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blueywrites · 5 months

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u-haul 'cause I might let you move in it (1/2)

dom dealer!eddie x sub fem!reader Inspired by @2jihiir0's fanart 'make it quick... baby's sleeping'. leave them some love! read part two here.

2.5k

cw (both parts): 18+. smut, drug use (weed), situationship becoming something more (???), shame kink, praise & degradation, pet names, exhibitionism-adjacent, no y/n, no physical descriptors, eddie's still a fairly soft dom bc I'm just not hard like that 😭

an: this is just the start of the filth, y'all - most of it occurs in part two 😌 shout out to @munson-blurbs @hellfire--cult @word-wytch and @the-unforgivenn for their feral support and @fracturedarkness bc this wouldn't exist without her.

enjoy part one! 🩵

The afternoon sun hangs heavy in the sky, casting a warm, golden glow through the dusty blinds of the trailer. The air inside is thick with the scent of smoke and stale beer, a heady mixture that clings to the walls. It’s the kind of smell that seeps into your clothes, your hair, your skin. It should leave you feeling slightly suffocated, especially considering the oppressive humidity also clinging to every surface, but somehow, there's a measure of comfort in the acrid scent.

You’re sitting on the threadbare couch, the fabric worn with age creaking as you shift restlessly, trying to find a more comfortable position in the heat. The fabric scratches your soles as you prop your feet up, leaning against the couch arm, fanning the neck of your thin tank top to peel the dampness from your chest. Beneath the old coffee table, your flip-flops lay forgotten, abandoned on the threadbare carpet. A beer bottle sits nearby, sweating rings onto the surface of the table, a testament to the lazy haze of the afternoon.

On the other side of the couch, your dealer lounges against the cushions, his movements fluid and practiced as he rolls a joint with deft, inked fingers. You look over at Eddie as he watches the TV, his head lolled back against the couch, his eyes heavy-lidded, relaxed. He looks good. You can’t help but spend a long moment staring at him: the angles of his face, his big brown eyes and puffy lips, his long, shaggy curls that frame his high cheekbones. He’s pretty, and he’d look downright innocent if it wasn’t for the long nick of white scar tissue kissing the edge of his lip and the scruff darkening his cheeks and jaw. Your gaze dips lower over his tight black jeans, lingering where they meet his rust-colored tank. The shirt is caught up around his hip, revealing a strip of pale skin and a tattoo that you can just see the bottom of. You want to run your tongue over it, then keep mapping all his ink until your mouth has touched each bit of darkness on him.

This thing with Eddie started when you broke up with Trevor and lost your go-to source for getting high. When you’d asked around, a friend of a friend recommended Eddie Munson, saying he was the best you could come by in the area: decent product, reasonable prices, and not a total creep. The first couple times were quick transactions, and then you started hanging around because the girl who hooked you up also told you Eddie would likely offer to smoke you out if you did. He let you hang around because he didn't much care either way, and he didn't find you hard to look at. That led quickly to casual sex whenever you saw each other, usually when you'd come by a couple times a month to restock your supply. And the sex is great– better than the weed, and Eddie's weed is always high quality. He just has this ability to make you feel special in the moment without having any expectations about whatever-you-and-he-were as soon as you pull your panties back on, leaving you free to date whoever you wanted when you left his trailer.

It’s ecstasy to have all of his attention focused on you in those moments because, though Eddie looks like a mean bastard, he gets off on your pleasure. He's not one to make you feel used or neglected; he's a thorough lover. And he has a knack for straddling the perfect line between sweet and sour. He'd praise you then humiliate you in the next breath, and it drove you wild. Kept you coming back even though he never expressed interest in taking you out or doing anything with you other than just getting high, watching TV, and fucking you 'til you screamed.

And then, at some point, you find yourself declining guys' offers for dinner or drinks. You just don’t feel like going out anymore, because trying to find Mr. Right was getting exhausting— at least, that's what you tell yourself. And Eddie starts calling you sometimes to let you know he had a new strain he thought you'd like, some of Rick's fancy shit. Soon enough, you go from seeing him twice a month to twice a week, sometimes more. And slowly but surely, you begin to notice a change in yourself. You start staring at all his tattoos and wondering what the stories are behind them. Feeling an odd flutter when you flop down next to him and he'd sling his arm around your shoulder without a thought. Laying tangled in his musty bedsheets, and when he leaves to go to the bathroom, secretly burying your nose against his pillow because the smell of him has suddenly become... comforting.

Things are changing for you, and you really hope they are for him, too. 'Cause if not, it seems your traitorous heart has determined you'll be in for a world of hurt.

"Y'want some of this?" Eddie's voice cuts through the haze, drawing your attention away from the television. You glance over to see him holding up the joint, a lazy smirk playing at the corners of his lips. The glow of the joint illuminates his features, soft against the curve of his cheek.

You nod, a small smile tugging at your own lips as you shift closer to him. He pats his thigh, a silent invitation, and you don’t hesitate to straddle his lap, the heat of his body seeping through your pajama shorts. His jeans are rough against your tender inner thighs as you shift, grazing the hardening bulge pressing against his zipper; your stomach tightens with the first whispers of arousal as you feel it brush against you.

"Gimme a show then, kitten," he murmurs, his voice low and husky, making that arousal bloom fuller as you grow excited. It’s a playful taunt, a challenge, but beneath the teasing facade, you can sense something more—a hint of possessiveness, maybe even of longing. That could just be your wishful thinking, but nonetheless, your heart races at the prospect as you meet his gaze, accepting his challenge.

With a coy smile, you slip off the couch, settling on your knees and running your nails up his thighs on your way to his lap. You take your time unbuckling his belt, keeping your movements slow and unhurried, though you secretly throb as you begin to unwrap him. It’s crazy how quickly he turns you on— how all he has to do is smirk and pin you with a look, or murmur a few words in that low, husky tone, and you’re already wetting your panties for him.

Eddie waits just long enough for you to shimmy his jeans and boxers down to his knees, and then he catches you by the jaw with a broad, rough palm. You look up at him as he guides you back up with his light grip on your face. His eyes flick down to your mouth as he leans forward, curls swinging to kiss his jaw. You brighten, eager to feel his mouth on yours, wondering what kind of kiss he’ll reward you with— something slow and sweet, or wet and filthy. But he leaves just a peck on your lips before drawing back, tightening his hold on your jaw to keep you firmly in place when you instinctively go to chase him.

You fall immediately into a pout, slumping back on your heels as he breathes a chuckle at you. Eddie bends to lightly pat your cheek a few times in consolation before settling back into the cushions, his posture relaxed yet commanding. He must know the gesture would rile you up, and it does— you feel your disappointment churn in your belly, turning to petulance. In retaliation, you clamber up to your feet, abandoning your position kneeling before his boots. With narrowed eyes, you drop your shorts and panties together without ceremony, stepping out of them and kicking them to the side, denying him the chance to enjoy watching you strip. You cross your arms when your bratting only makes him smirk even wider at you. He quirks an eyebrow as if to say, “Well?”

You resent how much you like his stupid face.

The couch creaks its protest as you climb up onto it, slinging a leg over his lap again, this time with nothing separating your skin from his, which is hot and slightly sticky with the humidity. His cock kicks subtly when your pussy grazes him, and you bite your lip, feeling an answering pulse of desire within yourself. When you mount him, reaching behind to grip him at the base and notch his fat head at your entrance, Eddie prepares for your performance: draping his arms casually over the backrest, fingers idly tapping against the worn fabric, his other arm hinging to bring the joint lazily to his lips.

He looks like such an asshole, waiting for you to service him. And you might've goaded him more because of it, but you forget about being bratty the second you sink down on his lap, taking him all the way into you.

A quiet moan sighs from between your cracked lips when you sit fully on his cock, your eyes slipping closed as you get lost in that initial stretch. He's not the only guy you've fucked— far from it— but there’s just something about the way he slots inside, nudging against the end of you, that always leaves you feeling more perfectly filled than anyone else. Eddie watches with a sly glint in his half-lidded eyes as you start to grind on him, letting yourself drift into the space he always brings you into. With him, you can be soft, sensual, and needy, but also desperate and pathetic. You can act out all your secret desires, know that Eddie will flay you open and force you to acknowledge them, and let the shame of it get you off all at once.

Eddie lets you be a freak, and better yet, he likes it.

Desperate to earn his approval, you run your hands up your body, dragging over your hips and up to your neck as you ride him. Your abdomen rolls as you grind with fluid, sensual movements, doing your best to put on the show he’d requested. You look at him through your lashes as your wandering fingers catch on the hem of your tank top, dragging it slowly up to reveal your soft belly. You hold it just below your breasts so Eddie can watch the way your curves bend and move while you work his cock.

In some respects, the dance is for you as much as it’s for him because the way Eddie watches you with rapt attention, his eyes devouring every inch of your body, really turns you on. You bite your lip, your clit swelling with anticipation as you tease him with a glimpse of the underside of your breasts. He hums approvingly, taking a leisurely hit from the joint. As the smoke curls around him in a tantalizing haze, you give in sooner than you’d been intending and ruck up your top to let your breasts fall out. You start to play with them, squeezing and kneading as you rock your hips harder, your own need mounting.

Gradually, your performance ceases being a performance. Your nipples begin to ache, begging to be touched, and a moan spills unbidden from your lips as you tweak and pinch them, sending pleasure zinging straight down within you. You close your eyes, a tiny frown forming as you try to concentrate on the low flame of your arousal, but it remains at a frustratingly low simmer. You rock faster, grind harder, pinch harsher, your movements a silent plea for the sweet relief only Eddie can give. You’ve built your own pleasure as much as you can on your own, and now, you need him. The coyness is wiped from your expression, replaced with a begging pinch in your brow, a needy, wet shine in your eyes as you blink unseeingly at him, all pretty and pathetic on his lap.

At the border between satisfaction and desperation— that’s where he wanted you.

A hand at your hip stills your movements, and as your eyes snap to focus on Eddie's face, you see he’s leaned forward, his nose scant inches from yours. His other elbow is planted on the couch arm, the joint poised tantalizingly nearby in his ringed fingers. Eddie squeezes your hip firmly, then again more gratuitously, and when you obediently fall still to sit motionless on his cock, he lets his palm slide up the curve of your waist in a drag that makes you gasp, you're so wired and ready for his touch. You watch, rapt, as he brings the joint toward his lips, salivating as a swipe of his tongue moistens them.

“Look at me.”

Your eyes snap up to his, captured completely by his unwavering gaze. As he inhales, those brown eyes glitter in the orange that flares bright at the joint’s end. And he keeps that point of contact between you as his broad palm travels up, up, up— over the supple heft of your breast, grazing the hard peak of your nipple, skimming the thrumming pulse in your neck, his thumb catching on the underside of your jaw as he cups your cheek. He closes those scant inches between you, and when the bulb of his nose nudges yours, your mouth falls open as your eyes slip closed.

He exhales, you inhale. When the warm rush of Eddie’s breath kisses your lips, you take it into you, your chest expanding as your lungs fill with smoke. The taste of him mingles with a heady rush of arousal, and you continue to take, even through the twinge of discomfort as your lungs stretch to accommodate it all. As Eddie gives you the last of his smoke, you close your mouth, keeping it all inside.

“Hold it,” he murmurs against your skin. His lips trail kisses along your jaw as you obey, fighting your diaphragm as it hitches, wanting to cough. You make a little noise in the back of your throat when he nips you, the brief sharp sting soothed soon after by the flat of his tongue. You hold as long as you can, and when you finally exhale, Eddie rewards you by taking hold of your hips, pulling you into a slow, sensual grind as he kisses you sloppy, wet lips wide and devouring. The friction and fervor crash over you in an intense wave of pleasure, one that has you whining, twisting your fingers in his hair, pressing your tits to his chest, ready to ignite—

The front door shakes with the pounding of a heavy fist.

#blueywrites #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson imagine

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tonycries · 14 days

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Oooo!!! Sorry, sorry!! I just saw this fanart and got kindaaaaaaa obsessed. Srry bout that pookers<3

on another note, r u doing kinktober?? Me n my friend were brainstorming ideas and I thinkkkk you’d like one or two of them!! Well, not like, not like them enough to write them but like them enough to read them. (Idek if that made sense erm)

Sugar daddy! Suguru. The man who you hate, but who’s cock you love

priest! Suguru, fucking on the low

baby daddy! Sukuna who wants another one alr

ex-convict! Sukuna who fucks u once he’s out of prison

Baby fever! Toji who wants to give tsumiki and Megumi another sibling

corruption kink! Toji

astronaut! Gojo who fucks u before a mission

popstar! Gojo

Mahito who wants to learn abt human intimacy<3

Painter! Choso who fucks you across a canvas and paints it with ur cum<3

-🐠

No worries fishie hehe <3 And oooo I really want to but I'm a bit nervous because I've never participated before ahah, I have a few things planned tho, keep your eyes peeled 😈😈

AND HFNDMSHS SUCH DELICIOUS IDEAS 😩 the priest one is actually on my to-be-written with Gojo but oooo priest!Geto is also so 😵‍💫

Ex-convict Sukuna 11/10 WILL be writing. And that painter Choso is WIIIILD oh my god were you perhaps inspired by Kurt Cobain 😭

#🐠#tonytalks

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godlizzza · 10 months

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can we get some emotional/crying herbert with dan comforting him, i feel like we don’t see enough crying herbert fics/fanart

Dan hadn't been expecting to come home to find the lab in complete disarray, and not the regular kind. He was used to Herbert's messiness, to his notes being scattered across every available surface and severed body parts resting in the most inconvenient of places. What shocked him was the chemistry set smashed to pieces, shards of broken glass and spatters of fluid dashed across the floor. For a moment he was worried that something had gone wrong, that Herbert had been performing experiments alone again and something bad had happened.

With his heart in his mouth, Dan raced back up the stairs, his feet pounding on the creaky wooden slats. He reached the first floor and dashed into the hallway.

"Herbert?" he called out. "Are you okay? I saw-"

He abruptly cut himself off when he flung Herbert's bedroom door open and saw him curled up on top of the covers. His back was to Dan, his knees drawn up to his chest. Laying there on his side like that, he looked like a little joey or an armadillo. Dan would've found the sight cute if he weren't so worried.

"Herbert," Dan sighed in relief, dashing forward to sit on the edge of the mattress. He reached out for Herbert's shoulder and noticed the other man was shaking. "Are you hurt? What happened? I saw the lab."

"Just go away," Herbert muttered in response, his voice sounding oddly thick.

"Just let me look at you first," Dan insisted, gripping Herbert's shoulder. "I need to know that you're okay."

Herbert finally moved, leering over his side at Dan. Dan gasped at the sight of Herbert's bare face, his glasses discarded somewhere and his eyes red and puffy with tears. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Herbert cry, or if ever.

"Oh my god," he murmured, yanking Herbert until he gave in and turned over. "What happened?"

Herbert swallowed, the motion making his Adam's apple bob. He kept blinking and licking his lips, like he couldn't form the words. "I- It's-"

And then his face crumpled and more tears streaked down his cheeks. He ducked his head, trying to bite back his sobs and Dan watched on in shock. He was frozen only for a moment before he snapped out of the stupor the sight of Herbert's tears had put him in, and he wrapped his arms around him. Herbert pushed weakly at his chest but Dan held firm, keeping Herbert's damp face pressed firmly against his collar. After a moment Herbert relented and melted against him, collapsing into a round of broken sobs.

"Shh," Dan said softly, stroking Herbert's hair. "Shh, it's okay. I'm here. I've got you."

"Dan-" Herbert choked, his fingers curling, grabbing fistfuls of Dan's shirt.

"You're okay," Dan whispered against the top of his head. "It's okay."

He held him as Herbert clung to him, crying. He frowned at a spot of peeling wallpaper over the top of Herbert's head, wondering just what in the hell had reduced Herbert to this. He wondered if Herbert would tell him about it, or if he'd be too embarrassed at Dan seeing him cry to explain. Dan decided he'd worry about that later. His top priority in that moment was to soothe Herbert.

So, he did just that. He sat on the edge of that bed, holding Herbert and letting him stain his shirt with his tears. He kept murmuring soft, reassuring words into his ear, waiting for Herbert to stop shaking. He waited a long while.

#kinda obsessed with the idea that herbert was a crybaby as a kid but repressed that shit when he got older #danbert #dan cain #herbert west #re-animator #reanimator #my fics #asks #writing prompt

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fuckyeahdindjarin · 2 years

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A Palomino Christmas

Jack Daniels x f!reader

|| Palomino universe oneshot, out of chronological order as I haven't finished the series yet. Can be read as a stand-alone. ||

{ Fuck Yeah Holidays | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: E

Summary: You spend Christmas at the ranch with Jack. You thought the present you got him was inspired until you see him wearing it - the cowboy way.

Inspired by snowsuit anon and this adorable post (and a super cute nickname for a pony) sent to me by @aynsleywalker.

Warnings: !Ski suit action!, drinking, mention of food, gratuitous descriptions of the male bulge body, dirty talk, safe unprotected sex, feelings so fluffy. These holiday fics are for fun, so not as *rigorously edited* as my regular stories, please forgive any mistakes or plot holes!

Word count: 4.5k

Dedicated to @guiltypleasure-girl who I'm so grateful to have made friends with this year and who, imho, draws the best Jack in all the lands. If you don't already, follow her art page @guiltypleasure-art for the most gorgeous fanart ❤️

It’s always busy in the Stateman’s main kitchen on Christmas morning. The smokey burn of firewood warms the cozy space as the radio blares holiday tunes. Poppy presides over the operations at the head of the table - everything is planned down to the T and everyone has a role.

On any other Christmas day, Jack would be her sous-chef, the one she relies on to keep everyone on schedule and in their place.

But alas, today is not any other Christmas day.

The normally put together cowboy ambles around the place like a headless chicken, leaving a trail of half-completed tasks in his wake. Tequila, in uncharacteristic discretion, follows two steps behind.

He turns off the tap that Jack’s left pouring into the already full kettle, draining the excess water and putting it on the boil.

There’s one slice of bread in the toaster, while another lies forgotten on the table, which Teak slides into the free slot and pushes down the lever.

Jack pulls a jar of pickles from the fridge unseeingly, putting it on the table and walking away in search of a mug under three sets of watching, worried eyes. Teak replaces it with his friend’s favourite strawberry jam without a word.

While the oblivious cowboy’s back is turned, Teak motions his hand and forth across his neck in a slicing motion, mouthing nope emphatically at the occupants of the kitchen table.

On his cue, Poppy clears her throat and speaks up, ‘Jack, sweetie, why don’t you go check on the horses after your toast? The stable boys want to leave work early today after doing their morning rounds.’

‘Yeah, sure,’ he answers absent-mindedly, staring down into the empty mug in his grasp as if he’s lost his train of thought.

At that very moment, the toaster pops and Jack practically jumps out of his skin, stepping on Jameson’s paw where he’s lying on his rug in front of the fire, prompting an indignant yelp from the border collie and winces from around the table.

‘Sorry boy,’ he apologises and picks up his toast - burning his fingers - and stumbling over his feet to set his plate down. ‘Mornin’,’ he nods to the others without really registering who’s there.

Jack proceeds to butter his toast with such singular focus that he doesn’t notice when Tequila fills his still empty cup with coffee, only to knock it over immediately when a phone buzzes and his hand flies out to grab his. Ginger and Poppy trade concerned looks as he jumps onto his feet with another apology, snatching a tea towel to clean up the mess.

Eggsy, on potato peeling duty on the other side of the table, isn’t so diplomatic. ‘You’re jumpier than Bambi this morning, cowboy.’

Jack grunts noncommittally and chews on his toast, not rising to the bait.

‘Don’t be so nervous mate, we promise we’ll be on our best behaviour.’

Teak snorts from the kitchen counter where he’s making his PBJ. ‘I don’t know about England, but around these parts, lying on Christmas day is frowned upon.’

Eggsy replies high-handedly, ‘Can’t speak for you, Tequila, but I’ll be on my best behaviour.’

Ginger chuckles as Teak sits down at the table with his sandwich. ‘Ha! I’ll believe it when I see it.’

Jack points a forceful finger at the boys, one after the other. ‘I swear to the baby Jesus Christ, if you two don’t behave yourselves, there will be hell to pay.’

Eggsy snickers. ‘Never thought I’d see the day. Ol’ cowboy Jack falls heads over heels for a bird -’ he screeches when the coffee-soaked rag hits him in the face, which sends Teak into hysterical laughter. ‘Oi! What the fuck, man!’

Ignoring the ruckus, Jack dusts the crumbs from his hands and shrugs on his jacket, grabbing a thermos and filling it up with fresh coffee. With a hurried later, he strides out of the warmth of the kitchen and into the frigid morning air.

Thermos tucked under his arm, Jack rubs his palms together, warming his fingertips with his breath as snow crunches beneath his well-worn boots. The ranch is blanketed in thick snow, a picture-perfect postcard landscape as it is every Christmas. The morning mist has yet to burn off, but he can tell by the peek of blue through the clouds that it will be a fine day.

If your flight is on time, you should be on your way by now. He’d wanted to pick you up from the airport, but you insisted that there’s no point in him driving all the way there when you already know the way. Depending on the conditions, it shouldn’t be long until you arrive.

His list of chores isn’t long this morning - the stable boys will be on duty until lunchtime - but still, he wants to tick all the boxes before you get here. Striding into the heated stables, he says howdy to the grooms and whistles, smiling as dozens of faces appear at the doors, ears pointed forwards in attention, snickering and whinnying at him.

This never gets old.

‘Mornin’ ladies and gentlemen,’ he calls out, wandering down the stalls, rubbing a velvety nose here and pulling on a furry ear there. ‘Who’s ready to stretch their legs this fine mornin’, huh?’

Starting at the end of the stables, he unlatches Bourbon’s door and ushers him out of the stall, then crosses the aisle to let out Tanqueray, Champ’s elderly but still supremely poised Friesian, who clops leisurely towards the exit. Zig-zagging back and forth, Jack whistles, jostles and chats to the horses, all smartly dressed in warm rugs, as they file out down the corridor and into the courtyard for a bit of morning exercise while the stable boys mucked out their stalls.

‘No loitering, ma’am,’ says Jack sternly when Poppy’s mare, Pie, idles in the middle of the building. He gives her a firm pat on the rump to get her moving and whistles at one of the cheeky Shetland ponies who’s snuck into someone else’s stall. ‘Half-Pint! What did I say about stealing your friends’ treats? Shoo, now!’

The stables empty, the echoes of hooves on the concrete ground fading, with Scotch being one of the last to exit. Looping back to make sure there are no dilly-dalliers, Jack’s surprised to find the palomino, who would normally be leading the charge towards the grazing fields, still lingering at the barn doors.

‘Whatcha doin’, boy?’ he calls out.

Scotch tosses his head and steps to the side -

And you appear.

With the biggest grin, you run towards him and fly into his arms.

Your cheeks are wet, the spray of snow powder melting when it hits your skin. It drifts all around you as Scotch eats up the white ground, the thundering hooves muted by the soft cushion of the untouched, overnight snow. The mountain air is sweet and pure and stingingly cold, you can barely feel your face anymore - but it might just be from how hard you’ve been smiling.

You feel like you’re in the middle of a Christmas movie. The lush, green landscape you remember so well from your trip months ago is now all coated in wintry glory, but you still recognise the contours of the land and the mountains. It’s your first time in the saddle since - the whistle of the winds in your ear is a song you remember all the words to, the burn in your out-of-practice muscles all over a familiar old friend.

And you’re happy.

Slowing Scotch to an easy trot as you approach the end of the trail, your breath mists in front of your face as you look down over the ranch, a scene straight out of a classic snow globe, thin wisps of smoke drifting from the chimneys of the wooden lodges dotted across the property.

Gently manoeuvring the palomino to a halt and giving him a pat on the neck, you turn to smile at Jack as he walks up beside you on Whiskey. ‘I’ve missed this so much.’

‘Me too,’ he answers, warm eyes on you.

You give him a sidelong glance. ‘You’ve been here the whole time, cowboy.’

‘I know. I’ve missed you being here.’ He reaches over and pulls your gloved hand towards him, presses a kiss to the back. You want to shuck off the leather and cup his whiskered jawline in your palm, push the well-worn hat off and twine your fingers into his hair -

Later. There will be time for all that later, preferably in front of a roaring fireplace.

You break the moment with an eyebrow arched in a challenge. ‘Race you to the stables?’

Jack grins. ‘You’re on, darlin’.’

Christmas dinner is in the main lodge, which you didn’t use during your trip in the summer. The intimate space is exuberantly decorated in red and gold, a huge, freshly cut pine tree stands proudly by the antique fireplace, a merry fire burning. The table is beautifully laid, silverware immaculately polished and fine china sit alongside holidays-themed napkins. A magnificent feast lines the length of the mahogany dining table comfortably seating eight.

But any kind of decorum stops there.

As the hours tick by and bottles of wine and sherry are emptied, the meal has descended into what Jack warned you in advance as ‘typical Kingsman chaos’. According to the cowboy, the whole Kingsman team comes to the ranch every summer for their annual company retreat, but only Merlin, Eggsy and Harry fly over for Christmas. And while their contingent is small, havoc is an inevitable conclusion where any number of the Kingsman are involved.

Desserts are still being passed around the table - sticky toffee pudding, pecan pie and Yule log - when Teak and Eggsy start to raise their voices and slap the table about British and American Christmas songs. They’re currently yelling - not singing - carols at each other, with Jameson barking excitedly in the background.

Tequila throws his hands up in frustration at Eggsy’s rendition of Twelve Days of Christmas. ‘Why is there a partridge in a pear tree? What the fuck is a partridge?’

Champ and Merlin are having a more civilised but no less intense debate about pies - specifically mince pies versus pumpkin pie as a holiday dessert.

‘Next year, old chap,’ declares Merlin. ‘I’ll bring mince pies with me and you’ll be eating your words, just you wait.’

Jack whispers in your ear. ‘He says that every year, but never does.’

You chuckle and turn your attention to Harry, who’s now insisting that they should put Love Actually up on the big projector screen after dinner, whereas Ginger and Poppy are lobbying for Elf.

‘Why not The Holiday? It’s literally the perfect American-British movie,' you pitch in, which launches another furious tirade of debate at your end of the table.

Jack mumbles under his breath. ‘Because they’re idiots and pointless, festive arguing is a winter sport around here.’

His arm is warm around your shoulders as you giggle into your mulled wine. ‘Is it like this every year?’

‘Yup,’ he answers, really popping the P. With a mild touch of embarrassment, he holds your amused gaze and asks, ‘Too much?’

Tipping your face upwards, you press a chaste kiss to his lips.

‘Just enough,’ you assure him as the corners of his eyes crinkle in the warmest smile.

You didn’t have time to drop off your suitcase at Jack’s cottage, which is a short drive from the ranch, when you arrived in the morning. Instead, with Champ’s blessing, you commandeered one of the guest cabins, all empty in the off-season - which is just as well. By the time midnight rolls around, it’s clear that no one is in any state to make their way back to their respective off-site houses.

Harry and the ladies retired to their borrowed rooms a little while ago, leaving you and Jack to round up the stragglers. You check on Teak, lying face down on the sofa, bundled up in his winter quilts in an aborted attempt to leave. A few steps over, you drape a blanket on Champ and another one on Merlin, who are passed out on armchairs which look comfortable enough to sleep in, socked feet up on matching ottomans. Eggsy is cuddling with Jameson in front of the fire, and Jack feeds the logs to make sure it burns till morning.

It’s bleak outside. Jack shields you from the worst of the winds, tucking you into his side as you trudge across the snow, the early start you’ve had catching up on you. Thankfully, the heating is already on in the cabin when you get there, and he starts a fire as well while you get ready for bed.

When you pad into the bedroom in your pyjamas, teeth brushed and makeup washed off, Jack looks up to see you holding a neatly-wrapped present, a shy smile on your lips.

Standing up from the fireplace, he dusts his hands and reaches for you, palms settling on the small of your back, leaning down to graze his still cold nose against yours. ‘Is that for me, darlin’?’

‘Maybe,’ you reply coyly. ‘Do you want to do presents now or tomorrow morning?’

‘Let’s do it now, I have to feed the horses early tomorrow,’ answers Jack, pecking you on the cheek. ‘Give me five minutes.’

The bed is cold, and you have to steel yourself to burrow into the icy cocoon of the thick covers, missing Jack’s warmth. He doesn’t make you wait long, re-appearing in just boxers, and a big box in hand, switching off all but the bedside lights.

Sliding under the duvet, he yelps when your icy feet tangle into his longer legs, making you laugh. His bare skin heats you up instantly as he wraps one arm around you and pulls you into his broad chest. You feel him hum when he asks, ‘You want to go first, darlin’?’

Blinking up at him, you answer nervously, ‘No - you first.’

He pushes the box your way and you sit up, pretending to shake the package to gauge what’s inside. Jack chuckles, his strong forearms dark against the beige quilt wrapped around his middle. Only his fingers give away his nerves, picking at loose threads in the fabric as you carefully unravel the wrapping paper.

Lifting the lid of the box, your lips part and you stare wordlessly at what’s inside.

‘Jack,’ you breathe. ‘It’s beautiful.’

Gently, you pull out the cowboy hat in tan suede, the smell of fresh leather comforting as you turn it over in your grasp, marvelling at the craftsmanship in the dips and swells of the construction.

‘Try it on, darlin’,’ he says, his shoulders relaxing in relief at your reaction.

You do, and of course, it fits perfectly. Shuffling onto your knees, you crawl closer to kiss him fully on the lips, tilting your head to the side so that his face fits under the brim of your hat. ‘Thank you, I love it.’

Jack arches an eyebrow. ‘You might want to check the box again, darlin’.’

Sitting back on your haunches, you send him an almost accusatory look. ‘You can’t give me two presents, cowboy.’

He shrugs with an insolent grin. ‘I’m a grown man, I’ll do what I like. ‘

Your eyes alight on the black velvet case at the bottom of the box, and you draw it out with careful fingers as if it will break. With one last glance at Jack, you gingerly lift the lid, feeling the hinges creak.

Jack watches you closely, his own breathing suspended as you stare down into your hands, thoughts whirring in his head. Is it too much, too soon? Is he comin’ on too strong? Would you even like it?

After the longest ten seconds of his life, you look up at him with soft eyes and brows drawn, a crack in your voice. ‘Jack.’

He gives you a lopsided smile and reaches for the box. ‘I went back to the same silversmith who made my belt buckle and asked him to make this.’

The chain is delicate in his big, weathered hands. It takes him a couple of tries, but he eventually manages to pry open the hinge of the clasp and holds out the necklace towards you in a question. ‘May I, darlin’?’

Turning around, the bed dips behind you as Jack shifts closer, cool silver kissing your décolletage as he fastens the clasp behind your neck. Your gaze drops downwards, the tip of your index finger testing the weight of the solid sterling pendant in the shape of a flask, Statesman emblazoned in delicate lettering -

A much smaller but exact copy of his belt buckle.

His words draw you out of your thoughts. ‘You like it?’

‘I love it,’ you correct him, twisting around to tackle him into the mattress, your knees around his waist as you loom over him, knocking off your hat so you can kiss him properly. ‘It’s perfect. Thank you.’

The pendant dangles from your neck, tickling him on the chin as he winds one big hand into your hair, his eyes following as it sways. ‘It looks good on you, darlin’.’

The warm, fuzzy feeling in your chest starts to recede as your eyes land on the present you got for him on the bed. The giddiness you felt when you found it is a distant dream, instead, anxiety threatens to take root deep in your head. If you got something from Amazon tonight, is there any chance that they could deliver tomorrow -

‘Darlin’. You’re thinking too loudly,’ says Jack soothingly, chucking you gently under your chin. ‘What’s wrong?’

You shake your head. ‘I got you a really stupid present. Let’s forget about it - I’ll get you something else.’

His brows draw together in concern as he grabs your wrists and pulls you flush against his chest so that there’s nowhere else to look but at him. ‘Don’t say that, there’s no such thing as a stupid present. Whatever you got me, I’m sure I’ll love it.’

You inhale deeply, chewing your bottom lip. ‘You mentioned a few weeks ago that your leather jacket and fleeces are too bulky and it’s hard to move around in all the layers when it's cold.’

He nods encouragingly. ‘That I did.’

Propping yourself up on your elbows, you reach out and drag the package towards him. ‘Well, I saw this at my local shop, and thought it might help.’

Jack gives you a reassuring smile and leans back into the pillows, grabbing the present excitedly. He pulls you against his side, as if he’s trying to squeeze all the self-doubt out of you, the gift draped across your laps as he starts to unwrap it.

You’re a bundle of jitters when he rips off the wrapping paper with impatient fingers, and the lightweight and puffy blue fabric comes into view.

Jack shakes out the neatly folded one-piece. ‘Is it - a ski suit?’

You nod and point out the black contrasting detailing on the front of the suit. ‘It's light and it's warm. Look at the western design with the single point pockets - I couldn’t not get it for you.’

Jack chuckles, the sound warming you as his arm tightens around your shoulders. ‘Well, I’ll be damned. So simple, yet so clever.’

‘You like it?’ you ask in the smallest voice.

‘I love it,’ he grins, drawing you in for another kiss. ‘Thank you, darlin’.’

Finally assuaged, you sag against him, a yawn creeping up on you as the tension in your body recedes. ‘You want to try it on now?’

Tucking you in, he says, ‘I’ll try it tomorrow, it’s been a long day for you, darlin’.

Putting your hat and his ski suit on the bedside table, Jack turns off the light, his body immediately seeking out yours under the sheets, claiming every inch of you with a leg between your thighs, front plastered to your back, palms under your ratty pyjamas top, splayed across your naked skin.

It’s been too long.

Nose tucked behind your ear, his arms full of you - finally here after months of feeling your phantom weight in his embrace - the night slips away as the snow falls outside.

It’s too warm under the covers when you wake up, even though Jack’s side of the bed is empty. You stretch lazily, the clock reads 8am but the fire is still going strong, he must have stoked it when he got up.

You decide to make some coffee and wait for him to come back before venturing to the communal kitchen for breakfast. While the water boils, you smile as you fiddle with the necklace sitting on your chest, warm and reassuring against your skin.

The smell of caffeine fills the cabin as you sip from your mug, and before long, you hear Jack stomping up the stairs, humming a country tune in his raspy baritone as he approaches the door.

Pouring him a steaming cup, you say, ‘Hey, I made you some coffee -’

You trail off when you turn around.

Your morning brain can’t quite grasp the picture in front of you. Jack’s still wearing his cowboy hat, his nose red from the cold. Vaguely, you realise he’s wearing the present you gifted him - and you congratulate yourself on the fact that it fits him like a damn glove.

The ski suit accentuates his broad shoulders and tapers in at his waist in a flattering cut, the zipper drawn all the way up to the hollow of his throat. He’s replaced the detachable belt that came with the ski suit with his own, the flask bottle buckle popping against the blue.

But the bottom half - that you have trouble comprehending. It takes you a beat longer to realise why.

He’s wearing full-length cowboy chaps over it.

Chaps are essentially leather trousers with the seat cut out, and Jack's wearing them with his belt looped through the straps. You know he only uses them when it’s muddy, to keep his jeans clean. He didn’t wear them at all on your pack trip, but you’ve seen a peek on Facetime in the rainy months in between. And now that you're seeing them in person, you decide that like them - a lot.

Your gaze, slow as molasses despite being completely unburdened by shame, slides all the way down to the triangle of blue framed by the negative space in the brown chaps where - for the lack of a better expression - his prominent endowment hangs heavy at the apex of his strong thighs. Not that you’re trying to look, but you can see the very heft of him through the fabric.

Jesus H. Christ. It’s too fucking early to be sinning.

When Jack realises that you’re staring, he says somewhat apologetically, clearly oblivious to the merry tangent your mind has gone off on. ‘Sorry, I know I’m not meant to wear it this way, but I didn’t want to get it dirty -’

You shake your head hastily. ‘No, it’s not that. It’s - perfect.’

Something breathless in your tone catches his ear, and he tilts his head to the side, one large hand coming to rest on his hip, thick fingers spread obnoxiously wide over the side of the chaps. The beginning of a cocky smile lifts the corner of his mouth. ‘Yeah, darlin’? You like it?’

Leaving your mug on the counter top, you bite your lip and give him your best teasing grin. ‘Why don’t you turn around so I can take a better look, cowboy?’

He arches an eyebrow at your boldness, but decides to indulge you. Voice dropping an octave, he rasps, ‘Better take a seat for this, darlin’.’

You grin and do as you’re told, turning the kitchen chair around so that you’re facing him, running your eyes up and down his frame as he steps into your space, narrow hips swaying to a beat you can’t hear. Hooking his thumbs into his belt, he suddenly turns with a dramatic flourish and arches his back, granting you an unrivalled view of his behind framed by the chaps cut off at the top of his thighs, the ski suit tight against his pert bottom.

‘Enjoy the view, darlin’?’ he asks, grinning over his shoulder at you.

You swat him on one cheek playfully, and when he swoops suddenly into your lap in a classic burlesque move, you squeal, ‘Jack!’

Bending his knees, he grinds into your thighs as you laugh, the ski suit soft on your skin while the leather chaps scrape against your bare shins. Turning around, he reaches up to tug the suit’s zipper downwards in a slow, deliberate course, and he purrs, ‘What say you if ol’ cowboy Jack gives you a proper show, hmm?’

You inhale sharply as the white wife beater underneath comes into view, and you reach up to help him push one side of the ski suit off his shoulder, revealing the firm line of his left arm.

‘Thought that was more of Teak’s thing,’ you quip, licking your lips as your eyes skim down his front to settle on the weighty bulge now straining against the front of the suit, your eager fingers pulling him closer by his belt buckle.

Gripping the edge of the table, he traps you into your seat, his stare dropping to the matching pendant resting on your now heaving bosom, taking in your blown pupils as he grins. ‘Anythin’ for you, darlin’.’

‘Aren’t I the luckiest girl,’ you muse, taking off his hat and flinging it onto the table, his hungry stare alone pinning you in place when you drag him down to you by his lapels.

Warm lips part yours and he delves into your mouth, kissing you deeply. The promise of more leaves you chasing him as he draws back with a drawl. ‘You’re about to get a whole lot luckier, darlin’.’

The thick material of the ski suit is almost pillowy as your fingers dig into his shoulders to steady yourself. It rubs gently on your nipples as you rock against Jack, arms wound around his neck while his desperate hands cup and knead the plump swell of your ass, dragging you up and down his hard cock.

‘That’s it, you’re ridin' me beautifully, darlin’,’ he growls into your ear, exhaling hot and heavy as he nips your collar bone. ‘Missed you so much.’

His chaps are slippery under your bare thighs from your slick, and you clench at the sensation of being completely naked on top of him when he’s still fully clothed, only his belt and zipper undone so that he can fuck up into you, the rickety kitchen chair groaning under the weight of the two of you.

‘Missed you too,’ you whisper against his lips, crying out when he hits a particularly deep spot inside you. ‘Yes, yes, harder, Jack.’

Leaning forward, he takes one breast into his hot mouth, one eye on your necklace that’s sticking to your sweaty skin before licking you between your tits and over the silver pendant, the salt sharp on his tongue. He hums, ‘You wear it so well.’

‘I won’t take it off, ever,’ you swear, throwing your head back when he scrapes his teeth against the column of your neck, so full of him that your knees quake.

‘Good,’ growls Jack, thrusting harder into you, making your breath stutter. ‘Keep me with you, darlin’ - always.’

You smile, fingers curled into his hair, stealing a tender moment as your noses bump and eyes meet with the easiest promise you will ever keep. ‘Always.’

Notes: Am I allowed to pick favourites? I'm not? I'm doing it anyway -- this is my favourite out of all the holiday fics, no question! I'm so soft for cowboy Jack and his darlin' 🥹 We've been spending time with just the two of them so far in the series, so it was really fun to explore the group situations, especially with the Kingsman involved!

I hope you enjoyed this fluffy interlude. Wishing you all a very merry Christmas and thank you so much for reading ❤️

#jack daniels x you #jack daniels fanfic #jack daniels x reader #jack whiskey daniels #jack daniels #jack daniels x fem!reader #jack daniels x f!reader #kingsman golden circle #fuckyeahholidays #‘tis palomino season

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chaotic-maniac · 2 months

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₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ Art Dump ˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

Ok so it seem's like the comic is taking longer then I thought so maybe in the future I'll just have them as clean up sketches or just AO3 it idk (╥﹏╥) For now just enjoy this random art dump I posted on Amino and sneak peaks of the upcoming comic, so far all the sketches are done, its just Lineart and colouring and I've already got two pages done! (๑>◡<๑) And I kind of want to post other stuff then Kirby on this account (dw I'm not going to fully abandon Kirby fanart lol, just wanted to have more variety!) Anyways I hope you have a lovely day and keep your eyes peeled for that comic, I'll probably have it done this week! ヾ( ˃ᴗ˂ )◞ • *✰

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა Sneak peaks ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

#kirby #kirby fanart #magolor #kirby return to dreamland #kirby star allies #kirby planet robobot #gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen #marx #marx kirby #meta knight #made in abyss #faputa #spy x family #anya forger

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taffybuns · 11 months

Note

Hi Taffybuns! Thank you for being you and artist that has passion to make. My brother told me that he bought two shirts out of it and he loved it, i was surprised you were the artist drew design! (the pokemon ones!)

Though I am curious and i hope you'll able to respond, do you have advice to make my art for merchandise in the future? I don't mind if you want to simplified explaination, a tumblr posts, or dropping a youtube link video; since you're busy with conventions.

I'm picky when it comes youtube art videos that are always give me the vibes of elitism, clickbait videos or others. You're the first artist I wanted to ask, so i hope it's fine if you can reply or not.

Sending my best regards to you. Take care and love your art as always. (I hope i can buy your pokemon hawaiin shirt!)

hello! thanks so much for the sweet message!!

apologies for the confusion, though! the pokemon shirts arent mine! i share a joint storefront with my friend and tablemate, you can view all his designs here! we have our store bio set to say we are two artists, but it's hard to see on the shopee site format, haha. i'll pass this message along to him, and i hope you can buy his shirts in the future too, they're very well made! i'm glad your brother enjoys them!

(if anyone is reading this, he also has them listed internationally on Etsy! my items aren't here though, sorry!!)

i assume you're PH based aswell if your brother got our shirts, so i'm gonna link some resources and basic advice under the cut-

i'd be glad to help where i can, though my basic advice is to just start.. i began selling merch with dann (friend who made the pokemon shirts) when we were just classmates in college, and we started at small anime events selling small prints with our table falling apart hahajkfghjk.. but even back then everyone was so friendly, so it was very encouraging !! the art community is very sweet and there is a lot of support for you !!

first, you'll want to find your market! this will determine what conventions you want to apply to and what kind of merch you want to make. do you want to make fanart, or original art? are you doing mostly stickers, tote bags, or anime merch? or do you just want to sell online?

second, what is your budget for merch production? starting out is expensive, personally my funds always circulate between profit and spending on restocks again. this will determine what kind of merch you can make, and then you expand later! i started out with only stickers and art prints, then keychains, and then bags and t-shirts later on!

if you're into original art, some events i recommend for beginners are Patrons of the Arts, Buzzart, Komiket. they have regular events throughout the year. if you're into stickers, there's Stickercon and Sticky Expo!

if you're into fan art, you can try ozinefest (sales are slower but table cost is cheaper), or if you have enough money, split for cosplay ph events

of course these aren't the only events, though they're the ones i regularly attend! if you have a more specialized market, there are dedicated cons like philifur, the grand lason, pokecon, etc. for all of these events you'll either have to keep your eyes peeled for table openings on their pages (rare), or email them to be added to their mailing list so you'll be told when they're open

if you don't have any suppliers yet, you can apply to join Artist Alley Group Order on facebook ! people regularly post about suppliers for all kinds of merchandise that you can look up. if you want any recommendations you can message me off-anon!

as for the merchandise itself, this varies person to person. my market is more obscure fanart that other people don't sell, and cutesy original art! i sell big illustrations as prints, though other people report on having a hard time selling prints. it depends on the content and art style. you'll have to experiment and see, or look around other shops to see what sells! visiting art markets yourself is also a huge help, to see the market, make friends in the artph community, and support artists!

i'd recommend starting out with stickers and prints- they're the cheapest to produce, and people often buy stickers because of their low price at cons. when you get more familiar with the market you can try going onto more expensive things to reproduce!

again if you want details, let me know! this is very vague and general advice, if u have any specific questions i'll do my best if i'm not busy! don't be afraid to surf thru some videos too, a lot are very helpful n not too elitist!

gl and take care aswell anon!

#ask #anon

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yudamori-art · 8 months

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meet the artist i guess lol

heyy hows it going!! thought i'd make one of these to introduce myself in case anyone's interested. i've probably forgot something important ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I'm a little gremlin and i make art, that's pretty much it. so yeah my discord is yudamori420 if you wanna chat !! I love doing trades/collabs, will periodically open requests for fanart probably so keep your eyes peeled << my commissions are p much always open too - dm for prices.

happy to be here >: ) thanks!

#me #meet the artist #my art

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mageofspacemultiverse · 8 months

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Fanuary Fanart #9

Hi again! It's me, mr. obnoxious Artguy on your feed! Back at it again with the gift art! :B Up next, this winner is dedicated to...

@askthehiddencaste! Woop woop!

Anvala when someone asks if he knows how to play Dragonforce?

Ahh, in dedication to one of my first friends in the FTC in Kanny who welcomed me with a whole post unprompted upon my arrival ^^. I know the past year has been especially tough on you, which makes it all the more amazing for the effort you put in to talk to me, or to hang out with like during the holidays. You're never shy to say hello, and I'm thankful that you decided to come back after the first time you left the FTC. You're a very charitable and warm soul, but also sturdy and reliable as steel. I love the Yggdrasil Library and I wish to spend so much time reading books in there you don't even know.

I just...I hope this in any way, shape or form shows the amount of gratitude I have towards ya as a friend, silly as it is XD So thank you, Kanny!!

It looks like my celebration may extend a little into February, bu rest assured that I've committed to getting them all done, so continue keep your grater in arm's reach so your eyes stay peeled. For now though, toodles!

#fanuary #my art and mine alone #askthehiddencaste #homestuck oc #fantroll rp #mageofspacemultiverse

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croissantsandmacarons · 1 year

Note

The girls once said:

- I'm RESPECTFULLY looking at your tits sir

- TITS OUT 😭😭😭😭❤️❤️❤️❤️

- Sir your tits! 😳

Father's Day

Or Hinata keeps surprising Naruto in bed.

Three girls on discord talk about their favourite characters #3

2k smutty words loosely based on Womo_Ots' juicy Naruto fanarts on Twitter

“Today, I would like to try something…new.”

While Naruto was basking in his post-nut fog, he realised his wife was suddenly back at being uncertain about herself, shyer than when she was rubbing his length in the tight space between her boobs at a fast and confident pace, giving her all to make him explode on her face.

Mission accomplished, she was staring at the ropes of thick cum dripping across her chest, mixing with spit and creamy milk that would soon feed their child.

Naruto could still taste the sweetness on his lips after thumbing her puffy nipples, picking up spilled whiteness only to lick it off his fingers. And he wanted to have more of her on his tongue, but Hinata had something else in mind. Although she was struggling to voice it as if she hadn’t been the one proposing to get him off with the soft poking of her toes and the shape of her sole months ago.

“I’m up for anything,” he said, low and huskily.

She perked up, eyes searching his. “Really?”

“Yeah, whatever you want.”

For a few beats, she stayed quiet then her hands released the hold they had on the sides of her breasts, freeing his cock she had slowly slipped between her rounded mounts and kept trapped until it had turned soft.

The lubed glide of their skins was still heaven and he shivered at the sight of Hinata reaching for his help as she was trying to stand up despite her baby bump, her knees probably sore and her chest feeling raw from the friction of his flesh rolling down his cock each time his tip had poked through the grip of her tits.

“Help me please?”

Wrapping his arms around her waist, he grabbed the back of her thighs and lifted her on the mattress as she was placing her knees on either side of his hips. Hinata on top of him, she was fitting snugly in his lap, straddling him and blinding him with her glow.

His palms were more callus than hers, but he felt her melt under the lazy caresses of her hips, wandering along her inner thighs, turning slick and sticky with her arousal the more he touched her belly, circling the tight skin around her navel.

A kick collided with his hand and even though it wasn’t the first time, Naruto couldn’t help but be in awe at what he and Hinata created together.

It stirred his cock to life, growing against her ass which made her moan.

Her arm curled around his neck and she sighed when he pressed his lips to hers, trying to relax her from whatever thoughts were pulling that little brain of hers into a twist. Her mouth was hot, her sunshine taste mingled with the saltiness of him she gathered while sucking him off. His tongue immediately lapped softly against her teeth, dancing with hers until she tugged on his t-shirt.

“Please, take off your t-shirt.”

In the middle of June, the night was hot and the air felt thick, leaving Naruto’s skin sticky with sweat as he peeled his shirt off before throwing it behind her. Somewhere he couldn’t see because Hinata was pushing on his shoulders, silently asking him to lay down.

The mattress sank under his weight, and all of these pillows furled around his head comfortably.

“Are you going to tell me what you have in mind?” he chuckled, running his hands up and down the front of her thighs now. “The suspense’s kinda killing me.”

Long, silky locks of hair slipped from behind her shoulder and Naruto was quick to chase them. He caught the strands between his fingers and pushed it back out of the way, tucking them behind the pink tip of her ear. That’s how he caught the faintest traces of that perfume they both know he liked. It was sweet and airy and it reminded him of flowers opening up under the sun.

“Hinata…”

Now watching her moisten her full lips, he swallowed and her face was colouring with embarrassment.

“I- We… Let’s call it a pregnancy craving, okay?”

“Okay.”

Her fingers feathered over his abdomen, this barely-there touch skimming across his navel, his happy trail. Her lashes fluttered in that way that made his heart pound, and suddenly her eyes were on him.

“It started when I saw you rocking Boruto to sleep. He looked so comfortable and safe tucked in your embrace.” Her hands travelled to his arms and squeezed which stuffed Naruto’s chest with warm, soft appreciation, “How you were holding him so delicately and yet nothing could have disturbed him with you. With his tiny fist not letting go of you even though you were cooing words of reassurance in his ear, I just melted. At first it was lovely, but the more I was watching you, the more I was- I realised… It was sexy.”

Too dumbfounded, Naruto couldn’t tell when she started petting his pecs, tips of her fingers flattened and following the shape of every bulge.

Did Hinata’s hormones shift her interest from the outline of his cock in his grey sweatpants to his nipples jutting through his white t-shirt?

If that’s so, given how horny she would get every time he was wearing sweats during her first pregnancy, he was in for one hell of a ride.

A surprised groan rumbled in his chest when she stroked his stiff nipples with gentle, light, circling motions.

He knew he would be affected by the simplest mundane things Hinata would do. And yet, never had he thought that sensitive part of him being teased by his bashful wife would turn him on so much.

How it must feel ten times better for Hinata when he groped her tits or begged her to suck on them as soon as she talked about pumping the surplus of milk.

Eyes rolling in the back of his head, he closed them shut. Even his nails dug in the rolls of flesh at Hinata’s waist to try and control the twitching of his cock, standing tall now and clearly flowing precum at his slit and the crack of Hinata’s ass.

“Do you think that it’s weird?”

Naruto blinked before frowning at her fidgeting, “‘Weird’? Hinata, I think we’ve already gone over what’s socially acceptable a long time ago, isn’t that right?”

“But-”

“Nah,” he resumed stroking the small of her back and saw her watch every muscle undulating under his skin, “if you want to fuck my tits, then fuck them.”

A glint of hesitation shone in her eyes, but the heat of her body wasn’t lying, already warming his blood to the point that one half heated his cheeks and another half rushed to his aching dick the more she traced the meat of his chest.

Eventually, her hand rested on the juncture of Naruto’s neck and shoulder, the tendon twitching beneath her touch as she scooted from his lap to his ribs.

Adjusting herself, he was face to face with her slit, folds drenched and swollen, the scent potent. Then she sat down on him and the feeling was cold right above his heart beating wildly.

Could she feel it in her cunt? The banging of his organ and the rumbling of his groan? Feel how his body was singing for her?

“I can feel it pulsing,” he stupidly voiced for no reason.

Whining, Hinata was red in the face when she tentatively executed a first thrust of her hips.

Then she paused, supporting herself with one hand on his abdomen and the other curled around her mouth. His own chest was heaving slightly, aroused beyond reason because of only one little slide of her sensitive skin over his pecs.

Before he could say anything, she began moving again, angling her hips to seek out friction, and little by little, probably timing his breathing with her rocking, she started to really grind on him, her little bundle of nerves rubbing against his sweating skin, catching on the dips and lines of his muscles.

His mouth started watering at the sight of her hips rolling heavily on top of his ribcage, bones jabbing at his lungs each time he would breathe.

At the trail of juices she left behind, her pussy lips kissing the planes of his chest and the low curve of her belly glueing to the middle of his bone structure at each slide forward.

At the heat her thighs were spreading at his sides, her breathless mewls vibrating through him like unrefined electricity each time she would brush his nipples against her clit, her hole fluttering and leaking more slick on them.

Soon they were glistening under the small light in the bedroom and Hinata shyly pinched them, making Naruto’s head feel dangerously heated as he choked out a low growl at the sting.

His muscles already burnt from holding him back from tackling her on the bed and sinking his pulsing cock between her sloppy walls, but the strong shudder of her body ricocheting on his skin turned him a bit more tense as goosebumps bloomed across his arms and wet pecs.

“You’re so large…,” she suddenly confessed amongst wet sounds and loud panting. Though she almost didn’t have to say anything. He could see the muscles of her thighs were flexed to the max, displaying her cunt wide open to his keen eyes , “I’m so stretched out…more than what I’ve expected.”

The thought of her fantasising about that part of his body for a while made his pulse race, the powerful stroke to his ego going down inside him like he just leaped into the void. It set the base of his balls on fire, his cock throbbing from hearing about their size difference, the odd stimulation of his torso and the pleasure coiling in the pit of his stomach.

“Hina!” he failed to hold back his whimper, “Fuck...”

Her fingers had curled around his hair, pulling his head back in the pillows, exposing his throat as his Adam’s apple bob.

Eyes up, he could only see her.

The top of her rounded belly, her soiled breasts hanging low and heavy, probably getting engorged and ready for another nursing, pushed up between her upper arms and still jiggling, dry cum contrasting with the pink tint of her skin.

Back arched, she was humping the inner side of his pecs with a blissful expression gracing her facial features; lips apart, eyes half-lidded and gasps coming out in quick and short bursts. Sweat began gathering between her knitted eyebrows. Her hair like curtains around them, she clinged to his fringe to find some stability in her dazed state.

Toes curling, fingers clawing at the fat of her ass, teeth gritting tight, it felt so damn good to have her drag herself on him, leaving his skin red and his cock pumped and painfully ready to come into play.

But he also wanted to see her come apart on top of him. To witness her turn to gush on him.

His only solution while waiting was to palm her belly, cupping his breasts and matching his rubs of her nipples to how she was forcefully bending his with each succions of her greedy hole as he was chewing hard on his lip.

Her attention and gaze shifted down to his and their eyes locked.

“I-I can’t stop,” her blush somehow managed to deepen, “You feel sooo good, I can’t stop…”

“Then don’t,” just by making her happy again, his heart felt like flying away, “Don’t stop, Hinata.”

His hands on her waist encouraged her to quicken the pace over the sweaty puddle that formed between the hard space of his muscles, causing the bed to creak.

The tremor that went through her made her squeak and tightened around him, hands pulling on his roots, her knees pressing in his external oblique and her ankles in his solar plexus.

Intense gaze set upon the ‘o’ shape of her mouth, his lips curled into a grateful smile.

“You’re doing it so well. You’re so pretty, so beautiful.”

From the way her voice hitched and her nails scraped over his scalp, he figured that was what she wanted to hear.

So he kept talking to her until his throat was dry.

Until she cracked apart in the middle, tension leaving her body with a heavy sigh, and she squirted all over his upper body, arousal dripping down his nipples as he yanked her to his face and cleaned the mess with his mouth.

#naruhina #girls on discord series #the dilf thread

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ffbwwb · 1 month

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Okay, so I'm interested to be an artist however this would be my first Zine and I'm just wondering for what your looking for...😅 I know it's probably more a casual thing but I really would like to be able to join 😁

We’re really just looking for people who want to make fanart or write fics! We’re doing this as a thank you to the studios that have made and are continuing to make LMK! There’s no specific theme so really anything that fits within the guidelines is welcome! The applications open August 15th 00:00 EDT so keep you eyes peeled and apply! Please read all of the rules and requirements for application before submitting an application! Hope this helps!

-Moth

#lmk #lmk zine #ffbwwb #ffbwwb zine #lego monkie kid #mod moth #ask

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indeedcaptain · 9 months

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Regulatory Relations, chapter 10: The Roommate

THERE'S MORE FANART AND I'M LOSING MY SHIT. Please look at @endyillustration 's amazing art of the wedding kiss from the last chapter here.

Also posted on AO3 here!

☆☆☆

From somewhere very far away, Kirk heard the mechanical slide of a turbodoor opening. He slowly floated towards consciousness: he had slept for so long, and so deeply, that it was like swimming through cotton. He became aware of the crick in his neck, and the ridges of the padd under his palm imprinted into his skin, and the muted glow from the lights that he had forgotten to turn off. Finally, he became aware of a discrepancy in the light: there was a shadow standing in front of him.

He peeled his eyes all the way open.

“Captain,” Spock said. “Good morning.” He paused. “Lieutenant Commander Scott is in my quarters.”

Kirk blinked, then blinked again. Spock was in his robes, black fabric draped around him like a shroud, and he had his lyre in one hand and the statuette from Uhura in the other. The turbodoor to the bathroom was open.

Kirk blinked once more for good measure. “Good morning,” he said, and his voice was gravelly with sleep. He cleared his throat and sat up, and it was only when Spock’s eyes flicked downward for less than a second that he remembered that he was in just his underwear. He resisted the urge to wrap his sheets around him. Spock’s eyes darted downward once more, and Kirk followed his gaze, and they both looked at the padd full of holos that Kirk had clearly fallen asleep holding. Spock’s eyes returned to Kirk’s face.

Kirk opened his mouth to justify his actions, to explain himself and make it seem less incriminating than it was, but what came out was, “Scotty is in your quarters?”

“Affirmative, captain. With what looks to be one-third of an engine.”

Kirk got up. He pulled on pajama pants and an undershirt and, for the first time, crossed through the bathroom to enter Spock’s room. Spock followed, robes swishing around his legs, still holding his possessions.

Scotty stood at Spock’s desk, assembling what looked like a miniature tool bench on top of it. Various boxes of mechanical bits and bobs were scattered among Spock’s things. Scotty turned as the turbodoor slid open and grinned at them.

“Morning, gentlemen,” he said cheerfully. “Sleep well?” He laughed when neither of them responded. “Thought that might be the case. My apologies for disturbing ye, Mr. Spock. I had assumed that you had already moved out.”

Spock paused so briefly that Kirk thought no one but himself would have noticed before he said, “I believe the human expression is ‘keeping up appearances,’ Mr. Scott.” Moving. Married. Living together. Right. Kirk’s brain was still caught on Scotty’s insinuation that they had spent the night together, doing everything but sleep, and the immediate mental image it conjured.

Scotty hummed in understanding and turned back to unpacking a makeshift toolbox. “Just let me know if ye need help with moving anything.”

“Thank you, commander,” Spock said. “Fortunately I do not have many possessions to move.” Spock tucked his statuette under one arm, took Kirk by the elbow, and steered him back through the bathroom and into Kirk’s quarters. He closed the door to the adjoining bathroom before saying quietly, “My apologies, captain. I did not think, last night, about the ramifications of signing and sending 3102-B.”

“What does 3102-B have to do with Scotty annexing your bedroom for the engineering department?”

“The submission of 3102-B automatically triggers room reassignments, unless---”

“Unless 3105-A is submitted concurrently,” Kirk finished, as he managed to pull his thoughts away from his erotic yet unhelpful ideas and the regulations came back to him. A knot of guilt dropped into his stomach. “Spock, I’m sorry. I completely forgot about 3105. I didn’t even think about it.” He crossed his arms. “I’ll talk to Janice, see if it’s possible to submit it late.” Spock looked down at the lyre in his hands. Kirk followed his gaze, and his heart constricted. Spock had to give up his quarters, his home, because Kirk had been careless.

“You do not need to apologize, captain. The fault is mine. I should have considered it last night, and I did not.”

Kirk opened his mouth to argue, but the determined set of Spock’s eyebrows, comically incongruous with his sleeping robes, made him think better of it. He put his hands on his hips. He would make it right, somehow. “Well,” he said. “I think you can be pardoned for being distracted last night. I’ll talk to Janice. The number of officers hasn’t changed, so if Scotty’s moving into your rooms, something else will open up.”

Spock blinked before nodding slowly. “It will not seem suspicious if we do not… share quarters? Human vows were specific on that point.”

“We can tell Janice you need personal space for meditation,” Kirk said. “But…” He glanced around at his own quarters. He had collected some personal effects through his travels, had brought some of his cherished paper books from Earth, but his shelves were far from full. “We pick up April in three days, and Scotty’s already started the migration process. You could move in here for just a little while, and then we can figure something else out once April’s gone?”

“Captain,” Spock said, pained. “I cannot---”

“Yes, you can,” Kirk said. “We’ve shared closer quarters in worse circumstances. You moving in for a few days will be a breeze.”

Spock considered for a moment before he said, the strain around his eyes lessening, “I do not understand how our cohabitation will change the weather in the room.” Kirk punched him gently in the arm.

“Put your stuff down,” he said. “I’ll start getting the rest.”

The new addition of Scotty’s endless boxes of machinery and whisky somewhat complicated the process, despite his willingness to help, but Kirk and Spock managed to move all of Spock’s possessions in a matter of hours. His uniforms and robes were hung next to Kirk’s, his trinkets and artifacts arranged among Kirk’s on the shelves, and the chessboard that Kirk normally carried through the hall to Spock’s room was installed on the coffee table in front of the couch.

Kirk stepped over the threshold from the bathroom into his room--- their room--- holding an unwieldy stack of Spock’s padds and stopped in his tracks. Spock stood with his back to him, rearranging something on the shelves, and his silky robes dripped down the lines of his shoulders and spine like liquid. He was framed on both sides by the now-cluttered shelves: Kirk’s beloved physical books leaned against geological samples and potted plants Spock had collected from planets they had visited, interspersed with decorative pieces of Vulcan calligraphy and the pieces of art that Uhura had given Spock. It was new. It was unfamiliar. It looked more like home than anyplace else had in years. Kirk had never thought about the empty spaces in his room until they had been filled. He had not thought about the empty space in his life until Spock had filled it.

Shaking his head, Kirk crossed to his desk and made separate piles for his and Spock’s padds before finding the one from the night before, placed carefully in the center. He closed his eyes briefly as he passed his hand over it, resisting the urge to open it to the picture that he knew he had fallen asleep considering. He only hoped that Spock hadn’t seen the holo.

Kirk had been so distracted by his own surprising and unexpected feelings over the past week that, before last night, he had not even thought to look for evidence of Spock’s. But now it sat on his desk and ran phantom fingers over his face, and even Bones had seen it in the way that Spock kissed him. If he were anyone less tainted by hunger and history, and if Spock were anything other than telepathic, maybe he could have stepped up behind Spock where he stood and pressed his lips to the gap of smooth skin between the neck of his robes and the straight line of his hair. But they were who they were, so he didn’t.

But when Spock turned to face him and asked, “Chess?,” Kirk could not bring himself to say no.

☆☆☆

Kirk won the first round, but it was a close game. “Rematch, Mr. Spock?” Spock nodded, and Kirk started replacing the pieces onto their squares. Spock leaned forward like he had something to say, then sat up straight. He leaned back again. Kirk continued to reset the board, watching Spock’s nervous movements in his periphery. Then Spock reached out across the table and gently tapped the back of Kirk’s hand with two fingers.

“May I ask you something, Jim?”

“Certainly,” Kirk said, but Spock’s use of his name set him on edge. He continued to place the pieces, willing his hands to be steady. Spock clasped his hands in his lap, fingertips flexing and unflexing.

“When was your last physical examination with Dr. McCoy?”

Kirk blinked and nearly dropped the piece he was holding. Of all the questions that he expected, this was not one of them.

“Um,” he said, counting backwards. “Four months ago.”

“And he declared you to be physically fit?”

“Yes,” Kirk said, and placed the last piece. “Why do you ask?” He leaned back in his chair, and Spock watched him intently over the chessboard with those dark eyes.

“I am concerned for your heart,” Spock said. Kirk almost laughed, thinking, “Yeah, me too,” but he said aloud, “My heart is just fine, Mr. Spock.”

Spock shifted in his seat, another sure sign of discomfort. “Twice in the past five days I have felt your heartbeat and respiration rate increase significantly in response to no stimuli that I could detect. Once when the replicators ceased to function, and again when you were approached by Lieutenant Riley. I was only able to discern this change because I was in contact with your person at the time.”

“Spock, I---”

“Your reaction both times implied that you are accustomed to these fluctuations,” Spock continued determinedly, and his gaze was focused intensely on Kirk’s face. Kirk swallowed and looked away. “I am concerned that you have developed a heart condition that was not diagnosed during one of your examinations.”

“I don’t have a heart condition, Spock.”

Spock studied his face. “So you are aware of these periods of fluctuation.” Could he lie his way out of this? What could he say that would make sense? He chewed on his lip, but nothing came to him.

“Jim,” Spock said quietly, when Kirk’s answer was not forthcoming. “Please. I would request that you see McCoy and ensure that your body is functioning as it needs to.” He looked down, the concern behind his words just barely visible on his face, and in the space of a blink Kirk remembered the heart condition that had almost killed Sarek on the Babel run. Ah, shit.

“Spock, nothing is wrong with my heart.”

“How can you be certain---”

“It’s a---” Kirk’s mouth dried, throat closing, and he swallowed desperately. He stood, removing himself having to look Spock in the eye, and squared his shoulders. Telling Spock the truth would only hurt him. But letting him think that Kirk was liable to drop dead with no warning might be worse. “Sometimes I worry,” he said, throwing his hat in the ring for understatement of the century. “Food insecurity. Long hauls between bases. Crew of four hundred. You know. Things a captain worries about. And Kevin reminds me of a kid I used to know who, um. He didn’t make it.”

The narrow crease between Spock’s eyebrows had eased slightly, when Kirk glanced at him, but hadn’t vanished entirely. “You have been in far more dangerous situations without the same physiological effect.”

Kirk glued his eyes to the bookshelf, flipping through his paperbacks even as he heard Spock stand, robes swishing against the couch. Spock took four cautious steps towards him, close enough to touch, but did not reach out. Kirk could practically feel the concern radiating off of him. How he had ever thought the Vulcan to be cold, uncaring, was unfathomable now. He thought, with a sinking feeling, that it would be easier to lie to Spock if he cared less.

He couldn’t bear to talk about the truth. But he also couldn’t bear to leave Spock thinking that his heart could give out at any moment. So he hedged.

“When I was young, I had a… there was a period where food was scarce. It was hard. Things that bring that back make me feel…” He gestured to his chest, to the air between them. Spock would understand what he was trying to say. “It’s under control. It doesn’t influence my ability to lead. But I do experience residual stress from it.” Again, understatement of the century. But as long as Spock didn’t know the extent of it, he would never know the fragility of the captain he served under. Kirk pulled a random book off the shelf and flipped it over to read the back, trying to project casual nonchalance.

Spock took two more steps towards him. He hesitated, then reached out. He pressed his hand comfortingly against Kirk’s shoulder before sliding it down to his waist and back up again.

“I never doubt your capabilities, captain,” Spock said, his hand burning into Kirk’s skin even through his shirt. Kirk looked sharply at him, because that was a hell of a statement from the Vulcan, and Spock continued, “But I am gratified to know that you are aware of the occurrence and its cause.” Kirk felt the tension in his body lessen involuntarily at Spock’s words and his touch. He gripped the book in his hands tightly. He would not reach back.

Spock inhaled, like he was going to say something, and then his console chirped.

“Captain, call for you,” the communications lieutenant on the bridge said. “Admiral April on a secure line.”

Kirk crossed to his console immediately, breaking the link between his back and Spock’s hand, and pressed the comms button. “Thank you, lieutenant. I’ll take it in my quarters.” He was mostly professional. At least his t-shirt was black. There was a hum as his console’s screen turned on. Then the callsign for a ship Kirk didn’t know flashed across the screen and was immediately replaced by a furious April.

“Captain Kirk! What the hell did you do?” If April had been standing in front of him, Kirk thought that he might have been sprayed with spittle. Kirk pulled his hands behind his back into parade rest.

“Could you be more specific?”

“You did not actually marry the Vulcan. I cannot believe this. I told you to talk to him, Kirk, not--- not---!” He wasn’t just angry. April was apoplectic.

“I did marry him, sir.”

“I do not believe you. I’ll be there in three days and I will be talking to him about this. Does he even know you submitted that form? With those manipulated holos? I could have you up on fraud charges---” Kirk looked away from the screen as April’s diatribe continued to where Spock had returned to the couch, holding the book Kirk had pulled off the shelf. Spock raised one eyebrow, and Kirk nodded in response. Spock rose and crossed the room to join Kirk in front of the camera.

“I am fully aware that Captain Kirk submitted form 3102-B, because I signed it before he did so.” April gaped at Spock as he came into focus, and then turned a gaze so angry that it could have scorched his hair off back onto Kirk.

“Commander,” April said stiffly. “I did not realize that you were there.”

“The captain and I moved in together this morning,” Spock said, and he shifted closer to Kirk so that their shoulders were pressed together. “And I can guarantee that the holographs were not manipulated.”

April’s eyes flicked between the two of them, the motion jerky and delayed over the subspace comm relay. Then he sighed, heavily, full of distaste. “You’re married?”

“Yes, sir,” Spock said.

“My congratulations to you both,” April said, in funereal tones. “I’ll see you in three days. April out.” The screen went black as Kirk and Spock’s personal padds dinged simultaneously. Spock pulled his from a pocket of his robes as Kirk dug his out from the pile on his desk.

He had a new message from HQ. The subject line read “FORM 3102-B APPROVED.” He didn’t even bother to open the rest of the message before looking up at Spock, grinning.

“It’s official,” he said, and grinned even wider as Spock closed his eyes and sighed through his nose. “One little visit from April and Pike and then all of this is done.” Spock hummed in agreement and opened his eyes, looking down at Kirk. The straight lines of his nose and eyebrows, his cheekbones and jaw, were all accented by the sharp collar of his robes. His dark chocolate eyes were warm, familiar, and piercing.

Kirk would have only had to tilt his head up slightly to bring himself within kissing range. Spock showed no indication that he intended to move back. Kirk would have been able to slide his hand up the sleeve of Spock’s robe, to run his hand over the wiry muscle of his forearms, with less effort than it took to open a communicator.

It took far more effort to turn his face from Spock’s and lean back against his desk, putting more distance between them, but he did it. He opened his padd again and checked his schedule. He didn’t have anything urgent, but Scotty and Giotto were meeting in Engineering. He glanced back up at Spock, whose face was now inscrutable.

“I’ve got to run,” he said lamely, but Spock stepped back with no indication of his emotional response. Was he disappointed? Unmoved? Had Kirk imagined that moment?

“Very well, captain. I will see you upon your return.” Spock swept across the room, his robes swishing rhythmically behind him, and reclaimed his place upon the couch with the book. Kirk left him there and tried to catch his breath in the corridor before pulling himself together and heading off to find Scotty.

☆☆☆

Kirk followed hints from the engineers down a rabbit hole, descending into the bowels of the Enterprise until he could hear the strains of Scotty singing in counterpoint to the delicate clang of metal on metal. He followed the music until he found Scotty, flat on his back beneath a control panel, tweaking something metallic within. He stomped his feet as he approached, to give the man a little warning, but he still startled Scotty into dropping his tongs onto his chest when he said hello.

“Christ almighty, captain, ye move like a ghost when ye like,” Scotty said, much to Kirk’s amusement. He slid himself out from underneath the panel and sat up, wiping black grease-stained fingers on his jumpsuit. “What can I do for ye?”

“I wanted to see if you’d made any progress on the communicator updates,” Kirk said, and lowered himself against the wall to sit next to Scotty.

“Aye,” the Scotsman said, pleased, and rummaged through the plentiful pockets on his suit until he pulled out the prototype Kirk had seen earlier. “I’ve been tinkering with it, and I think it’s got real potential, captain.” He flipped it open, and from the outside it looked like every other communicator Kirk had owned. But Scotty turned it over, pulled a screwdriver out of another pocket, and wedged the back off. Concealed within the body of the communicator was a tiny blue battery and a complicated braid of wire, linking the new battery to the standard power source and then to the communication mechanism itself. It was a much more elegant design than the previous iteration.

“Can’t test it until we’re out of warp, and I don’t want to try it on the ship for the first time, but with some cargo once we’re at the starbase?”

“This is great, Scotty,” Kirk said, and took it from him to peer curiously at the inside. He followed the basic construction, but the battery was of a type he didn’t recognize. “Where’d you get the extra power?”

The immediate reddening of Scotty’s face confirmed his previous suspicions. “Around,” he said, unconvincingly, but Kirk just laughed.

“As long as you’re sure it’s safe and it’ll work, I don’t much care where you got it, Mr. Scott,” he said, and Scotty smiled.

“Aye, that it is. Thanks, captain.” He smacked the back of the communicator back into place and slipped it into his pocket again. “How’d the rest of the move go?”

Kirk’s stomach did a complicated little flip within him. “Just fine,” he said. “But I’m trying to give Spock a little space. For meditation, you know.”

“Mighty considerate of ye, sir,” Scotty said, shaking his head. “If yer lookin’ for something to do for a minute, I’m replacing the covers on some wires while we’re not using impulse.”

“That sounds great,” Kirk said, and Scotty handed him safety goggles and a set of tongs that he retrieved from somewhere in the depths of his endless pockets. He scooched himself beneath an adjacent panel and gratefully set himself to the work.

☆☆☆

After three delightfully mindless hours of ignoring his problems, getting machine oil caked beneath his fingernails, and eventually eating half of a stale cheese toastie side by side with Scotty in the darkest depths of his ship, Kirk had to go home. He spent the entire turbolift ride sorting through what he wanted to say to Spock when he got there, but when the doors slid open he wasn’t any closer to a satisfactory answer.

Hey, Mr. Spock. I know this whole endeavor was my idea, but I think we should go back to how things were before I knew what it felt like to be the object of your affection, because I think it might ruin me.

Good evening. I have recently discovered that I might be in love with you. Care to confirm or deny your own feelings on the matter?

So, Mr. Spock, tell me more about Vulcan relationships. Would your husband refusing to bond with you be a dealbreaker?

Kirk pressed his fist to his forehead and gritted his teeth. The turbolift door slid open. He strode down the empty hallway. He could hide his feelings for a few days. Then Spock would get his own rooms again, and he would be able to rebuild the walls around his heart without Spock removing bricks with every gentle touch and quiet compliment. He stopped outside his door, lifting his hand to release the lock, when he heard noise coming from inside. He paused, leaning closer to the door, straining to hear.

From within his quarters came the subtle, somber notes of the Vulcan lyre. Agile fingers flew over the strings, pulling a complicated melody from them. Kirk pressed his head against the door to listen. He rarely heard Spock play: every once in blue moon Uhura would convince him to play in the recreation rooms, but those evenings were few and far between.

He remembered the first time that he had seen Spock perform with her. The lights had been dimmed, and he had been drinking with Bones, and he had been unable to tear his eyes from Spock’s elegant, sure fingers against the strings. Back then every reveal of Spock’s habits and personality had been a surprise, and none more shocking than his musical ability. The crew had applauded him heartily, and something changed after that night: something frozen had melted between the lone Vulcan on the ship and the rest of her human crew.

Kirk closed his eyes and listened, still standing in the hallway, as Spock played music in their quarters. The notes sweetened and slowed until, with one final chord, they faded away entirely. Kirk opened his eyes and then the door.

Spock had changed while he was gone, from black sleep robes into a green tunic, wrapped around his waist, and pants in the same color. He sat on the couch with his legs tucked under him, lyre in his lap, bent over the instrument with a pleased, peaceful focus. The lights were only partially on, and it gave him and the rest of the room a comforting warmth. Settled onto the couch among the detritus of their shared life, Spock looked as if he had been made to be there: constructed specifically for Kirk to come home to. Spock looked up as the door opened and made as if to stand.

Kirk entered and held up a hand to stop him from standing all the way. With a start, he realized that Spock was wearing a pair of thick woolen socks, and it was oddly endearing.

“Please, stay,” he said, and crossed immediately to the bathroom. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.” The bathroom door opened to admit him and closed behind him before Spock could say a word. But as he peeled his grease-stained shirt off and stuffed it into the recycler, he heard Spock begin to play again. The music washed over him as he scrubbed grime from his hands, his hair, and the domesticity of it filled his chest with a tightness. “Just a few days,” he told himself, and he couldn’t tell if he was relieved or disappointed.

Kirk stepped out of the shower, toweled off, brushed his teeth, dressed, and generally wasted time before finally acknowledging that he was going to have to re-enter his bedroom at some point.

“Bathroom’s yours,” he said, as he stepped back into the room. Spock had put the lyre back on the shelf and changed into sleep clothes at some point and now was surrounded by four padds: one in his hands, and three scattered around him on the couch.

“My ablutions are complete,” Spock said. He set his padd down in his lap and looked up. “How was your meeting with Mr. Scott?”

“Good,” Kirk said, and sat on the edge of his bed. “He’s created a prototype of a new communicator. One that might help us out on more dangerous missions.”

“It is a weak point,” Spock mused. “One that should have been improved years ago.” He looked back down at his padds.

“What are you working on?”

Spock hummed, collecting the padds into a pile and setting them on the coffee table. “Regulation improvements,” he said.

“Highly logical, Mr. Spock,” Kirk said, teasing, and Spock gave him an amused glance. Then Kirk yawned, hard enough to crack his jaw. “I think I’m ready to turn in.”

“Turn in what, captain?” Spock’s amusement hadn’t faded, and Kirk knew that he was teasing him back.

“Turn in my resignation,” he joked, and was gratified by one of Spock’s pretend-condescending head tilts. “You know what I meant.” He patted his bed, and came to a sudden and painful realization. Shit. Sleeping arrangements.

“I’ll take the couch, Mr. Spock,” he said. “You’re taller.”

Spock blinked at the sudden change of subject, and then said, “Certainly not, captain. I require less rest than you. You will remain in your bed.”

The unhelpful and delusional little voice in the back of his head whispered, “Invite him to share with you,” but Kirk ignored it. “You’re the guest,” he said.

“An illogical rule of hospitality,” Spock said. He slowly rubbed the edge of the blanket draped over the back of the couch between his thumb and forefinger, but looked at Kirk. His gaze dared him to say what he wanted. There was a promise in his eyes. Kirk looked down.

“We can trade off,” he said. “I’ll take the bed tonight if you agree to take it tomorrow.” When he looked back up, the daring edge in Spock’s face had melted back into impassivity.

“Very well,” Spock said, and he pulled the blanket off the couch and draped it over his legs. Kirk shoved himself backwards until he could pull himself under his covers.

“Good night, Spock.”

Did Spock pause before he responded? Or was it in Kirk’s imagination? “Good night, Jim.”

Kirk pulled a pillow over his head as Spock said, “Computer, lights to zero.” He fell asleep to the steady sound of Spock’s breathing across the room and dreamed.

#spirk fan fiction #my writing #kirk/spock fan fiction #k/s fan fiction #star trek fan fiction #fake married #regulatory relations

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