#and I know they can train service dogs for that

[itelya]

Can I request ex military husband Sukuna and Toji reacting to their son calling y/n the b word? 😂 I just know they’d be furious and practically leap over furniture to snatch the kid up not knowing it’s a prank

a/n: ty for the request it was fun to write😂 also tysm for the 1k followers! 💗 ⟢﹒ masterlist

You're in the kitchen, chopping fruit, the sun filtering gently through the curtains. Your son is sitting at the counter, his elbows propped, his eyes fixed on you. Too quiet. Too focused. He has that look, that posture... the one that announces a monumental stupidity.

"Mom... you are a bitch," he says quietly.

The word falls like a thunderclap in your ears. You stop dead in your tracks, the blade still in your hand. Your gaze slowly rises, your eyebrow arches, icy. You don't know whether to scream, burst out laughing, or simply disown him right then and there. Your heart is between disappointment and anger.

In the living room, deathly silence. Toji, slumped on the sofa, opens his eyes slowly, and Sukuna, leasing on the armchair, raises his head so quickly that his neck cracks. Toji freezers, his eyes fixed on their son, the expression of someone about to go into battle. Sukuna stands up without a word, his jaw clenched.

They exchange a look like two soldiers who've just picked up an enemy signal.

"He didn't say that..." Toji breathes.

"He dared." Sukuna replies, already moving.

Your son immediately turns pale. He should never have done that, even for a laugh. "IT-IT'S A PRANK! A TIKTOK! I SWEAR! IT WAS A JOKE, JUST TO SEE YOUR REACTIONS!"

"A prank?!" the two men repeat at the same time, their voices deepening.

Toji leaps from the couch. Sukuna crosses the room at terrifying speed, and their son rushes out of his chair, fleeing toward the dining room as if his life depended on it. Hiding behind the dining table makes him forget one detail: no piece of furniture can protect him from two highly trained ex-soldiers.

"When did they raise you to think a word like that should be tested?!" Toji snarls, stepping forward.

"Do you want us to laugh too by sending you to a retraining camp in Kyrgyzstan for six months?" Sukuna adds with such menacing calm that it sends shivers down your spine.

"But you were laughing when I said 'shit' at 4 years old!" their son desperately tries, accused from behind the table.

"To think I was ready to give you my old service knife for your next birthday..." Toji snarls, his gaze dark. "But forget that. I'd rather give it to the dog."

Your son opens his mouth to defend himself, but Sukuna raises his hand sharply, cutting cleanly.

"You want to be smart? Fine. Apology letter to your mother. Three hundred push-ups, and while you're doing them, you keep repeating 'Sorry, Mom, I'm an impressionable idiot' over and over again."

Toji quietly snuck up behind him. He grabbed him in a flash, lifting your son with a firm arm. "You want to talk like an adult? You're going to live like a soldier."

"But I've seen other kids do it...!" your son complains, offering to climb out of Toji's enormous arms.

"A follower, too?" roars Sukuna, outraged. "I was a unit captain, not some pathetic TikTok sheep."

Toji chuckles softly, that sadistic little laugh you recognize all too well. "Let's start by shaving his head. It'll help him think."

Your son starts to cry for real, shaking like a leaf. He doesn't want to lose his beautiful hair. You approach, calm, gentle, your hand outstretched.

He turns to you, relieved. This is your only chance. His light. His mother. You gently place your hand on his head, stroking his hair like a promise... then you smile. "I'm the one who's going to shave it."

A cry escapes his throat, pure and sincere. "Mom, I'm sorry! I swear I'll never do it again! I love you! You're the best parents in the world! I'm too young to lose my hair!"

Toji and Sukuna cross their arms, stoic. They look at him, already deciding what to do with him.

"Too late, soldier. The uniform starts now."

[inkdetect]

I appreciate your explanation however I’m still confused as to why they would represent Ivan and Till’s relationship as Ivan forcing Till with Till trying to get away if Till did like him back? I do agree that it’s interesting they’re facing each other with their mouths aligned (smth to do with words?) but eyes not aligned (can’t see eye to eye) in the “intro” to that scene rather than Till just ignoring Ivan entirely

Idk most perception I’m seeing of that scene is negative even from other people who ship Ivantill so it’s really hard for me to wrap my head around it since it’s meant to represent their relationship overall

Hello! I'm doing alright, just getting hit by the AO3 curse. I hope you're doing okay too!

Thanks a lot for asking, you're really making my day, and YESS this is an amazing question! I was wondering if you wouldn't mind me explaining two different points- but I promise it'll explain your question, in a way.

First thing we could start with:

-> Ivan's perfect mask and his self-deprivation

Now, let us start by stating that Ivan is the king of performances. He's an excellent student, a 'submissive pet', a fan's favorite, he was made and forced to keep a smile on his face and stay put as 'practice'. He's practically perfect at moulding himself for others' expectations.

He's more of a trophy than a human, a pet, or more like a dog. He says it himself, in his song 'nowhere', which is pretty interesting to dissect when it comes to learning about Ivan's character and personality- somebody has mentioned that Vivinos herself confirmed that Ivan's personality is the worst out of the entire cast (not necessarily bad or evil!).

His mask is a perfect structure, it's his flaw, weakness and it's a factor that enables the miscommunication between him and till. He can barely be honest with himself, let alone with the muse of his obsession.

I mentioned this in my first analysis- how Ivan often goes from being violent to very affectionate, and why that confuses and freaks the hell out of till.

-> Ivan only does that because he doesn't know how to express his emotions, and that was implied in some comics where he pisses off others just for the sake of it, and as a form of love (or entertainment).

There's also the fact that he was raised in the slums and never knew what affection felt like. So he doesn't know how to express it sincerely.

He's self-sabotaging, self-loathing, and thinks of his love as something parasitic, greedy and selfish.

He still loves till. Because as mizi said- ''I know my love was different from yours, but it was love too.''

He still wishes for till's freedom and happiness, he still wanted him to live, he still wanted him. But he can't try to explain that to Till when they're on limited time. Not when Till hopes for a different kind of healing that Ivan can't provide, and vise-versa.

Alien Stage is about love. Its sin, its effects, its toxicity, its mercy. All relationships are painted in a good and bad light, they all have their flaws, so none of them are really supposed to be perceived positively. It's a bunch of worst case scenarios to show that despite it all, there's still a glimmer of hope for all.

So for those who need to hear this: I'm pretty sure that all ships have to be understood- it's a moral lesson, not dolls for us to meddle and play with, they're not just 'fan service material'.

As I said in the other Ivantill analysis, I fully believe that their relationship is more unrealized than unrequited, because it's a two-way rejection.

-> So why does Till look like he's being forced? Why does he look so distressed?

After all, we know that till wears his heart on his sleeve, he's a very emotional character, that, we know of.

-> Let us not forget that Till is an abuse victim, we saw many instances where he was being exploited, abused, trained and was beaten within an inch of his life. So he doesn't react well to either affection (for instance, mizi's light) or violence.

Though, It's interesting how Till lets Ivan in his personal space without much struggle.

-> He's scared, confused and never fully understood Ivan. So when Ivan, with all of his self hatred and fear, tries to show Till his love and give it to him, and doesn't give him the chance to even understand as he shoves it down, and Till who is startled and simply just wishes to see eye to eye, finally collapse and meet, the heart shatters under Ivan's trembling jaw and tears and Till's struggle.

But Ivan can't love someone properly if he doesn't love himself. And Till can't love him if he isn't ready to come front. Ivan literally took his love confession to the grave.

It's why they're tragic, if they had enough time, if they were willing to try, they would have. They could have.

And for those who need to hear it again: simply calling their relationship ''sexual assault'', instead of trying to analyze and understand how they both gravitate towards each other yet stilled ruin another, doesn't make you a genius.

You don't classify things in black and white boxes.

Relationships are complex.

The characters are complex.

That still doesn't make them bad, or negative.

They're on an alien planet and it's been confirmed that they ALL know that they're going to die, obviously that's going to screw them a bit up.

I hope that this was a good explanation? Honestly I've just explained previous points again and extended them to a conclusion.

It's also hot as hell, I believe that I could manage to cook an egg on the pavement outside. But if there's anything that 's still blurred or unclear, feel free to ask! Thank you for the ask!

[the-worms-in-your-bones]

What if I got a service dog, what then (<- guy who definitely can’t afford a service dog)

[mbmbimbo]

my little sisters getting a dog for psychiatric service dog reasons, and i managed to convince her to pick a charles spaniel >:3 like okay im not really a dog person but if we're gonna have a dog its gonna be one of those. im so hyped. even though she wont name him after dark souls characters...

ill post pics when we get him settled in next week. hes so cute i could scream

[futilechildhooddream]

I wish there was A) more people who understood what service dog means (specifically in the U.S., I just don’t know the rules for other countries though if I travel in the future I’d learn) and B) more service dog representation in media

[horsesource]

The American service dog and ESA conversations say a lot about this country’s animal/human relations. The dog is medical equipment, regardless of how well-trained she is? Full access. The dog is not medical equipment, regardless of how well-trained she is? Get outta here! Seems to reflect a training crisis too, you see so many people with service dogs decrying Fake Service Dogs

[vvelegrin]

you know, it's really interesting. i think i've found it. i've found the mystical Work Accommodation that i need in order to Do It*. and it's "drop whatever i'm doing at a moment's notice to disappear for an arbitrary amount of time**"

[elvenferretots]

Maybe the problem isn't more places being dog-friendly. Maybe the problem is that American dogs are chronically ungroomed and unexercised. Maybe the problem is that dogs who are brought in public should be kept in training classes or competitions longterm to maintain their training and emotional wellbeing. Maybe the problem is that dogs need to have trained public access skills to be safe and considerate to bring in public.

The problem is not businesses allowing dogs (grocery stores and indoor restaurants can't legally be dog friendly, so that's a straw man argument); but that dog owners have a huge problem with selecting, caring for, and training their dogs to the standards of the society we live in.

[ringchollyandfriends]

I haven't had a panic/anxiety attack in a long long time and I just had one in the bath room at work.

I'm sure there's multiple reasons, but I can't pinpoint which one exactly.

Time for slow deep breaths

[teabookgremlin]

i want a puppy so much

[nabsthevulture]

Buying dog training books because I want to be as prepared as possible in case I can't find reliable dog training near me

[cascadianights]

Me: in a constant, all day narration with any animal or plant near me from the minute I wake up

Also me: why do my dogs SPEAK ENGLISH

[insipid-drivel]

Horses: Since There Seems To Be A Knowledge Gap

I'm going to go ahead and preface this with: I comment pretty regularly on clips and photos featuring horses and horseback riding, often answering questions or providing explanations for how or why certain things are done. I was a stable hand and barrel racer growing up, and during my 11 year tenure on tumblr, Professional Horse Commentary is a very niche, yet very necessary, subject that needs filling. Here are some of the literary and creative gaps I've noticed in well meaning (and very good!) creators trying to portray horses and riding realistically that... well, most of you don't seem to even be aware of, because you wouldn't know unless you worked with horses directly!

Some Of The Most Common Horse + Riding Mistakes I See:

-Anybody can ride any horse if you hold on tight enough/have ridden once before.

Nope. No, no, no, no, aaaaaaaand, no. Horseback riding has, historically, been treated as a life skill taught from surprisingly young ages. It wasn't unusual in the pre-vehicular eras to start teaching children as young as 4 to begin to ride, because horses don't come with airbags, and every horse is different. For most adults, it can take months or years of regular lessons to learn to ride well in the saddle, and that's just riding; not working or practicing a sport.

Furthermore, horses often reject riders they don't know. Unless a horse has been trained like a teaching horse, which is taught to tolerate riders of all skill and experience levels, it will take extreme issue with having some random person try to climb on their back. Royalty, nobility, and the knighted classes are commonly associated with the "having a favorite special horse" trope, because it's true! Just like you can have a particularly special bond with a pet or service animal that verges on parental, the same can apply with horses. Happy horses love their owners/riders, and will straight-up do their best to murder anyone that tries to ride them without permission.

-Horses are stupid/have no personality.

There isn't a more dangerous assumption to make than assuming a horse is stupid. Every horse has a unique personality, with traits that can be consistent between breeds (again, like cat and dog breeds often have distinct behavior traits associated with them), but those traits manifest differently from animal to animal.

My mother had an Arabian horse, Zipper, that hated being kicked as a signal to gallop. One day, her mom and stepdad had a particularly unpleasant visitor; an older gentleman that insisted on riding Zipper, but refused to listen to my mother's warnings never to kick him. "Kicking" constitutes hitting the horse's side(s) with your heels, whether you have spurs on or not. Most horses only need a gentle squeeze to know what you want them to do.

Anyway, Zipper made eye-contact with my mom, asking for permission. He understood what she meant when she nodded at him. He proceeded to give this asshole of a rider road rash on the side of the paddock fence and sent him to the emergency room. He wouldn't have done it if he didn't have the permission from the rider he respected, and was intelligent enough to ask, "mind if I teach this guy a lesson?" with his eyes, and understand, "Go for it, buddy," from my mom in return.

-Riding bareback is possible to do if you hold onto the horse's mane really tight.

Riding a horse bareback (with no saddle, stirrups, or traditional harness around the horse's head) is unbelievably difficult to learn, particularly have testicles and value keeping them. Even professional riders and equestrians find ourselves relying on tack (the stuff you put on a horse to ride it) to stay stable on our horses, even if we've been riding that particular horse for years and have a very positive, trusting relationship.

Horses sweat like people do. The more they run, the more their hair saturates with sweat and makes staying seated on them slippery. Hell, an overworked horse can sweat so heavily that the saddle slips off its back. It's also essential to brush and bathe a horse before it's ridden in order to keep it healthier, so their hair is often quite slick from either being very clean or very damp. In order to ride like that, you have to develop the ability to synchronize your entire body's rhythm's with the rhythm of the horse's body beneath you, and quite literally move as one. Without stirrups, most people can't do it, and some people can never master bareback riding no matter how many years they spend trying to learn.

-You can be distracted and make casual conversation while a horse is standing untethered in the middle of a barn or field.

At every barn I've ever worked at, it's been standard practice with every single horse, regardless of age or temperament, to secure their heads while they're being tacked up or tacked down. The secures for doing this are simple ropes with clips that are designed to attach to the horse's halter (the headwear for a horse that isn't being ridden; they have no bit that goes in the horse's mouth, and no reins for a rider to hold) on metal O rings on either side of the horse's head. This is not distressing to the horse, because we give them plenty of slack to turn their heads and look around comfortably.

The problem with trying to tack up an unrestrained horse while chatting with fellow stable hands or riders is that horses know when you're distracted! And they often try to get away with stuff when they know you're not looking! In a barn, a horse often knows where the food is stored, and will often try to tiptoe off to sneak into the feed room.

Horses that get into the feed room are often at a high risk of dying. While extremely intelligent, they don't have the ability to throw up, and they don't have the ability to tell that their stomach is full and should stop eating. Allowing a horse into a feed/grain room WILL allow it to eat itself to death.

Other common woes stable hands and riders deal with when trying to handle a horse with an unrestrained head is getting bitten! Horses express affection between members of their own herd, and those they consider friends and family, through nibbling and surprisingly rough biting. It's not called "horseplay" for nothing, because during my years working with horses out in the pasture, it wasn't uncommon at all for me to find individuals with bloody bite marks on their withers (that high part on the middle of the back of their shoulders most people instinctively reach for when they try to get up), and on their backsides. I've been love-bitten by horses before, and while flattering, they hurt like hell on fleshy human skin.

So, for the safety of the horse, and everybody else, always make a show of somehow controlling the animal's head when hands-on and on the ground with them.

-Big Horse = War Horse

Startlingly, the opposite is usually the case! Draft and carriage horses, like Percherons and Friesians, were never meant to be used in warfare. Draft horses are usually bred to be extremely even-tempered, hard to spook, and trustworthy around small children and animals. Historically, they're the tractors of the farm if you could afford to upgrade from oxen, and were never built to be fast or agile in a battlefield situation.

More importantly, just because a horse is imposing and huge doesn't make it a good candidate for carrying heavy weights. A real thing that I had to be part of enforcing when I worked at a teaching ranch was a weight limit. Yeah, it felt shitty to tell people they couldn't ride because we didn't have any horses strong enough to carry them due to their weight, but it's a matter of the animal's safety. A big/tall/chonky horse is more likely to be built to pull heavy loads, but not carry them flat on their spines. Horses' muscular power is predominantly in their ability to run and pull things, and too heavy a rider can literally break a horse's spine and force us to euthanize it.

Some of the best war horses out there are from the "hot blood" family. Hot blooded horses are often from dry, hot, arid climates, are very small and slight (such as Arabian horses), and are notoriously fickle and flighty. They're also a lot more likely to paw/bite/kick when spooked, and have even sometimes been historically trained to fight alongside their rider if their rider is dismounted in combat; kicking and rearing to keep other soldiers at a distance.

-Any horse can be ridden if it likes you enough.

Just like it can take a lifetime to learn to ride easily, it can take a lifetime of training for a horse to comfortably take to being ridden or taking part in a job, like pulling a carriage. Much like service animals, horses are typically trained from extremely young ages to be reared into the job that's given to them, and an adult horse with no experience carrying a rider is going to be just as scared as a rider who's never actually ridden a horse.

Just as well, the process of tacking up a horse isn't always the most comfortable experience for the horse. To keep the saddle centered on the horse's back when moving at rough or fast paces, it's essential to tighten the belly strap (cinch) of the saddle as tightly as possible around the horse's belly. For the horse, it's like wearing a tight corset, chafes, and even leaves indents in their skin afterward that they love having rinsed with water and scratched. Some horses will learn to inflate their bellies while you're tightening the cinch so you can't get it as tight as it needs to be, and then exhale when they think you're done tightening it.

When you're working with a horse wearing a bridle, especially one with a bit, it can be a shocking sensory experience to a horse that's never used a bit before. While they lack a set of teeth naturally, so the bit doesn't actually hurt them, imagine having a metal rod shoved in your mouth horizontally! Unless you understand why it's important for the person you care about not dying, you'd be pretty pissed about having to keep it in there!

-Horseback riding isn't exercise.

If you're not using every muscle in your body to ride with, you're not doing it right.

Riding requires every ounce of muscle control you have in your entire body - although this doesn't mean it wasn't realistic for people with fat bodies to stay their weight while also being avid riders; it doesn't mean the muscles aren't there. To stay on the horse, you need to learn how it feels when it moves at different gaits (walk, trot, canter, gallop), how to instruct it to switch leads (dominant legs; essential for precise turning and ease of communication between you and the horse), and not falling off. While good riders look like they're barely moving at all, that's only because they're good riders. They know how to move so seamlessly with the horse, feeling their movements like their own, that they can compensate with their legs and waists to not bounce out of the saddle altogether or slide off to one side. I guarantee if you ride a horse longer than 30 minutes for the first time, your legs alone will barely work and feel like rubber.

-Horses aren't affectionate.

Horses are extraordinarily affectionate toward the right people. As prey animals, they're usually wary of people they don't know, or have only recently met. They also - again, like service animals - have a "work mode" and a "casual mode" depending upon what they're doing at the time. Horses will give kisses like puppies, wiggle their upper lips on your hair/arms to groom you, lean into neck-hugs, and even cuddle in their pasture or stall if it's time to nap and you join them by leaning against their sides. If they see you coming up from afar and are excited to see you, they'll whinny and squeal while galloping to meet you at the gate. They'll deliberately swat you with their tails to tease you, and will often follow you around the pasture if they're allowed to regardless of what you're up to.

-Riding crops are cruel.

Only cruel people use riding crops to hurt their horses. Spurs? I personally object to, because any horse that knows you well doesn't need something sharp jabbing them in the side for emphasis when you're trying to tell them where you want them to go. Crops? Are genuinely harmless tools used for signalling a horse.

I mean, think about it. Why would crops be inherently cruel instruments if you need to trust a horse not to be afraid of you and throw you off when you're riding it?

Crops are best used just to lightly tap on the left or right flank of the horse, and aren't universally used with all forms of riding. You'll mainly see crops used with English riding, and they're just tools for communicating with the horse without needing to speak.

-There's only one way to ride a horse.

Not. At. All. At most teaching ranches, you'll get two options: Western, or English, because they tend to be the most popular for shows and also the most common to find equipment for. English riding uses a thinner, smaller saddle, narrower stirrups, and much thinner bridles. I, personally, didn't like English style riding because I never felt very stable in such a thin saddle with such small stirrups, and didn't start learning until my mid teens. English style riding tends to focus more on your posture and deportment in the saddle, and your ability to show off your stability and apparent immovability on the horse. It was generally just a bit too stiff and formal for me.

Western style riding utilizes heavier bridles, bigger saddles (with the iconic horn on the front), and broader stirrups. Like its name may suggest, Western riding is more about figuring out how to be steady in the saddle while going fast and being mobile with your upper body. Western style riding is generally the style preferred for working-type shows, such as horseback archery, gunning, barrel racing, and even rodeo riding.

-Wealthy horse owners have no relationship with their horses.

This is loosely untrue, but I've seen cases where it is. Basically, horses need to feel like they're working for someone that matters to them in order to behave well with a rider and not get impatient or bored. While it's common for people to board horses at off-property ranches (boarding ranches) for cost and space purposes, it's been historically the truth that having help is usually necessary with horses at some point. What matters is who spends the most time with the animal treating it like a living being, rather than a mode of transport or a tool. There's no harm in stable hands handling the daily upkeep; hay bales and water buckets are heavy, and we're there to profit off the labor you don't want or have the time to do. You get up early to go to work; we get up early to look after your horses. Good owners/boarders visit often and spend as much of their spare time as they can with spending quality work and playtime with their horses. Otherwise, the horses look to the stable hands for emotional support and care.

So, maybe you're writing a knight that doesn't really care much for looking after his horse, but his squire is really dedicated to keeping up with it? There's a better chance of the horse having a more affectionate relationship with the squire thanks to the time the squire spends on looking after it, while the horse is more likely to tolerate the knight that owns it as being a source of discipline if it misbehaves. That doesn't mean the knight is its favorite person. When it comes to horses, their love must be earned, and you can only earn it by spending time with them hands-on.

-Horses can graze anywhere without concern.

This is a mistake that results in a lot of premature deaths! A big part of the cost of owning a horse - even before you buy one - is having the property that will be its pasture assessed for poisonous plants, and having those plants removed from being within the animal's reach. This is an essential part of farm upkeep every year, because horses really can't tell what's toxic and what isn't. One of the reasons it's essential to secure a horse when you aren't riding it is to ensure it only has a very limited range to graze on, and it's your responsibility as the owner/rider to know how to identify dangerous plants and keep your horses away from them.

There's probably more. AMA in my askbox if you have any questions, but that's all for now. Happy writing.

[koryvaio]

"Eat your young"

★ pairing: Kim Taehyung!idol (v) × gf!reader

IDOL KIM TAEHYUNG, ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP

★★★ WARNINGS: +18 MDNI!, mature content, explicite sexual activities, smut!, overstimulation, shower sex, oral

★ synopsis: taehyung is doing his obligatory military service, and after months, he finally comes home—tougher, buffer, and hungrier. One look and the tension snaps.

before you ask, yes, this was made after i saw those new pictures of buff taehyung in that black uniform. lawrd have mercy on us all!

feedback is VERY appreciated!!!!

(imagine coming home to this fine shy😓)

You stared at your phone, feeling like the 'delivered' status was mocking you.

are you ok? send a dot if you're busy

6:09 PM

Your fingers hoovered over the screen again, tempted to send another message, but you've already sent him 5, and you didn't wanna be the clingy girlfriend.

You chewed the inside of your cheek, remembering the night he finally told you he broke two ribs during training. How he tried to play it cool and brush it off like it was nothing, but you remembered damn well how his voice cracked over the phone because of the pain. 'Just two ribs. I'll be fine, baby.'

Maybe he was just busy? Or maybe it was just a long drill or perhaps their phones got confiscated again? You didn't know what to make of this 'radio silence'.

'Just be safe,' you muttered to yourself.

The sound of a notification going off your phone broke the deafening silence.

I'm sorry, baby

6:31 PM

i was busy today, but i promise i

will make it up to you ;))

6:31 PM

thank god you're alive!

6:31 PM

i want the pleasure of killing you for myself!

6:32 PM

I've got something for you, it

should be at your door by now

6:33 PM

door dash food? I'm not a dog

you can fool with treats, yk?😠

6:34 PM

Curiosity gets the best of you, and you go to the door to see what he could've sent you, just to be met with a huge

"Surprise?" He says smiling.

You freeze in the doorway, heart pounding as you blankly stare at him – his hair is messy and he looks exhausted.

"Surprise?" He says again, this time with a sleepish grin, unsure if you're about to kiss or murder him. You don't answer, but instead, you launch yourself into his arms.

He wraps his arms tightly around you. It was obvious that he craved this just as much as you did. You bury your face into his chest as his familiar scent envelops you.

"Couldn't you at least let me know you're alive?" You mumble against him. "I couldn't risk ruining the surprise," he says as he loosens his grip on you.

"Telling me you're busy would've got the job done."

"Noted. I'm sorry."

You couldn't be mad at him. He was there. Safe. Healthy. Yours. "How long do I have you for?" You ask.

"Three days," he pauses. "I have some PR things to do after."

You break the hug and take a good look at him. "Man, you look like you've been through it," you chuckle, running a hand through his messy hair.

"You always say the sweetest things," a lazy smile spreads on his face.

You grab his hand and tug him inside, shutting the door behind. "Are you hungry?

"Starving," he says, eyes gleaming with mischief. His hands rest on your waist, and he pulls you closer to him.

"Oh–oh. I meant like hungry for food–," you start, but he cuts you off, smirking.

"I know what you meant. But I'm not hungry for food."

"Well, too bad, because I am hungry for food," you step back. "And I would rather not pass out from starvation."

"I would resuscitate you," he leans in, lips brushing over yours, teasing. "Mouth to mouth."

You snort, trying to hold it in."That's... the worst joke I've ever heard."

He's still grinning. "Harsh."

"Clearly you're off your flirting game," you tease, pocking his chest with your finger.

"Perhaps I've gotten rusty in the military."

"That tongue is still sharp, though," you say, crossing your arms.

"My only defence against your wit."

"Is that so?" Your fingers hoover over the hem of his t-shirt. "What if I attack you with something other than wit?"

He purses his lips. "Then I surrender," his voice drops as his gaze flickers from your eyes to your mouth.

You chuckle. "Cracking so easily? Wasn't military supposed to make you tougher?"

He leans in until his lips are barely a breath from yours. "You're the only threat I'd let take me down."

Your breath catches. You reach up, fingers grazing the side of his neck, feeling how his pulse stutters beneath your touch. "There's no point in fighting me, then."

"I was never going to."

Without further ado his lips crash onto yours. Hands roaming over your body, sliding down your lower back, pulling you closer and squeezing your butt. You moan against him and he doesn't miss the opportunity to slide his tongue past your lips with practiced ease. He guides you towards the wall behind you, his hand tangled in your hair, pulling at it slightly and tilting your head however he sees fit.

Gasping for air, you pull away. Your lips are swollen and so are his. He rests his forehead against yours, his fingers tracing patterns from your lips to your cheeks.

"Maybe I can skip dinner for now," you murmur, tugging at the hem of his shirt.

"That's what I thought."

His grin is wiped off when your fingers slip under his shirt. With one swift motion he takes if off and tosses it to the floor, granting you full access to what you'd only been imagining for the last few months.

Your fingers trace over his chest, then lower, dragging your nails down to his V-line. He is not content with your teasing so his hands slide under your top, lifting it slightly. You take the hint and raise your hands, allowing him to pull it over your head. While doing so, he lightly grazes the side of your arms, sending shivers through your body.

He carelessly throws the top away. His palms skim your sides, slow and deliberate. He wasn't rushing at all. He leans in, placing wet kisses from the corner of your mouth to your neck, then down to your collarbone. He doesn't stop there, his head dips to your chest, lips wrapping around your nipple with a hot, wet pressure that makes your spine arch. His tongue circles lazily around it, sucking and biting lightly.

He was cupping the other one with his hand, squeezing it from time to time. His other hand traced down to the waistband of your pants, dragging the fabric down your thighs painfully slow. He then drops to his knees in front of you, taking them down completely.

He kisses the inside of your thighs and you can't help but buck your hips onto his face. His fingers trail along the edge of your panties, teasing you.

"Seems like they definitely didn't teach you how to be merciful with the enemy," you gasp, half exasperated, half desperate.

"I was trained to break resistance, no matter how beautiful they are. Not to show mercy," he chuckles against your inner thigh.

"I see you're back on your flirting game, too."

"I am highly motivated," he replies, pressing a kiss over your panties. His warm breath soaking through the thin fabric and your hands immediately fly to his hair as you feel like your knees are about to give out.

He doesn't give you what you want yet, not fully. He pushes the fabric to the side, one finger brushing lightly against your sensitive skin. The cold air and his delicate touch give you goosebumps. His tongue traces along your folds, leaving wet trails behind. When he finally flicks the tip against your bud, your hips jerk in response.

"fuck–," you exhale, head falling back against the wall with a soft thud.

"Let me know know how much you missed me," he hums. His grip tightens on your hips, keeping you in place as his tongue works in slow, rhythmic motions, making you whimper and clutch at him.

You glance down at him, breathless, only to find his gaze already locked on yours– completely focused, like this was a mission he was dead set on conquering. He lied. He was never going to surrender.

When he finally decides to start sucking– tenderly at first, then harder, your body spasms.

"Tae–," you whimper.

"Tell me what you want, baby," he purrs.

Then his mouth is back on you. All the hesitation and control he had? Gone. He devoures you with such intensity that your legs trembling within minutes, pleasure coiling tight in your stomach. When you try to squirm away from this overwhelming sensation, he doesn't stop. He just holds you still, absolutely munching.

"My sweet girl," he says, finally pulling away, leaving you gasping for air. You grab his chin, forcing him up and pulling him into a deep, needy, sloppy kiss. His swollen lips tasted like you.

You slowly push him backwards towards the bedrom. When his knees reach the edge of the bed, you push him over.

He falls flat on his back and then sits up, grabbing the back of your thighs and pulling you closer to his face.

"Let's make you comfortable," he says, pulling down your panties with one fluid motion while placing a wet kiss just below your belly.

You tug at the waistband of his jeans. "These are so ugly. Take them off," you tease him. And he complies.

He gently guides you onto his lap. You shift your hips just enough to nudge his sensitive area with your core.

"Fuck–," he moans.

He places himself at your entrance, and you grind slowly on top of him. His hands grip your hips, eyes fluttering shut as his jaw clenches. He seemingly accepted his fate.

After a few minutes of your slow bouncing and griding, he snaps.

"Uh–uh. This ain't gonna fly. I'm in control here," bucking his hips roughly into you.

"Tae–," you cry out.

"Yes, baby. Tell me," he whispers against your ear, pulling softly at your hair.

His rough pounding slows down, and right when you're about to tell him not to stop, he flips over, laying you on your back, placing your legs on his shoulders quickly. He then returns to his merciless pace. He was hitting all the right spots, making you see stars.

"Be vocal, baby. I love hearing your voice. I missed hearing you like this," he purrs, leaning in closer to your ear, making sure you can feel him even better like this.

"Fuck, Tae–. I–," you whimper, almost out of breath.

He can feel your walls squeezing around him, so he flips you over again. This time, you're facing the mattress before he forces you to your knees while he continues his torturous pace from behind.

One hand wraps around your chest, cupping one breast, while the other flicks your bean. Your left hand is on the back of his neck, pulling him closer as he whispers sweet nothings in your ear.

"Fuck, I'm gonna–," you moan.

He doesn't slow down, nor does he stop. He fucks you through your second orgasm in search of his first. Your legs are shaking from overstimulation and tears start to form in your eyes from all the pleasure, yet he doesn't stop rubbing your clit.

You can feel him twitching inside, and if that wouldn't have given away the fact that he's close, the way he moaned your name in your ear would've definitely done it. His voice was even lower than usual, raspy and needy.

You both fall onto the bed, all sweaty and tired. "Maybe now we can have dinner," he suggests.

"I'll shower first," you reply, still trying to catch your breath.

Without warning, he picks you up and heads to the bathroom.

"I do have legs, you know?"

He kicks open the door. "Those shaky, jelly legs? I doubt they're any good right now," he grins, proud of himself.

As the hot spay hits you both and you close your eyes, letting your head fall back. You don't notice him watching you until he cups your breasts from behing, rubbing himself on your back.

"You've got to be joking," you say.

"What?" He smiles. "I can't help myself."

"You wanna go for round three?"

"The military trained me for endurance, baby. I'm in for as many rounds as you can go," he presses his hard-on against your butt cheeks.

"You're insatiable," you shake your head.

"I didn't fly all this way for two rounds, baby," he purrs, grabbing your chin and turning you to face him.

You don’t answer. You just kiss him—sloppy and open-mouthed, water pouring over both of you as your hands slide down his slick torso.

He lifts one of your legs, propping your knee on the ledge behind you, opening you up for him. He teases your folds, sliding the tip through them before sliding in roughly, impatiently. You gasp, clutching at his shoulders for balance as he starts to move. The rhythm is deep, slow. The pressure, the heat of the water, the wet slap of skin on skin—it’s overwhelming.

He groans into your mouth. “You feel even better in the shower. Shit.”

Your fingers tangle in his soaked hair as he thrusts harder, one hand holding your leg in place, the other gripping your ass.

“Don’t stop,” you whisper, nails dragging down his back.

“Wasn’t planning to."

He shifts slightly, changing the angle, and hits that spot inside you again and again until you’re crying out, clutching him like he’s the only thing keeping you upright.

"Come on, baby. Just one more."

"Yes, yes–," you whimper.

He fucks you through your third orgasm as he was chasing his own. He keeps pounding hard into you, until he finally reaches his high with a desperate, broken moan.

He stops, then rests his forehead against yours. "Now we can go eat," he whispers, pulling you into a hug as hot water pours over you.

[devil-in-hiding]

On The Run pt 2

By the time the five of you are in the house, you’re soaked through once more, teeth chattering when the cool air of the house hits your skin as Gaz opens the door, holding it open long enough to let the dogs trot in.

“Hey! Shake over there!” He shoos, flinching when Maggie sprays him with her shake off.

“Let’s get you taken care of pretty.” Price murmurs, and you push weakly at his chest, struggling to get down. Your mind is foggy, exhaustion fighting to take over, but there are four strange men now standing in your living room, and that seemed more pressing.

Price grunts, but finally gives in, setting you on your feet, and you put as much distance between yourself and them as you can. “What do you want? What is going on here?” You demand, trying to ignore the shake of your voice.

They glance at each other, having a silent conversation, and you glance towards the stairs. You had an old cell phone, and the service this far out was absolutely shit, but it was a chance-

“We would like a place to stay.” Price’s voice interrupts your thoughts, and your eyes shoot to look at them, and a shocked laugh tumbles past your lips.

“A place to stay? After what just happened? For god’s sake I don’t even know you!” You laugh, slightly hysteric, and Price takes a cautious step towards you, holding up his hands. “We didn’t mean to scare you sweetheart, honest. Didn’t think anyone lived here by the looks of it.” His tone is soft, comforting. He approaches you slowly, and you back away until your back hits the wall.

“How did you even know we were in there?” Ghost speaks this time, eyes trained on your face and you try not to crack under his gaze.

“You spooked Sebastian. In the six years I’ve lived here nothing has ever spooked that horse.” You glare, anger flaring when the four of them laugh. “You think scaring my stallion is funny?”

“No little bird, just…” Ghost trails off, chuckling and you can feel your eye twitch ever so slightly.

“It’s cute how protective you are over some animals.” He finishes, and he can tell his words are winding you up, the crinkle around his eyes indicating he finds this amusing. Bastard.

“They might just be animals to you,” You start, your frustration seeping into your words as you straighten your back. “But when I found this place they were starving and on the brink of death. I worked my ass off to make sure they made it. I worked for their trust after some asshole abandoned them here to fucking die. They are my herd, this is my land!” Your shoulders heave, sucking in a deep breath as you try to calm your racing heart.

They stare at you, quiet and you close your eyes, clenching your fist as you struggle to maintain yourself. “You broke into my barn and scared my animals, held my own knife to my throat and invited yourselves into my home. Why is god's name should I let you stay here?” You ask, opening your eyes to stare them down, and for the first time tonight, they seem to crack under your gaze for once.

“Have you… Do you have any way of hearing the news?” Price questions, wincing and you frown. “The radio when I’m cleaning the barn. Why?”

They hesitate, looking between themselves as they shuffle their feet. Your eyes bounce between them, trying to think back to anything of importance that a reporter has broadcasted as of late.

Missing sheep from a town more than four hours north of you, a four way pile up down one of the highways,a break out at the prison, a wheeler transporting 60,000 gallons of wine tipping near the river…

A break out at the prison.

You freeze, all air leaving your lungs as you stare at them, four wanted criminals standing in your living room. You feel your knees buckle.

They notice your realization, hesitation crossing Price’s face when he notices your stiff figure.

“Please. Let us explain ourselves.” He all but begs, and you feel your hands shaking.

“You are wanted criminals!” You hiss, and they cringe, their previous bravado has disappeared.

“We will explain everything to you, we swear. Just… Please give us a chance.” Soap steps forward this time, big wide eyes trained on you. They’re just as soaked as you are, and in the light of the living room you see the bags under their eyes, the tension in their shoulders. They look exhausted, and not just from this night. There’s a haunted look behind their eyes, and you curse yourself when you feel your heart ache ever so slightly.

You make a noise at the back of your throat, turning to head up the stairs.

“Pretty where are you-“

“You’re soaking my floor. You can explain it to me after I’m out of this damn gown.” You mumble, hearing one of them mumble ‘damn shame’.

“I heard that!”

After a few moments you come back, a box of clothes in hand and they all raise a brow. “Thought you said no one else lived here?” Gaz asks suspiciously when they notice it’s a box of men’s clothes. You roll your eyes, shoving it into his hands.

“They’re my ex-husbands, I took it by mistake when I moved my boxes.” You huff, crossing your arms. It’s your turn to raise a brow at their shocked expressions. “What’s with your faces?”

“What kind of eejit divorces such a gorgeous lass?” Soap asks, and you feel insulted, till you realise he’s not joking. They all look you over, and you feel your face warm at the way their eyes darken. Turning away, you clear your throat, pointing up the stairs.

“The guest room is down the hall, it has a bathroom and towels. Leave your clothes in the tub.” You order, making your way towards your bedroom. You feel the stairs shake as they bound up them, and as they pass, Price give’s your hip a little squeeze and you swat at his hand.

“Thank you pretty.”

“I haven’t said yes yet. You were just ruining my hardwood floors.” You sniff, smacking his hand once more when he doesn’t let go.

“You are testing my patience most of all.”

“You haven’t made us leave though.”

“I can change that very quickly.” You snap, pulling his hand off your side and he takes the opportunity to pull you close, leaning down next to your ear.

“But I don’t think you will, will you sweetheart?” He whispers, and you bite your lip, pushing at his chest. “For god's sake, go change you old perv.” You hiss, wiggling in his grasp and he flashes you a grin before letting you go.

You slip into your room, locking the door before pressing your head against it. What have you gotten yourself into?

You quickly take a hot shower, letting the scalding water bring warmth back to your stiff joints. You towel off quickly, slipping into an oversized hoodie and some old pajama pants.

You can still hear the shower running down the hall when you step out, a boom of thunder sounding in the distance. You slip down to the kitchen, grabbing one of your mugs. You had a feeling it was going to be a long night.

How could you be so foolish as to be letting escaped convicts use your bathroom?! God the feds were probably spread to every point in the world trying to track these men down. You can’t remember much the broadcast had said, just that there were four dangerous men on the run from one of the maximum security prisons a couple of hours away. How on earth did they wind up here?

You’re so lost to your thoughts you don’t hear the stairs creak, staring out into the backyard as you mull things over in your mind.

“‘Ppreciate the clothes lass, loads better!” A cheerful voice spooks you and you jump, dropping your mug to the floor. “Shit!” You curse, a matching ‘ah hell’ leaving Soap.

“Didn’t mean to scare you again bonnie, I’m sorry.” He sighs, running a hand over his face. You’re surprised to find genuine guilt there, and he gives you a sheepish look. “I’ll clean this up for ye.”

“Gone and lost us our chance Soap?” Gaz asks, frowning at the glass on the ground but Soap just waves him off. “Accident, scared the poor lass.”

“We keep doing that, she'll never give us a chance.” Gaz smiles at you, soft and sweet but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, the bags under them worse after having cleaned up, and you feel that strange ache in your chest again. You glance at Soap, who is picking up the shards with his bare hands and you frown, swatting his hands away as you kneel beside him.

“Are you trying to hurt yourself?” You scold, and he gives you a surprised look before smiling, shrugging as he gently stops your hands from piling the remains of the mug. “Could ask the same of you bonnie, hands like these are much too pretty for such sharp things.” He mumbles, scooping up the shards without a care.

The two of them eye you nervously, and you can feel knots in your stomach. Taking a deep breath, you motion towards the living room. “Sit. I’ll make something to drink.” You offer. They raise a brow and you glance at the ground.

“I’m sorry, I just thought-“

“No need to apologize, it’s just…” Gaz starts, trying to find the words and glances at Soap.

“We’re honestly surprised you didn't run for the nearest house possible when you had the chance.” Soap says bluntly, and you wince.

“No one around for miles.” You admit, and their faces fall slightly, shoulders tensing and you clear your throat. “I said I would hear you out. I plan to.” You say firmly, turning to walk into the kitchen, just to bump into a large chest.

“I gotta worry about you keeping your mouth shut little bird?” Ghost asks, arms crossing over his chest as he stares you down.

“I do have a radio that connects me to the closest ranger station. And another for the Police station in the little town 3 hours north.” You admit, and you see his eyes flash, but you hold up your hand before he speaks.

“No. You aren’t taking it.” You snap, and his eyes narrow, exhaling sharply.

“If they don’t hear from me periodically they get worried. It’s a small town, everyone knows one another and I do have to take trips to the store every month or so.” You don’t back down from his dark gaze, but your palms feel clammy.

“They ever check up on you unannounced?” Price is last to arrive, voice stern as he levels the same cold glare as Ghost and you swallow, standing straighter, Gaz and Soap looking between the three of you nervously.

“Not unless I ask them to or I haven’t called in a few weeks. Takes too long to get out here.” Your voice shakes towards the end, slipping between the two looming men.

“You’re all here, you can start talking anytime.” You quip, and Ghost scoffs. “Got a mouth on you don’t-“

“You are asking to stay in my home. Watch it.”

He snaps his mouth shut, glaring at you and you turn your back to him. Price clears his throat, his gaze heavy on your back as you turn on the stove.

“Listen. There has to be some type of trust for this to even begin to work. You haven’t hurt me, and besides that oaf holding a knife to my throat,” You and Simon glare at one another, but he breaks first, eyes crinkling in the corners. “You’re a feisty little thing.” He laughs, crossing the kitchen to plop down at the kitchen table like he owns it.

“Besides that, you haven’t given me any reason you’re here to harm me or rob me, considering you have no car. You could easily overpower me and keep me locked in one of my own rooms and you haven’t. That’s a good start.” You finish, hands shaking slightly as you start to make your tea, and Price gently takes the kettle from your hands.

“But you’re still scared.” He states, and your shoulders stiffen. “Four men are in my kitchen asking to hide from the police. I’ve only put together who is who with your little code names by listening to you talk to one another. I’m sorry for being a little frightened.” You spit, jumping when you feel his large hand on your hip.

“Oh if you don’t quit that-“

“You’ve got quite the mouth on you pretty.”

“Okay! I think we all need to take a minute, yeah?” Gaz announces, him and Soap staring at the three of you nervously. You pry Price’s hand off your hip, again, pushing him away.

“Start talking, now. Before I let Soap and Gaz stay here and let the two of you rot outside.” You huff, taking a seat at the table and they seem surprised.

“I told you, I put together who is who, and those two,” You point, glaring at Price and Ghost as you speak. “Have been very respectful and kind.”

The two of them perk up, lapping up the small praise like thirsty dogs as their chests puff out.

Price frowns, keeping eye contact with you as he slips into the chair opposite of you. “We’ll behave.” He mutters, cutting a look at Ghost when he makes an offended noise in the back of his throat.

“We’re sorry. We didn’t mean any of the harm or fear we have caused you, really thought this place was abandoned. The boys and I appreciate you hearing us out when you have absolutely no reason to. And I… apologize.” He clears his throat, casting you a glance over before meeting your eyes once more.

“Haven’t been around such a gorgeous little thing like yourself in a long time. Forgot my manners.” He grins now, causing heat to bloom in your chest and you splutter, narrowing your eyes at him as you fight the heart crawling up your neck.

“Story. Now.”

“Oh come on pretty, am I at least forgiven?” He asks, and you know he’d deny that he’s pouting, but it still makes a small smile tug your lips.

“I’m thinking about it.”

“I could sweet talk you some more.”

“Much more interested in why you were in prison.”

Price sighs, but there’s a smile on his face as he relaxes in his chair.

“Better settle in. It’s a bit of a tale.” He crosses his arms, settling back.

“I’ve got all night.” You shoot back, resting your chin on your hand as you get comfortable.

What have you gotten yourself into?

[ftmknottypup]

Imagine a world where “service dog” has a very different meaning. Just like our world, service dogs are specially bred and trained and are allowed anywhere in public, but the similarities end there.

Criminals can be sentenced to be a service dog’s bitch for any length of time—up to lifetime—as punishment. That’s what you are: a service dog’s bitch. You wear a permanently-locked, highly-visible collar so everyone knows your status and can report you if you’re seen without your dog at any point. You must also always be wearing specially-designed bottoms and no underwear so your holes are easily accessible when you’re ass-up on your knees. Your home is outfitted with security cameras monitoring every room from every angle so you must follow the rules even when you’re alone.

The only real rule, of course, is that you submit to be fucked by your dog whenever he demands it. If he barks at you, you’d better be presenting your holes within ten seconds, or he’ll physically make you. He’ll knock you to the ground and tear open your clothing with his teeth. This can happen anywhere, at home or out in public. No one will intervene. They’ll just gather around to watch you whimper and cry as you get fucked by doggy cock.

Service dogs are bred and trained to have high stamina, always knot, and keep pounding into their bitch even after they’ve knotted. You’ll cum over and over before he’s done. And even then, if you’re outside at the park or somewhere, it’s not finished. Because nine times out of ten, regular dogs will be waiting their turn, and you have to stay there in position until your service dog decides whether he wants to move around to your head, pin you down by the neck, and let you be mounted again.

But the thing is, you’ve never broken a law in your life. The collar was forced onto you by your dom. No one you tell this believes you. All bitches say that.

Yes... I've read a fic just like this, except instead of a dom forcing me, it's government mandated for fakeboys to have a service dog so that I learn my place and be a good female bitch meant to take cock anytime, anywhere