#*slinks back into cave to get the rest*

[babydollmarauders]

MARSHMALLOW — JOHN MARINO

john marino x fem!reader

12 DAYS OF KINKMAS

summary: in which y/n and her boyfriend get up to no good at the Devils christmas party

warnings: NSFW CONTENT, alcohol, cussing, extreme domination, heavy degradation, oral (m receiving), p in v (unprotected), i think that’s all? (3.6k words)

notes: welcome to day 4 of the 12 days of kinkmas! this is quite possibly the most degrading smut i’ve written so far, so if you ignore the warnings and go ahead and read it anyways, don’t come crying to me if you didn’t like it <3

“oh c’mon Johnny!”

Jack’s grating voice floats over the rest of the noise that bounces throughout the captain’s apartment, his hands gripping John’s shoulders as he shakes the boy from behind.

“you don’t wanna take a body shot off your smokin’ girlfriend?”

John’s head whips around to look at his teammate, a scowl resting on his face, “don’t call my girlfriend smokin’.”

“is she not?” Jack laughs, wiggling his eyebrows at the older boy.

“of course she is,” John states, shrugging Jack’s hands off his shoulders, “but you don’t get to think so.”

i roll my eyes at my boyfriend’s possessive nature, slinking closer to his figure, which stands besides the empty kitchen island.

“alright, alright,” Jack caves, “but if you won’t take the shot, someone else will.”

i can practically see the gears turning in John’s head, his eyes flickering between me and Jack.

“no, they will not.” i chime in. my hands come to rest on the defenseman’s chest, slowly traveling up to his shoulders before locking behind his neck.

“nobody else’s lips or tongue are coming anywhere near my body, baby.” i assure him, pulling his head down until his lips are mere inches from mine. “if you don’t want to, that’s okay. but you’re the only one allowed to touch me.”

“damn right, i am.” John gruffs, his eyes darkening as he pulls away. he pats the empty counter. “hop up, beautiful.”

a sultry grin pulls at my lips, hastily following his orders and pulling myself up onto the counter.

the kitchen full of hockey players cheer, any wives and girlfriends whistling as i pull my tank top off, leaving me in only a dark red bralette.

John’s hand connects lightly with my collarbone, gingerly pushing me backwards until the heated skin of my back makes contact with the cold marble countertop.

a shiver rolls down my spine, one side of his lips quirking up into a smirk. he takes hold of the ziploc bag of crushed peppermint candy cane from the counter, sprinkling a small bit on my sternum between my breasts.

Jack hands me a mini marshmallow from the bag in his hands, whilst Dawson hands his friend a shot glass of luke-warm cocoa with peppermint vodka.

“THREE!” the crowded kitchen counts down and i stick my tongue out, placing the mini marshmallow near the tip of my tongue.

“TWO!” John readies, shaking out any nerves as he prepares to down the muddy brown liquid.

“ONE!” i blink up at my boyfriend.

“GO!”

John clinks the shot glass against the counter before throwing the cocoa back into his mouth in one big gulp. his head dips down, his wet tongue dragging up my cleavage, collecting the crushed candy cane.

a shaky breath passes my lips, resisting the urge to throw my head back in pleasure at the feeling of his tongue and hot breath against my skin.

his face pops into my view as his tongue presses against mine prior to capturing it between his lips, sucking the marshmallow off of my tongue.

my eyelids flutter closed, eyes rolling back in my head. he releases my tongue, hastily transforming the movement into a deep kiss, his lips locking with mine before he pulls away.

Jack and Dawson shout, shaking their friend around as he smiles goofily.

“fuck yeah, Johnny!”

John rolls his eyes playfully, shaking his friends off. he steps back over to the counter while i sit back up, my legs hanging over the edge of the counter.

his hands wrap around my hips, lifting me off the surface and placing my feet back on the ground. he swiftly grabs my discarded tank top off the counter, shoving it into his back pocket as i press my chest to his.

“Johnny.” i breathe out to grasp his attention. he looks back down at me, his sight ripping away from Jack to find me gazing up at him.

my eyes are dark, pupils blown and breathing heavy as i sink my teeth into my bottom lip.

“baby,” he drags out, voice dropping in warning.

“that was so hot.” i whisper, lust dripping from my words as my hips push against him, his semi-hard bulge pressing against my pelvis; letting me note that the experience was just as sexy for him as it was for me.

“we’re at Nico’s.” he reminds me quietly, his lips grazing my ear.

“he won’t notice.” i state, my head nodding over to where his captain stands, immersed in conversation with Timo.

John scans the kitchen, finding everyone minding their own business, talking amongst themselves and paying no attention to us.

“fuck.” he curses, his hand grasping my own. he yanks my arm, pulling me out of the kitchen, down the hall to Nico’s guest room.

he shoves me into the room, slamming the door behind him. he steps closer, fingers digging into my waist as he spins us around, my back harshly meeting the door. his lips crash against mine, my hands holding onto his shoulders, straining on my tiptoes in order for my lips to meet his.

his tongue swipes across the seam of my lips, one hand sliding down to squeeze my ass, pulling at one cheek and making me gasp. he takes the chance to shove his tongue past my lips, tangling with mine while he uses his grip on my ass to pull me closer, his quickly hardening erection brushing against my heat.

i can feel my dampening panties stick to my core, making me let out a whine at the feeling.

John rips away, red swollen lips brushing against mine. he walks backwards, pulling his shirt over his head, throwing it onto the floor.

i follow after him until he stops near the end of the bed, hooking my fingers into the front of his jeans.

“on your knees, sweetheart.” he demands, taking pleasure in the way i immediately drop down in front of him.

his eyes darken, biting his bottom lip as he stares down at me. his fingers drop down to the button of his jeans, slipping the metal through the hole and unzipping before he pulls them down, his boxer briefs falling down with them.

his cock springs free, nearly slapping against his abdomen, tip red and angry, precum beading at the slit.

my thighs clench together, my mouth salivating at the sight.

“look at you,” he tsk’s, shaking his head. “such a fucking whore, clenching your thighs together.”

his hand tangles in my hair, yanking my head back to look into his eyes and drawing a gasp from my lips.

“so horny, just from a fucking body shot.” he gruffs, “bet you’re fucking soaking. aren’t you?”

i mewl, nodding my head shortly.

“that’s what i thought.” he huffs in disapproval. “such a slut, i bet you would get worked up like this if anyone did that shot, wouldn’t you?”

he gives me no chance to answer before he speaks again.

“hmm? you’d get this worked up if fucking Nate did that shot, wouldn’t you?” he yanks at my hair again, my jaw falling open as my eyes roll back, shaking my head. “words, slut.”

“no.” i whimper, “no, no. just you. only you, Johnny.”

he hums in approval, his grip loosening in order to pet my fallen hair out of my face sweetly.

“yeah? prove it.” he croons, “suck my cock.”

my hand wraps around the base of his length, squeezing, and i begin to pump him slowly. my lips fall back open, my tongue lolling out as i lick up the underside of his cock, tracing the bulging vein that rests there.

when i get to his tip, he shoves my head down lightly, urging me to take him in.

“shit.” he curses as i slide him into my mouth, my warm tongue flattening on the underside of him as i relax my throat, bobbing my head. my hand stays wrapped around him, jerking what i can’t fit.

with each bob, his tip hits the back of my throat, coaxing a gag out of me amidst his moans.

the sound of christmas music and loud conversations still float through the crack under the locked door, covering our noise from the world outside of this room.

i peer up through my lashes, finding his chin tilted down, his eyes set on me. his jaw is slack, and i run my free hand over the ridges on his abs, feeling them tense under my fingertips.

a mix of saliva and precum drools from my lips, providing lubrication for his cock to slip farther with each head bob.

i pull off of him with a pop, my tongue darting out to lick his tip before my lips close around it, sucking gently while my tongue swirls.

his gasp is like music to my ears, his grasp on my hair tightening, pulling a moan from my throat. the vibrations travel up his cock, making it twitch, and he lets out a loud groan.

his hand slides around to cup my cheek, forcing me to look up at him again as my hair falls to frame my face.

“you think you can take it all, baby?” my lips leave his tip, my hand still jerking him, and i nod. his thumb traces my bottom lip as he speaks again. “yeah? you think you can be a good girl for me?”

i nod again and he takes my consent. his hand goes back to holding my hair up in a makeshift ponytail as he pushes my head further down, and i relax my throat, letting him thrust in until my nose touches his pubic bone.

i focus on breathing through my nose as he stills, basking in the feeling, but the moment quickly falls when i begin to gag. he uses his grip on my hair to pull me off of him, watching me as tears roll down my cheeks.

“again.” i whisper, my voice hoarse from the abuse of my throat.

“you sure?” his eyes are soft, but as i nod, they darken once more. he guides himself back into my mouth, making quick work of thrusting this time. rather than stilling, he begins to fuck my face.

moans pour from his lips, his head falling back in pleasure.

“you’re so good.” he hisses. “just a cock hungry little whore for me, aren’t you?”

i hum in agreement around his cock and his hips begin to stutter, his guiding of my head quickly stopping as he pulls me off of him for the last time.

i look up at him and his hands lock at the nape of my neck, tugging me up into a bruising kiss.

my body falls against his, my lips parting, and he slips his tongue in, tangling it with mine. my hands explore his body, smoothing along his bare chest and up to his shoulders.

“tell me what you want.” he speaks against my lips, his tongue flicking across them. “you want me to fuck you like the whore you are, right?

“you want me to use you for my pleasure; fuck you dumb until all you can scream is my name.”

his words go straight to my core, only making me wetter. a whimper resonates from my throat, a smirk growing on his lips at the sound.

“i need you to say yes, baby.” he lays kisses up my throat, leaving wet marks in his wake, until he reaches my ear. his lips ghost my outer ear as he whispers. “i need to know you want it before i treat you like the dumb, drippy little cock whore that you are.”

a shaky breath passes my split lips, my jaw relaxed as he continues his attack against my neck.

“i want it.” i tremble at his touch; his hands trailing up my hot skin. “i want it so bad, John.”

he pulls away, leaving goosebumps littering my body at the loss of his touch.

“strip for me.”

John takes a seat on the bed, staring at me with watchful eyes, and i’m suddenly insecure under his gaze.

my hands shake as i pull my bralette over my head, my pebbled nipples hitting the cold air and causing chills to wrack my body.

his eyes lock on my breasts for a moment before dragging down my body, watching as i pull my skirt down my body, my panties being dragged down with it.

his hand reaches out to pull me toward him, between his spread legs, and my hands thread into the hair at the nape of his neck.

he leans forward, pressing a kiss to my stomach. he trails up my body, leaving wet kisses in his wake. his lips follow a path between my breasts, agonizingly slow until he reaches my neck.

he nips at my skin, sucking and dragging his tongue over the spot before he pulls away, blowing cool air against the spot and making me squirm in his grip.

he stands, twisting me in his arms before spinning us around so my knees hit the edge of the mattress. he gives me a shove, bending me over the bed, and i brace myself on my forearms, my ass brushing against his dick.

“you’re glistening for me.” he remarks.

i jolt as his fingers swipe through my slick folds, spreading my wetness around my cunt, and he chuckles lowly when i cry out as he thrusts a thick digit into me suddenly.

“Johnny.” i sob out, rolling my hips down against his hand.

“god, you’re so fucking needy.” he grunts, pulling his hand away and making me groan in want. “i’m gonna ruin you.”

his hand closes around the front of my throat, his other wrapping around the base of his cock, guiding it through my moisture. my back arches when his tip hits against my swollen clit, a broken whimper dropping from my lips when he shoves into me.

“shhh, be a good girl and take this dick.” his grip on my throat tightens, his other hand grasping my waist.

he uses his touch to anchor himself as he pounds into me, his tip hitting repeatedly against my g-spot.

he swiftly hooks an arm around my leg, bringing it up to kneel on the bed in order to open my pussy even further for him.

tears already prick my eyes but this new angle brings a high pitched moan from my lips, my face falling forward and hair dropping down. my arms feel weak, shaking underneath me.

“this pussy was made for me. made for me to use; to get myself off in.” John’s voice is tight and strained, his hips slapping against my ass as he speaks. “say it.”

“i-it-” i stutter, struggling to speak over the sounds of his cock thrusting into my wetness.

“i-i-i-” he mocks me. his hand from my throat drops down to roughly squeeze my breast, “have i fucked you dumb already?”

“it was made for you.” i squeak out, back arching again as he twists and pinches at my nipple, “my pussy is yours to use.”

he drops down, his sweaty chest pressing against my back, his lips pressing against the nape of my neck before he brings them to my ear.

“good girl.”

he stands back to his full height, hands on my waist, using his grip to push me forward and pull me back onto his dick, moving me with his thrusts; manhandling me like his own personal sex doll.

“touch yourself.” he orders, “rub your clit like the needy little whore that you are.”

my hand dips down between my legs, making my upper half press into the mattress, and my middle finger slowly begins to rub the puffy bundle of nerves.

John gives my ass a harsh smack, coaxing a scream to bubble up my throat, and he hastily leans forward, shoving his fingers in my mouth.

“unless your screaming my name, you shut your damn mouth. do you wanna get caught?” he hisses.

“i- no- i-” i babble around his fingers, and he shoves them slightly deeper against my tongue.

“jesus, i really have fucked you dumb.” he spits, “i said to shut your mouth, do you understand?”

i nod my head as best as i can with it pressed into the mattress.

“good.” his thrusts speed up, urging my finger on my clit to rub faster, and i can feel a familiar pit forming in my lower stomach.

repeated murmurs of his name frantically form in my mouth around his fingers, my eyes rolling back and my body twitching as i clench around him.

“don’t come.” he demands, and i whimper as i try and hold back. “i’m close. don’t you dare fucking come.”

the pressure builds, tears falling from my eyes and onto the bed sheets as i try and hold back my release.

he fucks into me rapidly, losing his rhythm as his hips stutter, his dick twitching inside of me.

“come.” his one word spurs me to finally let go, my toes curling against the carpeted floor and my breath hitching in my throat as i finally release on his cock.

his cum spurts out in ropes, covering my insides and making further squelches as he fucks me through our orgasms. his fingers dig into my waist, surely leaving bruises, and a grunt leaves his clenched jaw.

he thrusts a few more times before pulling out, the empty feeling making me whine.

his hands begin slowly caressing up and down my back in comforting lines.

“hey.” he coos, using his strength to lift my frail figure off the bed. my legs wobble as i stand and he spins me around to face him.

his eyes are soft, filled with love and the familiar sense of home that i’m used to.

“are you okay, baby?” his hand cups my cheek, his thumb dragging to wipe the drool from around my mouth. i hum, nodding my head softly. “did i hurt you?”

i shake my head and he shakes his in return.

“i need words, beautiful. reassurance.” his voice is gentle, and he presses a light kiss to my forehead.

“you didn’t hurt me, Johnny. i’m okay.” i assure him and a small smile plays at his lips.

“how are you feeling?”

“good,” i start before adding, “sticky.”

he laughs and a grin spreads across my face at the melodic sound.

“let’s clean you up, and then you can decide if you wanna go home or go back out to the party.”

he guides me to the en-suite bathroom, gathering a few cottonelle wipes from the pack on the back of the toilet, and i bend over the counter, wiping the mascara smudges from around my eyes as he cleans me up from behind.

“you’re so beautiful.” he whispers, my still bare ass pressing against him as he leans forward to drop kisses along the tops of my shoulders. “i love you. you know that, right?”

i nod, peering back at him with puckered lips. he locks his lips with mine, twisting my body around mid-kiss in order to wrap his arms around my waist, locking them at the small of my back.

“i love you too, John.” i utter against his lips and he pulls away to give me a wide smile. i scrunch my nose at him, his head dropping back down to rub his nose against mine.

“let’s get dressed.” i nod, leading the way back to the bedroom, and we get redressed, John finally returning my tank top from earlier in the night.

“do you wanna go home?” he asks me once we’re fully clothed.

“no.” i shake my head, my hand resting on the wrist of his hand which cups my cheek. “let’s go back out and celebrate the holidays with our friends.”

“and then, when we finally do get home, we can take a bath.” i add, making him nod.

“whatever you want, love.”

his hand slips down to hold mine as he unlocks the bedroom door, opening it up and slipping back out into the still wild party.

“ayo! there you are!” Jack cheers as we find him in the living room, wrapping an arm around John’s shoulders. “was beginning to think you guys left with an irish goodbye to go home and fuck.”

John chuckles with Jack, shaking his head.

“nah, we’ve been around.” he assures his shorter teammate.

he slings his arm around my shoulders, my hand still holding his, and i peek over to look at Nico, who stands quietly next to Dawson, who speaks a mile a minute in his captains ear.

Nico finds my gaze, raising his eyebrows and smirking over the top of his beer bottle. my face flushes in embarrassment and fear that he knew what happened in his guest bedroom, but then his eyes dart to the side towards Dawson and i realize he’s giving me a ‘get a load of this guy’ look.

i giggle, burying myself further into John’s side, who gazes down at me mid-conversation and presses a kiss to the top of my head.

“so, y/n,” Luke sidles up next to me, a spiked eggnog in his hand as he escapes the never ending flow of words that come from his older brothers mouth. “have fun?”

my head whips over to look at the young defenseman, a smirk resting on his lips. i tell myself that he’s just making conversation, asking if i’m having fun at the party, but then his eyes flicker between me and the hallway that houses the doors to the bedrooms and blood rushes to my cheeks.

fuck.

#faithlynn’s 12 days of kinkmas #john marino #john marino x reader #john marino imagine #john marino blurb #john marino fic #john marino smut #nj devils #nhl fic #nhl imagine #nhl smut #faithlynn’s writings <3

[envy-of-the-apple]

the jjk naga au is getting to me……..i fear im terminally ill with thoughts about it (seriously, top of the food chain is such a yummy series (?) and im soso obsessed with how you've written gojo’s and geto’s characters, i reread your works everyday, i just can't get enough! ^^)

and i hope you don't mind if i share a Thought i've had :3 (i was going for an mc who used to draw/sketch/make art just for this specific scenario)

Imagine that your time on the island's barely dragging on. There's only so many berries to pick and so many times you can braid Suguru’s hair into elaborate styles. You're bored, stranded on an island with these two naga captors and their (adorable) hatchlings.

Well, there's always playing with the hatchlings, or tussling with Satoru (he calls it playtime but you're far from amused when you get a faceful of sand when he tugs your legs out from under you) but you miss your alone time. That little bubble of yours. Ah, privacy. 

Like that'd happen, but you can dream.

It's a stroke of chance when Nobara comes to you with her new haul of human paraphernalia, all too excitedly. A leather satchel. Some printed photos of nameless faces with scenic backgrounds. A waterlogged cell phone, practically unsalvageable. A journal with pages so thoroughly soaked, it falls apart in wet clumps.

“What are these?” You can hear her rummage through the bag, her nose wrinkling slightly. “Smells weird.” And so you look over to see her glaring down at a (relatively new) set of oil paints, sealed away in the bag. It's likely that she picked up on the scent of the strange chemicals.

Your eyes are bright with hope as you gently pull it out of her hold. Ready to answer her million and one questions.

…

After all this time that you've thought of what you'd wished to be able to do, you're at a loss. You've got a wall to the cave to yourself, a set of oil paints and a makeshift brush from the wood of this one particular tree off the side of the island. The only thing you're missing right now is inspiration.

A muse.

Satoru and Suguru are snoozing. Peaceful and laid in each other's arms. you can appreciate the quiet to yourself.

You hear familiar shrieks and playful yells of the hatchlings' name. 

The slight bit of quiet, then.

Nobara and Yuji are wrestling in the water, arguing over something in a mix of clicks and curse words. The sight is an endearing one, but moving too quick.

So you do some searching inward.

And you paint what comes to mind. What you've felt this whole time.

…

“What's that?” Ever the curious one, Nobara rests her head on your shoulder to peer over at your artwork in progress. She doesn't understand any of it—and she wouldn't. Your human upbringing is leagues different from hers.

“... Home.” You murmur, and Nobara’s glancing up at you in wonder because of the way your eyes glisten, the way your hand lingers over to paint in a fine detail.

“Well, it was my home.” You smile back at her, and she's at ease. You're not sad—no, she'd make it everybody's problem if you were—and then she makes sure to know everything about the scene you've drawn.

“What's that?” She gestures. Careful not to smudge the paint off, index outstretched to a figure she doesn't recognise.

“That's a lamp. When it gets dark, we switch it on so there's light. Like the torches in the cave, you see?”

“Torch? Hmm… and that?”

It seems that talking about your old home brings a warmth to your voice. Nobara beams up at you all giddy as you explain, eager to learn more. Eventually Yuji slinks over to listen as well, more so to the sound of your voice than what you're saying.

You sound happy, the pair can tell. Like when you taste a berry sweeter than the others, or when you tell them stories of your own to lull them to sleep. They like the chime of joy in your voice, and neither stops you from rambling about your once-home. 

It's a moment of peace. and warmth.

Yet it shatters for you when you feel a strong muscled tail coil around your waist, that familiar sense of having your space invaded taking over. A very intrigued Satoru looms over you, eyes glinting as he takes in the sight. You know that something's off—he seems more punishing with how tight he holds you.

“Home, huh?” Satoru repeats, and even the hatchlings can tell that's their cue to leave. Nobara offers you a lingering glance, almost pouty before she slithers away, following after her brother.

…

The next early morning, you find your home gone. 

In a sense, it's a bitter joke to be played on you. Not only were you never going to be back at your own place, even the expression of the idea was taken away from you. Just like your freedom was. your choice. The wall of the cave was bare, not a hint of the paint or the sentiment lingering behind. As if someone hit a total reset. Paints nowhere to be found, your canvas scrubbed clean.

Suguru stretches out from behind you, one of the first few to wake up, wrapping you in a lazy hug, before he follows your gaze. You'd call the soft laugh that rumbles in his chest cruel. Mocking your homesickness in that loving way only he could manage.

“Must've rained last night.” He comments at the absence of your artwork, and you wish you could pinpoint at least an inch or sarcasm in his words. You nod quietly, and he draws you in closer.

Cold lips brush against your temple. 

“The only home you need is with us.”

The sand under your feet is drier than your throat.

(oh my god im sorry if i rambled too much, i hope its not annoying ^^;;)

jaw dropping. amazing. wHAT????

I love how anon made Nobara's characterization so much sweeter and innocent. Though it's probably cuz she's younger in this fic...considering she can still stay on land. And satosugu not even wanting you to THINK of your old home is so accurate. I feel the more they learn your language, the more eager they'll be to display ownership.

Anyway thx anon for making the fourth part! from now on if anyone wants an addition to the naga series turn to the anons not me.

#why is this so good omg #reread it like fiteen times #x reader #yandere jjk #dark jjk #dark gojo satoru #yandere #yandere gojo satoru #yandere satosugu #naga satosugu #jjk naga au #yandere geto suguru #dark geto suguru #dark content #top of the food chain

[dinogoofy]

Smoke and jealousy

I CAVED AND WROTE ABOUT TOMAS SORRY GUYS

I'm working on the Halloween fics still but I couldn't stop myself. Blacked out and came to smooching my jealous husband sorry not sorry

Written with Fem! Reader in mind but I don't thing pronouns are mentioned.

Tomas likes Johnny. He honestly does. He enjoys his action movies, he thinks he's funny. He likes his outgoing personality and his optimism, but sometimes, he really wants to punch him in the face.

Johnny Cage is a flirt, and everyone who has met him knows that. It's not a problem when he's flirting with the princess, or the umgadi, or even with Harumi. However, it's something different entirely when Johnny Cage flirts with you.

Tomas hates seeing him near you, arm slung around your shoulder talking about one thing or another, usually trying to cast you in a movie. You always roll your eyes at his touchy-feely self and tolerate it for minute or two before pushing him off like you would a brother. Tomas trusts you with his heart and his life, but the angry pit in his stomach when Johnny is around you is hard to ignore.

He feels bad about it, honestly. He doesn't like that kind of feeling, it makes him feel like he's irrational because he thinks he's overreacting. He feels like he's too overprotective and that he doesn't deserve you. He tries his best not to let it get to him, but when Johnny just continues to flirt with you it makes him rigid. Almost snippy. He wants to run up and kiss you and hold you close and show that you're off-limits, but he knows he has a standard to uphold as one of earthrelm's protectors. He follows the Shirai Ryu in the footsteps of the old Lin Kuei. He doesn't initaite PDA no matter how much he wants to.

It's easy for you to tell when he's jealous. It's easy for anyone who knows him to see, really. It's like watching a golden retriever be grumpy. When he gets tense, and you notice he's purposely avoiding your direction, you know it's because he's jealous and feels bad about it. You slink up next to him, and he relaxes when your hand slips into his own. He sighs as you turn him to face you and cup his cheek. You get him to lean down so that you can kiss his forehead, before pressing a sweet kiss to his lips. Tomas is smiling when you pull away, a lovestruck look in his eyes.

"You know he’s an idiot, right?" You joke. Tomas laughs. Leaning towards you again. He sets his hands on your hips in a bold move, one he probably would have avoided if he were paying attention to anything other than you.

"Maybe. But he's-" You shush him with another kiss that he melts into, kissing you back gently.

"No buts. Okay? I love you, and only you." Tomas' smile grows wider at your words, and he leans forward to rest his head in the crook of your shoulder.

"I don't know what I did to deserve you, my love." He sighs.

#mk1 #mortal kombat #mortal kombat 1 #mk #mortal kombat x reader #mortal kombat imagines #mk x reader #mk smoke #smoke #mk tomas vrbada #tomas vrbada #mk1 smoke

[chelseeebe]

stevie doesn’t know.

sorry stevie boy.. it had to happen at some point. obviously based on scotty doesn’t know which i have listened to repeatedly while writing this

18+. smut. cheating. eddie is rlly quite mean to poor stevie. no use of y/n!

‎♡‧₊˚

what steve doesn’t know can’t hurt him, right?

that’s what eddie thinks anyway.

it wasn’t ever supposed to continue after you and steve actually became official, you’d made that explicitly clear.

until you’d broken the no-contact rule one night, it must’ve been gone two by the time you had called. not that he’d been sleeping or bothered by that fact. actually, he was impressed you’d held out so long.

‘why’re you calling me?’ he’d asked innocently down the phone, guitar still poised in his lap.

you had just sighed. eddie could picture your face, irritated but standing tall on your stupid, made up rules. he wasn’t going to give you the satisfaction. not yet, anyway.

‘you know..’

‘ah, but i don’t,’ positive you could hear his smirk on the other end.

then came another sigh, ‘please don’t make me beg,’ sounding utterly pathetic, just the way he liked it.

‘but what if i want you to beg?’

‘can i come over?’

‘are you gonna answer my question?’ joint balanced between his lips, not bothered to raise his hand to smoke properly.

there was silence from your end until you huffed in frustration, kissing your teeth before finally giving up, ‘i need to see you.’

‘need to? or want to?’ he liked the tease, liked to mess with you until you had no choice but to crawl right back into his bed, begging for another chance.

‘need to.’

and there you were, stood solemnly outside of his door still in the dress you’d obviously worn on whatever disappointing date steve had dragged you on.

‘come in,’ he simply smirked, holding the door open as you slinked into the trailer, head down in defeat.

the two of you stood staring for a moment, eddie waiting expectantly for an apology or for some half-assed grovelling but it doesn’t come.

he holds his finger to his ear, jutting his bottom lip out, ‘did you wanna..’

‘eddie,’ you warn, your tone giving away how desperate you really are.

‘i just wanna hear you say it,’ he’s not prepared to keep this going much longer, not with his dick twitching in his pants at the mere sight of you.

‘i’m sorry,’ your shoulders slump, tossing your bag onto the couch as inch your way over, ‘is that what you wanna hear? i’m sorry for telling you not to call me, i’m sorry for being a bitch, okay? but i need you eddie.. now,’ fingers walking the length of his upper arms until they rest on his shoulders.

christ, you’re practically panting. and he knows what’s waiting once he gets that dress off. can see the way your thighs are clamped together, eyeing his lips and his neck and his chest. you’re starving.

‘is that right?’ he taunts, hands ghost above your waist, not quite touching but almost.

‘yes,’ you begrudge, spitting the words at him, fingers skirting around his collar, messing with the soft cotton. ‘please eddie.’

it doesn’t take much for him to cave, hands meeting your waist after much teasing. his eyes are hooded, staring at your lips rather than your eyes, ‘i’ve been waiting for you to come crawlin’ back,’ there’s a hint of satisfaction in his voice but he���s adamant on not ruining this again so keeps it to a minimum.

‘shut up, you knew i would,’ pressing your chest to his.

eddie hadn’t exactly been celibate since your last rendezvous last month but god, no one had felt quite as good as you. he’d dreamt about it, this very moment to be precise. it hadn’t played out like this in his head though.

his idealised version included a hell of a lot more begging, you might’ve even gotten on your knees at one point. but there’s no time for that now, not after you’d made him wait so long.

‘don’t do it again,’ he breathes, lips brushing against yours.

‘i won’t,’ you gasp out, ‘i promise,’ finally locking lips with a haste.

it’s a hungry kiss, teeth and tongues clashing with pure animalistic want for one another. you taste like mint and a vague hint of wine, so you were getting wined and dined but he’d have to provide the sixty nine.

normally he wouldn’t bother to find his way to his room, the couch would suffice however he’s well aware that this won’t likely be a one and done. perhaps an all night affair.

his fingers fumble for the door knob, reaching behind you all the while trying to keep his tongue in your mouth and successfully guide you backwards. you fall into the room, his weight pressing against your chest had sent you flying, finding the bed through sheer muscle memory.

you break away just long enough to land on the springy mattress, eddie climbing above shortly after, eager to continue the kiss. too much time had been wasted already.

his fingers creep lower, slipping between your thighs and up underneath the satin dress. he was right, ‘this all f’me sweetheart?’ teasing his fingers into your sodden underwear, suckling along the length of your jaw.

he’s not stupid enough to mark you how he wanted but he is tempted. would love to watch you squirm as you explain the violet markings to pretty boy.

his fingers slip inside, groaning against the skin of your neck, he’d missed this just as much as you had. made evident by the growing tent rousing in his sweat pants.

you pant softly beneath him, digging into his biceps with an iron-clad grip, not that he was going anywhere. everything about you is so sweet, the way you unravel the second he touches you, eyes barely staying open as his fingers slide in and out.

you’re a picture. something to behold, to think about on the nights you don’t come around. this is what keeps him going.

he slides out slowly, removing his hand from your underwear and haphazardly sliding down his own pants. he’s trying to savour it but you’re too much, writhing around, sending his head into a frenzy.

the fact that neither of you could be bothered to undress, the straps of your dress sliding down, revealing the lacy number eddie hoped you’d worn for him and not steve.

he lines himself up with your entrance, huffing when he slides in, knees almost collapsing when you whine into his ear. his tongue glides over his bottom lip, wetting the skin as he tries to focus on not coming immediately.

‘oh,’ he exhales, ‘you hear that? you missed me, huh?’ driven wild by the sounds of your pussy enveloping him, the way your skin collided with such velocity. it’s music to his ears and completely indistinguishable to anyone else.

‘yeah,’ you breathe, loosely attaching your lips to his jaw, ‘so much.. missed you so much,’ garbling over the creaking mattress.

jesus christ, if you kept speaking like that, he wasn’t going to last long.

his fingers tilt your chin upward, forcing your eyes to meet his before travelling down between your sweaty bodies, finding your neglected clit quickly. your legs snap shut, releasing a shuddered breath into his ear as you clamp him between your thighs.

‘oh my god,’ you whine, grabbing at his arms as he quickens his pace. the room full of lewd noises, he’s sure the trailer was probably rocking. he’s just grateful that wayne was back on nights or else you’d be somewhere dark in the back of his van.

your cunt clenches around him, bodies moving as one as your hips jut upward, chasing his cock when he cruelly slows down. he just wants to savour the moment, if only for a second, gazing down at you through blurred vision.

steve didn’t deserve to see this. not that he’s sure he was ever capable of that. lipstick smeared around your chin, looking up at him through hooded eyelids and the delirious babbling that fell from your lips. this was stuff most people only dreamt of.

your palm pulls him from his head, cradling his cheek as you plead with him to just fuck you.

he obliges, happily. thumb still working wonders on your sensitive bud, sending the pair of you hurtling towards your looming orgasm.

you repeat his name like some sort of mantra, breathless and pathetic. ‘shit..’ eyes rolling to the back of your head. eddie knows you, knows your body, knows you’re in that sweet spot where you’re completely malleable and incoherent.

he’s not far off, especially not when your thighs begin to quiver, tightening around him as you go quiet. incapable of thinking or doing anything as you unravel beneath his body. jaw slack with your lips curling into the perfect ‘o’.

if he were some eighteenth century painter, he’d probably have hundreds of canvases full of this exact image.

eddie’s forehead drops, pressed against yours as he tumbles over the edge. ‘baby.. oh shit you’re- fuck,’ spurting thick ropes of cum into your cunt because he’s too wrecked to think about the implications of that right now.

the world goes soft around the edges for a moment, his head spinning as he pulls out, collapsing into a heap on his bed, a mess of limbs and clammy skin, both panting as he reels.

he reaches over, wiping his thumb over your chin and clearing off the mess he’d made. but really, he’s proud. admiring the beauty in your disheveled hair and bleary eyes.

‘i’ve missed you,’ he whispers, watching intently as you readjust your disregarded panties. give him a minute and he’d be raring for round two.

you tut, turning to face him proudly, ‘i missed you too,’ lying back against the pillow. the fact that you hadn’t immediately left was a good sign.

‘you staying?’ he asks cautiously, one brow raised, not wanting to push it too far.

‘mhm,’ you nod, playing coy although eddie can spot that grin starting a mile away.

that’s enough for him to throw his arm over your waist, pulling your body to his as he mentally prepares for the night you were about to have.

-

eddie leans over the counter, chin resting in his hand. tuesdays were never a particularly exciting day, the residents of hawkins weren’t looking for records during the week apparently.

the door chimes and his gaze flies towards the door, gobsmacked to find one steve harrington and you stood in the doorway. you’re whispering angrily at him, tugging on his arm, trying to get him to budge.

oh this was about to be so fun.

steve’s ignoring everything you’re saying, too preoccupied with marvelling the place. the dinghy old record store was hardly somewhere he frequented.

your eyes meet eddie’s with a serious please shut the fuck up message that he’s choosing to ignore. instead, he straightens up, waiting for steve to reach the counter before starting his attack.

‘stevie boy,’ he roars, ‘long time no see, how’ve you been man?’ wilfully ignoring your pleading eyes.

‘oh munson, i didn’t know you worked here,’ steve smiles, still eyeing the various yellowed posters that hung around the store. ‘i’m great, you working hard or hardly working?’

god he’s so smug. he doesn’t even mean to be but eddie just can’t stand it. though he does get some slight satisfaction with knowing that not even twenty four hours ago he had had you dripping from his chin.

‘oh i’m always working hard,’ his eyes flitting to you, ‘what can i do for ya’ today?’

steve looks over towards you, arm resting around your shoulder which eddie detests. it’s such a flimsy claim and if steve knew anything, he’d realise how stupid he looked.

‘well this one wants some new record.. told her we’d stop by and see if you had it.’

you keep your jaw clenched, antsy and irritated as you wait for eddie to inevitably make some wise crack. ‘what is it?’ asking you, rather than steve. his eyes threatening to slip down to your chest.

‘madonna,’ steve grins, completely unaware of how much he really wasn’t a part of the conversation.

‘hmm,’ eddie hums, ‘i didn’t know you were a madonna fan,’ poking and prodding just a little more. seeing how much he could irritate you before you cracked and said something.

‘why would you know that?’ you bite, regretting it almost immediately.

‘well i know lots of things about you,’ he smiles, slipping from behind the counter and over to where they kept the shitty pop you apparently liked.

it’s no surprise you don’t reply. eddie had the upper hand here and you seriously didn’t want to give him a reason to open his mouth again.

he hands the record to you, lips twitching as you scowl at him. steve is completely oblivious, watching the exchange with a grin so cheesy, it knocks eddie sick.

ever the joker, eddie twists round, fiddling with the other tapes until he finds the right one. if he hadn’t pissed you off before, he’d definitely get you riled up now.

‘i think you’d like this one stevie,’ holding the tape out to his face, ‘jessie’s girl.. right up your street.’

steve nods, graciously taking the plastic case from his hand. you look less than impressed, the scowl on your face sends shivers down his spine but it’s so worth it.

‘sweet man, thanks,’ steve nods, looking over to you with that same stupid expression on his face. he’s so naive and it would make eddie feel bad if steve hadn’t been such an asshole in school.

you don’t say a word for the rest of the transaction, hanging onto steve’s arm with a sour frown. he’d pay for his antics later but now he waves you off cheerily, ‘enjoy it man!’ he calls out as you leave, relishing the chaos he’d caused.

-

when you inevitably turn up at his door the following night, you’re miserable as sin, pouting with your arms crossed over your chest.

‘you think you’re a comedian or something?’ jabbing his shoulder with your carefully manicured nail. ‘he thinks you’re friends,’ expelling the pent up anger on his poor shoulder.

‘we are friends,’ eddie laughs, using the belt loops on your jeans to pull you closer, ‘i’m just closer to his girlfriend,’ despite your face screwing up, you don’t pull away. obviously.

‘it’s not funny,’ expression softening when his hands find your ass, relaxing into his touch, ‘if you want this to continue you’re gonna have to learn how to shut up,’ your palms sliding down his chest, tugging at his shirt as you go.

his head dips, pressing his forehead to yours, ‘you want me to make it up to you?’

you nod carefully and finally, that smile he loves peeks through.

you’re a different person around steve, more timid and sweet. not a patch on the girl now laid underneath him with her shirt pulled up to her chin, joint hanging lazily between her lips as eddie’s lips attach themselves to your bare nipple.

no, this was only something he got to see. if he says so himself, it’s the best version of you.

your mouth parts slightly, smoke and soft sighs filling the trailer alike. he’s insatiable, wanting to swallow you whole like some snake he’d seen on the discovery channel. his tongue flicks around the stiff bud while his other hand becomes friends with your other breast.

on his knees between your spread legs, just the way god intended him to be.

there’s a knock at the front door, pulling him from the bliss of your boob in his mouth. he groans, waiting for whichever rude asshole to leave.

‘hey munson,’ steve’s voice sounds from the other side. both of your heads fly to the door, sitting up from the compromising position you had found yourselves in. ‘you there man?’ he hollers, knocking again.

‘shitshitshit,’ you hush, rushing to pull your shirt back down. launching yourself from the couch as eddie sits up, trying to think of something, anything that would explain your presence in his trailer.

now you weren’t amateurs to this game; your car wasn’t outside, you had a solid alibi for your whereabouts.. so what the hell did he want?

and as much as eddie liked to goad and tempt fate, he wasn’t stupid. if steve found you in his trailer, he’d most certainly beat eddie’s ass. no doubt with the help of his yappy little lap dog tommy.

‘bedroom,’ he hurries, taking the joint from your fingers and stubbing it out into the ashtray. fuck. why now? why when he’s sporting a solid half-chub does your meathead boyfriend have to ruin it all?

you scurry off, a concerned look overtaking your features. keeping the door open a crack just in case things really got out of hand.

eddie’s obviously flustered, his cheeks burn and his hair is unruly but he doesn’t exactly have the time to do anything about it. he swings the door open just as steve is about to turn back to his fucking shiny beemer.

‘oh hey dude.. sorry i was-,’ eddie’s fumbling with his words, too caught up in concealing his stiffy to speak coherently, ‘doing something,’ now he definitely looked as if he was jerking off.

steve spins back round, ‘oh shit man! i was just..’ he slinks back over to the door, now speaking in hushed tones, ‘someone told me you sold weed.. i was wondering if i could get some?’

god he’s such a dweeb. simultaneously, eddie hates him and wants to coddle him. he’s so nauseating.

‘oh..’ trying to hide the instant feeling of relief that washes over his body, he could finally fucking breathe. ‘sure.. come in,’ now this was a risky game but he couldn’t exactly start dishing out drugs on his front porch, could he?

steve walks in with his hands tucked into his pockets, trying not to stare at the peeling wallpaper and various drug paraphernalia that littered the table. he doesn’t reckon your boyfriend is that observant otherwise he’d notice the collection of stubbed out joints with your lipstick stains on them.

eddie watches him for a moment, wondering how this man who reminds him of a labrador could reign such terror over everyone in high school. he doesn’t dwell on it too much because truly, eddie got the last laugh. steve just didn’t know it yet.

‘how much you want?’ he asks, thanking the stars above that he’d bought his box out into the living room before your boyfriend had decided to gatecrash.

‘uh.. two?’ steve replies cluelessly.

‘two what?’

he shakes his head, not understanding how that wasn’t incredibly clear, as if eddie was the stupid one, ‘joints?’

‘you want pre-rolls?’ eddie asks, quirking his eyebrow at the dumbass in front of him.

‘yeah, those,’ steve nods, now smiling at eddie like this whole conversation wasn’t unhinged and completely unnecessary.

‘oh.. right,’ he holds off on rolling his eyes, deciding he’d get his revenge in the form of ripping him off.

he roots through his box, grateful to have rolled a couple earlier with the intention of not having to roll up while you were here. oh well. anything to get steve the fuck out of his living room and your tits back in his mouth, as soon as he can.

‘here ya’ go man..’ he debates whether asking for a hundred would get him his ass beat or not. ‘thirty bucks,’ passing the joints to steve with a small smile.

he digs around in his abnormally-tight jean pocket for his wallet, handing eddie three tens with absolutely no complaints. fucking sucker.

‘thanks man!’ he continues, heading for the door at long last. ‘oh.. i know you two are friends so i just wanna ask..’ speaking in hushed tones as if anyone but you could hear them, ‘if we could keep this between us? my girl doesn’t know i smoke anymore.’

wow.

what a fucking idiot.

he won’t mention the use of my girl and how much he wants to strangle the dumbass stood before him. eddie bites back an added our, decided he values his life over a quick-witted quip.

eddie closes the non-existent zip on his lips, fighting the smirk that wanted to break through, ‘my lips are sealed.’

they certainly were.

‘thanks man,’ disappearing off into the night.

eddie rushes over, locking the door once again as he peaks through the tiny window, watching as the headlights leave the trailer park at long, long last.

‘he’s gone,’ he calls out, watching the bedroom door you’re waiting behind, bottom lip between your teeth as you creep out.

‘thirty dollars?’ is all you can say. cheeks twitching when you start giggling, thumping eddie on his arm rather hard.

he just shrugs, ‘stevie boy had it coming for interrupting,’ hands already finding the hem of your shirt, eager to continue what had been rudely ruined.

‘you’re an assh-,’ you begin only to be cut off by eddie’s lips pressing to yours.

yeah yeah maybe he was an asshole but he’d just endured an entire conversation with your fucking boyfriend sporting a fucking boner, you could bicker about it later.

#eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fic #Spotify

[rafescurtainbangz]

Two of a Kind (Billy Hargrove One Shot)

+18

Minor DNI

The two of you are headed out on vacation. If there is one thing that Billy has to be, it's early to the airport. When he decides to push your buttons, you push his right back. Has Billy met his match?

Dom!Dom, Sex toys, Brat, Oral (Female Receiving)

Your POV:

"Y/N!"

"William!" You shriek. "If you tell me to hurry up one more time I swear you're gonna be suckin' your own dick this trip. Jesus Christ! What are you fifty fuckin' years old?"

Billy chuckles darkly from the living room, taunting you further; driving you absolutely fucking insane. He sighs heavily, heaving himself up from the couch.

You hear his footsteps; the heels of his boots shuffling over your hardwood floor.

When I turn around he's going to be leaning into the doorframe. That smirk; a smolder in his eyes that makes me throb. And, all I'll get is a tease because this motherfucker needs to be at the airport four hours early.

For what?

You continue to stuff your clothes in your suitcase. Coercing the man with a lack of one of his favorite things... your attention.

He clears his throat as you continue to toil, leaving Billy no choice but to get physical to get what he wants. You.

Mmm... Then it's all over.

His heavy feet move closer. Anticipation builds as you feel his hips flush with your ass, he reaches down, taking a hold of your waist.

"Y/n..."

"Mhmm..." You hum as if it's nothing, leaning forward to reach for your heels "somehow" finding yourself in Billy's favorite position; your hips in his hands, taking you from behind; you, fucking him back.

"Goddamn," he grumbles; his hands circling your ass.

"Did you need something? I'm in a rush, apparently."

"Why are you ignoring me, baby?" He runs his hand up the middle of your back; the other, pulling your hips closer.

"Because Hargrove you're a fucking tease and you know it."

He lets out that same chuckle; velvety and low as his fingers weave through your hair at the nape of your neck.

Pull it, Billy... You know you want to.

He doesn't, moving his hips ever so slightly; pressing into you at the perfect tempo.

"You did this to me when we went to Cali. You did this to me when we went to Minnesota and Dallas; and New Orleans. You get me all fuckin' worked up, only to sit in an airport for hours. And I have this sinking feeling I'm gonna be dealing with this shit for the rest of my life."

Billy lets out a sigh, his finger tangling a little tighter through your curls; hips working just the slightest bit harder. His cock is stiff, rock hard in his practically painted-on Levi's jeans. You zip the big compartment of your luggage shut.

"I have had a long week at work. A long fuckin' year actually. I need this vacation. So, Billy... If you wouldn't mind taking a seat in the living room-."

"Excuse me?" He cuts you off, releasing his grip on your hair as you yank the small pouch open.

"I'm gonna take care of myself. M'kay!" You backchat; drawing out your vibrator, tossing it to the head of the bed.

"Jesus, Y/n," he gripes. A mix of annoyance and lust.

Turning around, you slink your hand up his thigh, landing on his dick; a rough enough touch for him to suck in a little air. He looks down, eyeing your hand on him. He tilts his head slightly, a wicked smile rolling across his lips.

"Get out, baby. Don't worry. I'll be fast. I'd hate to be only three hours and fifty-five minutes early. I mean Jesus Christ that'd be a fuckin' tragedy," you whisper; lips, brushing over his.

Looping your finger under your skirt you tug your panties over your hips watching as they fall to your feet, landing on Billy's foot. White lace atop his black leather boot.

He reaches for you again as you crawl onto the bed; his strong hand instantly tracing up your inner thigh; fingers, working softly over your slit as you move out of reach.

"5 minutes, baby. Then we're heading out," he smirks; continuing to fuck with you. He was already going to cave, the second he stepped into the room; you know exactly what he is waiting for... He wants you to beg.

"Sounds good," you smile as you brush the straps of your dress off your shoulders, letting the paisley material fall; exposing your white lace bra.

Billy's eyes darken; he wets his bottom lip with a smile.

You reach around your back, unclasping your bra; flicking it to the side. Your breasts bounce as you find the perfect position on the mattress. Billy smirks, casting his gaze away; shaking his head dizzily.

Relaxing into the pillows, you draw your legs up. Guiding the vibrator to your pussy you slide it effortlessly along your slick.

Now who's teasing who, Hargrove?

"You wouldn't." His eyes snap to yours.

"I would," you breathe as you flick it on, pressing the soft tip through your entrance. Your breath catches as you're met with rotations and vibrations; the toy starts to work its magic on you Your eyes shut softly.

Your hand drifts up your body gradually; fingers, reaching the blush of your breast, tracing your nipple slowly. Proceeding to the other side you tweak your nipple, rolling softly. A breathy moan slips your lips.

You can hear his feet, nearing your side of the bed. His presence is palpable; breathing softly. Billy's cologne delights your senses as well; warm vanilla, smoke, and leather, furthering your fire. An absolutely intoxicating scent.

"Fuck, Billy..." You whimper.

Do you say my name whenever you use your toys, baby?" He rasps.

"Oh my god," you sough; disregarding the question.

"Y/n; baby?" He breathes.

You turn it up a little higher; the buzzing noise loudens. Working the vibrator in and out, your thighs start to quiver.

He can hear how drenched you are; you, no longer frustrated, getting off on the idea of him it watching. "Shit," you hiss; flicking your eyes down, watching the blue shimmery silicone glimmering with your essence.

He's frustrated... You can see it in his eyes. A battle of stubbornness, wanting you to beg for him; wanting desperately to cave himself.

Your breathing starts to increase; your eyes shut again. Billy lets out a growl. His hand brushes yours; your eyes flick open watching as he mounts the bed; body hovering over you. Billy presses his lips against yours, taking the vibrator off your hands.

You smile against his lips; giggling delightedly. He draws it out fast, your breath escapes your chest.

"Billy! What the fuck?" You cry, breathlessly. He lets out a sinful chuckle against your lips, turning it off. "You're a fucking dick."

You push past him to stand up; Billy grabs your shoulder, forcing you back down on the bed, pressing you into the pillows roughly.

Fuck...

"You're stubborn, Y/n. And now, you're gonna beg."

You roll your eyes bringing your free hand up to your lips. Running two fingers along your tongue.

"The fuck I will..." You breathe; dragging your hand down to your cunt, continuing where you left off.

Billy steps off the bed, vibrator in hand; walking toward the door. "3 minutes, baby. Then we're heading out."

"Sounds good," you sing; pulling the drawer of your nightstand open roughly, allowing the knick-knacks to clatter inside; stopping Billy in his tracks.

"Mmm..." You whirr; drawing out a pink rabbit vibrator, turning it on.

BUZZ.

He turns around slowly, his eyes shifting to yours. You challenge him with your stare, lifting an eyebrow.

Billy walks toward you; eyes, driving into yours.

He stares down at you, watching you carefully as your pleasure begins to build again. Billy's rough finger meets your arm, tracing softly to your hand.

"Shit!" You gasp; Billy takes a rough grip on your wrist, taking you in shock.

"Drop. It."

"No."

"You're such a fucking brat," he snips; making you chuckle.

"A-And?" You stutter as your bliss builds.

"Why are you like this?" He laments; eyes, falling down your body; breasts jostling with each thrust of the toy.

"Why are you surprised?"

"God you're so fucking hot," he moans; his lips crash against yours; tongue swirling as you continue to play with yourself.

Billy pushes his hand between your thighs, taking it from you as you kiss; Billy, willingly accepts defeat. The only man you'll ever beg for. The man that owns your heart.

"Please don't stop," you plead; panting against his lips. You feel his smile, the two of you getting what you wanted.

"I love you, baby," he rasps.

"I love you too."

Billy thrusts it in at the perfect angle, the head of the vibration swirling against your G-spot; bunny ear; flicking at your clit.

Your stomach starts to coil; back, arching off the bed. "Are you gonna cum, Y/n?" Billy grunts as he continues to rut in and out.

"Mhmm," is all you can muster. "Fuck!" You whine as Billy turns it up higher. Your damn break; orgasm, ringing through your body as you flutter around the toy, moaning into your kiss.

"Holy shit... Fuck, Billy..." You ride the waves of your orgasm. Your body relaxes slightly; a little whimper releases against Billy's lips.

He moves lower on the bed, his pupils blown with lust. Billy dives his forearms underneath your thighs pulling you toward his lips.

More? Fuck...

He flattens his tongue, licking a line up your silk causing you to wail.

"Fuck, you're sweet," he moans; his eyes hooded. Billy curls his arms, forcing you closer as he locks onto your sensitive bud; sucking and flicking his tongue as you scream his name. He chuckles against your pussy.

Billy grabs your legs, slinging them over his shoulders. His fingers reach your skin; trailing dangerously close to where you're craving him most.

Reaching down you run your fingers through his hair, giving it a little tug. Billy groans, as a result, the vibrations make your eyes roll back.

His fingers swirl around your entrance, plunging in; one then two, a slight curl as you feel yourself nearing your peak again.

His thick fingers work against your g-spot causing you to dig your heels into his back. "Billy... I'm... I. Fuck!" Your second orgasm hits you harder than your first.

Billy continues to please you with a little more pressure, brushing his tongue from side to side as your body tightens around his fingers.

"Mmm... That's it, baby," he groans as you ride out your second release. Your heart, beating rapidly; reaching for a breath.

Billy presses his lips against your clit softly. His mouth, drifts higher and higher; showering you with kisses as he nears your lips.

You cup his cheeks, drawing him nearer. Billy kisses you deeply, relaxing his body into yours. Wrapping your arms around his neck you hug him tightly, craving his weight on top of you; the ultimate comfort.

"You are impossible," he grumbles; his lips, meeting your neck. He nips at your skin, just enough to pinch. You reach around, slapping him roughly on the ass. "Jesus," he whines; quickly returning to your lips.

"You're not giving me credit, Bills. I totally gave in."

"No, you didn't. Not until I fucking caved," he chuckles against your kiss.

"Mmm... That's true. So I won then?"

"No, I won, Y/n. The day I met you..." He buttons his lip, trying not to laugh.

"Ew..." You snicker; shaking your head 'no'. "That was so cheesy... " you bully.

He smiles warmly, giving you another kiss; a little softer, lingering a little longer. "You are perfect, Y/n," he sighs against your lips.

"So are you, Billy."

#billy hargrove blurb #billy hargrove oneshot #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove boyfriend #billy hargrove filth #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargrove smut #billy hargrove x female reader #billy x reader #smut writing #smut warning #stranger things smut

[phebbsl]

A Part of Your World- Chapter 1

Stardew Sebastian x GN!Reader

Summary:

Sebastian’s resolve to not meet the new farmer lasts all but two weeks. To be fair, it’s not of his own volition. 

You never thought you had to resolve to not get literally sucked into your favorite game, but now here you are. And now you have a farm to manage and a pretty boy to woo. 

Or: My spin on the life in Pelican Town, and Heart Events, featuring a GN!Reader (possibly/probably Isekai???).

Cross posted from my AO3, phebbsl

♡

Sebastian’s resolve to not meet the new farmer lasts all but two weeks. To be fair, it’s not of his own volition. 

He had stumbled out of his bedroom in the afternoon, late afternoon mind you, and promptly walked in on you and his mom discussing options for a new coop.

It was the day after the Egg Festival. Abigail had lost the Egg hunt for the first time in years, and was inconsolable for the whole night yesterday. Not in the ‘holy shit I lost and I’m absolutely devastated’ way with tears, but in ‘holy shit, did you see the Farmer??? they’re so hot’ type of way. 

The trio of friends had stayed up late at Sebastian’s room for the rest of the night, drinking and using his ‘vase’. Abigail continued to gush about the Farmer, only slightly put out that her win streak ended.

“I mean, did you see them in that little straw hat? How cute!” she cooed. 

Sam joined in too, all red-faced, blushing. The Farmer had stopped by his house when they first moved in, introducing themselves sweetly, and had even tossed over a can of Joja Cola to the blonde. Sam had suspected that it had been fished up from the river, judging by scuffs and slightly musty river-y smell, but had downed it anyway (and kept the can). 

Why Sam drinks treasures those little blue cans of diabetes and Yoba-knows-what when he literally works at Joja and knows damn well how unhealthy it is, Sebastian will never know. 

Sebastian spent the rest of the night, totally not sulking on his bed, casting mournful glances at the game table, all set up for a round of Solarian, as he listened to his friends’ gossip about the newest member of the town. 

Abigail and Sam didn’t leave until well past midnight, and while Sebastian was used to long nights hunched over his computer, the day’s festivities had worn him out completely.

Thus, leading to him crawling out of his mom’s basement like a cave-goblin, obvious to all that he had woken up past the accepted hours for any normal person, even later than he typically would’ve. Upon seeing you, he was completely determined to turn around, go back to bed, and hide enjoy his solitude until you were gone. That was, before his mother had stepped in, ever so glad to take any opportunities to socialize him.  

“Have you met my son, Sebastian?” Robin prods, with a sly grin, before slinking away to leave the two of you to socialize. 

Great, now he had to interact with you.

He mumbles out a greeting and his name and takes you in. 

You don’t look like a farmer. At least, not the stereotypical version of he had come up in his head. To be fair, he only really envisioned a grizzled old man, smudged with dirt and hands full of calluses. Basically, your grandfather. He had only caught a brief glance at the festival yesterday, and was uninterested in looking further. Now, he realized that his friends were right. 

‘Oh no, they’re hot!’ echoes in his brain, soundly strangely like Squidward. 

You’re exactly his type, with pretty eyes he could just drown in to boot, your straw hat prize from yesterday perched on your head. You’d even wound a crown of flowers around the base. He’s not a big fan of flowers, but daffodils suddenly look a million times better. Yellow looks good on you, he thinks. 

He urges his brain to reboot and act like a normal person. Suddenly, he wants to make a good impression on you, curse his traitorous hormones. 

“Oh. You just moved in, right? Cool. Out of all the places you could live, you chose Pelican Town?”

Nice. Cool, slightly aloof, and hopefully he didn’t sound too much like a dick. 

You shrug and spin off the truly humongous backpack you have strapped on. 

‘Damn, Pierre found someone to sell that thing to, huh?’ he thinks absently. 

He and Abigail had spent an embarrassingly long time giggling at the giant monstrosity when it had arrived at Pierre's, while the store owner wilted behind the register, his plans to sell backpacks to one-up Joja foiled. 

Sebastian watches with confusion as you proceed to stick your arm in the pack, rummaging, before producing a frozen tear, then dropping it into his hands. He stares at it, flabbergasted. 

“I really love this. How did you know?” He finally manages to say. 

“Just had a feeling,” you shrug again. 

Robin comes back, interrupting the moment. 

“I found the paint swatches for the coop! Let me know which one you’d like.”

You break away to discuss color options, and Sebastain stays, silently rolling the frozen tear in between his fingers. More words of gratitude are stuck in his throat.

Eventually, you and Robin finish, the latter rolling up the blueprints with promises to start working the next day. 

“It was nice to meet you,” you give a little wave with a wiggle of your fingers. 

“Uh yeah, same here.” 

‘Wow, real eloquent,’ Sebastian snarks internally. 

He finally leaves for the kitchen to grab food to start his day. 

“Are you going to Sam’s? You should change before you go,” Robin enters as well, snickering. 

Sebastian looks down.

Fuck, he had just met the most attractive person he’d ever seen and he was in his damn froggie printed pajama pants.

‘I knew I should’ve just stayed in my room,’ he thinks. But, glancing at the frozen tear next to his cup of coffee, he knows he might just wake up early again the next time you visit.

♡

I’m playing with the idea of having the farmer be from our world, like an isekai, I think it opens up more possibilities and has potential to become a bigger story than just a series of one shots, but I’m still not sure yet. 

Let me know what you guys think!

#sdv farmer #farmer x sebastian #gn reader #gn!reader #stardew valley #sebastian x reader #sdv sebastian #stardew sebastian x reader #sdv sebastian x farmer #sdv sebastian x reader #pheebsfics

[alienguts]

Stay with Me (Bruce Wayne x f!Reader)

Summary: Bruce and Y/N's tentative first date gets extended when a storm floods the roads.

Warnings: Fluff, idiots with feelings who can't communicate them properly.

Request?: Not really, but I like writing this dynamic to see where the relationship goes.

A/N: I doubt anybody would ever have a problem with how fictional dogs are characterised, but I like to think that Ace and Titus are friendly pups who like people.

1 - Picking up the Pieces | 2 - Kintsugi | 3 - Stay with Me |

Earlier in the week, Bruce had asked Y/N to come over for dinner. Neither of them had said the word ‘date’, but it was certainly treated like one.

The plan was originally for the two of them to order pizza and eat it in front of the TV while Y/N showed Bruce all the movies that he’d missed out on over the years, but the rest of the Wayne household had other ideas.

As soon as she’d pressed the doorbell,the front door was flung open to reveal Damian suited up for patrol, his brothers crowding the doorway around him. The small boy tried to keep his composure as his much taller brothers tried to push past him, eager to finally see Y/N after missing her for so long.

“Boys, you have to let Y/N come in,” Bruce’s voice came from behind the wall of geared up heroes.

“We just wanted to say hi to her before we go,” Dick said as he stepped away from the door first.

“Before you go?” Y/N asked in surprise. “Where are you going?”

“Bruce put us on patrol so he can stay here for your date,” Tim said and tried to yank Damian away from her side.

Y/N looked at Bruce and saw his face turn pink in embarrassment.

“It’s not a date,” Bruce said quickly. “We’re just having dinner, that’s all.”

“Sounds like a date to me,” Jason said drily before slinking off into the manor, Tim and Dick following behind him after waving to Y/N.

Just as she was about to step inside the manor, Y/N felt a tap on her side. She turned her attention back to Damian, who had yet to follow the others.

“It was nice to see you, Y/N,” he said before heading down to the Cave.

“When did he get so nice?” Y/N asked once Damian was completely out of earshot. “No offence.”

“None taken,” Bruce said as he closed the front door behind her. “We all know how Damian can be. He must have missed you.”

When the cool evening air was shut out, the smell of food trailing in from the kitchen got stronger. The unmistakable smell of toasted bread and melted cheese filled Y/N’s senses and made her mouth water.

“You already ordered without me?” she asked as they made their way towards the kitchen.

“Not exactly,” Bruce said sheepishly.

A large cheese pizza sat in the middle of the kitchen island, steam rising from its surface. The counter against the wall was dusted with flour and an empty bowl of red sauce was ready to go into the dishwasher.

“Ah, so nice to see you Ms Y/N!” Alfred said as he appeared from behind the refrigerator door.

“Alfred made it for us,” Bruce said.

“Hope you don’t mind,” Alfred said with a warm smile. “We haven’t seen you in such a long time, I thought I would make something special.”

“I don’t mind at all,” Y/N said and took a seat at the counter. “Your cooking is just as good as ordering takeout.”

“You’re too kind, Ms Y/N.” Alfred took off the apron he was wearing and hung it up on a hook on a wall before making his way back to the foyer. “Enjoy your evening.”

Once Alfred had gone, Y/N turned to face Bruce who was now the colour of a tomato. She had to stop herself from laughing as he buried his face in his hands and groaned.

“Sorry about all of that,” he said as he took a seat next to her. “When I told them you were coming over, they all acted like it was Christmas.”

“I don’t mind,” Y/N said and took the pizza cutter that Alfred had left on the counter. “I like seeing your family.”

“Obviously they like seeing you too.” He watched as she cut two slices and passed one to him. “Wait, let me get some silverware.”

Y/N laughed before taking a bite of her slice.

“You’ve never changed, Bruce,” she said around the bite of hot pizza. “Just eat it with your hands!”

“Old habits die hard, huh?”

Although Y/N hadn’t expected the night to go wrong, it went a lot better than she’d expected. Since Bruce had sent the boys out on patrol duty and Alfred was keeping track of the comms, there were no distractions other than Ace and Titus sniffing around and wanting to be cuddled.

While Titus was more wary of Y/N, having been trained by Damian to be on watch, Ace was more than happy to shove his snout under her arm and wedge himself between her and Bruce. Despite being a German Shepherd, he seemed to want to be a lap dog.

The night was spent in front of the seldom-used television in the living room, Y/N showing Bruce her favourite movies and shows that he’d missed out on. And that turned out to be almost every movie and show ever made.

“Bruce, how can you have a subscription to every single streaming service and have not even seen The Simpsons?” she’d asked at one point.

“I don’t exactly have the time to be sitting around watching cartoons, Y/N,” he said with a laugh.

“Well, fighting crime and running a company and attending charity events doesn’t allow for a lot of leisure time.”

By 10pm, Y/N decided that it was time for her to head back home. She still had the weekend ahead of her but she didn’t really want to spend the last part of her night stuck in traffic.

There was just one problem: it had started raining. Heavily.

Y/N had never seen so much rain before. As a native Gothamite, she knew how extreme the weather could be at times, especially during the colder months. But this was torrential.

Thankfully, Wayne Manor was on higher ground and away from any likely flooding but the same couldn’t be said for her apartment on the Lower East Side. She watched the rain from the safety of the living room, worrying about how she would get home, or whether she could get home at all.

“It’s really coming down out there, huh?” Bruce said from behind her, snapping her out of her head.

“Yeah,” she said, her breath fogging up the window. “God, I hope the roads are okay.”

“You could always spend the night here,” he said casually. Maybe a little too casually.

“What?” Y/N asked as she turned around in surprise.

“I can get Alfred to make up the guest room for you. I didn’t mean, spend the night.”

“Oh,” Y/N breathed in relief. 

They hadn’t made anything official yet, weren’t even calling the date a ‘date’, so why had her mind immediately jumped to that?

“But I don’t have anything to change into, or my toothbrush,” Y/N said quickly, trying to make the air a little less awkward.

“That’s no problem, I can get you some clothes and I’m sure we’ve got a spare toothbrush or two.”

“Are you sure?” Y/N asked as she moved away from the window. “I don’t want to intrude or anything.”

“Y/N,” Bruce said and rested his hands on her shoulders. “You’re family to us. You’re not intruding and I’m sure the boys will love you to stay over.”

Her heart warmed at hearing him speak so earnestly. She’d never been able to explain why she’d never felt comfortable in the manor when Selina was around, but it was all down to her own insecurities and jealousy. She hated to admit it to herself, but she hated being around them when they were a couple and she felt like she’d been cast aside, whether or not that was the case.

She didn’t care that it was selfish to think that Selina being out of the picture gave her her best friend back, but it was like he was finally seeing her again after years of being invisible. Like Bruce wanted her to be in his life again and wanted her to know that.

She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him, her head resting on his chest as she listened to his heart pick up its pace.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

Bruce returned her hug and rested his cheek on the top of her head, crouching down slightly so he could reach her.

“You’re always welcome here,” he said. “I can’t speak for everyone else, but I think the atmosphere would be better around here with you.”

Y/N lifted her head from his chest, about to step away, when he gently pulled her onto her toes and captured her lips with his own. She startled slightly at first before letting him guide her, moving her hands from his chest to loop loosely around his neck, the hair at the nape of his neck just brushing her fingers. Their lips moved together softly, chaste enough to not escalate the situation but just passionate enough to feel it.

Once again, it was over too soon for Y/N’s liking. Bruce pulled away and briefly rested his forehead against hers before standing up straight again. He reluctantly released her from his hold and took her hand to lead her upstairs.

“C’mon, we’d better find you something to wear.”

When Bruce had said that he’d find something for Y/N to wear to bed, she didn’t expect him to give her his clothes. The look on her face when he’d handed them to her must have said something.

“I didn’t want to look through the boys’ clothes so I just got something out of my closet,” he said. “I hope that’s okay.”

“It’s okay,” Y/N said and took them before opening the door for the guest bedroom.

Bruce, naturally, was still wide awake and was going to join Alfred in the Cave but stayed up to help him make up the guest room and wish Y/N goodnight. Usually when she stayed over at a friend's house, she expected to sleep on their couch, not in a lavish guest room. But, then again, most people weren’t best friends with a billionaire.

“I had a really good night,” Y/N said as she lingered in the doorway . “We should have another night like this.”

“We should,” Bruce said with a warm smile. “I think the boys will be happy about that too. They were always asking when the next time you were coming over was.”

“Well, hopefully you can tell them that I’ll see them more often.”

“Don’t be surprised if they almost knock the door down tomorrow morning.”

They were quiet for a moment, neither of them wanting the night to end, but tiredness taking over Y/N’s body. She tried her best to stifle a yawn but only made herself look more tired.

“I’ll let you get some sleep,” Bruce said before stroking the side of her face with the back of his fingers and leaning down to kiss her forehead.

“Good night, Bruce,” Y/N said before reluctantly slinking into the bedroom.

As soon as the door softly clicked shut, Y/N inhaled deeply and slowly let her breath out. The night had felt like a dream and she couldn’t help but feel like she was going to wake up and find out that it had never happened. But the bundle of clothes in her arms told her differently.

She crossed the room to the bed and set the clothes down on it before undressing. Her own clothes felt scratchy and cheap in comparison to Bruce’s. He always told her that designer clothes weren’t important to him, but the quality of them clearly did. She pulled the plain grey t-shirt over her head and donned the sweatpants and sighed when the soft cotton brushed against her skin.

If she closed her eyes, it felt like Bruce was still with her, his strong arms circling her body and the scent of his cologne filling her senses. The clothes were far too big for her, but that didn’t stop her from feeling completely at ease.

Things were still moving slowly for the two of them; Bruce was still recovering from heartbreak, after all. But a slow pace was better than nothing. Y/N didn’t want to completely ruin everything by coming across too strong, but she wished Bruce was really there to sleep next to her.

Wearing his clothes would have to do for now.

As she drifted off to sleep, her mind conjured up the feeling of him holding her in his arms, stroking her hair, an echo of his heartbeat in her ear. Hopefully the next step in their relationship would come sooner rather than later, but she was willing to wait for him.

Even if that took forever.

#bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x you #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne fluff #batman x reader #batman x you #batman imagine #batman fluff #batfleck x reader #batfleck x you #batfeck imagine #batfleck fluff #dc x reader #dc x you #dc imagine #dc fluff #dceu x reader #dceu x you #dceu imagine #dceu fluff #x reader #self ship #x you #female reader #*my writing

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

you're a diver from Fontaine, one of the best in the entire Court, and are known far and wide for your ability to collect whatever resource people need- that's where most of your pay comes from, collecting beryl conches and romaritime flowers for jewelry, perfumes, and the like. but you also enjoy diving as a hobby, spending most of your time off in the water and enjoying the sights, your Vision allowing you to breathe easily under the waves. there's something about floating weightlessly in oceanic world that helps you feel so calm and at peace.

it's during one of these leisurely dives that you encounter something- or someone- incredible.

you won't lie, you were swimming too close to the Fortress of Meropide. yes, it's technically forbidden, but you couldn't help but investigate the deeper waters and caves around it after so long of staying away from the area! as long as you stayed away from the searchlights, no one would suspect a thing, so you swam down into the murky gloom. it's more difficult to see as you cautiously glance around, slightly on edge- until you come face-to-face with an oddly glowing light, seemingly emitting from a faceted crystal. you don't dare go towards it (you've had enough experience with ocean creatures to know it very well could be a lure), so instead it decides to come towards you, and an enormous slinking creature is revealed from the darkness. your blood runs cold, all instincts screaming to get away, run, but the monster merely chitters curiously, tilting his horned head and blinking at you quietly.

hesitantly, you raise a hand and wave, and the beast's singular eye widens in awe as he waves back.

you come back to visit the odd creature again and again after that day, becoming adept at avoiding the lights of Fontaine's prison. the monster- Childe, as he told you via carvings on the wall- was incredibly sweet despite his intimidating appearance, greeting you with a delighted chirp and a hug, always extremely gentle with you. he follows you as you explore, protecting you and bringing you trinkets that have sunk to the ocean floor, nudging your hands for head scritches. through his gestures and warbling tones you deduce that he lives in a cavern further below, one you refuse to go to- it makes your skin crawl, for some reason. rarely does Childe come to the surface, but occasionally he'll accompany you if he doesn't want to see you go, wrapping his scaled tail around your legs and whining until you give him a kiss on the forehead. he loves you, and you love him, and he was your special secret.

until you began to fall mysteriously ill, your breaths coming out short and ragged and your head filling with cotton clouds. at first you think it's just a common cold, but it doesn't go away, only getting worse over time. the doctors you visit don't seem to have a cure, merely telling you to rest until you feel better, which you never do, no matter how many hours you sit on the shore with Childe's head in your lap. his worry for you makes you feel a little happier, caressing his cheeks and whispering hoarsely to him as he whimpers, claws dancing over your cheeks in an attempt to hold you back. but it hurts and you cough again and again, growing weaker by the day for no reason other than fate's cruel story.

you don't know that Childe is a monster from the Primordial Sea, gradually wearing away at your strength and life, until it's too late.

#genshin impact #childe #tartaglia #gi ajax #foul legacy #foul legacy childe #genshin tartagalia #genshin childe #genshin tartaglia #genshin x reader #childe x reader #potential spoilers for the 4.1 story quest in tags: #yeah there's a reason why Childe lives near Meropide #his presence unintentionally makes you sick and chips away at your life #imagine you leave him your Vision as a keepsake and he just has to watch despairingly as the light gradually goes out #he doesn't understand but he doesn't want you to go #i wonder if Primordial Sea creatures are some form of immortal. maybe he doesn't understand death #and he's wondering why you look so sickly and frail #anyways let out an evil evil laugh when i thought of this #wifi's brainrot #short scenario #good evening :) #sea monster au #kinda

[soaringthroughthegalaxy]

Gentle Hands

Back on Kamino after successfully rescuing Echo and retaking Anaxes, you know just how to soothe Wrecker’s lingering back pain.

Pairing: Wrecker x f!reader

Word count: 1.4k

Warnings: established relationship, pet names, little bit of angst and comfort, flashback to how Wrecker got his scars, minor mentions of blood, fluff, soft love, light sprinkle of the hots for this giant mans size/strength, slight suggestiveness.

A/N: saw a headcannon that Wrecker doesn’t have a cybernetic eye and is instead partially/fully blind in that eye, and now I can’t get that out of my head.

Translations: ner kar'ta – my heart

“Urgh.” Wrecker’s grunt echoes through the barracks as he flops face-first onto his bunk. You’d just arrived back on Kamino from Anaxes, another successful mission accomplished and a new squad member onboard.

Tech had disappeared off with Echo in search of better armour and weapons for the ARC Trooper. Crosshair had slunk off in the direction of the shooting range – not that he needed the practice - while Hunter had remained on the Marauder, needing the peace of the empty ship to finish his mission reports.

That had left you and Wrecker alone, and your man had wanted nothing more than to nap.

“At least take your armour off first.” You gently nudge Wrecker’s shoulder, earning a grumble of protest. He pushes himself up, big hands prying his armour off his body, depositing it with various clangs beside his bunk. You loved him, but Maker above, he could be messy.

Back on the bed, face pressed into the mattress, Wrecker winced, feeling a tweak in his lower back. “Babe…” He called for you, turning his head to watch you take your armour off, stacking it neatly on the large table in the middle of the room.

His gaze roved across your body, admiring the soft curves of your frame as you turned back to him, hands on your hips and an eyebrow arched. He couldn’t help but feel lucky to have you. You’d started as their civilian handler, feeding them missions and making sure they came back safely – the Kaminoans couldn’t have anything happen to their prized experimental unit, after all – but somewhere along the way, you’d stolen his heart, with your soft smile and easy nature. You laughed at his jokes, stayed up to watch holofilms with him, cooed over Lula the first time you saw her, and were always happy to hand over a detonator or two when he had the urge to blow something up. At times, you tempered the big kid in him, while other times, you let go of the reins and let him run wild.

“Yes, ner kar’ta?” You ask, taking a few steps over to his bunk. For the sake of appearances, you had your own bunk, though it was never used. The rest of the squad knew of your relationship, but it was a well-guarded secret, not wanting to risk the Kaminoans finding out.

As you draw closer, Wrecker drags an arm out from underneath him to gently snag your hand, tugging you in. He’d always been hyper-aware of his size and strength, but he was especially cautious with you. Hurting you was something he never wanted to do, even if it was an accident.

“Think I’ve tweaked my back,” Wrecker admits, offering you a sheepish smile.

You can’t help but smile in return, the corners of your lips curving as your loveable giant gives your hand a soft squeeze. For a moment, you admire him, still in awe that he’s yours. But as usual, a flicker of guilt passes through you as your traitorous eyes slink to the web of scars across half his face, his damaged ear, and the milkiness of his right eye. It was your fault he was partially blind.

You’d only been with the boys a handful of months when you’d missed a tripwire as you’d been pushing forward through a cave, setting off a nearby explosive. You’d been out in the open while the others could duck for cover. Wrecker had decided to protect you, turning you and pressing you to his chest, shielding you from the blast, taking the brunt of it himself. The memory of the dust settling, the blood as you pulled back from his chest and looked up, the panic and fear that had consumed you as you’d taken in the damage he’d sustained right before he passed out... all because you’d forgotten for one moment to look where you were stepping.

He’d been medevaced to a nearby Venator. You’d gone with him, his brothers insisting on it while they finished the mission, knowing it would upset Wrecker if they lost their 100% success rate. Washing his blood off your hands in a small fresher as you waited for news from the medics almost broke you. You’d been so close to handing in your resignation and retreating back to your quiet home planet.

But then he’d woken after surgery, after his brothers had successfully completed the mission and returned, and you’d all been briefed on his condition. His first questions to the medics had been about you – were you safe or hurt? Tears had rolled down your cheeks as the medics had relayed this to you all, Tech subtly pressing a tissue into your hand, and you’d known then in your heart that you could never leave.

“You’re doin’ that thing again,” Wrecker says, having watched a faraway look cross your face. He knew you still struggled with the guilt of his accident. “You’re thinkin’ too much.” He tacks on, gently bringing you down to sit sideways on the edge of his bunk, big arm sliding around your middle. “I don’t blame ya. It was my choice, and I’d do it all again.” He reiterates, pressing a kiss to your body. He said it every time he saw you slipping back into the memory, and he’d keep repeating it until you believed it. 

Pulled back to the present, you offer him a soft smile, one of your hands moving to rub across his broad shoulders. “Sorry, ner kar’ta.” You murmur, focussing instead on the quiet noise of delight falling from his lips as your hands stroke his tense muscles. “Those tri-droids are probably the cause of your back pain.” You comment, watching his eyes flutter shut at your touch, the peacefulness of his expression chasing away the lingering guilt.

“They were stronger than they looked, but I wasn’t gonna let ’em crush the locals.” He comments, feeling himself melt into the mattress the more you rub at his shoulders.

You loved seeing him work, the effortless way he shoved assault tanks around or pried blast doors open, lifting up gunships like they weighed nothing, and how his thick fingers somehow nimbly managed to disarm explosives. “It was hot.” You admit, feeling warmth in your cheeks.

A rumble of laughter leaves him, the deep noise setting off butterflies in your belly, but he winces again as it jostles his back.

“Here.” You shift, gently easing the top of his blacks up. He helps you remove the garment, settling back on the bed as your hands return to his body. Broad shoulders taper down to his narrow waist, scars crisscrossing his warm, tanned skin. Evidence of a lifetime of war.

You get up momentarily, moving silently to your bunk to snag your unscented lotion – constantly aware of Hunter’s senses – and return to Wrecker a moment later. He shifts over, and you sit at his side, squeezing some of the lotion onto your hands. Rubbing them together, you warm them up before you press your hands against his back, dragging them across his body in firm, even strokes.

Wrecker’s moans of appreciation fill the barracks, and you stifle a giggle. Your hands keep working across his body, feeling solid muscles give with every pass, the knots loosening. Pressing your thumbs into his lower back, he grunts, hips rutting against the mattress. “Not until your back is better.” You tease, giving his butt a playful swat.

He grumbles in protest but knows you’re right – he’s too tired for anything anyway. The ache in his back is easing exponentially under your soothing touch, and he smacks his lips together as sleep beckons him, shifting on the mattress into an even comfier position.

The first drag of your nails across his warm skin makes him shiver, the corners of his mouth curving upwards as you start lightly scratching, fingers drawing patterns across the vast expanse of skin. The patterns shift to words, Aurebesh spelling out how much you love him, how handsome he is, how strong he is.

“I love you. You’re so good to me.” He mumbles, feeling the weight of your adoration, his eyes heavy with sleep, his mind struggling to focus on the words you’re scrawling across his body.

A warm smile passes over your lips, and you dip down to kiss his cheek softly. “I love you too.” You whisper back, fingers still moving lightly over his back as you hear his breathing turn deep and heavy, face going slack as he falls asleep.

You scoot to lay beside him, drawing his arm over your body. A nap wouldn’t hurt you, either.

#the bad batch #the bad batch x reader #tbb wrecker x you #tbb wrecker x reader #wrecker the bad batch #wrecker x reader #star wars the bad batch #star wars clone wars #wrecker #star wars #fluff #established relationship

[hamsterclaw]

Pow

Your job is to keep Gotham city safe, but you spend more of your time keeping Catboy aka Jeon Jungkook out of trouble.

Pairing: Jungkook x F! Reader

Rating: 18+

Word count: 1.1k

Genre: Subversion of Batman roles, smut, crack and misandry

Warnings: Sex, pouty JK

For Memes @madbutgloriouspond who took this idea and ran with it and came up with all the best lines including ‘being taken seriously as a man.’ Special mention to Mango @blog-name-idk for encouraging the crack all the way.

Gotham is cast in perpetual twilight to you because of your burden of being her protector.

The villains who seek their own gains stop for no man, even if they look hella sexy in a catsuit.

Jeon Jungkook aka Catboy because Catman didn’t have quite the same naughty ring to it, crosses his arms over his chest and expects you not to be distracted as he talks to you.

You remind yourself to tell him he needs to talk less pouty if he wants anyone to actually listen, but for now you just enjoy the view.

‘They didn’t even stop when I stood in front of them,’ he complains.

You tear your gaze away from his sculpted ass as he slinks around the bat cave and try to concentrate on his words.

‘Did you tell them to stop?’ you ask, undoing your weapon belt and letting it fall to the floor for your trusty manservant Park Jimin to pick up later.

‘I told them!’ Jungkook whines, voice going pitchy like it does when he’s at his most agitated. ‘I threatened them with my claws!’

‘Oh Kookie,’ you sigh. ‘You need to work on your presence, baby girl.’

You unhook your cape and toss it aside carelessly.

‘Will you give me a back rub, kitty?’

‘Don’t call me kitty!’ whinges Jungkook.

‘Ok ok, don’t get testerical,’ you say hastily, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. God, he gets so tetchy sometimes.

Like it’s a problem being so pretty he gets constantly objectified.

Man problems mystify you.

You start peeling off your leather batsuit.

‘Maybe if you want to be taken seriously as a man you should stop stealing jewellery,’ you suggest.

Jungkook goes all red in the face with how worked up he is. You can tell by how he takes a deep breath before he starts speaking that he’s about to go on another one of his meninist tirades.

God, if he wasn’t so pretty you’d break up with him and date Poison Ivy. Now Kim Taehyung’s a man who leans into his menininity.

You need to head this off at the pass before he gets truly worked up and refuses to sleep with you.

‘JK,’ you say, voice low, velvety. ‘C’mere baby.’

He stops talking but doesn’t move, looking at you like he’s considering saying no.

‘You know I respect you as a man, don’t you?’

Jungkook stares at you, wide-eyed, and you know you nearly have him.

‘You’re the strongest man I know, much stronger than me.’

The corner of his pretty mouth curls up slightly.

‘Come and let me sit on your lap, baby,’ you coo.

When he reaches the rather conveniently located lounger you’re womanspreading across, he’s already hard.

You remind yourself to send Hobi a lil something to thank him for the incredible job he did designing Catboy’s fitted latex number.

You ask, ‘can I touch you, baby?’

Jungkook nods, pouts a little.

Men love it when you respect them.

You slip out of the batsuit, enjoying the way his eyes roam over your body wildly, like he can’t decide where he wants to look most.

‘Can you take your suit off for me, doll?’ you ask.

He unzips slowly, tugging the suit down to reveal sculpted shoulders, defined pecs with dusky nipples.

You kiss his chest, tongue flicking over his nipples. He lets out a low moan as you roll one nipple between your fingers whilst sucking the other. His cock twitches under its latex prison.

You help him out of the rest of his suit, until he’s bare, standing in front of you fully erect.

You wrap your hand around his cock and tug him gently down.

He groans as you sit in his lap.

You’re already wet, have been since he folded his arms earlier, creating a cleavage displayed to perfection by the low neckline of his suit.

Another Hobi genius design.

Jungkook moans prettily as you move up and down on his cock. His forehead is sweaty, his hair sticking to it in pretty curls.

He looks wrecked, and you’ve barely started fucking him.

‘I’ve barely touched you,’ you taunt, a little breathless yourself from how rigid and thick his cock feels inside you.

He says nothing, reduced to whimpering and moaning as he helps you move your hips.

You press your fingers against his parted lips, into the wet warmth of his mouth.

‘Suck, baby.’

‘Gonna cum,’ he mumbles around your fingers.

‘Already? You’re such a slut for me, we’ve barely started, baby boy,’ you pant.

Jungkook cries out as he comes, spurting hot streaks of white into your cunt. His pretty moans rise in pitch until he’s so loud you’re glad the batcave is soundproof.

He buries his face between your breasts as his cries subside.

‘Come on,’ you say, pinching his nipple. ‘One more for me, baby.’

Jungkook twitches helplessly inside you, still hard.

‘I can’t!’ he protests.

‘You can,’ you say, reaching between his spread legs to press a finger against his rim.

Jungkook cries out in pleasure as you nudge a knuckle against his rim.

You squeeze his cock, which is already hardening inside you, and Jungkook whines.

‘Gotta,’ he grunts.

He doesn’t finish his sentence, instead rolling on top of you so he can start hammering into you.

His stamina is ridiculous.

You’ve always appreciated how he keeps himself in good shape for you, his figure is as manly as the day you met him trying ineffectually to rob a bank using his manly wiles.

You’d paid the bank manager and the chief of police off to not pursue him.

Robbing banks is really a woman’s job. Men lack the finesse to do it properly.

Jungkook’s breathy moaning snaps you back into the present.

‘Are you close?’ you demand, fingers under his chin.

‘Yes,’ he cries out. ‘Fuck, yes.’

You hold out until you feel him pulsing inside you, his hands tight on your ass.

‘Good boy,’ you say, breathless, ‘that’s good, baby.’

Jungkook presses kisses to your neck as he helps you grind on him, seeking your own pleasure now.

You moan as he bucks his hips, and then you’re coming, wetness seeping from you to coat his cock.

He wraps his arms around you, and you bury your face in his soft hair.

‘Wanna snuggle,’ he says, muffled into your chest.

You sigh.

Men get so clingy after sex sometimes when all you want to do is tap that ass.

He pouts up at you, and your heart softens.

‘Ok, catboy, we can snuggle,’ you say, resigned.

Hopefully he doesn't want to stay the night too.

©hamsterclaw 2023

This is for Memes @madbutgloriouspond who encouraged this crackiness and came up with all the best lines including my favourite line about 'being taken seriously as a man'. Special mention to Mango @blog-name-idk equally for running and encouraging this chaos.

#jungkook fic #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #bts imagine #bts smut

[wifetomegatron]

here's to peace ( and those who get in the way of it ) ( first aid / reader )

summary : first aid has dinner with your family for the first time. first contact au pairing : first aid (idw) / gn! reader fandom : transformers idw continuity, more than meets the eye rating : m for mature due to mentions of blood and cursing, generally safe for work (sfw!) warnings : human ignorance. mentions of blood. tags : rewatched the awkward family dinner scene in fleabag and i didn't realise how much i loved it. deeply inspired by that scene, if you're it familiar with it, go have a good laugh and see it. i tried to be funny. idk if it works though.

There's a moment when you were sure that the sinking, churning feeling in your stomach would actually rise and push bile out of your mouth. That the sudden awkwardness in the air, pulled taut by the prolonged silence, will snap and cause your eyes to roll back — fainting would be a great distraction to get you and your boyfriend out of this agonizing position: a formal dinner with your family. 

You've been putting it off for weeks, declining their calls and sneakily texting your sibling back with the brightness of the screen down to zero while First Aid dozes off next to you. Eventually, he confronted you about it —  of course , he would find out. Attentive, doting, First Aid, who would scrub the apartment spotless every Sunday until no speck of dust survived, would find out. The grenade was already in your hands, the pin in your mouth like an apricot seed — and nearly sparked an argument about how you were ashamed of him. You had to calm him down and explain that it wasn't him you were ashamed of. It was the fact that your family told everyone that you were  dating a car . ( " Unfortunately, I can't turn into anything at the moment.") And to think that it's been nearly a decade since first contact, and they still couldn't find anything wrong with calling him an android. To make matters worse, they were referring to the Samsung  tablet —

" Ahem."

You were pulled out of your thoughts, and he gave you a reassuring squeeze, trying to level his vocalizer even if he was sitting as stiff as a rock next to your father. 

" Thank you, for having me here."

And like a kid who threw a rock at a sleeping hive of bees, the table buzzed to life, unapologetic to the fact that they've been staring in stunned, shameless, silence ever since you both arrived in the restaurant — which was, you glanced at your watch, fifteen minutes ago.

" Are you sick, love?" Your stepmother asked him. First Aid looked in your direction, confused until she gestured ( fingers a little too close ) to his mask.

" Oh no... this is just how I...look like."

" Well you're not at the hospital anymore," She chuckled through her teeth, smile stiff and voice so chirpy they grate your ears, " You can, you know, take it off."

" No, it's fine" You interrupted, " It's not a big deal." 

The rest of the people were looking at the menu, brow knitted and deep in thought as if they weren't just choosing whether to get the lamb shank or the vegetarian option for the starters. Cowards.

" It's a bit rude to have the shades and the mask when you're inside." She insisted.

" It's ruder to impose stupid, ignorant customs onto others."

You had to grit your teeth to get the words out. There was a brief pause, and you had to trace the seams on First Aid's arm to calm yourself, focusing on how the light bounced off his armor. And as if slinking back into her cave, retracting her claws, she swallowed the sour look on her face as it flickered back to a faux grin — nose scrunched and teeth bared.

 " Oh silly me. I do apologize."

First Aid let out a shy chuckle, " It's fine I understand —"

" I didn't mean to assume you had a mouth or eyes for that matter. Biology under all that...must be different."

Your stomach dropped. You could have sworn something lagged inside First Aid.   

" It's so lovely to have you here, darling! " Your sibling pans in your direction and smiles, trying to salvage the shattered pieces of the atmosphere, considering that your stepmom had  brutally  whacked a sledgehammer through it. The night is young. You were hopeful. You can count on them to say something reasonable —

" Considering your dating history, I just want to say that it's so refreshing to see you dating someone who's...not human! Diversity in relationships, after all, is the spice of life. Love wins."

Nevermind.

Your father cleared his throat — choked on his wine was more like it. Your sibling's partner talked over them before you could interfere: " Hear, hear! Humans are more compatible with your kind anyway. We're too emotional and fickle-minded. Dating metal must be a real upgrade from your previous relationships. They don't come with the messy, human baggage."

" That's a stereotype," You snapped, lowering your voice once a few heads turned to look, " So you're saying he's incapable of expressing his emotions? Because he's not human?" 

" Now you're just putting words into my mouth. I never said —"

" Do you need anything ?" The needy waitress interrupted, hovering around your table every ten minutes. You wiped your face with both hands. A cluster of arms flew to order drinks. The cutlery was noisy against the table. A headache formed in the back of your skull, and all you could do was anchor yourself to First Aid's palm as they massaged the small of your back. It was too much. The waitress called you twice and you lifted your head to order vodka, and then she gives you a pretty smile and accidentally asks First Aid wine or champagne.

Fuck. It was too late.

When he said no, your sibling-in-law and his disgusting, lazy excuse of a mouth were quick to joke, " What, you're not gonna offer the guy some oil?"

Immediately, at the same time, your father and First Aid placed a hand on your shoulder. Fingers and servos brushed against one another to calm you down, but it turned awkward, and your father pulled back a little too quickly, looking at the ceiling while First Aid crumbled like a wounded puppy. You want to reassure him that your old man's just socially constipated, but you feel the air rush past your lungs. The room felt hot. If there was an invisible camera, tucked away into the corner of the room, you would've stared at it for the crew to stop rolling. It's a shame that life isn't as simple. Or cheesy. And there wasn't a laughing track to wash away the discomfort suffocating everyone like waves bubbling into foam against the shore.

And that was how you ended up in the washroom scrubbing the bloodstain off your clothes. Water splashed all over the sink and onto the floors as you wiped the red pouring down your mouth, your chin, and even your neck. There was talking outside, and you held back tears, remembering the nervous phone call First Aid had with Ratchet in the evening before you had left the house. He told everyone. Your sweet, sweet boy had asked his CMO a week before about getting off early on Friday to meet your family. He told Velocity. He told Ambulon. Hell, Rodimus knew. And whether out of formality for being his previous captain or out of a severe case of 'never knowing when to mind his business', he had phoned your place and wished him luck. 

There was a knock.

" Can I come in? "

You slowly turn to your lover, nodding and finally bursting into tears. He hugged you tight, and you clenched your eyes shut, too ashamed to look at him. He was so gentle it was almost painful. Blood stained his shoulders. You know he's itching to wipe it off. Yet he stood still, steadying your shoulders with both hands. If he understood you less, you would've apologisedBut it was a wordless exchange between the two of you. Always. Only when you've stopped withering did First Aid speak.

" That went well."

You scoffed, " They're idiots."

" But you love them. And you should continue to have dinner with them. Meet them. Talk to them."

You frowned. You don't even know what's going on out there. But from the marks on First Aid's servo, he must have patched up the bleeding, bruised (hopefully not broken ) nose you had given your sibling-in-law. And knowing him, probably also helped ease your father back on his feet after you had accidentally knocked him down amid your little scuffle.

" I'll even go with."

You shook your head incredulously, " Why would you ever want to repeat this?"

" Because they apologized." His tone was soft, quiet almost as he stroked your hair, " And I'm sure, this won't happen again."

" Be realistic."

" At least it won't at least end like this. I know it."

Sometimes loving First Aid was like looking directly into the sun. You can't help but look away, eyes sore and heart bloated with hope. He pulled his mask down and kissed the discomfort away, and for a brief moment, you almost forgot that you still had people outside.

" If it makes you feel better, your stepmom apologized first."

" Really?" You pulled away from him to search his expression, mildly impressed, " And she didn't follow it up with anything?"

" Well, she did say life in the berth — erm, bed room, must be so interesting when you've got so many cables to choose from. She said it must've been a letdown for me to find out you've only got one port."

" Oh, fuck me."

#transformers #transformers idw #maccadams #transformers x reader #transformers x you #first aid #first aid x reader #first aid / you #first aid / reader #first aid idw #first aid transformers #tf mtmte #mtmte #transformers mtmte #idw mtmte #mtmte x reader #mtmte imagine #lost light #idw transformers #transformers lost light #tf headcanons #tf imagines #tf idw #transformers headcanons #transformers hc #tf hc #transformers first aid #lost light x reader #lost light au

[heartfullofleeches]

I just though if jester!darling having a day off or something and because they don’t have to performs today they take out they big jester outfit and heavy make up and are just like… there

Meanwhile the rest of the love interest are losing their minds at the side of our skin while we are like in a shirt and shorts

Jester: *absolutely vibing without the 3 pounds of make up and clothes*

The rest:* faints as the view of uncovered ankles*

(Tagging this with this ask from @ophticcus since they're similar)

Today was the day some important figures in the king's court were coming to visit. A smaller gathering with other upper class citizens invited. With most of the members being older folks and you having a long week of work, the emperor gave you the evenings off with an invite to the ball as well; including a reluctant invitation for your "friend: the assassin.

You didn't have much to wear for special occasions given your jester outfit was like an extent of your body by now, but you fished an old gift from the emperor out of the closet that'd work well enough. A bit revealing in some areas, and kind of tight due to it being a little dated, but you still looked stunning. Little did you know, it was made by a seamstress even the highest class had trouble getting into contact with.

"How do I look?"

Stepping from behind the dressing curtain in your room, you showed yourself off to the assassin sitting on your bed. They give you a thumbs up, having half a mind to barricade the doors so that no one else saw you. Expressions were lacking in showing their thoughts, but you had them more breathless than when you nearly caved in their skull with a juggling ball.

With them at your side, you head out to the ball room. The emperor and his spouse were chatting with an official; pretending to the be happy couple both would rather be with you. The assassin slinks off to the side to watch you from aware; crowds definitely not their thing. They immediately regret it, as a general's son walks up to you with a flashy smile.

"Well hello there. I don’t think I've seen you around before."

"Yes you have! I remember you touring the castle with your father. I'm Y/n."

His expression becomes puzzled. "The jester? I didn't recognize you without all that colorful makeup. You're quite the pretty face, do you have a date tonight?"

"Yes, but they're a bit shy. You should probably get back to yours so they aren't lonely!"

You wonder off before he can respond, trying to follow you, but getting swept away by the crowd. As you walked by, a woman bashfully looked away as your eyes met. Must be a shy person, like someone you know. A pair chatting gets interrupted when one of the parties stares in your direction, trying to call after you as you pass.

You stop at the snack table, grabbing a couple things for yourself and the assassin. A few people come up to chat with you as you fix your plate. It feels kinda odd when nobody's laughing, but they're all smiles, and due to you knowing how to be the center of a crowd you get along with them well. Word of you spreads through the court room, eventually catching the ear of the emperor and his spouse.

"Did you hear that the jester came this event without their usual costume? Apparently they aren't all that had looking without their makeup."

"I heard, they seemed to have gathered quite the crowd."

The pair look over the railing, down at the ground surrounding you as you talked the night away, and did a few party tricks for your new fans. The assassin creeps along the edge of the floor, looking for an opportunity to snatch you away.

The emperor of course has seen you like this before, but the outfit you wore, and the cheerfulness in your mannerisms had him both envious of the crows and happy to see you shine. His spouse on the other hand hadn't, and if any trace of doubt for their feelings for you was left prior it was completely gone now. It was probably all the alcohol they had downed, but they were feeling rather flushed seeing you out there.

The emperor could not stand all this attention on his jester anymore. Tapping a knife against a glass, he gathered everyone eye.

"Attention everyone! We spend the rest of the evening in my family's garden. Please make your way outside."

Slightly confused, everyone starts heading outside. You're one of the last to leave, a hand grabbing you from the crowd and pulling you to the sidelines. The assassin holds you tightly, separating you from the others with their body as shield as two more people come near.

"Good evening, your highness." You say with a wave. "Why have you moved the event outside?"

"I didn't. I'd like to share a dance with you... if your friend will allow it."

His spouse mutters into their chest. "I'd.. also like your company for a little while."

The emperor glances at them. "You stay out of this."

They glare back. "Don't even start. After all, it's Y/n's choice at the end of the day."

The assassin takes a few more steps away; not allowing either of them near their earth born angel.

You just silently take a sip from the glass in your hand, unsure what to do as they blicker over you.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere scenarios #yandere oc #yandere imagines #yandere x you #male yandere #yandere headcanons #yandere insert #yandere drabble #Yandere fic #yandere writing

[novaonhere]

A Future, A Home

Relationship: Cal Kestis x f!reader

Summary: You, Cal, and the crew on the Mantis are about to leave Jedah to go to Koboh after figuring out about the last intact compass. Cere asks you to stay and help with the archives. You both wake up and have a rough time leaving each other.

Word Count: 870

Warnings: Cal leaving again 😭 how dare, cute BD alarm clock

A/N: I can’t get over all the custom features Survivor offers like omggggggg the stubble???

Prompt: “You’ll stay, this time, right? You won’t go off again. You won’t disappear.”

(gif not mine)

————————————————————————

The small window in the corner of the room shines just enough light on your eyes. You slowly blink, groggy from starting to wake up. The room is cool, unlike the vast landscape outside. The dark orange-brown rock around you creates a pleasant cave sensation, protecting you from the outside world. A pair of freckles hands wrap around your waist, pulling you in. You smile softly, knowing your partner is still fast asleep, in his own little world.

You don’t mind, actually, you’re more than happy he is sleeping so soundly. You know for a fact his bed on the Mantis is rock hard and he can barley sleep anyway with so much turbulence and rocking about. With the “go-go-go” mentality, he can never bring himself to even sit down at times. The fact that he asked you to bed first was shocking, but you were extremely glad to show him to your room, where he instantly laid down on the fluffy sheets and knocked out.

The memory made you smile. While you’ve been on Jedah with Cere and Merrin, you’ve just now learned what Cal has been up to the past few months. You take your hand and stroke his arm, tracing each freckle like a game of connect the dots.

Missing him would be an understatement. In this world, your kind were being hunted constantly. Jedis needed to be eliminated, according to the Empire. You’ve spent your lives running, fighting, looking past your shoulders. To experience pure bliss and safety in each others arms was a luxury, a luxury you never wanted to let go of.

Cal shifted in his sleep, gripping onto you tighter. You chuckled, letting your eyes slowly blink back to rest.

BD-1 chirps at the door, acting as your own personal alarm clock. Sighing, you slink out of your boyfriend’s embrace, who grumbles in protest. You open the door a crack, crouching down to the adorable droid, cocking his head up at you.

“Good morning, buddy.” You smile, the droid bouncing with joy. “We’ll be out in a few, I’ll send Cal to the Mantis straight away. Meet him there?” With that, BD-1 scampers away.

“Five more minutes,” Cal complains, Force grabbing your pillow and sending it your way. On instinct, you catch the pillow, a sad smile on your face as you close the door.

You slowly make your way towards the bed, sitting down besides his curled up frame. He looks peaceful, being able to not worry and rest. You know once he wakes up fully, the worry and anxiety of the day will come crashing. His hand reaches out to yours, interlocking your fingers together as he straightens up.

“Good morning,” You smile. Cal reciprocates, bringing your hands up to his lips, placing a soft kiss on your knuckles.

“You looked so peaceful,” He smile, brushing a strand of red hair away from his eyes. “I wish you could…” You trail off as he starts to shift, moving his legs off the bed. You stand, making room for him to get up. He sits next to you, placing a kiss to your temple. You faintly smile, worry still painted on your face.

“After all of this…” You start.

“We’ll have Tanalorr, (Y/N). A place where we can sleep next to one another every night.” He states, sounding leveled headed and very much like he rehearsed that statement. You nod, watching him slip on his everyday clothes, freshly washed thanks to the kind droids helping out with the Hidden Path.

“But you’ve never known that. Who says you’ll stay? You’ll stay, this time, right? You won’t go off again. You won’t disappear, right?” Your worries and doubts melt from your mouth. You were ready to settle and help out with those you can. After traveling with Cal and the Mantis for years, it became too much. Cere asked for you to aid her in helping with the Hidden Path, which was definitely more your style.

“(Y/N)…” Cal breathes out, slipping his saber to his side. He turns around, facing your concerned face. “This is it. My last fight for now. Of course we will help those and train those who want to go back out and fight. But my job will to be protect and teach.” He walks up to you, taking your hands into his freckled ones. He places a sweet, gentle kiss to your cheek. “We’re so close, and I’ll come back to you. Every time.”

“A Future.” You smile.

“A Home.” He grins.

You look up into his eyes, shinning, knowing his said his truth. You smile, pecking him on the lips. He reaches his hand behind your head, pulling you back in for a longer, much needed, kiss. You grasp onto his collar, wanting to hold yourself there for as long as possible. Unfortunately, he just had to pull away, giving you a goofy smile.

“Go kick ass, Cal Kestis.” You smile, letting go of his hands. He chuckles, making his way towards the door.

“Anything to come back to you.” He responds, smiling over his shoulder. With that, he leaves you in your room. The sun coming from that small window now blinds you.

#cal kestis x reader #cal kestis x y/n #cal kestis x you #cal kestis #cal kestis jedi survivor #jedi survivor #star wars #star wars x y/n #star wars x you #star wars x reader #star wars jedi fallen order #star wars jedi survivor #reader insert #y/n

[hermesserpent-stuff]

hiiiiiii spoilers for the future of stolen heir. reader beware there are spoilers in there!!

toothless and hiccup scene.

Post hiccup gifting toothless flight back.

Toothless lands, completely exhausted. But in a good way. His wings had finally been able to slice through the air and play on the wind. All with the help of his little strange-smelling human. But with how the little creature had whooped and sang in the wind and how he tried to make all of Toothless’ noises, perhaps little human is not the right descriptor. A hatchling he decides. A hatchling who needed help to touch the skies. 

Hiccup is still sitting in the strange dead animal skin that allowed his tiny friend to stay on Toothless’ back and help him fly. His friend is making tired little noises, rubbing his blunt claws across Toothless’ scales in a very pleasant way that has Toothless purring. Hiccup makes a very high happy noise and the rubbing increases/ Toothless stretches his wings with a happy rumble and slinks into the cave he has started to recognize as a safe enough resting place. Hiccup slips off and then tries to take off the dead skin. Toothless lets out a warning growl.

“~Mine! For flying. Dont take please.~”

He begs at the ends and presses his head into Hiccup’s tiny little chest. He breathes in the smell of smoke and metal that seem woven into Hiccup’s bones. Hiccup croons and starts scratching again. He does not try to touch the skins again. Toothless chirps and nuzzles his little hatchling. He snuffles at Hiccup’s leg which still vaguely smells of the Monsterous Nightmare marking Hiccup as a friend. It is not as clear as it should be. 

Toothless needs to fix that and mark Hiccup as his hatchling so no one else tries to steal his clever little one. He pushes gently at the hatchling crooning as Hiccup makes tiny little complaints but lays down, trusting him. He then starts licking at the soft fluff on Hiccup’s head getting whines and little baps to his face. He licks at the blunt claws too and Hiccup whines more before giving up. Hiccup just lays there and groans and then giggles. 

Toothless warbles, nuzzles, and licks with a happy tail swish. The hatchling yawns and smells like tired. Hiccup starts making noises that mean that he is planning to leave.

No! He had just figured out that Hiccup was in fact a hatchling! And hatchlings need to sleep in warmth so their little tummy flames can focus on food rather than fighting off cold. So when Hiccup wriggles out and starts to walk out of the cave, Toothless grabs him by the furs that cloth him and puts him at the back of the cave. There are a myriad of complaints and the hatchling tries again. And Toothless repeats, this time with a growly warning.

“~Stay. You need to stay.~”

Hiccup complains but stops trying to exit. This gives Toothless time to heat the floor and then carefully pull the hatchling into a warm embrace. Hiccup struggles for a second and then begins to rub his belly, causing Toothless to purr. Hiccup makes a few more tired noises and then is snoozing peacefully. Toothless gives one more lick to that soft head fur, feeling self-satisfied, and settles down to sleep.

He is sad when he wakes to find the hatchling gone but does not follow after, recalling that such a thing distressed Hiccup. He wants his hatchling back and curls up patiently to wait and sleep some more. 

#stolen heir au #toothless #httyd #httyd au #hermes speaks #how to train your dragon #hiccup haddock

[turbotaxevasion]

Jason Todd Angst Drabble

Jason likes to pretend that he doesn't care. The real problem is that he cares too much. Especially when it comes to his younger brothers.

Jason steers his bike to the side of the landing pad. He shifts the gear to neutral and cuts the engine before swinging the kickstand down with his foot. He sits for a minute, straddling the bike. He waits until his breathing has calmed down. He swings his leg over the bike and stands. Just stands. He can’t turn around.

A small hand with long, thin fingers rests on his shoulder.

Tim.

No one else has those weird little spider hands. Jason looks over his shoulder, glad for the helmet still on his head. If it wasn’t, Tim would see glowing green.

“It’s okay.” Tim squeezes his shoulder lightly before letting go. “No one will blame you.”

Jason sighs. “He will.”

Tim’s mouth turns to a frown. “He’ll get over it.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

Tim is quiet for a moment. The blue of his irises burns bright. If Jason didn’t know better, he would assume that Tim had taken his own dip in the Pit.

“Then we’ll make him.”

Jason nods and takes his helmet off, trusting that his eyes have gone back to normal. “Okay.”

The Batmobile roars into the cave. Damian is out of the car before the engine can cut. He slinks over, his posture prim and straight. Jason can see the tightness in his shoulders, though.

Tim taps the toe of his boot against the ground. “How is he?”

“Livid.”

Damian’s admission causes a churning feeling in Jason’s stomach. He feels ill.

The engine of the Batmobile turns off. The driver’s side door opens. Batman – not Bruce – storms over to the three boys. It was nights like these that make Jason wish Dick didn’t work over in Bludhaven. It was most nights, honestly.

“What were you thinking?” Batman growls.

Jason stands still. He can’t answer. His throat is too tight. He feels a phantom burning sensation across his neck.

Batman continues, gruff and angry. “A man died tonight. Because of you. You’re meant to use non-lethal rounds only and you deliberately–”

“He was going to kill Robin.”

Batman, stunned by the interruption, stands for a moment. He says nothing. Until…

“Robin can take care of himself.”

Jason can’t take it. “NO! He shouldn’t have to!” He points to Tim. “You didn’t see what I saw! He was cornered. He was scared. I wasn’t about to lose another brother! I had no choice!”

“That was not for you to decide!”

“Could you get your head out of your ass for two seconds!?” Jason feels like he’s a teenager again.

“We don’t ki–”

“You dont.” Jason’s voice was frigid. “You don’t kill. But what about them? The people we’re fighting? They do. And they aren’t going to take anyone away from me.”

Jason walks away, leaving Bruce – no longer Batman – standing in silence. He hits the button on the elevator up to the manor. As the elevator bells sounds, Jason looks at Bruce.

“Be glad they stand with you. Because you don’t deserve them.”

He steps inside and lets the doors close behind him, not turning around until the view of the cave disappears.

#i love reminding people that bruce honestly sucks in the comics sometimes #he isnt the worst but on occasion... #we love jason todd in this house #fanfic #fanfic writing #comics #jason todd #dcu #dc batman #batfam #dc comics #tim drake #damian wayne #angst

[kissunderthemountain]

Comprehend, the kind of love of which I speak

The detail that had taken the most time (as small as it was), were small oak leaves. Three spanned the width of the bead, so no matter which way it was twisted one would always show. A symbol of the strength and resilience of a king, forever embedded in this little bead, personally handcrafted by Bilbo.

In which no small act of observation goes wasted, Thorin yearns like he has no other purpose, and Bilbo's act of kindness saves the line of Durin.

It all began in Mirkwood, really. Well, if Bilbo was being honest with himself - and really, he should’ve been honest with himself much sooner, as what good was a burglar who couldn’t see what was right under his nose - there had been signs much sooner, as early as the Carrock if not before even then, but, well…

The real, notable start had been in Thranduil’s dungeons.

When, in between scrambling for dark corners, foraging for what scraps he could find, and trying to get a sense of exactly how to get them all out of this madness, Bilbo had settled in front of Thorin’s cell. Just a breather. He thought to himself, slinking to the ground in a pathetic slouch. Just a moment to catch my breath, and then…

And then what? That was the issue, really. Weeks spent in this shadowed version of the world, not speaking - fearing breathing, for crying out loud, too afraid to make a sound. This underground fortress of a palace was a maze, cold and unfeeling as its king, filled with precipices around every wrong turn. Not to mention the guards. Really, Bilbo was lucky that none were within throwing distance of him right now - else he wouldn’t take this chance, magic ring or not. He hoped, distantly, that Erebor was more welcoming than these halls. At this point he would take practically anything, but hearing how the dwarrow had spoken of their home had given Bilbo some kind of peace, and some other feeling he couldn’t quite place. All that would be for naught, however, if he couldn’t get them out of this blasted dungeon!

Dropping his shoulders in frustration, Bilbo thumped his head against the bars. At the sound, Thorin, who previously seemed to have been dozing in a sort of half-sleep, jolted awake. Muddled in confusion he first gazed blankly out of the opening and, finding nothing, came to sit in front of the bars in a position that unconsciously mirrored Bilbo’s.

Bilbo froze, and moved to shuffle back, only remembering after a moment that-

Ah. Of course. He can’t see you, you fool, there’s no need to alert him with more scuffling sounds.

Guilt shot through Bilbo, smoother than an arrow. Here Thorin was, finally getting some rest, and Bilbo just had to go and- and muck it all up!

Yet as Bilbo looked closer, Thorin didn’t seem all that awake. His eyelids drooped, then fluttered, then blinked firmly as Thorin forced them open again, watching for an unseen danger. Those eyes, though dulled and darkened by the dimness of these caves, were still blue as the Shire-water in spring. Blue as the morning glories that crept up persistently around Bag End, and no less resilient than those pesky vines. 

He watched as Thorin’s eyes closed once again, not more than a breath away.

Yavanna, Bilbo was close enough to count his eyelashes! Bilbo thought to himself with a start, and so his gaze wandered downward. To check for injury, he told himself. To reassure himself that, though this situation was horrid in and of itself, Thorin was doing alright.

Scrapes and bruises and dazed looks aside, there was nothing to be found, and for that Bilbo breathed a sigh of relief. Just one - but to his horror, he saw Thorin’s nostrils flare. He froze as Thorin inhaled fully, paused, and lifted his head a bit higher, eyes searching for something. Someone? Bilbo didn’t dare hope it was him, and anyway, he was far more focused on a smaller detail - that Thorin’s braids were undone, with no beads to fasten them in place.

Those tree-shagging bastards! Those- those filthy, rotten leaf lovers -

He had never held contempt for elves, not really (as someone had to keep a level head between Gloin’s disdain and whatever Kili was doing), and though he had never learned the exact significance of dwarven braids, anyone with eyes could see the level of disrespect it took to remove them. And - having been by the rest of The Company’s cells on brief occasions - Bilbo noticed now that it seemed only Thorin’s had been removed. And so Bilbo hatched a plan. Finally the wheels of his mind were turning, set into motion by the sight of the King - he didn’t dare say his King - in such a state.

Of course, there was the plan that got them out of there. Quite well thought out, if one were to brush past the lack of a barrel for Bilbo himself and the surprise Orc party.

But the other plan - his own secret, private project, was another matter. It was a matter of a whittle (in Bilbo’s case, a small Elvish knife swiped off a table when no-one cared enough to look), and a scrapped piece of wood no bigger than his thumb.

There was no thought in Bilbo’s head about propriety when he had been stealing for his life. In a way, this was much the same, he reasoned with himself, in that it was a necessary gesture that Bilbo had the time and energy to spare to do when no one else did. When there were bigger issues to worry about - Kili’s leg, for one, or making it into Laketown, or of course the Lonely Mountain itself. 

No, this was something he would do, for he had noticed something, and now couldn’t let it go.

Thorin lay alone. In Laketown, in a bed far too tall for his size, he lay still, hands folded on his chest mimicking a body and not a person, and thought.

Unbidden, his gaze wandered to Bilbo. When he looked at Bilbo, really let himself look (and this night he did, as there was no telling what tomorrow and the Lonely Mountain would bring), he thought not of gold, not of the throne awaiting him in the depths of that mountain, not of his home, but of far more lonesome things.

Of how the eye was Mahal’s loneliest creation, the whole world passing through it and yet holding nothing. Of how there was another eye, just like it, an inch away, just as hungry. Just as empty.

He thought of the firelight shining in Bilbo’s eyes and remembered nights around a campfire. Remembered the gentle crackling of the flame and nonexistent sunlight found in the hobbit’s hair, remembered warmth. How, after borrowing Thorin’s furs, and rolling this and that way during the night, there had been a patch of ground heated gently by a body - Bilbo’s body - all night long. How he, guilty in every touch, had reached for that earth, desperately seeking a remnant of that heat, that touch, that embrace they had shared on the Carrock. How he had laid there until the only heat left was his own, and the ground grew cold and unforgiving beneath him, and the sun had risen. And then they had to leave.

In Mirkwood, in weeks trapped beneath the forest, it felt as if Thorin had been given endless time to think. Yet now, on the precipice of his home, of his destiny, there was no time at all. 

What time he did have was spent on Bilbo. Was spent wishing, wondering, if there was something more. If like that other eye, Bilbo, too, felt this yawning chasm within him, a hollowed-out sort of feeling that Thorin sensed couldn’t be filled. 

Oh, it came close sometimes, of course, seeing his sister-sons laugh, seeing hope for the first time in a long time within his people, within his Company, but it wouldn’t be satiated by anything less than a lifetime of… well… Thorin let his head drop back to the pillow, heavy with an equal mixture of desire and regret. He would’ve been happy with remaining by Bilbo’s side, he mused to himself, could’ve felt satisfied drinking in that radiance and living for it alone. But now, with his future, his destiny, his people, hanging by a thread, there was nothing to be done. He would live and die by this yearning.

Going lax, Thorin heard footsteps. Barely heard them, as quiet as the hobbit moved across even creaky wooden floors, but heard them all the same. He did not will his eyes to open, only shifted his body over slightly to one side. An opening. An offering, really. One he didn’t dare hope would be noticed or… accepted.

“Thorin?” Bilbo asked, voice soft as anything. When moments passed and no response came, Thorin felt a dip in the mattress. An additional weight on his bed. This made his eyes open finally, and when they did, he watched as Bilbo frowned slightly and moved to get up.

Out of instinct, Thorin found himself latching onto Bilbo’s wrist with a tenderness that frightened him and that only made Bilbo frown more. But it also made Bilbo settle back down on the bed and lean over Thorin, so he took the successes as they came, even when they came with a lecture.

“Are you feeling alright? You haven’t gone and gotten yourself sick, have you? I’ll go get Oin if I have to, I know you wouldn’t want to slow anything down but we cannot have you-”

“Bilbo.” Thorin interrupted when Bilbo’s hand had already landed on his forehead, feeling for a rise in temperature that wasn’t there. He raised his eyebrows, and Bilbo’s hand drew back at the motion. “I’m alright. But thank you. Your concern is…” Here he paused, swallowed, throat dry as anything. “Touching.”

Touching. All that time and all he could come up with was touching. Forget being a king, hopefully his future would end here and now through being swallowed up by the floor.

Bilbo’s eyebrows furrowed. Mahal, that expression. “If you say so, but if there’s anything I can do…” His words hung in the air and for a second Thorin felt suffocated. Anything. Yes. If I could request anything of you I wouldn’t ask for much at all. Just forever. Forever with me. Intertwined. Something of that pain must have shown through in his expression because between that moment and the next, Bilbo’s fingers were smoothing his hair away from his temple in feather-light strokes. 

“It’ll be okay, you know.” He continued, and it was so intimate that Thorin was torn between cringing away from it (because it was too much, like a campfire on an already scorching summer night) and throwing himself into it, helpless, a moth drawn to a flame. Instead, he settled somewhere in the middle, somewhere in resting his eyes on Bilbo’s face and resting his head for Bilbo’s hand.

“I do know.” Thorin said, his voice the rumble of distant thunder and his tone something so weary that Bilbo sighed and shook his head.

Fingertips lingering somewhere just above Thorin’s ears, Bilbo tapped lightly. “You might know, but you certainly don’t believe in it.” Saying this, Bilbo’s nose scrunched. “I don’t know what to tell you to make you believe. That’s more of Gandalf’s thing, I think.”

Thorin smiled, feeling small in the stillness of the night. “Our resident burglar, lost for words? Wasn’t sure I’d ever see the day.”

“Ah, well, don’t go getting used to it. Doesn’t happen often, that.”

The both of them smiled, then, and Thorin felt something well up in his chest. He fought back the urge to press a hand there and check it wasn’t physical - for he knew it couldn’t have been something as simple as blood or sweat, but an emotion he still couldn’t place beyond want.

Bilbo deserved more than want.

Feeling Bilbo drawing away, Thorin spoke once again in a desperate attempt - with that same reaction as when he had latched on to Bilbo’s hand. “I fear…” He cast his eyes down, suddenly far too ashamed to look Bilbo in the eye. “This bed feels too empty for me to sleep well tonight.” “I understand.” Bilbo said, to his surprise, forcing that hope - the one that whispered that he wasn’t quite as alone as he felt - to surface again. “After all, after months of only sleeping in shifts around a fire, I would feel the same.” Thorin hesitated. “Do you… feel the same?” Bilbo met his gaze, then. He had the slightest curl of amusement to his lip. “Are you asking me to share your bed, oh King Under the Mountain?”

Mahal have mercy. Strike me down now.

“Well, Master Baggins,” Thorin cleared his throat, breaking that eye contact yet again to stare at a wooden beam across the room. “I would understand if it would not be considered proper by your people, but considering, well, your previous statement, I would think…” And there, sparing him from further embarrassment was Bilbo, sliding under the cover and making room for himself. Barely thinking about it, barely thinking at all, really, Thorin shifted over to make space, and Bilbo gave a happy hum.

“You would be right - in that it isn’t considered properly done - but I would consider these extenuating circumstances. And, to be frank, it’s awfully hard to resist when you dwarves give off more heat than the earth in Wedmath.” His eyes crinkled with a kindness Thorin hadn’t felt in ages and Thorin fought to reconcile the idea of the Hobbit who’s home he’d invaded months ago with this one.

In a beat, Bilbo took on a grave sincerity (the same he had shown repeatedly - after escaping the Misty Mountains, or when vouching for Thorin just a day or so prior) and shifted to face Thorin. 

Helpless, Thorin held still, and waited.

“You’re my dearest friend, Thorin.” Bilbo said, quietly, like it was a secret between the two of them. “And I’d do anything for a friend.”

“Even face down a dragon?” Thorin choked out before having thought about it, caught in the look in Bilbo’s green eyes (Emerald, his mind whispered, Emerald, moissanite, tourmaline) and the warmth and weight of his body beside him.

Those green eyes twinkled. “Especially that.” He smiled, like it wasn’t going to be his doom, like his life wouldn’t end in fire and ash. “So really,” Bilbo continued (cutting off Thorin’s spiraling thoughts rather rudely), “This isn’t much at all.”

Thorin felt that same feeling creeping up, stuck in his throat. 

You don’t understand. There is nothing I wouldn’t give. My kingdom, my riches, my blood. In my deepest heart of hearts, I wish we never would’ve come. That you could have stayed in the Shire, in Bag End, never knowing what it is like to face a violent death and stand tall.And yet, then we wouldn’t have met.I thank Mahal that we are given this night. That I am given this night to lay beside you as your friend. If you name me your dearest friend, then your dearest friend I shall be.

He didn’t speak a word. He just breathed out, long and placidly, and that seemed to say enough.

A heavy weight sat in Bilbo’s chest, made to match the heavy weight in his jacket.

He had woken the dragon. His actions had directly killed many in Laketown - people who had already been suffering, starving at the hands of their Master. People he and Thorin and the rest of The Company had given hope to for the first time in a long time.

And yet in the face of all of this, Thorin felt nothing. He could tell Thorin had changed. He had changed the very moment they had set foot in this wretched mountain. 

Erebor, though once a splendid kingdom of wealth and warmth and home for so many, had become a hollowed out shell of its past. 

Between the way Thorin prowled (and really, there was no other word for it, considering the tense set of his shoulders beneath that gaudy fur coat and the distant look in his eyes) and the way the mountain bled coldness and stunk of death like an infected wound, it was a wonder Bilbo found air comfortable enough to breathe.

When he wasn’t sorting through gold for the very item he already held or avoiding the feverish gaze of The King Under the Mountain (for could that dwarf really be called Thorin Oakenshield anymore?) Bilbo sought comfort in one small object.

Palming it, Bilbo considered the details. There wasn’t any work left to do on it, really, unless he wished to risk the integrity and carve deeper than he ought to. His deft fingers had worked carefully away at it for months, angling a small knife (that he swapped out rather cleverly at Laketown, lest anyone harp on him about carrying yet another blade of Elvish make) just so and now, with countless sections of downtime spent, he was left with this.

One small wooden bead sat in his hand. The size and shape was close to that of Thorin’s original beads, or as close as Bilbo had remembered (as Bilbo knew little about hair fastening in this fashion and didn’t want to risk making something that couldn’t work well at all), but that was where the similarities ended.

Despite having studied what dwarven runes and designs he’d seen intently, Bilbo decided to stick with what he knew best, and made it personal. After all, especially now with Thorin’s… condition, there was no guarantee it would ever be worn. So, he took comfort in it, and whittled the only way he knew how.

The detail that had taken the most time (as small as it was), were small oak leaves. Three spanned the width of the bead, so no matter which way it was twisted one would always show. A symbol of the strength and resilience of a king, forever embedded in this little bead, personally handcrafted by Bilbo. A bead that would likely never see the light of day, if Bilbo allowed himself to face the stark reality laying before him for more than a moment to admit it.

Holding it up to what little light reflected in these stone halls, he peered at it, admiring his handiwork for once. Only a few of his previous skills had carried over to this quest and, somehow, he was glad this was one of them.

Then there was a sound, nothing so undignified as a scuffle but scraping, like the drag of claws (Smaug’s claws, he thought to himself, with a shudder) on the rock’s surface, and Bilbo was startled enough to drop the bead back into his palm with one sudden move.

Thorin stood in front of him, tall and regal and unreachable beneath his layers of garish golden metal and furs. “What,” he growled, every bit as animalistic as Bilbo had feared. “Is that.”

He made no clarification but his eyes (that same river blue gone cold and distant like that wretched winter the Brandywine had frozen over) fixed on Bilbo’s hands, clenched tight around his last shred of hope and comfort in this dark and desolate place.

“It’s nothing.” “Show me.” Thorin demanded, and with this King Under the Mountain towering over him, Bilbo had nothing to do but to obey.

His fingers (which were not trembling, no matter what anyone thought) unclasped and he offered, palm up, the bead. Thorin’s bead, really.

At once, there was a small clarity in Thorin’s eyes, in his face. A touch of guilt, maybe, for such a bold confrontation, and something else. 

“A wooden bead,” he mused, and his voice, though rough with harsh use, was the gentlest it had been since that night in Laketown, when he’d confided in Bilbo, and they had shared a bed for crying out loud. “Wherever did you pick this up?” “I, ah, made it. Actually. Myself. Took quite a bit of time.” Hearing this, Thorin’s hand brushed the underside of Bilbo’s, guiding it up so he could look closer. Nearly flinching, Bilbo just held still, and breathed as Thorin examined his work. Thorin sounded tender and Yavanna, almost fond, as he spoke. 

“You made this?”

Latching on to this fragment of humanity he’d found, Bilbo continued with reckless abandon, throwing any sense of secrecy to the wind.

“Yes, just in my downtime, over the last few months. Always had a bit of a knack for whittling, one of the few crafts I’ve gotten comfortable enough with so far. Made it as a gift, actually, I was going to give it to someone- ah- sometime-” “You’re going to give it to someone?”

In that very moment, it seemed as if Thorin had disappeared in the complete opposite direction. 

Where there had been rivers warm in spring or frozen over in the dead of winter was a stormy sea Bilbo had never been privy to witness. That tender touch had become a claw, holding a level of fury he had yet to see in Thorin (even after getting himself flung off a cliff!), and yet, when Bilbo dared to drag his gaze to meet Thorin’s, there was a level of devastating desolation spreading on his face that Bilbo just had to do something, anything to get a drop of that Thorin (his Thorin) back.

“It’s yours,” he said, prying Thorin’s hand off and open enough to let the bead tumble into his tensed fingers. “I made it for you. Please. Take it, Thorin, it’s a gift for you.”

Bilbo watched Thorin’s eyes, cautious. He watched as that same lust, that gold sickness clouded them for but a brief moment, and then startlingly, he watched as they cleared. As how Thorin, gazing at the bead anew with a sudden clarity in his eyes, whispered in a halting voice, “For me?”, and how his other hand slowly reached to rub at some ache in his chest. The touch reminded him of the cloak he was wearing, and, with a warring flicker of disgust and avarice, he cast it to the ground and closed his eyes completely. Bilbo didn’t miss Thorin’s eyelashes going wet, nor how he seemed to weaken at the knees. 

It took minutes before either spoke, standing there, Thorin weathering his storm and Bilbo helplessly caught in the tide, watching, waiting, until Thorin gained breath enough to speak.

“Bilbo… Mahal , what have I done? This mountain, this gold, this- this blasted crown … I have succumbed to the very same madness of my forefathers.”

“Thorin-” Bilbo stilled as Thorin wrenched the crown from his head and tossed it to the floor, a loud clatter echoing in the barren space. “Thorin, do not stand in front of me and say you have succumbed when I can see you looking at me like a new dwarf. You are not your grandfather and you will not yield while I draw breath.” 

In his tirade Bilbo had cleared the space between them and stood almost chest to chest with Thorin. 

“Your company needs you. I need you,” and at this, Thorin gave some strange shudder, shaking his head with his eyes still closed. “Thorin Oakenshield, the same dwarf who threw himself off a cliff's edge to save a lowly burglar.”

There he paused, and waited, barely blinking with the intensity of his stare.

A hair's breadth away from him, Thorin drew in a trembling breath, and opened his eyes. “If,” He began, voice unsteady, then cleared his throat. “If that is truly all you think you are, all of us have failed.” And in that one sentence, Bilbo relaxed more than he had in days. 

Though Thorin was still shaky, and his hand still clutched Bilbo’s bead like a lifeline, he was more himself than when they had entered this mountain, and Bilbo had never been so relieved in his life.

Pinned to the ice, Thorin struggled under the weight of Azog bearing down with his bisected blade. His block had been nearly a second too late - another breath and the tip of that blade would be in his throat. Though it seemed now that would be his fate regardless.

Gritting his teeth, he weighed his options very quickly. It would be a warrior's death, he decided, fit for a king indeed, slaying his enemy at the price of his own life.

And what a life it had been. How weak he had become, buckling under the weight of all the gold in his mountain. In- in the mountain, that was. That mountain (and the gold within) would pass to Fili and Kili, if they managed to survive their wounds.

Oh, his sister-sons. He grieved, now, not only for them, but for Dís, for the knowledge that she very well may be left alone and how he had robbed her of all remaining family with this quest. What good was a home, no matter how grand and beautiful, if there was no one worthwhile to share it with? If it had come at the cost of her sons, of her brother? 

How could he, already so disgraceful in every way, leave this unfinished, leave Azog alive to hunt down the rest of his family, what little remained of the line of Durin?

Thoughts racing, Thorin’s forearms began to burn under the strain, and he had made up his mind.

About to slacken his grip, Thorin felt a weight in his shirt, that which was closest to his skin - unmistakably a bead, the one Bilbo had made for him. Had given to him. The miniscule weight of that, of such a promise, made him - Thorin Oakenshield, who had faced down this mighty orc not once but three times now, who had lept from a narrow ledge to save a stranger with barely a thought, who had taunted a dragon - that bead made him hesitate. And that hesitation was just enough of a break that it gave room for one brave Hobbit to dive in, letter opener flashing in the harsh winter sun and a fierce look in his eyes. Though the weight of a Hobbit was nowhere near enough to make an orc fall, it caused Azog to stagger, thus releasing Thorin from his death sentence, and pulling the focus onto Bilbo.

No. Oh, Mahal, no, not him too. Thorin could think of nothing else, couldn’t tear his eyes away as he lay sprawled aside and momentarily forgotten. He watched, helpless, as the elven dagger was knocked out of Bilbo’s hand, and Bilbo fell to the ice, fumbling for something - a ring? - that skidded across the frozen surface before sinking down into frigid, endless waters. He prayed that the Mithril under Bilbo’s coat would be enough, that his gift (though nowhere near as priceless, in his mind, as the bead he had been given) would protect Bilbo when he couldn’t.

Azog seemed to read his very mind, as his foot slammed down on Bilbo’s chest, knocking the breath out of him with a wheeze that struck Thorin in the depths of his heart. Struggling to his elbows, Thorin stopped dead at the blade pointed to Bilbo’s vulnerable throat.

The orc smiled, a sick and terrible thing that twisted his face into a horrendous mass of teeth and pale scarring. Thorin had never been so afraid in all his life.

“The line of Durin,” Azog snarled, “brought so low by a halfling . Lay down your weapon, dwarf, or I shall kill him.” That smile grew wider. “Brutally. In front of you. Surrender or the ice will be red with his blood.”

In his right mind, Thorin knew there was no reasoning with an orc. That no matter what he did, their deaths were inevitable at the hands of such a foe in this circumstance. Yet that didn’t stop his hand loosening around Orcrist, willing him to yield as he had to the trolls that threatened his burglar’s life so many months ago. The sword was dangling from his very fingertips when Bilbo, trembling with effort, dug his nails into Azog’s flesh just above his shin armour and pulled. The shock gave him a moment to claw his way up Azog’s leg, surging out from underneath a slackened pin, and sink his teeth into the meat of Azog’s thigh in one deep bite.

Staggering to his feet, Thorin put weight on his injured foot (that was still sluggishly leaking blood onto the ice) and pressed forward, through the pain, through the fear, gripping Orcrist ever steadily and dodging a strike from Azog that aimed to slice across his chest.

One swing took Azog’s head clean off.

One swing and he fell back, back, and for a horrifying second Bilbo fell with him until his jaw released and he, too, lurched, but away from Azog, and onto the ice a distance away from Thorin.

Thorin collapsed, releasing Orcrist from his grasp. Reduced to an ungainly, helpless crawl, as if he were naught but a babe, Thorin dragged himself to Bilbo’s side. “Bilbo,” At first was all he could say, hands nearly numb with the cold clutching at every part of him, feeling for wetness, for blood and wounds, and finding nothing, he rested his hand between Bilbo’s narrow shoulder blades. Bilbo was hunched over, sputtering, trying to rid his tongue from the taste of orc blood and flesh.

Thorin panted, voice nothing more than a rasp, and said “Sorry about the blood in your mouth,” I wish it was mine. It should’ve been mine, is what he didn’t say, though he thought it and they both heard it. I should have died in that fight. It would have been a noble death. A worthy death. Now I must live an unworthy life - unworthy of my kingdom, of those around me, of Bilbo.

Bilbo looked up at him. His teeth were stained black. Thorin had never found him more beautiful.

Alive. We’re both alive. Mahal, how I thank you. How I thank the strength of mithril, the strength of hobbits.

Tears rose to his eyes unbidden. Too overwhelmed to feel shame (though he had not truly cried in an age), Thorin bent his forehead low and touched it to Bilbo’s, the stinging of his cut only making him press closer. “Bilbo,” He began, voice thick with emotion.

Bilbo shushed him, gentle, one hand finding the back of Thorin’s neck. Both of them were frigid, and they clung to each other there on the ice, breathing the same air until the eagles came.

Of course, lots of work had to be done. Cleanup, for one, and things Bilbo knew far too little about to help with - structural integrity of a mountain kingdom wasn’t really his forte - but also healing and dying and mourning. Not a day went by that Bilbo didn’t gaze at Thorin and feel that overwhelming sense of relief wash over him, filling every crack and crevice in his very soul. When he looked at the boys, Thorin’s sister-sons, battered, bruised, and bloody, but still so alive, warmth filled his chest and stayed there, keeping him shielded from the growing cold better than any liquor he drank ever could. 

It all could have turned out so differently.

The taste of orc blood still lingered in Bilbo’s mouth (when he thought about it too long), turning to ash in the dark stillness of the royal family’s medical tent and flooding his senses (the bitter winter wind whipping in his hair, a persistent smell of death that would probably stay on the terrain for years to come, frigid ice beneath his feet that did nothing to quell his fevered memory of the Fell Winter, and above all else, desperation like he had never known).

A moment later to have intervened and Thorin would have let himself be gored on that ice. A second later to have, in a rather shameful way, (if it hadn’t been for the fact that it had saved Thorin’s life and the way Thorin had looked at him after, orc blood smeared on his teeth, like he was seeing all of Bilbo for the first time and liked what he saw) pulled himself up and Thorin would have let Orcrist slip through his fingers. After everything.

And so Bilbo sat, breathing through it, until Thorin woke and stared at him in a way that felt like it said many more things than Bilbo understood, and that strange gravity Thorin carried with him everywhere grounded Bilbo once again. Somewhere in there his hand had found Bilbo’s, holding it tightly, his thumb running in patterns over the hair on the back of Bilbo’s hand.

It wasn’t proper; Bilbo couldn’t find the energy to care. Along the way his propriety had vanished (maybe between being used as a troll hankie and sharing a bed with a future king for no real discernable reason), and at this very moment, it struck Bilbo.

I will never be at home in the Shire ever again.

Of course it would be familiar, worn to golden like a well-loved statue or a doorknob that had seen many guests and many good days. But family - a family that made him feel like he belonged, and not like something to shy away from or take pity on, but someone to embrace, a family like he had seen with all of the brothers, and Thorin with Fili and Kili, something… something he could be a part of. Here. In Erebor.

Bilbo stared at Thorin. Thorin stared back, unwavering emotions behind his eyes and a steady hand holding Bilbo’s.

The days went on like this, until Thorin could put weight on his foot without flinching (and Yavanna, how utterly murderous Bilbo had felt, seeing that angry scarlet split in Thorin’s pale, smooth skin) and Fili and Kili got out of their cots far too fast (ending up sprawled on the floor, as Fili had been using Kili for support to stand and they went down together as always), and after living in the mountain for a season proper, Bilbo had broken the news of his intent to stay.

Erebor, once a barren relic of its people, was once again filled with chatter, an ever-present heat from the working forges, children (or ‘pebbles’ as Bilbo soon learned they were called), and a burning sense of home Bilbo hadn’t felt since he was young.

The brief trip back to the Shire in order to retrieve some belongings he couldn’t do without long-term only confirmed what he was already sure about, and his return to Erebor was met with a set of misshapen doilies, handcrafted by the members of The Company with visibly differing levels of skill. Each one warmed Bilbo’s heart nonetheless.

One unusually balmy night saw Thorin at Bilbo’s door. Though Thorin appeared majestic as ever, the way his hands clasped tightly at the small of his back betrayed his nerves in a tell that, miraculously, never showed in court and always showed in front of Bilbo. It was either that, or the wild look in his eyes, like he had just seen something too good to be true.

“Master Baggins,” Thorin started, elegant as ever with his sudden starting and stopping of sentences. 

“Thorin,” said Bilbo, cheerfully deadpan as ever. “What can I do for you?”

Thorin’s mouth quirked (and Bilbo couldn’t look away), “Many things, apparently. Stand in front of orcs and dragons and goldsick kings alike.”

“Like I said, anything for a friend.”

Flushing a little at the reminder of how brazen he had been that night (really, Bilbo, extenuating circumstances?), Bilbo opened the door wider to allow Thorin inside in an unspoken invitation. 

When he had turned back around to face Thorin, having shut the door, his breath caught in his throat. Thorin had shed his outer layers, wearing a thin tunic that clung to his softer sections and would have left him looking gentle had it not been for the tense set of his shoulders.

“You…” Thorin halted, once again, casting his gaze to the floor. “You have been living here for months, yet you know little of dwarven customs.” Confused, Bilbo took a step forward. “Now, Thorin, I wouldn’t say that…” “You know little of dwarven courting customs.”

Well. That was true enough. Bilbo didn’t quite see how it was relevant, or that it was really such a dramatic matter. Yet Thorin, bathed in the gentle light of a candle, had gone from nervous to determined (almost battle ready, for crying out loud!), and set his jaw. His hands opened in front of him to reveal that bead Bilbo had painstakingly carved all that time ago.

“With this bead, you not only saved my life - for I am sure I would have fallen much farther into gold sickness otherwise - but likely that of my family and my kingdom. I am forever in your debt, for I don’t know how to even begin repaying you.”

Bilbo opened his mouth to interject, to say that there was no such debt owed, that Thorin had saved his life as well and other true things, but at that moment Thorin looked up and the honest bashfulness on his face startled Bilbo into silence.

“I am aware you did not know of what such a gift means to a dwarf. That a bead - a personal, handcrafted bead, whether it be welded or carved or molded, is most commonly given as a proposal to begin courting.” Here Thorin’s face began to grow red, and, nervous, he sped up his explanation. “So while I am fully aware you meant nothing of- of that nature- by your gift, I come to you this night to give a completely unreasonable request.”

Aware that he was still staring, wide eyed and silent, Bilbo’s heart lurched in his chest. 

“Anything,” Bilbo said, and meant it, as he had meant every word back in Laketown. 

You’re my dearest friend. And I’d do anything for a friend. Except, this wasn’t just being friendly anymore, was it? 

Oh how traitorous his heart had become - to consider Thorin attractive, beautiful even, was one thing (one thing practically anyone with eyes agreed on, he had moaned to Dwalin on an exceptionally drunken night), but to long for him, to love him, was another entirely. Now there was nothing left to do but to let those eyes, blue as a river and just as ensnaring as the fiercest rapids of a spring flood, push him to do one more risky thing.

Bilbo closed the distance between them almost entirely, slipping his hands into Thorin’s own. Panicked like a fawn caught in an open glade, Thorin startled, breath catching audibly in his throat. Bilbo held still.

“Thorin?”

“Please braid my hair.” Thorin all but whimpered, pressing his forehead against Bilbo’s hands, forgetting himself entirely in a rush of hushed embarrassment and desperation. 

“So that- so that I may never forget what led us here, how my greed nearly became the downfall of us all, so that I may display your- your work, your commitment and bravery and loyalty in that braid, Bilbo, will you braid your bead into my hair?”

What fools we both have been, he thought, watching Thorin’s shoulders tense and straighten as perhaps some of his sensibility came back to him.

Thorin lifted his head, but looked down still. “It doesn’t have to mean anything,” He said quietly, sounding far more like he was trying to convince himself of that than Bilbo.

“And what if I want it to?”

Yavanna, how sick Bilbo was of propriety. So many of his habits had all but disappeared on the road, travelling with dwarrow. But moreso than doing away with things like salad forks and matching ties with pocket squares, he had finally begun to speak his mind, truly and honestly without layers of social suitability nonsense in between.

Thorin just looked at him, stunned. “What?”

“What if I want it to mean something, Thorin?”

Here Bilbo met his eyes and raised one hand, tracing his fingertips behind the shell of Thorin’s ear and tucking stray hairs back in what he assumed to be an incredibly intimate gesture for dwarves. It appeared to work, when, instead of giving a verbal reply, Thorin just shuddered, eyelids fluttering, then melted all at once. He didn’t lean into the touch, but when his eyes found Bilbo’s once again, he whispered soft and sweet. “Yes, Bilbo, any… any braid you place in my hair I will wear with pride.”

“Even if I find some way to make it say you’re absolutely ridiculous?”

“Even that.”

“Even if I let it show you have an unbelievably flawed sense of direction?

“Well, it would be true.”

“Even if I make it so the whole kingdom knows I am truly, horribly, smitten for their king?”

“Especially so.”

Thorin smiled in a teary-eyed way then, and by that point Bilbo had no other option but to kiss him thoroughly until Thorin forgot his shame, and his madness, and his lonely desperation and allowed himself to just experience this simple feeling. It was only later, with Bilbo sat in his armchair, feet wide apart enough on the floor for a dwarven king to kneel between them, his hands in Thorin’s curls, that they truly spoke of feelings. That Thorin confessed, in one flood of words as he was prone to do, of late nights looking up at the stars and a hollow feeling inside and most endearingly (as his face flushed red) how he had felt all this time. And Bilbo, hands caught weaving a deceptively complicated braid down Thorin’s hair, kissed his forehead and smiled and told him about sitting in Thranduil’s dungeons. 

Told him about looking at Thorin’s eyes and thinking of water.

#bagginshield #bagginshield fanfic #thilbo #bilbo x thorin #here it is posted here too!! #haven't posted a fanfic on tumblr before i hope the formatting is ok #enjoy! my first bagginshield fic!