those boots are as big as his head))

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

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

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

Secret Santa- Christmas Special
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Title
: An Annoying Christmas
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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.
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A/N: Merry Christmas, @definefreakforme !! I hope you can enjoy this! Have you all a wonderful day!
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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

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

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

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.”

Things have changed since Cas became human. For starters: he eats. Cas likes spicy food and comfort food and dessert as long as it isn’t too sweet: sustenance with bold, rich flavours. He’s a fan of wine and beer and dark chocolate and burgers. He likes salad, but only with bright, flavourful dressings; roasted veggies as long as they’ve been drizzled in olive oil and sprinkled with salt.

Intensity seems to be the name of the game with human Cas.

The guy is immediately drawn to bright colours and weird textures. He wears the regular uniform of jeans, tees and flannel for hunts, but he’s more into over-sized, violently orange wool sweaters and soft, worn fabrics from Goodwill. He doesn’t like breaking in his own stuff. He ends up in the women’s section a lot, too—after all, that’s where most of the colour is. Cas gets these gross purple long johns, and a chunky green wool sweater, and a fuchsia hat he wears inside when life gets too loud. His socks are always thick and soft (sometimes even fuzzy), and in the summer, it’s flip-flops or not shoes at all instead of boots. The guy is either covered head to toe, or refuses to wear a scrap of clothing (he went through a flowy crop top and booty shorts phase that still makes Dean blush).

Cas has big, black-framed glasses he picked up at a thrift store for reading, because it turns out Jimmy needed those. He experimented with bright eye shadows and blushes and lipsticks for a while, before settling for coloured glosses that make his lips tacky and pink. The whole thing took a little getting used to, but it was… kind cool, watching Cas figure out what he liked.

He’s got a good idea, now.

He also… smells really good?

Keep reading

Badass 2

Ever wanted to be a badass hunter? Let’s play pretend, shall we?

You guys really seem to like my girl so I wrote another part.

Pairing: Castiel x Reader (eventual)

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol (obviously) and slight swearing, brief thoughts of wanting to strap down a certain angel to your bed, and I do not advise wearing stilettos on a motorcycle; it is very uncomfortable and awkward and dangerous for everyone (but it does look hot as hell).

Word Count: 1,020

Something to put you in the mood here. I always try to put music with my writing so you can listen along. I will have a playlist for this series when this is all said and done. (Series? What the hell?)

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 4  Part 5  Part 6  Part 7

“An angel, huh?” you asked with a raised eyebrow as he looked at you like a deer in the headlights. You took in the messy dark hair and blue eyes and the jawline of a damn Greek god and reconsidered your situation. 

You smirked as you reached over and grabbed Cas’ beer. “I bet I could have fun corrupting you” you said with a wink and you watched him swallow hard as you finished his beer. This may not turn out so bad after all.

You walked past Dean and slid into the empty side of the booth, sitting right across from Cas as you stretched out your legs and propped your stiletto boots on his lap, watching him with a smirk. Cas’ mouth opened as he glanced over at Dean who was laughing to himself at the angel’s distress. 

Dean shook his head and sat down next to you as he picked up his beer to finish it. 

Cas looked back at you and closed his mouth, shifting slightly as you grinned back. 

God he was hot with those big blue eyes. You ran your finger over the rim of his empty beer bottle as you wondered what he would look like strapped down in your bed.

“So” you said, addressing no one in particular as you leaned forward and removed your leather jacket, giving Cas a full cleavage shot, and then placing the jacket between Dean and yourself “why is an angel hanging out with the Winchester brothers? You two have the habit of attracting the attention of every damn monster on the planet. How did you manage to get God’s attention too?”

“So you’ve heard of us?” Dean asked, pleased with himself. 

“You two asses are the ones that started the Apocalypse. So, yeah, I’ve heard of you.” 

“Well, he’s a fallen angel” said Dean and Cas shot him a quick look. “He’s a bit of a rebel himself.” 

“Really” you said, amused and a bit surprised at the scruffy haired cherub. 

“Yeah” Dean answered with a chuckle. 

“Well that explains why he’s hanging out with you two” and you took another drink. 

“I have to say, I’m impressed, Castiel. I didn’t peg you as a fallen angel.” and he looked confused as you leaned over and motioned to the bartender with your finger. 

“Well, actually, my brothers and sisters are in the process of trying to hunt me down. It was really more of a misunderstanding. It seems that they did not appreciate…” but he was distracted by Dean slicing his hand across his neck and mouthing for the angel to shut up. 

Cas stared at Dean for a moment confused until a moment of realization came across his face and he turned back to you with a ‘nevermind’ and went quiet again. 

Sam just smiled and laughed to himself at the idea of Dean being Cas’ wingman. The poor angel didn’t stand a chance.

“So Billy said that you’re an expert on this; one of the best hunters out there” Sam said as the bartender placed 3 beers in front of the boys and your drink in front of you. 

“He was right” you said as you took a sip. 

“So you have the knives that we need to kill them?” Sam asked. 

“Yep” you said, slowly swirling your drink in your hand. 

“So when do we get them” Dean asked you as he grabbed his beer. 

“You think I’m just gonna hand them over to you three just because you show up in my bar?” you mused. “Do you have any idea what I had to do to get those knives? They stay with me until the hunt and then you three can tag along for the ride and I’ll let you use them.”

“Look” Sam said “I know you don’t like working with anyone else…” 

“You’re right. I don’t” you interrupted. 

“But they’re dangerous” Sam continued to plead his case. “We’ve been tracking them for a while now and…” 

“And if you say that it would be safer if I let you three handle it then I’m gonna shove my Louis Vuitton boot right up that lumberjack ass of yours.” 

Dean snorted at your comment and Cas’ eyes got wide. 

“Now if you don’t want to play the game by my rules then you can take your balls and go home.” and Sam smiled and raised his hands in defeat. 

“Your rules then.” said Dean as he smiled and finished his beer “When do we leave?” 

“You guys can follow me and crash at my place tonight. We leave tomorrow. They’re holed up in an old farmhouse about an hour from here.” 

“Alright then” Dean said as he got up from the booth “Lead the way” he said, waving his hand in the direction of the door. 

You looked back at Cas who was still watching you. You smirked as you slid your boots off of his lap and got out of the booth, grabbing your jacket as you stood. You headed out first as Dean followed right behind. 

Sam waited for Cas and patted his shoulder as he stood up. “Good luck, Cas” Sam said. 

“I don’t know what you mean, Sam” Cas said, confused. “You will” Sam smirked, and they followed you out.

Outside of the bar you started to walk to the side alleyway as you put your jacket back on. “You two can take your car and follow me there. Angel, you’re with me.” and Cas stopped walking and looked over at Dean who started pointing at you, loudly whispering ‘GO!’ Cas followed you into the alley as Dean and Sam got into the car and started it up. 

When Cas rounded the corner he saw you climbing onto your black Harley and putting on your helmet. You zipped up your jacket and looked at him expectantly. He hesitated a moment before finally climbing on behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist as the engine purred to life. He grabbed you tight as you shot out of the alley and turned onto the street in front of the Impala, speeding off into the night with Dean close behind.

…….

I hope you don’t mind me tagging you. (Please let me know if you do)

@divinitycas @netflixandcastiellll @hallowedbecastiel @sparksflycastiel @icecream-and-gadreel@mrswhozeewhatsis @bkwrm523 @wills-writes-stuff @webcricket @uncastiell@castielcaptures@castielappreciation @soulsmokecreations @fangirlf@abaddonwithyall @castielspahdehrah @unadulteratedstorycollector @fanfictionized

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.

Fanart Monday!

Yes!! Back again with another fanart monday!! Thank you guys for submitting fanart!!! I love themmmmmm!!!


Let me remind you that I will only post fanart of the series c’: this goes for you, meme senders! I still love memes tho xDDD


Again, sorry if I forget to add someone’s work! I can only remember those drawings in my ask box, and sometimes I don’t even see them all because Tumblr is a meanie :c


Fanart of the week by @gigagoku30!!


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Carry Memories with You (and I'll Never Leave)

“Stiles, Stiles, Stiles.”
The name rings strangely on her tongue, rolls around her mouth as the vowels stretch and echo in the stillness. The word loses all meaning after a few dozen seconds, strips down of all the identity ever built behind it.
 

Stiles gets taken. Lydia remembers. 

AO3 | Rated T | 1.4k

Based on this post by @slowburnotptrash

Beta read by Rachel @rongasm ‘cause she’s awesome like that. 

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Badass 2

Ever wanted to be a badass hunter? Let’s play pretend, shall we?

You guys really seem to like my girl so I wrote another part. 

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol (obviously) and slight swearing, mentioning of wanting to strap down a certain angel to your bed, and Cas is a hottie. And I do not advise wearing stilettos on a motorcycle; it is very uncomfortable and awkward and dangerous (but it does look hot as hell).

Word Count: 1,020

Something to put you in the mood here

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 4  Part 5  Part 6  Part 7

“An angel, huh?” you asked with a raised eyebrow as he looked at you like a deer in the headlights. You took in the messy dark hair and blue eyes and the jawline of a damn Greek god and reconsidered your situation. You smirked as you reached over and grabbed Cas’ beer. “I bet I could have fun corrupting you” you said with a wink and you watched him swallow hard as you finished his beer. This may not turn out so bad after all.

You walked past Dean and slid into the empty side of the booth, sitting right across from Cas as you stretched out your legs and propped your stiletto boots on his lap, watching him with a smirk. Cas’ mouth opened as he glanced over at Dean who was laughing to himself at the angel’s distress. He shook his head and sat down next to you as he picked up his beer to finish it. Cas looked back at you and closed his mouth, shifting slightly as you grinned back. God he was hot with those big blue eyes. You ran your finger over the rim of his empty beer bottle as you wondered what he would look like strapped down in your bed.

“So” you said, addressing no one in particular as you leaned forward and removed your leather jacket, giving Cas a full cleavage shot, and then placing the jacket between Dean and yourself “why is an angel hanging out with the Winchester brothers? You two have the habit of attracting the attention of every damn monster on the planet. How did you manage to get God’s attention too?”

“So you’ve heard of us?” Dean asked, pleased with himself. “You two asses are the ones that started the Apocalypse. So, yeah, I’ve heard of you.” “Well, he’s a fallen angel” said Dean and Cas shot him a quick look. “He’s a bit of a rebel himself.” “Really” you said, amused and bit surprised at the scruffy haired cherub. “Yeah” Dean answered with a chuckle. “Well that explains why he’s hanging out with you two” and you took another drink. “I have to say, I’m impressed, Castiel. I didn’t peg you as a fallen angel.” and he looked confused as you leaned over and motioned to the bartender with your finger. “Well, actually, my brothers and sisters are in the process of trying to hunt me down. It was really more of a misunderstanding. It seems that they did not appreciate…” but he was distracted by Dean slicing his hand across his neck and mouthing for the angel to shut up. Cas stared at Dean for a moment confused until a moment of realization came across his face and he turned back to you with a ‘nevermind’ and went quiet again. Sam just smiled and shook his head at the idea of Dean being Cas’ wingman. The poor angel didn’t stand a chance.

“So Billy said that you’re an expert on this; one of the best hunters out there” Sam said as the bartender placed 3 beers in front of the boys and your drink in front of you. “He was right” you said as you took a sip. “So you have the knives that we need to kill them?” Sam asked. “Yep” you said, swirling your drink in your hand. “So when do we get them” Dean asked you as he grabbed his beer. “You think I’m just gonna hand them over to you three just because you show up in my bar?” you mused. “Do you have any idea what I had to do to get those knives? They stay with me until the hunt and then you three can tag along for the ride and I’ll let you use them.” 

“Look” Sam said “I know you don’t like working with anyone else…” “You’re right. I don’t” you interrupted. “But they’re dangerous” Sam continued to plead his case. “We’ve been tracking them for a while now and…” “And if you say that it would be safer if I let you three handle it then I’m gonna shove my Louboutin boot right up that lumberjack ass of yours.” Dean snorted at your comment and Cas’ eyes got wide. “Now if you don’t want to play the game by my rules then you can take your balls and go home.” And Sam smiled and raised his hands in defeat. “Your rules then.” said Dean as he smiled and finished his beer “When do we leave?” You guys can follow me and crash at my place tonight. We leave tomorrow. They’re holed up in an old farmhouse about an hour from here.” “Alright then” Dean said as he got up from the booth “Lead the way” he said, waving his hand in the direction of the door. You looked back at Cas who was still watching you. You smirked as you slid your boots off of his lap and got out of the booth, grabbing your jacket as you stood. You headed out first as Dean followed right behind. Sam waited for Cas and patted his shoulder as he stood up. “Good luck, Cas” Sam said. “I don’t know what you mean, Sam” Cas said, confused. “You will” Sam smirked, and they followed you out.

Outside of the bar you started to walk to the side alleyway as you put your jacket back on. “You two can take your car and follow me there. Angel, you’re with me.” And Cas stopped walking and looked over at Dean who started pointing at you loudly whispering ‘GO!’ Cas followed you into the alley as Dean and Sam got into the car and started it up. When Cas rounded the corner he saw you climbing onto your black Harley Davidson and putting on your helmet. You started it up and looked at him expectantly. He hesitated a moment before finally climbing on behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist as the engine purred to life. He grabbed you tight as you shot out of the alley and turned onto the street in front of the Impala, speeding off into the night with Dean close behind.

…….

I hope you don’t mind me tagging you. (Please let me know if you do)

@divinitycas @netflixandcastiellll @hallowedbecastiel @sparksflycastiel @icecream-and-gadreel@mrswhozeewhatsis @bkwrm523 @wills-writes-stuff @webcricket @uncastiell @castielcaptures@castielappreciation @soulsmokecreations @fangirlf @abaddonwithyall @castielspahdehrah @unadulteratedstorycollector

anonymous asked:

Could you write something about joshifer at comic con pleaaase!!

Thank you for the prompt anon! You’ve been bumped to the top of my prompts line since it’s still Comic Con weekend :) Hope you like it! :)

__________________________________________________

Figure Me Out…

Could that be him? I think for the millionth time today and laugh with a quick shake of my head. This was the point, we’re not supposed to know who we are, we aren’t supposed to know anyone here, and no one would know us. It’s meant to be normal.

It’s funny how dressing up as someone you’re not, in a room filled with thousands of people pretending to be fictional characters, can make you feel so oddly, normal again.

I pull at the tight suit that is sticking to my body, complete with mask. God, it’s hot. But at least no one know’s who I am. I could laugh with the absurdity of the entire situation. A fan event, and people who don’t have a clue who I am, people who are fans of Spiderman and not The Hunger Games or X-Men, are asking me, the girl Spiderman -  SpiderWoman I guess - for pictures in costume. I love it.

“Hey girl! Awesome suit! Can I take a picture?”

_

As nice as wandering the halls incognito was, it’s a relief to get back to my hotel room and peel the mask from my sticky face, the skin tight suit quickly following and landing with it in a pile on the floor. I need a shower. But I also need to pee more.

“Josh? You back yet?”

The silence is my answer and I smile that he’s still lapping up the undercover look, even to me. I bet he was Batman. I bite my lip, wandering to the bathroom. Oh he’d make a good Batman.

Goosebumps erupt over my clammy skin, the cool air finally getting to it, freed from the confines of latex. It was a pretty good costume, Liz is awesome and a genius, I don’t know how or where she found it.

I sigh in relief, sitting down to pee after so long holding it in. I was only ever getting into that suit once, it was so tight. My head jerks to the door when something sounds in the bedroom, probably my phone. I close my eyes for a second, deciding to ignore whoever it is until after I’ve showered. What a sight I must be, sitting on the toilet, only in my bra, hair damp and pulled back, pants at my ankles. I laugh to myself before I open them again, only further increasing the weird of this picture. I’m alone here anyway.

And then I’m not. 

The door bursts open, and in flies the most hideous, creepy looking face I’ve seen all day - and I’ve been wandering around Comic Con with heroes and villains alike all morning. I nearly fly off the seat, my hands circling back and gripping to the sides and a scream leaving my mouth, echoing around the tiles.

And then the mask flops forward, the head lowering as the body doubles over. They’re laughing, laughing. And I know that laugh. And those boots.

“JOSH YOU FUCKER! YOU - YOU … FUCK JOSH!” 

He pulls the creepy, old man mask from his face and I see his big, shit eating grin, his shoulders still bobbing, hands on his knees, his laughter so fierce, he has gone silent. I catch my breath, my heart still near bursting from my chest, and finish up, standing and flushing in one shaky motion.

“You asshole.”

I slap his arm with my hand, but it’s pretty lame, my terror still fresh in my weakened body. 

He straightens up, and his laughter has subsided, though his grin still stretches wide across his face. 

“I’m sorry.” He’s still grinning, his eyes shining from the tears his hysterical laughter caused, his hands reaching for me.

I hit them away, lightly. “No you’re not. You and your big, stupid smile. You loved every second.”

He laughs once. “Come on, Jen. That was too good. I’m sorry - but your face! It was priceless. And at least you were on the toilet and didn’t have the risk of shitting your pants.”

I laugh now, my breath releasing, allowing relief to flood through me after my initial fear. “Damn you.”

Damn you, I think as I fall into him. He scared the crap out of me, loved every second, and I want to be mad at him for it, yet he is the only one I want to comfort me too. Damn him, damn me.

His arm wraps around me, his hand rubbing my back soothingly.

“I gotta shower; it was crazy hot in my costume,” I mumble into him before pulling back. “Are you gonna shower too?” I’m smiling, looking at him through my eyelashes and quirking an eyebrow, hoping he takes the hint. He grins back and tugs off his shirt. 

I strip completely now, stepping into the shower first and turning on the water, letting it run down my body. When he is also free of his clothes, I welcome him in too with my arms linking behind his neck and my lips pulling on his greedily.

He trails a path down my neck, sloppy and hot, and a little scratchy from his light stubble. 

“You were so hot in your suit, Mrs Spiderman.”

I gasp, and he grins against my skin before nipping along my collarbone. My hands run through his hair and hold him to me. “How did you know that?!”

I’m shocked, but my voice, breathless and needy, doesn’t display my indignance. And when he sucks on that spot, the moan that escapes my lips is definitely not annoyed that he figured me out. Not at all.

He pulls back and straightens to meet my eyes, a wicked smile dancing on his lips. My hands trace down his face and rest on his shoulders, my fingers splayed on to his neck lightly. He grips my waist, hands sliding down my sides to my hips, and he pulls me closer. “I’d know this ass anywhere,” he smirks, as he continues to slip his hands back to squeeze me to him even tighter.

“I should be mad at you,” I whisper, tracing his lips with the tips of my fingers. “You figured me out.”

He laughs softly, the water above us dripping and cascading over both of our faces. “You told me I’d done that a long time ago.”

I smile, my eyes softening and my lips stretching wide over my face. He’s right; he’s always right. I lean forward to press my lips to his again, but they don’t make it there. The bang and thud outside the room make me jump, and without my grip on Josh, I would’ve been on the floor. 

“Did you hear that?” I’m worried now, my eyes darting to the door leading to the main bedroom, for the moment still eerily quiet but for the rush of water. I’m starting to think I imagined it, that I’m nuts, when a voice breaks through the wall.

“Jen! You better be showering quick; you’re going to be late!”

Liz. I sigh and laugh with relief at the same time before calling back to her. “Five minutes!”

I’m sure she’ll sigh now too, roll her eyes, check her watch and cross her arms in front of her at my reply, but then she’ll blow her hair out of her eyes, allow it and wait. I turn back to Josh, smiling again, a joke on the tip of my tongue when Liz calls back once more.

“You better hurry too, Josh! You’re both going to be late!”


Thanks again for the prompt! Please send me some more if you’d like (though they’ll have to join the line). Also, I had a prompt for Joshifer 4th of July and, I’m not American, so if anyone could send me a message about what you guys generally do (so far all I have are: fireworks, parade, face paint and bbq) not just at night, but like during the day too, that would be fab for me! 

Finally, shout out to lawrencehutchersonthings‘ anon since you were pointed in my direction for this. To both anons, I hope this was alright for you!

THANK YOU FOR READING!! <3

anonymous asked:

Can you write about Harry and Louis taking their little kid shopping !

Harry knelt down, adjusting the scarf around Stevie’s neck. “It’s cold out missy, we have to make sure you’re bundled up well,”

She rolled her eyes, thumbing over her shoulder, “Daddy is the one that gets cold all the time.”

Harry glanced up at Louis, meeting his eyes. “Yeah, your daddy is a big baby though,” He winked, leaning in to kiss her cheek, “And you’re just a little baby, so that’s why we need to keep you warm.”

Louis grabbed her mitten covered hand, giving it a squeeze. “For once your dad is right, but don’t let it go to his head.”

They strolled along the busy streets, stopping to smile at the festively decorated windows, sneaking in pecks on the cheek as Stevie raved about the shiny pair of boots that looked just like Harry’s, “Those are like angel boots!” and Louis couldn’t help himself when he whispered in his ear, “my angel.”

They stopped outside a store and laughed because even after all these years, Uncle Niall was all about his fancy socks.

“Daddy we have to go in here, so I can buy something for Uncle Niall!“

They stood in front of the wall of patterned socks as Stevie hummed and hawed over shamrocks or hearts and flowers, Louis bumping his shoulder with Harry. “How many pairs of socks have we bought Niall over the years?”

Harry turned to him with a grin. “Enough to have an official sock drawer dedicated to us.”

Stevie turned around, waving her hands, “I’m ready to pay, and then we need to go find Uncle Liam something.”

Louis nodded, turning her towards the cash register. “Yes darling, but we say please remember.”

“Sorry, daddy.”

They walked up the counter and watched her count the money carefully, and tell the girl how funny her uncle is, and that he takes her shopping every year so she can buy her daddies presents too.

Harry turned away wiping a stray tear, because only their daughter could make him emotional while buying socks.

FNaF 4: New Teaser Image 6/25

Edit: Teaser image confirmed FREDBEAR. Overwhelming, if not blatant evidence can be found on this post.

Here we have the newest image from Scott Cawthon’s website, an image titled simply “4″, which appears to be a very large-headed animatronic, the supposed owner of the last teaser image’s purple hat and bowtie. We are assuming that this is another version of Freddy that we’ve never seen before. 

His chest buttons are unlike those of Toy Freddy, which are smooth and solid, and are more like the 4-holed buttons on the chest of the puppet, which further supports our previous theory that this incarnation of Freddy is (or is the nightmare of) the Freddy from the Fredbear’s Family Diner era. 

Another strange thing is the stomach with teeth.

Brightened, we can clearly see the words “or was it me” that I’ve outlined in purple, as well as letters “pro” or “pre” and “me” in between the stomach-teeth.

This might mean “probably me” or “protect me”

However, the texture of this new Freddy is almost identical to that of Springtrap’s, which raises a few questions. Here’s Springtrap from one of three rare boot images for reference:

While his buttons look like those from Fredbear’s Family Diner era, his big head, different stomach coloring, and matching timeline with Springtrap makes it seem like he’s from the first Fazbear Pizzeria.

But we’ll see how this all turns out.


More to come tonight! If you have anything to add, we’d love to hear it!

–G

Bethyl Head-Canon: First Impressions

A little something for niallbranson who had to deal with some ridiculousness yesterday that being a participating member of this fandom sometimes brings. So she requested something about Beth and Daryl’s very first interactions and I think some other people have requested that in the past as well, and this popped into my head, so I hope you enjoy, it’s short, but I don’t think their initial interactions would be anything more than this.

Finally, Happy Mid-Season Premiere Day everyone! 

//

Daryl needed to get the fuck out of the house. And he would too, but every time he tried to get out the bed, his entire right side would burn like a million pointed needles stabbing through his gut, then his head would start spinning and the spots would blink in his vision. 

Stupid fucking horse.

Footsteps echoed on the wood stairway just outside his door. He groaned, another damn obstacle for getting out of the house, those stairs, a dozen, maybe more and wood, so if he fell on his head, it would hurt almost as much as that bullet from Andrea’s rifle. 

The treads were light though, not the slow, heavy footfalls of the old man, or the aching creep of the new widow or even the quick pounding of cowboy boots of the Doc’s oldest girl. 

That only left one option and he huffed in greeting as the door squeaked open and the little blonde slip of a girl slid through the gap, a tray balanced against her skinny hip. 

Big blue eyes blinked at him, the corners of her mouth lifting into an almost smile, but not quite. Just from the look of her, she seemed like the kind of girl who almost smiled at strangers all the time, the invitation to be friendly and polite. He just nodded back. Smiling wasn’t his thing and she didn’t seem to care. Daryl appreciated that. People always seemed to be demanding something of him lately, be better, be stronger, be smarter. This girl, whatever her name was, she seemed content enough to just let him be. Or maybe she just didn’t give a shit about him. Either way, her presence didn’t bother him nearly as much as just about everyone else.

“Nothing fancy, just some lunch,” she said, putting the tray down on the bed, careful not to jostle it.

Daryl grabbed the orange juice and downed half of it in one gulp. 

“You want those curtains open? Let some sunlight and fresh air in?”

A nod and the early afternoon sun shone through the dusty glass panels. She cracked one of the windows open and a breeze slipped through.

“Better?”

“Better,” he grunted through a bite of the sandwich. The room wasn’t quite as godawful as before.

“You’ve got everything you need?” she asked, standing at the end of the bed, fingers curling around the worn post of the footboard.

Another grunt escaped his throat and she nodded in satisfaction. “Someone’ll be up for the tray in a bit,” she said, heading straight for the door, probably off to find that shit for brains boyfriend of hers.

“Hey, what’s your name?” he asked, the words spilling through his lips before his brain even fully thought them out. 

That little not-quite smile was back. “Elizabeth,” she said and then shrugged, “Beth.”

“’m Daryl.”

With another nod, she was gone and as he took another bite of the sandwich he hoped she’d be the one who came back for the tray.

Adoribull Fic | January 6 | On the Road Again

A very merry Adoribull holiday to @kayura-fuckthechantry-fii! You suggested Bull and Dorian meet before the events of DA:I, and I decided, yep, that’s the one for me. So here is a fic for you!

The stats: explicit! 4,400~ words! There is no objectionable content, I think!

The summary: The Bull met a traveler on the road.

The fic:


On the Road Again

They met a traveler on the road, some thirty miles out from the nearest civilized town in Nevarra. He was sitting in a tree back from the main thoroughfare, and Skinner spotted him.

“Shem in a tree,” she said.

“What,” said Stitches, “is that one of your songs? Chief, stop swinging your arms, I’m trying to get this damned bandage tied.”

“I don’t know that one,” said Dalish to Skinner, “is that from your clan?”

“Thought that was a mosquito,” said the Bull. “Aw, hey, let it bleed. It’s clotting. Look pretty good as a scar. What do you think that is, a scimitar?” He flexed his arm up to examine the cut framing his biceps.

Stitches swore as the ends of the bandage escaped him.

“Leave Stitches be, chief,” Krem called from the wagon trundling ahead of them. “We need him too much for you to make his head pop off.”

“No,” said Skinner sharply. She pointed. “Shem in a tree.”

The Bull looked. A man was halfway up a scraggly tree, behind three other trees, all with better spaced branches and thicker foliage, but nearer to the road. The man stared back at the Bull. He said, “Bollocks.”

“Shit,” said the Bull in mild surprise. “Shem in a tree.”

Dalish, looking thoughtful, said, “Shem in a tree. Shem … in a tree.”

The man was still swearing. “Vishante kaffas!”

“‘vint in a tree,” the Bull corrected.

“What’s he speaking?” Krem asked.

“Mostly swearing.”

They’d pass him soon. Hard to tell at a distance, but the man looked in poor repair; he’d mottling to his face that suggested fighting, and no sack to his back. The Bull considered the bandit operation the Chargers had only just laid waste to for the good of the countryside, and a substantial reward from the constabulary thirty miles up the road.

“Want I should call the stop?”

The Bull shook his head at Krem. “Nah. We’ll catch up. You can handle our guests?”

Krem sneered at the Bull. “Please, chief. The little lambs are sleeping.” His maul had done that.

“Keep ‘em dreaming,” the Bull said. He gestured to the footed company with him to follow. “Put your knives away, Skinner. He might be friendly.”

“He’s shem,” she said.

“She’s got a point,” said Stitches.

“She’s got twelve,” said the Bull, “and you’re shem, too.”

Stitches and Skinner exchanged a look.

“Watching you,” Skinner told him.

Dalish was whispering rapidly under her breath. Protective spell, mayhap. The Bull hadn’t much worked to learn the high pattering tongue she used for magic craft. The lines of power tucked between the words gave him the creepies under his skin.

The matted leaves and sticks that lined the forest’s floor crunched satisfyingly underfoot. The man’s sleeve had caught on a branch, and he swore again as the Bull drew up even with the tree. He tried for purchase on the trunk, but his boots, a fine leather worn thin, with soles meant for looks rather than work, skidded off the bark. He was very quick to plant the right foot heavily on the branch again.

“Looks like you’re stuck,” the Bull called.

The man gave up his struggling. He looked at the Bull. He’d dark skin and black tousled hair and a sluggishly oozing gouge over a fresh black eye.

“So it seems,” he said.

“Need a hand?”

The man considered this. “No,” he said, “I’ve two of my own. Why don’t you run along.” He fluttered his hand at the Bull.

Of all things, the Bull felt not amused, but charmed. “Got a hell of a shiner.”

“A what?”

Stitches stepped forward. “Your eye.”

The man’s confusion cleared. Lightly he touched two fingers to his cheek then winced.

“Yes, well. I’m doing rather better than–” He glanced at the Bull and then away. “This strapping fellow.”

The Bull laughed.

“Hm,” said Skinner. “I like him.”

“Don’t be deceived by my dashing, some might say rakish appearance,” said the man, one arm pinned above his head, and his legs bent at odd angles as he braced on the trunk and a branch. If he lost his balance and fell, the Bull saw, his arm would wrench from the socket. “My wits are sharp, and my charms, without number.”

“Think I’ll cut him out.” Skinner drew a boning knife from her bandolier.

“That won’t be necessary!” The man’s voice rose.

Dalish clapped her hands. “That’s the note!”

“How’s about I get you down,” said the Bull. He set his toe against the trunk and pushed up to grab the man’s steadying branch.

“Again, that won’t be necessary! I assure you, I’m more than content with my tree–”

“We’re not going to rob you,” the Bull said.

“As I have nothing else to donate,” the man said, or perhaps had not stopped saying, “but of course for the clothes on my back and the shoes on my feet–”

“They won’t fit me.”

“I can see <em>that</em>,” said the man. His eyes skimmed over the Bull’s shoulder, then again, he looked away.

The Bull grunted. “Dalish, get up there and free him.”

Humming to herself, Dalish bounded up the tree, using the Bull’s back as a spring-board up the trunk. 

“How do you do,” she said by way of introduction, and she pulled her own knife from her belt and cut through the man’s sleeve without pause.

“That is linen!” the man protested, and Dalish said, “Oh, well, it’s gone now,” and pushed him off the branch.

The Bull caught the man easily in his waiting arms, and laughing, he let off the trunk and turned, carrying him without struggle. The man’s hands gripped at the Bull’s chest. He’d a look of absolute shock, perhaps even outrage, on his strong, fine-made features.

“How–”

“So, hey,” the Bull said, “there you go,” and he set the man gently to his feet.

“I–” The man’s palms were warm, callused at an angle from the space between thumb and finger to his wrist. His fingers spread wide upon the Bull’s breast. “That was hardly– I could have got myself down.”

“Free of charge,” the Bull told him. He winked.

The man’s grimy brow folded. “Do you have something in your eye?” Then he realized he’d his hands on the Bull’s chest, and he whipped them away as if the Bull were on fire.

“Yes,” said the man. “All right. Well. Thank you. That was your kind deed for the day. Well, I’m out of the tree now, so you colorful lot may be on your way.”

“Your staff’s over there,” said Dalish from the tree. “You want I should get it for you?”

“What staff?” said the man loudly. “Oh. My walking staff. Yes. If you would be so kind. But you must realize I can’t possibly repay you for such generosity.”

“Now what kind of assholes would we be,” said the Bull, “if we rescued you and then stole all the coin from your right boot?”

The man looked at him in horror.

“He’s going to shit himself, keep teasing him like that,” said Stitches. “Dalish, quit nancing. I need ice for his face.”

Dalish reemerged from the leaves. She swung a staff, rich, dark wood carved in thick swirls up to wrap about a raw green stone as big around as the Bull’s – fist, he thought. The man stood very close to the Bull, and he smelled tantalizingly of long nights in the woods. He had a gorgeous mouth, too.

“Ooh, good balance,” said Dalish. She thumped the focusing stone on her palm and gave it a squeeze. “Must have cost you a fortune. Rich 'vint shem.”

“My favorite,” said Skinner. She grinned.

“Thank you, yes,” said the man in a hurry. “My walking stick. You’ve found it.” He grabbed it from Dalish, who gave it up with a laugh.

The man’s hands slid naturally into place on the polished wood. The color of the wood was darkened along certain swirls. His hands fit to those trails.

Yep, thought the Bull, that gem was definitely as big around as his own clenched fist.

“So,” said the Bull. “'vint mage on the road. All your money in your boot. Thought you could take on all those bandits on your own, but they got a few swings on you. Grabbed your rucksack, too.”

The man swallowed. “What a fertile imagination your broad friend has,” he remarked to the group.

“Tip your head back,” Stitches said. He pulled a handkerchief from his sporran. “Ice, Dalish.”

The Bull was grinning, a slow thing. “Pretty fertile. Yeah. But don’t fret your pretty head about it. We took care of those bandits, didn’t we, Chargers?”

“Horns up,” said Dalish absently.

She pulled a small block of ice from the air, the air that dried in the Bull’s nose. Frost marked her fingertips. She handed the ice to Stitches.

Skinner crept near, silent on her toes. Magic fascinated her, made her youngish in a way nothing could. It was a clinical interest the man had showed, though, unblinking as he observed Dalish’s fingers pinch and tug through the air.

“Chargers?” said the man. He looked Dalish over. No flirtation to it, just an intrigue the Bull recognized as professional. Hm, hm, thought the Bull.

“Bull’s Chargers, you heard of us?” The Bull crossed his arms over his chest. The itching scratch on his arm pulled open. He let it. The man’s eyes darted to the Bull. His gaze caught on the Bull’s arms.

Stitches wrapped the ice in the handkerchief and pressed it firmly to the man’s eye. Though the man flinched, he stayed as he was under Stitches’ check-over.

“Let me guess.” The man’s voice dried too. “You’re the Bull. And they’re the Chargers.”

“Figured it out, huh.”

“Very clever,” the man said. “And you aren’t bandits, but, what? A traveling charity?”

“Mercenaries,” said the Bull, “licensed too. On the up and up. One hundred percent legit.” He scratched at his chin. “Well, outside the Free Marches.”

“I was under the impression the Free Marches didn’t much care for legitimacy.”

“Depends on the city,” said the Bull. “You don’t get out much do you.”

“And no one at all minds a Qunari running around Thedas, flexing his muscles at every stranded traveler he sees?”

“Stop flexing at the 'vint,” Stitches said to the Bull without turning.

“Who’s flexing?”

“You,” said Skinner.

Dalish said, “We ought to catch up.” The Bull turned his ear to her, listening. “Nightfall will be coming soon, and there’s wolves 'round here. The dead kind.”

“Nevarran shem,” said Skinner darkly. She drew her boning knife along her leather trousers then sheathed it.

The Bull grunted agreement. “So. You want to come with us, or make your own way?”

The man eyed the Bull around Stitches’ wrist. “You’re awfully trusting,” he said, as if disbelieving, “of a strange Tevinter mage. Don’t your people bind and gag their mages?”

The Bull made a show of looking around the trees, the road, the darkening sky.

“This look like Par Vollen to you?”

“I wouldn’t know,” said the man. “I’ve never been.”

“You wouldn’t enjoy it.”

“I’ll trust you on that.”

“He hasn’t tied me up, for what it’s worth,” Dalish offered.

The man made a noise in his throat. “Yes, but what’s to say you won’t tie me up anyway? Strip my boots from me?”

“Hey, if feet’s what you’re into,” said the Bull. “But I’d buy you dinner first.”

His eyes widened. The man looked dartingly about, but Skinner only grumbled and Dalish rolled her eyes. Stitches, the Bull wagered, feigned deafness.

The Bull changed tack. “You got a name? Or you want we should call you 'vint?”

“Dorian,” said the man. He sounded awful young. Without that frazzled mustache, the Bull thought, he’d look it too. “Dorian Pavus. I suppose I should thank you for plucking me out of that tree.”

“You could,” said the Bull. “But we didn’t do it for a reward.”

“Shem,” said Skinner with ancient disgust.

“She keeps saying that,” said Dorian Pavus to the world, “but what does it mean?”

“Don’t fuss, shem,” Dalish told him. She patted his head. “You’ll learn.”

“I hope not,” Dorian said.

The Bull shrugged.

<center>*</center>

Town, in the morning. Dorian, who’d spent the night in one of the wagons, looked horrendous. The bruises had settled and swelled, and his hair was a wild tangle.

“How does anyone sleep like that?” he complained to the Bull.

The Bull hadn’t forgot him precisely, but put thoughts of the man aside as he’d worked through the business of a mercenary company. Dorian had sought him out on foot outside the town’s walls, after the company pitched morning camp. Checking the line of captive bandits, and reviewing the paperwork for the turn in, the Bull was surprised to find Dorian pegging his heels.

“Morning,” said the Bull.

“Good morning and good day,” said Dorian. “The dwarf next to me broke wind all night long.”

“That’s Rocky for you,” said the Bull.

Dorian looked narrowly at him. “You had a man watching me, didn’t you?”

“What, me?” said the Bull. “I’m awfully trusting.”

“No, it’s a relief,” Dorian said. “I was wondering if you were a simpleton.”

“My boys can handle themselves,” said the Bull. “Rocky never farts in his sleep.”

“How could you possibly know that?”

The Bull only shrugged, then shouted for Skinner to stop poking at the prisoners with her knives. By the time he had that all sorted out, Dorian had gone.

A shame, the Bull thought. They could always use another able body. Thinking a little too much about his able body, thought the Bull. Ah, well.

“I know that look,” said Krem, breaking away from conference with some of the greener recruits. “Just check that they’re married before you fuck 'em this time. Or that their spouse is into cuckolding. I like this town. I don’t want soldiers with long pikes chasing us out.”

“One time, Krem,” said the Bull, injured. “And hey. How was I to know what married meant?”

“You thought it was a food, didn’t you?”

“Well,” the Bull said, “he sure as shitting gave me a lot to eat.”

“I hope Andraste smites you,” said Krem. “I’m set to inherit the company, aye?”

“Keep your mouth flapping, and I’ll start looking at Stitches,” said the Bull. “All right, let’s round 'em up. Daddy feels like getting paid.”

“Don’t call yourself daddy,” said Krem. “That’s not what daddy means.”

“Start reeling in the line,” the Bull shouted, and they went to town.

<center>*</center>

A week of leave sounded a fair reward for a simple job with a high bounty. The constabulary had proved so grateful they’d added three nights free lodging and free drinks at the town’s two taverns, at the behest of the tavern’s keepers. The Bull figured they’d yank the last two nights from the tab once they saw the damage the Chargers could do to a keg, but you took what you could get.

He was on his fourth tankard of good ale when Dorian found him again. A hand touched his arm briefly, beneath the scratch, and the Bull turned as Dorian, no longer touching him, sat at the bar.

“Hey, there you are,” said the Bull. “And in new leathers, too.”

These were better suited for the road, tough rather than fine. Dorian said, “It seemed the appropriate choice. For the time being. How do I look?”

“Like shit,” the Bull said, and Dorian snorted. “But I bet under all those bruises you look something sweet.”

“Sweet, I’ve not heard,” Dorian said, “and I’m not sure I care for the taste of it,” but he sounded pleased.

“I never did thank you for helping me.”

The Bull demurred. “Wasn’t just me.”

The tavern’s light was dim and smoky. Long shadows moved through the air, silhouettes that walked laughingly across the bar, across the thick bones of Dorian’s face. Even with the bruises he looked like something the Bull wanted on his tongue.

Dorian blinked slowly, his lashes falling then rising half-mast. It was a calculated move, only slightly hampered by the swelling of his blackened eye. The Bull found he admired him for the calculation.

“So,” said Dorian.

“So,” the Bull agreed.

Dorian ran his fingertips along the bar’s edge. He had worn lines at the bases of his fingers, spots where he would have worn rings till the bandits had taken them, or he’d sold them for coin.

“What do you charge for escorting a poor traveler to safe harbor?”

“Told you, it’s on the house,” said the Bull. “Besides, it probably cost you some sovereigns, taking out a room with my boys claiming most of 'em.”

A cunning smile like silver darted across Dorian’s bruised mouth. “Oh, but I’m one of your boys. So far as the town is concerned.”

“That so.” Again, he charmed the Bull.

“Only for the night, of course,” said Dorian. “I must be on my way in the morning.”

“Well, that’s a shame,” the Bull said. “You look like you could hold on your own.”

He slid his tankard to Dorian, who took it in hand to drink from it. The ale left a sheen on his lips. Dorian licked them. His fingers were thick, long, artfully curved about the mug.

He looked at the Bull.

“Why did you help me?”

“You needed helping,” said the Bull.

“And that’s all,” said Dorian.

“Don’t sound so surprised,” the Bull said. “Nobody’s ever been kind to you before?”

Dorian looked at him. He licked his lips again. He touched the tankard; he drew his hand away. He stood from the stool. His shadow fell along the Bull, to touch his chest, his throat, his face as he looked up at Dorian.

“I think,” said Dorian, “that I’d like to be kind to you.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” said the Bull.

“No,” said Dorian, who had fled Tevinter only recently, for his own reasons the Bull would not ask. A smile curved the corner of his mouth. He’d groomed his mustache to a wicked twist. Now his smile mirrored it. “But I’d like to take it anyway.”

How could the Bull say no to that?

<center>*</center>

Sex was easy when you knew what to do, and you had a sturdy bed to do it on. He asked Dorian and Dorian asked for the Bull’s cock rubbed between his ass cheeks. The Bull obliged. Cock in had never been a necessity, and oh, shit, the view. The Bull squeezed a cheek in each hand and rocked his hips forward.

Dorian said, “For god’s sake, harder,” and the Bull let go of one side of his ass to slap it. Dorian swore.

“Hard, that’s how you like it?”

“Obviously!” said Dorian, ass up, a hand between his legs to fondle his own balls. “Or else I wouldn’t have said so!”

“Can’t go too hard,” said the Bull. Idly he smacked Dorian’s ass again. Dorian jumped. His back undulated a moment. “Don’t want to break you, big guy.”

Some people liked that, the thought of breaking. Dorian flared hotter.

“You could certainly try,” he snapped. “But I don’t think you’re trying at all.”

“You always smart off this much when a guy’s fucking you?”

“Oh, but you aren’t fucking me,” said Dorian. He glanced over his shoulder and smiled, lean and crafty. “But you wish you were.”

“That your game?”

The Bull pulled back, smacked Dorian’s ass hard to see him jiggle and then the muscles clench, and shoved forward harder now, his fat cock pushing between those fat cheeks.

“You want to make me mad so I’ll take it.”

Dorian’s breath caught. His shoulder rocked with the movement of his hand, now squeezing and tugging at his own prick.

“But I’m not going to do it,” said the Bull. “Not unless you ask me for it. You want to ask me, Dorian? Ask me.” He punctuated it with light slaps to his ass, alternating sides then squeezing gently as he continued to rock. Dorian’s skin was soft around his cock, and hot, and the muscles tensed then eased then tensed again.

Mutinously Dorian turned his face to the sheets. His hips were beginning to twist now, drawing tight circles in the air as he fucked his hand. Yeah, that hand, thought the Bull. He remembered the calluses, the particular lines they followed. Strong and rough on the Bull’s chest.

“I’ll tell you what I’m going to do.”

“Talk all night?”

“I’m going to fuck you like this,” said the Bull, “till I come on your ass. And then I’m going to lick it off you–” Dorian’s breath was catching. “–turn you over, suck your cock down–”

Dorian’s hips jerked, and the Bull left off his ass to grab his hips and hold him still to slide his dick over that tight asshole.

“You’d do that, would you?” Dorian managed. “Suck my cock? On your knees?”

The Bull hummed, pleased by the thought. “I bet you taste good, Dorian. Bet you scream when I get my tongue under your skin.”

“Do you have–any concept how filthy–”

“Oh, babe,” said the Bull, “I wanna eat you out,” and Dorian said, “Andraste, holy above others–why don’t I fuck you?”

“Why don’t you?” the Bull countered, and he reached to squeeze his own tightened balls so he spilled white and thick over Dorian’s asshole.

Dorian’s cock, it proved, was as delicious as the Bull hoped. He tongued the foreskin down the shaft, swallowed the fat, dark head. It felt even better in his ass, Dorian’s balls slapping against the Bull as he fucked him.

“C'mon, big guy, that’s it,” said the Bull. “Fuck me. Yeah. You wanted it hard so do it harder. Come on!”

Sweat, clinging to the black hair curled across Dorian’s chest. His throat arched. His head fell back. Boots, set neatly by the door, clothes dropped along the floor. Bruises marked Dorian’s arms where he’d taken a few blows. The Bull thought of the fair few bandits they’d found already dead, skin burnt.

Dorian fucked deep inside the Bull, the crook of his dick rubbing sweetly against the Bull’s gland. The Bull groaned.

“Oh, yes,” groaned Dorian too; that was all he said.

In this act, it seemed, he could not speak. He bit his lip. His throat worked, muscles dragging beneath the skin. The Bull wanted to pin Dorian’s legs up over his horns and suck his cock again. Heat moved in the Bull’s belly. His cock ached. He imagined Dorian, bound in rope. How he’d flutter his eyelashes and smirk at the Bull, as if the Bull were bound and not he.

At the very last Dorian came, ticking hotly within the Bull. The Bull pushed Dorian, gasping, sweated, beautiful in his breathing, to his back and bent to clean his cock.

“Oh, don’t,” said Dorian, “that was–just inside–” and he sighed deeply as the Bull stroked his hands up Dorian’s chest.

“You’re hard again.”

“Don’t worry about me,” said the Bull.

“Mm,” said Dorian. His eyes had closed. His arms stretched, fingers curling against the wall. “Do you know? What I’d like most?”

The Bull, hard and throbbing, licked gently at Dorian’s balls. “Tell me.”

Dorian was smiling beatifically at the ceiling. “On my face. All over my face.”

“Got it,” said the Bull. He rose to give him it. Dorian was still smiling as the Bull grunted and came across his darkened lips, his nose, the battered lines of his brow. Dorian licked at his lips. Come smeared his tongue. The Bull managed a final weak line of it, white upon Dorian’s teeth then mustache.

Dorian’s lashes rose. The bruised eye glimmered.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

The Bull bent to kiss him. The tips of his horns scraped along the wall. Dorian turned his hands so his fingers curled instead up the Bull’s horns. Downstairs the Chargers were singing the anthem. The Bull pulled Dorian closer. Dorian said, “I,” and the Bull kissed him again, and that was the last of it.

Easy, yes, if you knew what to do.

<center>*</center>

In the morning the Bull woke alone. He’d expected that. He stretched and got out of bed to piss, and on his way from the pot to the bowl of washwater, he stepped on a square of cloth. A handkerchief, linen. Someone had embroidered the initials DLLP in each corner, in a steady, elegant hand that leaned left.

The Bull considered it. In the end he folded it in quarters and pocketed it. As a joke he thought if he should meet Dorian on the road, he’d return the token and thank him for the thought. Then he put Dorian from his mind and went downstairs to see about breakfast.

A small group of the Chargers had risen early, too. They applauded him in his descent of the stairs.

“Congratulations on the sex,” said Grugg.

“Aw, you shouldn’t have,” said the Bull.

“Hope they weren’t married.”

“I didn’t ask,” the Bull said. He scratched absently at his arm. He thought of the handkerchief in his pocket and of wrapping it about his arm, but he imagined Dorian would complain about the blood.

“It was the shem wasn’t it,” said Skinner. Dalish, face-down on the table beside her, began to sing in a high, sweet voice.

“Not the 'vint,” said Rocky. “He farted all night!”

“What can I say,” the Bull said as he took Dalish’s plate of cooling pancakes as his own. “I’m all about bringing people together. What’s she singing?”

“Don’t look at me,” said Rocky. The Bull looked at Skinner.

“Shems in trees,” said Skinner. She shrugged.

Dalish broke off to say, “My mother used to sing it.”

“Your mother used to sing about shems in trees?”

“No, I think they were birds,” said Dalish. “But the chief didn’t lie down with a bird.”

“He sang like one,” said the Bull.

“Ugh,” said Grugg, “I’m done eating. Here’s the sausages, chief.”

“You’re all right, Grugg,” said the Bull, and he ate his breakfast.

He didn’t forget Dorian, precisely, but he was only a traveler that Bull had met on the road. He did use the handkerchief after a while, to staunch a shallow gouge in his thigh, then when he had that cold in Antiva. The handkerchief, folded neatly in his pocket, was somewhat the worse for wear that night in Redcliffe when Aginas pulled open a door to the chantry.

The mage standing before the rift said, “Iron Bull!” in surprise.

“Aw,” said the Bull, “you remember me.”