#but i kind of think maybe he was supposed to be a bird dog and he was terrible at it and they let him go

[girl-lostconnection]

Acceleration AU (part 1)

Part 2

Warnings: plus size!fem!Reader, hints of pressure therapy, insecurities, swearing, Reader has abusive mom, mentions of abuse, Reader and Simon won’t talk to save their lives, only mention of Soap in this chapter

It’s supposed to be just another Christmas when everything changes.

You are not the biggest fan of changes, they rarely bring you (or Simon for that matter) something to be really happy about.

Therapist tells you it’s a defence mechanism, your need to feel that everything is the same otherwise it’s unpredictable, it’s out of your control and you don’t know what’s going to happen.

You don’t like not knowing things.

Makes you antsy, makes anxiety coil in your belly like rose bush, just growing and growing until thorns have no other place to dig in but your insides.

Simon doesn’t judge you for that, not when he has a slight (though how much is slight in terms of mental health) paranoia, possessive streak and need to oversee every bloody process or he starts vibrating with tension.

Simon grows up to be a bloody behemoth of a man — huge, broad and heavy. Bicep the size of your head. Midriff too thick to wrap both hands around it.

You shoot up in couple sizes as well, still broad shouldered, hips wider, thighs thicker, palms smaller than Simon’s but pack the same heavy smack he has.

Comes with the territory, in a way.

Can’t be defenceless in a city like Manchester when nightlife is never kind to a girl and strangers are all too eager to take advantage of a lonely bird on her way home.

Simon rumbles that you are “bloody perfect”, dropping his blond head in your lap on a usual movie night or laying on top of you without the fear of crushing under his weight.

Your hands around him comforting presence — softer underside of biceps cushioning against his shoulder blades.

“Bloody bliss. ‘m snug like a bug in a rug”, he mumbles, eyes closed and whole body limp — melting into yours, soaking up all the warmth and affection you so freely give.

“Am I a rug?”, you chuckle, eyes half lidded and soft, knuckles rubbing the tender point between his shoulder blades. Scratching him like he’s a big dog.

Simon reminds you these classical breeds of guard dogs people in rural areas use to protect their livestock and homes.

Great Pyrenees, were they?

Big, heavy, entirely unbothered by anything but the task at hand and very much blond — hair curling from moisture in the air and hot mist of the shower.

“You’r a blessing, luv”, Simon finally hums out, half way asleep, nose nudging your jaw up so he can properly nuzzle in your neck, your scent comforting him in a way he’s not sure he can explain. “ ‘m gonna sleep. Too tired. You’r okay?”

You hum, palm splaying over his back, just pressing it there so he can feel it, warm presence of it tearing out a satisfied “mm” from Simon.

It’s a routine at this point, something something regulation for him and you. You swap on regular basis, because sometimes you just need to be close to him and he needs someone’s weight to press him in the couch, enveloping him.

Not easy to be Simon’s personal blanket or a big spoon but you proud yourself on doing a pretty good job. The best one if you are to believe Simon himself.

You hum in return to his sound, your own hum soothing a scratching beast inside of Ghost’s head, mutt finally laying it’s big head on front paws and closing it’s eyes. Sometimes Simon wonders how’s so you are able to do just that.

When he can’t.

Maybe that’s what changed somewhere along the way. Maybe he just doesn’t need you as much anymore.

A traitorous childish part of you sometimes thinks that a lot of things were easier when you two were kids.

Both you and Simon — wide-eyed and yet unscarred, biggest scrapes on your bodies from face planting on the pavement after wearing sandals on the wrong legs.

It’s part you never share with Simon because it isn’t fair. Because the older you became the worse things at home were. The screaming, the pain, the bruises and tears. It was bad.

For Simon at times much worse than for you.

At least your mom was careful enough not to leave scars

You can’t miss something that signified hurt and helplessness for him, just because it was easier back then.

You can’t but part of you does.

You were inseparable once, teachers always knew that wherever one of you is they’d find another one.

Joined at the hip, glued to each other’s side, sharing silences and lunches and books and first kisses and secrets.

Time that now feels like honeyed berry of a memory — sugary sweet and popping with colour under your eyelids.

When did it change?

You know that it’s natural for people to grow up and part ways but you and Simon were always together. At home and school, on weekends and holidays.

You left together after graduation, working odd jobs to pay for a tiny apartment with only one bed but really nice bathroom.

Simon shrugs and plops himself on the mattress saying that it’s not gonna be the first time you’ll be sleeping together. Why waste money you don’t have on a thing you don’t really need?

Simon says that if it gets too uncomfortable you’ll save up and by a second one, though it is very unclear where would you even put it. But it’s not uncomfortable and it becomes a new norm for you.

You were always together, intertwined tighter than any friends, closer than family, more long lasting than any relationships.

At times it felt like you two outgrew categories, but then you’d meet people and whilst introducing each other would need to choke out “my friend”.

How do you even tell people that this man is more than friend and more than boyfriend ever been for you?

How do you convey that Simon is family in the same way life long partners are?

How do you explain that Simon is the moon of your skies, that his presence and dark eyes and soft blond lashes and wild crooked grins have effect on you that no one else really has?

You never discussed your relationship, perhaps there simply was no need at the time. Both of you content to be the only permanent people in each other’s lives — the strongest connection. Each other’s priority.

Up until this Christmas.

Up until you get the cryptic “do you wanna celebrate not at home this year?” that makes your brows furrow.

It’s 2 weeks before holidays are going to start, you are wearing Simon’s black sweater and jeans, puff jacket hooked on the crook of your elbow, pressed to your side.

Which now feels like it wasn’t the best idea because it’s too hot, the mall is crowded and it’s warm in a way that December in Manchester has never supposed to feel.

You blame it on people and global warming, while manoeuvring your way to the food court, buying yourself whatever cold soda they have because fucking hell, why is it so hot in here.

Your bags are getting plopped on the seat right next to yours when you stretch out your legs, thick winter boots feeling heavier than usually.

What does he mean by that? You two always celebrated Christmases and birthdays at home. Together.

This way it was less people, less potential triggers and grounds for overstimulation for both of you.

God knows you can’t handle screaming, crowds making you nervous and too hot and Simon coils into tight wound spring when he hears balloons pop or feels people graze against him.

A quick noncommittal “why” is all Simon gets in return.

Just so you receive back “been invited to Glasgow to celebrate. Think you can make it?” and oh wow, someone’s making friends out there.

Simon doesn’t give you any additional information and doesn’t provide any further context probably deciding that there’s nothing more you need to know.

You take a deep breath, staring down the message, fingers drumming against tabletop — sharp tap-tap-tap doing nothing to soothe your climbing agitation.

Why all of a sudden he wants to celebrate it someplace else when you two already have perfectly decorated apartment?

Jesus Christ, you are out here gift shopping!

It takes you entirely three long minutes of typing and deleting the message before you finally send “don’t think I can. But u have fun”.

Your phone pings with a new incoming message so quickly it almost feels like Simon is sitting on the other end, staring down your chat with him, waiting for a response.

“Are u sure, luv? Soap says it will be fun. His family will be there. They are nice”

Fuck no. You don’t do family gatherings. Especially not with strangers and from what you thought you knew — neither does Simon. Too many people that try to touch you, too many sounds, just too warm.

But your eyes zero on the “Soap” and you feel something ugly inside of you raising its head, crack of its vertebras feeling like uncoiling blizzard inside of you.

Who is “Soap” and why is he standing between your usual Christmas plans with Simon?

You force your anger down so hard it almost makes you wince, molars aching from how tight your jaws are pressing on each other.

It’s fine. It’s nothing. Simon doesn’t owe you anything, you aren’t a couple after all. Not like you spent the last shit ton of Christmases together.

Not like it was important for you to have it done with him of all people.

So you type out neutral “absolutely. Yk I don’t like crowds. Have fun out there and pass Soap “merry Christmas” from me” which is much longer and much more cordial than you expected from yourself in the heat of a moment.

Especially when the most prominent thought was “tell Soap to go fuck himself and come home, you big bastard, I spent three hours in the bloody mall”.

Good job, now you can get going. After all, there is shopping to be done and Christmas menu to be redone.

If Simon is not coming you are gonna gorge yourself on ginger cookies and have fun.

You are a big girl, you don’t need Simon Riley and his stupid blond lashes.

You don’t need anyone.

NEXT>>

[lennadanvers]

His Home

Johnny Soap MacTavish x Ace!Reader

A/N: I'm a day late to Ace Week, but I really wanted to post this. I'd love to see more ace representation in fanfiction, so I'm doing my part. Plus, this kind of relationship has always been my favorite- there's something about undefined love that makes it perfect. I really like this one, so much that I wrote it while studying for my History exam. I hope you love it too, happy belated Ace Week!

Ghost is the first one to ask about it.

About you.

It’s late, you went to bed an hour ago, and Johnny offered him a beer. They’re looking at the empty front yard, a normal street in a normal neighborhood- a rare sight for soldiers of their kind. The food you and Soap made for the occasion sits warm in their bellies. The air smells of quiet and night.

Simon has known Johnny for a long time- and he has known him well. He didn’t know about this, though. He heard about you, of course. The first time Soap wasn’t sure if he’d make it back home, it was your name he mumbled. Instructions were clear: his dog tags were for you to receive. Along with everything else in his barracks. Ae dinnae care aboot all the rules. Ye gotta take me home tae ‘er.

Ghost knew you weren’t married- he would have seen it in his sergeant’s paperwork. He decided you were his girlfriend, then.

Until someone flirted with Johnny at a bar, and he happily told them he was single. Single. It didn’t lead anywhere, anyway; he came back to base with the rest of the team that night. Maybe he didn’t have a bird at home anymore, thought Simon.

But then there was the roommate. Soap was always talking about the roommate, how she would always leave hairs in the shower, how the laundry detergent smelled like flowers back home. It was said with fondness, the kind of affectionate jab one develops with family or very close friends. Ghost supposed you might be a childhood friend, then. Someone who had always been in Johnny’s life.

Come the end of their last mission, he had nowhere to stay at. His apartment was waiting for him, of course, but it was as empty and cold as any hotel room. His sergeant invited him home- tae meet ma girl. His girl. That was not a relationship status- no friend, no sister or girlfriend. Just girl, his girl.

He had to say yes.

Then there were you. Johnny’s age, bright eyes full of affection when you saw him. Small, soft hands ruffling the mohawk, saying it was getting out of hand. Nodding when he asked for another trim, bonnie, aye?

You hugged him around the neck, face under his chin. Ghost feared you would suffocate his sergeant. But Johnny’s face was pink, relaxed for the first time since before the mission. His arms were at your back, hands rounding your waist- they were used to that place. His nose deep in your hair- Simon felt like he was overstepping, like he wasn’t meant to see that. No one was.

Until you gave a step back- soft smile, soft eyes, soft Johnny- and welcomed him to your home. You called him L.T., like you knew him. Simon suspected you did. You didn’t try to shake his hand or- God forbid- hug him hello. You didn’t even risk a step into his personal space. He didn’t think it was out of fear- you didn’t blink twice at the black surgical mask. You just smiled and gave him a tour of the house.

That was another thing, the house. Tiny and tidy, cozy. Ghost didn’t have much experience with homes, but that’s what it looked like to him. A place lived in, well loved. A place with a past. Even more intriguing, a place with a future. By the way you talked, he gathered you weren’t renting. This place was owned. Something for the long run.

When you got to the hallway, though, you pointed to the last door. That’s my room! You can knock if you need anything, I’m a pretty light sleeper. Then to the one before that: That’s Johnny’s. Then the guest bedroom and the bathroom.

So you don’t sleep together.

Which would have been an answer to his curiosity, if it weren’t for the kitchen. After he left his stuff- a half-empty duffel bag- in the guest room, Simon went back to the small but charming space that is- all in one- your kitchen, living room and dining room. He was still in his soldier headspace, which means his steps were quiet. When he stepped into the kitchen, neither you nor Soap noticed him there.

You were laughing, hand on his bicep, eyes closed. Johnny was smiling. His shoulders down, his face soft. He grabbed your hand and brought you closer in a weird hug. You swayed together, and Simon almost heard the music you were dancing to. It went on for a while. Johnny went to grab a knife and you’d already placed the cutting board in front of him. You grabbed the oven mitt and he opened the oven.

You two are the perfect machine, always knowing where the other is going next. The smiles never falter. For the first time in years, Simon feels like he’s in a home. It’s confusing and startling. How come Soap has this waiting for him? How is he even able to go on deployment, knowing he might not have the chance to dance around you in the kitchen again?

The thought sparks memories. Soap’s sketchbook, a gleaming eye peeking from the page. His tactical jacket, jasmine perfume as they march through a field. A hair tie in the keychain. Gunpowder hands buying a bracelet in a faraway country. Making flower crowns while waiting for the target to show up. Dodging bullets with blue fevered eyes. Take me home tae ‘er.

He cleared his throat, and you handled him the plates to set on the table.

After dinner, you said goodnight. Johnny kissed your cheek; I left some beers in the fridge. Another kiss on the forehead. You waved at Simon, sweet and tired. Soap’s eyes followed you through the hallway.

Out in the cool night air, Simon asks.

“Tha’ ‘er?”

Soap flinches in his seat. The bottle in his hand twinkles under the stars. Doesn’t seem willing to reply. Maybe he doesn’t know how.

“The one from yer drawings?”

The nod is soft.

“Aye.”

Interrogation is an art. Ghost knows many ways to get information out of people. None of them work better on his sergeant than silence. The man has a need to fill empty spaces.

So he waits until Johnny takes the bait.

“A’v always known her.”

Another silence. Simon doesn’t need to ask the question out loud.

“We arenae datin. She isnae ma girlfriend. Or wife,” Jhonny’s voice is warm and liquid. “She's the love o ma life.”

Curiosity bubbles again. How does this life fit with the man out in the field? How come a cozy little house is home to a demolition expert?

“How’s tha’ work?”

Soap’s shoulders tighten, preparing for a defensive stance.

“She doesnae want sex.”

That’s not quite an answer, so Simon waits. Johnny’s back relaxes slowly, as if relieved by the lack of a reaction.

“But ‘a dinnae care aboot all that stuff. She's here whan ‘a come home, an she takes care o’ me. A tak care o’ her. Thare's nothin more than that.”

Nothing more he could ask for. Nothing more he’d ever want. His eyes glow blue, melting ice in the night. Ghost wonders, surprised, how he never saw it. How he didn’t realize.

After that, he doesn’t ask any more questions. There’s nothing else he’d need to know, really. When the bottles are empty and the air a little too cold, they retreat to their rooms.

The next morning, Simon stays in bed a little longer than usual. He listens to your soft steps in the hallway, the little knock on the door and Johnny’s raspy laugh. He hears the sheets and the whispers, the way he tells you stories about their last deployement- some true (only the lighter ones), the rest made up, with a handsome, Scottish hero. He pictures you tucked in Johnny’s side, his hand in your hair, easy smiles lighting up the room. And he understands. Once again, his sergeant’s words sound in his head.

A dinnae care aboot the rules. She’s ma girl, L.T.

[lady-arcane]

A Man Who Does Not Smile :

Nanami Kento does not go out of his way to frighten children. It just happens.

There is something about the way he exists—tall, severe, measured in movement and speech—that makes small creatures wary of him. Dogs hesitate before wagging their tails. Babies squirm when they sense his presence. And children, most unforgiving of all, take one look at him and decide he is someone to fear.

It is not something he does on purpose. It is not even something he particularly minds. But it is something he has noticed.

---

The first time it happens, he is twelve years old.

He is at a family gathering, the kind that drags on forever and smells like heavy food and too much perfume. His mother has given him a task—keep an eye on his cousin’s toddler while the adults talk.

He does not like children. He does not dislike them, either. They simply exist, in the way that birds and passing clouds do—present, but not worth much thought.

The child is small, unsteady on his feet, and when he sees Nanami, he immediately bursts into tears.

Nanami does not know what to do. He has not done anything. He has not spoken, has not moved. He has simply existed in the same space as this child, and yet, somehow, this is enough to warrant terror.

His mother scolds him later. "You should try being friendlier. Smile more."

Nanami tries. It does not help.

---

Years pass. He grows taller, sharper, more deliberate in his actions. He learns to choose his words carefully, to measure his tone, to move with the kind of efficiency that makes the world a little more tolerable.

But the pattern remains.

Children do not like him.

He is sixteen when he volunteers at a local library, mostly because it is quiet and does not demand much of him. One afternoon, a group of children comes in for story time. The librarian, a woman with a kind face and tired eyes, asks him to help.

Nanami sits down, book in hand. He does not make any sudden movements. He does not raise his voice. He simply reads.

Halfway through, a child starts crying.

The librarian pats Nanami’s arm. “Maybe try sounding a little less... serious?”

He does not understand what she means. He is reading the words as they are written. He is being careful, thoughtful. Isn’t that what people are supposed to want?

But when he looks at the children—small, fidgeting, casting wary glances at him—he knows.

They do not like his voice.

They do not like his face.

They do not like him.

---

He does not try again for many years.

It does not come up often. His life is not the kind that requires interaction with children. His job is not safe, not kind, not something that should be seen by those who still have softness left in them.

But then there is a mission—a simple one, supposedly—and he finds himself standing in a half-destroyed street, staring down at a child no older than six.

She has lost her parents.

She is shaking.

And when she looks up at him, all wide eyes and trembling hands, she does not cry.

Nanami does not know what to do with this.

He kneels, slow and careful. “You are not hurt?”

She shakes her head.

She is too quiet. Too still. He recognizes this—shock, fear held too tightly, the kind that makes people collapse hours later when their bodies finally catch up to their minds.

So he does something he has not done in years.

He smiles.

It is small, just the barest movement of his lips, meant to reassure, to make him seem less imposing. It is an effort. It is, he thinks, something that might be kind.

The child’s face crumples.

She bursts into tears.

---

Later, Gojo laughs so hard he nearly falls out of his chair.

“You made her cry by smiling?” he wheezes, wiping at his eyes. “Man, I knew you were scary, but damn.”

Nanami sighs. He regrets telling him.

“Maybe it was a bad smile,” Gojo continues. “Like, creepy. Serial killer vibes.”

Nanami does not dignify this with a response.

But later, when he stands in front of a mirror, he tries again.

He does not smile often. He never saw the point. But now, looking at his own reflection, he studies the way his face shifts, the way his expression pulls at the edges.

Does it look unnatural?

Does it look forced?

He does not know.

He does not try again.

---

Years later, when he is older, when the weight of his own choices sits heavier in his bones, he finds himself in the presence of another child.

This time, he does not smile.

This time, he simply crouches, keeps his voice steady, his movements slow, and waits.

The child does not cry.

Nanami exhales.

(It is enough.)

-----

Greetings, Dreamers and Readers ✨🌸

You know, I think I might be Nanami. Or at least, I deeply relate to his struggle with children. I don’t know if it’s a lack of patience or just the sheer confusion of what am I supposed to do with this tiny, unpredictable human? But yeah, I struggle.

Case in point: My maternal aunt once asked me to watch over my toddler cousin, Riya, during a family gathering while she cooked. Simple, right? Should’ve been easy. Except, the moment my presence registered, she started crying. And I mean, really crying. And what did I do? Nothing. I just stood there, because what do you even do in that situation? Pat her head? Start singing? Apologize for existing?

Anyway, that incident stayed with me, and when I wrote this, I couldn’t help but channel some of that energy into Nanami. The man just exists and children find him terrifying. I get it.

---

So yeah, let me know—do kids like you? Or are you, like me (and Nanami), just out here unintentionally scaring them with your mere presence? Drop a comment, share your thoughts, and let’s collectively figure out how to interact with tiny humans.

✨ Bye and take care, Hope you all have a good day ✨

[softlee]

;Submission to Coquette - lee minho.

Copyright © 2024 softlee

Pairings: Lee Minho x Reader

Word Count: 7.3K

Genre: pwp (well maybe just a little plot), smut, fluff, established relationship, domestic relationship!AU

Synopsis: You take on the challenge of making your boyfriend "Coquette". Will you succeed? Minho only has so much patience when you request him to be submissive. So, ultimately trying to tie him up and use him might be his breaking point.

Warnings: Minho constrained in pink ribbon. Do I really need to add more? Grinding, Bondage via ribbon I suppose, squirting, light dirty talk, reader attempts to be dominant but really how far can that go with Minho? Oral (female and male receiving), and Minho shenanigans (minho just being minho).

Notes:  I was supposed to finish this at the beginning of the year when the coquette trend came out on Tiktok. This trend on TikTok IMMEDIATELY made me think of Minho, I just think this theme fits him perfectly. I mean? When I saw this picture on TikTok of this guy in ribbon my mind immediately went to Minho. I hope you guys enjoy it cause I know I did making it :) 

Here's a TikTok off the overall idea/theme of this fanfic: here

ENJOYYYYY :D

With the telling ding of Minho’s cellphone in his left pocket on his way home from work, he already had an inkling on who the sender was.

It was, as he suspected, a message from you—his girlfriend, his girl, his lover, his other half.

But to you? No, you were only his errand runner when it came to things you needed before he made his familiar trail back to your shared apartment. 

You: I know you don’t wanna go but can you pleaseeeeeeee get me some pink ribbon before you come home? :) [4:56 PM]

Minho lets out an agitated sigh before washing his hand over his disgruntled worn out face; A repercussion of his stressful day at the office. 

He waited for you to finish typing your thoughts because he knew you weren’t done.

You are his other half after all.

You: Please? It’s for you xox [4:57 PM]

“It’s for me?” He exaggeratedly stated in his mind while he skillfully dogged a piece of gum on the sidewalk before trudging forward more. 

He scoured every crevice of his mind to come up with the most plausible reasoning as to how himself and pink ribbon correlate in some way. 

After a few determined seconds of thinking, he came to the conclusion that there were none and therefore, there was no way in hell he was stopping at the store for pink ribbon of all things. It just wasn’t going to happen. Minho was stubborn and if he set his mind to something, it was going to stay that way. Forever. 

Minho isn’t one to be easily swayed. 

“I can’t believe you actually stopped to get the ribbon for me!” Minho is greeted at the door of your shared apartment with a love bomb attack. Arms and legs hurling towards him until they somehow get caught into his arms, you attached with them funny enough. 

You’re hugging him, and kissing him like this is the last moment you are together. Peppering his nose, forehead, and cheek with kisses before Minho becomes overstimulated by all the touching and he’s grunting in protest and faking a look of annoyance, face scrunching like he’s trying to get away from your assault of love. 

He’ll truly never admit it to you but this part of the day, almost like the day was mirroring itself every weekday was his favorite part; you meeting him at the door once you got the satisfying notification that your boyfriend was back home. 

Pecking him all over his face like you were some kind of bird.

He’ll never admit it. 

The bag with the ribbon of course fell onto the ground when you flung yourself onto him. 

Minho with his cat like hearing of course hears this, not even looking. 

“Look you probably messed the ribbon up by the way you violently threw yourself at me. It’s almost like you don’t even want it.“ He teases, feeling you slither your way out from the corner of his neck to fully make eye contact with him. The little smirk he has plastered all over his face is slyly gone once you're peering at him. 

“Of course I want it! I was just excited to see you! I haven’t seen you all day.“ You whine a little before Minho gives you a glaring stare, of course none other than to surprise you with a peck to the lips, softly letting you down onto the hardwood floor. 

You quickly swoop to floor level to retrieve the bag with your latest conquest, discarding the bag and holding the spool of pretty pink silk ribbon in your hands before you wiggle your eyebrows in what he would expect to be a playful way. 

“This.” You point at the ribbon, “is going on you.” You smile enthusiastically, pulling your boyfriend by the arm to walk him over to the couch.

He feigns annoyance, throwing his head back in an exaggerated way while making an ungodly noise. He looks like a little boy who is being dragged by his mother because he’s gotten in trouble. 

“Can I at least eat first? I'm tired and just got back from work.” Indirectly trying to crawl his way out of whatever the hell you were trying to do; Minho wasn’t going to let you win without a fight. That’s just how he’s always been. He’ll nag and nag some more, but since he loves you, he'll eventually give up.

Right?

“I promise if you do this for me right now, I’ll make you something yummy.” You traverse your eyes on his own, watching as you get no physical reaction out of him. 

He plops down onto the couch. 

You stand in front of him, both hands on your hips quicking scanning your brain to figure out what exactly you can make to get him to comply. 

Suddenly a light bulb switches on in your mind and you gleam, crawling into your boyfriend's lap, disregarding the ribbon on the side of the couch for right now. 

Throwing your hands around his neck, “How about ramen and kimchi? I think we still have some kimchi left over.” You swivel your head over to the direction of the refrigerator. In comparison, Minho refuses to acknowledge you on his lap, the dinner choices, and how you on his lap is suddenly clouding his judgment.

You turn back to face him. 

“I’ll make you some pork belly too?” Suddenly Minho is intrigued, giving you his full-facing attention before a little smirk takes over his face, unable to contain how good that sounds in reality. 

Suddenly intrigued by the music in the background he didn’t seem to hear at first, he looks at the TV behind you. 

“Were you just about to play Fortnite before I came in?” He randomly asks in the midst of you discussing dinner options. 

Brows twisted in confusion for a second, they return to their natural state when you remember that you were indeed about to play Fortnite. 

“Oh, yeah I was. The season is almost over and they had Poison Ivy in the Item Shop! I had to get her and play a couple of matches with my new skin!” You protest, feeling the warmth of your boyfriend’s arms slide around your waist, fastening you to his body. 

He displays a toothy grin at your comment. “You’re such a nerd.” Yet when he states this comment, you see nothing but love in his eyes. You smile as well, not about to let him get away with his words. 

“Well, you can’t be the one to talk! You also-”

“Fine, I’ll do it. Now hurry up before you change my mind.” He suddenly states, grasping the ribbon in his palm before he looks up to literally see you light up at the words. 

That’s all he had to say, you immediately withdrew yourself from the warmth of Minho’s lap, telling him to stay put while you go to collect a few necessary items to make your dreams come true. 

You come back in record time, three minutes; Minho watches the array of items engulfed in your arms as you make it back to the sofa of your living room, dropping the items onto the coffee table as if they were somehow heavy. 

“Alright,” You grab the black shirt from the assortment on the table, “Let’s put you into this shirt first.”

You turn the shirt inside out, showing him that it indeed wasn’t a plain black shirt like he thought. It was decorated with the words, ‘I love my girlfriend’ right where the top of his chest would be centered if he were to put it on. The word ‘love’ instead being a familiar red heart. 

He chuckles out of bewilderment, eyes turning into your favorite half moons. 

“When did you get this shirt for me?” He’s intrigued.

“I got it about a week ago in preparation for this exact moment!” You wink at him softly, getting closer to him sitting on the sofa.

“So you’ve been planning this huh?” His eyes are wide, trying to figure out exactly what your evil plans had in store for him. 

He tries to grab for the shirt so that he can put it on, but you bring it closer to yourself, shaking your head.

“You said you were tired right? I’ll put it on for you.” He throws his arms down, somehow not making a fuss about you doing this for him.

“Wowwwww,” you’re amazed, he’s glaring whilst he holds his arms up above his head, waiting for you to pull the shirt he’s been wearing all day, off. 

You reach for the ends of his shirt, pulling upwards, “You’re so obedient right now.” You tease, getting him out of his shirt before you reach for the one you’re exchanging it for. 

You’re now sitting down on his lap again, looking up at him while you get the shirt into formation so you can pull it over his head. He obviously didn’t like what you stated, his dark brown eyes beaming intensely into your own.

You look down quickly to run away from them, meeting direct eye contact with his bare chest. He was definitely getting more toned, the lines of his abs becoming more visible. 

Before you could let his naked upper body distract you, you decide to pull the shirt over his head, and watch as you pull each arm one by one into the short sleeves. 

His hair gets ruffled in the process, looking like he just woke up from a nice long nap.

“Cute.” You giggle at this, before you smooth his hair out, back to its familiar state before you’re taking him all in with the shirt now on, smiling again. 

Minho of course doesn’t like such comments, narrowing his eyes and trying to make himself more intimidating by giving you his signature gaze; eyebrows furrowed and lips in a tight line. 

It doesn’t work on you though, he just looks even cuter earning a hearty chuckle at your motion as you throw your head back. 

You turn around in his lap, eyeing the other items plastered on the table as well. You lose balance a little while doing this, so as Minho does with his quick reflexes, he wraps his arms around your waist.

“Next,” You grab an assortment of your most valuable plushies. “I’m gonna put these around you before we start.”

Minho’s eyes washes over your brightly colored plushies; Kuromi, Hello Kitty, and some other bunny looking creatures he’s forgotten the name’s of. Regardless, he watches you in fascination as you start to place each plushie, one by one onto the sides of him, in the corner where his left shoulder rests, and one remaining one (one of the bunnies) in between where you and Minho meet on his lap. 

He raises one eyebrow. 

“So, where does the ribbon come in with all of this?” He questions, your hands reaching behind you on the table once more to secure the scissors in your hands. 

You also obtain the ribbon that fell between the cracks of the couch cushions, before you gleam at him. “Right now actually. I’m going to make you coquette.”

You gleam.

“Coquette?” He’s so puzzled he manages another smirk, letting out a breathless chuckle. 

You hum in agreement, delicately brushing a hair that has decided to fall where Minho’s left eye lays, his eye twitching in the process.

“I saw this Tiktok trend where girls would tie their boyfriends up with ribbons, and put bows made of ribbon on them. I’ve been wanting to do the same to you in private…. and hopefully get some pictures out of it.” You gulp after saying the last sentence. You look down to see that Minho has now closed his eyes. He breathes exaggeratingly outwards, almost like he’s trying to compose himself. 

“So, you’re doing this because really you want to see me tied up and you want pictures of that?” You instantly turn red, quicking seeking cover into his neck to hide how shy you feel when you say, “Yeah, I think it’s hot. It’s one of the things I’ve always wanted to do to you.”

No matter how hard you sometimes tried to hide your motives Minho always saw right through them. He can read you like a book, and that’s truly why you always just plainly tell him what you’re doing before you do things. 

You slowly uncover yourself from the shelter of his neck, finally peering at him to discover he already is, “One of the things?”

Too embarrassed to even mention what else you’ve always wanted to do to him, you reposition the scissors and ribbon in your hands and start measuring how big you want the bows to be. “Hmmm, how many should I put on you?” You successfully dodge the remark as he crosses his arms, glaring at you and your lack of response.

You squint your eyes while looking over his figure, deciding mentally to place two bows on him while tying his arms up. 

You hold your left hand out like you're waiting for him to give you something. 

“Give me your arms so I can tie them up.” You demand. 

Intrigued, Minho does as you say. “How would you like me to place them?” 

Demonstrating, “Lay them flat out where the sides of my hips are.” The warmth of his touch suddenly surrounds your body once more, Minho covering all of your senses. His perfume still lingering from the reminisces he covered himself in this morning before heading to work, his magnetic gaze that was locked on you and your movements, his voice which suddenly woke you out of your Minho heightened trance, and as for taste….well you were already craving him in more ways than one since he was being like putty in your hands right now. 

His lenient mannerisms and compliancy this evening were working you up in all the right ways. 

“I’m waiting for you to tie me up?” His voice continues. It startles you in some way, never imagining you’d hear those words come out of your mouth. His brow ticks. 

“Oh…right.” You begin lacing the ribbon in a tying motion, starting just short of where his biceps start. 

Minho wasn’t one to be submissive. Everytime you guys engaged in sex, he always naturally was the one to take control. It was just in his nature and it was just in yours to be more submissive, complying to almost anything he proposed. And of course, you thoroughly enjoyed it. 

Although, after being together for about a year and two months, you were ready to try something new. Unbeknownst to Minho, you are actually a switch. Yet after the beginning of your relationship you retired that part of yourself naturally when it came to him, since he was very dominant. 

So when you found this trend, you got the sudden urge to try something new and spice up your sex life with your boyfriend. 

And it wasn’t like you guys were vanilla, but you usually stuck to the things that were not foreign to you as a couple. But, you were ready to step out of that comfort zone. 

And right now, it seems like Minho isn’t too opposed to such an idea. That gives you the confidence to continue.

You finish your makeshift confinements on your boyfriend’s arms by cutting and wrapping the ribbon in a bow before you admire your handiwork. 

You softly smile in satisfaction. 

“Alright, now I’ll make a few more bows and stick them to you in different areas.” You look back down at Minho’s arms, “Is it tight or can you easily get out of the ribbon?”

“I mean, I can’t really get out of it, but if I wanted to then yeah I could.” He answers vaguely before humming, agreeing with himself. 

You narrow your eyes, deciding to trust him. 

You make the two bows you plan to plant on him and then begin to place them. 

Taking one of them and putting them on his head, he just stares at you as you manage to securely place it on his black hair so it isn’t easy for it to fall off. Then lastly, you settle with putting the last ribbon in a peculiar spot. Right on his crotch. 

You press it in for good measure, causing Minho to simultaneously move his hands to grip your ass as he lifts his hips, somehow to chase the feeling of your hands ghosting over his dick. He clears his throat after showing a sign of weakness, looking away from you but not shying his hands away from your ass. 

He actually chooses to grip onto it harder.

You tilt your head in feigned curiosity and innocence. 

“You alright?” 

He seems dazed because he doesn’t answer you for a beat.

“Hmm? Yeah, I’m good. What made you choose to place it there?” He questions, now looking up and directly into your irises. 

You shrug, actually not having a particular reason. You just wanted to see how he would react.

You hum to yourself like you’re somewhat proud of your work.

“So coquette.” You drop this outlandish word again, Minho having enough of not understanding exactly what the hell it means.

“What? What does that even mean?”

“It just means you look pretty I guess. I don’t really know what it means either. It’s just a Tiktok trend.” You slowly start rubbing your hands over his shoulders, letting them fall downwards into his lap. You decide to unleash yourself of his hold by standing up quickly.

You search for your phone, grabbing it off the coffee table and positioning it in front of him to signal you want your photos like promised.

He doesn’t look pleased. 

“Give me a pretty smile!” You give an example of your own before you’re waiting for him to repeat the action. It goes by ignored, instead being met with a nonchalant gaze that screams “I’m being held hostage. Please help me.”

You frown. 

“Please smile. You’re not aligning with what your shirt says. Don’t you love me?” You whine. 

‘Oh, so you’re pulling that card huh.’ He thinks. 

He smirks. 

“Yeah, I heart you. Just like the shirt says.” He goes for the literal meaning of the shirt, wanting to visibly displease you.

You pout. 

“You’re so annoying.”

Finished with the photo torture time, you throw your phone on the other couch in fake irritability, turning to face him yet again while standing. 

You give him a glance over and then softly smile, picking up your arms to do away with your shirt first and then your pants. You were wearing just some comfortable clothing; An old ‘May the force be with you’ Stars Wars T-shirt paired with the Yoda printed sweatpants you frequented about once a week. It was nothing too fancy of course. What came as a surprise was what was under it.

In preparation for the evening, you wanted to dress up for your boyfriend. Specifically in lingerie. White lingerie.

Whenever you wanted to spice up your sex life, or suprise him, you always took extra care of yourself. This meant taking an “everything” shower, putting on perfume, doing your hair, as well as doing some light makeup. And your choices for lingerie sets always happened to be in the colors you thought that looked best on you; red, black, and sometimes your favorite nude set. 

About two weeks ago, Minho suggested that you try a lingerie set in white, as he thought you would also look sexy in that color as well. He liked the other sets, but he thought that color would really look good on you. You were a little hesitant at first, but his suggestion paired with a kiss on your forehead, his credit card, as well as the words “surprise me” were all you needed to go out of your comfort zone. 

And hell, it surely did surprise him. 

You slowly saunter up to him, getting right back into your claimed spot, his lap (throwing the bunny plushie somewhere else on the couch), and wrap your arms around his neck. 

“Do you think this color fits me babe?” You rapidly bat your eyelashes, obviously fishing for compliments. Minho's annoyance from earlier, sleepiness, and hunger completely fades away. His mouth slowly parting in awe. 

“Of course it fits you, you look in anything. God.” He groans, trying to take you all in. 

It was a simple dainty set. A white ribbed corset top with shoulder straps as bows which you tie at the shoulder. There was a collage of cotton flowers joined at the middle of the top, a decorative touch to the already light and airy feel of the lingerie. The bottoms were plain panty underwear, the same cotton flowers in the middle of them as well. 

You looked so good. That’s what he thought to himself before he realized that he had to, no needed to touch you. Right now. 

Right as he does so, his body moving at will is obstructed by the familiar feel of the pink ribbon you had just adorned to his arms, securing him in place. 

“Fuck,” He whines, almost like he’s in pain, “And I can’t even fucking touch you right now?” With all the strength he can muster, he tries to pull outwards to break the ribbon, but he’s too slow. You already knew he’d try something like that, so you, in defense, hold his arms in place.

Suddenly feeling red, you look down.

“You can’t touch me or get out of this ribbon until I say so. You have to do as I say tonight.” Shy, you slowly look up at him again, noticing that his whole demeanor has changed since you’ve uttered those words. 

A light airy chuckle escapes him before he can even hide it.

“What, are you controlling me tonight? Gonna use me?” 

His teasing tone almost sounds like a challenge. He doesn’t think you can do it. Your confidence grows in opposition.

“Yeah, I’m gonna be the dominant one tonight.” You lean in, ghosting over his lips, “And you won’t cum until I say you can.”

You fully press your lips onto his, pulling him as close as you can by wrapping your arms around his neck again, getting a high off of you being the one to order him around tonight. 

It gave you a sense of confidence you’ve never felt when having sex with him, his light moan giving you the confirmation you need to kiss him with a little more fervor. 

You slowly begin to start your pace, your hips beginning to gyrate over the crotch of his black jeans. You feel him reach for you, for something, his hands attempting to latch over the bottom of your ass. 

You smack his hands away, pulling away from the kiss. He desperately chases. You stop your pace.

“You can’t touch me,” You echo again, “I can only touch you? Got it?” Your palms are covering his own, proving your point that he had to do as instructed or he wouldn’t be able to have you. Not in the way he wanted. He throws his head back, as that's the only disobedient way he can act out right now, his long strands of hair sheltering his eyes. 

“Fine, have your way with me. I’ll see how long it’ll truly last. You know you love it when I tell you what to do. When I tell you to fuck yourself on my cock. When I have you cum multiple times on my tongue before I even begin to fuck you. I may not be able to touch you, but I can say whatever I want to you and you’ll be begging me to touch you. ” He mutters, shifting his body deeper into the couch. 

His words send a shiver through your body, the remaining of it fading right into your core. Truly, he was right. You loved it when he touched you, it’s how you completely got off. Yet, somehow denying yourself the satisfaction of feeling his touch and edging yourself was making you wetter than you could even believe.

To you, this was foreplay, and getting the privilege of having Minho in this way was what you could only dream for. You couldn't imagine though, even in your dreams, how he would react to you taking control. That’s what led you to this moment, once again leaning back down to the crook of his neck, whispering. 

“It’s just something I’ve always dreamed of doing to you. It’s one of the things I’ve been wanting to do with you, to you. Now, let me fuck you my way.” You truthfully speak, setting your motion against the fabric of his pants again.

Your boyfriend stays silent, once before being able to stare daggers into your soul, now avoiding eye contact all together. He was clearly flustered. You could tell because he was starting to fill up the space in his pants, his length slowly hardening below you. 

“Awe babe, you’re already getting hard. Tell me how good it feels? Hmm?” You push your pelvis harder into his lap, wanting to get a reaction out of him. 

It’s quiet for a moment. Minho desperately tries not to moan to show the effect you have on him before he gains his composure enough to speak. 

“Tell you how good it feels? How about you stop this charade and explain why you’re already this fucking wet? I can literally feel it through my pants already.” He spits out through his breathing which is slowly getting shallower and shallower. His ears are red, this is how you could tell he was turned on, even if he wouldn't admit it. 

“Of course I’m wet, I have my-” You moan, “My boyfriend in a way I’ve always wanted”

You continue your rebellious movement of your hips against his hardened cock, gasping when it hits your clit in a harmonious way. You look down at your panties, expecting to see your arousal escaping from the thin layer of fabric that is holding you all together. 

To your dismay, there was no visible evidence that you were incredibly wet. But, because of Minho’s comment earlier, you decide to take two of your fingers and check, feeling the remnants of your arousal, making you groan. 

He watches you in suspicion, noticing the way your fingers were easily sliding over the laced cotton of your underwear. His mouth involuntarily opens in awe.

“Ugh, I’m so wet. I’m gonna use you to cum. You can’t take your eyes off of me, okay?” For good measure, you lightly tease your fingers that you just used to touch yourself over his soft lips, Minho taking no time to lick your wetness off your fingers before you lightly rest your hand under the left side of his chin, forcing him to watch you reach your high.

In reality, you didn’t even need to do this, he was going to observe regardless. 

You pick up your pace, grinding up and down and then swirling your hips on his as your moaning gets louder. Your other hand stabilizes yourself on his chest while you begin to melt into your high, the line blurring between where your pleasure starts, and where you end. 

Minho throbs below you, eagerly waiting for you to ride out your orgasm. 

You cum, staring directly into his eyes, rocking back and forth slower to balance out your pleasure. You sigh as you come back to your senses, your hand balling up into a fist to pull your boyfriend closer to you for an everlasting kiss. 

Minho moans into the kiss like he’s cum himself, but truthfully, it was because of the way you just used him to get yourself off. Since he couldn’t touch you, he was feeling very understimulated. He was burning for desire for you, its imminence in the way he still continuously pulses below in your lap as you finish kissing him.  

You get up from off of his lap and sit on your knees below him on the floor. 

“You’re awfully quiet now, what happened to your cockiness?” You smirk, grabbing an elastic band on the coffee table to collect your hair out of your face. 

Your boyfriend decides to stay mute, watching you do away with your hair as you begin to graze your hands up his thighs, your hands meeting at the buckle of his belt. 

You unclasp it, looking up at him to see what he’s doing to see that he’s admiring you contently. You look back at your task at hand, pulling at the belt as Minho simultaneously lifts his hips so you can remove it. 

Currently, you’re wondering why he is so quiet. Did he finally submit? Was he so stunned at your ability to dominate that he was okay with you having your way with him? Or was it because he was so turned on that he couldn’t speak, his flushed body a solid indicator. But his body always gets slightly red when you guys have sex, so that couldn’t be it. 

You don’t let these thoughts bother you anymore, you decide maybe it’s a combination of everything, becoming overconfident in the job that you were doing. You let this spur you on, pulling both his pants and underwear down at once to free his hard cock. He lifts the bottom part of his body, viewing the way you let both articles of clothing to collect at his ankles, not fully taking them off. 

You were too focused on what was in front of you, him rock hard. You grab at his length, eyeing him to notice that his breath hitches, your hands beginning an up and down motion. 

His hips follow the rise and fall of your delicate hands, his breath quickening. The scene placed in front of you was heating up your body. You’ve never seen him this pliant under your hand, so eager, so willing to follow or let you command or do whatever you wanted to him. You’re not even being touched, yet your breath follows in sync with him, steadily increasing. 

Noticing he’s still quiet, it starts to concern you. Trying to busy yourself to distract from his silence, you lock eyes with him once again, noting that he was peering at you before you even were. You softly simper, pushing your head down until you take him all in one go, now breaking eye contact to focus on sucking him. 

As you embark on bobbing your head over his throbbing length, multiple things happen at once. At the same time, you hear something snapping and a piece of clothing falling onto the floor. A split second after, you’re moaning over his length, not because it was bringing you pleasure, but because you were being pulled quickly off of his dick. Your eyes go wide once you realize what happened, it comes together when your back hits the arm of the couch with Minho on top of you. 

He broke free.

Your mouth is open in shock as his mischievous smile stares down at you. 

“Minh-” Calling his name, he managed while freeing himself, to collect the ribbon you had used on him. He was pulling your arms above your head as you were trying to get your sentence out.

Minho successfully traps you in your own game. Similar to him before, your hands were now tied with pink ribbon at the wrist, you bewildered at the whole situation. He changed the game. 

He softly pulls you down the couch a little so your arms are comfortable above your head. Then, he leans down to give you a quick soft kiss. 

“Got you.” He arrogantly declares, reaching his hand over the table in front of the couch to grab the scissors, so he could cut the endless length of the ribbon he had tied to your wrists. 

He places the scissors back onto the table.

“But I was supposed to be the dominant one tonight.” You pout. 

“And you did good babe, but you know you love it when I touch you,” He leans in to trail kisses down the corner of your neck, listening as he hears you groan, “and kiss you, “his hands start to graze your body before it gets to your pussy, cupping you between your legs, “and fucking you open with my tongue.” You let out an embarrassing loud moan, not being phased by it since Minho loved to hear you. 

His kisses, which stopped just before your covered breasts, continue their pace until he��s leaving a trail down your stomach, purposely skipping over your throbbing core to kiss the inside of your thighs. Your whole back arches off the couch, whining when you can’t push Minho’s head in the place you need him most. 

He chuckles. 

“Now you see how I felt when I couldn’t touch you hmm? It was killing me watching you grind on me when I couldn’t push your hips or when you took me all the way into your mouth and I couldn’t push your head down.” His kisses start getting closer to your pussy once more. 

He teases as if he’s about to kiss your core over the thin fabric of your underwear. Instead, he stops his mouth just before he reaches it, talking right into your heat. 

“It’s not fun is it? You better be glad I lasted as long as I did in that ribbon.” He explains, looking directly into your eyes. 

You throw a fit, your legs shaking on the sides of him in annoyance because he won’t touch you where you needed him. 

He lets you out of your misery finally as you are whining, the whining turning into a satisfied hum when he latches his touch onto the soaked cotton of your underwear. He groans when he tastes you on the material, taking his time to lap up the juices spilling out. 

“Touch me.” You cry, rolling your body towards his lips, wanting more. 

Minho ticks his brow and lets out an airy chuckle. “I am touching you babe.”

He finds you cute and decides to give in to your requests since he knew what you meant. 

He tugs at your underwear which is clinging to the sides of your hips, pulling them down your legs until they're out of the way, throwing them carelessly onto the floor somewhere. 

You ache in anticipation for him to mouth at you, watching him get back into position to give you what you desired most at this moment; his mouth fully on you. 

The moment his lips kiss softly at your clit, you begin to see stars. He proceeds to lick you straight after, your head throwing back in immense pleasure. 

“Fuck,” You groan, your eyes following your head and rolling back. 

“Tell me how you feel ___.” He chimes, watching as your body tenses below him. It turned him on to great heights to see you this fucked out, his hips rocking into the couch to relieve himself. 

“Good.” You manage to get out between shaky breaths, Minho sucking at your clit before he licks a long stripe across the span of your pussy, him humming into you in satisfaction. You feel the vibration of his groaning below you, adding to the pleasure and washing an intense feeling throughout your body. You were close, and you needed something to grip onto.

Normally, when you were about to cum from Minho eating you out, you had your hands clutching to the back of his hair, pulling him impossibly closer to your pussy. It helped you balance the unstable feeling that overcame your body whenever you were about to release. Now, since your hands were tied, you couldn’t brace yourself. You didn’t know what was about to happen with this knot in your stomach when you were about to release at any second. 

All you could do was announce it. 

“I-I’m about to cum. Minho, I can’t, I don’t know ho-” You lewdly rushed, your body beginning to shake in cosmic tension. 

Too busy with the objective of making you cum, he lifts his left arm out to successfully hold your hand, nonverbally letting you know that he has you and that you’re okay. 

The wave of your pleasure strikes down like a tide that is beginning to crash down onto the shore of a beach, strong yet beautiful. It collects into one singular emotion before it releases in one single motion, Minho lapping at your pussy as you let go. Your body spasms as your orgasm comes to its final end, a gush of remaining pleasure that wasn’t released at that one moment, now finally letting go. 

With your eyes closed, you try to collect your breathing before you hear your boyfriend louding moaning below you, grabbing your attention. You look down, eyes widening in shock. 

Minho’s face was completely wet, a few front pieces of his hair that frames his face damp as well. As you put two and two together, you drop your jaw in collective embarrassment surprise. 

You just squirted on your boyfriend’s face. 

Because of this stupid ribbon, you can’t even cover your face, having to watch him as his ears quickly become red again, the flushing slowly diffusing to his face. 

You physically can't talk right now, not when you just squirted all over his face. It could have been anywhere else, yet it had to be there the first time you squirt. You close your eyes, waiting for him to say something, anything to get rid of this terrible silence. 

Quickly, you feel him shuffle and he’s on top of you now, passionately kissing your lips. You slowly start to kiss him back and slowly open your eyes, feeling him grind his bare cock on your wet pussy. You groan before he detaches. 

He looks you dead in the eyes. 

“I literally had to stop myself from cumming after you just squirted all over my face. Fuck, that was the hottest shit I’ve ever seen in my life. You’re perfect.” He goes in to peck your lips once more before he squabbles off of you a bit to grab the scissors again, cutting away your restraints. 

Suddenly, you’re no longer embarrassed. Sharing the same soft loving smile he gives you as he cuts your ribbon off. 

He once more places the scissors safely back on the table before he brings his attention back to you, laying on top of you again. 

He searches your eyes. 

“Got one more orgasm in you? Let me make love to you.” He softly speaks, waiting for your approval. You nod, excited since you can actually grip his hair now and touch him. You’re sure he’s in pain now since he’s been hard for a while. He always makes sure you orgasm first before he does.

He starts by tugging at the left and right bows of your corset top which are keeping it on you. You arch your back, waiting for your boyfriend to unzip the corset so you’re free. He discards it onto the ground. Then he lowers himself and latches onto your left nipple, observing as you wilt in pleasure, you pressing his head down closer as he grips at your right breast with his other hand. 

He again grinds his pulsing cock into your center, humming into your tit. 

Realizing something, you softly push him off of you. He looks at you concerned. 

“My plushies!” You suddenly realized your near and dear plushies were probably getting squeezed on the couch under Minho’s legs. He quickly searches for them, pulling all three from under his weight and putting two of them on the side where your head was, while he remains holding one of them. 

“What?” You look at him bewildered like he doesn’t realize how important they are to you. Minho doesn’t understand, so trying to fix the problem, he covers the eyes of the one he’s holding, as if they aren’t supposed to see us naked. 

You laugh wholeheartedly, “You’re so weird,” You tease, “I just didn’t want them to get squished before we continued.” 

“Oh.” He states, like saving them was the most important thing in the world right now. 

Knowing he’s done with you right now because you stopped having sex with him to save your expensive plushies, you push him to sit on the couch below you while you sit on his lap. 

“Now, I’ll fuck you since my stuffed animals are unharmed.” You tease before you softly smirk.

You bring your hand to the middle of your bodies, aligning his cock to your entrance before you slowly sit directly on him, taking him all the way in.

He groans, swiftly holding onto your hips to help stabilize you as you bounce on top of you. 

You wrap your arms around his neck, now staring at him. 

“Now, admit that me being dominant does turn you on.” You playfully suggest, circling your hips on his lap as you continue your pace. You moan, leaning down to kiss his lips before you await his response. 

“Of course it turns me on, but-” He holds you harder at your hips. “I just like fucking you more.”

He lifts his hips off of the couch, and begins a ruthless upward pace into you, completely taking you off guard. You hold onto anything you can find, dumbfounded that Minho’s stamina can reach even higher heights.

You moan repeatedly, letting him pound into your pussy below you as you feel another orgasm approaching. You don’t even have to let him know you’re about to cum, he can feel it with the way you go silent, and the sudden tight grip you have around his cock that is also stringing him closer to his own release.

Minho starts to sweat, his stamina even putting a toll on himself. Thank god he and you were about to cum soon.

Your eyes begin to roll back, his pounding finally demolishing you from above him even though you were the one that had the power in this position. 

You cum without warning, legs squeezing as close as they can below you as you fall, laying your head into the corner of your boyfriend's neck, utterly spent. Minho keeps up his pace, signaling to himself that now that you’ve cum that he doesn’t have to hold back anymore. 

He slows his motion, instead replacing it with a hard lingering pounding into your pussy. He cums just like that, quick and with a loud grunt. He wraps his arms around your back, hugging you softly as he comes back down from his high. He finishes off by pecking your forehead with a soft “I love you” that he didn’t say earlier when you put the shirt on him. You wrap your arms around him in return and squeeze, letting him know you heard him.

After a few minutes of recovering, you leave the comfort of his neck, sitting up in his lap to look into his brown eyes. 

He smiles at you. You lift your hand to move the strands of hair in front of his eyes. 

Then suddenly, he’s chuckling, then full out laughing. 

Your eyebrows twist in confusion.

He speaks.

“You know…we just fucked to the Fortnite loading screen music this whole time?” Refusing to believe him, you listen closely to your surroundings, noticing some music.

Omg, it was the Fortnite loading music.

You throw your head back in a fit of giggles.

“Either way, I’ll be glad to make you squirt again if this is the kind of music that you're into, we can make a playlist.” He teasingly comments.

You playfully hit him softly before you’re covering your face in embarrassment, revisioning the whole encounter with the background music. 

This was my first ever fanfic on this account! Let me know what you think! :)

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All Rights Reserved.

[rad-batson]

Damian Wayne: Figure Skater

or: Damian Wayne Fluff Because Damian Wayne Deserves Joy and Happiness <3

Damian Wayne prides himself on being good at everything he does. He never half-asses anything.

Damian has tried tons of different skills before. He’s mastered dozens of martial arts, become fluent in over thirty languages, earned several PhDs, and he’s not even a teenager yet. Why? He needs to be the best or it’s not good enough.

But there are only so many skills that give him the same joy as when he started. Studio art is his favorite and has always been a constant for him, but he’s yet to find something else. Something that truly invigorates him.

At 12, Damian watches the Winter Olympics with Dick. It’s his first ever time viewing the Olympics, and he doesn’t really know what he was expecting, but Damian is…kind of underwhelmed.

Everyone talked about how the Olympics are supposed to be this grandiose display of the world’s talents, but most of it’s pretty boring.

Curling is boring. Alpine is slow and monotonous. Bobsledding is repetitive, and sled dog racing seems unethical.

But then figure skating comes on. And Damian is captivated.

Without even realizing, he moved right in front of the television and watched an hour of figure skating uninterrupted. Dick notices and smiles.

“Aren’t they cool?” Dick asks. Damian, with his eyes still glued to the screen, nods. “Wanna go to the local rink with me and try it out? It’s even more fun than it looks.”

That pulls Damian out of his trance, and he closes himself off. “No. I don’t need to.”

He just thought it was cool, okay? And he totally doesn’t want to try it himself. And he totally isn’t worried that he won’t be good at it and fall like an idiot in front of his older brother if he does.

It’s just that…it’s so cool!!

Damian knows agility, okay? He can do flips and tricks with ease, and he knows how to do it with both grace and poise. But these people? They can do it on ice! With blades on their feet!!

OF COURSE DAMIAN WANTS TO DO COOL TRICKS WITH SHARP BLADES STRAPPED TO HIS FEET

Admittedly, he goes through a two-month-long period of pretending he isn’t dying to try it. He almost completely forgets. Then, by complete coincidence, Cass and Duke invite him to an indoor skating rink, and he caves. Maybe it’s not that hard.

Spoiler: Figure Skating is Hard

Within five seconds, he falls flat on his face. How do people do this? Cass and Duke say it’s normal, but he still refuses to leave the wall the whole time out of shame.

Once they’re home, however, Damian realizes how stupid that was. He’s Damian Wayne Al Ghul. He can’t just give up! What would the rest of his family think?! What if they go back one day, and he just falls flat on his face again? There’s no excuse the second time, and he doesn’t want the others to think he can’t do it.

So that night, he sneaks back into the rink after hours and tries again. And again. And again. And again.

On the fifth try, he is able to make it all the way around the rink. He realizes that he’s distributing his weight wrong. (Stupid mistake, of course. He’s essentially balancing on knives.) That makes it a lot easier, but he’s still flapping his arms around like a bird.

He spends two more hours improving his balance, then decides that’s good enough. He did what he came here to do, and he doesn’t need to come back.

Two days later, he comes back. (I mean, who knows? Maybe, he’s gotten better.) He didn’t, obviously. But what harm is there in spending some more time on the ice? Other than the collection of bruises he acquires.

He falls way more than he’d like to admit, but once he teaches himself how to do that safely, it’s actually kind of fun. He circles the rink countless times, figures out to start and stop (though it is admittedly a very ungraceful way of stopping.) He can even kind of control his speed.

So he’s done, right? He did it! He can now ice skate to a degree that isn’t mortifying for a beginner. He doesn’t need to come back.

The Short Program

One week and four visits later, he admits that he is hooked. He wants to see how far he can go with this. But he can’t just improve without proper guidance, so he decides to take Tim’s advice for once and use the internet.

That’s when he really starts improving. Exponentially. He pours over articles and videos and diagrams about gliding, stopping, pivots, crossovers, and finally some simple spins. Just basics, of course.

He also purchases his own pair of skates because the rental ones he’s been “borrowing” suck. And they smell. And he forges a membership card (you know, so there’s no paper trail.)

His original goal is to make it to free skate level, but once he’s there, he can’t stop. It’s just so gratifying to add another skill to his repertoire. If he can do front crossovers, then he can surely master them backward. Closed Mohawks shouldn’t be that bad if the open Mohawks were so easy. Before he knows it, he’s spending hours every week developing his skills.

After a few months, his improvement plateaus because the jumps prove difficult. He doesn’t know how to build up the speed, and his stealth and fighting techniques (which he’s been borrowing from thus far) just make him wipe out. So he works on that for a bit and tries to figure out what he’s doing wrong.

During a JL meeting, The Flash happens to mention a rogue who used to figure skate. Lisa Snart, or the Golden Glider, is a famous figure skater from the 90s, but she was kicked from the Olympic team due to her life of crime. Now, she jumps between both petty crime and vigilantism.

Damian tracks her down and claims to be researching the sport for a school assignment. Yeah, it’s a bit thin of a cover story. If she wanted to see through his lie, she’d only have to break into his school and check his teacher’s assignment book, but once he laments about how every other skater is busy, and he was so surprised to learn that she was no longer skating when she’s clearly so talented, Lisa happily tells him all of the secrets to the sport.

For a few months, he applies her techniques and even asks her to skate for him a few times, recording her from multiple angles. “I value the quality of my education,” he explains. She sees through the lie but doesn’t say anything. (And somehow, he doesn’t particularly care.)

In the coming year, Bruce notices a change in how Robin moves during patrol. If he had to describe it…well, there’s a lot more power behind his movement. He redistributes his momentum with ease, which proves extremely valuable. There’s more height to his jumps and speed in his attacks. On top of it all, he can reorient himself quicker.

Bruce praises Damian once they’re back at the cave and even allows him more freedom during missions. Damian totally doesn’t cry about it in his room.

The Free Skate

Damian refuses to let anyone watch him practice for YEARS to save his pride. I mean, yes, he’s at free skate level 5—thanks, Lisa—but he’s not at level 6 yet! And that won’t take too long, right? Maybe they can know once he’s mastered his quad axel (which is a totally doable goal. He’s not overachieving. He’s Damian Wayne Al Ghul.)

Next, he works on transitions. At first, he copies other skaters’ forms, then he slowly develops his own. It’s sharp in some ways and fluid in others like he’s been on ice his whole life but he’s got places to be.

At about 15 or 16, he invites Jon to come with him one day. He shows him “a few spins” (triple axels) and Jon immediately starts encouraging him to join some kind of showcase or competition.

Damian’s response is “No! I’m not good enough yet. I still can’t land a quad axel. That’s insulting.”

Cue Jon’s family-friendly “bitch please” face. He says, “Okay, but you need to show someone else. I can’t be the only person in the world who knows.” so they get Billy in on it.

He’s obviously good at keeping secrets, considering he hid his age and the fact he was homeless from the JL for five years.

Billy also loses his shit, but he’s more understanding about the “I don’t want to tell anyone else” thing. Thus, Jon and Billy become Damian’s cover for every time he’s caught sneaking out. (He was running out of excuses anyway.)

Bruce hears that Damian is hanging out with Jon and Billy every week, gives him a look, and tells him he’s proud that he’s making friends.

Damian nods along, thanking all the gods in Billy’s head that his secret is safe. If Bruce doesn’t have any reason to snoop, then he won’t. Simple as that. The greatest detective in the world doesn’t need to start snooping.

During the next Winter Olympics, Damian watches every single skating performance from the comfort of his room. (Tim can hear him yelling at his TV through the walls but doesn’t have the energy to question it.)

Jon and Billy are his cheerleaders. They go out for lunch then head to the rink with him and mess around while Damian practices. Sometimes, they spend all day together. Doing homework, gossiping, playing fun little games.

Damian keeps mentioning the quad axel to them until Jon looks it up and says, “Um, hey Dami? Apparently, the quad axel is like…almost physically impossible. You know that, right?“ “If Lisa Snart and Ilia Malinin can do it, so can I.” “Okay, Mr. PhD.” Still, they don’t doubt him for a second.

Damian teaches them some stuff during a public skate in Fawcett City. Jon cheats multiple times by floating a tiny bit to keep his balance. Billy falls a lot.

As much as he likes being with his friends, though, Damian finds himself skating more to clear his head rather than to improve or socialize.

When he has a bad patrol or gets into some trouble he could have avoided, he’ll sneak into the rink alone and skate for hours.

He’ll pour all of his frustration into the music and carve it out into the ice until he’s exhausted and lying down with the cold surface against his back, letting it sink some sense into him.

It’s a good outlet. Kind of like his art, but there are only so many pencils you can snap in anger before your dad cuts your art supply budget. Bruce doesn’t know about this yet.

Six months later, when Damian lands his first quad axel in front of Jon and Billy, they all scream for five consecutive minutes and celebrate with hot chocolate and sorbet.

“What’s got you in such a good mood?” Tim asks when he’s back home. Damian tries to hide his smile but fails spectacularly. “Oh, nothing.” He’s never had a problem with schooling his emotions before, but anything is possible now. Even a quad fucking axel.

Competition Season

During patrol one day, Dick sees Damian spinning on the roof and says, “Hey, where’d you get those sick ballet moves? Did Black Bat teach you that?” Damian immediately stops and says, “Uh yeah.” Thankfully, Dick doesn’t ask Cass to confirm.

At 17, Jason catches him sneaking out at 10 pm and unknowingly opens an entire can of worms.

Damian, too tired to make a good excuse: “I’m seeing Jon.” Jason: “Like a date?” Damian, dying inside: “…Don’t tell Baba.”

At 18, he’s able to reliably land the quad axel and do it with style. It’s almost more gratifying than punching criminals in the face. (Almost.) That’s when Jon and Billy finally bring up the idea of telling others about it.

Damian is still hesitant, but he thinks about it.

I mean, he’s made a lot of progress in six years, hasn’t he? The only other thing he’s spent so long practicing was his assassin training, then his vigilantism, and his art. But this one is special because it’s just his. (And Jon and Billy. Kinda.) And getting to show off to them is fun, especially when he perfects another element, and they got batshit crazy together over it. That would be nice, wouldn’t it? Having a few more people to mess around with in the rink?

He just doesn’t know if it’ll be impressive enough. After all, his entire family is great at stuff. Bruce is the world’s greatest detective—how he hasn’t learned about this yet, Damian doesn’t know. Dick is a beyond incredible acrobat. Jason has one of the highest proficiencies in marksmanship ever. Tim is the best bo staff user on this side of the Atlantic...

...And Damian can do jumps and tricks on the ice. Wow, cool. Good job, Damian.

But then he’s twelve again. And he’s sitting in front of the TV watching Yuzuru Hanyu and Yuna Kim do triple axels, and Dick is inviting him to try it out together. And Cass and Dick are taking him to the rink because they thought it’d be fun. And Lisa is rambling about how she misses skating competitively. And Bruce is telling him he’s proud of the progress Damian’s made both inside and outside of patrol. And Tim is telling him he looks happier than usual.

He is happier.

Yeah. Maybe, they deserve to know.

He agrees to sign up for a free skate competition. But not one in Gotham. And only a small one. He wants to test out the waters first. They find one that’s a month away, and Damian signs up.

When the day comes, Damian is shaking in his skates. He did not account for a “small competition” still having over two hundred people watching. What the fuck was he thinking?

What Jon and Billy don’t tell him is that they snuck Dick into the crowd to watch. Dick has no idea what he’s doing there until he sees Damian skate out to the middle in a red and grey top with black pants and matching skates.

He performs to Beggin’ by Måneskin and starts the performance out with his quad axel.

Everyone loses their shit.

He looks so genuinely excited when he’s skating. He completely ignores the hundreds of people watching, doesn’t count points. He just jams out to the song until he’s breathless, spinning and gliding and jumping and turning to the beat, mostly showing off to Jon and Billy like he always does.

When it’s over, he just hears this massive crowd of people screaming, and then overtop of it, Dick shouts, “THAT’S MY BABY BROTHER!!” and Damian almost falls flat on his face.

Dick uses the Emergency Group Chat to send a video of Damian skating then screams into the phone to Bruce, who immediately drives out to the rink with the rest of the family, and his siblings make Damian do it over once the place is cleared out because they can’t believe they missed it.

Dick: When did you learn to figure skate?! Damian: After we watched the Olympics together. Dick: You’ve been hiding this for SIX YEARS?!?! Damian: …It looked fun.

Of course, Damian is still the son of Bruce Wayne so tabloids eat it up.

“Damian Wayne: Figure Skating Prodigy” “Wayne Prodigy Wins Gold at Regional Figure Skating Competition, Baffling Judges” “Is Damian Wayne fit to represent the US during the next Winter Olympics??”

A swarm of coaches ask Damian if he would like to skate competitively but he declines. He just likes doing it for fun.

Thankfully, the performance was recorded by the competition holders (after a suspicious request from the CEO of Wayne Enterprises last week. Wow, wonder why)

Leave it to Damian to spend his rebellious phase becoming an Olympic-level athlete.

[ofallthingsnasty]

What one piece characters do you think would be into petplay? Either way, being the pet, or forcing someone to be theirs?

When you sent this, I immediately started typing up a storm about Doffy and Arlong - but to be real, I've written so much about pet play and those two that it feels kind of stale to simply repeat myself... So let me link my thirst masterlist in reference to them and talk about others for once, haha 😅

characters: mihawk, boa, sanji, zoro, kid tw: pet play, mostly consensual but also one entry for noncon petplay, minors dni word count: 1.3k

So let’s start with the ones who enjoy it consensually!

One that comes to mind is Mihawk. Classy. Refined. Loyal. Someone who is all about a 24/7 dynamic - to him, it’s not a kink, it’s a lifestyle. He’s a busy man who enjoys his time off, who loves nothing more than you waiting bare and on your knees whenever he returns from a longer trip, who wants to lead gently and have someone follow eagerly. He doesn’t want to whittle down your resolve, he wants to teach you simply because you desire to; and he wants to be as good to you as you are to him. He is all about rules and rewards and he is one thing that many aren’t: fair. He doesn’t provoke you, doesn’t tease you until you lash out, doesn’t punish due to arbitrary, fictional rules, doesn’t withhold rewards - he is very by-the-book and correct, but also kind. Of course, Mihawk expects a certain level of maturity and tranquility from his partner, but he can forgive transgressions when needed. Whenever you misbehave, lash out, don’t act like you’re supposed to - there is a reason for that, a reason he’ll identify and address. Doesn’t mean you won’t get punished for it - but he is more than understanding. Everyone deserves a bad day, maybe two, and everyone should be heard. All in all, a very kind owner, one that makes play almost cozy. If you want to feel like you’re thoroughly loved, utterly adored and valued - he is the man for you. If you’re obedient.

Boa Hancock is also someone to consider. She isn’t as refined as Mihawk - given that she slips into treating you like a pet without really being aware of the dynamic Frankly, she couldn’t even call herself your owner if she wanted to - no matter the context, she despises that word and any iterations of it. Not with her past, her trauma, her deepest, darkest fears of her and her people falling prey to others ever again. She doesn't own you (never will) - but that doesn’t mean that she won’t treat you like a prized possession an awful lot. It’s just that she’s entirely and unpredictably unconventional about it. There are no rules. There are no punishments. There is only Boa and her never-ending adoration. And yet - you will feel just like a little dog, a cat, maybe even a colorful bird she keeps hemming and hawing over. You’re her partner, best friend, plush toy all in one; you soothe, you calm and you delight her. You are truly unique to her - and she’d be a fool to let you slip through her fingers.  Under her care, you’ll be nothing but horribly spoiled. Anything you could ever ask for, anything you might just even think of wanting - you’ll have it. And then some. Really, you don’t even need to throw temper tantrums, you’ll just have to pout a little and you’ll have whatever you desire in no time. In turn, she wants you to love her, fully and wholly - and to hang off her arm, be by her side, share her bed pretty much all day long. They say absence makes the heart grow fonder - not for Boa, though. Constant company, more like. Really, if you’re okay with being glued to her side and treated like someone’s purse dog (including gaudy costumes, mind you!) then Boa is the way to go. There are definitely worse picks out there. 

Now, on to the ones who enjoy being the pet. Sanji and Zoro are up there, both for different reasons. Sanji - well, he’s Sanji. He’ll do anything, try anything, indulge your every whim simply because it makes you happy. And if you want a little puppy by your feet, want to spoil him rotten, want him to watch you with lovestruck eyes with his chin on your knee? Who exactly is he to say no? There are certainly worse ways to love someone, especially if the trade-off for utter devotion and obedience is ownership. He is yours. Belongs to you only. And vice versa. You only have to ask and you’ll have the most obedient little pet at your beck and call. Want to collar him? He’ll wear it with pride. Want him to sleep in a cage? Oh, he’ll cherish the moments he gets to spend in your bed even more. Want him to ask permission for every little thing he does? Why, nothing that would make him happier than that. I think it would be a way to heal for him, as well. A set of rules to go by, someone who manages the ins and outs of his daily life, unconditional, ever-encompassing love from someone who thinks he’s the apple of their eye? Let him get comfortable in this lifestyle and you’ll see him bloom. He craves love and even more so - security. Give him that and he'll be the best puppy you’ve ever had and hopefully will ever have. Just don’t be cruel or erratic, unjust punishments and mood swings taken out on him are not the way to go. Be firm, be strict - but be fair. Zoro, on the other hand, is someone who doesn’t exactly agree to the dynamic - but he’ll very much act like a dog for you. In all but name, he is your guard dog and you are his handler, the one who points their finger and tells him to attack- People will comment on it all the time, will have him red-faced and grumbly behind you. But he won’t even try to be less obvious about his need to protect you, won’t stop being your shadow for just a  moment. It’s just in his nature, he figures. The urge to protect you, to see you well, to know you save and sound - it nags at him, claws at him, doesn’t let him leave until he knows you are where you are supposed to be: by his side. Happy. Warm. And when you praise him? Scratch his ear just so while he’s napping on your lap? That man is in heaven, not a place he’d rather be. You are simply one of the very few things in life he values. (If you’re feeling extra cheeky, call him a good boy and see where it will get you. Certainly on your back and with him balls-deep inside of you, sputtering about how he’ll show animalistic, how you can have a dog if you want one so bad.)

Now, who likes to force pet play on you? Like I said, the uncrowned kings of that are Doflamingo and Arlong, and you’ll find plenty about that in my respective character tags here and here. But you know who’s another one to make you crawl on the floor, to have you eat slop out of a bowl instead of a proper meal on the table? Kid. Kid will. Not because it’s particularly hot to him - but because it just… happens? Sure, he’ll call you all sorts of animal names, all tailored to your appearance and demeanor - be it cow, bitch, pig, fucking mutt - but it’s not like he looks at you and decides that what you need is a collar. With time, you simply turn into his pet (or worse, his crew’s), with every day you lose a little bit of humanity until you might as well be the bed in his quarters, just another piece of inventory. And the more you do, the more he finds himself enjoying it. It’s like he’s playing it out in reverse: first, you only get to be naked and on all fours to make his little quest for free use easier, then he notices how lovely your ass would look with a tail plug dangling from it. There is neither much care nor thought poured into the whole endeavor, either - one day you’ll simply get a massive collar and a new nickname. If you’re lucky, he won’t hook your nose and call you a little sow. But don’t count on that.

[crepes-suzette-373]

A lot of international One Piece fans assume that the name of Nami's adoptive mother is meant to be based on the French word belle-mère (stepmother), but I saw a Japanese fan saying that they think it's meant to be based on belle mer (beautiful sea).

It's true that in Japanese katakana spelling mère and mer are both メール, so it's equally possible. It's like how people are kind of not entirely sure if the Vice Admiral ドール is supposed to be "Doll" or "Dhole" (dog species).

"Beautiful sea" would connect alright with Nami's name (wave), but I wonder what's sensei's thought process about Nojiko. As far as I can tell, "nojiko" is a bird (yellow bunting) and isn't exactly a sea bird.

(I know Oda-sensei actually wrote her name as Bell-mère, so maybe the fan just wrote that before the official spelling is revealed. But at the same time Oda-sensei once mistakenly wrote "cooking" as "cocking", so who knows what he was thinking)

[mr-bas00nist]

Gentle Giant

Ghost x Tall! Male Reader

Summary: Ghost finds out that his mammoth of a boyfriend happens to be afraid of tight spaces.

Cw: Suggestiveness

In the military being tall can serve its purposes. You can see a lot, run faster, tower over people and more. Though sometimes intimidation isn’t the most helpful tactic when your trying to make friends, It usually just scares them away.

When you first joined 141 there were numerous tall members, but you still towered over them, it was nice to share your struggles though with fellow people who are vertically gifted. Especially Ghost or, Simon Riley.

He was a tall man just like you, not as tall as you but still tall. His intimidation factor was even more than yours. You couldn’t help but admire the man for it. You guys soon hit it off and it took awhile but you managed to get him to date you.

He had his trust issues and problems but you managed to crack his shell. You guys were a great pair in and out of military work, especially in the bedroom. Ghost never thought he’d enjoy being on the bottom of a bigger man but those back shots always hit different.

You guys were currently on a mission. It was more of a lowkey one. Just get some Intel and go. The building you guys were investigating was ginormous. The only way up without hurting anything was the elevator, you had a secret Ghost didn’t know though, You were afraid of tight spaces, especially elevators.

So now you two were on a small cramped elevator while you panted behind Ghost. After awhile Ghost got tired of your constant panting. He turned his attention to you glaring at you with those pretty eyes.

“Mate, can you shut the fuck up,” Ghost spoke as you continued to pant. “You sound like a fucking dog.” You rolled your eyes at the comment as you leaned back anxiously. Your foot was tapping on the wood floor of the beautiful but small elevator.

“Maybe I’m just excited to be in a cramped elevator with you.” You say shakily as you close your eyes trying to not think about your current situation. Ghost can’t help but snicker at the comment. He realizes the anxiousness on your face though.

“What’s wrong, actually?” Ghost questions turning his attention to you. You take a deep shaky breath as you shake your head. “I’m not telling you, your gonna laugh.” You mutter as you look away.

Ghost gives you an unamused look as he sighs “Tell me or don’t, but quit your panting and shaking.” You sighed and Ghost knew he won. “I’m kind of……” You fidget with your hands a little bit as Ghost looks at you. “Afraid of small spaces.” Ghost raises an eyebrow under his mask. “Really?”

He questions as you roll your eyes. “Yes dumbass.” You mutter, Ghost can’t help but laugh. He shrugs a bit as he sighs. “It’s not a big deal big bird calm down. I just didn’t expect it I suppose. I guess I expected something more serious.”

You smile a little bit as you roll your eyes. The elevator soon dings as the door opens. “Next time we can take the stairs.” Ghost says as he loads his gun.

“Appreciate it.” You laugh rolling your eyes.

[skyward-floored]

re Lost meeting Twilight: Peggy I am on my knees please write smth about this 🙏🏼 /nf /only if you want to

- hero-of-the-wolf

@hero-of-the-wolf I literally have not stopped thinking about this since you sent it, here’s Lost meeting Twilight and the chain (I’m cringe but free)

(Brief blood/violence warning, but it’s not too bad. Also a bit of a panic attack in there.)

————————————————————

Happy barking followed Link as he walked through the long grass of Hyrule Field, his dog’s tail waving like a fluffy white flag beside him. Winter barked again, scaring some birds that had been hiding in the grass, and Link couldn’t help but smile as his dog pranced back over to him, tongue happily lolling.

It was a nice day, cool but sunny, a handful of fluffy clouds drifting by in the sky. Link... technically wasn’t supposed to be out here, at least not without telling anyone, but the walls of the castle had felt like they were stifling him, and Winter seemed like he was in the mood to get out and run.

And besides, if Zelda hadn’t been stuck in bed with a nasty cold, then he was sure she would’ve dragged him out here anyway.

Link took in a slow, deep breath, watching a few pink flowers wave in the breeze as Winter ran around nearby. It was a better day today, a little less heavy, his heart less weary. Things were still... not great, sometimes, a lot of the time, but right now he felt... okay.

The nice weather certainly helped with that. Sunshine always seemed to brighten things.

Winter’s head suddenly poked up from the grass, his ears erect, and he trotted over to Link’s side, whining.

“What’s the matter boy?” Link asked, and Winter’s ears swiveled, his nose in the air as he sniffed.

His dog began to pace slowly towards the flowers Link had been watching, tail stiff and nose still sniffing intently. He whined again, looking back at Link, and Link felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle suddenly, a sense of foreboding sweeping over him.

Then a pool of purple and black appeared out of thin air in front of them.

Winter began barking up a storm and Link’s breath left his body, terror shooting up his spine. He felt like he couldn’t look away, eyes fixed on the faintly swirling darkness in front of him, and he stumbled backwards.

It didn’t feel the same, the magic wasn’t the same, he knew it wasn’t, but—

But—

Link took in a shaking breath, and Winter was suddenly back at his side, whining softly as he butted his head against him. Link set a hand on his neck, taking a bit of strength from burying his fingers in his thick fur, and tried to still the shaking in his hands. Once they weren’t trembling quite as hard, Link exhaled slowly, and looked up, eyeing the swirl of darkness in front of him with his heart pounding.

He’d never seen anything quite like this before, some kind of dark... portal thing. And he wasn’t exactly inexperienced in things involving dark magic.

Winter growled beside him, sensing his unease, or perhaps just as bothered by the sight as he was, and he stayed at Link’s side, ears pricked. Link ran a hand over his fur as he studied the darkness, very glad he hadn’t come out here alone.

Link swallowed, and taking another breath, edged closer to the sheen of dark magic, Winter following. He could feel the magic coming off the portal— gate maybe?— in waves, harsh things that made the scars on his back sting and his throat tighten.

It wasn’t the same. He could tell it wasn’t.

Relax, idiot. He’s gone.

Link drew close enough that he could reach his arm out and touch the portal if he wanted to, and he stared into the swirling depths, unsure of how to proceed. What now? If Zelda were here, she could blast the thing with light and be done with it, but she wouldn’t be back on her feet for at least a week. What could he do in the meantime?

What if something came out of it?

Almost like it had heard him, the darkness rippled, and before Link or Winter could do anything, something dark barreled out of the shadows and slammed into them.

Link shouted in alarm as he and the dark thing rolled down the hill, Winter’s barking only confusing him more as his world went topsy-turvy. They abruptly thumped to a stop against a rock, and though Link’s vision wasn’t very clear at the moment, he saw sharp teeth and red eyes above him.

He yelped, snatching frantically at the dagger he had on him, and the sharp-teethed thing snapped at his face. Link barely managed to avoid the swift attacks aimed at him, sharp claws pressing down on his chest, teeth grazing his neck and snapping at his nose.

But he finally managed to grab his dagger, and Link jabbed it deep into the lizardy-beast’s arm.

It screeched furiously, then abruptly leapt off of him, its foot slamming into his gut and knocking the air out of him as it went.

Link’s breath left him in a sharp gasp, and he wheezed for air his lungs didn’t want to give him as he watched the lizardy-thing bolt away into the grass. Apparently it wasn’t interested in continuing the fight. That or it had fled for another reason.

Regardless, he needed to get up and follow it, who knew what a monster like that was up to?

Link lay in the grass, wheezing as his heartbeat pounded in his ears. His breath slowly came back, and as he checked back into his surroundings, he became aware of a noise other than barking. It sounded like... words?

Link grunted and managed to raise himself up to an elbow, still thrown from the past several minutes. He rubbed his neck where the beast’s teeth had grazed him, feeling just a little blood, and heard several footsteps approaching him.

“...sent that guy flying, hope he’s all right—”

“Hey, you okay?”

Two pairs of boots appeared in Link’s vision, and he looked up at the two men who were standing in front of him.

The first was actually a child— or a teenager, maybe? Dressed in bright colors that were hard to focus on with his still-dizzy vision. He could make out cropped blond hair and a concerned look though, and was formulating a reply when the other man offered him a hand up.

Link took one look at him and froze.

Dark lines were marked across the man’s forehead, trailing down his nose and dashed across his cheeks. Link barely took in the worried expression creasing them, nor the bright blue eyes, just the dark markings, obviously left by magic. As Link stared at them, he felt a sharp prick of something completely unnatural, something that felt far too similar to—

Zelda’s scream rang in his ears, and Link scrabbled backward from both strangers, his breath catching in his throat.

This man— he must— he had to—

“Whoa, are you okay?” the man asked, and Link clutched at his chest, the terror he’d been fighting back ever since he’d seen that awful portal finally crashing over him like a wave.

“You— stay back,” Link gasped when the man stretched his hand out again, seeing nothing but the dark marks on his face. “Don’t— Not again, he can’t—”

Link tried to scramble further back, but his head felt suddenly light, his tunic like it was constricting him. His arm shook, and the other one unconsciously went to feel at his face, as if he could still feel the markings that had once been there.

“Hey, whoa it’s okay,” a voice tried to soothe, and Link might’ve trusted it but for the fact that the dark magic whispered through it. “The shadow—”

Something dark approached him and Link frantically kicked out, his boot connecting with something. He tried to scramble back again when he heard a cry, but his shoulders hit something, and he knew he was cornered.

No no no no—!

“Whoa! What’s the matter with him?”

“I don’t know, he took one look at Twi and flipped out, he—”

“Rancher stop trying, you’re just scaring him—”

Link clutched at his hair, trying to fight against the dark magic he could feel, unsure of where it was even coming from but feeling like it was everywhere, his breath coming so fast he felt sick.

There was a roaring sound in his ears, so loud he couldn’t hear anything but his own frantic breath and galloping heartbeat. He didn’t know what to do, where was Zelda, he needed her—

There was something damp on his fingers, he realized, and Link stared at it in horror, reddish smears marking his palm, terror beating in his heart more quickly by the second.

He must have killed someone.

Oh goddesses why else would he have blood on his hands, he’d heard a cry and he must have—

I hurt someone, I killed someone, they’re dead not again not again—

Link choked on thin air, his lungs constricting him, the blood on his hands seeming to multiply until he felt like he was drowning in it, roaring in his ears so loudly he couldn’t hear anything but that and his heart racing in his chest.

Until a voice managed to suddenly break through it.

“Sir? Can you hear me?”

Link sucked in a thin gasp at the sound, the voice startlingly familiar.

He... he knew who that was. And he knew they were safe, that if that voice was here then... things were okay. And because he was hearing him, that meant...

That meant Link was safe.

Memories of warm green took the place of dark purple and red, a kind smile, strong embrace, a bright sword cutting through the darkness. Link sucked in another gasp, and tried to draw himself out of the panic crushing him like a vice, clutching at the sun-warmed grass that surrounded him, trying to listen past his panicked heartbeat.

He swallowed, and his vision focused, the colors in front of him organizing into definite shapes, faces and figures. He felt a burst of hope when he saw the man kneeling in front of him, but as his figure came more clearly into view, he realized it wasn’t who he thought it was.

But the smile was the same, that same regal warmth he remembered from speaking with Courage himself.

“You’re safe, I promise,” the man reassured softly, pushing his white cape over his shoulder. “Nobody here is going to hurt you. Are you all right?”

Link didn’t quite trust his voice, so he slowly nodded, his heart still beating like a bird trapped in his ribcage. He lifted his head a bit more, and saw that there were several people standing behind the man, pretending not to watch them.

“Hey, are you hurt?” the man with the cape asked, and Link flicked his gaze back to him, slowly shaking his head before shrugging a little. He was coming back to himself more and more, and suddenly recalled the scratch on his neck he’d received. He lightly felt at it, and saw the man nod. “Ah, yeah looks like you got nicked. It doesn’t look like you’re bleeding any more though. We should probably wrap it just in—”

“My dog,” Link croaked suddenly, realizing he couldn’t hear Winter’s barking. Worry shook over him, and he swallowed. “Where’s...”

“He’s over there with our rancher,” the man in the cape said, gesturing behind him. “He went after the lizard when it jumped off you, Twilight’s just making sure he’s okay.”

“He’s really big and fluffy,” a different voice spoke up, a kid in blue and orange. “I thought he was a wolf at first.”

Link blinked in response, and took in a shuddering breath. He raised his head a little more, gaze flicking around at the group of men that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere as he looked for Winter.

Most of them were dressed in bright colors, not too unusual, but not all of them were really dressed for the climate, evidenced by the way a few were rubbing their arms. Link kept looking, his ears growing a little warm at the sheer number of people who’d just seen him freak out, then froze.

Winter was near the back of the group, tail wagging as he was scratched behind the ears. The man scratching him was the one with the dark marks on his face, the one with the pulse of wrong that Link had felt, but— Winter wasn’t acting suspicious of him at all.

His dog looked like he was... enjoying himself.

“That’s our rancher,” someone spoke up, and Link saw the kid with the multicolored tunic again, giving him a kind look. His voice lowered a little and he leaned closer. “I can understand why you’d be distrustful of him. But those marks don’t mean anything bad.”

Link swallowed and looked at the man again, Winter acting completely unbothered by his presence. The rancher happened to look up at the same time, and his eyes held nothing but guilt as they met Link’s.

...Even though he was the one holding a cloth to his nose, fabric stained with blood.

Guilt crested over Link. Oh no. “Is he—”

“It’s merely a bloody nose, you didn’t do any significant harm,” someone assured, and Link looked back to see a man in full plate armor walk up. He also had marks on his face, though they weren’t dark like the rancher’s, and despite the twinge of something Link felt from them, they didn’t immediately send him panicking.

The kid in blue spoke up again. “Yeah, I elbowed Wild and gave him a bloody nose last week and he didn’t even care!”

“Uh, yes I did,” a voice somewhere near Twilight replied, and the kid scrunched his face in that direction.

“Well your nose wasn’t broken so I consider it a win.”

“I... I apologize for hitting him,” Link said quietly, and the man with the cape patted his arm in a consoling way as he handed Link some bandages.

“It’s okay. You were frightened, he should have moved when we realized what startled you,” he apologized with a wince. “I’m Sky, by the way. What’s your name?”

“Link,” Link replied as he carefully wiped off his neck, and the entire group seemed to still, casting each other significant looks.

Link’s heart sank as they all looked back at him, and he couldn’t help but shrink into himself as he quickly bandages his scrape. They must have heard of me. Would they be so quick to forgive him now that they knew who he was?

The kid with the blue tunic and orange pants suddenly grinned, and crowed excitedly as he punched one wearing red and green on the arm.

“I told you! I told you we were going to get another! You owe me twenty rupees!”

“Alright sailor, you were right, sheesh,” the other huffed, and a few laughs went up, the plate-armored man’s face softening as he looked at Link.

“You’re the hero of this land, aren’t you?” he asked, and Link felt about ten times more confused than he had previously. Why were they asking him that? Surely they knew who he was, what he’d done. How couldn’t they? Unless... they were foreigners?

Regardless, this man was mistaken.

“I’m no hero,” he scoffed, suddenly feeling disgusted with himself. The happy atmosphere drained at his words, and he received several surprised looks. “If you’re looking for one, you want the princess, not me.”

“Just the princess? Not you?” one with a flowing scarf asked, an eyebrow raised.

Link lowered his gaze. “Not me.”

The man with the cape— Sky, looked at him with an odd expression after he spoke, and he reached behind him, pulling something out. He carefully set it on his knees, and Link stared, the blood draining from his face.

“I see you recognize her. Did you ever wield this blade?” Sky asked quietly, and a dizzy feeling swept over Link as he quickly braced his hands in the grass.

That was impossible. Then Master Sword had been laid to rest, he and Zelda were in the process of making it as secure as possible, nobody but he and Zelda could even properly pick it up, how—

“I did, but... how are you... who... are you people?” Link asked, feeling oddly afraid.

Sky gently set his hand on Link’s arm, and Link almost hated how comforted he was by the touch.

“It’s an odd tale, but bear with us,” he said with a smile. “Believe it or not, we’re... actually all named Link.”

Link blinked, and heard a few chuckles.

“That’s not even the weirdest part,” the kid with the multicolored tunic snorted.

“Oh, tell him about the time traveling!” the voice that had supposedly been elbowed last week said excitedly.

“Shush y’all, let him explain,” the rancher called above the chatter, and gestured to the man with plate armor as the clamor died down.

“Thank you. As Sky said, we’re all named Link, but that’s only part of it,” the oldest explained, watching Link steadily with his one eye. “We’re heroes from across time, past and future, many who have wielded that blade. We’re traveling through the portals that the Shadow who ran into you earlier is opening, as well as fighting beasts he’s infected. He is our enemy, and he’s been causing a great deal of trouble. Trouble that may have disastrous consequences.”

Link took all of that in in silence, casting his gaze slowly around the group. Many were young, or close to his age, but the way they held themselves, the spark in their eyes, the weapons they bore... they reminded him of Courage. Of that same spark, that strength, a kindred soul, someone close as a brother.

And he didn’t belong in their number.

“I know you denied being a hero... but surely you feel the pull, don’t you?” the multicolored kid spoke up again. His grey eyes were bright as he looked at Link. “That touch of family. Something that’s beyond a mere familiarity.”

“We could use your help,” Sky added softly, and Link looked at the Master Sword in his lap, the blade that had caused him so much trouble shining innocently in the sunlight.

“You don’t want my help. I just make everything worse,” Link replied quietly, and slowly got to his feet, Sky’s hand slipping from his arm. Link gave a short whistle, catching Winter’s attention, and his dog happily trotted over, tail wagging as he pressed against his side. “I’m sorry.”

“But—”

“I’m not a hero, I’m sorry,” Link said sharply, then breathed in, and out. “I don’t belong in your group.“

“But you—”

“That’s his decision, sailor,” the scarfed man interrupted the kid with the lobster shirt. He met Link’s gaze. “We won’t force you to come. Though you may change your mind if you come across any of the infected monsters.”

“...What do you mean by infected?” Link asked in a quiet voice, and the eldest of the group sighed.

“Empowered is more accurate. They appear as normal monsters, but have blackened blood, stronger attack and defense and a heightened intelligence that makes defeating them a pain, if not plain dangerous,” he explained.

Link swallowed. That sounded bad.

...That sounded really bad actually, and Link knew it was his responsibility to take care of it, especially while Zelda was sick. And while he wasn’t afraid to fight monsters— that had never been a problem for him— but going along with these men, these heroes...

Link swallowed again. He didn’t belong with them. He would only make their job harder. Especially if panicking so much at even a hint of dark magic was going to be a regular thing now.

“I’ll need to speak with the princess about this,” he said finally, and a few heads perked up.

“That’s fine. We’d actually like to speak to her as well,” the scarfed knight said.

“Yeah, especially since the Shadow got away,” the blue and orange kid huffed. “How does he always disappear on us like that?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t like it,” the teenager wearing red and green added as he crossed his arms. “It makes it awfully hard to track him. Or fight him. Or formulate a plan to beat him.”

“I don’t suppose you’d mind guiding us to the castle?” Sky asked while the others chattered, and Link hummed in agreement, burying a hand in Winter’s fur. He could do that at least. These men’s story was utterly bizarre, but the colorful one had been correct— Link did feel a pull towards them, one that was warm and familiar, and despite his initial reaction, he felt that they didn’t mean any harm.

And even if Link was wrong and they did, the castle was plenty defended.

“I can do that. You’ll likely have to wait for an audience though,” Link warned. Zelda would probably insist on seeing them anyway, but he wouldn’t discount Impa forbidding anything even remotely taxing.

“That’s fine,” the eldest said. “Thank you.”

Link nodded in return, swallowing. Hopefully Zelda would know what to do with... all this. Or if not, surely his father or Impa would.

He himself was feeling more lost by the second.

Link breathed out as he petted Winter, and looked across the group again, slowly taking each of them in. He met the eyes of the rancher again, his nose finally stopped bleeding, and dipped his head in apology, ignoring the flicker of panic he got from the sight of the markings. It wasn’t very fair for him to freak out about some dark lines. For all he knew, this man had been in a similar position to him, and just not been lucky enough to have had his markings fade.

The rancher nodded back at him, an oddly grieved look on his face, and Link quickly turned away, motioning for them all to follow.

The sooner they reached the castle the better.

[604to647]

Lingerie

2.7K / Modern AU Retired Mob Enforcer!Din Djarin x fem!reader

Summary: Din shows you how he feels about lingerie.

Warnings: 18+ content (MDNI please), fluff with smut, established relationship, semi-public sex (people are downstairs), fingering, oral (f receiving), body worship (like in the lingerie), maybe a little degradation kink (whore/slut, affectionate), a bit of daddy kink, dirty talk, lots of pet names (pretty bird, baby, bunny, pretty girl, etc.), no implied age gap

A/N: Another one shot in the same modern AU where Din is a retired mob enforcer and now owns/runs a boxing gym where the mob guys hang out - this one takes place at the gym! I'm almost done the first two chapters of the "main" fic and hope to start posting soon. The chapters are kind of a slow burn as reader and Din meet, date, etc. so these one shots where their relationship is established is where all the smut is at for now - hee hee! 🤭 (Series Masterlist)

“I think it’s kind of a waste of money?”

“…and time? Like you’re just taking it off.  Too many snaps and stuff.”

“I dunno.  Maybe it sets the mood or something.”

“Well, she was pissed.  Got dressed and stormed off and now I think I’m supposed to apologize?”

“Dude, forget her!  Imagine getting pissed about underwear.”

This gets the group laughing and Din looks up briefly from his paperwork at the guys sitting around the boxing ring, relaxing after a long day of work and work outs.  One of the younger guys that’s only been working at the gym for a few months catches his eye and calls over, “Boss!  What do you think? Lingerie – worth it?”

Din shuffles his papers into a neat pile and takes off his glasses before walking over to join the group.  The truth was, before you, he hadn’t really given much thought to lingerie.  If a partner wore something lacy and matching, it was nice but not really a must have.  Before you, he might have agreed: lingerie was just something to take off.  But on you.  Lingerie on you made him feral.  Din knew that you loved your matching sets and that you wore lingerie mostly for yourself, but that just made it hotter – knowing that you had a little racy secret that wasn’t meant for anyone else drove him crazy.  And somehow, the lingerie you wore only accentuated your loveliness - you never wore anything overly complicated; just soft lace resting against your already soft skin, pretty bows decorating your pretty curves.  He might have inadvertently drooled on more than one occasion upon undressing you.  For those few times you had worn something especially for him, he had to pinch himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming – what had he done to deserve you wrapping yourself so delicately and offering yourself up to him like a present?  His mind flashes to soft lace cups barely covering your nipples.

The snapping of an underwear band against your hip.

See-through mini dresses that flutter when you bounce on his lap.

Panties made of thin material with enough give to accommodate his whole hand.

Delicate satin straps slipping off your shoulder allowing the attached fabric to fall, revealing your breast. 

He loved lingerie on you, and found that more often than not, he didn’t take it off completely when he fucked you.

Din finds himself starting to get hard just thinking about your body barely covered in something flimsy and sheer, and he has to remind himself that he’s still at work.  Chuckling, he says to the group, “I think, if you’re lucky enough to undress a girl, Brian, you should be worshipping anything she lets you see.”

The hoots and hollers that follow are briefly interrupted when the front door of the gym opens and the unmistakeable pitter patter of canine feet approach the men on the gym floor.   The dog makes a beeline for Din; he greets the pup with enthusiastic scratches, with the rest of the guys coming over to get their share of doggy love.  Din looks up to see you following, carrying pizza boxes and an assortment of takeout containers and he can’t help but grin widely.  He leaves the dog to the guys’ choruses of “Who’s a good boy?” and comes over to help you. He had texted you earlier to let you know he was working late tonight finishing up month-end tax forms, and even though he had said he would just grab a bite to eat while he worked, you knew he wouldn’t. Missing him after your own long workday, you decided to pick up some food and take a cab over to surprise him.

Din takes the food from you with one hand and put his other on the small of your back, using it to pull you in firmly for a deep kiss.  You brace your now free hands on his broad chest as he presses into you and wonder what’s got him so riled up.

The pizza boxes and take out are deposited on a table and the guys make their way over, offering their profuse thanks before diving in to the boxes.  One of the bigger boxers, Chris, turns to you, but avoiding Din’s eyes, asks, “Do you mind helping us with a lady question, ma’am?”

Ma’am?  You giggle to yourself, that’s a new one; you decide that the moniker is a sign of respect for Din and not any commentary on your age so you smile, “Sure, what’s up, boys?”

“Is it okay if a man doesn’t care about your lingerie?”, he continues quickly, “I mean not your lingerie!! Hypothetically… I mean, um, that is…. Um, in general like, if a girl is wearing lingerie, do you have to pretend to like it?”

You must look so confused because Din steps in and explains, “Brian’s girl wore something nice for him and he told her he didn’t care about lingerie, so she left and now she isn’t speaking to him.”

Din looks thoroughly entertained, but Brian looks both so mortified and curious from where he’s standing a little further back that you decide to take pity on him and try to keep your expression thoughtful.

“Here’s the thing, guys, we don’t wear it for you or anyone else; lingerie is for ourselves.  To make us feel any number of things: sexy, confident, soft, sweet, powerful, whatever.  So please don’t tell a woman you don’t care about her feeling good?” There’s a chorus of “Ohs” and some nodding among the crowd.  You start gathering the boxes that hold Din’s dinner as you continue, “And in general, I think effort should always be acknowledged?”

There is a murmuring of consensus and you mouth to Brian, “Call her” before you head up the stairs to Din’s office; you feel Din’s foot steps close behind, and behind his, the dog’s.

Once in the office, the pup plops himself down on the dog bed Din keeps under his desk, as you lay out Din’s dinner in front of his computer.  You realized you never asked if he wanted to have dinner in his office, so you quickly confirm, “I didn’t mean to assume you wanted to eat up here!  Did you want to or do you want to go back down to the group?”

Din loves your thoughtfulness, but the idea that he might want to spend time with a bunch of gym rats instead of you is laughable.  He takes your hand and leads you over to his small office couch; sitting, he pulls you down on top of him so you’re straddling his thighs.

“Pretty bird, nowhere I would rather be than right here.”

Your lips meet his for an eager kiss, and your hands automatically reach up to run through Din’s hair as his roam your back and knead your ass.  When you pull back, you see he has a lazy grin on his face; he really can be so adorable and you give him a little peck on his nose before asking playfully, “So, did they ask you what you thought of lingerie?  What did you say?”

Din laughs, “I told those youngsters they need to appreciate how lucky they are that any beautiful woman would let them look at her, never mind in her underwear.”

You chuckle and lightly kiss his nose again, “What about you?”

“Me? There’s only one beautiful woman I see in underwear and I appreciate her very, very much.” Din punctuates his last words with a light spank to your ass causing you to give a little yelp in surprise.

“No,” you continue, almost shy, “do you… like it?”

“Like it?”, Din kisses your neck as he continues, “Baby, your lingerie drives me fucking crazy.”

He doesn’t stop kissing your neck, but does move his hands to untuck your shirt and slip his hands underneath, lightly running them up and down your bare sides.  Whispering hotly in your ear, he goes on, “Always, so fucking sexy, bunny.  You’re like a sweet little present ready for me to unwrap.”

His hands have moved up to your breasts, thumbs running over the tops of your bra lace before dropping slightly to rub over your hardening nipples through the fabric.  Kissing across the column of your throat, his voice low when he reaches your other ear, “Love the way your tits spill out of your bras and the tops bounce, right into my mouth. And these…” Din rolls your nipples between his fingers as he speaks, “I love I can still get your nipples hard even through this pretty lace. Fuck you’re always so pretty in your pretty lingerie, baby.”

Din has his mouth buried in your neck, but you can still hear his dirty words and they’re making you moan, “Pretty sounds too, bun.  You always make the prettiest, sluttiest noises for me when you’re all wrapped up.  Drives me insane.  Sweetheart, love sucking on your tits through the fabric, getting it all wet.  Have to stop myself from biting down and ripping it off with my teeth, you get me so hot.  And your panties, fuck, baby…”

You whimper as Din growls, “Fuck.  So pretty, barely covering your hot ass and sweet pussy.  Goddamn, I love how soaked they get for me.”  He takes one hand out of your shirt and snakes it up your skirt; just brushing the front of your panties with his knuckles, finding them wet, “…like this. Fuck yes, pretty bird.”

By now, you’re making little movements to grind against Din’s hand, hoping to find the delicious pressure you need. You kiss him hard and he uses his other hand to lift and bunch up your shirt just above your bra; he leans back to admire your lingerie choice today: mint green and sheer, with embroidered floral lace covering your most delicate and delectable parts.  With the slight up and down motion you’re making, your breasts are already bouncing and Din cannot take his eyes off of you, “So soft, pretty girl.  And.. there we go, right into my mouth.” He dives in, taking as much as your breasts in his mouth as he can and sucks, causing you to let out a throaty moan.  You clasp both your hands over your mouth to muffle the sound, and in that split second have a moment of clarity. “Din!” you chastise, as you gently push him off your chest by his shoulders, “you haven’t had dinner yet! You’re supposed to be eating.”

Din flashes you the biggest smirk before pulling you down by your hips and turning you so you’re laying your head at one end of the small couch, “Oh, don't worry your pretty head, bunny. I plan on eating.”  You can’t help but giggle as he starts to move down your body.  Down your chest, mouthing each lace covered breast before moving on and peppering your stomach with kisses.  Din leans back and lifts your skirt until he sees your matching panties, not missing the way a spot is darkening on the fabric. “All this for me, sweetheart?”

“Y-yes,” you moan quietly, closing your eyes in pleasure.

Din reaches forward and starts to rub your clit through the fabric, earning him a louder whine, “Please, Din… please.”

Without stopping his slow circles on your clit, Din shifts back on the couch and crouches down to face your cunt, “Love how wet you are for me, pretty bird.  Looks good enough to taste.”

He uses his free thumb to hook the gusset of your panties and pulls them aside; the cool air hits you right away and you have a moment to enjoy the chill against your wet core before Din dives in.  He starts by licking a stripe up your seam, and repeats this with increasing pressure while putting more and more of his mouth on you.  Your head falls back and you cry out in pleasure with every pass of his tongue over your hole.   Head now cloudy with desire, you use your hands to pull down the cups of your bra, freeing your breasts so you can grab at them and pull on your nipples; when Din sees this, he groans into your pussy and the vibration makes you whimper.  Taking this as encouragement, Din licks up and begins sucking on your clit while he teases your slit with his fingers.  Your slick having now coated two of his fingers, Din plunges them into you in one smooth motion, all the way in to his first knuckles causing you to let out an obscene moan from the stretch.  You once again clasp your hands over your mouth to muffle your sounds, but Din uses the hand that isn’t pumping in and out of you to pull your hands down by the wrist and place them back on your breasts, “Want to hear you use your whore mouth, bunny,” he mumbles as he nips at your clit.

“But what if someone hears and comes up?”

“Not even those knuckleheads downstairs would be dumb enough to come in,” Din chuckles, “Let them hear you, baby.  Let them know how good their boss makes you feel.”

Din’s right, none of the guys would come up and bother Din while you were here, but for a moment, you imagine what it would look like if one of them did open the office door right now: you splayed out on the couch, with your top pushed up and your bra pulled down, tits hanging out while their boss has his fingers deep in your cunt and his head in between your legs.  The whole image has a fresh wave of arousal leaking out of you while you clench hard on Din’s fingers.

“Oh, did my little slut like that?  Does it turn you on, the idea of other guys seeing me wreck your pussy?”

“Oh, g-god. Din, no…I-“

“Don’t lie, pretty girl. You’re a filthy slut, aren’t you?  Want other guys to see your pretty tits and wet pussy, knowing they can only look and they can’t touch?”

“Yes, daddy! I’m such a fucking whore for you.  Only you can touch me like this… feels so g-good.  Oh yes..yes!” You’re babbling now as you start to feel a familiar coil tightening below your stomach.

Din knows your body well, so he doubles down on your clit, sucking and toying with your nub like a man on a mission.  He adds a third finger and keeps up a steady rhythm that has you hurtling towards the edge. 

“I’m close!” you gasp, your eyes are closed and your hands pulling and rolling your nipples so hard it hurts just the right amount to add to your overwhelming pleasure.  The squelching coming from Din’s fingers fucking your pussy mixed with your and his filthy noises are pushing you further and further towards your climax; you’re almost there when Din growls into your cunt, “Come for me.”

And you do.  You come hard on his hand and mouth, crying out so intensely that ironically, no noise comes out as you shudder and arch your back off the couch.  Din slows down his hand and slowly fucks you through your high while he continues to lightly kiss you all over your mound.

When you’ve come down from your climax, Din removes his fingers from your dripping hole; you pout a little from the loss but gladly open up when his brings his fingers up to your mouth, taking in all three fingers and sucking them clean.  With his hands clean, Din straightens you up, adjusting your panties and bra so everything is sitting on your body pretty again and pulls down your shirt and skirt.  You can still taste yourself on him when he kisses you tenderly, “You did so good, pretty bird, coming so sweetly for me.  Did that answer your question about how I feel about your lingerie?”

Smiling, you nod, still a little light headed from your orgasm, “What about you, Din?” You run your hand gently over his crotch, feeling his hard cock strain against his pants; you look up at him with want in your eyes.

Din smirks.  “Don’t you worry, bunny.  When I’m done this paperwork, I’m going to take you home and soak that pretty bra and panty set in my cum.”

[chaifootsteps]

Thinking about the “look at me and think you’re the only one I want” exchange again. It felt like a command. And the strange “don’t touch the pretty thing” musical lyric in the background. How bizarre? Are both of them (the writer and the story boarder) pretending they are stolas and blitz is an imaginary ex boyfriend? I wouldn’t be surprised.

This was made by Vivzie and R2, this is how the two of them see “love.” and breakups.

Blitz asked what stolas sees in him. Why he’d want to be with him or care about him, how anybody could. Stolas i think, doesn’t have a kind bone in his body. He argues with him at his most vulnerable point, by mocking everyone in the party as ‘stupid’ and tsundere. Saying that wanting blitz dead means they ‘cared’. Then of course he goes into his diatribe of his own desires, which could be met by anyone. Stolas sings “i want you” then says “I don’t want you here.” But how mentally torturous for Blitzø, constant mixed messages and torment. Exactly what he just asked stolas not to do. He can’t stop tormenting him; making “concerned” sarcastic comments on his past failures, acting as if he’s unapologetic, saying he won’t go to the party but…maybe he might~, you don’t like relationships? Well what are you doing here then?~ Everything blitz said about the owl was 100% factual. All Viv and R2 could come up with to disprove it was “then stolas cried and blitz felt bad so that makes blitzs words wrong”

Stolas then and now is incapable of giving blitz so much as one compliment. Fanfics make them up. He just said “be…who you are, your business!” Incredibly empty compared to what loving things Asmodeus said of Fizz. And the former is supposed to be the grand love story. Oh but insults? Stolas could go on for hours about what he doesn’t like about blitz: he doesn’t always come when I call, I hate how short his texts are. I hate his horse obsession. I don’t like when he questions me, I hate when he doesn’t notice things, I hate the way he talks, I hate having to explain things to him, I hate how he crushes peoples feelings, I hate that he is a remorseless mother fucker who refuses to desire me. I like how he performs in bed and on stage though. It pleases me. And I like that he pissed off my bitch wife.”

Summarising

Stolas: i want you

Blitz: why?

Stolas: —let me finish. I want you to desire me. Cause I care deeply for you.

Blitzø: But how could anyone care for me? Why want me?

Stolas: yknow what i want? i want a man to stay with me and hold me. I dont want you if you don’t do that. Go away.

Blitzø: i can try?

Stolas: look at me. And think “you’re the only one i want”

Blitzø: (follows his orders)

Stolas: someone else wants me?! Can I go?

Blitzø: fine…

For stolitz shippers the takeaway is, Blitzø wants to be the figure stolas is dreaming about, because he doesn’t want stolas to be sad, and he doesn’t want stolas to verbally abuse and replace him so he’ll do whatever the bird wants.

This is a trauma bond. Not love. If I was someone excited for a love story, I’d be immensely disappointed.

Love stories are fun and trauma bond stories are fun, but trauma bond stories presented as healthy, romantic, desirable relationships are the worst. I used to be so excited to see the love story between these two, and instead we just have Stolas getting exactly what he wants -- a kicked, beaten dog on a golden chain.

[miladydewintcr]

happy thedasweekend! 🥰 okay, i gotta go ahead and request ghilan'nain/andruil! maybe with the romance (taylor's version) prompt: "i want your complications too."

I need to thank you so much for this! I had a collection of loose ideas knocking around in my head that I wanted to use somehow and your prompt just made them all click into place, thank you! I think some variant of this ficlet might work its way into my longfic? But for now, this should work as a standalone.

Some context: the inspo for this was your lovely prompt (ofc) + a line Solas has in his fight with Elgar'nan ("Once the blight is free, it will rule this world, and you will be its attack dog. You will burn this world at its command, as Andruil did at yours, and you will leave only ruin behind you.") + the symbolism of Andruil being represented by a hawk + also the possibility that her name was derived from Andúril, Aragorn's sword in LOTR.

For @thedasweekend

Rating: T Ship: Andruil/Ghilan'nain Word-count: 1005

tw: violence, blood

The People prayed to either Mythal or to Elgar’nan when they sought revenge, and it depended heavily on the kind that they hoped for. Mythal’s vengeance was cold, calculated, and exacting. Hers was the knowledge that she had all of eternity to look forward to, and with a flick of her wrist she could ensure that you did not.

Elgar’nan, on the flip-side, had more of a flare for the dramatics. His vengeance was all fire, angry and passionate, fury beyond measure. And when he didn’t have the time or, perhaps, inclination to deliver it himself, he would send her. His sword.

It was why she was pulled from the Fade in the first place. He couldn’t be in two places at once, and he had needed a general. Someone to lead his armies in one battle while he fought in another. And it hadn’t ended with the war against the Titans, it never ended in the shallow spells of peace between the Evanuris and those who would become The Forgotten Ones.

She was a god, with her own temples, followers, slaves, armies. And still, when he called, she came. A trained bird, given just enough free rein to feel unencumbered, sent out on his whims to attack his targets at his command- and yet always, she came back to his hand.

And it was fine. Mostly, it was fine. Her role wasn’t to question, to think, to pass judgement in these situations. She was a weapon to be wielded, a flaming avenger, burning bright, sent out by the Sun-tamer to see his will delivered.

But some days, his will was cruel even by her misguided reckoning. Sometimes she was set upon those she would sooner spare, breaking into homes to deliver his righteous fury upon people she would herself have sided with, cornering them in spaces they had once thought themselves safe and delivering swift, just deaths that were not in any way artful, creative, did not provide her with the chase she craved and the adrenaline rush it brought with it. And always she was unflinching, all through the act itself, holding the pieces of herself together until she was alone and could shatter in private.

And so she sat, knees pulled to chest, face hidden, folded in on herself and trembling in the aftermath.

She heard Ghilan’nain coming, would recognise the sound of her footsteps against the forest floor just as she would her own name. How she found her, she wasn’t sure. It was possible Elgar’nan had told her where she would be. All she would’ve needed to do was ask sweetly, flutter those long, deer-like lashes of hers. He, like his favourite general, would rearrange the stars at Ghilan’nain’s request. He was fond of her, protective, and it was… nice. Like a father ought to be, perhaps, if any of them knew how that was supposed to look.

She was aware of Ghilan’nain falling down to sit beside her on the forest floor.

“Do you wish to talk about it?” she asked.

“No,” Andruil replied, voice muffled by her knees, because she couldn’t spare Ghilan’nain from all the horrors of the world but she could shield her from this.

She felt Ghilan’nain lean into her, resting her head against the back of her shoulder. It was so improbably tender, in a way that clashed ferociously with the drying blood caked into her fingernails, splattered across her face.

“Ghilan’nain,” she said on an inhale, fighting to keep her voice steady as her throat and chest burned with the desire to just cry. “Da’ghil, you deserve…” Better.

“Hmm?” Ghilan’nain shifted beside her, lifting her head momentarily to adjust her hair before returning it to its rightful place. “I deserve…. what?” There was a lightness in her voice that made Andruil’s heart lurch anew, because she knew that if she looked at her, she’d see her teasing smile, and she didn’t feel worthy of it, of this, of her.

“I could have a palace built for you,” Andruil said, clutching her knees tighter. “Somewhere far away, peaceful. Somewhere nice.”

“And what would I do there?” Ghilan’nain asked, with a small, imperceptible sigh that Andruil only caught because she was so close. “It sounds ever so dull.”

“You could do anything you wanted. I’d provide everything you’d need to be happy.”

“Everything but you, I presume.”

She didn’t respond, and felt Ghilan’nain shift beside her, moving to wrap a slender arm around her shoulders.

“I love you,” Ghilan’nain said. “And I trust you, and I choose you. And if you send me away, I will find you. If you kill me out of some misguided attempt to spare my heart, I will haunt you for the rest of your days.” Her free hand snaked around to rest atop Andruil’s, and it was all she could to do keep from sobbing. Fingers practised in the art of creation, capable of drawing life forward as others drew portraits, slipped between those honed in the name of destruction.

“Would that you knew what I had done,” Andruil said.

“I do not care.”

“It wasn’t pretty.” A half-hearted attempt to make her see.

But she just hummed, snuggling closer, holding the pieces of Andruil together with her embrace. “I don’t expect it was.”

She kept a-hold of her, for as long as it took for Andruil to eventually lift her head from the sanctuary her knees provided. Ghilan’nain ran her thumb over the back of her hand, squeezed her shoulder with the other, and did not even flinch at the tear-streaked gore she knew still lay on her skin.

“You are mine,” Ghilan’nain said, lifting her head to rest her forehead against hers. “And I am yours. Whatever you do.”

Andruil exhaled slowly. “I am yours, as you are mine.”

Ghilan’nain smiled, brighter and more captivating than Elgar’nan’s sun could ever be. She removed her hand from Andruil’s shoulder to cup her cheek. “My god,” she whispered.

“My favourite,” Andruil replied reverently, and pressed her lips to hers.

[dumbass-tumbler-cryptid]

I'm curious if you have any ideas for Avatar modern au related to horses? Something like Ostwind etc. I see Quaritch who used to ride western but ever since Paz (as a charreada) died in some accident during a performance he hates horses forbidding his son from interacting with them until.. (something with Sullys) and that's basically my only ideas but I'd really like to see your thoughts!

I’m so sorry this took me so long to get to! I truthfully don’t know anything about horses and so I needed time to think on this one. Luckily I watch a lot of animal content because I am an animal lover. Mostly cat stuff since I’m a cat parent of two. But the algorithm blessed me with a horse rescue video that finally gave me an idea!

So the set up is exactly as you described. Quaritch and Spider live on a ranch where they have tons of animals. Cows, chickens, pigs, goats, sheep, herding dogs and a few barn cats but absolutely no horses. It makes Spider sad but he gets why after what happened to his mom.

The Sully’s live thirty minutes down the road where they run an animal rescue. Spider rides his skateboard there every chance he can get to hang out with his friends and help with the animals. And then a horse is brought in. He’s in really bad shape. Under fed to the point his ribs show, caked in dirt, mats in his mane and tail. But the worst is his hooves. They’ve possible never been cut before, growing to the point they started curving upward making it so the poor horse can barely walk.

He’s sedated so Jake can work on his hooves. Spider is fascinated by the process. It’s while Jake is taking a little break after hours of work that Spider goes up to the sleeping horse and runs a hand over his back, a thrill of excitement going through him at the touch.

After the hooves are cut and shaped it’s time for a cleaning. The mane and tail are so bad they have to be shaved. He’s caked in mud that’s hard to scrap off and they soon find out why. He’s covered in infected soars under all that grime. They have to be incredibly careful after that discovery. Once he’s cleaned Neytiri puts a homemade salve on the wounds to help them heal.

They name the horse Shadow. Shadow is incredibly timid, hiding in the far corner of his stall, screaming whenever a human comes near. Spider likes to go in and talk to him. He talks about everything under the sun. Video games, school, but mainly his controlling dad. After months of this Shadow slowly starts creeping closer. Everyone is amazed when it happens. Spider gently coaxes him closer. It still takes a few weeks of encouraging but eventually Shadow lets Spider pet his nose. Everyone is thrilled with the progress.

Meanwhile Quaritch is getting suspicious. His son smells like a horse stable. Quaritch would know the sent anywhere from back in his riding days. He use to love it. Now he can’t stand it. “Just what kind of animals have those Sully’s got now a days?”

Spider’s heart stops, “oh you know. The usual. Dogs, cats, a few turtles, some birds….”

“A huh. What about horses?”

“Ah no. No horses.”

Quaritch does not believe him. “You’re lying.”

“No I’m not!”

“Oh really? Then how ‘bout I drop y’a off at their place tomorrow.”

“Because they hate you and Neytiri will shoot you on sight.”

“Well then maybe you don’t need to be goin’ over there anymore. You can stay right here and see your little friends at school.”

“What! That’s not fair!”

“Neither is life kid.”

Spider is pissed and barely speaks to his dad after that. After a couple weeks of only seeing his friends at school Kiri tells him, “you need to come over. Shadow is back slipping! He barely eats. He won’t let any of us come near him. He misses you. He thinks you abandoned him.”

“Oh what you can talk to animals now.”

“Spider!”

“Well what am I suppose to do! My dad is watching me like a hawk! I want to come over more than anything. But dad will lock me up and throw away the key if he finds out I’ve been around a horse.”

The thought still nags at him though. Poor Shadow is suffering. He needs him. So one day Spider and the Sully kids agree to ditch school after lunch so Spider can see Shadow. As soon as Spider walks into the stable Shadow goes right to him. Everyone is thrilled. Spider feeds him, brushes his coat and now grown out mane and tail. He talks with him the whole time. Shadow seems happy for the first time ever. And then Spider hears the fight ensuing outside. His dad is there. And he sounds pissed. “Where’s my boy!”

“You are not welcome here! Leave at once!” Neytiri shouts.

“Miles jr! If you don’t come out right now I’m callin’ the cops and havin’ the Sully’s arrested for kidnappin’!”

“Kidnapping! We did not steal your child! He came here willingly!”

“Yeah!” Kiri yells, “Shadow needs him! It’s cruel to him and Spider to keep them apart!”

“Shadow? Is that a horse?!” Spider nuzzles his forehead with Shadows nose, silently saying goodbye. “Now you listen up! I’m takin’ my boy right now and then you’re never gonna see either of us again! Not here. Not at school. Nowhere. You hear that Junior! You better say bye to your little friends on the way out because you’re sure as shit never seein’em again!”

Quaritch walks through the door, radiating furry but knowing better than to shout in a horse stable. Spider has his face buried in shadows neck, tears welling in his eyes. “Come on now Junior. You’re in enough trouble as is.”

“I don’t care.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said I don’t care. I get it. You were devastated when mom died. So was I! But it was an accident. It wasn’t the horse’s fault. And now you’re gonna make Shadow and me suffer just because you’re still suffering! Do you think mom would want this! Because she loved her horse. And you loved yours! She would have slapped you straight in the face if you even joked about getting rid of our horses. But that’s exactly what you did when she died! She’d be furious with you! She’d hate what you’ve turned into!”

Quaritch stills, all his anger draining out in a rush. His son is right. His wife would be heartbroken to see them now. Especially if she saw the horse their son had fallen in love with. It was a sad, pathetic looking thing. Paz would be demanding they take him home. Quaritch approaches Shadow, gently patting his back. “You’re a timid fella aren’t y’a. I bet you couldn’t even hurt a fly.”

Spider brightens. “Dad?”

“Oh what? You wanna ask me something after skippin’ school like some punk ass? You’re grounded mister. And I’ve got a boat load of chores for y’a when we get home. Muckin’ out the stables, scrubbin’ floors, puttin’ down fresh bedding. You got a lot to do before this guy can come home with us.”

“Really!”

“Don’t act all excited. This is a punishment. Horses are a lot of work and he’ll be your full responsibility……”

Spider crashes into his dad for a hug. Quaritch squeezes him tight. “Thanks dad.”

So Shadow goes home with them. He never gets to a point where he could do any kind of competition or show. Spider and him go on leisurely rides through the country side and that’s about it. His dad eventually gets a rescue horse of his own and the two of them have a great time riding their horses side by side.

So those are my thoughts! I really hope you enjoyed, especially after how long this took. If you have anymore thoughts please reach out. I promise I won’t take months this time to answer. 💙 

[arealcrow]

see me bare my teeth for you

830 words, dragon age: the veilguard, solrook if you squint. rook x rook if you squint a little more.

"Guess you're stuck with just me for a bit. No more chess gambits with the smart one, just my bullshit," Rhava flashes a fake grin at Solas, all teeth. A wolf's grin. His summer-green eyes hold the true flat heat of annoyance. "So it would seem," Solas says, tilting his head at the obvious distaste in Rhava's voice, "You don't like chess?" "I don't like you playing games with the people I care about." And then, after a beat, Rhava adds, "But no. I don't play chess. Not my style."

this conversation was gonna be a longer fic that i dont think im ever gonna finish lol, but i enjoyed their musings here

-

Rhava hates being here. It's made him hate sleeping, turning him and Lucanis into two insomniac birds of a feather. It's even worse without Imeric there, the oppressive atmosphere of the Fade prison seeming to sap more of his energy longer he spent in it. Some part of him worried he'd wake up feeling just as tired than when he'd lain down. Could Solas kill him through exhaustion?

He'd have to bring a little life and color to this place himself to get through this, then.

"Guess you're stuck with just me for a bit. No more chess gambits with the smart one, just my bullshit," Rhava flashes a fake grin at Solas, all teeth. A wolf's grin. His summer-green eyes hold the true flat heat of annoyance.

"So it would seem," Solas says, tilting his head at the obvious distaste in Rhava's voice, "You don't like chess?"

"I don't like you playing games with the people I care about."

And then, after a beat, Rhava adds, "But no. I don't play chess. Not my style."

Solas' mouth twitches- in amusement maybe, "I take it the name Rook was not your choice, then?"

"No, it was Varric's," Rhava moves to sit down, letting his legs hang over the abyss between reaching stone hands.

"What would you have chosen instead?"

Looking up at Solas through his lashes feels awkward, despite having purposefully put himself in this position. He looks down into the abyss of the Fade rather than up at that handsome face. Solas looks like he's been sculpted lovingly out of marble, Rhava muses. Which he supposes makes sense, a harsh rocky form eroded to smoothness by time. He wonders if Solas' skin is smooth as it looks. He hopes Solas can't read his mind.

"Probably just my name honestly," Rhava shrugs, "Or 'Crow', I guess. But Rook wasn't picked because it's a bird, so."

It's not a creative answer, but he isn't trying to impress Solas here, just pass the time. He could try for a laugh, though.

"Maybe 'Pawn'. That's how it's felt, most of my life."

Only able to move forward, always first in. Yeah, that one fit.

It earns him a quiet chuckle, a sound that's closer and warmer than he expects. When Rhava looks up, Solas is sitting on the edge of the chasm across from him. Down on his level.

"You've been asking a lot of questions," Rhava narrows his eyes, "You owe me some. You and Varric were friends. What nickname did he give you?"

An unreadable shadow passes over Solas' face, there and gone like a cloud on a windy day.

"Chuckles."

Rhava raises his eyebrows and tilts his head, like a dog that's caught a scent. It isn't what he would have guessed. He lets Solas watch him pick that thought apart and try to connect it to the rest- what that kind of name meant for their familiarity, how well Varric had known Solas, what level of affection there had been for Varric to put himself at such risk to try and talk it out. Threads to be stored away for later. He wishes Imeric was here- he felt like a luckless weaver without them to pull the stray thoughts into order and see the shape of it all. On his own for now, he'd have to keep improvising.

"How many stories about the feared Fen'Harel are true?"

"They are myths. Many are based in the truth, but-"

Rhava groans loudly and lets his upper body flop back against the stone. He doesn't want to hear the rest. Bad question, stupid answer. So he'd drop that thread and find a way back to it later. There's no time for him to come up with another question, anyway. Solas had already planned his next move, and was only waiting for it to be his turn.

"Do you think you would be here now, had you never joined the Antivan Crows?"

When Rhava sits back up to look at him, braced on one hand. He swears he sees the ghost of a smile leaving Solas' lips as his words turn serious. He meets Rhava's questioning gaze, searching for an answer of his own.

"Who can say," Rhava answers flippantly, shrugging a shoulder. Solas' expression doesn't shift, content to wait for Rhava to give him a real answer.

It's something Rhava had spent more time mulling over more than he'd like to admit. If he had never left home, if he'd run somewhere else, if he had never tried to pick Viago's pocket, if he'd failed his initiation- who would he be? A jumper, dedicated to the Dalish and bold with the veil? A lord, chasing fame and fortune? A warden, standing against the darkness? Something- someone- other than a cold blooded killer? Would he have survived?

"Knowing my luck," Rhava starts again, cutting through the silence hanging heavily between them with sharp, decisive words, "Yes. I'd probably be sitting here, even still."

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Actually, while we're on the topic of pets, what pets do you see the others with?

[Referencing this post!]

I'll (slightly) cheat and condense everyone into their groups, then say "whatever animals fit the motif of their respective character/film". There's some notes for each boy as well, but not always in the most intense of details. (Please keep in mind that this is only covering the main 22 students from NRC!!) Heartslabyul already tends to hedgehogs and flamingos, so those could be common creatures to have as pets/familiars (especially among the card soldiers like Cater, Trey, Deuce, and Ace) Alternatively, there could be other animals from Alice in Wonderland such as cats (for the Cheshire Cat), oysters, living flowers, walruses, dormouses, rabbits/hares, etc. If we want to stray outside of the dorm motifs, a chameleon for Ace (since he has a talent for mimicking people)?? Cater with a fox because of how crafty he can be?? (I don't feel super strong on this choice.) Trey is Normal so a cat or a dog for him!! The dog could be useful for sniffing out special ingredients while a cat is fitting because Trey's VA also voices Lucius... And of course, Deuce deserves a chicken so it can lay many eggs! Riddle I see getting one of the standard pets because "it's the rule/tradition at Heartslabyul!" Uhhh, mostly savanna animals for Savanaclaw I guess?? But again, the same moral debate I mentioned in the original post still applies here. (Like, would it be weird for a lion/wolf/hyena beastman such as Leona/Jack/Ruggie to have a lion/wolf/hyena as a pet/familiar???) Octavinelle would have a lot of aquatic creatures as pets/familiars. I think the "perfect" pet/familiar to match Azul's image would be eels (to mimic Ursula). Not sure what Jade or Floyd would have (the JP fandom uses a dolphin and a shark emoji, respectively, to refer to them so maybe those)?? But since Jade is the informant for the group, I'm thinking something small and agile so he can send it to spy for him. (Plus, it could chill out in his terrariums for funsies later.) Floyd would have something more aggressive... Scarabia would have unconventional animals from all over Twisted Wonderland! Kalim is someone I see as having many animal friends, so I can't think of just one animal. Maybe a tiger (like Princess Jasmine)? But it's also fun to imagine Kalim riding in on a massive elephant! He was originally supposed to have a monkey familiar (like Aladdin), so I can easily see that happening as well. Jamil has a clearer desire for a specific animal companion, and that would be a parrot. I can also see a snake for... obvious reasons. Maybe a bug to really torment them. Peacock for Vil because he sits in a peacock throne and it has a majestic vibe. A crow or raven also works due to its association with the Evil Queen. Rook, like Kalim, is someone I see with a variety of animals and not a specific one. Whatever his pet/familiar is, it would probably be a skilled hunter. I'm thinking like some kind of predator bird like a hawk or falcon. Epel... nothing immediately comes to mind, but maybe something small and cute but tough like he is. Idia would want a kawaii widdle neko-chan (his words, not mine) to keep as a lap warmer while he aggressive games. Ortho is more of a dog person (yes, this is purely because of his Cerberus Gear card), though I picture him engaging with virtual pets and/or those cybernetic dogs more than like... actual animals. I think Lilia's bats already count as his pets, although they are rarely ever mentioned in dialogue. Silver, as a member of the light trio, is another person that I see with many animals (squirrels, deer, birds, rabbits, etc.). Sebek I feel would shout that every animal is inferior to Malleus and that no pet he has could ever match Malleus's, etc. etc. etc. He's usually associated with crocs, so I think many would gravitate to one as Sebek's pet??? I think it would be funny if his familiar was something small, cute, and kinda pathetic (like a chipmunk or something) so he acts all bashful about it... but hey, I think a horse (so he can ride proudly into combat) also works. Malleus I already covered in the original post linked above.

[venus-cat-people]

ok, here's a list of things i actually want to see in the future of roob:

- yang and ruby vs dog mom. maybe tai helps and finally gets to do something

- ruby uses her silver eyes but they do nothing (again)

- yang and ruby finally get a combo attack name even if that would be incest

- yang and blake argue about that one time yang chased her with a laser pointer. they break up shortly after

- sun hits on blake, she likes it but fails to realize that him and yang are the same character

- pietro builds another penny and sacrifices himself in the process but no one cares because he literally does not matter

- penny dies for the fourth time

- oscar dies and oz disappears again

- maria gets a total of three lines. they're all quips and none of them are funny

- someone thinks about pyrrha in a way that does not connect back to jaune

- someone references something that happened in the dc comics. bonus points if it's the time that bird raven told baby ruby that her mom was fucking stupid

- someone cares about raven

- someone cares about summer

- one of the schnees says they're a victim

- harriet is cute and tsundere. no one remembers or cares that she wanted to nuke an entire city for no reason

- elm gets a new accent again

- marrow calls out robyn for calling him "wags"

- someone realizes that nicknaming faunus based on their appearance is very fucked up considering what they're a stand in for

- someone calls the faunus a race as a slip of the tongue

- may is visible

- neo comes back after ascending and she's finally voiced by sarah silverman. she's also tsundere towards team rwby

- someone uses maiden magic in an interesting way

- cinder gets another maiden power and we get to see what the fuck happens when they stack

- emerald and cinder talk, we finally understand what the fuck their relationship is supposed to be

- salem is defeated by someone saying she needs to keep moving forward. bonus points if it's ren

- tyrian hits on mercury in a very predatory gay kind of way. oops!

- the fans excuse the last point because "they did such a good job with bmblby!" so it's fine

- mercury reacts in a way that implies he's maybe bi. the fans go crazy

- tyrian dies (please)

- jinn is revealed to be an unreliable narrator, creating 357 more issues with v6e3

- there's another shot where the staff of creation is conveniently covering ambrosius' crotch

- team rwby destroys vacuo

- half of the refugees die but it's okay and our heroes only kind of care

- the remaining refugees are sent to menagerie. humans and faunus learn to work together and racism is finally solved