#seeing this had me very fucking emotional

[katsulina]

feel me on your lips - k.bakugou

you and katsuki are both unfamiliar with relationships, and unsure of how to initiate anything romantic, so of course you don't know what you're supposed to do when you wanna kiss someone till you can't breathe wc: 1,462 a/n: i used to write little oneshots like this but its been a while so please be nice! also wrote this in one sitting to hopefully break out of my writers block and i had sm fun doing it! (i actually got a bit carried away) warnings: katsuki bakugou x reader, first kiss, first relationship, katsuki and reader are a bit emotionally constipated, very cute, very sweet, very innocent, wrote with fem!reader in mind but (i think) can be read as gn!reader too (although if you see any gender specific terms lmk)

navigation masterlist smau/text requests open only!

if there was anything katsuki was clueless about, it was relationships. he’s always prided himself on being great at everything, but when it came to his relationship with you, for the first time in his life he didn’t know what he was doing.

at first, you two didn’t do much other than hold hands. and even that was rare. there was an underlying tension in the air whenever you two hung out; you were both scared. scared to make the first move, scared of doing something wrong, scared of fucking everything up.

it was just new. don’t get me wrong, katsuki new you well. he became your boyfriend in the first place because he knew you so well and loved everything about you. even if it took him some time to figure that out, especially with him being unfamiliar with the feeling of a crush mixed with a whole lot of denial and emotional constipation.

but it was a big change and both of your first relationships. neither of you knew how to initiate a touch or a kiss.

it took about a month into your relationship to slowly ease into these things, after a painfully raw and vulnerable conversation about how both of you were clueless when it comes to relationships.

it started with a lean on his shoulder on a certain movie night, to which he tensed up and you were sat with your heart pounding with nerves.

then he started putting an arm around your shoulder when you were sitting in bed together.

eventually you also noticed how he also started ruffling your hair, poking your cheek, and playfully punching your arm. all to tease you, he said. but you knew they were just excuses to touch you.

you guys started to hug more often, his hands on your waist and yours around his shoulders. your legs would touch under the table and neither would awkwardly pull away, but rather leave them where they are, especially when katsuki got comfortable enough to place his hand on your thigh.

it got to where he could hold you when you were both sleeping, and it felt natural. the butterflies were still there, but the fear and hesitation left a long time ago.

but you both craved more. all you both wanted was a kiss.

you both held these feelings, that much was obvious, but neither was brave enough to make a move.

that was until you came to katsuki room one particular friday evening, planning to stay the night. everything went how it always did. you were greeted with a “hey” and a hug, then pulled into his bed for a cozy movie night just like you did every week.

little did you know, it would be different this time.

you had your head resting on katsuki shoulder and a hand on his chest, while one of his hands was on your waist and the other behind his head.

his laptop played a movie you didn’t care much about, not when you had the lullaby of his heartbeat slowly pulling you into a slumber, which katsuki noticed quickly. of course.

“you falling asleep on me??” he whispered, a slight rasp still in his voice, to which you could only hum softly in response.

it didn’t help when his hand moved from your waist to your hair, feeling yourself slip in and out of sleep. but you didn’t want to fall asleep yet. you wanted to spend more time with him.

so, you lifted your heavy head up to meet his gaze with your own tired one. your eyes were half lidded and you wore a shy yet genuine smile on your face. you looked up at him like he was your whole world, and he was just grateful that your head wasn’t on his chest anymore so that you wouldn’t be able to hear how his heart skipped a beat the second you met his eyes.

you still make his nervous, huh.

“go to sleep” it was both a gentle order from him to you as well as an excuse to avert his eyes from yours as he turned you both so you were lying on your sides facing eachother. of course, he was met with a complaint that:

“i don’t want to sleep yet” and “i want to spend more time with you” but all those protests fell deaf on his ears as he closed his laptop and set it aside on his bedside table before turning his lamp off.

now, only to moonlight illuminated the room, and he almost wished it didn’t, because when he lied down and turned to face you, he saw just how beautiful every part of you was.

the look in your eyes displayed only love for him, and the reflection of the glowing moon made it look like there were stars in your eyes. your smile was pure, tired, but pure. like all your energy was pouring into it. it was involuntary. uncontrolled. it wasn’t a forced smile. it wasn’t fake. you were smiling at him because you just couldn’t help it.

you radiated your love for him in this moment. you were beautiful inside and out. and he couldn’t look away.

when you blinked, fighting your slumber, your eyelashes fluttered his way and he couldn’t help but imagine how they’ed feel on his cheek after stealing your lips. and just like that, it was all he could think about.

he found himself in this predicament a little too often. he wanted to kiss you, but he just couldn’t do it. he wasn’t used to this hesitation and self doubt. so he got lost in his thoughts. so much so, that your eyes finally shut, giving in to sleep.

no. he wasn’t going to miss his chance again.

and before he could even think about it, his lips parted and whispered your name with urgency, calling out to you in desperation.

your eyes opened up again, and all of a sudden it hit him just how close the two of you were.

“yes?” you mumbled, your voice sleep laced. when he stared at you with no reply, you only questioned further, slightly worried,

“katsuki..?”

it didn’t take long after that for him to lean closer, eyes focused on your lips, and you knew it was about to happen.

only a moment before your lips touched, he paused, his breath hitching, and looked back into your eyes, searching for confirmation. when his eyes met yours, he was certain he’s never seen less doubt in someone’s gaze than in yours right this moment. so he took this sign you gave him, and closed the gap between the two of you.

it was all that he imagined, no, it exceeded any expectation he had brewed up in his head on those sleepless night when you were all he could think about.

your lips danced a slow harmonious rhythm together, and it was clear you wanted this just as much as he did.

it was soft, but desperate. gentle and non urgent, as if you both had all the time in the world to savour each others lips. and oh how you both wished that was the reality. how you two wished you could relive this moment forever.

the butterflies in your stomachs, the haze clouding your minds, the focus of only each other. you’d both rather suffocate than to break free from the comforting and oh so addictive confines of each others lips.

but the reality was, you both needed air. desperately. and with both of you hating to pull away, you unfortunately had to. and when you did, the both of you were left panting softly, eyes closed, and minds still wrapping around what just happened.

you were the first to break the silence, with none other than a soft, breathless, laugh. pure and exhilarated, adrenaline pumping through your veins.

your laugh pulled him out of his haze, making him look up at you from where his eyes rested on your lips to meet your eyes. again with the way you look at him. like he was everything to you. and he was everything to you. and you were everything to him.

he couldn’t help the gentle smile that decorated his lips, and soon enough he let out a chuckle of his own, one of joy, but there was a hint of relief that could be heard. you were both relieved; the barriers were broken down, and in that moment, nothing else in the world mattered.

before he knew it you tucked your head into his chest. he didn’t even care that you could definitely hear his pounding heart, he just hoped, no, now he knew that yours was beating just as joyfully.

beating for him.

[esstrellaa123]

Saw a fic of crybaby!reader, and was like? My two sense????

Don’t ask how many words :>

Thinking of reader right, all silent for like… a week. Caught up in their head with God knows what, and boom. Sweet Simon finally cracks that fragile barrier you’ve put between the two of you

Because Lord knows Simon hates silence, especially from you. Talk to him, won’t you?

“You’ve yet to speak.” He says blankly, prompting you as he watches you intently like he might be able to see into your very soul. He’s done it before, but now you’re just being difficult >:(

“I’m coloring.” You say just as blank, devoid of the emotion he usually enjoyed. The sun to his world was going dark and he’d do anything to clear those clouds away. Anything. Even if it burned him.

“I like it when you talk.” He tries, arms crossed. Defensive, and unamused by your lack of enthusiasm.

“Not in the mood to.” You all but snap, getting annoyed with him. You let out a harsh huff, coloring a little too hard. Now your drawing was ruined because the pressure changed the color. Everything was fucked. Fuck this.

You tear the page out unceremoniously, tossing it carelessly to the trash before getting overwhelmed with having to start another complex piece. You couldn’t do anything about it now, your old piece was in the trash and-

“Why’re you touching me?” You snap again, jerking away from his hands.

“Alright. What the fuck?” He finally says. Maybe he was more upset at your reaction towards him than you. Either way, he’s getting to the bottom of what he thought was pure and complete bullshit.

“What do you mean ‘what the fuck?’ I don’t want you touching me.” You say, face to face. More like chest to face, but who’s counting the inches? (YES IM AMERICAN)

Okay, ouch. “I’m trynna help here!” He grumbles back down at you.

“I don’t want your stupid help.” You say back, abandoning your art and going to the room. The bang of the door reaches his ears louder than he liked.

“Fucking bullshit. Fucking women.” He grumbles, going out to the porch to smoke.

He’s unhappy. Very exasperated and wanting to break some shit. But he’s better. He got better for you.

He finishes his smoke, somewhat calmed. Maybe you were hungry. Had you had water?

“I don’t want-” you start up but he’s having none of it. Not when his patience is spread thin and he’d really like to spread you open. So be cooperative.

“Nah, shut- shut up.” He cuts you off, setting the tray of food down on the bed. Fruits, peanut butter, chocolate, and some water. “Eat.” He says, sliding under you.

“‘M not hungry.” You say, crossing your arms.

…..

You sit in his lap, being hand fed as you watch your Law and Order. “Water.” He instructs, watching you take a sip before opening your mouth for another strawberry. He delivers.

You’re more responsive now. He’s appreciative of that. But food wasn’t the root of this problem. Neither was water. Something else was bothering you.

“Feel better?” He asks, letting you curl up on his side, using him for all his warmth and comfort.

You nod into the crook of his neck, finding comfort in his tone and smell. “Feel better.” You confirm.

“Wanna tell me what’s goin’ on?” He finally questions.

“Nothin’s goin’ on.” You huff.

“Don’t huff at me.” He says, flicking your forehead. He let you get away with that shit this morning. There would not be a repeat.

“Just wanna relax.” You breathe, turning over.

“You’ll relax when you get it off your chest.” He turns over, curling around you like heat does a fire. Like it’s natural to be enveloped by a certified heater, it’s second nature.

You can’t help but lean in, scooting back, pulling his arms closer. “Just tired.”

“Tired of what?” He pushes.

“Life.” You mumble, the tears welling. You didn’t like thinking like this, but it plagues you. Sneaks and floods into your day. Your smile dropping too quickly for your own liking. You just wanted to curl up, sleep, and stay in your dreams.

He only hugs you closer. He doesn’t move as you shift, your face pressed firmly into his chest as the tears finally fall.

“I got ya. Si’s got ya.” He mumbles lovingly, rubbing your back, pulling you impossibly closer as you cling to his back. “Tell me what you need, hm?” He suggests, letting you nuzzle into his warmth even more.

“You.” You reply simply. There’s nothing you want or love more than lying in bed with him. You’d stay there, keep him there, even if you had to tie him down, but ultimately knew you wouldn’t, because he’d stay if you asked.

He hummed, low. You almost missed it, and he just holds you, keeping you close.

He’d be there in the morning, letting you cry on his shoulder again if you needed. He’d kiss all your tears away, kiss your tension away. It eased his, made him feel better, let him relax. He’d be your safe space if you promised to be his….

[sminny-wew]

I've been thinking about how differently Agent Stone looks at Eggman vs. how Dr. Starline looks at Eggman. They both love him, but in very different ways.

Starline started out as a huge fanboy, aiming to turn his parasocial relationship with the doctor into an interpersonal one. He built up this ideal in his head of what he thought Eggman was like, based on outside observations. And once he began working directly with Eggman and got to see for himself that the man wasn't everything he envisioned, that disappointment crushed him. He became obsessed with proving to Eggman that he was doing the whole "villain" thing all wrong. You don't do it like this, you do it like that, and to prove that my way is the right way I'm going to conquer the world first and let you stand by my side. Surely you'll realize I was right all along and thank me for my help and this won't blow up in my face at all.

Stone, on the other hand, knows exactly what Eggman is like from having worked under him for a while. He does not care about how "problematic" Eggman is, even when he maybe should; he is 100% ride-or-die for that man, warts and all. And he's not clueless about his position as an underling, either; the Sonic 2 Pre-Quill tie-in comic shows that he can be just as ruthless and cunning as Eggman if he wants. Unlike Starline, Stone has no desire to conquer the world himself, though he absolutely could if he wanted to; he just wants to be part of the doctor's conquest, no matter how big or small that part may be. Ironically enough, by being his sycophant, Agent Stone brings out Dr. Eggman's humanity. Stone loves Eggman unconditionally when unconditional love is something Eggman's never had. Stone gave him a human connection at a time when Eggman believed humanity wasn't worth connecting with; and yet, when Eggman was so desperate for companionship while stuck on the mushroom planet that he put a face on a rock, he didn't call it Agent Boulder, he called it Stone. And in the third movie, he (apparently) died realizing that for all the trouble he went to to seek his grandfather's approval, he already had someone by his side this entire time, someone who never willingly left him in spite of all the mistreatment at his hands.

Eggman is such an interesting and compelling villain to me (specifically in the games and comics and movies) because underneath all the grandiose schemes to take over the world, he's still so painfully human. He admires his grandfather, he envies his cousin, and he got so attached to the AI he created that she wound up becoming a daughter to him. He wants attention, respect, recognition. He can be a caring father (Sage) and a deadbeat dad (Belle) at the same time. He's so goddamn multifaceted and I fucking love it.

I once read a really great post that essentially said Eggman is a right-brained villain (creative, emotional) while Starline is a left-brained villain (calculative, logical) and I've never stopped thinking about it because it's true.

(Btw I'm not trying to say that any of this makes Stone "better" than Starline as a villain/love interest, I'm just pointing out how differently they approach their affection for Eggman and how differently he responds to both of them.)

[amen-to-tiddies]

Trouble Double in Paradise - Part one

Soft Dom Top SAN & Dom Top BM x Sub Reader (3,600 Words) Reader Speaking = Orange BM Speaking = Blue San Speaking = Pink

List of the fun stuff: Double penetration, Tag Teaming, Spit Roasting, Throat fucking, Rough/Hard sex, Phone sex, Praise/Degrading, Caught, Manhandling, Size Difference, Dumbification, Oral Fixation, fingering, Overwhelming pleasure used as interrogation, Reader very often gets called "puppy", "puppyboy" "pup" etc, Not really Petplay though, Slight Humiliation (mostly in the form of degrading), Bad cop BM Good cop SAN dynamic, Passionate kissing (San & BM Make out)

The bedroom was dimly lit, the only source of light being your phone screen as it was resting on your pillow next to you. Your hand was wrapped around your aching cock, slick and pulsing in your hand as San’s voice purred through the speaker again. His tone was rich, sexy, fucking addicting. the kind of voice that could get you all hot and bothered in just a few words.

“Bet you’re so fucking hard right now, huh?” he spoke, the sound of his own slick-wet strokes clearly audible, “All worked up ‘cause of me? Sucha good boy… letting me get you all stupid with just my voice.”

A shiver ran down your spine, your hips bucking up into you fist instinctively as his words settled into your head making you dizzy. “San-” you gasped, his name breaking off into a moan as you squeezed the base of your cock, trying to hold off your orgasm just a little longer.

San let out a deep chuckle, the sound sending a fresh wave of arousal coursing through you. “Oh, baby… you sound so fucking pretty. You gonna cum for me? Gonna make a mess all over yourself?” His breath was hastening, you could tell he was close too. “Wish I could see you… all fucked out and needy. Come over next time baby.. please, I’ll have you on your knees for me, begging for my cock like the desperate little boy you are.”

You whined, head falling back against the pillow, your were on the verge of breaking. The world outside of this moment was completely forgotten to your dumb mind, drowned out by the filth spilling from San’s mouth and the feeling of an orgasm quickly building.

But just then...

The sound of the footsteps quickly climbing up the stairs.

Your breath stopped, panic shooting through you as you scrambled to end the call. SHIT wrong button, you had only muted yourself and It was too late to try hang up now. The door flew open. There stood Matthew your giant 6 foot 1 boyfriend built like a beast and panting like one, leaning up against the doorframe with a genuine look of concern on his face. "Jesus baby, are you ok? i heard some weird noises coming from-" "Fuck puppy did you cum already?" The phone screen lit up as san cooed his little praise.

BM knew exactly who you were talking to the moment he heard that voice.

“What the fuck. Are you fucking kidding me?" BM’s voice was sharp. Your heart dropped, you were burning with shame as you scrambled around the bed trying to gather your clothes.

BM just stood there, but by god, even stood motionless you could tell he was fucking livid.

In that moment a heap of emotions came rushing to him possessiveness, jealousy, and also... the unshakable need to remind you exactly who you belonged to.

He stepped forward, jaw clenched tight as his gaze flickered to the phone still on the bed, San’s name was still glowing on the screen.

BM’s lips curled into a smirk, there seemed to be some kind of humor in it for him, like it was some kinda game, a prank you were playing. “So that’s how you wanna play, huh?” he said, stepping closer, his hands already working at his belt. “You wanna get off to someone else’s voice? Wanna act like I’m not the one who's name you scream every night huh? fuckin 'puppy'?! is that the shit you're into now?”

Your pulse pounded in your ears, your mind scrambling for an excuse, anything to defuse the situation.

BM didn’t give you the chance. He yanked you forward, flipping you onto your stomach with ease. He kicked his jeans off, the sound of his metallic belt hitting the floor making your heart race/

He then shoved you right down onto your stomach, his large hands gripping your hips to keep you in place. one of BM's hands shot next to your head, grabbing the phone, he hung up.

BM proceeded by throwing the phone to the side and sliding his fingers in-between your parted lips, pressing them down on your tongue. “That’s it,” he murmured, watching your mouth eagerly suck and coat them in slick warmth. “Such a fucking slut, always so desperate to have something in your mouth, huh?” He pulled them free with a wet pop.

You felt his wet fingers trailing down your spine until they were right above your hole. His touch was torturously teasing as he traced the rim before pushing a finger inside, he was so fucking slow and deliberate. You gasped, hips jerking at the intrusion, but BM held you down with his free hand, keeping you still.

“Look at you, already so fucking open for me,” he muttered, curling his finger just right, pressing against that sweet spot inside you “Did he have you touching yourself like this? Stuffing yourself full of your own fingers, wishing it was his cock?”

Your face burned, but BM didn’t stop. A second finger joined the first, stretching you, scissoring inside as he hummed in approval. “Bet you let him say all sorts of nasty shit to you, didn’t you?”

You whined, trying to bury your face in the sheets, but BM wasn’t having it. His hand moved to your hip, landing a sharp slap against your ass that made you jolt. “Answer me.”

“Y- yes,” you stammered, voice muffled. “He… he talks dirty.”

BM’s fingers twisted inside you, making your back arch. “Yeah? What does he say?”

You hesitated, your face and chest turning red, but the way BM was working you open had you too fucked-out already to think straight. Every push of his fingers against your prostate made your walls clench around them, made your mouth part in another pathetic breathless little whimper. You couldn't hold back.

“H-he calls me pretty,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

BM hummed, fingers pressing deeper, slower. “Yeah? What else?”

Your thighs trembled. “Tells me I sound good for him…”

BM clicked his tongue, unimpressed. “That’s all?”

Your breath stuttered. Your mind was hazy, but BM wasn’t going to let you get away with obvious half-truths. His fingers curled inside you again, grinding against that sweet spot until you were fucking losing it. Your back was arched, hips pushing back instinctively.

“Fuck- okay! He- ah- he tells me to beg for him.”

BM’s hand landed sharply against your ass again, making you yelp. “C'mon, Beg for what baby? What do you say to him?”

Your tongue darted out to wet your lips, your throat dry from panting. “I… I beg for him to let me cum to his voice,” you confessed “To let me choke on him when we meet"

BM groaned at that, his cock twitching against your thigh. But he wasn’t satisfied. He wanted more.

“What else?” he pressed, fingers pumping faster, making you shake beneath him.

Your stomach clenched. You were feeling intense shame, but your body kept betraying you, tightening around BM’s fingers, practically begging him for more. “He- he makes me touch myself while calling me names,” you admitted, biting down on your lip. “Tells me I’m his needy little thing, his filthy fucktoy, his perfect hole.”

BM exhaled harshly through his nose. “Jesus,” he muttered, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. His fingers slowed, teasing now, and it only made your desperation worse.

“And?” he prompted.

You swallowed, eyes fluttering shut. “He makes me spit on my cock, Tells me to fuck my fist like it’s his dick I'm stroking.. to hump my pillow like a stupid, desperate slut. Makes me send him videos- fuck- makes me edge myself ‘til I’m crying.”

BM paused and then let out chuckle, fingers still inside you. His free hand moved up to tangle in your hair, yanking your head back just enough for his lips to graze your ear.

“That so?” he murmured. “And did you listen, 'puppy'?

A whimper spilled from your lips before you could stop it. BM smirked.

“Yeah,” he found this very ammusing. “You did, didn’t you?”

BM added a third finger with no warning. You gasped, your body tensing at the added stretch, but he didn’t let up. “You like begging, huh? Is that why you sound so needy right now? Want him to fuck you so bad you’ll say anything he wants?”

You bit your lip again, nodding frantically. BM withdrew his fingers slowly, making you whimper at the sudden emptiness.

“Call him back.”

Your brows furrowed. “W- what?”

“Call. Him. Back,” he repeated, voice authoritative. “Let him hear how you sound when you're actually fucked”

Your fingers trembled as you reached for the phone, unlocking it with a swipe. The moment you hit the call button, BM’s hands were on you, spreading you open as he lined himself up. The dial tone rang once- twice

Then San picked up.

“Missed me already, baby?” His voice was smug as usual “What happened earlier handsome? You just hung up on me and-.” His voice faltered, suddenly registering the muffled sounds in the background- the heavy breathing, the slick, obscene noises, the sharp gasp that escaped your lips as BM sank into you in one deep, claiming thrust.

A beat of silence.

“…Shit”

BM smirked, grabbing the phone off of you bed and pressing it to his own ear, his other hand gripping your waist as he dragged his cock out, only to slam back in, knocking the breath from your lungs.

“C’mon over, Sannie,” BM rasped, voice thick with amusement. “This is your chance. I wanna show you how you really pleasure a lil’ slut.” He pulled your hips back roughly, angling his thrusts so perfectly that your moans became outright pornographic.

BM also started to let out over-the-top moans as he started rolling his hips deeper, watching you fall apart in his hands. “Better- ah- be quick, though- fuck-,” he added, voice purposefully stuttered with low, heavy groaning. “He might already be fucked-out by the time you get here.”

San’s breath was harsh on the other end of the line, it didn’t take long for him to speak. His voice dropped low “You really think I’m gonna let you have all the fun?” “Keep him nice and warmed up for me- I’m on my way.”

BM was pleased, tossing he phone onto the bed. His grip on your waist tightened as he picked up the pace, each deep thrust sending sparks up your spine. “You hear that, baby? You’re in for a long night.”

Time blurred after that. Your body trembled under BM’s relentless pace, the room filled with the sound of his balls and crotch slapping against your ass over and over. Your own breathless whimpers mixing with his low groans.

You were already beyond being on the edge, you were practically teetering on exhaustion by now, when the bedroom door slammed open.

San stood in the doorway, chest rising and falling rapidly, eyes locked onto you- flushed, wrecked, struggling to hold yourself up under BM’s weight. His tongue darted out to wet his lips. “Shit…”

BM slowed just enough to glance over his shoulder. His look was practically a challenge. “Took you long enough.” He pulled out, flipping you onto your back with ease. “C’mon then, let’s see what you got.”

San wasted no time. He was on you in seconds, his touch was so different from BM’s- it really was soothing where BM's felt punishing, His fingers traced over your burning skin, his lips pressing soft, teasing kisses along your neck and jaw. “You doing okay, baby?” he murmured, brushing sweaty strands of hair from your face.

Before you could answer, BM scoffed. “Oh, don’t go all soft on him now. He likes it rough, don’t you, puppy boy?” His hand wrapped around your throat, tilting your head up until you had no choice but to meet his gaze.

BM let out a sharp laugh as he caught your cock twitching against your stomach in the corner of his eye. Both of the men started glancing down just in time to see your tip drool, a fresh little puddle forming. “Oh, fuck- did you just leak all over yourself from that?”

His grip on your throat tightened, just enough to make your breath stutter. “Jesus. That’s all it takes? One little nickname and you’re already making a mess?” His tone mocking eyes flicking between your flushed face and your twitching cock.

San smirked, blood rushing to his now semi-hard cock. “It's his magic word”

BM’s lips curled into a devilish grin as he looked down at you, completely and utterly submissive beneath him. “That right, pup?” He dragged the words out slowly, purposefully, watching as another bead of pre-cum welled at the tip of your cock. He let out a dramatic scoff, his head shaking side to side. “Pathetic. Fucking pathetic.”

San, whistled lowly. “Damn, baby. You really do love it, huh? All it takes is one little ‘puppy boy’ and you start leaking like a desperate bitch in heat. I mean I knew it got you all hot over the phone but I never realized it actually drove you this crazy” He cocked his head at BM, stupidly giggling like a teenage girl. “This is the best shit I’ve ever seen.”

BM clicked his tongue, fingers moving around your jaw, adjusting you gaze up to san who was still towering over you. “Go on, pup,” he cooed mockingly, thumbing at your spit-slick lips. "Thank San for teaching me that new word”

San climbed off you and sat back onto the mattress, spreading his legs in that cocky, confident way that made your stomach flip. He didn’t say a word- just gave you a knowing look, tilting his chin ever so slightly. Fuck.

“C’mon, baby.” His voice was all smooth and innocent. Coaxing you over. “Show me how much you appreciate me.”

Your hand trembled, reaching for the waistband of his sweats. Slowly, carefully, you peeled them down, eyes fluttering at the way his cock twitched, slapping against his abs- it was so thick, already glistening at the tip. You swallowed, hands ghosting up his thighs, taking in every inch of his beautiful, sculpted body.

“Fuck… you’re so perfect,” you murmured, voice still barely above a whisper as you dipped your head down, placing soft kisses along the sharp cut of his hip bone.

San hummed in approval, his fingers threading gently through your hair, encouraging you. But just as you started trailing your lips lower, savoring the feeling of his warm skin under your tongue-

SMACK.

A sharp slap landed on your ass, jolting you forward.

“None of that slow teasin' shit,” BM’s voice was a low and commanding. “You know damn well how to worship a cock properly. Get to it.”

You gasped, blinking up at San in wide-eyed desperation. He shot BM a glare, fingers tightening in your hair protectively. “Hyung-seriously?”

BM only scoffed again, he was now standing next to the bed, just right behind you “What? You know I’m the one in charge here.” His eyes flicked down to you “And he knows better than to make me wait.”

San rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, he sighed, bringing his gaze back down to you. “Ignore him, baby- you're doing such a good-”

BM cut him off with a laugh. “Like hell he will.”

You decided to not take your chances getting your already sore, red, ass getting slapped again, but just as your lips wrapped around the head of San’s cock something caught you by surprise..

BM had moved closer and he had now reached for San, grabbing the back of his neck and yanking him in, crushing their lips together in a rough, dizzying kiss.

San let out a muffled noise of surprise- half protest, half pleasure- but BM didn’t give him a chance to react. His tongue forced its way into San’s mouth, claiming him.

It was fucking filthy.

The way BM groaned into San's mouth, the way San’s moans spilled right against BM’s tounge, they were kissing like they were starving for each other.

The sight almost made you cum on the spot. You whined around San’s cock, the vibrations making him shudder. His fingers tightened in your hair as he melted into the kiss.

San suddenly gasped for breath as BM pulled back. His lips were slick with saliva, His chest rose and fell in heavy pants as he hovered over San- eyes half-lidded. It was clear he wasn't gonna wait long before diving back in

“Fuck,” BM murmured, “You don't understand how long I've been waiting to do that shi-"

San was already leaking, his hips jerking up involuntarily, pushing his cock deeper into your mouth. He let out a breathless, shaky laugh looking up at BM. “Shit… that was so fucking hot,” he muttered, his head falling tilting back. His fingers twitched in your hair, hips jerking up involuntarily as you swallowed him deeper.

BM smirked, his thumb swiping over San’s spit-slick lips. “Yeah? Would’ve done it a hell of a lot sooner if I knew you were a fuckin' fag too.” His voice was low, teasing, but there was certainly a rough edge to it.

San's lips parted like he was about to fire something back, but BM didn’t give him the chance- he was already diving back in.

And just like that, San was caught between the both of you, Every mouth was busy with one another's- San’s cock filling your throat while BM devoured his mouth, both of them completely lost in each other.

You instantly started leaking another wave of pre-cum. The way BM spoke to San. Fuck. You half-wished it was you, while thinking you had half forgotten you were meant to be 'thanking' San and you'd just been hovering your head over his aching cock for quite a while.

BM barely notices at first, too lost in the messy heat of San’s mouth, but then he opens his eyes and sees you sitting there like a little fucking idiot staring at them like you’re waiting for permission or something.

He pulls away from sans lips and quickly shoves the hand that was originally on san's jaw into your hair overtaking where San had been lightly holding you. He grips your hair, fingers tight at the roots, yanking you forward. The force drives you straight down. You instinctually open your mouth right before San’s cock was slamming into your throat in one brutal motion.

San moans like a filthy fuckin whore, the sound so desperate that bm even let out a little "fuck-" BM was getting achingly hard but don't get it twisted, his focus was all on you now-

One thing about BM is that he certainly doesn’t let up. He keeps his grip tight in your hair, starts using your head like a fleshlight on San’s cock, dragging you up only to push you right back down. He watches with a big fucking cocky smile on his face as San’s face twists, his lips parting in helpless gasps, his hands shaking on the matress where they held him up.

“See, you just can't hold back,” BM murmurs again, clearly amused by sans reaction to your throat. “He’s made for this.”He forces you down again to really punctuate his point.

San is spilling broken moans and then... his fingers finally grip your skull replacing BM's. San's big hands are now guiding you into a slow, steady rhythm. “Fuck, just like that, baby. That mouth- goddamn.”

BM, still looming beside you two had developed an absolutely shit eating grin watching you struggle to take all of San’s length. “Cmon now, bet you could go deeper then that,” his hand pressing against the back of your head. your throat clenching around San’s tip.

San let out a sharp hiss, his thighs tensing beneath you. “Fuck, Matt- I”

“What? don’t like seeing him like this?” "Getting his throat stretched out on your cock?”

San groaned, head falling back, his jaw clenching as he tried to keep control. “Nah, I fucking love it,” he muttered, breathless, his abs flexing as you swallowed around him again.

BM leaned in, whispering into San's ear. “Then let’s see how much he can really take.”

BM’s grip tightened on the back of your head, forcing you down right into San's clean shaven crotch, stuffing your mouth full of his now throbbing cock.

The sudden stretch had you gagging, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, but BM didn't give a fuck. He held you there, making you take it, making you feel every inch pulsing down your throat.

San cursed under his breath, his thighs trembling. His hands fisted in the sheets, his restraint barely hanging on. “Jesus Christ,” he groaned, voice wrecked. “He’s gonna make me- fuck.”

BM laughed, “Yeah? You gonna cum for him already?” He grinned, pressing a kiss to San’s neck. “Go on then. Give him his reward.”

San didn’t need to be told twice. His hips snapped up, his breath stuttering as he finally let go, spilling wave after wave of hot sticky cum down your throat with loud filthy broken moans to boot. His fingers trembled in your hair, his whole body going tense as pleasure crashed through him.

You swallowed around him, throat working while being coated, taking and swallowing every drop off cum he gave you. When he finally eased you off, you gasped for breath, lips slick, eyes glassy.

BM looked down at you, his thumb swiping up the mess on your chin and pushing it back in you mouth. "Shiii baby- you did a good job"

PART 2/CONTINUATION COMING SOON

[mrsbuckybarnes1917]

6: SNAPSHOTS AND STICKY NOTES

Previous chapter < MASTERLIST > Next chapter (pending)

Summary: Bucky and the reader take their fake dating arrangement to the next level, planning a social media-worthy “relationship” to convince Sam and their friends. What starts as awkward cooperation turns into something deeper as small moments— shared secrets, teasing messages, and unexpected vulnerability— blur the lines between real and pretend.

Warnings: fake dating, mutual pining, Bucky being emotionally constipated, references to past trauma (HYDRA, brainwashing), soft Bucky moments, a very important whiteboard, reader roasting Bucky’s texting habits, a trip to the zoo that gets surprisingly emotional

Word Count: 2506

The knock on your door came earlier than expected. You weren’t ready— not emotionally, and certainly not physically.

“Hold on!” you called, scrambling to tug a sweater over your head. The hem caught on your necklace, and you winced as it yanked it down against your torso. Naturally, Bucky would show up early on the one morning you were running late.

When you finally opened the door, Bucky was standing in front of you in his usual attire— dark jeans, a Henley, a fitted jacket and his usual guarded expression. His posture was tense, almost like he was regretting coming over.

“You good?” he asked, gruffly.

“Yeah, sorry. Hectic morning,” you muttered, stepping aside so he could enter your home.

Bucky glanced around as he walked into the living room, his eyes landing on the clutter on your desk in the corner. His eyes lingered over the piles of paper which were haphazardly scattered on the desk and on the floor, unfinished designs scrawled across the pages.

“Didn’t peg you for a messy one,” he said quietly, but there wasn’t any malice in his words.

You huffed. “I call it my creative chaos.”

“Right.”

He sat down on the couch, leaning back as though he was trying to get comfortable, but definitely looked like he was failing miserably. You grabbed your notebook and joined him, perching on the opposite end. The distance between you felt like a chasm.

“You know you don’t need to wear a jacket, you literally walked across the hallway.”

You watched Bucky shrug off his jacket, laying it across the arm of your couch. He tugged down on the sleeve of his Henley to cover up his vibranium arm.

“So,” you began, flipping through the crisp pages, “maybe we can work on how to make this more… convincing.”

“How do you propose that?”

“I guess…” you hesitated, chewing on the end of your pen, leaving a small black ink stain on your lip. “We need to get to know each other a bit better.”

“That’s fine, but knowing Sam, I’m not sure an interrogation’s going to be enough for him. He will want… proof.”

“Proof?” you asked, but a realization had dawned on you on what Bucky meant.

“He keeps talking about finding your Instagram.”

“Ahh shit,” you groaned and slumped back against the cushions. “Of course he is. Fucking social media. We’re going to need hard evidence. ”

Bucky watched you, a hint of amusement at your dramatics. “So, what you wanna do? Some kinda of photoshoot?”

“Sort of…” You looked over at Bucky and you could see the sarcastic expression on his face. “Not like those professional things with photographers and stuff… more like a couple of selfies, maybe a few posed ones out and about. That’s the stuff Sam’s expecting to see, and… my friends will too.”

Bucky sighed, running his hand over his face. “Fine. But count me out of anything cheesy. None of those hearts with our hands or matching outfits.”

“What kind of algorithm invaded your feed that made this your first suggestion?” you demanded, your face filled with disgust.

Bucky looked at you blankly, clearly not understanding a word of what you had just said.

“Don’t worry, I wasn’t planning on matching outfits. Maybe we can plan some dates that work for us and then go to those places and take some photos.”

“How did I get myself into this?” Bucky mumbled quietly to himself.

Unfortunately you caught his meaning. “If you don’t want to do this, why’re you here?”

“I’m sorry, I… I just don’t know what I’m doing.”

Bucky’s admission hung in the air, more vulnerable than you expected. He was looking down at his hands, he tugged down at his left sleeve, trying to pull it down over the vibranium. And for the briefest of moments you saw beneath his stoic mask he always wore.

“Look Bucky,” you moved closer to him. “I… I’m not really the biggest fan of this either, I mean… it’s not like I grew up with the fantasy of a fake boyfriend.”

He looked over at you, a hint of a smirk crossed his face. “I guess I’m just having a hard time letting someone in.”

“It’s just for show. You don’t need to share your whole life story with me. We just need to know enough about each other to make this believable.”

Bucky nodded slowly. “James,” he said quietly.

You frowned, confusion etched across your face. “Excuse me?”

“My name… is James.” He looked you in the eyes and introduced himself again, holding out his hand. “James Buchanan Barnes.”

“Hi, James.” 

You took his hand and introduced yourself back to him, enjoying the warmth of his hand for a beat too long. But for some reason, he didn’t pull his hand away.

“I’m trying,” he whispered.

There was a sincerity in his tone that made you pause, your fingers still wrapped in his calloused grip. His hand felt surprisingly steady and grounding amidst all the uncertainty that surrounded you.

“Me too, Bucky… James?”

“Everyone calls me Bucky, but I thought, if  we’re dating, you ought to know my real name.”

“Well, Bucky, we’ll figure this out… together.”

He gave your hand a small squeeze before finally letting go.

“So,” you said, clearing your throat. “Since we’re walking this road together, what kind of first date does James Buchanan Barnes take a girl on?”

Bucky leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, one hand absently tugging at the sleeve.

“You want to know what I’d have done for a first date back then?” he asked finally, his voice low and measured.

You blinked, surprised by his question, and nodded slowly, trying not to look too eager at finding out more about this mysterious man. “Sure. If you’re okay talking about it.”

Bucky leaned back against the couch again, staring at your blank television as though he could see his previous life play out on the screen. “It was different back then… simpler, I guess. A guy could take a girl dancing or to the movies. Maybe walk her home, if she wanted.” His lips twitched, a ghost of a smile played across them. “I used to go out a lot, actually. Always had a date for the weekend. Guess you could say I was popular.”

You couldn’t resist a little teasing. “A charmer, huh?”

His faint smirk faded, replaced by something more guarded. “Yeah. It was… easier back then.”

“Before you were the Winter Soldier?” you asked, your voice was laced with curiosity but no judgment.

Bucky’s head snapped toward you, his jaw tightening. “That wasn’t my choice,” he said sharply, the anger in his voice cutting through the room like a blade.

You froze, your breath catching in your throat. “Oh, Bucky, I didn’t mean—”

He held up his hand, stopping you mid-apology. You could see the tension in his shoulders despite the fact that his face was turned away from you.

“I shouldn’t have snapped,” he mumbled after a moment of silence. Slowly he sighed, running his hand through his hair. “This is exactly why I don’t…”

“I didn’t mean to pry,” you said, your heart sinking. “I just… I’m sorry. Really. I wasn’t trying to hurt you.” You bit your lip and stared down at your hands, twisting your fingers together nervously, glancing over now and again to see how he would react.

Bucky didn’t respond immediately but the silence between you felt heavy.

Finally, he let out a long slow breath, as if he was trying to expel the pressure that had built up inside him. “I know,” he said quietly. “I know you didn’t mean anything by it. It’s just… this whole thing? Letting someone in, even just pretending? It’s harder than I thought it’d be.”

You nodded. “I get it. Or, well, I’m trying to. And for what it’s worth… I’m glad you’re here. Even if it is hard.”

Bucky turned to look at you, scrutinizing your face. His lips parted slightly, like he was about to say something, but then he thought better of it and pressed his mouth into a thin line. After that, the two of you sat in silence, neither one of you knowing how to bridge the gap but there was something different between you. It felt less like a chasm and more like a better understanding of the burden he carried. He hadn’t shown his hand, but he had tipped one of his cards.

Eventually Bucky broke the silence, his voice softer. “So coffee shop for the first date?”

“What, no dancing?” you asked with mock incredulity.

Bucky let out a quiet laugh. “I think my dancing days are behind me.”

“Come on,” you pressed, leaning toward him a little. “You mean to tell me the legendary Bucky Barnes can’t bust a move anymore?”

An involuntary but genuine laugh escaped Bucky’s lips and he shook his head. “I literally don’t understand half the things you say.”

“You’ll learn to love it,” you said in a sing-song voice.

“I haven’t danced since 1943.”

“They say it’s like riding a bike. You just gotta get back on the horse.” You grinned at you as you threw random idioms at him.

“You’re doing this on purpose.”

“Guilty.”

He shook his head but there was no sign of irritation— if anything he was struggling to hide his amusement. “If it means we can get off this topic, I’ll consider it.”

“Perfect!” You picked up your notebook and started writing. “First date: coffee shop.” You looked up out of the corner of your eye and lifted your pen off the page and pretended to keep writing. “Second date: dancing.”

“Let’s survive the first one first,” he said gruffly.

The next time you came home, you found a sticky note attached to your door at your eye level. You peeled it off with a sigh, glancing down at Bucky’s neat, capitalized handwriting:

“MEETING AT 7. DON’T BE LATE.”

You rolled your eyes, unlocking your doors and stepping into the warmth of your apartment. It was 6:30pm and you’d just gotten home from work. You grumbled to yourself as you closed the door.

Is texting too much of a chore for him? Man can wear sophisticated tech for an arm but can’t work something as simple as a cell phone.

By the time the fifth sticky note had made its appearance, you’d had enough. You marched down to the local arts and crafts store and bought a small whiteboard and marker. It was the perfect size to hang on your door and you couldn’t help but smirk at the mental image of Bucky and his Grumpy Cat face standing in the hallway, writing on it.

You hung it up and scribbled your own message to christen the board.

“FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS MODERN, JUST TEXT ME.”

As you were leaving the next day, there was a new message:

“TEXTING IS OVERRATED.”

As time went on, neither of you mentioned the board, occasionally leaving random messages, mostly involving you teasing him about his inability to send a text message.

“CAN WE DISCUSS YOUR FEAR OF TEXTING?”

“NOT A FEAR, IT’S CALLED FREEDOM OF EXPRESSION.”

His handwriting was slightly different in this response, a messy scrawl rather than his neat bold lettering, almost like he had been laughing while he wrote it.

"ZOO TOMORROW? DON’T MAKE ME REGRET THIS."

“FINE! BUT IF YOU POUT, I’M POSTING IT!”

“YOU ANIMAL!”

You let out a small huff, glancing over at Bucky as he stared at the pair of arctic wolves lounging lazily in their enclosure. He had been trudging around the zoo behind you all day looking distinctly unimpressed. For some reason, his usual grumpy scowl was starting to get under your skin. 

“What’s on your mind, Oscar?” you asked, leaning towards him.

Bucky turned, furrowing his brow. “Oscar? Who’s Oscar?”

“You,” you said with a teasing smile. “You know, Oscar the Grouch? From Sesame Street?”

His expression didn’t change. “I don’t know where Sesame Street is.” He rolled his eyes and turned back to the wolves, a distant look on his face.

You shook your head, not knowing whether to be amused or exasperated. “If you’re not into this, we could just leave. No need to suffer through it.”

Bucky sighed and his tone softened. “Sorry. I just… this is… different.”

You were caught off guard at his change in tone. It wasn’t like him to sound so reflective and a wave of guilt washed over you for being so insistent on coming to the zoo.

“I didn’t mean to drag you here if it’s not your thing,” you offered quietly.

He shook his head, dismissing your words. His eyes were still fixed on the wolves. “Have you heard of a place called Wakanda?” he asked, but his voice was so quiet, you wondered if he was talking to you.

You nodded, unsure where this was going but sensing it was important.

“I lived there for a while. They helped me with deprogramming the HYDRA brainwashing. Gave me peace for the first time in… a long time. I’ll always be grateful for what they did for me.”

You swallowed hard, not sure how to respond.

“The kids there… they used to call me White Wolf.”

There it was again, that look— like he was off somewhere else— and there was something almost wistful in his voice that tugged at your heart, making it ache. For a while you just stood silently beside him, unsure if he was looking for a response or was just in need of company.

You took a step back, giving him some space, wondering if he would notice your movement. But he seemed to be lost in his past and you hoped that it was one that would offer him some comfort. He looked…distant, yet somehow at peace, as if the memories he was lost in weren’t all bad. His usually guarded expression softened, and for the first time that day, his shoulders weren’t so tense. 

Instead, you took another small step back, watching as his focus stayed on the wolves. Without thinking, you pulled out your phone and snapped a quick photo of him. Bucky didn’t even flinch, his focus still fixed on the wolves. The light filtering through the enclosure cast a soft glow over him, catching the slight furrow of his brow and the way his blue eyes seemed to soften as he watched the animals move.

The sound of the shutter must have finally caught his attention because he turned his head slightly, raising an eyebrow at you. “Did you just take a picture of me?”

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Maybe. You looked less grumpy for once. Had to document it.”

“If that ends up on the Instacart, I'll expect royalties,” he smirked.

You smiled, uploading the photo to your photo to your feed. You flashed the image at Bucky for his approval, before secretly adding your caption. “Found his pack.” #mywhitewolf

Previous chapter < MASTERLIST > Next chapter (pending)

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Posting schedule will be Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays around 7.30am ACT / 4.30pm EST / 1.30pm PST / 9.30pm BST

[thorne-kreizler-fanfiction]

-"Sometime during the night you both got rid of your clothes as your bodies demanded more closeness, your skin against his" YOUR BODIES DEMANDED MORE CLOSENESS, I'M SHOUTING

-"If the blade entered your king’s body a bit to the right or at a different angle, you would be sleeping in an empty bed and the only place you would be able to see Thorin’s face would be the marble effigy at his tomb in Erebor." You have no right to make me form tears like this

-"even if just for a moment" sTOP-

-"Now, however, in the darkness of the night, he is still yours, just for a while longer." oh-❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

-"The raven mane of his hair interspersed with silver strands, like veins of a precious metal encased in a rock" THIS WAS AMAZING WRITING AND VERY DWARVISH LIKE. I'm starting to suspect you are a dwarf…

-“Maralmizu, Thorin,” I need to close the computer and take a moment to regain composure-

-“'Can’t sleep?' he murmurs with a charming smile" MAHAL KEEP ME FROM GOING CRAZY

-Roäc!!!! I am going to CRY

-"A few clumsy niceties about how he enjoyed your time together and how he will always remember you, yadda yadda yadda." Lol. That's so sad but it made me laugh

-"This is the last time he plays you like his harp" ÄULE AND YAVANNA-

-"Nothing else matters beyond this little island of joy you created in the cruel ocean of time." stop this, please-

-"You are not afraid of the L-word any longer." I'M KICKING MY FEET

-THIS SMUT WAS SO CUTE😭

-ooh the amount of oceanic symbolism here😭

-"You are sure your hazy mind plays tricks on you. He has just called you his tiny songbird. He has called you his. No, you must have heard it wrong." STOP IT RAGNA I WANT TO ATTEND YOU TWO'S WEDDING BUT THAT CAN'T HAPPEN IF YOU DON'T SEE HE LOVES YOU TOO FOR DURIN'S SAKE!!1!

-"This blissful picture is not written in the stars, not for you." oh-

-"Perhaps they should have named him Stoneheart instead." oooh the dramaaaa

-"this is how a goodbye tastes like." STOP ITTTTT LATHALEA I WILL FIND YOU

-“Ragna… come with me to Erebor,” I JUST SCREAMED SOOO LOUDLY!!!1 FOR DURIN'S SAKEEEEE

-"No, of course not, you stupid, stupid Ragna! He just enjoys having you in his bed, have you forgotten about it again?" RAGNA STOP IT YOU ARE MAKING ME RAGE!!1!11

-"your own private map room if you wished so" I WANT TO CRY. HE'S SO THOUGHTFUL

-"His eyes are closed but you somehow know that they are as blue as his father’s." THE TURMOIL OF EMOTIONS I'M FEELING RIGHT NOW WILL MAKE ME EXPLODE

-"this is one of his flanking maneuvers" RAGNA YOU MAKE ME FUCKING MAD. JUST OPEN YOUR HEARTTT!!! WHY IS IT SO HARD TO ACCEPT LOVE??

-"looking more like a stone statue of one of his ancestors at the Main Gate of Erebor. Stern and lifeless." I want to cry. This writing is so great

“Tell me, Ragna. Let me hear it.” I screamed

-THORIN WHAT YOU DOINGGGGG YOU JUST HAD TO SAY "I LOVE YOU"

-"Instead, you have locked yourself in your rooms, trying to pretend that the world beyond your door doesn’t exist." I am fucking depressed and I feel a void in my heart

-i'm trying so hard not to hate on these two idiots but it's hard

-"One of Thorin’s braid beads. In your own bed." I'm crying

-"Since then, every day looks the same: work, work, more work, and staying at the office until late evening, until you are numb with tiredness." Oh I know how this goes. Trying to hide your heartbreak under piles of work papers. Yikes…

-"And then that bloody letter comes and turns everything upside down." MY HEART JUST SKIPPED A HEARTBEAT

-LATHALEA I HATE YOU FOR THIS AND BECAUSE I KNOW THAT NEXT CHAPTER WITH THORIN WILL HURT ME TWO

-I still have tears in my eyes...

All Is Fair in Love and Trade –  Part 6/9

Relationships: Thorin x Reader Rating: E Warnings: smut, angst

You can read the other parts here: The Masterlist Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 ...

For @gwen-ever 💙 Thank you for your support and help and everything else, you know yourself 🤩 A special thank you to everyone who has commented, reblogged and supported this fic! I'm really grateful to you all, you give me the strength to continue writing 💙💙💙

Khuzdul phrases: Maralmizu - I love you Zunshanush - [intimate diminutive] tiny bird Zunshanushê - my tiny bird

* * *

All Is Fair in Love and Trade, part 6/10

Later that night

A tear rolls down your cheek and you sleepily wipe it away. Last wisps of a dream are quickly fading away, leaving you slightly disoriented. You can’t remember much besides a lingering feeling of softness and warmth. Something tickles at the tip of your nose. Something coarse and reassuringly warm, just like in your dream. You open your eyes and it takes you a moment to realize that you are still in Thorin’s bed, cuddled up to his bare chest. Sometime during the night you both got rid of your clothes as your bodies demanded more closeness, your skin against his. Now your lover is laying down on his side, one of his arms resting against your hip, your legs entangled, You run your hand through his thick chest hair, but he doesn’t react to your caress, still in deep sleep. Covering his left pectoral, there is a dark blue tattoo of a raven, barely visible in the faint light of a single candle. The tips of your fingers are tracing its outline, admiring the detailed pattern, feeling the strength of Thorin’s body slumbering beneath his skin.

Your gaze shifts down, to the side of his abdomen, where a long, knobby scar meanders through the peaks and valleys of his muscles. It is not the first time you see it, but only now you have a moment to look at it from up close. There are so many tales and songs about the Battle of Five Armies and the bravery of Thorin Oakenshield that you know very well how it was inflicted. Azog the Defiler. If the blade entered your king’s body a bit to the right or at a different angle, you would be sleeping in an empty bed and the only place you would be able to see Thorin’s face would be the marble effigy at his tomb in Erebor. Thank you, Mahal. Thank you for sparing his life. Thank you for bringing him into my life, even if just for a moment.

You have spent two weeks with him, only two weeks of your long lives, but it was enough to make your heart beat faster. It was still worth it, no matter the emotional turmoil you have been through. You know that whatever you have found in each other’s arms is going to end before long, in a couple of hours, as soon as the dawn of the new day comes. The King will return to his mountain, leaving your heartache in his wake. Now, however, in the darkness of the night, he is still yours, just for a while longer. Your fingers continue their explorations, as if trying to commit every inch of his body to memory. The raven mane of his hair interspersed with silver strands, like veins of a precious metal encased in a rock, his strong neck, the powerful line of his shoulders and arms, his broad torso narrowing into lean hips, his sinewy thighs dusted with coarse hair, pressed against yours, his legs intertwined with yours. Yes, you will always have your memories, the memories of an arrogant, irritating king, of a daring warrior, of a splendid lover. Of your Thorin and that tender smile he gave you in your bed last night, melting your heart. Now, his face is peaceful, the lines of his usual frown smoothed out by sleep. You feel a sudden, irrational burst of warmth in your chest and before you can think, you hear yourself speak. “Maralmizu, Thorin,” a shadow of a whisper leaves your surprised lips, and you are hoping that the night will keep your heart’s secret safe.

The tips of your fingers once again brush against the raven tattoo, the bird’s eye watching you attentively, its beak shut. A silent witness of your moment of weakness. You place your hand over the ornament and feel how Thorin’s chest is slowly rising and falling.

This would be a good moment to leave, you think, to disappear in the darkness while you still have the strength to do it in a composed manner. You have just said your farewell and there is nothing more keeping you here. You cast one last glance at Thorin’s oblivious face and start carefully disentangling your legs from his.

Suddenly, a hand covers yours on his chest and you are staring into the clear blue eyes of your king. Well, there goes your strategic retreat.

“Can’t sleep?” he murmurs with a charming smile that makes your heart flutter.

“Your raven kept me company,” you smile faintly, your muscles tensing in anticipation of what is to come. Woman up, Ragna! You have always hated goodbyes, and, let’s face it, you suck at them, but you know Thorin well enough by now to expect a short and efficient one. Look, he opened his mouth. Here it goes. You hold your breath. “Roäc?” one of his eyebrows lifts in surprise and his gaze follows yours to his chest, his hand still covering yours. “So he has a name?” you point your chin at the tattoo, letting out a sigh. Just a moment longer, then. “I had the tattoo made in Dunland, after Erebor fell, to remind me of what I left behind.” his face darkens, his hand clutches yours. “I raised Roäc from an egg, we were almost inseparable. But then Smaug came and every dwarf alive had to leave the Mountain.” “And… what happened to Roäc?”

“He stayed. He would not leave Ravenhill nor his kin,” Thorin closes his eyes for a barely noticeable moment.

“I am sorry to hear it,” you answer, your eyes set at your hands clasped together. “I never thought I would see him again, and yet he waited for me for over 150 years. Roäc was the first raven to greet me when I returned… home.” He makes a small pause and you see his Adam’s apple bob in his throat.

“It must have been a happy day for you both,” you pat the image of the raven on his skin. “It taught me that one should never lose hope,” his intense gaze meets yours, and there is a new spark at the bottom of his eyes, something you can’t decipher.

“Hope…” you repeat. Hope. How ironic. Rapidly you close your eyes in an attempt to stop them welling with treacherous tears. Now is not the time, Ragna! You need to hold on a bit longer!

Thorin’s hand, still clasped together with yours, slides towards the center of his chest. You can clearly feel his strong heartbeat beneath your palm.

“Ragna, I…” he says. Oh. Absorbed by his words, you have completely forgotten about what has to happen now. You’ve had enough lovers to know where this is going. A few clumsy niceties about how he enjoyed your time together and how he will always remember you, yadda yadda yadda. After that, it will be time for you to leave for your chambers where a cold and empty bed is waiting for you while he is to return to his comfortable life in Erebor. The end.

You decide to save you both the embarrassment of that meaningless conversation and bid him goodbye in the only way you are good at. When you place your finger on Thorin’s sensual lips, his eyes widen in surprise, but not another word leaves his mouth. Instead, your hand moves to his bearded cheek, cupping it gently, enjoying the tickling sensation of his beard gently scraping against your palm for the last time. And then you kiss him.

He lets out a hum when your lips meet his. But this is not a ravenous, hungry kiss from before. It tastes like the first strawberries of summer, fresh and sweet, making your lips tingle, its careful tenderness going straight to your head. His hand sinks in the hair at your temple, his fingers gently running through your locks.

“Ragna…” he breathes against your mouth, his nose rubbing against yours, his thumb brushing against your cheek. But this is not the time for talking. You place a small kiss at the corner of his lips, and then another and another, sealing them with a myriad of soft pecks. His hand cups the back of your head and he responds, peppering your whole face with gentle kisses. He moves his lips lower and you stifle a small whimper when he repeats his ministrations on your neck.

“Ragna…” he murmurs against your throat, and then kisses you just below your earlobe, eliciting another whimper from you.

“Ragna...” his lips brush against your ear, gentle like a dove’s wing, making you purr with pleasure, while his hand starts unhurriedly travelling down your back, tracing the line of your spine, making you shiver with delight. This is the last time he plays you like his harp and you want to make the most of it.

Thorin’s hand slides down to your waist and then slowly, sensually travels up again, while his lips trail over the swell of your breast. Passion stirs inside you as you press your hips towards him, feeling the red-hot hardness of his manhood between you. A rumbling groan leaves him as his mouth attentively worships every curve of your breasts. Oh, Mahal, you want to feel him all over your body. When his thumb brushes against your nipple, a shadow of a moan escapes you.

“Ragna…” he murmurs once more. Now he is back to kissing your mouth with impossible ardour, and you are drawn to his eyes, darkened with lust. They remind you of a sea on the brink of a storm.

No, you are not going to let him talk. Not now. Not yet. Knotting your hands in his hair you return his kiss. You revel in the hardness of his warrior’s body against yours, sensing the signs of a coming squall that is going to carry you both away.

You place your hand on his chest and push it gently. When his back rests flat against the bed, your lips cover his, meeting in yet another sensual kiss. Your silky locks fall around you, a curtain of hair shielding you both from the whole world. Now, in this very moment, it is only you and him. Nothing else matters beyond this little island of joy you created in the cruel ocean of time.

Unhurriedly, savoring the moment, you straddle his hips. A spark of recognition flickers in Thorin’s eyes and a familiar half-smile appears on his face as his hand travels upwards along your thigh to rest on your bare hip. You wrap your hand around his silky hardness and guide it straight to your core.

“Ragna...” he purrs as you lower your body on him, taking in his formidable length, your breathing shallow. His fingers dig into your skin as you are impaling yourself in one steady push. It feels so ecstatic. So right.

He is buried in you to the hilt, but doesn’t move, waiting for you to adjust to him. You rest your hands on his chest, taking in deep breaths and finding his gaze. His eyes are like the late evening sky on a warm summer evening, adorned with flickering stars. A silly thought crosses your mind: if you were to make a wish now, would you see a falling star in his firmament, carrying it to fulfilment?

Please, stay with me.

“Ragna, lovely Ragna,” he whispers.

As you hover over him, Thorin cups your cheek, oblivious to your unspoken plea. There is something in the way he speaks, something sweet and tender, that once again makes you wish you could hear him say your true name in this tantalizing voice of his.

“Thorin,” you respond, leaning into his palm and brushing your lips against it. Your chosen name for his chosen name. Your heart for his passion. A fair exchange. No strings attached. One last time.

This is when you rock your hips against him for the first time. Not breaking the eye contact between you, you lift yourself up slightly only to slide all the way down with a sigh accompanied by his low grunt.

Don’t let me leave. Please, don’t go.

This slow, sensual dance of your bodies is what you would call lovemaking. You are not afraid of the L-word any longer. You pour your heart into every caress, every move you make. It does not matter if he doesn’t reciprocate your feelings. Yours will have to be enough for both of you tonight. It is your farewell gift for the king of your heart.

Please, show me, how can I melt your heart? How can I make you see?

Thorin’s hands are wandering across your skin, caressing you gently, as if he was admiring a marble statue sculpted by the greatest stone masters of Erebor. The intense feel of his manhood inside you is overwhelming. Taking in the new, incredible sensations, your body continues the slow, steady movements. Now it is not about chasing the diamond peaks of pleasure; it is about enjoying these precious moments between you for as long as you can. It is as if Thorin understands your thoughts, because his caresses become in an equally unhurried manner; his every touch is attentive and careful, leaving your skin tingling with delight.

I want this night to last forever. Please, let it never end.

His eyes are hooded with pleasure, the dark waves of his hair scattered across the pillows. Thorin is yours now, just for a few moments longer. Only yours. You press your weight against him, taking him in once again, rocking back and forth with a moan while he pulls you down, his hands caressing your back and buttocks tenderly. A whimper escapes your lips at this change of angle, all the sensations intensifying, your breasts pressed against his muscular chest.

Thorin’s hands firmly rest on your hips as he thrusts up into you, slowly, purposefully, again and again, finding a way to plunge deeper inside of you than ever before, not stopping, navigating you both through the wild waves of your ocean of passion.

“Ragna…” the sound of his deep, husky voice fills your ears as he thrusts into you once more.

With a stifled cry of pleasure on your lips, you give in to your passion. Your body tenses in with pleasure, waves of ecstasy washing over you, taking over all of your senses. But you are not alone. Thorin is there, not letting you go, riding out the storm beside you. You are holding onto him as if he was your raft on the high seas, your only salvation on the stormy waters of the ocean. A few more erratic thrusts and his delicious warmth spills inside you, making you shiver with pleasure. He is right there with you, sharing your bliss, your hearts beating to the same rhythm.

My heart belongs to you. Only you.

“Thorin…” you whisper into his skin, as you lay down, your limbs heavy with bliss, your cheek against his chest, clinging to him, feeling his arms closing around you in a tight embrace.

“Zunshanushê,” he murmurs back tenderly, his fingers running through your hair as the storm of ecstasy slowly subsides around you. You are sure your hazy mind plays tricks on you. He has just called you his tiny songbird. He has called you his. No, you must have heard it wrong. The word he must have spoken was Zunshanush. Just a tiny songbird. A pet name. A songbird from the Iron Hills he will perhaps recall from time to time with a smile, back in Erebor.

You wish the circumstances were different. You would have been his Ragna, and he could have been your Thorin. You would start each day with a kiss and braid each others’ hair every morning. You would fall asleep in a tight embrace every evening, just like you are embracing now. And then, a little pebble or two would appear in your lives, giggling, saying their first words, making their first steps, running happily around the mountain, learning to ride a pony...

Ragna, you need to pull yourself together and stop being mawkish. This blissful picture is not written in the stars, not for you. First of all, you are painting an ideal, overly romantic picture of your happy life with none other than the arrogant, bullheaded King Under the Mountain! Have you suddenly forgotten how irritating and full of himself he is? Have you forgotten how you both have your separate lives and completely different duties to fulfil? And if that wasn’t enough, there is the matter of you living under two completely different mountains, separated by days and days of travel.

You know what you have to do now. Get up, gather your things and go. You have to ignore the whispers of your heart and forget how good it feels to have his strong arms around you, once and for all. Need something to snap out of it? How about this tiny little detail: Thorin Oakenshield is only interested in your body, nothing more. Perhaps they should have named him Stoneheart instead. The only way you are going to have your “happily ever after” with that dwarf is in your dreams. Damn your luck and your silly feelings. Couldn’t you have fallen for someone else? Preferably not an extremely annoying and unfeeling king?

There is something wet on your cheek, and you brush it away, only to realize that these are your tears. You feel their salty taste on your tongue. This is how a goodbye tastes like.

“Ragna, what is it?” Thorin murmurs into your hair.

You press your face into his chest in panic. He can’t see that you are crying! The last thing you want is for him to pity you. Take a deep breath. That’s it. Calm down, Ragna, you can do it. You know how to hide your emotions. Imagine you are back in the council chamber.

“Nothing, it’s nothing,” you hear yourself say and then you clear your throat. “It is almost dawn, isn’t it?”

You can almost hear his heart beating in the silence that falls after your words. And then he takes a deep breath. “Ragna… come with me to Erebor,” he says, pressing his lips against your head.

Oh. You have not seen it coming. Does he mean…? No, of course not, you stupid, stupid Ragna! He just enjoys having you in his bed, have you forgotten about it again? The only thing that matters to him is not your sharp mind, but the thing you have between your legs! And now he is probably thinking that you will gladly obey him, like a lowly scullery maid, becoming simply yet another submissive woman in the long line of his conquests, just because his majesty wishes so! Over your dead body!

“That’s a good one!” a dry laughter escapes you as you feel a stab of pain in your chest. You hope Thorin doesn’t notice how much the sound you have just made resembles a sob. He doesn’t join your chuckles, but grunts instead.

“Does my proposal sound amusing to you?” his words rumble in his chest against your cheek. You sit up to face him, feeling the anger, the pain, the disappointment rising their ugly heads within you.

“Return with you? As what? As a lo…” great, here we go again. The L-word refuses to pass your mouth this time. “As the king's concubine?”

“Would it be that bad?” he rises on his elbows, meeting your gaze. “Come with me and stay in Erebor. You will have everything you could ever imagine, and more. New apartments in the royal wing, dresses, jewels, your own private map room if you wished so, and a table.”

“A table?” you frown.

“Yes, a table, and two comfortable armchairs by the fireplace. We will sit there in the afternoon and you will tell me how bad my ideas are and how much you dislike them... And yes, I will be the one to keep you warm in my bed at night.”

“Do you think I want this?” your frown deepens. Seriously. Is he that stupid?! It looks like you need to spell it out for him. “Do you think I would like just being just rich and doing nothing all day long while you are busy with the matters of state?” Thorin shakes his head slowly and sighs.

“For most of my life, I did not have any of these riches, but now I can use them in any way I wish. You deserve a life in luxury, Ragna...” he sits up and tries to take your hand in his, but you move away. You know very well that the moment he touches you, the moment you feel that pleasant tingling on your skin, you will agree to anything he proposes.

“What luxury would it be if I wouldn’t be able to speak with you nor anyone else for more than an hour a day or so? What about every single of my actions being closely observed and scrutinized by everyone under the mountain?! Oh, and I almost forgot about people bowing at me just because I happen to sleep in your bed! Is this what you think I want? A golden cage?!” you hear your heart pounding in your ears.

“Do not speak to me of golden cages!” he gives out a roar. “I lived in one, and I know how it feels, both inside and outside! If you come with me, you will not have to suffer any of it. I am offering you only what is best! Can you not see it?”, his stormy stare bores through you as he leans towards you, his eyes narrowed, his jaw set in anger.

“So now I am to throw my whole life away on your whim only to pleasure you every night?! And to be shunned when you are bored with me?” your hand clenches into a fist. Does he not see how much pain he has caused you already? Why is he adding more? Is he really that thick?!

“This is not…” he starts, but your fury takes over and you cut him off. You are not finished yet. “What about my career? Do you have any idea how hard I have worked to become Lord Dain’s advisor? How important my work is for me? Do you think I can abandon my responsibilities just like that?!” you throw words at him as if they were daggers. “And you have the nerve to propose it now, knowing how much depends on the upcoming treaty negotiations with Mirkwood?!”

“I do not care about Mirkwood!” he roars back at you. “It has nothing to do with you and me!”

“Well, then clearly we are of different opinions on this matter! A good negotiator thinks of everything before presenting their offer, and you clearly haven’t! Are you even speaking to the right person? Why me? You can have any other woman to warm your bed at night!”

“Ragna…” he growls your name in one long purr. “Are you truly asking me this? Have we not been enjoying ourselves?”

“This is not the point! Here, I’m respected, I’m making a difference, and in Erebor, I’d be just another bed warmer!” you spit out the last words as if they scorched your tongue. “Do not speak of yourself this way! This is not who you will be under my Mountain!” he slams his hand against the bed.

“Then who would I be? What would happen if you were to find yourself a queen? Would I be expected to keep on being your mistress, discreetly hidden away in the deepest corridors of the mountain? Serving her king whenever he feels like?” you feel the salty taste of tears on your tongue, an explosive mix of pain and rage running through your veins. A hazy image suddenly appears before your eyes, you looking at a sleeping babe in a beautiful bed as you brush one of his dark locks off his face. His eyes are closed but you somehow know that they are as blue as his father’s. “What if I were to give you a child? What life would I be expected to lead, along with your bastard son or daughter? Would we be required to live away from you, from anyone’s sight, not to offend your queen’s sensibilities? Or would we have to leave your mountain, never to return?! Do you really think I’m like one of your ladies, ready to fulfil any of your wishes, without a single thought?”

A dark silence fills the chamber for an eternity, or maybe it is just a few heartbeats. At this point, you are not sure any longer. Thorin’s bedchamber feels equally dark, as dark as the vision of your hypothetical, but quite probable future in Erebor. Luckily for you, you won’t let the stupid, arrogant dwarf in front of you destroy your life. Now he is glaring at you without a word, his own face set into a grim expression. And then he explodes.

“Stop this nonsense at once, Ragna! It won’t happen! Nothing of the things you said will happen! You are different! Do you hear me?!” Sparks of anger brighten his stormy eyes.

“How can you say that?! How do you know?! And am I truly different from other women who keep you company at night? Different how?” You demand. Did he really think you imagined him to act like a chaste and proper ruler from the ancient dwarven legends? Did he expect you to think that his nights in Erebor were filled only with peaceful sleep and thoughts about the bright future of his beloved kingdom? Seriously. Life is not a fairy tale.

The King opens his mouth, looks at his fisted hand and unclenches it slowly. Then he clears his throat and lowers his gaze along with his voice, “I sleep better when you are around.” He has to be joking. That sudden change in him baffles you. What is he up to? Is he trying to soften you up? What a cheap trick.

“Let me get this straight. The King Under the Mountain wants me to go with him to Erebor so that he has pleasant dreams?”

Thorin looks back at you, and you can notice a shadow passing over his eyes as he sighs.

“This is not what I mean, Ragna,” he says in a quiet voice.

You pause for a moment, tilting your head slightly. This… this is so unlike him. It takes you a moment, but then you understand. He is a great strategist, that is what they say about him, and this is one of his flanking maneuvers. Everything is a battle to him, even your last conversation. This is a way for him to gain an advantage over you and counterattack when you least expect it. You have to be on your guard, Ragna!

“What do you mean, then? Have you forgotten our arrangement? It was just an adventure, a treat to sweeten up the negotiations,” you retort, ignoring the stinging tears. You can’t stop them from running, you can’t swallow them any longer. Each of them burns a trail down your cheek. It hurts more than you expected it to.

“So it was all business to you? This? An additional hidden clause to this trade agreement?” he gestures at the crumpled bed sheets around you, his shoulders suddenly sagging. Now that shadow is cast over his whole face, its features set in stone. But perhaps it is just a trick of light. Because… he can’t be that sad, can he? It is not as if he was about to lose his favorite trinket. Besides, he has a whole damn treasury of them! He won’t ever notice your absence; while you… you know you will never forget him. You wipe off the tears from your cheeks. He follows your movements with his eyes, but never makes a move, looking more like a stone statue of one of his ancestors at the Main Gate of Erebor. Stern and lifeless.

“I…” for the first time in your life the words fail you. You feel his gaze burning your face. How can you tell him how you feel…? How can you find words to describe this shard wedged painfully into your heart, making you feel restless, clouding your mind, making you change into a helpless puddle of emotions every time he is around…?

“Tell me, Ragna. Let me hear it.”

But the right words don’t come. You will not give him the satisfaction of an answer so he can gain the upper hand and easily use you any way you like. The moment you tell him how you feel, you are lost. So you stare at your hands instead, trying to control their trembling.

Thorin waits for a few heartbeats and then speaks, as if to himself, “I see.”

He gets up from the bed and walks over to his desk, the light from the fireplace dancing over his muscular, well-honed body of a warrior. But you realize the time has come. From now on, the Thorin who held you close mere moments ago is out of your reach. Only Thorin II, King Under the Mountain remains. You search blindly for your clothes, your vision blurry. When you raise your gaze, he is already dressed, wearing a pair of loose trousers and a crumpled shirt that somehow makes him look even more alluring, and yet no longer yours to touch.

“You are right, Lady Ragna, this was just a negotiation.” he speaks coldly, in an official manner, and yet you notice a hint of anger ringing in his voice. Clearly, he is not as unaffected as he wants you to think.

You made him furious, and you are glad. An eye for an eye. He shouldn’t have offered you that humiliating arrangement. He shouldn’t have hurt you the way he did, but he did, and now he is paying for it.

King Thorin Oakenshield’s back is turned towards you, while his hands rummage among the papers on his desk. “I will not require you any longer. That will be all.”

Not able to utter even a word, you dress as quickly as you can, and leave his chambers, ignoring the shaking of your hands, and the heavy weight in your chest. This is for the best, isn’t it? So, what is wrong with you? Then why are you feeling the way he surely wanted you to feel? So worthless, so replaceable? As one of the many tools he would use in the forges, and then cast it aside when it is no longer needed, and then move from one anvil to another. An object. That is what he made you feel like. Once something useful, something important in a way, now an useless piece of scrap metal. You are happy he is suffering, you are happy that for once you made him feel something, something that was not pride, nor triumph. You are happy, Ragna, aren’t you? But if you are happy, then why your tears won’t stop tonight, why every breath hurts so much, why do you want to turn back? Why do you want to run into his rooms and take back every word you said? Isn’t it exactly what you have wanted in the very beginning? A profitable trade agreement and a bit of fun on the side?

* * *

This is the last time you speak with the King Under The Mountain during his visit to the Iron Hills. You don’t get any sleep in the early hours of the morning, but you arrive to the council chamber for the ceremonial signing of the treaty, making sure you look your best, wearing the most lavish gown you own (the one with the deepest cleavage, to turn away everyone’s attention from your reddened eyes). You make a point of staring at the painting of Lord Dain’s great-great-great-great grandfather while he and the king make their speeches. His majesty signs the cursed treaty, but Thorin never graces you with even the smallest of his looks, his brow constantly furrowed, his gaze as stormy as the autumn sky.

Afterwards, Lord Dain applauds you for serving the Iron Hills admirably and securing favorable treaty terms. Everyone else congratulates you for another great success. Soon after, the King of Erebor leaves back to his Mountain. You should feel triumphant, but instead you hear that little voice inside you growing louder as the distance between you grows: “Was this truly what you wanted, Ragna? Was it?”

* * *

Thorin is gone. The king left the Iron Hills a couple of hours ago. You have never gone to the Main Hall to bid him farewell as everyone else did after the treaty was signed. Instead, you have locked yourself in your rooms, trying to pretend that the world beyond your door doesn’t exist.

Thorin is not here. Sitting down on your bed, you move your hand across the mattress, as if hoping to feel the lingering heat of his body. Unfortunately, the bedsheets are unpleasantly cold under your touch.

Thorin has left. He is not coming back. Your bed is empty. Just like your heart.

You are about to get up when your fingers find something small and hard beside one of your pillows. One glance is enough to recognize it. One of Thorin’s braid beads. In your own bed. As if you weren’t trying to forget that he was here, along with his warm gaze, gentle kisses and tender caresses. You still remember the way he held you in his arms. Something aches in your chest and you need to take a deep breath to chase the tears away.

Bringing the bead to your eyes, you recognize all the details. It is made of silver, and there is a small sapphire along with the rune “T” and the symbol of the royal house of Erebor etched in it. You barely register when your hands find one of your braids and clasp the bead around it. The glistening metal complements your hair color well. You steal a glance at your reflection in the bedroom mirror. This is how you could have looked like in another life. Sighing hopelessly, you shake your head. Oh dear, Ragna, is this how bad it got you? Dreaming away about wearing Thorin’s marriage braid along with his bead? Weren’t you supposed to hate being chained to another dwarf this way, surrendering your independence, your freedom? Ah, well. Last night made clear that certain things between you were never meant to happen. Forcefully, you pull off the bead from your hair and throw it blindly on the floor, your vision blurry once more, your cheeks wet yet again. Stupid Ragna. Stupid negotiations. Stupid king.

You decide to sleep on the reclining armchair in the study that night and every night since then. Every time you look at your empty bed, your mind makes you recall how it looked when he was there, so close to you, slumbering peacefully, not a frown sharpening his features. It hurts. You have to ask one of the maids to change your bed linen. Why? Because Lady Ragna, one of Lord Dain’s chief advisors, cannot be trusted to change her own bed sheets. If you had a chance, you would press your nose against the crumpled fabric, inhaling Thorin’s lingering scent, and then shed another round of helpless tears. All because of that one evening you spent together in your chambers, kissing and embracing. Damn him.

That one evening of wallowing in self-pity and drowning your sorrows in Dorwinion wine you promised yourself turns into three days. On the fourth day, Lord Dain finds you in your office sleeping on a pile of documents. You have completely forgotten about that inspection of the forges you were supposed to attend to together with him on that day. You mumble your apologies, trying to ignore the pounding headache and a wave of nausea. He sends you home, telling you to sleep it off.

On the fifth day, you come to your office completely sober and throw yourself into work. Somehow, you manage to survive the day without thinking of Thorin more often than twice every hour. Since then, every day looks the same: work, work, more work, and staying at the office until late evening, until you are numb with tiredness. This way you fall asleep before your head hits the pillow, even though your dreams do not bring you any relief. You don’t really care about it, because at the end of the third week you manage to work out a fragile truce between your heart and your mind (hey, you’re a great negotiator, after all!). The deal is simple: you don’t think and don’t speak about Thorin, making an effort to bury all the memories of him in the deepest corners of your brain. In return, the constant dull pain in your chest is becoming more and more tolerable every day. And then that bloody letter comes and turns everything upside down.

* * *

Three weeks after Thorin Oakenshield’s visit to the Iron Hills

You are staring at a piece of thick parchment emblazoned with golden letters, the Royal Seal of the King of Erebor proudly gracing its bottom part.

Your eyes glide over all the mandatory titles and lengthy niceties only to focus on a single sentence:

It is with great honor that we invite Lady Ragna, daughter of Eldi, to the annual Durin’s Day Feast in Erebor.

The letter is signed in black ink, and you recognize the handwriting:

Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, King Under the Mountain

The parchment is shaking. No, your hand is shaking. And your heart is beating fast, too fast. Ragna, calm yourself down! It’s just a stupid letter! You take a deep breath. Then you fill your goblet with water (you can’t even look at the Dorwinion wine any longer, not since… nevermind!) and drink it in one gulp. You read the invitation again, but the blasted letters don’t want to disappear nor form another name. It is clearly addressed to “Ragna”. You.

Thorin Oakenshield, the king of all the Dwarves of Middle-Earth, the dwarf who captured your heart and then tore it apart, wants you to attend his famous Durin’s Day Feast.

Shit.

* * *

The Masterlist Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 ...

Please let me know how you liked this chapter! 🌟🌟🌟Oh, and I have a small announcement to make! 🌟🌟🌟 This fanfic grew yet again (surprise), a bit more (surprise) than I thought it would (surprise). So next week you are going to get a new surprise chapter - showing what happens with Thorin after he returns to Erebor and before he sends that letter to Ragna.

Read it? Like it? Reblog it! Taglist: @fizzyxcustard @shrimpsthings @dark-angel-is-back @sherala007 @amelia307 @jotink78 @anyaspidergirl-blog @tschrist1 @rachel1959 @saltwater-in-the-afternoon @xmly-xo @justfollowtheroad @kirenia15 @linasofia @bitter-sweet-farmgirl

[hanalyrata]

do you have any Alpha HCs?

Well fuck me sideways this has been in my askbox since I drew/wrote [this] and I've been avoiding it because I have a lot of thoughts and will YAP (there will likely be a part 2).

So buckle up *cracks knuckles*

Starting off on the food and drink because I woke up hungry. He doesn't really have food preferences as in things he actively likes and will talk about, remnants of the pits and not having a human body. It's just fuel to him. However! Sweet things, nope, none of that. Man likes his coffee black (just like his metal) and his alcohol hot and fiery. The spiciest rum or bitterest whiskey he can find.

Resting bitch face. Constantly. He's very brash and often crude in how he speaks. Which winds 'mega up because he's much more softly spoken and measured. He doesn't laugh much. More smug chuckles and the occasional incredulous bark. But an actual laugh? Only one ghoul gets to hear that (It's Ifrit, don't kid yourself, I'm not dropping my Alphrit brainrot).

Speaking of smug. He's the first 'The' Alpha. So he gets the egotistical attitude that comes with being 'first'. Definitely thinks he's above everyone else (with only a slight side shoot to Omega because they were summoned together and Omega is the only one who can tell Alpha to shut up and he will), the whole 'I hate you all equally' attitude. He does care, but he's the definition of a tsundere trope.

I don't see Alpha and Omega from like, a love perspective. Like romantically. There's a familial love there that comes with being summoned together and put through the same hells and hardships. By the time Terzo's gone, Alpha is just over it by that point. It's his third papa, he's just here to serve the ministry, he's used to being abandoned by now, who fucken cares about some flouncy-ass 'leader' who never showed a single measure, in his eyes, of the leadership and commitment that Secondo did (He doesn't know about the Papaganda partying).

What did boil his piss however, was the damage it did to Omega. The man he watched being so stone-hard and measured fall for Terzo, only to have it ripped from under him and abandoned again. He's angry at Terzo for that. Sure, he never gave a fuck about Terzo, but 'Mega did and the connection of being summoned together won't break that 'giving a fuck' that he has hidden in the depths of his heart.

Side note: Alpha does have his moments of silly. They're very few and far between though. See: The Shoes™

We gonna go NSFW? Fuck it, we're going NSFW because Alpha is chronically horny.

Alpha is a pleasure dom. Sure, he'll fuck mostly anyone into next week (He's a bit of a whore in my opinion), but if there's one thing that really feeds his ego is making someone else buckle under the pleasure he's feeding them. He has all of the control here even if the sub is the one calling the shots. He's the one making them feel all of that and making them come crawling back because they just want more.

Pain kink. Big time (If the sheer amount of piercings I draw him with didn't give that away). Knife-play and all. Loves having his hair pulled, being bitten and scratched up. It switches something off in his brain and he lives for that. Only issue is that he's had many a telling off from both Omega and Aether when he's gone a bit too deep and it's not something butterfly stitches can resolve.

Alphrit thoughts under cut:

Alpha was angry when he was being replaced, certain he was going to hate every fiber of his replacements being. But was instantly stopped in his tracks by that long orange hair and sunset eyes. He couldn't hate Ifrit if he tried.

He taught Ifrit almost everything he knows about topside, it's his job after all, being his predecessor. Omega notices the shift in his attitude over time. From the smug, I'm better than everyone, y'all can rot in the pits for all I give a fuck, to showing a bit more emotion around people that isn't just irritation. The subtle touches, the mumbled 'sweetheart' that only Ifrit gets.

Ifrit is the only ghoul Alpha will sub to, and he taught him everything he knows about that too. He needs to be able to switch off sometimes, not be the one to be in control, not be the one to be in charge of everything and the burden of being 'first' and Ifrit can do that. He's the one he feels safe enough to be vulnerable with because there's no judgment, only admiration and care.

It did take a while though for him to convince Ifrit to participate in the pain kinks. The fear of slapping Alpha too hard, pressing the blade too deep. He's still shaky on the latter. The former disappeared the moment Alpha almost instantly spilled behind the crack that echoed through the room on the first slap landing.

Ifrit is almost the golden retriever energy foil to Alpha's stubborn attitude and it just works for them. Even if Alpha's pinching the bridge of his nose so hard sometimes, he's certain his piercings are going to migrate.

I have more but this post is getting LONG.

[dr-spectre]

Can you talk about Marie?

I feel like people dont talk enough about her

Well you're in luck! It's her day today, I kinda feel obliged to talk about her.

I made it very well known that I am a Callie fan but that doesn't mean I don't appreciate Marie. Callie is at her best when she's with Marie, and Marie is at her best when she's with Callie. That's why their appearances in both Splatoon 1 and 3 are the most popular and well liked. Or at least that's what I think.

Marie in Splatoon 1 was kind of a fucking menace in her jokes im not gonna lie LMAO! Seriously go boot up your Wii U or emulator and look at the stuff she says while announcing stages, especially in the NoA version where she's on demon time.

Europe and Japanese Marie.

NoA Splatoon 1 Marie.

I can totally see why Marie had a LOT of fans in her Splatoon 1 incarnation. People really liked her sassy and funny personality.

Marie in Splatoon 2 was uh... well, im gonna be nice today to Splatoon 2, don't wanna end up ranting for 5 hours. I'll just say she was, a mixed bag that had some good moments and absolute dogshit writing in some parts and we'll leave it at that... she had a killer kimono tho.

Anyhow, I think her appearance in Splatoon 3 is her best. Her model is fucking gorgeous in that game, her demeanour is a lot more laid back while still maintaining her sass, which makes sense considering what happened in the previous game and what she's gone through. Her performances with Callie are at their best and she's incredibly expressive and fluid. The way she moves and emotes is some high class shit. The animators of this series know how to cook.

Like... look at her. Just look at her. I need you to look at her for me.

Marie is a very neat character with a fair amount of depth to her. She isn't just some annoying one-note character. She has gone through growth, and I think that's really beautiful to see and how it ties into Callie as well.

She's also really hot too like damn girl can you sit on m- ***gets brutally shot via firing squad***

[fereldanwench]

i'm finally starting to feel human again and i actually have the time to do an update

so um

the update:

ya girl is diabetic (idk what type yet tho bc doctors are clowns)

so this week i learned that birth control side effects and fucking diabetic keto acidosis apparently have some overlapping symptoms lmao

all the issues i was having? the leg cramps, fatigue, shortness of breath--it's because my blood was literally poisoning me! i was also peeing a lot, but this honestly didn't register with me as being that abnormal because i have always had to pee a lot because i always drink a lot of water. i was also losing weight, but i was trying to lose weight, so again, didn't register as a bad thing

diabetes was obviously not what was my first assumption was given that all this also perfectly aligned with my birth control issues (i honestly thought i was going to have a blood clot or something but everything was fine on that front, fortunately), but it was something that was kind of at the back of my mind because my brother is also diabetic. he was misdiagnosed as a type 2 at the beginning of 2019, but after he couldn't get it into remission despite losing almost half his body weight, he found out that he's actually the adult-onset type 1 or "1.5" type of diabetic

despite me telling the doctors this, i was literally told they "don't care about the type" because my blood sugar was super high and the initial treatment is going to be insulin injections regardless. i'm trying to keep my stress levels at a minimum right now so i will forgo a rant but needless to say, NO ONE LIKED THAT RESPONSE!!! (my brother was especially pissed--he could basically be a blueprint for what i went through but why listen to patients when they answer your questions about family history when you can just ignore them!)

so yeah, i'm on fast-acting insulin injections 3x/day with meals and long-acting insulin at night, and a very carefully curated diet with lots of veggies and lean protein. my glucose levels are steadily getting lower and i am feeling much, much better, but my sleep is all fucked up from the hospital visit (on top of the time change) and i'm still a little light-headed if i move too fast

my follow-up is friday so obviously i will be asking for the tests to determine type because what the actual fuck and can hopefully fine-tune my treatment

emotionally/mentally i'm... fine. ish. lmao. seeing that my brother has gone through this and seeing how well he's been able to manage it and still live a very full life (including traveling a lot) i think has done a lot to prevent this from feeling too scary and overwhelming. he and i are very close too--he actually picked me up from the hospital so he could give me some 'betes starter gear--so i have a good support system here

but the crying comes in waves, lmao. i had a nice good breakdown last night. not knowing the type is kind of delaying my ability to process it, too, because if it's type 2, i will put this bitch into remission!!! but if it's type 1, that's gonna be a lot harder to cope with, i think

i really get most emotional when i tell other people about it bc i immediately feel the need to assure them i'm fine, lmao. and for some reason other people telling me i'll be fine also makes me cry so it's just kjdfhgjdkfgdfgdfg

anyway, i wanted to give an update since i said i would and i know i certainly appreciate it when my friends who get hospitalized let me know they're okay lmao, but despite my usual oversharing tendencies, i actually don't really want to talk about this here! at least not right now. something about it feels very personal to me, idk. maybe it's because this is such a high-judgement disease and i just don't want to fucking hear shit about it!!

and for my final thought, i would just like to say that potassium IV drips fucking suck balls, and my arms are so goddamn sore and bruised from all the stabs and pokes and prods and squeezes

[the-barefoot-hatter]

#oohhhhh good shit#i think with one thing regarding the travel is that you dont CHOOSE where you end up. you go through a wormhole and it spits you out#randomly. Ford talks about being stuck in dimensions#which suggests that you are then reliant on whenever the next wormhole pops up... which will spit you out somewhere else#also in j3 Ford swears to stop Bill; and so i think even if he had a choice to go back to earth he WOULDN'T#also re Bill's body i think we can pull a lot of implications from sock opera. because you see Bill tell Dipper that without a body hes just#a ghost that cant do anything. (or something a long those lines...) and its always haunted me because its clearly Bill's own experience that#he uses as a terrifying threat to dipper#so i think Bill CAN go into other dimension but he CANT actually interact with matter and his powers only apply within the nightmare#dimension and its intersection with our world through dreamscapes unless Bill possesses someone#its also really fascinating because bill mustve at some point had a body but had lost it... and i wouldnt be surprised if it was the same#time he killed his dimension. also i dont think alex thought that much about it but the sense is that he requires the portal to obtain a#physical body. which again reallly nicely tailors to Bill's desperate desire for autonomy#because its been denied to him#but i think the portal punches a direct hole through the spaces of the nightmare realm and earth and can then allow Bill to exist physically#or something... also yessss very happy to see someone make a post about Bill's morals. because he DOES have them but its always predicated#on himself first... which is expected when his early life was defined by being denied autonomy and medically abused for being different.#its a huge trauma response and so you can see him being... actually empathetic with victims in similar experiences especially those who are#similar to himself and different; thats WHY he relates to Ford too. he IS able to empathize. though hed deny it till the end#but it ALWAYS needs to be based on if he's getting what he desires/ie hes not feeling threatened. childlike levels of emotional maturity#with the powers of a god.#just reiterating what was said before really tho haha. ahhh good analysis. also this is why i love the song wonderful nothing in the context

#of billford. like the versus going 'wonderful nothing / i just want something wrong / i just want indulgence /#i just want to make it out alive' like. fuck. bill cant handle anything that slightly threatens his autonomy because he immediately#has a meltdown emotionally because it taps into the trauma when he was young and hes never learned how to deal with it... literally going#into This Threatens My Existence (ie I just want to make it out alive) so im going to throw a hissy fit in anger and violence#and so chooses to always only persues his immediate desires because anything else is threatening even when they ultimately fuck up#relationships that matter.#such as his relationship with ford and just genrally regarding the portal#agh fuck its past 130 again fuck i need to sleep

Does Bill Cipher actually has any morals he goes by? I re-read your Human Bill Cipher AU Fanfiction - cause it's a hecking masterpiece and I LOVEEE it - and when he and Mabel were planning his escape and fake his death Bill said Mabel had too many morals... So it made me wonder do you think he has any either Canonly or in your universe? 💛

I think he does, canonly. They're not very nuanced or very consistent morals, but he does have them.

In The Book of Bill, one of the most striking scenes was when he taught the Puritan women witchcraft to fight back against their ludicrously oppressive husbands—because he didn't get anything out of it. He didn't try to use the women to further his goals, he had no particular beef with the Puritans beyond simply observing them and disliking them: he just objected to what was going on (on the grounds that it was boring, but I don't think that's the whole story), so he taught 'em some magic, gave 'em some boxed wine, and had a girls' night burning men at the stake for funsies.

And that was it. Then he left.

When he discusses his glory years in the Nightmare Realm, one of the first things he says is "I freed prisoners from bondage, mental patients from asylums, and dollars from bank vaults." That last bit is obv just robbery, but the first couple? Releasing people from captivity.

He says the Henchmaniacs discovered 8-Ball chained up in a prisoner pit—and bam, then 8-Ball was in Bill's gang. He made a deal to free Gideon from prison—and he may or may not have directly caused that to happen, but he didn't not cause it to happen.

The very first canonical crumb of intel we got about Bill's backstory was that he "liberated" his dimension. Whether or not that's what he actually did, I believe wholeheartedly that it was either what he tried to do or wished he'd done.

We know Bill's been held captive multiple times (bare minimum: whatever he did to get his mug shot taken as seen on Time Baby's announcement; his arrest after his O'Sadley's bender; getting trapped in an orb by a wizard; a couple hours in the US Military's hands; and, of course, Theraprism). He says after his O'Sadley's arrest, "I don't care for captivity" (quite understated, since we know that as he said those words he was hiding the fact that he was metaphorically gnawing at the bars of his cage in Theraprism) and "Those six hours felt like an eternity." One of his former victims wishes "therapy" on him because "it would drive him insane"—and considering that this victim was currently indefinitely involuntarily committed, I doubt he was talking about cursing Bill with once-a-month outpatient sessions.

Bill hates captivity, more than anything else. And more than that: Bill hates seeing OTHER PEOPLE in captivity.

If he sees an abused housewife, he goes "girl, you should literally murder him, and I'll help." On thorny ethical & political issues like "when is incarceration justifiable for punishment and/or the public good?" his answer is "never under any circumstances, blow up the prison." Or on "when is it morally justifiable to deprive a mentally unwell person of their freedom for their own and others' safety?" his answer is "never under any circumstances, blow up the mental hospital."

He talks a lot about hating rules, law, and order of all kinds ("why should cause precede effect? who voted on the laws of gravity?" "You have primal needs for chaos that are being repressed!") and it would be easy to write that off as him just inventing a political position that gives himself an "I can do whatever I want" card—except, he stands by those words. He goes out of his way to liberate people for no personal benefit.

But this is where the "not very consistent morals" part kicks in. Because, like,, he's got no problem with keeping an entire town captive in his petrified throne.

Sure, when Gideon betrays the town, Bill's happy to spring him out of real adult prison—but when Gideon betrays Bill, Bill's just as happy to stick him in a tiny cage to do cute dances for all eternity.

How dare the Pilgrims form a high-control cult that bans thought and imagination—but Bill can form a high-control cult that cuts off an entire town from news of the outside world, to the extent that he won't even let them travel for medical emergencies, and it's just peachy, he's doing them a favor really!

If Bill is the one who's been wronged, it's perfectly fine for him to crush people in an iron grip, because what he wants is more important than what those other terrible people wanted—because those other terrible people are oppressors, and Bill is a liberator!

Bill always makes exceptions for himself.

But, all the same—off-kilter and inconsistent though they may be, he does have some moral beliefs, and he can be outraged into action by what he perceives as moral injustices.

[criminal-sen]

I never thought the day would come but I finally finished this comic. I never want to make a full color comic ever again, at least with any expectation of finishing it even remotely promptly:D

A light warning: the first page dips into some uncomfortable territory - Mayuri feeling grief/guilt over Nemu, who is very recently deceased (it picks up where the scene leaves him after Pernida fight, passing out in one of those regenerative pods). That being said, there's nothing too shocking as far as violence or whatever so I'm not going to put it under a cut. Like, the tone gets lighter after the first page and is probably more comedic than you might expect.

What else... I flubbed some minor details like Mayuri's sleeve not being ripped but omg Who Care... I also forgot what the regenerative pods looked like and had to change them for this comic to even work? Like they very much do not have windows smh. Also idfk if or how they fill with liquid, so didn't bother. I didn't see Hitsugaya awkwardly sloshing away in his boots so idk about that anyway

It reads from left to right, enjoy<3

heehehhooo i don't think i told anyone it was Kenmayu, so am feeling quite sneaky>:3c

Edit: if some of the pages are hard to follow, I divided every page in half for some fn reason- so read across the top half first, then the bottom half. Is more obvious on some pages than others, I'm just now realizing

below the cut is all the thought bubbles/dialogue for anyone who needs it in text (it's actually finished for reals now)

Page One

Mayuri, narrating: Nemuri... It's actually quite an ironic name, come to think of it. Dreams are emotional, illogical... and thoroughly unscientific. And so, despite my best efforts,

I can't

fucking

CONTROL them.

Mayuri, thinking: I need to get out of here.

Page 2

Mayuri, thinking (this whole page is solely his thoughts): oh, how annoying! Can't this shit wait?! I need to be resting!! And HEALING!! Stupid fucking... piece of shit brain! And of course I didn't bring any sedatives!!

Hmm? That brainless sack of meat is still here? I suppose I could jump in there with him. His blissful stupidity must have an area of effect, as I never have nightmares during those... ... post-coital lapses of judgement known as 'cuddling'. Ughhh he's all sweaty and wounded... I bet he smells like a rotten carcass

A VILE CREATURE, INDEED!

Damnit, I'm stalling. I need to get a brace on my leg before I go anywhere. I really don't feel like dealing with it, though.

Oh, fine! It's going to hurt, though!

IT HURTS! (sfx: CRACK!)

(flavor text)

It Fucking Hurt

Damnit, this is so reckless! Some batshit Quincy could destroy this area at any moment! I'm going to die a slow, disgraceful death under a pile of rubble! And for what?! Because I was having a bad dream?! Have I lost my fucking MIND?!!

...That's the issue at hand, though, isn't it. I can't start coming unraveled in the midst of a war. At best, the meltdown will render me useless... but I'm a man of extremes, so... ... best lock it up until I have some privacy.

Well, here's my diversion tactic... god, he looks like a neanderthal in a block of ice... sleeping so soundly, not a care in the fucking world!

Hmph. I'm going to have to wake him up, aren't I? He'll need to help me get in. Huh... how incredibly inconvenient. How irritating! I should've let Pernida turn him into meatballs!

Page 3

Oh for crying out loud. His stupid face hasn't moved a muscle. Damnit, am I seriously going to have to yell?

(Mayuri yelling sound effects) !!ZARAKI! WAKE THE FUCK-GODDAMNIT-THE FUCK IS WRONG

M, thinking: Still nothing?! Well, so much for being nice!!

M, aloud: ZARAKI!!! If you don't wake up RIGHT FUCKING NOW, I'm STABBING you again!!

Z, aloud: You that eager to DIE, Kurotsuchi?! I'll fuckin- ...huh? Wait, where am I... Man, I got NO clue what's going on right now... but you look like shit. And uh... ...I'm not even gonna ask... ...but do you seriously not have like... a bag or somethin'?

M, aloud: Zaraki. For once in your life, would you just shut up?

Page 4

M, aloud: I'm tired. And I don't want to repeat myself. So. You're in a pod I designed that speeds up healing. As so was I until it... hmm... malfunctioned.... forcing me to exit it. And I'm in a rather dire state, as you can see. Just standing here explaining is taking a lot out of me. So... clearly, the best solution is for me to squeeze in next to you! It's just basic common sense! So, ehrm... do.. you mind?

Z, thinking: Ha! I bet he's blushing so hard right now. But somethin's not right here. Didn't he fight that... thing... that took me out? He's alive, so he must've won. But he's not being' all smug about it. What's he hiding? Nah... that's a dumb question to be askin' myself. Especially when the answer's been staring me in the face... since the moment I opened my eyes. They had a tough fight... ...and I don't think Nemu survived.

Z, aloud: Uh... look. If Nemu's uh... well, if somethin' happened... then... I'm sorry. Yachiru's gone, too. I, uh... I'm not good at this shit, but-

M, aloud: Didn't I tell you to shut the fuck up?!! I can't do this right now, okay?! So just can it!!!!

(sound effects of him breathing harshly, then saying 'ugh' and wiping his nose. Next line over, he's fidgeting and clicking his tongue)

M, thinking: ...goddamnit.

M, aloud: I'm... sorry about Yachiru... and I suppose I shouldn't have screamed-

Z, aloud: HEY. (jab sound effect) Hurry up, will ya? And quit bein' all sincere before you have a fuckin' stroke.

M, aloud: You bastard!!! I'll give you something to stroke! (he's also growling while Zaraki's talking, with text pointing at his forehead that says 'hurts like a BITCH')

oh and I didn't want to break the rhythm, but the little drawings of both Yachirus (middle right) have text that says 'the Yachiru he means' pointing at pink haired Yachiru 'but uhhh idk:p' above Yachiru Unohana. Since uhhh he technically lost both of them (though 'lost' is maybe not the most accurate word for pink haired Yachiru)

Page 5 (btw I'm giving up on trying to write the sound effects bc it's late and I want to go to sleep lol)

Z, aloud: That's better... thought you'd lost it for a second there.

M, aloud: You goddamn-put me down, right this instant!!

Z, aloud: Oh shuddup and hold still, will ya?

M, aloud: Tell me to shut up... I'll kill you... ... You careless oaf, can't you see I'm hurt?! And your breath, what the fuck!! Are your insides rotting? This is completely unacceptable!!

Z, thinking: ... This fuckin' guy, I swear... ...didn't he say he was tired?!

Z, aloud: Oh, quit yer yappin'!! I'm sorry you twisted yr stupid ankle, but I'm missing an entire arm!! AND!!! If that wasn't bad enough?! YOU FUCKIN' STABBED ME!!

M, aloud: heh... Stabbed, you say??? Such an ungrateful term, I think I might cry! But this can be a learning opportunity! Next time, just say I saved your l-

Z, aloud: You, uhh... you alright, little buddy? You gonna cry it out?

M, aloud: I'M GOING TO FUCKING KILL YOU AAAAAFUCK

[star-writes-sometimes]

toxic

a/n - i haven't written angst in years so sorry if this is ass

c/w - hard drug use, self harm mention, violence (slapping), very toxic relationship, angst, fem!reader

—

your phone is buzzing nonstop, causing you to quietly wonder if you enjoy torturing yourself. 

you could just turn it off, block the number or hell, just turn your phone over so you didn’t have to see his stupid face come across your screen.

but a part of you craves it - no needs it, the idea that he still misses you, that he’s still trying to win you back.

it’s addictive.

that’s the whole problem, isn’t it? you’re both addicts. he can’t help going back to those colourful little pills and you can’t help going back to him.

your phone is silent for almost ten minutes and you are trying to ignore the heavy feeling that settled in your chest as a result. 

you chew on your lip as you look at your blank phone screen. just two small taps would show you the countless missed calls and desperate messages, but you knew you would cave. if you saw the exact number you know you would give into him again.

you don’t get to make that decision though, because before you can give in, unrelenting knocking sounds through your apartment.

“baby, let me in!” you already knew it was him but hearing his voice confirmed it and that sent a shiver down your spine.

there’s no conscious thoughts streaming through your head as you walk to the front door, only the thumping of your heart that seems to sound out his name

thanos. thanos. thanos.

and that was his name, your name for him. even before he was using it as a stage name. it’s what you called him the first time he had dyed his hair purple, back when you were dumb teenagers who considered weed a hard drug.

you snap back into reality as you reach the door. your fingers ghost over the doorknob.

“you can’t ignore me forever, beautiful!”

you despise how your heart still squeezes at his dumb nicknames. you can't even remember the last time he called you by your real name.

to be fair, you never call him by his name either.

“please, sweetheart, just let me in,” his voice is softer now, in the way that makes your knees weak.

fuck it.

you try to wipe the emotion off your face and open the door, “what?”

the first thing you notice is his blown out pupils, his unsteady stance, the slight shakiness to his hands.

unfortunately for you, you also notice the way his expression softens at the sight of you, the way his entire body seems to relax.

“baby,” he breathes out.

“you're high,” you say bluntly, your jaw clenching slightly.

he laughs slightly, but it's bitter, tainted, “yeah, and?” 

you scoff but before you could slam the door in his face, he jams his foot in the door and forces his way inside.

“i”m not fucking leaving until you talk to me,” he says firmly.

you swallow the lump in your throat and glare at the door like it was to blame for this.

you should really get a chain, you think to yourself, he wouldn't be able to force his way in with a chain.

the more realistic part of your brain calls bullshit immediately though. you like having him force his way in like he owns the place, like he still owns you.

and even if you did, you know him, chain or not if he wants to see you he will find a way.

you walk into the kitchen, trying to seem chill and unaffected by him. but your heart is racing and you can almost feel your hands start to tremble. of course, he follows you closely, never letting you walk out of his reach.

“there’s nothing to talk about,” you manage to say.

this time he was the one scoffing, “there's pleanty to fucking talk about.”

you mindlessly try to tidy up your kitchen, doing anything to keep your mind - and hands - off him.

but predictably, he catches on quick, grabbing your wrist after you put a glass away and pulling you so your facing him.

his other hand grabs your jaw, not unkindly but not comparable to the tender touches he used to smother you with.

“hey,” he says harshly, “fuckin’ look at me.”

you could almost flinch at his tone. you slowly look up at him, only to be met with his blown out pupils, but the drugs couldn't hide the rage in his eyes.

“nam-gyu told me you were with another guy,” he sneers.

you suppress the small smile that fought to break your nonchalant demeanour. when your coworker asked you out, your only intention was an easy fuck and maybe - just maybe - make thanos jealous.

maybe. 

“so what? we’ve haven’t been together in over a month, su-bong,” you say, emphasising his name.

his jaw clenches at that. his grip on your wrist tightens and he pulls you flush against him, “i don’t care, you’re still mine.”

you push him away and glare at him, “you’re a fucking hypocrite. how many sluts have you fucked since we broke up?”

he laughs bitterly, “oh i’m the hypocrite? you’re happy to choke down any pill any stranger at the club offers you but it’s not okay for me to do the same?”

“that’s different! doing shit on special occasions is very different then carrying them around and taking one at every mild inconvenience!”

“oh like you cutting up your wrists is any better,” he spits out.

before you can think through your actions, your palm was connecting with his cheek. his head turns to the side from the force and he slowly turns to look at you again, “did you just fuckin’ hit me.”

you freeze and stare up at him in shock, “i don’t…” you start but trail off, not knowing what to say.

he smirks and walks closer to you, forcing you to step back until your back hits the wall. he leans down, crowding your space until all you can see is him.

“do it again,” he says lowly.

you blink up at him in surprise. you recognise the look in his eyes, the same look he’d get after getting into a fight.

or when he was hate fucking you.

you slap him again, notably softer than before. he just laughs and grabs your jaw, “no, not quite baby. what happened, lost your confidence?” he hums out condescendingly. 

your anger returns as quick as it left and your palm is against his cheek again. it’s forceful and harsh, his lip splits and blood coats his mouth.

“that’s my girl,” he grins, fucking grins.

“shut the fuck up,” you hiss out and shove his chest, “you’re so fucking pathetic, i can’t belive i ever cared about you.”

he laughs happily, in a way that reminds you of when you were younger, of easier times when you were proud to be his. it only makes your blood boil more.

“and yet you still love me,” he says smugly.

you slap him again and he’s laughing more as soon as your skin hits his. blood smears on your hand and he carelessly spits some out onto your kitchen floor. he was right and that pisses you off more than it should, “i hate you.”

his eyes seem to soften as he smiles at you, “no. you don’t.”

you glare at him, considering your options for a few moments. no option is good anyway so you grab onto his stupid neon tshirt and pull him in for a kiss.

he chuckles triumphantly as his lips meet yours. you can taste the blood and the biting taste of whatever alcohol he had chugged down before coming here.

his hands slip down to your ass then thighs, groping the flesh roughly like he wanted your skin to be permanently bruised with his hand prints.

he breaks the kiss and trails more kisses down your neck, “fuck i missed you so much,” he breathes out against your skin, “so fuckin’ much, pretty girl.”

you whimper softly as his teeth possessively grazes your skin. his hands come to rest on your hips and he squeezes tight.

“don’t want to see you with other guys,” he mumbles before kissing you again, “don’t want to hear about you being with other guys.”

you roll your eyes and tug his hair softly, “you think it’s fun for me? havin’ to hear all those bimbos bragging about getting you into bed.” 

he just grins again. his hands reach up to hold your cheeks, his thumb tracing your bottom lip that was tinged pink from his blood, “then we won’t. we’ll get back together, yeah baby? just us two again.”

it’s embarrassing how quickly you want to agree, but at least you knew better than to show it, “i don’t know…” you say in an almost teasing tone.

his hold on you tightens and he pulls your face up for another kiss, “you know you want to.”

you kiss him back eagerly, fisting his hair with one hand and gripping his shirt.

he laughs into the kiss, “knew you would, such a good girl, my girl,” he murmurs against your lips.

you deepen the kiss in response and he groans softly, grinding his crotch up into yours.

his hands leave you and you can feel him fidgeting beneath you but you’re too consumed by the kiss to notice. 

what you do notice though, is his hand reaching up to press a small pink pill at your lips.

“swallow,” he says simply, looking down at you with a dark look in his eyes.

you stare at his hand, hesitating for a moment, but as soon as you glance up and see the small smile on his pretty face, you know you’ve already lost.

you swallow the pill, the chalky aftertaste barely registering to you before thanos’ lips are on yours again.

he pushes you against the wall again, groping your tits as you kiss. the kiss is aggressive, teeth and tongue clashing as you moan into each other mouths.

it takes less than ten minutes of making out for the pill to start blurring your vision and the familiar fuzzy feeling to creep into your brain. you didn’t ask what it was and you weren’t going to. you never did.

he had you again, you didn’t even really try to fight it this time. it was getting easier to give in every time he came crawling back. it never matters if he ends it or you do, you can always count on this.

in a weird way he is the most reliable person in your life and you do truly love him. you know this isn’t fair to him, you know you should be trying to help him but you’re too busy trying to help yourself. you can make a good life for yourself, far away from thanos and his shitty friends and his shitty life.

he wants to corrupt you. not with any malicious attempt, he just ignorantly believes that popping pills is healthier than the shit you do to cope. he wants you to be like him, to party every night, piss away money and always be on some new designer drug.

he wants to corrupt you.

and what’s worse?

you want to let him.

—

[zombiepuke]

shelburn more like shelburn right.

hey so i'm literally in love with hal shelburn so here take this. pssst i adore comments and reblogs so much they literally keep me going!!!!!!

hal shelburn x afab!reader lots of emotions and oral sex hell yeah

God. He’s so pretty. Fuck him though.

Most of your time spent with him was like this—girlishy daydreaming about him, how soft and kind his brown eyes always glinted under any shade of light, the cozy sienna colored sweater he wore when it got chilly enough outside, the strength and chisel of his hands, even the stubble across his jaw—and how it would feel against your inner thighs—

Ugh, snap out of it. He’s talking to me. I need to listen. Also I’m supposed to be mad at him for ghosting me.

You refocused your attention on the man in front of you, his desperate expression, worried, terrified, eyes reddened and shoulders slack in defeat–wait, had he been crying? A pang of guilt speared your heart for having the audacity to oogle the poor man while he was currently having a mental crisis. Or a spiritual one. Or physical? You weren’t actually sure what was wrong, now that you thought about it. 

Hal had texted you, misspellings and incorrect grammar–very unlike him–merely an hour or so beforehand, insistently begging to come over to your apartment. The first place you’d kissed him, all those months ago–fuck him for leaving me. Why did I even agree to meet him? But that had been months, nearly eight, to be exact–and you hadn’t seen him since. Your heart had been shattered, your feelings for him swelling over the weeks you’d known him and his kindness, his respect for you, his gentle nature, it was so, so easy to just trust fall and drop off a cliff into a whirling pool of love for Hal. However, he’d just as quickly released all contact with you as he had begun it when you’d met.

When you’d opened your door to his persistent knocking, you were surprised to see him look so… relieved? Or maybe he was just that happy to see you… but he didn’t appear to be happy, per se, just calmed by your living, breathing, existing, not-dead, presence. 

You were angry, rightfully so, and hurt, and heartbroken, and above all else, confused. What on god’s green earth would have made him text you twenty three times to see him this late at night? After not speaking to you in so long?

“You know I’m still pissed at you, Hal. Like, you fucking ghosted me–what, are we in high school?” you broke the silence in your frustration. Hal looked up at you with watery eyes and damp lashes, large hands crossed on your dining table. He had been crying. What the fuck?

“Please. I just–I can’t lose you, too.” you could hardly hear his whisper, broken and downtrodden, and he literally looked like he could start sobbing into the tabletop at any moment. Like, huge, ugly, can’t-hardly-breathe, stuck-in-his-throat, kinda-really-embarrassing sobs. Your heart clenched for him.

“W–what? What do you mean, Hal…?” Worry bounced through your brain cells, and your breath stopped in its tracks, your body froze as if seen by Medusa herself–because suddenly, he was dragging himself out of your dining chair, coming around the bend of the table–Hal’s hands were on your cheeks and his lips were on yours, hard pressed and utterly desperate, nipping at your lower lip in a question, begging to please, please, please, don’t go, don’t leave me, don’t leave me, don’t leave me–don’t die. 

But you were none the wiser to his fear of your untimely, unnecessarily violent death, as his body was absolutely shaking, his hands trembling as they pulled you by the upper arms into him, clutching onto you as if you would quite literally dissolve into thin air if he didn’t. The lights in your apartment seemed to fade down into blackness, disappear just like Hal had months ago–it was dark, and the only thing that mattered anymore was you, was him, the mere atoms’ length that was in-between your bodies.

“Hal, baby–what is wrong? Talk to me, Hal, please–” 

“I–I can’t–” he shuddered amongst heated kisses that were then being trailed along your jawline, your throat, the sensitive sides of your neck, his stubble igniting flames in your belly that he’d been stoking for the year you’d known him. “I can’t tell you right now, I’ll explain it all later, I just–just need you, please,”

He needed to know you were real, there and then–not broken into pieces in his arms, not lifeless somewhere in a pool of blood–some yours, some not–that you hadn’t succumbed to the curse that wrought his family name, the sickly cymbal crashing and dark fur and spiralled eyes and aneurysms and shotguns and stampedes and hibachi knives–that his stupid, selfish, ignorant, asshole older-by-three-minutes brother hadn’t turned that goddamn key and taken your innocent life away–

How could he tell you that the reason he’d left you was because his dumb-fuck brother had gotten ahold of that childhood heirloom and was wielding it like a goddamn sword? That he’d hoped distance would keep you safe–you, the only thing good in his fucked up life anymore–his son adopted away by some tree hugger healer never to be in his company again, every relative passed onto the other side freakishly and undeservingly. You, in all of your compassion and love for him he didn’t deserve, the guilt from turning that motherfucking key all those twenty six years ago, were here now. The distance be damned because Bill was back in town and close enough now to inadvertently (intentionally) end your life—and Hal wouldn’t put it past him to continue turning and turning and turning just to get under his dumbshit brother’s skin—to destroy him once and for all.

He had to save you. But he didn’t know how to tell you. So showing you, apologizing to you, making up for every empty night wondering why he’d left, why he had stopped showing up, why he’d blocked your number, what you had done wrong, why, why, why–giving you himself, it would make it more palatable for you to understand why you had to leave this town behind for good–leave him behind for good.

Any lingering anger, annoyance, negative feelings towards Hal’s sudden departure and return vanished into nothingness at the absolute brokenness of his voice, the desperation in his movements against you—the magma boiling in your gut at every press of his full lips to your skin, fluttering down your chest and kissing every inch of you that was exposed over the hem of your t-shirt. You would pry into him later to find out what the actual fuck he was going on about but right then, you could feel Hal’s erection pressing into your thigh, his chest heaving breaths, soft panting grunts ricocheting through your eardrums and your head was spinning, round and round and round til you felt as if you had jumped dimensions, timelines, lifetimes, something. Large, warm hands grasped onto you as if you were a lifeline, inching up underneath your loose t-shirt and coming to a rest on your waist beneath the fabric, all the while his mouth found yours again, kissing the soul from your lips, his tongue pressing gently but insistently against your bottom teeth. 

Hal was so manic and frantic in that moment, it almost worried you more than it aroused you. You pulled back gently, pushing against the man’s shoulders to get his attention back on you, away from pressing kiss after needy kiss to your entire face. 

“Okay, okay, Hal… hey, you’re okay, just, hold on—“

“Do you—do you want this? Want me? I—I can stop, I just—god, there’s so much, just—don’t leave me. Please. We can stop but just please, please stay home tonight—“ Hal literally whined through his teeth, eyes filled with unshed tears, lips trembling. You didn’t know what to think but damn it all to hell, you missed him, you wanted him, and you knew that for sure at least.

“Hal, I’ve—wanted you since we first ran into each other. I’ve wanted you this whole fucking time I just—you left, and you wouldn’t text me back, wouldn’t call me back—and I thought I’d never see you again,” you sniffled pitifully, feeling yourself choke on a sob. “I thought you were done with me, and it hurt, it hurt so fucking bad when you left. I have missed you, so, so much. I don’t give a fuck what insane shit you’re going through, I’m here, baby, I’m here. Please—I want—I need you,” 

With that, there was a pause—a stillness in the air of your tiny apartment. There was a drop, in a spiritual sense—an enlightenment that you understood, as if the Universe itself was speaking to you through children’s toy monkeys and faint whispers of terrified screams and painful memories of death and immortality, love for a sibling that didn’t love him back—it was like you already knew everything that Hal brought with him, his childhood and adulthood alike dragging behind him like a rotting corpse, unable to dispose of it, unable to hide its darkness that permeated his every waking move. You saw that awful, decomposing thing that he sloughed along, and you sought after him regardless, clung onto him like dried blood clings to fabric, to floorboards, to door handles—so much blood, dripping across you both, soaking through to your bones, drenching everything and everyone you loved.

He crashed into you once more, harder, this time—his need outweighed his fear for once—his anxiety, his trauma all bubbling up to the surface and pawed away by your hands at his belt buckle, tugging at it until it finally pulled itself undone, taking no time but a single beat to shove your hand down Hal’s jeans, grasping onto his hard cock like it was your oxygen and he sobbed into the crook of your neck at your gentle fingers surrounding him, his skin so aching and smooth and needy in your palm, you had an inkling this wasn’t going to last long for the poor man—if his heavy breathing and whining and hiding his face into your shoulder was any indication.

“Please—please—fuck me, fuck me, please fuck me,” Hal mumbled into your skin, panting and sweltering, and you swore the temperature in your apartment rose by ten degrees or more, your already wet cunt throbbing in attention at his sweet, pathetic begging. In all of your fantasies about him, those three am evenings with your vibrator between your legs and palm clasped over your mouth, calling out his name, clutching the sheets and imagining his body draped across yours, pounding you into oblivion—it never crossed your mind that maybe, it would be the other way around—him begging for you. It made sense, Hal had always been the gentler twin, the kindest, most generous man you’d ever known, nearly submissive in his presence around you, always ducking his head in reverence at you, smiling sweetly with pretty teeth when you wrapped your arms around him, or called him and invited him over to hang out at your place, or caught up with him over coffee, as if he didn’t deserve your attention. Psh, poor touch-starved idiot. 

You know what. Fuck yes, you mulled over in your mind, bubbling and airy, light as a feather as Hal’s hips started moving, thrusting into your hand as well as he could given the confines of his jeans—and you obliged him, gently meeting his movements in small, sturdy strokes—until you felt literal tears dripping onto your shoulder, his voice broken into babbling shards, unable to form words to give to you, just pieced together curses and praises and rampant begging. It had been so long since anyone had touched him in any way, but especially this way—and even then, thinking about it, none of those other times could ever amount to a fraction of how you felt pressed against him in that moment. “Fuck, Hal, this is so—good, you’re so fucking hot—“

A breathy moan slipped from him at your praise—you turned your head to kiss at the man’s neck, planting your mouth there and relishing in his pulse against your lips, felt it getting higher and higher the longer your hand remained in his pants. You absolutely had not been expecting that reaction (to be fair, you hadn’t been expecting seeing Hal ever again, either) from him and the pit of worry deep in your gut stirred; you knew there was something god-awfully wrong, but you slowly placed that pot on the back burner to turn fully to Hal, give him everything you had, and then some—just like you’d been wishing to do all this time.

So you caved, pushed him back to sit down in the dining chair once more, and before he could even hardly respond or whine at the loss of your hand on him, you sank down to your knees right there in your tiny little kitchenette in your tiny little apartment, Hal’s eyes blown wide at your advances. The time read nearly two o’clock in the morning, sleep stung at your eyes, your body aching after a day’s double shift, but the energy that pulsed through your soul radiating out from your center—it was alive, it was there, just like Hal was, just like you still were.

Palms splayed across strong thighs, you didn’t bother to pull Hal’s jeans all the way down—there wasn’t enough time to do so, it felt as if there was a ticking clock embedded in your brain that was driving you to get the man’s cock out as quickly as humanly possible. He was beautiful, every inch—from his little curls atop of his head, to the tippy top of his toes, to the soft patch of dark hair underneath his navel, he was beautiful. He was yours, dare you say it. Yours. Mine. Mine. All mine—

You took no time in burying yourself into him. Starting with an open-mouthed, wet trail of kisses from his navel down into his hipbone, sliding his cock into your mouth in one solid, gentle motion—slow, looking up through your lashes into the dimness of your apartment, the only light the one above your stove a few feet away—bright enough you could see Hal’s eyes roll and flutter shut, his head fall backwards to expose his throat, the full-body shake and tremor of his strong hands as they immediately found their way to your hair. Not pulling, not even a slight tug, there—just twining the strands though his fingertips, just solidifying your presence—speaking surely of your existence. The loud, long groan of your name you heard from his lips shot rocketships to your cunt, soaked and neglected and wanting, the weight and taste of his cock on your tongue adding jet fuel to the already raging inferno.

“Oh, fuck—fuck, please—that feels so good—you feel so good—“ he outright panted, the words broken up into gibberish, maniacal language that he could barely articulate over the wet heat of your mouth. You rolled your shoulders back and planted both palms on his knees, thumbs rubbing soft circles into the fabric in comforting little motions—you didn’t need your hands for how desperately you wanted his cock, letting your instinct take control. Slurping insistently with every pass downwards, laving your tongue up the underside of his dick every pass upwards, he was a goner, thrusting and squirming in your chair, his shoes pressing against your upper thighs, hands touching all over your forehead and hair, back arching against the wood.

The redness in his cheeks could just be made out in your view as you occasionally looked up at him, his own eyes squeezed shut hard, as if he couldn’t bare to look at you, or you would dissipate, and all of this would suddenly be not real anymore, and he’d be alone again—cold again, with nothing, noone, just himself and that gnawing terror lurking around every godforsaken corner he turned.

“God, you taste so fucking good, you look so good, you’re so fucking perfect, Hal, fuck–” you reluctantly let him go with a wet pop, wrapping a hand around him to stroke him off while you took a short moment to catch your breath, daring to look up and steal a glimpse of him. Expression one of bliss, of agony, his hair mussed up, eyes wild and nearly disbelieving, glasses askew across his nose, one of his elegant hands come up to clasp across his mouth to stifle any noises he may have been making, his t-shirt bunched up across his ribcage. I think I love him, the tiny little voice declared in your head. The man looked as if he were about to break down into tears entirely. This wasn’t exactly how you had pictured your first time with him but, it was perfect, he was perfect, you couldn’t have asked for anything more perfect in your life.

“Oh, oh god–I’m–I’m close,” He whined as you opened your mouth and encouraged him to slide back home, to thrust up, fuck your face like you really wanted him to, swallowing his cock with even more fervor at his strained words. Both hands were suddenly back in your hair, sweeping the strands away so he could see your pretty face and to hold you where he needed you as you took him down, down, down as far as you could, cockhead pressing to your soft palate and you gagged wetly, relishing in the sloppy noises and saliva and precum dripping from your lower lip as it stretched around his dick, tears pricking your eyes–you couldn’t help but snake one of your own hands to settle between your thighs and find your clit in little circles as he chased his pleasure, letting himself go for once in his life–putting himself first, even if it was only for these few suspended moments. It meant the world to you.

Once again, that dead, moldy corpse of abuse that weighed him down like a train, those threads of fabric that kept that trauma close to him beginning to unravel with every buck of his hips into your mouth, every swirl of your tongue against his cockhead, in the way your eyes shined as your gaze found his, the gentle noises of encouragement that reverberated through your throat as you sucked him off, the smile he could feel on his dick–and when he was able to make out your hand moving furiously between your own thighs, that he was enough to make you, this perfect, selfless, compassionate spectacle he would never, ever deserve–touch yourself, it was over for him. Desperate panting, cries of your name and a tangled bunch of whimpers and pitiful noises–pleasepleaseplease I’m gonna come pleasefuck–

Hal went silent but his body went taught, back arching like a bow, hands curling into your hair and you stayed as still as you could so he could grind his cock down into your mouth, spurts of hot liquid flooding your throat, spilling down your chin and onto the floor, a sharp cry of your name and some intangible curse escaping him–you gagged harshly in between murmurs of mhm, mhm, mhm, frantically swallowing as much of him as you could, not wanting any of him to go to waste as he rode out his orgasm. Your hand came back up from your cunt, grasping onto his dick to lick up any remaining fluid still there, alternating between hot drags of your tongue and soft sucking kisses to the underside. One of the man’s hands cradled the side of your face in awe, in gratitude, before gently pushing your mouth away, too much too much too much. Un-attaching yourself from his cock felt like a genuine heartbreak, but eventually you laid down one last kiss to the soft patch of skin right above his dick and dragged yourself back up to sit back down in the chair closest to you.

Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you relished in your view–Hal’s chest heaving, arms limply resting on the arms of the chair, his eyes watery and flickering, that gorgeous mouth hashing out pants and weak exhales. His glasses were almost halfway down the bridge of his nose, and you reached out to carefully pluck them back into their rightful place, giggling and leaning forward to kiss Hal’s sweaty forehead, absentmindedly going to curl a lock of his hair between your fingertips. He hummed softly at your touch, breathing cascading back to normal as he came back down from his high, face the most relaxed it had been all evening.

For a few long moments, Hal wrapped his arms around your middle to hold you close, and he could relinquish the monkey, could let go of the past–and clutch onto to you, and some semblance of a possible future, with you.

“I didn’t–I didn’t, um, hurt you, did I?” gentle brown eyes flicked to yours, suddenly nervous, embarrassed. You couldn’t help but snort out a soft laugh, placing a palm to his cheek, stroking a thumb across his pretty face.

“Hal, if you’re referring to the gagging–please, that’s exactly what I was trying to make happen, baby. Don’t you worry your pretty little head,” a half-smile broke his face, still unsure of himself, but calmer now, much calmer than he’d been in… shit, twenty six fucking years.

“Do you–do you know how long I’ve wanted that–wanted you? Hal, I think about you all the fucking time, I’ve wanted all of you for so goddamn long–I miss you,” you don’t know how he had that kind of effect on you—bouncing back and forth from overpowering lust to debilitating emotion like a ping pong ball. It was strange, overwhelming, the kinds of feelings Hal Shelburn aroused within you, but you couldn’t deny them, and by the look of heartbreak and want and affection and pain in his eyes, you deduced the feelings were mutual.

Simultaneously, there was frustration, and love, and hope, and fear—all mixed together, lust and wanton bodies and words and actions that should have been said and done months ago sandwiched between it all. You took it all, desperate and quite literally pulling him out of the chair and pushing Hal to your tiny couch in the middle of your living room, gut aching for him and anything he was willing to give you.

“Please, Hal—don’t make me beg you, please,” you gasped out, pressing to him again and again, swallowing his grunts of surprise as you (carefully) threw him and yourself down onto the sofa. “Please, just–just touch me, make love to me, something, fuck,”

Widened eyes, Hal gulped hard, near disbelieving that he had done this to you–worked you up this much, your pupils blown with lust, with adoration, he couldn’t help but lean forward and press a kiss to the outside of your knee–that simple touch sending you into some other dimension where monkeys didn’t exist and people that you cared for like you cared for Hal had maybe gone to therapy at some point in their fucked up lives.

Hot spirals of lust pooled in your gut as your back pressed up against the armrest of your couch, watching with half-lidded eyes as Hal moved his body in-between your open legs, carefully, slowly taking one and throwing it over his shoulder. Just the texture of the man’s t-shirt and the warmth of his body against your lower leg had you nearly drooling, and the sight of him beginning to press tiny kisses to the arch of your foot—your ankle—your calf—the bend of your knee—each one deliberate, meaningfully placed, a story told from him to you—how he desired this, you, how he wanted to finally come home to you and spill his guts and tell you everything and never feel that god-awful terror that wormed its way into the inner workings of his spinal cord again.

“Can—can I…?” Hal whispered to you, holding on to your raised leg, his other hand suddenly very, very close to your center, soft fingertips dancing patterns along the hems of your underwear. His question was punctuated by an immediate, near-furious nod of your head, words failing you at your anticipation of his actions, just the way he looked in front of you had your throat closing up.

As Hal fumbled with hooking his fingers into the waistband of your underwear, you took a solid, quiet moment to stare up at him—in all of his glory, he was there, thick eyebrows furrowed in concentration and adoration at you and your now-almost-nude body. The rest of the world didn’t matter then, not relatives or friends or any other—just the two of you, and his hands as they dragged the soaked fabric down your legs, tossing it to the floor. Fear was long forgotten and time slowed to nearly a halt as Hal made to part your legs father, letting the foot not across his shoulder drop gently to rest on the floor so that you were entirely exposed to him; and your gazes met through the bright darkness of your living room as he shifted to his knees before you, mouth dragging a trail up your inner thigh. 

Your earlier thought of his stubble rubbing against your skin was made reality as he finally, finally pressed into you—

“Hal, Hal, fuck—fuck—“

—one long, deliberate stripe of his wet tongue right through the folds of your glorious cunt, settled by small presses of his full lips around your clit and up to the junctions of your thigh and pelvic bone, his exhale caught on a moan at your taste, his lashes fluttering sweetly. You could feel your face scrunch up in pleasure almost immediately, a short gasp of breath, both hands reaching down blindly to card through his hair as he continued to kiss and kiss around your pussy, teasing flits of his tongue to your lips—murmuring like he was in a trance, brain entirely shot from just your pretty cunt.

“Jesus... so pretty..” you could hear him babbling between smooches, deep voice muffled by his head being in between your thighs, so close to your aching flesh you could literally feel Hal’s words as his lips moved, as if he were burying his praise into you. Absentmindedly, you mulled over how this all felt like fate, like every choice the two of you had made had resulted in this—no accidents here.

White-hot fire burned in your gut as Hal settled into you, one of his large hands clutching onto your hip, the other resting on your lower stomach, his mouth dragging upwards through your cunt a few times, just feeling you, familiarizing himself with your taste, his eyes closing shut in focus, in reverence. You could hardly breathe it felt so good, looking down to find him dopey and docile and content, as if his emotional state from previously in the evening had been entirely eradicated, buried away just like his face between your thighs, his glasses once again crooked and pushed to the side—barely-there whimpers and noises of bliss poured from his lips that you retaliated with your own groans; you were intoxicating.

Parting your legs even farther so Hal could really ease himself into the junction there, he pressed his tongue against every inch of you, experimentally teasing and licking you to locate the exact ways to touch you to make your hips twitch. Your breathing was heavy, your fists grabbing at the man’s hair, silent begging for him to continue, forever, never stopping his mouth on you or leaving you ever again–I don’t give a fuck what insane shit you’re going through, Hal, I’m here. Don’t leave me again, please, please don’t stop–don’t leave.

After some time of gritting your teeth, breathing his name, hips bucking, his mouth finding you over and over again, Hal eventually found a careful rhythm, a lovely back-and-forth motion across your clit with his tongue that made your head spin uncontrollably, your toes curling, back arched into a slope. It was entirely too late for either of you to still be awake, and you were both aware of it–Hal even more so, soft pitched sounds of children’s music and a drum-beat drowned out only by the desperate, perfect noises you were making–and he decided, deep down, that even if those cymbals and music and god-awful spiralled red eyes became alive in that room at that instant, he truly wouldn’t give a fuck–nothing, not even the promise of death could pry him from your cunt, arms locked around your hips so you truly were going nowhere, exposed and split open on his hot tongue–he would rather die than ever let you go, and if he did–some hacksaw embedding into his back, sniper rifle hitting him between the eyes, toaster in the bathtub, freak accident falling into the tiger den at the zoo–he would leave this lifetime happy, with a genuine smile on his face because he finally got to have you after all this time.

So he pressed on, fully divulging into making out with your cunt, tongue flicking in circles around your bud until you were dragging yourself up the armrest of your couch-–oh my god, Hal, fuck–that’s so fucking good, fuck I’m gonna-–and your fingers insistently pulling at his hair, thighs shaking and clamping around his face, grinding your hips to chase him down, all lips and tongue and stubble against your pussy and nose bumping into the curve of your mound and pretty brown eyes looking up at you so innocently and hollowed in cheeks as he gave you one, two, three, four, five consistently-fucking-flawless suckles to your poor, needy little clit, sloppy noises of his determined pull-and-release crowding your mind and taking away all cognitive ability, all higher brain function giving way to find room to entirely black out and fill full of nothing but Hal Shelburn and his perfect fucking mouth and his perfect fucking face and his perfect fucking… everything, goddamnit–

“H–Hal, fuck, please I’m about to–oh, god–”

And you were coming, harder than you think you’d ever come, no other lover ever treating your pussy like that–as if it, you, were their single most important priority in their entire existence in this lifetime. It truly was devastating, your cries and wails and broken phrases foreign to your ears, like something had been unearthed within you, hands and feet scrambling for purchase and you quite nearly fell off of your couch in your thrashing and thrusting upwards to follow that striking hot blaze as long as you could–and Hal indulged you wholly and completely, ignoring the buck of your hips hitting his glasses and causing them to fall off his face, finding your clit with gentle slides of his tongue and kisses so soft they hardly accounted for anything, but everything compounded into you drenched and melting into your sofa, an arm thrown across your face and the other hand clutching onto his hair still as he worked you down tenderly. 

Blissed out and utterly spent, you lay there, shaking through the aftershocks of an orgasm so intense you could have nearly dreamed it–just like this entire night, Hal’s return, his willingness to indulge you and the desire you’d had for him all this time that apparently, had been mutual all along. That biting, gnawing worry you’d felt earlier at the man’s obvious emotional turmoil had vanquished and blended together into stark contentedness, suddenly overtaken by emotion and feelings you didn’t want to feel but couldn’t deny their existence, especially not when the object of those affections moved away from your precious cunt with one last deep kiss right up against your overworked clit–and trailed upwards to your chest with panting breaths and tiny whimpers, a hand blindly searching for his glasses that had been knocked away by your thrusting hips.

He tasted like you when you kissed him, deep and soft and telling, your hand coming up to cup his jaw as he planted his lips to yours over and over again like some internal device wouldn’t let up. You hadn’t realized tears had pricked your eyes until Hal’s thumb was coming up to wipe them away, gentle shhh’s and words of adoration, of love and I’m sorry’s and I’ll tell you everything and I won’t leave you again’s breathed against your cheek.

Internally, Hal faced his fears head-on, his previous but un-wanted idea to tell you off, force you to leave town, beg and plead for you to please, please, please leave me behind, I am nothing but bad news for you, I can’t handle you dying, go live your life and be free of me and forget about me and my fucked up baggage–had all been eradicated and make clean by the taste of your cunt lingering on his lips, the feel of his cock down your throat, your mouth pressed against his. Suddenly, Hal wanted to live, to prosper, as long as he could have you at his side, no monkey or shitty sibling relationship could ever alter that feeling he had when you looked at him, reverent and loving and like he was everything, every blessed thing that walked this earth, no other would ever make do.

When he felt you crying, he gave in–told you all of it, every piece, every detail of every corner and nook and cranny of his story, every death in brutal, bloody detail–half expecting you to turn away in disgust and kick him out of your apartment for good in fear, anger, or worse–disbelief. 

But you didn’t. You stayed, still half-naked and exposed right there on your couch, damn near five in the morning, with Hal’s hand in yours and your other rubbing gentle, comforting circles into his shoulder as he figuratively spilled his guts about literal spilled guts. You believed him, every word he uttered–and wrapped your arms around him when he finally let go and let all of that that he, nor his brother, did not deserve, trail down his face in hot tears and choking sobs–you believed him, and laid his head in your lap, pushing fingers through his hair, swirling patterns across his neck, singing soft words and comforts to the poor man that you had decided, I do love him, actually, I do.

And despite his brother (who he still painfully loved and wanted a relationship with, even after all of this bullshit he’d done and/or threatened to do) having full custody of that godforsaken monkey, wielding that power over his head, over your head, Hal made it a point to stay there with you that night, and the night after, and maybe every night after–no clash of cymbals could ever keep him from you, anymore, nor you from him.

[echowithpain]

You know what I want?

I've been thinking about this for a while, but I want the firefam to deal with a loss again

And I don't mean I want one of them to die, I mean I want them to go to an emergency where they try to save someone and fail, and I want it to H U R T.

Not just hurt the team, but hurt the fans as well!

As of right now, I can only think of 3 times where 911 has done this:

Motorcycle accident

Escalator

Cello Player

And I think they pulled this off by having the characters actually acknowledge that they lost someone.

After the motorcycle guy died after having that beautifully heartbreaking phone call with his son, Bobby steps away and you can very clearly see he is NOT okay. So much so that Athena noticed and took a moment to sit with him on the curb (which helped kickstart them going out but that's not what we're talking about right now)

After the team gets back from the escalator accident, they're all quiet and somber, and as Chimney removes his gear, we watched as he notices the guys blood was still on his shirt. To this day, I guarantee you there are still people afraid of escalators because of that scene. I would know, I'm one of them.

Hen fucking breaks down after hitting the cello player with the ambulance and she finds out she's D.O.A, and she CARRIES THAT WITH HER for multiple episodes.

It also helped that we got to see everyone's stories before the accidents happened. They were just regular people going about their days, living their lives, when tragedy struck, and maybe that's what the show has been missing for a while.

Another one I can think of is Emmett's death in Athena Begins but I won't get into that cause it hits a bit too close to home for me and it wasn't a call the team had to respond to where anyone tried to save his life.

Yes it's a drama, but there's no bigger drama than real life and with people you know or have a connection with. Imagine someone said "Stacy got in a car accident!" but you have no idea who Stacy is. You'd probably just feel bad for them and hope they're okay, right? Now imagine someone said "(Your Best Friend's name) got in a car accident!" Now how would you feel?

Panicked? Worried? Wondering if they're okay? Are they alive? Are they hurt? Where did it happen? When? Can you see them? How bad was it?

That's because you know them and have a connection with them, and I think that's what 911 is missing when it comes to these deaths. I originally started writing this after the Halloween episode aired and Denny got hit by the car and died temporarily. I noticed that the Vice Principal (? It's been a while since I've seen that episode now lol) died too, except his death was permanent. The team saw he was dead and then moved on to Denny who was still alive and more important. Not saying that Denny wasn't important, or that they should've taken time to mourn the Vice Principal(?), but me noticing how they just glossed over his death made me realize they've been doing that a lot lately, and it made me think about times where they didn't do that.

And then I thought about the last time they tried to make you feel bad about someone being dead, the mom who had bad memory and accidently killed her son, and I was wondering why it didn't feel as impactful as it could've. They did it again (I think) with Maddie feeling bad about telling the kidnapper to kill themselves, but I felt it was undermined by them constantly using a voice changer, and me being confused and taken out by Maddie actually telling someone to kill themselves on a 911 line (also with the person being someone you've never seen or genuinely heard without the voice changer, it was hard to "connect" with them in any way for that to really hurt)

Not saying this is a need, but I just remember when 911 would make me cry and hurt and help me deal with it, and I just think they should do it again. Season 8 is the 2nd season 911 has had under ABC, and I really don't want those emotional moments to have only been a FOX thing. To boil it down, we need to meet the extras, get an idea of who they are, watch them die, and have the team take the time to deal with their deaths. I don't know if we'll have anything like that for season 8B, but hopefully we'll get something for season 9 🤞🤞🤞

Again, not a need, just a strong want about something I've noticed and want to experience again.

That's all ✨

[clubsheartsspades]

Same place, different time

[foreverppl]

Orla’s liberation comes at the price of the merc’s. The further they entrench themself into being used as an implement for her to use to her ends, the more divorced they become to themself (though, even that’s a bit complicated. Who is the merc without Orla? Her guiding hand. Her crook shepherding. Her word governing.) She’s building her empire; the merc’s shoveling their grave. But at the same time, her empire doesn’t necessarily guarantee her own (true) freedom and is, in fact, a kind of gilded cage in its own right. You painstakingly build yourself a palace behind enemy lines, with all the luxuries you can scrounge together. Give yourself every comfort, loud music to drown out whatever ghosts you’re still trying to outrun, good sex, good food, people who will jump to murder for you without blinking an eye… yet it’s difficult to truly allow yourself to relish in any of it for more than a couple fleeting moments when you know there are serpents slithering just right outside the gates. Doesn’t matter how much you fortify your house of cards, it can still all come crumbling down with a gust of wind. And what then? One king (queen) deposes another, Vapolis continues on. No one will mourn. Orla knows this. Orla is terrified by this.

Anyway.. @vapolis sending you my therapy bill as I type this.