insufferable.

“Seven o’clock,” he announces, already turning toward the next hole. “I’ll pick you up.”

She frowns. “I haven’t even agreed on a time.”

He glances over his shoulder, lips curving. “And yet, you will.”

Infuriating.

But even as she glares at him, even as she vows to make him regret his smug little stunt, she can’t ignore the way her pulse jumps at the thought—at the certainty in his voice, like he already knows how this will end.

Damn it.

part 3 is on its way don't you worry 😜

this is part 2 of technique <3

taglist: @ohapple @myworldrightnow@deactiveblogx@witch-of-letters@xtwistedchaosx@liataylorsversion@pardonmydelayyy

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soullessdianthus · 2 years ago

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𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐦 𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐩𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐚𝐜 | 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞!𝐌𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐎'𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐚

THIS IS RE-POSTED

Author's note: Can be read as a continuation to this, but can be a stand alone. Enjoy. <3

Warnings: biting, smut (aphordisiac, arousal eating?, riding Miguel yeehaw, dubcon)

Word count: 1.6k

━ No? ━ He repeatedly said into the nape of your neck. His lips still nibbling the skin, placing a gentle kiss. One of Miguel’s hands was squeezing your hip, holding you tight against his front, while the other freezed beneath your short’s waistband.

━ Not now. I have to finish cooking dinner. ━ You firmly stated, wanting to regain some autonomy back.

━ Dinner can wait, querida.

━ No. ━ You repeated and for a second it seemed you won that argument. With slightly narrowed brows you kept stirring in the pot, waiting for Miguel to back off.

After his hand retraced from the biker shorts you were wearing, he moved higher along your sternum and let out a hum. His murmur vibrated closely to your neck, making it tingle.

And then, unexpectedly, Miguel squeezed your frame even harder in his grasp, pulling you closer, before he sank his fangs into your neck. The sharp and sudden feeling of piercing through your thin skin made you gasp.

You dropped the wooden spoon on the counter as the warmth spreaded through your system really fast. What surprised you the most was that the scar he left, didn’t even hurt. At all.

━ Whatthe- Did you just bite me? ━ Miguel instantly took a step back, his hands returning to stick to his sides. Rapidly you touched the bitten skin, checking if there was some blood. You were surprised when there was no red gore over your fingertips.

He watched your confusion with a wide grin painted over his square face for a moment. Both of you were quick to return to your previous activities as nothing more seemed to happen (for now) - Miguel sat back at the sofa, while you continued cooking.

A few minutes passed and there was some funny sensation, slowly building up inside of you. You couldn’t define it yet, but you could tell something was wrong.

It didn’t click with you when you sat across Miguel at the dining table and you rubbed your thighs together constantly. Neither when he held you by your arms to press a tender kiss over your forehead and your chest began to hurt each time he brushed over you.

He hadn’t brought up the topic of your make out session again, after you scolded him off in the kitchen. O’Hara seemed to act too calm in your opinion, minding his own business. You could tell he tried to be sneaky by peeking at you from time to time, when you puttered around the “house”. You worked hard that evening trying to ignore the funny feeling between your legs.

And as the hours passed it got only worse. You could feel the enhanced beating of your heart, pumping loudly and fast and the agitated work of the salivary glands.

By the time you were going to bed that night, your panties were soaked. But before you got time to change them to clean ones, Miguel pulled you into the bedroom you shared, telling it’s past the bedtime.

He helped you get beneath the bedding, before resting comfortably beside you. His every touch, every nudge over your flesh was a torture - a inflaming, burning sensation spreaded through your body. You almost whined once, but gladly managed to suppress that humiliating sound.

But when all the lights were turned off and there was nothing but the sound of a peaceful night, the pain your body experienced became unbearable.

The soaked panties clung tight against your inflamed skin, wetness becoming cold and irritating your pussy even more.

Every, even the slightest shift of your body enhanced the very primitive need to grind over something, to ease the need between your thighs. For the last time that night you tried to steady yourself, to slow down the breathing and the beating of your heart. Incompetently.

━ Miguel? ━ You asked with a broken voice, almost whining. But the man slept peacefully, at least it seemed like that. Miguel had enhanced senses, you could swear to God, he heard you clearly. And if not, then he surely could smell you.

It was all because of him. By that time, you were more than positive that your unbearable arousal was his doing, that he had done something vile to you.

You threw away the sheet covering you and the brunette, before climbing over his lap.

━ Miguel, please. ━ You sobbed pathetically, your hips grinding gently against his gray sweatpants just to make the pulsating pain in your crotch go away. The man finally let out a loud groan.

━ Mierda~ ━ he finally said as you teased him so delightfully. Both of his hands rubbed the exposed skin of your thighs, up and down. Slowly. ━ What are you doing?

━ Please, it just ━ you inhaled sharply, when he started to shift beneath you, bumping into your needy cunt ━ it hurts so much, Miguel.

━ See, how it ache, when you make me wait? Hm? ━ He said visibly satisfied with your discomfort, his brown eyes glued to your whimpering form straddling him. Miguel smirked, exposing his fangs as he dipped one of his hands between your folds. ━ Fuck, you’re soaked.

He retracted his palm to his mouth and licked off your juices just to have a taste.

━ Sweet, cariño. Your blood does not taste as good as this. Does it hurt? ━ Miguel sounded almost like he felt bad for making you like this. But in reality he didn’t, you knew that perfectly well.

You nodded quickly to his question, trying to show him how much you wanted the torture to go away. He smirked again and a sharp talon appeared on his pointing finger. He quickly cut your underwear off with the help of it.

━ Then go on, suit yourself. ━ Miguel could feel your pulsating cunt dripping over his sweats, before you managed to slid them down his toned thighs. Then, he helped you to remove the nightgown you slept in and finally placed his big hands over your hips, guiding you to start.

He had you exactly where he wanted to - on top of him, naked and needy. Fucking hell, you were desperate by now.

You stroked his length a few times just to make sure, he’s entirely ready. But to be honest, you didn’t have to do much - he was thinking about it since dinner. Miguel was waiting patiently as he always does. Usually.

You leaned slightly over his broad torso and positioned his cock at your entrance. You bit down on your lower lip, when you slowly sank down. No matter how horny or prepared you were, the stretch was always a bit painful. So you took a minute to relax with him already buried inside of you.

━ Look at you ━ his fingertips caressed the curves of your hips as you breathed heavily on top of him, your shoulders shaking. ━ So eager.

The thought of that tickling discomfort going away made you more optimistic and you started to sway your hips. Just the feeling of the fullness inside of you, made your mouth water.

Miguel squeezed your hips and guided you into the right way to ride him. You slowly began whimpering, when his cock rubbed something inside of your fluttering walls.

Slowly you became a whining mess, chasing after the sweet release. Your pubic mound and his crotch was covered in your sticky, cold arousal, making a mess.

There was a feeling of disgust within you. A feeling of repulsion towards yourself, because you enjoyed riding him so much. Whatever was in his venom, made you focus on the glorious feeling of him stuffing your cunt and reaching your orgasm. There was no other thought on your mind.

Miguel kept staring at you, savoring the sight in front of him. Your pretty eyes half-closed, lips plump and mouth slightly opened. You rested your hand over his strong arms as you bounced on his swollen shaft. Your perky breasts moving vividly along within the rhythm.

It wasn’t long enough before he started groaning too. Miguel O’Hara was fucking delighted with his girl.

━ Yeah, that’s it, good girl ━ O’Hara praised you, licking his own lips, when you clenched around him few times. He could tell you were close. ━ Dios mío~.

By that time you were a moaning mess, only his arms keeping you still in vertical position. Your legs began to feel wobbly, but the divine feeling rutting in your lower abdomen was just too good to abandon.

Soon after, you shortened your breaths and something inside of your belly bursted - warmth spreading up along the spine, blinding you with pleasure, your pussy squeezing Miguel’s shaft mercilessly.

Brunette digged his fingers into your hips so hard, that it certainly would leave bruises. He tried keeping his cool, resisting the urge to fill you to the brim right then. Miguel watched as the pleasure twisted your face, making your brows bent downwards and a few shameful moans escaped your lips.

Your spine arched and for a moment you saw stars, but when you began steading after your sweet high, Miguel smoothly and quickly tossed you beneath him on the bed.

He was already pressing his body on top of yours - legs wide open, resting on both sides of his hips, chest to chest.

You stared at him with glossy eyes wide open, waiting for an answer. When he noticed how clueless you were, Miguel laughed.

━ What? Didn’t think we would end now, didn’t you? I haven't finished yet.

Tag list: @kellhems @alicefallsintotherabbithole @bigmood-myman @freader (let me know if anyone wants to be added to the list for Miguel)

#yandere miguel o’hara x reader #yandere miguel o'hara #yandere #miguel o'hara #miguel ohara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel ohara x reader #spider man 2099 #spider man: across the spider verse #across the spiderverse #reader insert #smut #reposted

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shepherds-of-haven · 28 days ago

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hello! i apologize in advance of this sounds rude but is a demo version going to be made public anytime soon? i ask this because i only found your game after dashingdon went down, and the demo version is unavailable, so i’ve never played it. i’m interested in it, but am hesitant to pay for a patreon for a game ive never played. i truly do apologize if this comes off as disrespectful, as i understand wanting to be paid for your effort—if i had played the demo before i definitely would subscribe to play again, but the link is down so it feels like going in blind, so to speak. all that said, i’m intrigued by the premise and hope you have a good day

Hi anon, thanks for your polite question, it wasn't rude at all! I did try to note this in the debut post announcing the Twine release, but yes, the free public demo is going to be made available to the public as soon as I can make that happen! However, with the release of the Twine alpha build (which in itself was rushed and truncated because of Dashingdon's sudden closure), I'm getting a few reports of performance issues that I need to address before releasing the public demo out into the world, as that would just increase the chaos tenfold. I've called in some expert help to take a look at things and see how to streamline and improve any technical issues I can before posting the public demo, so the timeline really depends on how quickly that can be done (which is also dependent on both my outside help's schedule and what we end up unearthing through the initial audits). He hasn't been able to start yet, so unfortunately we're in a holding pattern until then.

So for now, I don't know yet when I can make the demo public, but rest assured that I'm not deliberately holding it back because of payment concerns or anything like that: if I'd had my way, everything would have been released in a more orderly fashion, and the Twine public demo would have been released right on the heels of the alpha build (aka, as soon as possible. I don't like having the public demo be unavailable with a dead link either!). Unfortunately Dashingdon going down so suddenly threw a wrench in those original plans, so I'm just trying to putter along as I can until I can get everything squared away! It shouldn't be a crazy amount of time: I am going out of the country at the end of May, though, so I wouldn't expect it to happen before then.

Thank you for your patience and understanding in the meantime!

#Shepherds of Haven #public demo #Twine #FAQ

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hotluncheddie · 7 months ago

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For @steddie-spooktober day 1 prompt : rain

rating: G | cw: none | tags: autistic eddie munson, sensory seeking

🌧️🌧️🌧️🌧️

Eddie once told steve that he loved to wait for the first big rain of the fall.

Not just the first rainy day. But the first Big Rain. Where it rained for a couple of days, really soaked in deep, made everything muddy and sodden and damp to its core. If there was a flash of lightning and thunder that was even better.

Steve didn’t get it. He hated being wet and knew how much Eddie hated being cold. But he liked to hear about it just the same.

And liked it even more, the first time he got to see it.

Steve was on the sofa of the new Munson trailer, relaxing away the tension headache that had started building over his shift. Happy listening to Eddie pluck away at his acoustic. He’s been blinking sleepily and watching where Eddie sits cross legged on the floor, rocking gently side to side as he plays, his hair swinging and brushing his cheeks to the melody.

The sound of the rain was a steady beat for Eddie to play too, the beating of it on the roof reminded Steve of camping as a kid, before his dad moved up the company and didn’t have time for weekend trips or watching his son grow up.

And then the rain slows, putters out into a barely there thing, pulling Steve from him memory.

And it’s then, that Eddie comes alive.

He gasps softly, standing and leaning his guitar against the recliner, peaking behind the curtains.

And then he’s heading for the front door, leaving it open so Steve can just see him through the mesh of the screen, the chilly autumn air making his toes curl up in his socks.

Steve stands from the sofa slowly, watching as Eddie takes his socks off one by one, balling them up and dropping them on the dry of the little wooden porch.

Steve makes it through to the other side of the screen just as Eddie reaches the bottom most step, toes pale and feet bony in the misty bluish light of the grey clouded sky.

Steve had almost mustered the courage to say something, maybe reach out and brush his fingers against Eddie’s shoulder to break the moment, when Eddie jumps.

Jumps and lands square in the middle of a patch of mud, thick and brown and gooey with clogged up rainwater.

Steve freezes.

Eddie lifts his shoulders up to his ears, fists clenched and back ridged.

He squeals.

Steve’s never heard him make that noise before.

Eddie’s toes are wriggling in the mud, squishing and squelching it under his feet. He turns around slowly, arms swaying up and down, shoulders still clamped up by his ears.

His smile is blinding.

‘Good?’ Steve asks.

Eddie nods, eyes twinkling. ‘Big rain.’ He supplies.

Steve smiles back.

🌧️🌧️🌧️🌧️

I’m treating this very low stakes and want to keep everything short. Idk if I’ll do every day but I might try - so sorry if it gets annoying lmk if u don’t want to be tagged :)

Tag list: @scoops-aboy86 @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @pearynice @marvel-ous-m

@thecatkingsthrone @chickensinrainboots @cheesedoctor

#is it Octobers second?#yes but I wrote this yesterday and fell asleep #but shhhh shhhhhhhhhhhh #hotlunch #steddie #steve x eddie #autistic eddie munson #steddie spooktober #<3 #drabbles #steddiespooktober

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lushrue · 9 months ago

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frozen hearts pt. 7

it's johnny's turn for a date! i'm genuinely kinda proud of this chapter, i really love it and i hope y'all do too! comment to be added to the taglist!

cw: smut, lil bit of anal, john price is a dom

when john woke up, the first thing he noticed was how sore he was.

he knew he wasn’t a spring chicken anymore, but christ almighty, this made him feel at least 10 years older than he was. he groaned, arms tightening around the man he held as daylight pricked at his eyelids. kyle. lovely, beautiful, energetic kyle. john had known how hard this one-person-at-a-time approach would be for his boys, but he hadn’t anticipated just how much of an effect you would have on them. when kyle had gotten home after your date, he was practically vibrating with energy. he babbled on and on about how kind you were, how attentive, how nice your lips had felt against his. the only thing that shut him up were john’s lips replacing the ghost of yours that still lingered.

john hadn’t expected how pent up kyle would be, either. a night spent ogling you without touching you, holding himself back from crossing that line until given the green light, had really taken a toll on the younger man. the moment john touched him, he was painfully hard, begging for a chance to let the fire in his belly burn freely. he’d never begrudge his pretty kyle anything, but he was starting to regret giving in. his hips and back regretted it, at least. they creaked as he turned over in bed, pressing a kiss to kyle’s temple before swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.

ever the light sleeper, garrick stirred, reaching out and grabbing john’s wrist. he groaned, fighting the sleepy haze to crack his eyes open and sit up. “gonna just leave me like that?” he muttered, feigning offense. john chuckled and turned to face kyle more squarely. he loved how he looked fresh from sleep. a bit of dried drool on the corner of his mouth, eyes all heavy and droopy. “never, sweet boy. jus’ wanna get my day started, tha’s all.” kyle groaned, tugging at john’s arm and resting his head heavily against his shoulder. “‘s too early,” he said, voice raspy and deep as his vocal cords kicked back into gear. “come back to bed for a bit.”

john looked towards the door, mulling it over in his mind. his morning workout was calling him, a chance to stretch out his sore muscles and build them up stronger. simon and him always went together. it was their chance to bond, their own little ritual that they’d developed. he could already hear simon puttering around in the kitchen, likely putting together his protein shake. but the warmth of his lover and his bed was calling him. kyle’s hand snaked up his arm and over his chest, and that was when he knew he was done for. he grabbed his phone and sent a text to simon, apologizing for missing their workout and promising to make up for it later, then crawled back into bed.

“alright, you win,” he grumbled, settling back into the john price-shaped indent in his mattress. kyle grinned, wrapping himself around john and pressing his body impossibly close. “knew you’d see sense,” kyle whispered, his lips close to john’s ear. he kissed the place where his jaw and ear met, then started working his way down. over the neck, across the collarbones, down the sternum. john groaned, his body melting under kyle’s gentle kisses. his lips were soft and warm, stoking the desire that john thought had been tapped dry the night before. “c’mon, sweets,” he said gruffly, folding his hands behind his head. “give an old man a break, yeah? thought you got your fill last night.” kyle hummed, the sound vibrating against price’s chest. the feeling went straight between his legs, blood rushing south as his lover pressed his lips against his pec. “can never get enough of you,” he said in response, his hand tracing over john’s stomach to his steadily hardening cock.

“is tha’ right?” john asked, grabbing ahold of kyle’s chin and tilting his head up. his blues caught kyle’s browns, captivated by the lust in them. pupils like saucers, pools of brown alight with the bright spark of desire. “your little date last night still on your mind?” kyle nodded obediently, lips parted and still slightly swollen from the abuse they’d endured last night. john chuckled, reaching down to run his hand through kyle’s short curls. “yeah, princess, i can tell. you’re pawin’ at me like a puppy.” kyle looked away, flustered, but john clicked his tongue and pulled his chin back to face him. “uh-uh. none of that, now. you started this,” he said, a growl in the undertone of his words.

kyle let out a whimper and john’s cock twitched in response. in an instant, john had them flipped, hovering over kyle and grinding his length down against him. kyle’s head fell back and he moaned, letting the sound fly unbidden. he couldn’t bring himself to care if the others heard. they’d gotten the worst of it last night anyway. john hummed, pulling down his boxers and letting his erection spring free. his knees screamed at him to take it easy, but he ignored them. he could worry about that later.

never before had he been so grateful that kyle slept in the nude. he reached a hand down and thumbed at his lover’s tip, chuckling at the bead of precum that smeared on the pad of his finger. “needy this mornin’, aren’t we?” he teased, lowering his body onto kyle’s and kissing him hard. teeth clicked together, tongues swirled around each other, and needy moans spilled into the air. his hand tightened around kyle’s cock, earning him a whine. john pulled away to catch his breath, grabbing kyle’s chin again and tilting his head forward. “open.”

kyle obeyed, jaw going slack. price’s fingers passed his lips, his middle and pointer finger pressing down on his tongue and making him gag. his eyes rolled back as he closed his lips around the digits, swirling his tongue across john’s skin. he could almost still taste the salt of himself leftover from last night. once his fingers were sufficiently slick, john pulled them away and shifted to sit between kyle’s legs. he grabbed one thigh with his dry hand, pushing it up and back as he probed at kyle’s asshole.

“this what you wan’?” he asked, pressing a finger in slowly to let kyle feel the stretch. a moan was his only response. john huffed out a laugh, nodding his head as he slid his finger in and out. “tha’s it, princess. relax for me, c’mon.” the resistance faded away, letting john slip another finger in. he crooked his fingers, brushing kyle’s prostate and making him shiver. “think about doin’ this with our sweet little skater?” he teased, smiling when kyle nodded. “yeah, bet they’d like tha’. bet they’d look so pretty with their eyes rolled back in their ‘ead, just like you do.” he continued that way, relishing in every moan and whimper he got for his efforts. horny as kyle was, it only took a few minutes of that for him to come all over his stomach.

john hummed with satisfaction at the sight, giving his aching knees a conciliatory rub. it was going to be a long morning for them.

your week had passed by agonizingly slow. work was monotonous, even training at the ice rink was just something you had to get through to get to friday. you’d taken the time to let kyle’s words sink in after he’d left. three more coming your way. a date with each of them, a chance to get to know them independent of each other before seeing them in their dynamic. it was such a thoughtful plan, it had to be john’s. the rest of them looked at him like he commanded them to breathe, hung on his every word like it was the difference between life and death. even dark, brooding simon seemed to yield to him.

you hopped out of the shower and picked up your phone, glancing at the digital clock. 6:30 PM, half an hour before johnny would pick you up. just like before, you weren’t sure where the two of you were going. he’d given you more than kyle had, though. he told you to wear something comfortable, something you could move around in. that detail had set your mind racing with ideas. maybe it was a workout class? johnny had struck you as the gym rat type when you’d first met him. or maybe you were going for a walk in the local park. a classic first date choice, maybe with some ice cream included.

you grabbed your nicest sweatpants and a graphic tee, determined to make your outfit look nicer than typical athleisure wear. you opted for a flannel tied around your waist and tennis shoes that pulled the whole outfit together. it was a different look than what you’d put on for kyle by leaps and bounds. still, it felt fitting. the nice restaurant and wine and flowers felt like kyle. it was genuinely his style. this felt like johnny. a bit rough around the edges, laid-back and carefree. you slipped your phone into your pocket, silently thanking whoever created sweatpants for the utility of them. you were debating jewelry when you heard the knock at your door.

smiling brightly, you opened the door to greet johnny, who looked just as excited as you. “good evenin’, hen,” he greeted, tipping a fake hat to you. you smile and feign a curtsy in response. “and to you, good sir,” you joke back in an exaggerated british accent, which sets both of you laughing. warmth bloomed in your chest. this was going to be a good night. “ready to go?” he asked after he’d caught his breath. you nod, grabbing your keys and wallet before following him out the door and down your front steps.

“so, where are we headed?” you ask, letting johnny open the passenger door for you. you’d certainly have to get used to that. he smiled, waving his arm to guide you into the car. “it’s a surprise,” he said mischeviously, a glint in his eye as you settled into your seat. you tried not to be nervous as he walked around to get in the driver’s seat. johnny wouldn’t take you anywhere you wouldn’t enjoy. even if you didn’t like the activity, he’d make sure you had a good time.

the car ride was filled with singing along loudly (and off-key) to the radio and games of i spy. any nerves you had were gone, assuaged by the casual and playful personality that was johnny. you found yourself getting more and more excited the longer he drove, anticipating whatever it was he had in store for you. when he pulled up outside the mall of all places, you couldn’t contain a look of confusion.

“the…mall?” you ask, turning to johnny. he just smiled and nodded his head, cutting the engine. “you’ll see.” he patted your thigh before getting out of the car and coming around to open your door. you stepped out, letting him wind his hand around yours as you walked towards the doors. you’d only taken a few steps when johnny looked down like he noticed something, then ushered you to the other side of him. it wasn’t until a car drove by that you realized he’d moved you to the inside, his body a barrier between you and potential danger. your heart beat just a little bit faster at that.

going to the mall was always a sensory experience for you. the moment you stepped in the doors, you were hit with the smell of soft pretzels and pizza from the food court. children rushed around their tired parents, pulling them towards this store or that one. whatever the latest pop sensation was, it was playing on the speakers, a quiet undertone to the buzz of conversations happening all around you. johnny watched you as you took in your surroundings, heart thundering in his chest. he couldn’t deny that he was nervous. you were special to him, to all of them. the last thing he wanted was to fuck this up.

in your efforts to orient yourself to your surroundings, you hadn’t noticed where johnny was taking you until the bright flashing lights hit your eyes. the arcade. your eyes lit up as you realized, looking around at all the games and machines. you hadn’t been since you were a kid, never had anyone to go with that would share in your excitement and joy. you looked up at johnny with a wide smile. “good choice,” you said, squeezing his hand. he squeezed back and smirked down at you. “just you wait, bonnie. haven’ even seen the best part yet.”

he went up to the counter with you in tow, but you didn’t really pay attention to the conversation. you were too busy basking in the childlike wonder that the arcade brought you. you recalled countless games of air hockey with your dad after a competition, birthday parties where everyone took turns at skeeball. so many good memories were made in arcades, and you were sure that this date would be no exception. it wasn’t until johnny squeezed your hand that you tuned back in to what was happening. the clerk stood there, two vests and toy guns held out to you.

“oh my god, laser tag?” you giggled happily and took them from the clerk, thanking him as you walked towards the back of the arcade. you’d wanted to come and play ever since they put in the arena. johnny chuckled, pride welling in his chest at having picked so well. he knew this would bring out the parts of you that he loved most: the competitive spirit, the carefree nature, the absolutely adorable way you looked when you were concentrated. “cannae take all the credit. google said it was a good first date idea.”

you laughed again as you fastened the vest around your torso, making sure it sat squarely on your chest. “you have no idea what you’re in for, mactavish. i dominate at laser tag.” he cocked an eyebrow, shifting the toy gun in his hands. he’d played enough first person shooters to know what he was doing. “is tha’ so? i won’ take it easy on ya,” he said, nudging your shoulder playfully. you smile, preparing yourself to run as soon as the buzzer rang. “bring it on.”

the game started and you dashed away, ducking behind obstacles and darting your gaze around to keep track of johnny’s movements. he was fast, but he was bigger than you. you had size to your advantage, able to squeeze around tight corners and hide behind things that he couldn’t. your heart thundered in your chest, both from exertion and the thrill of being chased. it felt like playing tag on the elementary school playground. you heard footsteps to your right and sprinted off to your left, catching johnny’s eyes as you did. you took a shot at the sensor on his chest, but missed. groaning in frustration, you stepped behind a wall, taking a moment to catch your breath.

his chuckle echoed over the music and sci-fi laser sounds, his steps slower and more methodical now. he was stalking, waiting for you to poke your head out with bated breath. the butt of the gun rested on his shoulder, anticipating a surprise attack from you. you were sneakier than he gave you credit for, though he supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised. all the ice skaters he’d ever known moved with a fluid grace he hadn’t been able to achieve. hockey players didn’t necessarily need grace, he thought. just speed, brute strength, and a good eye.

“cannae run forever, bonnie,” he called, listening for any sounds that might have been you moving. his ears pricked at the rustle of fabric coming from behind one of the foam boxes. he turned, half expecting you to jump out and ambush him, but no surprise attack came. “i’ll find ya eventually. migh’ as well give yerself up now.” footsteps rushed behind him and he spun on his heel, aiming his gun at where your chest would be, but you were nowhere to be seen. in a moment of surprise, he lowered his gun and his guard, straightening his posture. that was all the opening you needed. creeping up behind him, you smiled mischeivously, unable to hold back a laugh. you raised your gun, fired, and delighted in the 8-bit tune that played as his vest flashed red.

johnny’s eyes widened, whirling around to face you. he’d been outsmarted, outmaneuvered. he’d half expected to have to take it easy on you, but you were a better tactician than he’d bargained for. his hands flew to his chest dramatically, staggering back as you stood there with your gun still raised. “i…i think i see the light,” he said in an imitation of a dying man, staring up at the sky. “tell my ma i love ‘er!” you collapsed in a fit of giggles, sides aching with how hard he made you laugh. he dropped the act, joining in your laughter. god, he’d never get over how lovely the sound of your happiness was.

“congrats, love,” he said, a genuine smile on his face. “y��won fair and square. good move, that was.” you smile, proud of yourself that you’d bested him. “ya put up a good fight. round 2?” you caught a glint in his eye, something that told you he wanted revenge. “you bet.”

the two of you took full advantage of the 30 minutes you’d paid for. you were even in wins and losses by the end of it, matched in skill and speed. it was rare that johnny felt like he found an equal, someone who could rise up to his energy or even surpass it. of course you’d be one of those people, he thought. he should’ve known with how quickly he was drawn to you. after you’d turned in your equipment and thanked the clerk, the two of you made your way over to the ice cream shop in the mall. it was cold, a welcome contrast to how humid the laser tag arena had been. with the way you’d been playing, both of you had broken a sweat.

you stared at the flavors behind the glass window, pretending to mull over your decision. you never needed to. butter pecan was your pick every time, and this place had one of the best you’d ever tasted. johnny ordered you a cone (two scoops, like a gentleman) and got himself one to match. he’d gotten dark chocolate raspberry, your second favorite, and promised to let you have a bite or two.

you walked around the mall, hand in hand, window shopping and people watching. it felt comfortable, easy. you noticed a sweet old couple walk past and smile at the two of you, sharing in the glow of first love. it made your steps lighter, like you were just floating alongside johnny. “so…what else do you do outside of hockey? besides lose at laser tag, of course,” you asked with a laugh, squeezing his hand and bumping his hip. he chuckled in response, amused at your good-natured teasing. “i’m a borin’ man, lass,” he said, taking a bite of his ice cream cone. “no’ many hobbies to speak of. i like to draw though. simon says i’m pretty good, but i think he’s jus’ blowin’ smoke.”

you smile, enamoured with the idea of johnny as an artist. he looked like the type to sit on a park bench, sketching the scenery around him. at the same time, it was almost hard to imagine that the fists he used to lay people out on the ice were the same hands that could hold a delicate pencil and create a beautiful work of art. “you’ll have to show me sometime,” you said, looking up at him. he almost looked uncomfortable with baring that part of his soul to someone new, so you decide to change the subject.

“what’s your earliest memory from childhood?” you ask, circling around the planters at the end of the hallway to travel up the other side of the mall. johnny hesitates, eyes widening for a moment before narrowing in thought. he’d never been asked that question before, but it was a good one. he’d have to steal it for date nights with the boys. “my fourth birthday party,” he said after several moments. “my ma invited the whole neighborhood, all the kids in my class. it was a grand affair as far as kids’ birthday parties go.” you giggle and let him continue. “i remember everyone singin’ me happy birthday and blowin’ out my candles. i got a remote controlled garbage truck for a gift. i was obsessed with ‘em.”

you smiled, feeling the warmth that seemed to seep out of his skin as he recalled the memory. this was precisely why you liked asking the question. it was always nice to see someone you admire light up like a christmas tree. you leaned to the side, your head resting on his shoulder as you continued your walk. your voices echoed in the expansive hallway, chatting away about childhoods and hobbies and favorite books. goosebumps had risen on your skin from the chill of the ice cream, but you’d never felt so warm.

johnny’s car pulled up outside of your house, the stars and your porch light illuminating the walkway to your front door. you found yourself taking smaller steps, not quite wanting the night to end yet. you’d had more fun tonight than you could remember having in the last few years. it was refreshing to let loose with someone and take a break from being an adult. you laid your hand on the doorknob, turning to johnny with a soft smile. “i had an amazing evening,” you said, and you meant it. “we should really do that again sometime. maybe bring the others along with us.”

johnny chuckled, shoving his hands in his pockets. “not sure if i could convince simon that it’d be fun, but i’ll try to warm ‘im up to the idea.” you laughed, lungs aching from how much you’d done that in the past few hours. an easy silence fell over you, hesitation and longing hanging in the air. you were the one to break it, your thumb stroking over the cool metal of the doorknob as a way to soothe yourself. “could i have a kiss before you go?”

he let out a breath, almost as if he’d been waiting for you to ask. “‘course ya can, hen.” it wasn’t slow like it had been with kyle. johnny kissed quickly, all passion and fervor. his lips brushed against yours for only a moment before pressing more insistently, his tongue darting out to meet yours. the two of you stayed like that for a few seconds before johnny pulled away, just like kyle had done. you began to wonder if there wasn’t some unspoken agreement between the four of them, a pact to wait until they’d all had you before tucking into you full force.

“good night, love. see you soon.” he squeezed your hand one last time before leaving you to step back inside. you shut the door behind you, the silence of your house almost uncomfortable after the full evening you’d had. johnny’s laughter echoed in your ears, the warmth and ease of it carrying you up the stairs and straight to bed. when you woke up in the morning, you had a new text, this time from simon.

“tuesday night, 7:00. meet me at the rink, bring your skates.”

taglist: @cadotoast@jupiternighties@hxnneydew@kaoyamamegami@lolly145 @linaangel @bestbookfriends @callsignang3l @livingoutsidethetardis @msecho19

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teddy06writes · 7 months ago

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Whumptober Day 11 - Boromir

Boromir x gn!reader

Prompt: Chronic Pain

Trigger Warnings: None

Summary: The first day of a cold spell causes your pain to flare up, but you're determined to grit your teeth through the pain. Boromir however, is determined to get you to rest. Set post Ring War, Boromir surviving, obviously.

{Reader's pain is based on my own joint pain issues}

You could tell before you had even finished getting ready that it wasn't going to be a great day.

The cool morning air filtered through the open windows into your quarters, along with the bright, early light. Beside you, your husbands place in bed was already growing cold.

With a small groan, you dragged yourself from bed, stiffness heavy in your limbs. The morning chill pooled in your skin, settling in an ache in your knees and hip.

You could hear your husband in the other room, puttering around, presumably making breakfast.

Stretching, and trying to work the stiffness out of your limbs, you began to get ready for the day. The dull ache in your legs seemed to drag you down, slowing your movements as you eventually headed out into the main room.

"Good morning, darling," Boromir greeted you with a kiss on the cheek as you passed, "You sleep well?"

You hummed, sitting down at the table, "Mhhhm. You were up early."

"Just restless, I suppose. All this cold, the preparations for the Harvest Festival..." He shrugged, smiling as he set two plates on the table, "It has been a long time since we could put our sights on simple pleasures like these."

You found his smile infectious, and you took his hand across the table, "I know. Good times are here again."

Boromir squeezed your hand before digging into his plate, "It's quite cold today, will you be alright?"

"I am a bit stiff," You admitted, not quite meeting his eye, "But, I should be fine. Just need to keep moving."

He raised an eyebrow, unconvinced, "You're sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

Your response was clipped enough for him to drop it, and to his credit, he did.

Throughout the day though, as you drifted in and out of meetings, and met again in the square to continue panning with Aragorn and Faramir, Boromir watched wearily as your movements grew stiffer and you worked harder to keep the pain off your face.

You could get away with fooling others into thinking that everything was fine, but not Boromir. He saw the slight clenching of your jaw every other step, the unevenness in your stride.

At least he had the sense to wait until the others were out of ear shot to ask, "Are you sure you'll be alright, darling?"

You couldn't help but let out a huff, "I'm fine."

Again, he raised a critical eyebrow, "Is that why you're limping around after Faramir?"

"I can't just ignore my duties, love. It's fine." You said it with such conviction that you almost believed it yourself. The truth was that every step felt like fire, and you knew that the busy day was only making it worse. Still, you had things that needed to be done, and projects to oversee.

You turned, hurrying after Faramir, ignoring your concerned husband, and the pain ficking up in your knee with every step.

Boromir only sighed, turning to return to work.

By the time you returned home, later that evening, you swore you couldn't take another step, lowering yourself painfully into an armchair.

Boromir, who had returned before you, quietly closed the book he'd been leafing through, hazarding, "Are you alright, my love?"

You bit the inside of your cheek, turning to look at him slowly, finally admitting, "I may have overdone it. By Eru, it feels like I've been walking on glass."

It sounded as if it had been painful even to say the words out loud, and your strained tone tugged at Boromir's heart. He stood, making his way to your side, "I know, darling, I know."

You looked up at him, "I'm sorry for the way I was acting, please forgive me."

"Already forgiven," He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your hair, "I drew you a hot bath, if a soak would help?"

You smiled gratefully, "Thank you, love. I don't know if I..."

You trailed off, glancing down at your legs, and then off toward the bathroom, the usually short trip seeming to stretch out before you.

Boromir chuckled, easily scooping you up into his arms, "Not a problem."

~~~

Enjoy this fic? Support me on kofi :)

#teddy06 writes #teddy06 #teddy 06 #teddy06writes #teddy06 attempts a writing event #lord of the rings x reader #lord of the rings x gn!reader #lotr x reader #lotr x gn!reader #boromir x reader #boromir x gn!reader

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macrogolf12 · 4 months ago

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Ergonomic Golf Equipment: enhance performance while minimizing discomfort and the risk of injury

Golf is a sport demanding high precision and skill. But, it can also place significant strain on a player’s body. To enhance performance while minimizing discomfort and the risk of injury, the use of ergonomic golf equipment has become increasingly important. This equipment is designed to fit the golfer’s body and swing mechanics, ensuring that each swing is as comfortable and efficient as possible.

Investing in ergonomic golf equipment can significantly enhance your performance while reducing the risk of injury. With MACRO® Golf’s innovative designs, players can enjoy improved comfort, reduced muscle activity, and a more natural swing.

Ergonomic Golf Equipment

Ergonomic golf clubs are manufactured with the golfer in mind, taking into account factors such as grip, hand size, and posture. This thoughtful design minimizes strain on the body, particularly in the hands, wrists, and arms. Features of ergonomic clubs often include adjustable shafts, grips, and club heads, allowing for customization that suits individual players.

Advantages of Ergonomic Golf Equipment

Reduced Muscle Activity

One of the most significant advantages of using ergonomic golf clubs is the reduction of muscle activity in the arms during the swing. By promoting a more natural swing motion, ergonomic equipment helps prevent overuse injuries like golfer's elbow.

Improved Comfort

This equipment is specifically designed to enhance comfort. By reducing strain on the hands and wrists, golfers can practice and play longer without discomfort. This comfort translates into more enjoyable rounds and consistent practice sessions.

More Natural Swing

The design of ergonomic golf clubs facilitates a more natural swing. This improved swing mechanics can lead to enhanced accuracy and performance on the course. By allowing golfers to swing with less tension, ergonomic clubs help achieve better results with less effort.

Why Choose MACRO® Golf?

How does standout

MACRO® Golf is dedicated to creating products that focus on ergonomic principles, resulting in better performance and comfort. Unique Square Stroke Putter Grip is tailored for optimal performance which enhances control and consistency on the green. The ergonomic nature of the grips encourages proper hand and forearm positioning, further enhancing swing mechanics. All products meet the highest standards of excellence set by the USGA, ensuring that players can compete with confidence.

MACRO® Golf, based in Richmond, Virginia, is at the forefront of developing innovative golf equipment that adheres to the rules set by the United States Golf Association (USGA). With a commitment to player comfort and performance, MACRO® Golf produces equipment that stands out in the market.

Innovative Designs

MACRO® Golf features patented designs such as the Macro Square Stroke® putter grips and PowerStroke® full swing grips. These designs are specifically tailored to enhance the golfer's experience and performance.

PowerStroke® Golf Grip

One of the most innovative grips on the market, the PowerStroke® Golf Grip includes a patented mid-grip ergonomic reverse taper. This design enhances dexterity and allows for a consistent and efficient swing.

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bigmpregnm · 9 months ago

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Don't Swim in The Seine - Part 1

This is a collaboration with MY dear @musclesaber. It's a rapid mpreg story, inspired by the latest Olympic Games. Enjoy.

[Story Collection] | [●] [Part 2🔜]

The sunlight shone into the small room in the Olympic Village. Adam blinked his eyes a few times and groaned as he stretched out his limbs. Taking in his surroundings, he saw he was lying on a man’s big chest and body. Lifting his head up, Adam saw a pec shelf in front of him rising up and down with the big bear’s breaths. Adam took a few seconds to take in the sight of his lover’s chest, scratching it and groaning again as he yawned awake.

Rolling over off of the big man, Adam slugged his way out of the bed. Standing up, he realized he was naked. What the fuck did we do last night? Adam thought. He clutched his ass as he walked over and picked up his clothes. He bent down and felt a strange firmness in his lower abdomen, making him groan as he straightened up. He looked down and noticed a slight curve on his lower abs, his hand immediately moving to caress it. As he processed the sensation, something clicked in his mind, making him realize his midsection felt bloated due to the big man’s cum. So much for those no-sex beds. The bear in the bed snored and rolled over onto his side.

Adam quietly started putting on his clothes. Tugging his tight shorts over his muscular ass. “Ooo!” Adam sharply inhaled as his ass felt sore. “Fuck, you must be big all over, Joe,” whispered Adam, glancing at the big athlete’s lower body covered by the sheets, trying to find any signs of the likely impressive manhood. He pulled his tight athletic shirt over his pecs and 6-pack abs, feeling it stretch more over his lower middle as he tiptoed towards the door. “Sleep tight, Joe. I’ll see you later,” whispered Adam as he closed the door behind him.

Out in the hall, Adam quickly walked back over to his room. His steps were careful due to the soreness in his ass and hips. At 24 years old, he embodied the pinnacle of physical fitness. Standing at 6’3”, Adam was a towering figure, his broad shoulders and powerful frame immediately demanding attention. His chest was broad and solid, his pecs well-defined and firm, a result of the intense upper-body workouts expected in an expert breaststroke competitor. Below his chest, his abdomen was a masterpiece of muscle. His six-pack abs looked carved into his torso, each muscle sharply defined. His well-developed obliques added to the impressive perfection of his frame.

Adam’s biceps and triceps were thick and muscular, the kind of arms that could effortlessly propel him through the water at impressive speeds. His legs, just like the rest of his body, were thick and muscular, with quads and calves that were strong and defined. His thighs were powerful, yet not overly bulgy, a balance that gave him both speed and endurance in the water.

Adam’s facial features could only be described as strikingly handsome, with a square jawline and high cheekbones that drew most people’s attention. People gasped at his cute, handsome face wherever he went. His reddish-blonde hair, still slightly tousled from sleep, caught the early sunlight, giving it a warm, golden hue. The color contrasted sharply with his deep blue eyes. A cute, warm smile adorned his face as he approached his room, already thinking of going back to Joe later today.

Entering his room, he slammed the door behind him and saw his friend and bunkmate, James, stretching. The tall 6’6” swimmer let out a sigh of relief when he saw Adam walking in. “There you are man! I thought you were gonna miss warm-ups.” James was dressed in nothing but a robe and his speedo.

“Sorry, sorry, long night. One of the American shot putters won gold and was buying everyone beers at the pub,” said Adam as he started changing into his gear.

“That and a late-night rendezvous at his apartment in the village makes for an even longer night. We gotta go, big guy!” Adam struggled to shove his legs into the speedo as James stood there with his goggles in hand. Pulling on his tracksuit, Adam hopped his way over to the door.

“I’m coming! I’m coming!” Adam ran out the door after James, and they jumped on a shuttle headed towards the river with many of the other swimmers.

“I’m excited to swim in the Olympics, but really in this river? I’m worried about getting sick swimming in it. The Seine isn’t exactly the cleanest river,” said James as they rode the shuttle.

“Eh, I think it’ll be fine. I’ve swum in worse. Also, they’ve been cleaning it nonstop since they announced the games were gonna be here,” Adam replied with a cocky tone in his voice that made James grunt in disagreement.

“Yeah, but didn’t you see the reports? The women were getting sick yesterday after their races. I don’t wanna get in there and possibly get E-Coli when I get out,” James added. “The water doesn’t look…sanitary.”

“Calm down, ya pansy. It’s fine. It’s just water. Maybe we’ll get superpowers like in the movies! Wouldn’t it be fun to become a fish boy? You won’t care what water you swim in cause you can breathe underwater.” Adam seemed less worried about the dangers of the waters and James’ face looked disgusted as they arrived at the river.

“You have fun with that, chum.” The pair looked at the mucky waters of the Seine River. Adam didn’t wait for his teammate and stripped off his hoodie and track pants, revealing his toned swimmer’s physique. His abs were well-defined, and his muscles honed from years of rigorous training. He jumped into the water without a second thought; splashing his friend in the process.

“Come on in, James. The water’s fine.” Adam laid back in the water and started kicking away from the shore with his abs, pecs, and head floating above the water. The water was cool against his skin, a refreshing contrast to the warmth of the morning sun.

“Yeah, we’ll see about that, mate.” James hesitantly put one foot in the water and then another. Slowly submerging his whole body in the water. “God, this is going to be terrible to swim in.”

“Don’t be such a wanker. It’s fine. Totally normal.” As Adam fully dunked his head in the water, he groaned a bit as the water got into his system. Unbeknownst to him, Adam’s body was going through an odd transformation. The cum from the massive track star he’d been with the night before made contact with the water. A strange sensation began to settle in his lower abdomen—a bloated, heavy feeling that he couldn’t quite place

Coming up to breathe, Adam groaned again and shook his head in the water. “You good bud?” asked James as Adam gasped for air.

“Yeah, yeah. Just a cold pocket right here,” said Adam as he put his hand to his midsection, his abs slightly bulged out in front of him. He remembered the bloated look on his lower abs earlier, so he ignored this new feeling, but the sensation persisted.

“Come on lads! Let’s go! Let’s go! You guys need to get warmed up!” yelled their coach.

“Yes, coach!” replied the swimmers. They all started swimming from one side of the river to the other as Adam started to feel strange. He shoved the feeling away and kept warming up. With every stroke he took, he felt his stomach bowing out under the water. It was as if something was shifting inside him, moving and settling in a way that was unfamiliar to him. But he was too focused on his swimming to pay much attention to it.

His lower abdomen began to swell, and his abs disappeared as he kept swimming in the water. His midsection growing out like a balloon inflating underneath the water. The change was subtle at first—a slight rounding, a softening of the skin—but it quickly accelerated, his stomach expanding with each passing second. His belly quickly grew from being nonexistent to looking like he had a large meal to bulging out below him like he’d swallowed a volleyball. Yet Adam was focused on warming up and nothing more.

Adam’s powerful strokes began to falter as the bloated sensation became impossible to ignore. He felt a tightness in his skin, a growing pressure in his lower abdomen that made it difficult to move as fluidly as before. He frowned, slowing his pace as he tried to understand what was happening to him. His belly continued to swell, the taut skin stretching as it grew larger and larger. However, he never noticed what was really happening until he was getting out of the water after practice.

“What the hell?” exclaimed James as Adam hopped out of the water.

“What?” James, the coach, the other swimmers, and numerous spectators stared at the swimming star in shock, looking at his belly.

Adam looked down, and his mouth dropped open. Jutting out in front of him instead of abs was a belly the size of a basketball. “What the fuck is this?!?”Adam’s heart raced as he placed a trembling hand on his belly, feeling the firmness of the swelling. His skin felt tight and itchy, stretched thin over the rapidly expanding mass. Adam’s breath grew shallow as he tried to process the scene.

“What did you do, Adam?” asked James through gritted teeth. Adam’s belly looked bulbous, swollen like a ball that had been inflated too much.

“Nothing! I didn’t do anything! You saw me! I got in the river with abs and left with thi-“ Adam cut his words short as he put his hand to his mouth and his cheeks puffed out. “Bbfff oh no,” he muttered as he shoved his way past the team. His big belly sticking out in front of him and bouncing with every step.

“Adam, where are you going?” asked James as his teammate ran towards a building. Not paying attention to anyone, Adam immediately found a bathroom and started vomiting into the toilet, throwing up his entire breakfast and dinner in the process. The nausea was overwhelming, his entire body trembling as he heaved into the porcelain. Sweat dripped down his forehead as he gasped for breath, his vision blurred as he struggled to regain control of his body.

James entered the bathroom, concern evident on his face. “Man, we need to get you to a doctor. This isn’t normal.”

“No, no. We have the competition in a few minutes. I’m not letting this belly stop me from winning a medal.” choked out Adam between heaves. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his face flushed and sweaty. The nausea had slightly subsided, but his stomach still felt tight and uncomfortable. The weight of his swollen belly pressed down on him. “Just give me… a few minutes to… feel better.”

James nodded, running away while Adam struggled to steady himself. He struggled to his feet, one hand steadied against the wall for support. The extra weight of his belly made even standing up a challenge, making him groan as he felt his lower back strain under the unfamiliar burden. Then, James returned with Adam’s bag. “Here, put these on. Coach says we should get going if you insist on not going to the hospital.

Adam ignored James’ comment about the hospital, focusing on the competition ahead. He splashed water on his face, washing his mouth and trying to forget about the nausea. Adam struggled out of his wet swimsuit, his swollen belly making it difficult to bend over or move as gracefully as he used to. He was so entranced by the struggles of this strange situation that he didn’t mind James staring at him all along, observing everything in his naked form.

He pulled on the sweatpants, but the waistband struggled to accommodate his expanded belly, forcing him to leave it below the swell, right above his manhood. Adam winced as he finally managed to get the pants on, the waistband cutting into his lower abdomen as it struggled to contain the new girth of his waist. The shirt wasn’t much better. What should have been a loose, comfortable fit was not tight and restrictive, the fabric clinging to the contours of his swollen abdomen. The hem barely reached the top of his sweatpants, making Adam tug at the shirt, trying to make it cover more, but it was no use—it was simply too small to accommodate his new size.

“This is ridiculous,” Adam muttered, frustration creeping into his voice as he looked at himself in the mirror. Even with the clothes on, he realized his whole body seemed different. His pecs were fuller, almost as if they had started to grow along with his belly. His thighs, once lean and muscular, now seemed thicker, more rounded, stretching the fabric of his sweatpants.

“Adam, we gotta go if we don’t want to miss the race,” James said, placing his hand on Adam’s shoulder.

“Sure,” Adam responded with a nod, taking a deep breath before coming out of the bathroom with James. Gathered around the bathroom waiting for him were paparazzi with flashing cameras pointed at the swimmers as they walked out of the bathroom.

“Adam! Adam! Can you say anything about your recent weight gain and how it will affect you during the race?” asked a reporter.

“Do you discourage other athletes from swimming in the Seine for the duration of the games?”

“Are you going to bow out and allow your teammates to have a more fit competitor for the event?” Adam fought his way through the crowd of cameras as he held his stomach. He hadn’t realized it before in his rushed state to the toilet, but he couldn’t properly walk and was forced to waddle thanks to his gravid belly.

“Out of his way! We have to get to the race!” yelled James as some security came over and pulled the paparazzi back. Adam groaned as he felt another wave of discomfort wash over him and his belly. He grabbed onto James’ shoulder and hunched over in pain while they walked away towards the event. Each step was a challenge. His belly, now an undeniable presence, swayed with each step, pulling at his lower back and making it difficult to maintain his usual stride.

“James, something is wrong. I don’t know what’s happening.” Adam started sweating and panting as James wrapped his arm around him. The strange tightness in his abdomen had intensified, becoming a constant, almost oppressive pressure that seemed to grow stronger with each passing minute.

“No shit, but you don’t wanna go to the hospital.” James lugged Adam away towards the massive swimming pools but failed to look down at his friend going through another transformation. Adam’s discomfort was becoming unbearable, but he gritted his teeth and kept moving forward. They had to get to the competition.

Adam shut his eyes tight as his belly swelled out an inch in every direction again. His skin tightened with each step he took as he inflated bigger and bigger like a balloon. His body lost more of its toned, athletic muscles as his defined muscles became clouded with fat. This was especially true for his pecs. While he had gotten a slightly puffier chest when he first grew his belly, now they seemed to sprout out of him like two fluffy pillows, the fabric of his shirt tightening as his chest swelled. However, these two pillows were being weighed down heavily as Adam’s nipples, usually small and flat against his skin, became erect and pointed directly at the ground, also becoming more sensitive.

Adam shifted uncomfortably, trying to adjust the collar of his shirt, but it was no use. His chest was growing too quickly, the once loose t-shirt now straining across the expanding flesh. He could feel his pecs becoming rounder and heavier, each step causing them to bounce slightly against the fabric. The tightness in his shirt was becoming unbearable, the material pulling taut over his chest, the seams creaking with the strain.

As his pecs grew over his belly, Adam felt the pressure in his abdomen intensify, the bloated sensation growing more pronounced as his belly began to swell in all directions. The once small, basketball-sized bump was expanding rapidly, pushing outward and upward, the skin stretched to its limits. The lower hem of his shirt, which had already been struggling to cover his growing belly, was now riding up, exposing the pale, taut skin of his abdomen as it swelled larger and larger.

The growth was relentless. Adam could feel his belly expanding, the pressure inside him becoming almost unbearable as his abdomen grew rounder, fuller. It was no longer just a bump—it was a massive, beach ball-sized dome that jutted out in front of him, pulling at his lower back and making it impossible to stand up straight. He could hardly walk with the huge orb growing in front of him. Stretch marks formed on the side of his body as he continued to grow. He could almost hear his skin stretching as he tried to hide the discomfort from James to avoid the hospital topic again.

James, still unaware of the full extent of Adam’s transformation, tightened his grip, helping him stay upright as they walked. “Just a little farther,” James encouraged him, his focus on the pool ahead.

A new sensation hit Adam when he felt a cool touch on his upper thigh. He couldn’t see it, but his perfect bubble butt was becoming round and wide. Adam had always had a nice perky ass, but now his cheeks were growing fat and wobbly as the lower halves of them bulged inside his sweatpants, which strained to contain the increasing mass. Adam’s hips, once lean and narrow, were beginning to thicken, the muscles expanding to accommodate the added weight. He could feel his thighs thickening as well, the once smooth and defined muscles becoming softer, more rounded. The seams of his sweats, already under strain from his expanding belly, were beginning to creak ominously, the fabric pulled tight across his growing hips, butt, and thighs.

Hobbling over to the U.K. team, Adam immediately flopped himself down onto the bench and groaned in pain as his hand rubbed his beach ball-sized belly, so big that he could barely reach the furthest point on it; the skin stretched taut and shiny. The lower hem of his shirt had ridden up completely, leaving his swollen abdomen fully exposed, the tight skin gleaming in the overhead lights, his once innie belly button on display as a full blown outie now.

“Did it get…bigger?” asked James, looking at Adam’s dome. The belly covered Adam’s entire lap as he sat on the bench, and his bulging pecs laid nicely on the round belly, pulling the fabric of his shirt taut. His nipples, now larger and more prominent, pressed against the strained fabric.

“Maybe a little,” said Adam in between pants. Before anyone could say anything, an announcer came over the loudspeaker with a message.

“Olympians, we will be beginning the men’s swimming relay in 5 minutes.” Adam stared at his belly, which looked to be as big as half his body, then started to stand. As he heaved himself up, he heard a loud ripping sound. The seam at the back of his sweatpants had finally given way, the fabric tearing around his swollen glutes. Adam grimaced, but there was nothing he could do about it now. His entire body was swollen and uncomfortable, the weight of his belly, chest, and glutes pulling at his muscles and making it nearly impossible for him to lift himself off the bench.

“We need to get you changed,” James said, his voice filled with concern. “Or you shouldn’t compete at all!”

“You heard him. Let’s go!” said Adam through some groans, ignoring James’ concerned comments as he started struggling to take his clothes off.

With James’s help, Adam began to peel off his clothes, but it was a struggle. The shirt, already too tight, clung to his swollen chest and belly, the fabric bunching up and refusing to budge. James had to gently tug it over Adam’s head, careful not to hurt him as he maneuvered the shirt over his swollen pecs. When the shirt finally came off, Adam’s chest was fully exposed, the round, heavy muscles hanging slightly lower than they had before, his nipples larger and more sensitive than ever.

Next came the sweats, which were even more of a challenge. The waistband was stretched to its limits, the elastic band digging into the soft flesh of his hips. James carefully worked the sweatpants down over Adam’s hips and thighs, the fabric straining with every movement. As the pants finally came off, Adam’s glutes were fully revealed—round, full, and straining against the seams of his underwear, which had somehow managed to stay intact despite the growth.

James handed Adam his competition swimwear, a tight-fitting suit that was meant to streamline his body in the water. But as Adam tried to pull it on, it became clear that it wasn’t going to fit the way it used to. The material, designed to cling to his body like a second skin, now struggled to contain the massive bulk of his lower body. Every movement was a challenge, the weight of his belly pulling at his back, his chest and glutes adding to the strain. But somehow, with James’s help, he managed to get the suit on, though it was far from comfortable.

“Adam, you NEED to go to the hos-“

“It’s just a bit of indigestion. Let’s go.” Adam cut James off and waddled toward the pool. Still determined to compete in the race despite his massive belly.

Adam’s gait was slow and awkward, his body swaying with each step. His belly was so large that it forced him to waddle, his hips and fat ass swaying side to side as he struggled to maintain his balance. One hand was pressed firmly against the small of his back, the added weight pulling at his spine and making it difficult to stand up straight. His chest bounced slightly with each step, a strange sensation tingling within.

“No reason to worry,” he said to himself as he felt something shifting inside his belly, making him rub his belly in small circles. He tried to stay cool and focused on the race, but the strange fluttering intensified. The only thing he failed to realize was that his indigestion was actually the first flutters of kicks from his many sons in his new womb.

...

#mpreg #mpreg story

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lyricalt · 13 days ago

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[tf2] blood on your optics

fic_promptly's theme for today was [blood]. so you know. my time to shine.

Prompt: robot fascinated by human blood / nosebleed Ship: Robot Spy <-?-> Sniper Rating: T for violence

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The robots ain’t fucking shit. One in the shape of Spy tries to knife Sniper in the back, trying to sneak up behind him with its lighted eyes and creaky joints so loud that Sniper can practically hear its clunky steps from two stories up. It’s a poor imitation of the real thing, and Sniper has seen some shitty imitations in the past year. Even the enemy spy can do better.

Sniper swings around, kukri in hand. The robot’s blade knicks Sniper’s forearm, a flick of blood arcing in the air. It doesn’t even sting, but Sniper’s temper flares.

The thing is—the robot don’t got that same fluidity that Spy has. None of them do. Plastic wires can’t replace the satisfaction of slicing through arteries or veins. Can’t enjoy the feel of flesh giving in to a blade or how the muscles of a panicked body tense before relaxing for a good fight. Sniper drags his kukri out of the machine and the only feedback he gets is the mundane scrape of metal against flimsy panels and brittle cables.

Even getting hit doesn’t have the same exhilarating rush. The robot’s fist is nothing interesting. As impersonal and stupid as accidentally running into a wall. Spy would’ve thrown a punch with knuckles and nails and a little laugh that can linger in the back of Sniper’s head like a broken record. It’s actually insulting how the robot even tries.

Stumbles to the ground all wrong, makes all the wrong dying sounds, makes stupid decisions like trying to switch to a revolver when it should’ve stuck with the balisong. Sniper drops down over the machine’s body, hands around a cold metal throat that he can’t crush. Can’t gasp out a breath with no lungs. No windpipe to block. No pain to make ‘em think twice about moving.

Maybe that’s the only good thing. The robot’s body is modded after Spy’s, got the same shape and weight under Sniper. Spy would’ve gone still like a snake, trying to get some air. The robot still shifts and struggles to move its arms despite all its loose strings of snapped cables and bent metal coverings.

Blood drips from Sniper’s nose. It splashes across the robot’s shoulders and face, bright red against cold shiny blue paint. The robot’s eyes flash.

Sniper looks down at it with detached curiosity. He can feel the mechanisms still whirling under him. It putters and restarts, almost like a dying breath. With his own blood covering it, it does look like its dying.

The real Spy would’ve started complaining about getting blood on his suit, and Sniper would’ve let the bastard complain.

‘Course the robot doesn’t a word. It stops its weak struggle under Sniper, gap-jointed fingers suddenly letting go of Sniper’s wrists in an attempt to free its neck.

Another well of blood falls from Sniper’s nose. It hits the robot right over the right eye.

It freezes, and so does Sniper.

Stupid thing can’t even wipe its eyes, he thinks, just as the robot reaches upwards to do just that.

Its fingers are flat and square, but it smears the blood from its eye over the painted image of its black glove. When it rubs its forefinger and thumb, the blood goes tacky, sticking the fingers together until it forces the components apart.

The robot inspects its fingers, almost with the same detached curiosity as Sniper, before it does the same careful swipe across its shoulders and face, every spot where Sniper had bled over it.

The real Spy would’ve hated this. Would’ve gotten revenge on Sniper for getting blood on his suit.

Never would’ve stared fascinated by his own blood-covered fingers. Never would’ve reached out to brush across Sniper’s bleeding nose and mouth for more.

Sniper watches it drop its hand back. It shudders before going still, the flicker light from its eyes dimming.

Sniper stares. More blood falls over the robot’s face, but it gets no reaction and the machine’s body goes quiet like real death. Sniper tips his head back and sniffs to stop his nose from dripping. He lets go of the robot’s neck, slowly sitting back with a sharp exhale that accidentally blows out another splatter of blood anyway.

Sniper wipes his nose, eyeing the robot Spy.

“Well, fuck,” he mutters.

#sniperspy #robot spy #bloody suit #sniper x spy #tf2 #promptfic #sorry it's not wireplay like i promised. gotta be another prompt day

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 10 months ago

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Bittersweet 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Part of the Sweet and Spicy AU

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your startup business catches the eye of a powerful rival.

Character: Loki Laufeyson

Please comment and reblog if it’s not too much. I always love getting to chat about these stories and hearing all your ideas! You all are wonderful and loved.

It’s baking day. Your kitchen is stolid with the heat of the oven and the treats cooling on the counter. Your apartment has been converted into a pseudo chocolate factory; though you wouldn’t claim Wonka’s glory. You are certain to keep to food-safe standards however and so your morning began with sanitization, another two hours on top of a long day.

It’s a few weeks out to the next show; a local festival that hosts all sorts of local shops, though the biggest attraction are the musical acts. Even so, you’re hustling as best as you can. You spent a portion of the baking show profit to get a kiosk in the mall for the holiday weekend. It’s a big deal, you expect a crowd and now you have an idea of how much you’ll need to bring.

You sigh as you tally up what you have so far. You’ll be in the kitchen all week at this rate and you don’t think even then you’ll meet your set quota. You’ll still do well but you can’t help the echo of that man’s words. You’re hitting a wall on your own.

And you’re running low on red cacao. You frown at the slack canvas bag. That’s another trip to the bulk seller down by the freeway but that’s so far out, it’ll eat at least an hour and a half off your day.

He’s right. That pompous snakish man is right. You can’t keep up with the demand.

No, you can. You’ll bake into the night if you have to. It’ll be cooler then, anyhow. You inventory your cupboards as the oven radiate with heat. You have a list. Tomorrow you can get to that but for now, you’ll start packaging the chocolates in the fridge.

You count out the truffles and fudge squares precisely. Each one in a sleeve or a box. You’ll add all the little details later; a ribbon, a bow, a seal. You yawn at the repetition but aren’t bored by it. Having your own business isn’t exactly dull, if anything it’s tantalizingly stressful.

Your tablet dings as the baking show you keep on stream quiets for the notification. The woman’s voice returns to full volume as you approach to check the icon in the margin. It’s from your online shop front. Between the physical work, you can’t forget about the healthy tide of orders coming in virtually.

It adds to the weight on your shoulders. You slump and drag down the notification bar. It’s large order and before you can skim each item, another notification sweeps in. You tap the inquiry so that the message opens.

The inquiry is labeled with the same order number that just came up. You squint. ‘...requires in-person to order address...’ You don’t do that. It isn’t an option but the customer’s tone comes of insistent even over text. They promise a gratuity and underline that they did pay for the expedited option.

That’s the first position you’re hiring when you can make the space. A customer service representative because you hate this. You go back to review the full order. It’s a lot; a lot of baking and a lot of money.

You’ll have to make it work yet there’s this needling voice in the back of your head, slithering and sharp, you can’t keep this up forever.

🍫

Surely, it’s the wrong address.

You idle in your large SUV, the nearly two-decade old model puttering between the sleek modern cars the fill the spaces outside the luxurious storefront. You gulp as you peer up at the moniker. You recognise the brand and the logo.

Black Snake. It’s some sort of trick. You should have been suspicious.

The chocolatier isn’t unknown to you beyond your encounter with its owner. While the headquarters are nestled right at the heart of your city, there are locations across the country and even a few international. The local start-up boomed onto the front page and you can’t say it had nothing to do with your own come up. You offer a more affordable option with the same premium taste.

You suppose he doesn’t like the competition. You wouldn’t either but you put yourself out there against the Black Snake monopoly knowing you would be trudging uphill. You get out and try not to think too much.

You unlock the hatch and take out the large box stamped with your business name; Sweet Nothings. You approach the front door, trying to see through the tinted windows that form the front wall, and it opens before you can reach it. Shoot, he’s expecting you.

“Ah, right on time,” Loki greets as he checks his watch. “I see you’ve no branding on your vehicle.”

You try not to cringe. He has an eye for detail. You bite down on your smile.

“Hello again,” you try to act like his foreboding hasn’t haunted you for a week, “I have everything in here--”

“I didn’t see a reselling clause on your terms of service,” he proclaims smugly, “these should be popular.”

“Ah,” you hesitate as he steps out of the door to hold it open for you, “you’ve paid so I guess I can’t stop you.”

“Mm, and how is business then? You are quick to respond. Can’t be very hectic, then.”

You take the jab like a weathered boxer. You don’t flinch, you just keep going. You stride inside and look around. You carry the box to the empty space the counter.

“As promised, I will transfer a fee for your trouble,” he follows quickly.

“Thanks, uh, I should--” you face him as he blocks your path.

“You’ve a pop-up. This coming weekend.”

The advert is at the top of your online shop. Of course, he would know. His diligence is starting to eke you out.

“I do,” you confirm, “so I should be off.”

“Yes, you have much work to do. Tell me, how many ovens do you have going?”

Your expression falls, “you spent all this money to mock me?”

“No, I’m simply discussing business. Seeing as I am experienced, I thought I might offer some sage advice,” he flutters his long fingers.

“I appreciate that, really, but I am running a business, same as you, so if you would like to discuss that, you are more than welcome to make a proper appointment with me. Like a business person.”

He snickers at the slant in your voice, the tone that insists you’re legitimate like him.

“I didn’t see that option on the store front,” he counters.

“You have my card,” you sniff and step around him. “Feel free to let me know if you have any concerns about your order.”

“Wait--” He calls after but you’re already halfway through the door.

#loki #dark loki #dark!loki #loki x reader #sweet and spicy #au #series #bittersweet #mcu #marvel #thor #avengers #drabble

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pekoehoneyncream · 8 months ago

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Captain John 'Bravo Six' Price Headcanons

Part One!

Words: 500~

TW: None (sfw)

Part Two

Okay! Here are the promised headcanons!

The brainrot is intense for these boys rn, so the volume of headcanons kinda got outta hand. I didn't wanna slam y'all with the full 800+ words of headcanons that I've made for Price alone, so I decided that I'll post half now and half later.

That said, Thank you all again for the Huge response my poll got, and without further ado onto the The Headcanons!

His preferred drink is Green Tea with a spoonful of honey. He loves getting to sit, relax, and slowly sip his way through a nice hot cup of tea. If he’s in a rush or just needs to wake up he drinks coffee instead.

Takes his coffee with the smallest bit of sugar and no milk. His team argues that three grains of sugar can't make any difference, but Price insists that he doesn't like coffee straight black, he needs that bit of sweetness. The team once tested him by switching out his coffee for an identical cup of straight black coffee. Price's disgusted spluttering showed them that he can indeed easily taste the difference.

Cannot just sit down and do nothing. Always needs to be doing something. This man is a category five putterer. Just goes about absently neatening up, putting things back where they belong, pulling books forward to be level with the edge of the shelf, squaring papers with the corner of the table, wiping down the surfaces, adjusting his kit so it’s settled properly. He’ll do the same to the team as well. Mindlessly untwisting straps, pulling tight buckles, zipping pouches, pulling down the rucked-up hem of Ghost’s mask, straightening Gaz’s cap, correcting a stray hair in Soap’s warhawk.

The absolute worst at remembering names, constantly asking the team what this or that person's name is. Has a little notebook full of reminders that are only useful to him, the privates and FNGs think he's marking down performance notes, but he's just desperately trying to remember that one rookie's name before they leave eyesight. “Price, this just says ‘Michaels - Red Hat’, do you expect him to always wear a red hat?” “No, but I remember the hat, then I remember the face that was wearing the hat, and that face is Michaels'.” “Price, that makes no sense.” “Give that back and get. Have you nothing better to do? Go on, get!”

Paints his nails. He got a voucher for a free spa day as a birthday present one year, it included hot-rock therapy, mud-baths, a massage, and a mani-pedi. He went into it with a ‘fuck it, when in rome’ mentality and just said yes to everything while he was there. They explained that gel-polish is hardier and longer lasting than regular polish, without being super hard to remove like acrylics, so he went with gel-polish. At the time he just got a clear polish, but these days he does it himself and wears whatever colours he wants to. Has his own polishes and his own little uv lamp and everything. He could die on a mission tomorrow, he doesn't have time for your small minded ideas about masculinity. Before he was Captain of the 141, he actually got written up by a superior, not for wearing polish, but for wearing a nail-polish colour that wasn't a colour that's in regulation.

Loves water. Yes in the staying hydrated sense, but mainly in the swimming sense. He grew up with a creek behind his house and he spent every spare moment he could splashing around in it. To this day his favourite place is the beach, or anywhere with a body of water. A swimming pool is a poor replacement in his opinion, but he'll take what he can get.

Constantly loses track of time in the shower, his personal water bill is consistently exorbitant. When he doesn't have time to spare he sets a timer, when it beeps at 5 minutes it reminds him he needs to actually start washing up, and when it goes off at 10 minutes he forces himself to get out. When he has the time he sets the timer for 30 minutes.

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed!

If you have any thoughts on the headcanons or ideas you'd like me expand on or things you wanna squeal about or prompts you want me to write PLEASE hit me up! My ask box is open 24/7 and I'd love to hear from you!

PekoeHoneynCream's Masterlist

#john bravo six price #captain price #price cod #price call of duty #price headcanons #john price #cod headcanons #call of duty headcanons #PekoeHoneynCream #Cod #call of duty #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick

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bc17-writes · 1 year ago

Text

The Hand That Feeds - Chapter 1

Uhhh my fic got 10K+ hits on AO3 so I thought I'd post the first chapter here while I'm working on chapter 9 and some drabble like things okay cool thanks (no use of y/n)

(I also haven't used tumblr since college so if anyone has any hints, tips, tricks let me know)

Summary: You're Simon's pregnant new neighbor.

chapter specific c/w: none

Ghost is a creature of habit - most every moment of his life is structured into routines. Missions broken down to the minute, with backup plans upon backup plans. Days on base divided into blocks - trainings, briefings, meal times. Mornings and evenings in his apartment scheduled by the minute. Ghost thrives when he knows what to expect.

What he does not expect is opening the door of his Manchester apartment at zero two hundred hours to leave for his morning run, and seeing you stumble on the uneven carpet in the hallway before him. You’re half his size, dressed not dissimilarly to himself in an oversized black hoodie and joggers. The cardboard box you hold nearly flies out of your hands before he reacts, grabbing the scruff of your hoodie with one hand and steadying the box with the other.

“Christ,” he says, putting you back to rights. His voice is deep and rough with disuse. “Y’alright?”

“Yeah, sorry, thank you” you reply. “Not sure what happened.”

“Carpet’s fucked. ‘Sall uneven.” He watches you set the box down before the door of the recently vacated apartment next to his.

You pull out a lanyard from your pocket, loaded with too many keys and trinkets to keep track of, looking through them for the right one.

“It’s silver. With a square head.”

You find it almost immediately and thank him, again, opening the door and nudging the box in with your foot. You don’t lock it back.

Ghost narrows his eyes at that.

“Looks like we’re neighbors!” You give him your name and hold out a hand with a smile.

To him, it is blinding as the sun. You are resplendent, even with red, sleepy eyes and road-trip hair. You are stunning, in shapeless clothes with a few crumbs on your hoodie.

You smile at him despite his black mask and hood pulled so far over his head he knows his eyes are hidden in shadows.

He takes your hand in one of his gloved ones, and you shake it firmly, unflinchingly, the smile never leaving your face. You don’t divert your eyes, like the anonymous people he passes on his runs, or at the pub. You don’t shy away like the cashier at the little shop where he buys his tea. You don’t cower or flinch, like mothers moving their children from his view when he picks up meat at the butcher’s.

“I’m Simon.”

“Who pissed in your tea this morning, Ghost?” Captain Price asks, leaning back on the cool wall next to Ghost. “Really running the recruits through the ringer today.”

“L.T. didn’t get his tea this morning.” Soap interjects slyly from Ghost’s other side, before he can respond.

“Watch it, Johnny,” Ghost growls.

“Rolled up late, right before PT. Didn’t even have time for a ‘cuppa’”

“Soap!” Ghost snaps, not turning from the recruits.

“Late?” Price asks, incredulously.

“Wasn’t late. Got here when I was ‘sposed to.”

“Just later than every single other day.”

Ghost clenches his jaw, crossed arms tightening minutely across his chest. Soap obviously has a death wish.

Price hums in consideration and Ghost can feel the Captain’s eyes boring into him.

Simon had ended up helping you move the rest of your things from your ancient van, loading them onto a small flatbed cart so you didn’t have to bring them up the elevator one by one. He didn’t let you lift a finger. He brought them into your apartment, with your permission, and deposited them into their corresponding rooms, each mirrored from his own, just on the other side of the wall.

You’d filled the silence easily, despite the early hour and your obviously sleep-deprived state, not requiring him to speak much, and hardly asking him questions.

You’d puttered about, unboxing a few of your things, and told him a little about your job as a translator as he set up your tiny desk and computer.

You’d interjected multiple times about how he didn’t have to, how he’d helped enough, how he probably had somewhere to be considering he looked like he was on the way out already. Each time he’d say he’d be on his way if you wanted and each time you shook your head.

You’d offered him coffee and compensation, both of which he refused, counter-offering with his number and the offer to call him if you needed help with anything else. You nodded in agreement, texting him immediately with your name and apartment number.

You never asked about the mask.

He’d had enough time afterwards for a smoke and a brief shower, but not much else, abandoning his usual morning run and tea before leaving for the base.

Ghost clenches his jaw under his mask, refusing to give Price his attention.

“Come see me after lunch, Ghost.” Price says before walking away, not even waiting for a response.

“Don’t fucking try that again Soap,” Ghost growls under his breath.

Johnny just laughs.

Simon makes his way to Price’s office after lunch, closing the door behind him and leaning back on it.

“Take a seat, Simon,” Price says calmly, motioning to the plush leather chair in front of his desk.

“‘m alright, sir.”

Price sighs, shuffling the folders on his desk to the side and folding his hands atop it. “About what Soap said… Son, I don’t want you to think you need to be here any more than you have to. It’s good to have a life at home. Hobbies or- whatever you want. I trust you with my life. Have your tea at home. As long as you are where you’re supposed to be and when, I want you to enjoy your life outside of all this.”

Ghost hardly holds back a scoff at the idea - at having a home that isn’t just walls and a too soft mattress where he lays, unsleeping, glaring at the ceiling, keeping the night terrors at bay. “That all, sir?”

“That’s all. Dismissed.”

When Simon finally gets back to his apartment that night, he finds a six-pack of beer in front of his door, with a thank you note in your handwriting.

#simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #ghost x reader #ghost x you #cod ghost #ghost call of duty

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