those boots are as big as his head))

“Cas?” Dean knocks on the door–is it the second time, or the third?–then says again, “Cas. I’m worried, man. I’m coming in, alright?”

He’d been walking by, on the way back to bed after a late night snack, when he’d heard thumps and crashes from inside Cas’s room. He’d banged on the door, but Cas wasn’t answering.

Done waiting, Dean announces himself again and pushes the door open. His desk chair is in pieces, scattered all over the room. The middle shelf on his bookshelf is askew, most of the books in a haphazard pile just below it. And there is Cas, slumped on the floor, knees pulled tight to his chest…crying.

Kneeling at Cas’s side, Dean says softly, “Oh god, Cas, what can I do?” He reaches out to put a hand on Cas’s shoulder, but stops just shy of actually touching him, unsure. Cas looks up at him, blue eyes wet with tears, and ever so slightly leans into Dean’s comforting touch.

Cas steadies his breath, then he says, “I was asleep, then I had a nightmare.”

Dean closes his eyes, schooling his face to stillness so he doesn’t wince. Angel or not, all the trauma Cas has been through in the past few years means he needs to sleep sometimes. And that same trauma means his sleep is almost always interrupted by nightmares. It’s a vicious cycle, one Dean would do anything to break.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks.

Cas shakes his head. “It’s…my room feels too…confined. I need to get out. Could you…would you…walk with me?”

“Outside? It’s the middle of…” He’d meant to finish with ‘winter’ but seeing the hope fade from Cas’s eyes changed his mind. “Sure, Cas. Give me five minutes to change. This robe ain’t exactly cold weather gear.” As he’d hoped, this brings the hint of a smile to Cas’s lips. “And you too. I don’t want you wasting your grace just to keep yourself warm. I know it’s not what it once was.”

Bristling, Cas starts to protest, but Dean holds his hands up to stave off argument. “Come on, Cas. You take care of me. Let me take care of you, too.”


Cas leads them into the woods that surround the bunker, a flashlight in one mittened hand. The snow squeaks under their boots, the only sound in the otherwise silent night. Breath frosts the air around their faces. After ten minutes or so of silence Dean tentatively asks, “Do you have a destination in mind?” Cas nods. Dean shoves his mitten-covered hands into his pockets, content to let Cas lead, both their steps and their conversation. He knows Cas will talk when he’s ready.

I can watch him, though, he thinks, and smiles inwardly. Cas had done as he’d been told, somewhat. He was wearing heavy boots, fleece-lined pants made of heavy canvas on the outside (Sam had bought him those, and Cas had protested rather loudly), a wool sweater over a long-sleeved t-shirt, wool mittens, a wool hat with a big blue pom-pom on the top…and his trench coat. Nothing and no one could make him wear a different coat.

Cas ducks to pass a low branch, and suddenly Dean is overcome with a fit of laughter.

Startled, Cas turns, asks, “Is something amusing?”

Dean gasps, in between barks of laughter, “I’m walking through the woods next to an ancient celestial being…with a pom-pom on his head.”

Scowling, Cas tears the hat off his head.

Dean sobers. “No, don’t do that. I’m sorry Cas. It was just bobbing around when you ducked under that branch, and…” He takes the hat from Cas and tugs it back onto his head. “There. We can be ridiculous together. See, I’ve got one too.” He shakes his head with a smile.

Sighing, Cas says, “Alright. Come on then, we’re nearly there.”

A few minutes later the trees, which had been tight all around and had made a broad canopy overhead, suddenly open up. They stand in an almost perfectly round clearing, about thirty yards across, bathed in moonlight. Cas switches off his flashlight and puts it in his pocket.

“Cas, this is…” Dean lets his voice trail off.

“I know,” Cas says.

Their eyes meet, and neither has to say anything else about it.

“I like to come here to stretch my wings,” Cas says in an offhanded tone, and Dean has to work to keep from gaping. Cas never really talks about his wings, especially not since they’ve become so damaged that he can no longer fly. “I can unfurl them in the bunker, but I worry about knocking things over. Here I can spread them wide and really stretch out my muscles.”

“I never even thought about that,” says Dean quietly. “I’m sorry, Cas. The bunker, there must be so much that’s–”

“No, Dean. I like living in the bunker, with you. And Sam.” After a heavy pause he turns and walks toward the opposite side of the clearing. “I made something.”

Curious, Dean follows. When he sees, he draws a breath. He’s been coming here all winter, and we had no idea, he thinks.

“Come. Sit,” Cas says, and Dean follows, sitting at the table Cas had carefully built out of ice and snow. A mound of snow, hollowed out underneath for their legs to fit, flat and nearly smooth on the top. Behind the hollowed out portion he’d built what was clearly meant to be long, low bench, just the right height for the table.

Dean can’t help but ask, with wonder in his voice, “When did you do this, Cas?”

“I come here at night. You know I do not need to sleep every night, and sometimes when I do…” He looks up at the moon, filling the clearing with silver brilliance. “I thought it might be difficult, living in the bunker. I’ve spent millennia with the cosmos as my backyard, how could I possibly live in a speck here on earth? But that adjustment was surprisingly easy. It’s the nightmares, Dean. The nightmares, and the guilt. Oftentimes when I wake up crying…or screaming…I come here.”

He wants to speak, to apologize for not knowing, for not helping, but he just listens.

Because finally–finally–Cas is talking.

He talks about pulling Dean out of hell: the demons he battled, the brothers and sisters he lost, the brightness of Dean’s soul pulling him ever onward. His eyes shine as he tries to put into words the elation he felt when he finally held Dean’s soul in his hands.

He tells of his rebellion, of the joy of free will coupled with the pain of disappointing, hurting, or sometimes even killing his brothers and sisters.

When he talks about his alliance with Crowley his eyes fill with pleading and pain.

When he tells Dean what it felt like to be full of souls from purgatory, to cast judgments upon heaven and earth, his eyes overflow. Soon the top of the snow table is pitted with holes from Cas’s tears.

He remembers letting the souls go, and being destroyed by leviathan.

The words keep coming and coming, sometimes in order, sometimes not. Purgatory. Naomi’s reprogramming. Killing Samandriel. Killing Dean, and killing Dean again and again. And then not killing Dean, the real Dean, and being free from Naomi. Metatron. The nephilim. The angels falling, falling, falling…

It’s as if something broke inside of Cas, letting all the words come out, and Dean knows all he can do is listen and hold on until the flood of words has passed. With a jolt he realizes he really is holding on: their mittened hands are clasped together. When did that happen? he wonders. He squeezes Cas’s hand. Cas stumbles over a word, startled, then squeezes back.

About the time Cas runs out of words, Dean begins to shiver.

Cas looks up, his eyes clear and bright. “Dean! You should have told me you were cold!”

Dean tries to laugh at being scolded, but it comes out as an odd braying noise through his chattering teeth. “Not important,” he says.

“But I can easily take care of this,” Cas says. “Ancient celestial being, remember?”

They’d been sitting close, but Cas scoots even closer to Dean, pulling all four of their hands onto their laps. “Lean forward, just a bit,” he says, and then there is the unmistakable sound of feathers rustling.

Dean whips his head around to see the blue-black flash as Cas’s wings unfurl, filling the space behind them. He’s never seen Cas’s wings this close before. The feathers are exquisite, each one inky black at the base slowly lightening to midnight blue at the ends, with just a hint of electric blue on the very edges. There are broken feathers, and gaps where feathers are just gone, but somehow the imperfection makes Cas even more beautiful. He’s caught up, staring, when Cas says, “Just hold still for a moment,” and suddenly those brilliant, majestic wings are suddenly wrapped around them, a cocoon of warm feathers.

“Cas, this is awesome!” He turns his head toward Cas and he is there, right there, their noses only separated by a breath, and he knew he’d been meaning to say something else but his mind had lost everything but blue eyes and feathers.

There is only the sound of their mingled breath for a long, long moment, then Cas says, “Are you warm now, Dean?”

Dean tries to answer, but his words get caught in his throat. Because suddenly he’s not warm, he’s hot, his skin prickling, his breath coming in gasps. Half of his mind says, But this is Cas, while the other half is screaming CasCasCas! He’s not sure which half he’s listening to when he closes his eyes and says, “I’m fine, Cas. Thank you.” His voice is raw and strained, and even with his eyes closed he can feel Cas’s confusion. He looks up, softening. “This is amazing. Absolutely the best blanket I’ve ever had. Beats goose down any day.”

Cas tries to keep his face serious but fails as he says, “Angel feathers are far superior to goose feathers.”

Dean grins back at him. “I’ll keep that in mind next time I’m shopping for a blanket for my bed.” The instant he says it he wants to take it back; his face burns with embarrassment. Quickly he says, “Cas. Next time you have a nightmare, you don’t have to go through it alone, okay? Wake me up. I’ll sit with you in your room, or in mine, or wherever you want. Even out here in the cold.”

“Thank you, Dean.” There is so much relief, not just in Cas’s voice but in his whole body. Even his wings tremble. “Thank you,” he says again. When the tension leaves his shoulders his head falls forward a fraction of an inch, and suddenly their foreheads are pressed together, and their noses, and it seems like the most natural thing, good and pure and right, when their lips crush together, too.


Oh, my dear, I’ll wait for you

And grace tonight will pull us through


Until the tears have left your eyes

Until the fears can sleep at night

Until the demons that you’re scared of disappear inside

Until this guilt begins to crack

And the weight falls from your back

Oh, my dear, I’ll keep you in my arms tonight.


–from Oh My Dear

Tenth Avenue North



Inktober with the Bunker || Day 17: Wings

Complicated

    @becaamm asked: Hii. Are you open to requests? Could I request a story where Reader is pregnant (like, 8 months) and is trying to have sex with Dean, but her stomach is in the way, so it turns really funny? Ps: One of the girls told me about your blog when I sent her a request. I’m still figuring out tumblr, haha. Regardless of your answer, Thank you . I appreciate that you gave me a bit of your time.  ( making sure it tags you, @becaamm  )

A/N:  I don’t usually take requests, nor do I ever write smut, but this felt like a challenge.  I hope you like this.

Words:  1302

Pairing:  Dean x Reader

Warnings:  Dean being an adorable idiot.  Implied smut

My usual crew: Let me know if you want on or off    @whispersandwhiskerburn  @wi-deangirl77  @smoothdogsgirl  @zombi3gyrl07  @laurenw1025  @ashleymalfoy @iamflanneltrash  @kristaparadowski  @mrswhozeewhatsis  @plaidstiel-wormstache @atc74  Pond tags at the end


 

Complicated

The smell of something amazing aroused me from my much needed nap.  With a groan I stepped from our room and waddled my 8 months pregnant self down the bunker’s hall.

The dimmed lights drew my attention to the library.  One of the tables had been dressed with a white linen table cloth, candles, flowers, and place settings for two.   

“Wow.”  the soft words escaped uninhibited.   

Dean rounded the corner as I trailed a finger along the soft cloth.  He was carrying a covered platter that’s smell made my stomach growl audibly.   

“Hey Sweetheart.  I was just about to come get you.”  He placed the food on the table.

“What’s all this? Where’s Sam?”

Keep reading

Angel in Blue Jeans

Originally posted by hunterchesters

Summary: Dean falls in love with a cowgirl

Pairing: Dean x Cowgirl!Reader

Word Count: 1,700

Warnings: language

A/N: a little horse-y drabble I wrote recently. It’s sorta based on me (cringing as I wrote that) (I sort of hate myself for this) (gonna go hide) and my favorite horse. That’s why there are specifics like hair and eye color. Sorry. More parts, maybe? I have some ideas for it.

Keep reading

Southern Nights (Yondu Udonta x Reader) Chapter 2 - Is This Love That I'm Feeling?


Chapters: 1  3 

Summary: Yondu takes you to his ship after he’d rescued you and things start to unfold between the two of you.

A/N: I really suck at summaries.

-Female Reader-

Warnings: Drama, Slight Angst, Swearing, Hints of Torture, Nudity, Attraction, Desire.




The Ravagers ship was one of the dirtiest places you’d ever seen. At least Yondu’s smaller ship had been cleaner but this ship; not even the hideout your kidnappers took you to had been this filthy. But that wasn’t the worst part of all, no that would be the dirty looks you received from all the Ravagers. The moment Yondu brought you on board the ship, his crew fell silent and eyed you with a hunger in their eyes greater than you’d ever seen before. The boy’s from back home never looked at you like that.

“I’ll be in mah quarters,” Yondu announced shortly where he stood beside you and turned on his heels without as much as a look at you.

“W-What?!” You watched horrified as he strolled away, down one of the corridors. Wild-eyed you stared back at the Ravagers and the big grins on their faces. Oh God, he couldn’t just leave you here could he?!


Keep reading

The Use in Being King

Day 2 of @alistairappreciationweek is all about Alistair as a king. In my self-indulgence AU, Alistair breaks up with Sophie Amell after the Battle of Denerim and ends up ruling Ferelden alone for a few years. Here he’s dealing with the pressure of being king, the stress of Teagan, and a still-mending heart.


He’s had lots of practice keeping a straight face when trying not to fall asleep in council sessions. The trick, he’s found, is not to blink too much. Blinking makes him want to keep his eyes closed, and he’s promised Teagan he won’t fall asleep in the middle of another meeting, not after the first time.

Another trick is to pretend to take notes and just doodle little mabari all over the paper instead. The scribe takes the real notes, and Teagan takes better ones than Alistair does even when he actually tries.

It doesn’t usually matter. The issues are almost always trivial, or ones he just needs to sign. He takes more of an interest when it comes to the Wardens, or to the alienage, and at least they listen when he puts his foot down. It took them a while to realize he was actually going to be the king and not just a puppet.

But sometimes… he wishes he was just a puppet.

Keep reading

Put Out To Pasture

The triggers were set, and all the wheels were in motion. He had lots of transformations planned after all. Mr Cavanaugh fell back into his chair in his latest luxury flat in his latest body with a sigh - a mix of contentment, anticipation and exhaustion. Despite all his power, sometimes it still took a lot of effort to make all the magic go off without a hitch. Perhaps it was time for a little vacation just for himself… There weren’t many loose ends at the moment anyway, really just tidying up the apartment, some unopened mail and that package on the table that got delivered earlier. The mail was just junk for his host, but the package was unmarked. He decided to open it up out of curiosity but quickly took a step back. He had seen this sort of thing before after all. “Oh, I think not…”. Inside was simply a worn cap, and he could sense some sort of unusual power coming from it.

There was clearly no way he was putting that on, but his interest was piqued as to who might have sent it. He decided to keep it in the end, thinking he could use it to track down its creator or even save it for someone else. It did give him an idea for one more change though. He sealed up the box and headed out for the day to put it in motion.


Mr Cavanaugh returned to his flat late into the night with a smirk after a productive transformation. Fine work, if he did say so himself. He was still exhausted however, so he got cleaned up and hopped into his host’s silky sheets for one last restful sleep in this body. Reaching over to turn out the lights though, he paused. Why was the cap sitting on the nightstand? A quick glance at the table revealed that the box was gone and allayed the brief suspicion. Ah, the cleaning service that came through must have just thrown the box in the bin. In his exhaustion, he didn’t give it another thought, drifting off to sleep after nestling down into the clean sheets.


The morning sun crept in through the expansive windows, shining gently on his handsome face.  He could feel its warmth as he stretched beneath the sheets.  What a feeling - that warm silk sliding over his bare skin, settling smoothly and leaving nothing to the imagination.  After enjoying the sensation a few moments more, Mr Cavanaugh jumped up for the morning, not being one to dawdle and excited for the new possibilities of the day.  His deal with his current host expired today, so he would need to go looking for a new body after one last romp in the shower.  Strutting into the bathroom however, Mr Cavanaugh stopped cold.  There it was right in the mirror, atop his head.  The cap.

He certainly didn’t remember putting it on, and honestly didn’t even feel it.  Surely he didn’t do it subconsciously or in his sleep?  Wide awake now at the surprise, a personal inventory seemed wise, but it seemed nothing had changed that he could figure, other than the confounding cap on his head.  After a cautious few moments, he made the calculation to remove the cap.  Nothing had happened so far, so it seemed the best course of action.  He couldn’t have known that that was the trigger.  A massive jolt surged through his hands, followed by an intense sucking sensation up into the cap.  Knowing he was caught up in something and physical removal clearly not an option, he tried to whisk the cap away with his power.  And again.  And again.  Nothing.  A pit formed in his stomach at the realization.  The cap had clearly changed, absorbed or sealed something, and now he knew what it was.  He didn’t have long to ponder as a new pulling, sucking sensation began, but not from the hat.  It felt like he was being pulled through space as he had done so many times before.  “Bloody hell!  Whooooaaaaaaaaaaaa..!”  His field of vision closed in and narrowed, followed by the not-quite-comfortable but arousing sensation of being forced through a pinhole space.


Fields, and a fence.  Fresh air.  Hay bales.  The sun and wind on his back.  Mr Cavanaugh couldn’t be sure how much, if any, time had passed, much less where he was.  It wasn’t all bad though.  He was still in his body as far as he could tell, although some oversized jeans and boots were new additions, and the cap still on his head of course.  He shifted his feet in the big boots and hiked up the jeans, having to hold them up a bit.

“ALRIGHT - HE’S ALL YOURS!”

He startled at the loud declaration out of nowhere.  Mine?  It almost sounded like the voice was just in his head with the way it echoed.  At least he thought he recognized the voice.  Those thoughts evaporated quickly with a low chuckle from behind him.

A hulking mountain of a man stood behind him, totally in the buff and reveling in it.

“I’ve been waiting on you - about time!  We’ve got a lot of work to do, but you’ll enjoy the break and change of pace from what I’ve heard.  Now let’s get to it.  Drop’em.”

“Drop- what now?”  The look on Mr Cavanaugh’s face must have given all his confusion away.

“Hmmm, I guess your friend didn’t fill you in on this beforehand.  It’s all on the up and up, I assure you.  I’m afraid I don’t have time to explain everything though, so drop’em, boy.”

That last word sent a shudder through Mr Cavanaugh’s body, carrying an unexpected compulsion as his body relaxed, fingers loosening just enough for the jeans to slip free and fall down around his boots.

“There ya go.  Now hands on hay.”

“Wait, what…?”  The man sighed and pointed to the bales behind him.  “Don’t make me tell you again, boy.  Now hands on hay!”

That word again.  His mind felt sluggish, but his body almost started to move on its own, turning around and shuffling a few steps in the big boots and with the jeans around his ankles.  His hands fell forward onto the hay bales, bending him over in front of the giant.

“Wait, I-”  But the man was already behind him and wasted no time shoving his monstrous cock between Mr Cavanaugh’s cheeks, eliciting a small yelp.

“Sorry about that, but, like I said, we have a lot to do.  I’ll make this quick.  Now just relax, boy.”

All the tension melted out of his body.  He wasn’t sure what it was in his groggy state, but that word and that tone had a complete hold on him.  It was a warm, tender hold though, not harsh.  Between that and the voice he thought he recognized, he figured he didn’t have anything to actually worry about, beyond the loss of the control that he typically held, however he was still nervous.

The man kept his promise though, and rapidly began slammed into Mr Cavanaugh’s prostate without any hesitation.  “Oh God!  Shit, shit, shit!  God!  Oh, fuuuuuuck!”  His exclamations came fast and furious as the man was rocking and slamming him back and forth as manically as he had ever felt before, but that was nothing compared to the enormously heavy load that shot into his hips.  It almost knocked him flat against the hay, but he kept himself braced up, just barely.

“Now just give it a moment, and then we’ll get to work!”

Mr Cavanaugh barely heard the man being the ravaged, quivering mess that he was at the moment, but he knew something else was starting.

The load inside him felt like it was starting to move around somehow, forcing itself around his body.  He felt it, or its energy - something, forced his ass out further, cheeks becoming larger, rounder and hard with muscle.  His cock felt like it was being filled from behind, inching down a bit longer than before but engorging to become much wider while the balls beneath swelled and filled to match.  A deep, long moan came from Mr Cavanaugh’s lips before the power continued to spread.

Some of it felt like it dripped down inside his thighs, causing the muscles to twitch and grow - his lean legs lengthening and bulking up tremendously.  His calves followed, lifting, growing, and toning as the load passed through on its way to his feet.  He could feel it flood his soles and toes, both inflating and sliding forward to fill up the boots - bigger, wider, rougher.

The rest of the energy simultaneously started to slowly creep upwards inside him, reaching the lower abs first.  The bottom two popped out with small but tight mounds of muscle.  It clawed its way up to the next two, and the next, and the next, until a chiseled 8-pack dominated his stomach.  He couldn’t even string a word together from the waves of pleasure wracking his body.  His back stretched up taller and widened, flaring out at the top to accommodate what was to come.  His breathing became heavier and more labored; every breath seemed to pull more power into his chest, pushing it forward, becoming massive, taut slabs of muscle.  More muscle quickly built and filled up his round, rippling shoulders as the changes accelerated into his arms.  His biceps ballooned, large and rounded, suitable for long days on the farm.  His forearms grew and tightened, and his hands and fingers pressed out longer and stronger through the hay, grabbing a handful in ecstasy as that part of the power finished and faded.

The last bits of whatever it was surged up through his neck, causing a loud, deepening moan to erupt from his changing vocal cords.  His facial features quickly became more rugged, but still handsome, as his hair shortened and darkened.  Stubble crept across his remarkably square jawline and around his lips as the final physical change.  The man looked on, a big grin on his face as he marveled at the changes.  He knew that the cap still had one last part to play though.

Completely overwhelmed from his transformation, Mr Cavanaugh felt a familiar sucking sensation from the cap.  It was hard to describe, but unquestionably peaceful and pleasant as all his cares, worries and responsibilities were simply being pulled and sealed away, leaving him with only his simplest thoughts.  A simple smile crossed his lips, signaling the man that he was ready to go.

“Alrighty, now we’ve got that out of the way.  Let’s get moving!  I’m heading back out to the pastures for a while.  You get to cleaning up the barn, boy.”

“Yessir!”  Mr Cavanaugh, well - just good ole Henry now, stood himself up straight and stretched before pulling up the jeans, now a snug fit around his thighs and ass.  There might not have even been room for underwear in the first place if he had been wearing any.  Henry watched his boss head off into the fields for a bit while basking in the sun in all his ripped, muscled glory.

“Back to work it is!”, Henry finally said in his country drawl, confidently strutting back towards the barn, unaware of what had actually taken place minutes before.  He had to make sure the boss was happy.  After all, he was just a simple farm boy.


The cap’s creator watched and smiled from afar.  His friend had needed a break - hopefully Henry enjoyed what he came up with.  Henry was still Mr Cavanaugh deep down, just a more relaxed and far more simple version.  The rest of him, along with his power, was safely sealed away in the cap for the time being.  The transformation was only designed to last a week or two, with some wiggle room based on Henry’s subconscious.  Of course the other plans that the old Mr Cavanaugh had in place already would continue, and afterwards the rest of him would be restored, rested and ready to continue his work.  Well, assuming the cap’s creator had done it correctly…  He was still new at this after all…

His Treasure | Part 1

Pirate!Baekhyun x Reader Series (p.s I changed the title’s name to His Treasure)

Summary: It’s either on your knees and beg for your life or your walking the plank.

Prologue | Next


Your family bar had opened roughly around half an hour ago, and it was pretty packed. It was a busy day for you. You couldn’t even have a moments rest because the place was packed with people.

“(Y/n)!” You dad called for you. You looked up from the table you just finished serving and saw your father waving you over by the bar counter. Walking over to him you smiled lightly. “What is it appa?”

Your father placed his warm hand on your shoulder and rubbed it lovingly. “I’ve been watching you, and I think you deserve a well known break don’t you think? Go, talk a walk for a while and then come back fresh ok?”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “You want me to go out, during this time of the night and right now in the middle of work?”

Your father nodded. “I think it’s ok to go out during this time dear, don’t worry and just trust me. Just don’t be late or get lost like you always do ok? Now off you go!”

“W-wait! H-hold up! I don’t wanna go outsi-”

Cue the door slamming in your face.

Keep reading

maegonstorm  asked:

OK, I thought of a prompt! Fenris and Hawke walking Flower together in hightown post-reunion, domestic fluff - no angst allowed - hand holding recommended. Please and thanks!

Flower whined, and pawed at the door, and Hawke stifled the urge to groan. The library was warm, firelit, and outside an early snow had begun to fall. More importantly, Fenris had fallen asleep with his head in his lap - his body relaxed, his breath coming soft, his hair spilling through Hawke’s fingers as he toyed with it while he read.

And now the damned dog wanted to spoil it all.

“Not now,” Hawke told the mabari firmly. He earned in response a quizzically tilted head and the fullest, most devious deployment of those big brown eyes.

Flower whined again.

“Can’t you hold it?” Hawke demanded.

“It’s fine,” Fenris said. His voice was thick and sluggish, but he said, “I’m not asleep. Let’s take him out.”

Hawke felt the absence of the elf’s weight as he sat up and stretched, his back arching, his hair a riot. He glanced over his shoulder at Hawke, frowning, brow furrowed.

Hawke frowned back. “Don’t forget your scarf.”

In short order they were bundled up, Fenris’s natural grace impeded by the heavy boots Hawke insisted he wear. The streets were slick from ice, but when they stepped outside and Fenris took Hawke’s hand in his own, he didn’t use it as an excuse for the contact.

With his stupid doggy smile, Flower charged ahead, sticking his snout into places where snow had already gathered. His stump of a tail wagged so hard it shook his entire backside.

“Do your business and get in with it,” Hawke told him, but now his voice lacked his earlier blunt impatience, and he scratched the dog when he passed near. Fenris was walking close to him, their fingers intertwined even with the impediment of their thick gloves, a solid reality at his side. A knit cap Merrill had made protected the elf’s head and ears, but flakes of snow caught in his bangs and his eyelashes. He smiled when he caught Hawke watching him.

“Your beard looks white,” he said, and reached with his free hand to bat at Hawke’s face.

The stars were coming out, and the Hightown streets were deserted. Flower, rump wagging with pure, unadulterated doggy joy, wandered along with them as they walked - sometimes rushing ahead, sometimes falling behind. Fenris caught a snowflake on his tongue, and chuckled when Hawke swept down to kiss him.

They walked down to their favorite Hightown bakery, and sat on the bench outside with their purchases. They pressed their thighs together in one long line as they warmed themselves with hot coffee and juggled a cinnamon roll between them. Flower barked, and chased falling flakes.

The next time Hawke kissed him, Fenris’s lips tasted sweet.

Belle’s song

“So… hello Belle… nice to meet you,” Andrew says, smiling politely. “Before you start, just tell us a bit about yourself. I have heard wonderful things about you from your manager and label but we would like to get to know you better”

Belle swallows thickly, the room suddenly feeling too narrow, the air too thick.

Great.

If there was one thing on this planet Belle hated, it was talking about herself.

Keep reading

rosikichan  asked:

Hey! ^^ how about 65 with soma??

I SWEAR I’M NOT DEAD im just busy procrastinating reverb and drowning in my own mushy feelings

idk what this is IT’S UNEDITED AND ???

-

In the beginning, she’d just thought he was lazy. Avoiding school work, skipping class, generally being a whining pissbaby when Maka would slam a textbook down on the kitchen table and declare it was homework time – well, it was easy to just assume he was lazy. When he wants to, Soul’s fantastic at kicking his ass into gear and getting things done – he’s a starlet when it comes to willpower, really, maybe the only person she’s ever met whose stubbornness rivals her own – but school’s just never been on his radar.

So she’d assumed it was laziness. Written it off as such, as something Soul’d just decided he didn’t have time for, and nagged and nagged until he’d taken to shoving in headphones every time she’d wander into the living room, Monday through Friday, 3-10PM, before locking himself into his room for the night.

Rinse and repeat. Routinely, without missing a beat, he’s managed to evade doing his homework every night this week.

Keep reading

puppybek  asked:

"is it bad that i really want to kiss you right now?" Lance to Shiro 💙♠️

Yes~ More kisses ^3^
Here’s some Shance from the Shklance Gym AU.

Shiro was going on and on about the proper stance and lifting techniques and how important posture was, but all Lance noticed was the way his mouth moved as he spoke. And how his lips - which Lance knew from experience were warm and soft, if not a little chapped - formed around the words. 

Oh, and when his tongue peeked out to quickly wet his lips, Lance nearly swooned.

He had it bad. He knew that. Thank you very much.

But he couldn’t help it. Shiro was just so…Shiro. Sweet and kind. Big and strong. He could be strict - like when it came to Lance’s personal training at the gym - but, overall, he was a big ol’ softy. And he was super sexy to boot. With those broad shoulders and perfectly kissable lips.

“So, do you think you’re ready to start?” Shiro asked, pulling Lance from his thoughts.

“Hmm?” He blinked, tearing his eyes away from Shiro’s mouth and meeting the other’s gaze. “What’s that?”

Shiro sighed. Not the overly annoyed and frustrated kind that Lance so often pulled from their other boyfriend. In fact, Shiro’s was almost fond, his lips curving up in a soft smile.

“You weren’t paying attention, were you?” he asked with a slight shake of his head. “Let me try again. Where did you drift off?”

But instead of answering that question, Lance replied with one of his own. “Is it bad that I really want to kiss you right now?” he asked, fluttering his eyelashes innocently.

Shiro’s smile faltered for a moment, his eyebrows shooting up to his hairline. Then, a telltale pink began to dust his cheeks, quickly darkening and staining the rest of his face, along with his neck almost down to his chest. “Wh-What?!” he stammered.

It was cute how innocent their boyfriend could be. Well, not all the time, but…

“Sorry,” Lance said, not sounding apologetic in the least. “I just can’t help it, you know?” 

At that, Shiro’s gaze dropped to Lance’s lips and he visibly swallowed.

Hook. Line. And sinker. And Lance didn’t even like fishing.

He walked closer, wrapping his arms around Shiro’s neck and jutting his lower lip out cutely. “Is that no good?”

Lance could practically hear the older man’s inner monologue. ‘We’re at the gym. Public place. Patience yields focus,’ on repeat. But Lance distracted him, raking his blunt fingernails over Shiro’s scalp and reveling in the shaky sigh it elicited.

He was about to open his mouth, say something that would be the metaphorical cherry on top, but then Shiro’s lips were against his. Lance smiled into the kiss, slipping his eyes closed and pressing closer.

They could use a rest day, anyway.

I wrote more Gym AU because I’m weeeeeaaaaak. XD
Keith probably walks in on them and shakes his head before making his way over to the free weights.

More Kissy Sentence Starters

004 | undergroundrapper!yoongi

a/n: see this is what happens when i get bombarded with behind the scenes stuff from the agust d video

word count: 548


“i’m too sober for this”


min yoongi had a big mouth, spitting disses left and right even off stage. of course he had the skill to back up the high praise he constantly gives himself but when you wanted to insult the biggest dude on the block, he shouldn’t be surprised to come home to you with a few cuts and bruises.

and by ‘few’, he means walking out of a bar looking like he participated in a full brawl.

Keep reading

Drabble: A Confidence Boost

Yesterday was the birthday of the fantastic @liv-andletdie . I hope you enjoy this tiny gift, based on a headcanon I shared the other day.

——

‘Lord Commander is different lately’.

'Marriage suited him well’.

‘He looks so gallant and mature!’

'He used to be more bashful, now he has a very confident aura’.

'Who wouldn’t be a little cocky if the Queen herself married him?’


Those are some of the rumors running around the barracks.

But, as a matter of fact, nothing about Link had changed, except for one small, casual thing about his wardrobe.

One morning, a still not-so-awake queen took her husband’s old boots, and wore them through the day, not realizing they weren’t hers until late.

She ended loving them, not only because they were worn enough to be really comfortable and fitted just right, but also because she just hated slippers or those pointy mules the court ladies wore, which made her already big feet huge, embarrassing her a little: the round tip of boots in general concealed this imperfection.

‘Wifey, you took my boots today’, he informed her when he arrived to their bedroom. ‘Bad girl, your man had to wear yours, thank Goddesses they ain’t girly and I could wear’em with my greaves on!’

‘I can realize you did’, she stood next to him, staring at him right in the eye. Link just tilted his head a little, not understanding his darling wife’s reaction.

‘Why are ya lookin’ at me like that?’

She kissed him. Besides a tender smile and blushing cheeks, there was no reaction from him. 

‘You have not noticed anything different about yourself, sweetheart?’

‘Nope’.

‘Look at our reflection on the mirror, then’.

His eyes turned, and a second later his jaw dropped.

‘Sweet Nayru! We’re the same friggin’ height!’ - he looked at her - ‘These boots have heels!!!’

‘A pinch over one inch’, she informed him. ‘Are you uncomfortable?’

‘Heck no! I’m tall!’


And that’s what no one, except for Zelda, knows about Link’s confidence.

Fractal

Summary: Chaos, besides its own natures, has a little order on it. Chaos, without order, leads to destruction itself. When the object holding the chaos of the world is damaged, maybe a little more than order is going to be needed to fix it. Abomination! AU

AO3


Chapter 1

Akumas were always weird.

No matter how intimidating they looked on the exterior, their motives were something that, if it weren’t for the fact they were busy trying to protect themselves, would make their victims tilt their head in curiosity. At least Chat, admittedly, had done that several times in the past.

Didnt’t mean those motives were less important for the akumatized person.

Or make them less dangerous.

Keep reading

Chestnutfest Day 2: If I could be a superhero...

9/15

AU/Cosplay (Both)

Rights to Dragonball and other properties are held by their respective owners. No infringement is implied or intended.

If I could be a superhero…

By koinekid

“Krillin, this is stupid.”

“It’s supposed to be fun, babe.”

“Why do I have to ‘dress up’ like a cyborg? I’m already a cyborg.”

“But you don’t look like one.”

“How do cyborgs look?”

“You know, metal arms and glowing eyes and stuff.” He gestured to her current costumed appearance.

Eighteen grumbled, “These contact lenses are uncomfortable.”

“We’ll only stay a little while, and you can take them out once we meet everyone.”

“Fine.” Eighteen tried to cross her arms, but her costume’s bulk prevented her. With a few notable exceptions, said costume didn’t look all that different from her normal attire. Her jeans were black instead of blue, and for her top, she had ripped off and discarded the striped sleeves from one of her old black and white tees. She had also tied back her hair—not in the pony tail she frequently sported while chasing their energetic eight-year-old around the house—but with pins, the goal being to make her look as if she had cut her hair short. She didn’t like it.

By far the most annoying aspect of the costume were the fake cybernetic arms: store-bought gray silicone rubber pieces designed for someone with much thicker arms than her own. They flopped around every time she moved.

And the contacts made her eyes appear black with yellow pupils.

Krillin said she looked great, but he was hardly an unbiased observer: He’d tell her she looked fantastic wearing a sack and be completely genuine while doing so.

To keep their makeshift costumes looking their best, they took an air car, but finding an open area to land in this unfamiliar city proved a challenge. In the end, they had to touch down several blocks away, and now would probably be late.

Krillin rubbed her back as they walked. “I’m sorry you’re uncomfortable, babe, but if we want to break into the superhero biz, we have to network.”

Eighteen sighed, noting in appreciation that he avoided pointing out it was her idea for them to become superheroes in the first place. Now that Marron attended school and Krillin had a few years’ experience as a cop under his belt, Eighteen decided it was time to take his law enforcement career to the next level. To be frank, she also missed fighting alongside him and felt it would bring the two of them closer together as a couple. Since her unthinkably cruel comment at the tournament, they desperately needed it.

She closed her eyes, willing tears not to fall. Krillin said he forgave her, but it would be a long time before she could forgive herself.

“And we network at a costume party while dressed as other heroes?” She spoke more calmly now, deliberately forcing any harshness from her tone.

Krillin shrugged. He wore a frumpy yellow jumpsuit with a white cape and red boots and gloves. “Apparently it’s a big thing among their crowd.”

They were nearing the house hosting the party, and Eighteen wanted to hug him in apology for her bad mood, but those silicone arms were in her way, so she settled for gently teasing him.

“You look funny in a bald cap, husband.” She called him that whenever possible to try and associate the word with positive comments once more.

“Only because you wouldn’t let me shave my head.” His hair started growing back after the tournament, reminding her how attractive it made him.

Matter-of-factly, she stated, “I’m not losing that gorgeous hair of yours because of a costume party.”

He grinned. “Gorgeous, huh?”

She nodded. “Sexy, too.”

“I thought we were fighting.”

“We were. Now we’re making up.”

They reached the door, but before he could ring the bell, she leaned down, grabbing him as best she could in her rubber arms and kissing him hard. He threaded a hand around her neck and pulled her down for more.

One of them must have leaned against the doorbell because it suddenly sounded. Neither of them paid attention until the door opened.

“Huh,” a voice said. “Ever think you’d see the two of us making out, Genos?”

“Not outside of those online fan arts.”

“You visit those sites?” Saitama raised a brow.

“To find and correct those disrespecting you, Teacher.”

Eighteen blinked in surprise. In the doorway stood two of the heroes Krillin told her he most wanted to meet—Saitama, the so called Caped Baldy, and his student, Genos, the Demon Cyborg. She and Krillin had come to the party dressed as them.

And it was like looking in a mirror…sort of, a cracked mirror to be sure, but a mirror nonetheless. Saitama was dressed as a taller version of Krillin—complete with magic-markered moxibustion burns and the traditional orange uniform of the Kamesennin school.

Saitama extended his hand to Krillin. “We’re big fans.”

“Of us?”

“Yeah. Who wouldn’t be? You guys are Earth’s Special Forces.” Saitama pointed to the insignia on his chest. “Is the kanji right? I had to copy it from one of the plush toys, and it might have been a knockoff.”

Eighteen didn’t catch her husband’s response, because she was busy eyeing Genos. His outfit was a mockery of hers: blue jeans and one of the black-and-white long-sleeved tee shirts she had ruined to put together her own costume, except his obscenely large arms stretched the sleeves so far they looked like they might tear at any moment. He also wore a blonde wig that got the length of her hair right but not the style. He didn’t bother wearing contacts to hide his eye color, though. His was a “natural” black with yellow irises.

She was about to ask him a question when she noticed his eyes lower to her chest. Ordinarily she would be put out and balling up her fist ready to strike—or expecting Krillin to do so. So, what if she could defend her own honor? It was her husband’s responsibility! But then Genos spoke.

“You’re a—a woman.”

She planted her hands on her hips. “What gave it away?”

He nodded toward her chest, and she rolled her eyes.

“Teacher,” he said, “You told me I was dressed as the male cyborg.”

“Did I? Must have mixed up the numbers. Hey, you two, come on in. There’s a lot of people itching to meet you. You’re going to fit in around here just fine.”

Before following Krillin and Saitama inside, Eighteen fixed a glare on Genos. Leaning in, she said. “I just want to know one thing.”

Genos shifted subtly into attack mode. “Yeah?”

“Where…did you get that shirt? The stores back home stopped selling them, and I can’t find replacements anywhere.”

“Oh, a—a place downtown.”

“Good,” she said. “Remind me to get the details from you later. For now, I’ll catch up with my husband. It’s going to be a long night.” And with any luck, she thought, an interesting career.

The END

<<>>

Note: I wrote this pretty quickly. Apologies if it isn’t very good and if the OPM characters are OOC (I’m sure they are). I’ve never read or watched OnePunch Man, but since I heard the creator was a DBZ fan, I couldn’t resist writing this as an answer to the AU/Cosplay challenge.

<<>>

Thanks once again, @deadlybeautydbz and @chestnutisland

Anonymous said:
May I have an Andy Biersack(or alex gaskarth) imagine where you two meet after a hometown concert and fluff then he invites you to his place and y'all end up cuddling and getting to know each other for the rest of the night. (I know this is terrible but it’s the first time I’ve ever requested anything)

Bands came and gone almost everyday and you were used to it, but something about this one was different, specifically the lead singer. You were the manager of 930 club, a venue in Baltimore and home to one of the twon’s most loveable band, All Time Low. You had seen them in the venue countless times and each time, Alex would make almost every excuse to speak to you. You weren’t stupid. You knew exactly when a boy was flirting. It was almost 1:30 a.m and the fans and workers had left home and as per usual, you were the last one left. Or so you thought. While locking the front door of the now dark place, a voice behind you made you jump, “Hey, Y/N.” You gasped and dropped your keys, quickly spinning around, face to face with Alex. He laughed and you picked up your keys, “What are you still doing here?” You asked. He tensed at the question and shrugged, “I thought I had forgotten my keys here, but I found them. They were at the back door.” He quickly said.
“Well, have a good night, Alex. I have to walk on home now.” You turned away, but his large hand was placed on your shoulder, “Walking? No. It’s late. Let me drive you?” He insisted. You sighed and thought for a moment, what if someone mugged you? “Sure.” Alex led you to his car and opened the door for you and ran to the driver’s side. The ride to your home was quiet, but was interrupted with a sigh when you saw the lights of your home on and your roomates’ boyfriends’ car. “Great. I won’t get any sleep tonight.”—“Why’s that?” Alex asked. “New boyfriend. They’re not afraid to be loud, let’s just say that.” Alex giggled and you smiled. His giggle was soft and deep and felt warm. “I mean, I’m home for the week, so I’m staying at my place. You can um… stay at mine?” He bit his lower lip and looked away from you. You knew Alex, not best friend status, but you were comfortable with him, “Yeah, that would be great.” His back straightened and the lip bite turned into a giant smile. “Okay then!”
What felt longer than it should have been, you were now walking up the stairs of Alex’s home. It was cozy, big, white, and free from the city sounds. The inside was even more beautiful. It looked like an Ikea catalog. “If that’s the couch I’m sleeping on tonight, I’m more than glad.” You laughed and Alex shook his head at you. “Make yourself at home,” he said before disappearing. You set your purse and things on the side of the couch before flopping onto the couch. You looked at your high heeled boots and regretted wearing them to work because they were killing your feet. “You look a little tired of those shoes. I mean, I know the feeling. Wearing them for the I feel Like Dancin’ video killed me for an entire week.” You watched Alex walk towards you, t-shirt and pajamas on his body and a second pair in his hands. “These are for you.” He set them on the table, “I’ll just fall asleep in this. Too lazy.” You fell on your side and buried your face into the soft pillow beside you. You felt something on your foot and opened your eyes to see Alex untieng your heels and slipping them off your small feet. He put them aside and you sat up. You took off your coat and tossed it aside.
As Alex went to pull the blanket from behind the couch, he ended up somehow falling and landing on top of you. “I’m sorry!” He quickly said with panic clear in his voice. You couldn’t help , but laugh hysterically. You looked up at his face and he had that smile on his face, the same one he had on when you told him you’d stay the night. You slowly wrapped your arms around his waist, “You make a better blanket.” You giggled. You felt him chuckle and you were suddenly being flipped. You shrieked and you were now on top of Alex. “You make a better one.” He whispered. He grabbed the blanket and placed it over the two of you, “You’re a great blanket and a great person, Y/N.” He whispered. You hummed and snuggled into his chest, his arms wrapping tight around you, wrapped around you until the morning where you would be glad to wake up to the boy in the band.

Meihem Mittens

“Brrrr!” Every part of Junkrat clinked as he shivered. He wrapped his arms around himself and attempted to stop the shakes, but the freezing temp of his prosthetic arm made him squeak and immediately remove it from his frigid skin. Through the glass of the bay door of the hovercraft he could see the snow, only swirling white for miles, or maybe that was just the glass becoming iced over.  Just staring at it made his teeth chatter, this very different part of the world.

He was sure he would soon turn blue like that scary sheila with the sniper. At least he knew what colors to wear when it finally happened. If he survived it, which he didn’t think he would.

“What’s wrong with you?” Hana climbed down from the top of her mech, somehow landing gracefully. Shouldn’t she shatter from the landing in this temperature? Or what it just him who was freezing to death?

“This is not my kind of weather,” he whined, his shoulders shaking some. Even with the bombs and the tire on his back, he was still so cold. He was dying for a sweat from carrying the weight. It wasn’t happening.

She placed a hand on her jutted hip. “You knew where we were going. Why didn’t you pack something warm?”

Keep reading

Secret Santa- Christmas Special
.
Title
: An Annoying Christmas
.
Summary: It’s the second christmas after the war and team 7 decided that they couldn’t let the Uchiha spend it all by himself.
.
A/N: Merry Christmas, @definefreakforme !! I hope you can enjoy this! Have you all a wonderful day!
.
.
.
The frosty forest surrounding his cottage enveloped him in a perfect veil of peace. The white, compact blanket covered the entire scenery outside, and the silence provided by the abnormally cold, winter night was very much welcomed by his ears.

Peace

Serenity  

Silence.

At that exact moment, the former avenger realized how his idea of renting a secluded cottage in the middle of nowhere had been, to say the least, enjoyable. For the end of the year was less than a week away, and for every single village he visited was pumped up for the festivities; Uchiha Sasuke found comfort in his own meditation. There were so many things that he still had to understand about his past, his present and what all those people really meant for him, and he figured that doing it alone would be a good idea. He was alone with his consciousness, and that was exactly how he intended to spend Christmas.

He, himself and the snow.

But it was christmas time, right? No one deserves to spend it alone.

The freezing breeze that managed to enter through the window’s crack was the first thing that brought him back from his immersed state of mind. His senses slowly returned to that constant state of mess, and as he opened his dark orbs to acknowledge the empty space around him, a defeated sigh escape his lips.

Chaotic feelings were starting to disturb his inner peace, as he could listen to snow boots imprinting their marks on the virginal snow. Chakra levels were suddenly rising around the area and even if it was barely audible, his ears captured the increasing levels of annoyance approaching him with that characteristic “dattebayo”.

There was certainly no escaping anymore.

Farewell, loneliness. And hello Uzumaki Naruto.

Keep reading

This is dedicated to @ladylorelitany who shares a love for the spur wearin’ Delarue!

WARNING: SMUT


His horse snorted out a tired breath. They’d been traveling for far too long, but he wanted to get to Linberg Way before the next train stopped by.

He was on a mission to see her. He needed her body, her soft hands, her lips, her bluntness… he just needed her.

The Saloon she owned was dead; last weeks customers having left the day earlier.

As he neared, he could make out all of her girls lounging, relaxing before the new set of John’s arrived looking for a good time.

Going up the wooden steps, they creaked under his weight, the heat drying out the warped wood.

His boots clicked, his spurs twiriling as he entered the Saloon.

Diane, a rather young whore, smiled as he passed the threshold.

“Delarue.”

He tipped his hat in greeting, looking around.

“She’s out back. Want me to get her?” Diane asked.

Henry shook his head, “No. I’ll be in her room. Let her know I’m here?”

Diane nodded, going back to her book.

Going up the wide staircase, he made his way to her room all the way at the end of the hall.

Opening the door, fresh air greeted him, her balcony window opened. A gust of air blew through the room, making the curtains dance.

The natural light created a soft glow, revealing that she hadn’t done much to her spacious room.

In the far corner was her burgundy wood desk, the top of it clean of clutter.

On the other side of the room, a dresser with a porcelain basin, a full length mirror and a vanity.

In the middle, was her king sized bed, loaded with plush padding and the finest linen that could be bought.

He once asked her why she needed such a big bed; jealousy in his tone.

She threw her head back, laughing, “You think I’d let one of those nasty bastards on my bed? Please Darlin’, those days are long gone.”

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as he remembered that night.

He went to her desk, reclining back in the chair, propping his feet up on top of it. He smiled, knowing full damn well that she was going to give him hell for having his dusty boots on the table.
°°°°°°
His fingers threaded and resting on his stomach, he was dozing lightly when he heard the click clack of her high heeled boots.

The door opened, her natural apple blossom scent filling the room. Her steps quickened to the desk as she reached out and slapped his boots.

“Nappin’ or not, ya best get yer boots off my desk, Delarue.”

A smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth. Slowly, he raised his head, peaking at her from beneath the brim of his hat.

“Is that any way to greet your Lover?”

She tapped her toe, her arms folded, “What Lover? All I see is some jackass with his dusty ass boots on my desk.”

She tried to come across as tough, but he could hear the smile in her tone.

He sighed, lifting his tired legs from her desk. He stood, rising to his full height of 6'2.

He watched as her arms fell to her sides. The billowy top she wore, clung to her breasts, revealing only a hint of cleavage. A small corset wrapped around her middle, pushing those breasts up just enough.

His eyes traveled downward, her tight, leather riding britches hugging her curves in all the right places. Her knee high boots, made her legs even longer.

She stood about 5'8 with her boots on, but off, she was only 5'5.

The gun belt he had bought her, hung low to one side of her hip, the colt firmly in it’s holster. Bullets lined the belt, the newness of the freshly pressed bullets gleaming in the sunlight.

A knife strapped to each thigh and she was complete with her deadly temper. Most men knew not to cross her, him especially.

He saw what happens when one of her girls is treated badly or she’s cheated out of money. The thought nearly made him shudder.

Her lips pursed, “Ya know, it’s rude to stare.”

He grinned, walking over to her. He made sure to spin the spurs on his boots.

She’d made the mistake once, of telling him how much it got her wet at the sound of them.

She bit her bottom lip, then narrowed her gaze at him, “Yer a bastard Delarue.”

He chuckled, running a finger down her cheek to her cleveage, “That I am. Now, how about givin’ this ol’ bastard a kiss, hmm?”

Her tounge slowly peaked out from her lips, licking the plump bottom lip.

She ran her hands up his purple jacket, threading her fingers in his hair at the nape of his neck.

Henry’s hands immediately went to her curvy ass, lifting her slightly when her lips finally touched his.

He growled at the first taste of her. She nipped at his lips, the tip of her tounge soothing the sharp stings.

They both took a deep breath as the kiss escalated and deepend.

She pushed off his duster, the heavy material falling to the floor. Pulling back from his kiss with a moan, she took his hat from his head, giving it a slight flick of her wrist, making it land on her desk.

They each took off their own gun belts and other weapons, discarding them to the side of the bed.

Their boots came next, but then they paused. Slowly, she undressed him, kissing any available bare skin that she could reach.

Once she had his shirts off, she ran her hands up and down the hair on his chest. His pants were unbuttoned, the hard length of him being the only thing keeping the garment up.

He reached out, pulling at the string that held her top together. The corset kept her breasts lifted.

Just the sight of them being slightly on display for him made his mouth water. He sat down on the bed, pulling her to stand in between his legs.

His face was level with her chest. He watched, mesmerized as her chest moved up and down rapidly with short, gasping breaths.

Holding her hips, he leaned forward, running his nose over and around her tightened nipple.

She sighed, tilting her head back. With hot, open mouth kisses, the heat from his breath seared the soft skin of her breast.

His tounge snuck out, circling her nipple. She moaned slightly, her breathing becoming more eratic.

Sliding a hand over her hip, he ran his long fingers slowly over her cloth covered mound.

Her breath hitched, her hips rolling slightly at his grip.

He suckled her breast, releasing it with a plop and moving the next bare breast.

As he lapped at her, he untied her pants, quickly shoving his hands into the leather. He found her completely soaked, his long fingers sliding into her easily.

She bent forward, her moan nearly a scream when the pad of his finger passed over her bundle of nerves.

Without wasting anymore time, her jerked her pants down to her knees, spinning her around, her torso pinned to the bed.

Her plump rear moved from side to side, her body needing some sort of friction.

He jerked his pants down to his knees, placing his hands on either side of her hips.

Gripping himself, he ran the head of his shaft up and down her dripping entrance, spreading the moisture.

He pushed in, her heat enveloping him.

They both moaned, missing the feeling of one another. Usually one would be tired of the familiarity, but this was welcomed.

This was what they needed.

Putting a hand above her ass, his hips moved faster, his grunts and her moans filling the room.

This was going to be fast, the both of them needing to take the edge off before fully enjoying themselves.

Burying her face in the comforter, she raised her ass slightly, taking him deeper into her.

He hit her spot, over and over again, making her scream.

The shuddering of her body as she came, sent him over the edge, making him call out her name, “Robin,” it was said so softly, that she thought she’d misheard.

He rested against her, saying her name again.

Biting her lip, tried to catch her breath. When ever he said her name, it was with such desire and longing, that it nearly took her breath away.

He pulled out slowly, falling onto his back, making the matress bounce.

Strands of her hair covered her eyes, obstructing her vision of him.

Seeing this, he ran his finger through the hair, moving it out of her way.

“C'mere Darlin’,” he said, pulling her closer to him.

Robin kissed his pec, running her fingers through his chest hair.

After a few moments, she got off of the bed.

Delarue propped himself up on his elbows, watching her.

Gingerly, she pulled his pants down his legs and folded the britches. His eyes followed her movements as she rid herself of her pants and the offending corset.

He could see the indentations left behind from the fishbone and string.

“Why do you wear that damn thing?” He grouched as she climbed back on the bed and settled on his lap.

Robin stretched her arms high in the air, her back popping in mutliple places.

Delarue ran his long fingers up her sides, his thumbs rubbing the underside of her pale breasts.

“Somethin’s gotta keep these up,” she laughed, putting her arms down.

Leaning down she kissed the side of his handlebar mustache, “Besides, you seemed to enjoy the view,”

He grunted, gripping her bottom.

“Come back with me,”

He always said this, each time he was in her bed.

She clicked her tounge, frowning, “Henry, you know I can’t. A whore like myself wouldn’t fit in with the good ol town being ran by your sheriff priest.”

“Fuck him,” he said, sitting up and holding her to his chest.

“You dare say that about a man of God?” She gasped.

“He’s no man of God, Robin. You’re more Godly than that son of a bitch.”

“And what of my girls, my business here?”

He shrugged, “There’s a saloon in town. Take over, not like anything is going on there. Hell, don’t work at all. I make more than enough.”

Their faces so close that their noses were touching; she looked him square in the eye, “I’m not living off of a man. I swore I’d never have to depend on one again.”

His fingers tickled her back lightly, “Then bring your business to Landlock. I don’t care what you decide, so long as you decide to come back with me.”

“Henry…” she whispered, conflicted.

He kissed her, taking the her very breath from her delicious mouth, “Just think about it, Robin.” He said, pecking at her lips.

“All right, I’ll think about it.”

The Odd Couple

Based On:

Imagine sharing a bed with Thorin and finding out he’s a complete bed hog

Imagine staying at a tavern on the Quest. The Company have to share a room, you share with Thorin, and they hear everything you’re doing together

Imagine waking up from a weird dream and Thorin asking what the dream was about. You hesitate, but eventually told him that he married a banana and made the situation awkward


You could not believe that you would be sleeping indoors. It would be the first time in…well, you could not count the days, weeks, or months since you had laid in an actual bed. You were ecstatic at the prospect and you could not help but show it as you skipped into the tavern behind the rest of the Company. The lot of them were as soaked as you from the endless rains though they did not seem so emphatic about having a roof over their heads.

“This is amazing,” You announced as you entered the dingy inn, “Ah, I cannot wait.”

Keep reading