#it’s done. with all slots used. is the thing

[crossdressingdeath]

#this explains it well actually i think#like yeah. as soon as DA became a series they decided to stop bothering with actual paths and make their own story to follow. which would be#fine if they didnt keep making the games with the appearance of your choices affecting the world at large#and thus a lot of things that end up being huge issues seem to stem from bioware not actually considering or caring about what sort of#actions would affect the actual plot#idk this ramble doesnt make sense and its a long way to say i agree with op (tags via @faroresson)

I wouldn't say Bioware "stopped bothering" with "actual paths" when DA became a series. First because the use of "stopped" implies DAO had actual branching paths (some choices unlocking different options along the same critical path isn't the same as the game having proper branching story paths, and given the origins all lead into the same story from Ostagar onward they're more roots than branches; honestly DAI with the mages vs Templars choice and DAV with the Minrathous vs Treviso choice give your choices more impact on the story, and even then it's just "which villain occupies Villain Slot B" in DAI and mostly side content and deciding which faction helps you out during the dragon rematch in DAV), but second because it's not a matter of them not bothering. It's a matter of proper branching story paths that change the main plot in any meaningful way being functionally impossible in a multi-game story (and honestly just unnecessarily complicated even in a single game unless having multiple separate branches is a part of the genre like in dating sims). Either they all have to end the same way outside of minor, flavour text-level variations (which is what Bioware did) or there has to be a True Ending that the next game is based on, because if the first game can have ending A and B and both those endings create radically different worldstates then if you want to take both into account the problem just gets shunted to the next game, where you have to have beginning A and B and either make them both merge into the same story early on or keep the A and B worldstate split the whole way through, and if you've got multiple endings for that second game too and they don't end the same you've got A1, A2, B1 and B2 to deal with going into the next game. And this happens again for the third game, and the fourth, and so on and so forth. If Bioware had done that then assuming two endings per game by DAV alone we'd be dealing with at a minimum eight significantly different worldstates just at the start of the game, which I think we can all agree no one could reasonably expect the writers to juggle. And that's just endings! I'm not even going to try to figure out how many major worldstate variations there could be if the most important decisions in the games created any significant variation in the plot. So it's not about whether Bioware cared about worldstate variation or wanted to allow for choices that created massive differences in Thedas depending on what option you picked or could be bothered to juggle significantly different worldstates; they straight up couldn't do that if they wanted actually writing the story for the next game to be at all feasible. The main plot can never be reliant on a variable, and on the flip side of that no variable can ever be something that would have a large impact on the main plot, and honestly I've never gotten the impression Bioware was claiming otherwise. Basically I firmly believe it's unfair to get angry at Bioware for the fact that every choice leads into roughly the same story, because it's wildly unreasonable to expect them to make significant changes to the worldstate and/or plot for every significant choice across at this point four games.

And the thing is it's really only DAI where them not doing that becomes a problem. The only choice in DAO that might have had a significant impact on Thedas as a whole (since you can't fail to defeat the Archdemon and both the Warden themselves and whoever ends up ruling Ferelden are mostly relevant to Ferelden, which we're specifically told is a backwater so all we had to do was leave Ferelden for it to no longer be plot-relevant) is the Warden's boon, which was quietly retconned when DA became a series. If the Architect survives Awakening he's staying well underground, so it makes sense that he doesn't show up in later games. The whole point of DA2 is that none of Hawke's choices change what ultimately happens on the larger scale of Thedas; the lyrium idol is found, the viscount is killed when the Qunari attack, and the mage rebellion is kickstarted no matter what choices Hawke makes, which makes it both a compelling tragedy and really easy to work around in terms of future games. Even in DAV the game always ends with Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain dealt with and Solas sealed away in the Fade where no one can talk to him to maintain the Veil; the most significant worldstate alteration is which city got blighted, and given we're shown the blight being pushed back from Minrathous after Elgar'nan and Solas are dealt with Bioware could easily get around that causing any major worldstate changes by a) avoiding Minrathous and Treviso in the next game and/or b) skipping ahead a few years and saying that the changes to the blight made it possible to cleanse much more quickly than it could be in the past.

It's not that your choices don't matter, it's that the writing is tailored so that the way they matter is roughly the same in the long run regardless of which you pick. Or to put it another way the decision points matter more than the decisions themselves; things like who rules Ferelden, who Hawke sided with and which city got blighted matter in that someone rules Ferelden thanks to the Warden, Hawke helped someone more or less win the day at the start of the mage rebellion, and a city was blighted in the dragon attack while Rook protected the other one. The exact details will ultimately come down to flavour text in future instalments, but the fact that the decision was made? That can matter. The issue is just DAI, because in DAI they did set up a bunch of things that should've had a major impact on the plot of the next game, but because they were variables none of them could. It's the fact that they handled it so well in DA2 and DAV (and even DAO to a lesser extent) that makes that failure to consider the writing of the next game stand out so much. I suspect that in DAI they had a lot of big, interesting ideas and there wasn't anyone to tell them "hey, we need to keep the fact that every option has to lead to a roughly equivalent worldstate in mind" before the game was shipped; as an example Mythal getting Urthemiel's soul is a really cool concept that they could've done some interesting things with! But it can't be important because it doesn't happen in every worldstate, and it would be... difficult at best to fit something like that into just flavour text. Basically at the end of the day DAI's choices are a problem because they should have had an impact on the plot moving foward. Not because they didn't.

You know what? I think a lot of DAV's biggest plot weaknesses ultimately come back to DAI, because a lot of them can be summarized as "Why didn't they get into [thing that DAI set up]" and... the answer is that Bioware was never going to be able to meaningfully engage with those things, and they should've known that when they wrote them into DAI. The Divine, Kieran's existence, Urthemiel's soul, the Well of Sorrows, all that stuff DAI set up that people are mad DAV didn't focus on? All of those should have led to pretty big alterations in the worldstate, and the worldstate has to remain roughly the same for everyone. We were never going to get the massive impact those choices should've had, for the same reason the Warden's boon at the end of DAO was quietly forgotten about as soon as Dragon Age became a series instead of a standalone game: the writing just can't support choices that would create such massive divergences. Like... take Urthemiel. Whether or not Mythal got Urthemiel's soul (and by extension whether or not Solas potentially had the chance to take it) should have been a huge deal! It should've led to two pretty different paths! Except... it can't. Because Bioware can only write one story for each game they make, which means the critical path can't really change beyond flavour text and occasionally which character gets a cameo slot; Mythal didn't get Urthemiel's soul in every worldstate, so Urthemiel's soul can never be relevant to the main plot. And the thing is, they would've known that going in! DAI was the third game, they must have known that worldstate variation could never be more than flavour text and cameos! Hell, you can see Bioware scrambling to make all the Divine options more or less the same in terms of impact on Thedosian society in DAI, which was definitely done to make writing sequels feasible. So why did they write Mythal getting Urthemiel's soul into DAI? And it's the same for all those other big, story-changing choices. People have differing opinions on the merits of including variable flavour text just to say it's there but that's not what this is about; in terms of the actual plot the variables cannot be relevant (unless it's something like the Warden ally choice where every option is ultimately the same in terms of plot impact, and even that one's pushing it; it never is explained how Hawke ended up friendly with Loghain). I think when talking about choices from DAI that DAV didn't engage with it's important to take a second to ask yourself if Bioware could have written a version of events that worked equally well with every possible outcome of that choice and could be tweaked to engage with every variation without having any major impact on the main plot. If the answer is no I think it's better described as a DAI problem than a DAV problem, because it's not actually DAV's fault that DAI wrote checks it couldn't cash.

[sunny374940]

May I have this dance?

So I'm finally done with the story about Rook and Emmrich attending a ball. Or not done, because it got way too long, but at least the first part is finished (the second part wil be them jumping each other's bones).

@profoundlyfaded, this is what you made me do (thank you, I'm having a great time).

Cw: sexual harrasment directed at Rook, because nobles are annoying, but nothing terribly graphic.

Here on ao3

And here are my other stories.

“Presenting Rook, leader of The Veilguard, and his companion, Emmrich Volkarin of the Mourn Watch,” the master of ceremonies announced (and he was yelling too much, Rook thought).

The rest of their friends had all made their excuses to the Archon as to why they couldn't come (there were suddenly so many pressing matters everywhere, that Rook was surprised the world wasn't ending again), but not him, because the leader of the damn Veilguard had to attend a ball to celebrate the defeat of the Evanuris. It stood to reason, but that didn’t make it any better.

There were assorted claps and oohs and aahs from the starstruck crowd as they made their way down the stairway. Emmrich was holding onto Rook’s arm and he looked so beautiful, almost regal in his finery, clinking gently with his grave gold. One bright spot to this, at least. They finally descended onto the ballroom floor and Rook gently steered Emmrich away from the crowd. 

The ballroom of the Archon's summer “villa” (if the word could be used to describe a network of buildings several times the size of the Lighthouse) was a vast place. The ceiling was glittering with magelight and the stained glass windows were letting in the last of the sun's rays, creating a kaleidoscope of color on the walls. 

“Do we really have to be here?” he whispered through gritted teeth. He did come (almost) willingly, but the amount of people populating the ballroom and the attention they were paying to them were getting to him.

“Darling, the Archon of Tevinter himself is holding a celebration in our - and especially your - honor. So yes, we do have to be here,” Emmrich whispered back to him. He seemed to be enjoying himself, which was the only reason Rook wasn’t already begging him to leave. He knew how much Emmrich liked mingling at parties and there hadn’t been many of those while they were saving the world.

“Ugh.” Rook rolled his eyes. Emmrich had persuaded him to wear formal attire (“Darling, I must insist you wear shoes for once in your life!”) and he was very much not into it, but he would do it for him, if begrudgingly. But the damned shoes were pinching his feet and this was where he was drawing the line, regardless of the fact that it was the very love of his life who had made him wear them. 

“I'll be right back, love,” he said, kissing Emmrich on the cheek, and left under the pretense of going to eat some of the tiny cakes that were set out on the tables bordering the ballroom (though he did actually eat some, seeing as he was already there, and made a note to come back for more later). He toed off the blasted things and slid them under the table with his foot in the hope that the long tablecloth would hide them from sight.

He padded back to Emmrich, who was now engaged in conversation with Dorian and The Iron Bull, and slotted himself against his side.

“And how is being the Archon treating you, Dorian?” Emmrich said as he brought his arm up to sling it across Rook’s shoulders. He relaxed gratefully into the touch.

“Ah, yes, someone needs to lead the masses and all that,” Dorian waved his hand a touch dismissively. “Though I do hope to lead them into a better future.”

“A worthy endeavor, to be certain,” Emmrich nodded.

Dorian turned to Rook, taking in the way he was keeping his eyes down, trying to hide away from the nobles who seemed to be just itching to have a conversation with the leader of the Veilguard.

“I can see you’re suffering,” he said and Rook could only nod miserably.

“And I get him, kadan, I really do,” Bull said, flicking his eyes to Rook’s bare feet. He made no comment, but gave him a grin and a one-eyed blink (was he winking at him?).

“Yes, yes, the horrors of fine wine and noble company,” Dorian retorted with a wry chuckle.

“I could do with more wine and less company. I’ve got better ideas about spending the night than this,” Bull said and then he tilted Dorian's face up with a finger under his chin and kissed him gently, making Dorian’s cheeks turn red. 

“Bull, I am the Archon! I can’t be seen blushing like a- a maiden,” Dorian sputtered.

“You’re not the Archon of the bedroom, though,” Bull said with a waggle of his eyebrows.

“Bull!” Dorian smacked a hand against Bull’s arm and Rook was laughing, holding onto Emmrich, and finally the party was looking up.

“Darling!” Emmrich chided gently, but there was an amused quirk to his lips.

“Please excuse us, I have something to discuss with my husband.” Dorian bowed to them with an exaggerated flourish and then took hold of Bull’s arm, dragging him away. They heard a faint ‘finally’ from Bull as the pair made their way to the door.

“Hey, since they're leaving, can we-” But Rook wasn't allowed to finish the sentence, as a young nobleman took advantage of the opening.

“May I have a dance, ser?” he asked, voice syrupy sweet and Rook didn't want to dance with him at all.

“No, thanks, I don't dance” he said, hoping to get rid of him quickly.

“But I am sure that you would be very good at it, with a proper partner. One that could keep up with you,” he said with a sideways glance at Emmrich and touched Rook's chest in a gesture that he likely meant to be flirtatious, but it only made Rook's skin crawl. 

Rook took a breath in outrage. He might have been able to deal with him quietly, but after taking a jab at Emmrich? He would let the man know just how much he miscalculated. But as he opened his mouth to speak (and cause a scene), Emmrich placed a hand on the noble’s arm, looking the very picture of calmness.

“My dear ser, I believe you have just been told no,” he said levelly.

“I wasn't asking y-” 

There was the tiniest sound, almost lost in the noise of the ballroom, like a lightning spark earthing itself, and the noble snatched his hand back with a yelp and gave Emmrich a wide-eyed stare, before retreating without another word. Rook turned to Emmrich with a disbelieving grin.

“Emmrich?”

“Yes, darling?” Emmrich said, radiating innocence.

“Did you just zap the guy?”

“Oh, I would never! You wound me!” Emmrich put a hand to his chest in mock outrage, but then their eyes met and they burst out laughing, holding onto each other for support.  

“I believe we have earned a moment of respite, what do you think, Rook?”

“Finally,” he whispered to himself, but Emmrich’s barely audible answering snort (though he would never admit to doing something as unseemly as snorting) told him he’d been heard.

They left the ballroom hand in hand and crept along the silent corridors, giggling like schoolboys, stealing kisses in alcoves, until they found a door leading to the gardens. The moon was hanging high in the sky, casting the jasmine trees in a soft silver light. They stepped onto the grass and it was damp with evening dew, making Rook sigh in contentment at the refreshing feeling of it. He wiggled his toes, closing his eyes for a moment and Emmrich noticed his lack of footwear at last.

“Darling, where are your shoes?” Emmrich was raising an eyebrow and Rook found himself grinning sheepishly.

“They, uh, ran away? They didn't want to be here either, I guess.”

Emmrich sighed in fond exasperation and stroked his fingers against Rook's cheek. He leaned into the touch, enjoying the warmth of Emmrich's hand against his skin.

“Whatever shall I do with you?” Emmrich asked and the music from the ballroom was floating down to them from the open windows and Rook knew exactly what he wanted.

“Dance with me?” 

He held his hand out to Emmrich, who took it, but made no move to start dancing just yet.

“Weren't you saying you don't dance?” Emmrich teased. “I distinctly remember hearing it but a little while ago.”

“It's called lying, love,” Rook grinned. “But you should probably lead, I'm not very good at this,” he added bashfully.

“It would be my honor.” 

And they danced, in fits and starts at first, as Rook was figuring out where to put his feet without treading on Emmrich's, but they were growing more confident with each step. Emmrich was leading him with a sure hand at his waist and Rook surrendered to the motion, loving the way Emmrich's other hand was gently holding his, the way he was looking into his eyes with such soft adoration that it was making Rook's heart melt.

The violins swelled and Emmrich twirled him around and he laughed breathlessly, feeling like a hero of one of Lucanis’ romance novels. As the music was dying down, Emmrich dipped him, making him look up into his face and then he bent down to kiss him and there would have been fireworks if the novel he was in knew what it was doing. As it was, Rook felt his cheeks warm and returned the kiss with wild abandon and no fireworks could ever be as good as this.

“What would you like to do now, Rook?” Emmrich asked after he helped him stand up again.

Rook knew that if he asked to leave, Emmrich would oblige him, even if he would have preferred to stay himself. But he wasn't going to be that selfish, not when Emmrich was doing everything in his power to make him feel comfortable.

“I guess I could manage going back inside, if you'd like. I know you were enjoying yourself before.”

“You want an excuse to eat more dessert, don't you, darling?” Emmrich laughed softly. And it wasn't completely untrue, if Rook was being honest. 

“You know me so well. But seriously, I want you to have a good time tonight.”

“Thank you, I appreciate your thoughtfulness. And I must admit that I noticed a colleague earlier who I haven't seen in quite some time. She has made incredible advances in the preservation of the dead and I would love to discuss her findings with her.”

“Let's go then. But the shoes are staying off.”

“I wouldn't dare suggest otherwise, dearest. I have learned my lesson.”

Emmrich offered him an arm and they made their way back to the ballroom. They managed to get in through a side door, rather than the main entrance, and that thankfully meant much less attention this time. They took a moment to walk around, poking fun at the decor (“Hey, Emmrich, that candle holder looks like a pair of boobs.” “It most certainly does n- Oh.”) and then Emmrich spotted his colleague and went to greet her, but not before repeatedly assuring himself that Rook truly was okay with being left alone. And Rook really preferred not to join them, as there was only so much talk of embalming methods he could stomach before having to excuse himself.

Rook was leaning back against the dessert table, snacking on some kind of round, brightly colored pastry. It tasted faintly of almonds and he had no idea what it was, but it tasted really good, so he grabbed a few more for later. He saw that Emmrich was caught up in an animated discussion and was gesturing wildly with his hands, likely trying to get a point across and Rook smiled to himself, glad they came back in.

He was finishing his third colorful snack while watching couples twirl around on the dancefloor, lost in thought, when a large hand clapped him on the shoulder and stayed there, gripping him uncomfortably. And why the fuck did everyone think they were welcome to touch him today? Just what the fuck was wrong with them? Rook looked up, eyebrows drawn together in annoyance. A large man, a good head taller than Rook was standing next to him, giving him the worst excuse for a seductive smile he’d ever had the misfortune of seeing.

“So, you finally ditched that old windbag, eh? But a pretty little thing like you shouldn’t be left all alone-”

A thing. That was all he was to this kind of person and he definitely didn’t feel obligated to engage him more than necessary, or even let him finish speaking, so he went straight to the point.

“Fuck off,” he spat and tried to shrug off the offending hand, but the hold on him was strong and the man's other hand came to clutch at the front of Rook’s shirt, dragging him closer, until his face was inches from Rook's. 

“I could fuck the fight right out of you,” he whispered, and the smell of alcohol in his breath made Rook want to retch.

Rook glanced over to where he last spotted Emmrich and saw him still deep in conversation. Good. Emmrich would probably be a little mad at him if he knew what he was about to do, so he might as well do it while he wasn't looking. He leaned away as much as the hold on him allowed, then he brought his head forward full-force and struck his forehead against the man's nose with a resounding crack, hard enough to send him falling onto his ass.

“Ow.” 

Rook rubbed at his forehead. This would definitely bruise, but it was very much worth it. The man was holding onto his bleeding nose, trying to scramble back onto his feet and yelling at him.

“You filthy knife-ear, I’ll show you-”

He got no further than that, as he was suddenly being hoisted up by the scruff of his neck by The Iron Bull, who was grinning at Rook. He must have seen what happened and seemed to be enjoying himself immensely.

“Hey, kadan, we almost missed the fun!” he shouted over his shoulder.

“You shouldn't have taken so long, then.” Dorian was sauntering towards them, straightening the collar of his robes and Rook thought he could see a faint hickey on the side of his neck, before it was quickly concealed.

“I didn't hear you complaining when I was doing it.”

“Shut up, amatus,” Dorian hissed in Bull’s direction. Then he turned to the guards who were posted at the doors closest to them to order them to take the man away, but Rook wasn't paying attention anymore, because Emmrich arrived at his side. He was looking him over with a worried expression, and his eyes widened as he took in the bruise on Rook's forehead.

“Darling, are you alright? What happened?”

“I'm fine, just a headache,” Rook grinned. “He wanted to get a piece of me. So he got it.”

This vague description was met with a singular raised eyebrow. Fine, he would tell him if he wanted to know so badly.

“He wanted to fuck me and I disagreed, so he got mad, I guess.”

“He what?” Emmrich almost shouted, outraged. “I shall have some words with him.”

Rook suspected there would be less words and more violence, if the way Emmrich's hands were shaking with barely contained anger was anything to go by.

“No need, my dear professor,” Dorian interjected. “He will get what is coming to him soon enough.”

“Very well. I trust your judgment,” Emmrich said, a tad reluctantly, but didn't press the matter.

“And you lot can go back to whatever you were doing, nothing to see here,” Dorian added, shooing away the many guests who stopped close by to pretend they weren't staring. The musicians began a new piece, prompting Bull to offer his hand to Dorian with a bow and they left for the dancefloor. 

Rook hissed at a new pang of pain from his forehead. Did he manage to give himself a concussion? Emmrich turned back to him at the sound and the pain was gone in an instant with a quick healing spell.

“Thanks, love.”

“You are welcome, my dear. Do you need to leave?” 

“I'm good. I don't think that there's anyone around who wants to try getting close to me after this. But I wouldn't mind letting them know who I belong to anyway.”

And it was just like Emmrich to completely misunderstand, worried as he was about Rook's wellbeing right now.

“Rook, I would never presume to claim ownership of you. You are your own person first and foremost,” he said sincerely.

“I know, love,” Rook chuckled. “But I like being yours,” he purred into Emmrich's ear and heard a sharp intake of breath as realization dawned. 

“Is that so, dearest?”

Rook nodded, eyes glinting with mischief, and raised himself up on his toes to kiss Emmrich passionately, heedless of the whispers he caused among the nobles who still insisted on pretending they weren't watching them. They finally parted and Emmrich’s eyes were dark with desire, making Rook’s breath hitch. 

“May I have this dance?” Emmrich asked, taking hold of his hand and kissing his knuckles. 

Rook nodded eagerly and they joined the other couples on the dancefloor. Emmrich took the lead again and Rook noticed with some satisfaction that the hand on his waist was holding onto him tighter than before, and despite all of Emmrich's protests to the contrary, he had a feeling that he did actually like showing others that Rook was his. They were swaying together to the music and Rook was doing his best to stay as close to Emmrich as possible, their bodies touching, though he did enjoy the few times Emmrich made him twirl around just for the fun of it. The music then quieted down, but they stayed pressed together, breathing heavily, though not just with the exertion of dancing.

“Rook, you have no idea what you do to me,” Emmrich said, and there was a faint flush on his cheeks. Rook liked the sight a lot.

“Oh? Wanna show me?”

“Is that a challenge, my dear?”

“And what if it is?”

Emmrich drew closer, his breath warm against Rook's lips, but he didn't kiss him just yet.

“Then I will make you mine tonight,” Emmrich whispered and Rook took him by the hand and dragged him out of the ballroom.

[paintedkinzy-88]

I really hate to be this person, but my cat has to get surgery and the cost is really going to wipe us out, unfortunately, so…

I’ve been working on making a RedBubble for prints and such, and I’ll probably get stickers set up on Etsy as soon as I’m able to, but for now I set up a Ko-Fi for a sort of commission-like opportunity.

Until January 16th, I will draw a dragon design for a character of your choice for $25! Not like a full reference sheet, I wanna have the time to get to as many as I can if I need to, but still fully rendered like above. Dragons are the one thing I think I can draw consistently and repeatedly, so I’m sorry it’s nothing more broad! 😭

Rules are under the cut, PLEASE READ THEM before you do anything! ❤️ I am very new with this, so please be patient with me.

Link to my page is here, and I’ll put it on my Masterpost as well.

Thank you, whether you can donate or not. I appreciate all the support you guys have ever given me. (ﾉ´ヮ´)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

REQUEST RULES:

You can place your orders under the Requests section!

The listing will close after January 16th, 11:59 PM PST, and I set my max request slots to 15, so I’m not too overwhelmed lmao.

Leave your Tumblr account in the description box of the request, alongside the requested character, so I may contact you and/or tag you in the completed drawing’s post! If you want to remain anonymous, though, that is totally fine as well.

I will send updates/process pictures unless you tell me otherwise, or you go the anon route!

If you have a certain dragon character already in mind, want an OC done, or have any additional requests for the piece (pose, dragon type, any sort of design specifications), tell me in the instructions! There should be a section for images as well. Or you can message me here, of course!

I WILL be posting every finished piece here, unless told otherwise!

If you do not send specifications, I will design the dragon(s) as I see fit to the character! (ﾉ´ヮ´)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

I cannot promise any kind of time frame for when the drawing will be complete. I do have other things that take up my time. I will try to complete them ASAP!

Should you want more than one character in the same shot, I’d say it’s an extra $10 for each additional design (in the listing). But, if you want each character on their own page, that is a separate order, $25 each.

These are for fully rendered pieces in my style, no backgrounds, and no reference sheets. If you want other options for cheaper, like just a colored sketch, message me first and we can talk about that as well. :)

Depending on how this week goes, I may choose to do this again in the future with more formality and flexibility! This is just a bit of an emergency. ;w;

Message me/send an Ask if you have any questions!!

The Ko-Fi also serves as a sort of tip jar, should you simply want to donate a $5 coffee instead. By all means, if you cannot or don’t want to donate, PLEASE don’t. I just don’t really know what else to do. :/

The above image is one of the designs I made for Ink in UTMV. Further examples of my work are below!

(Note that the drawings will be more like these first two examples!! For price reference, the two characters would have been $35, and the five $65)

[our-ensemble]

How else could HappyElements go about writing Ibuki?

Just a little exercise to see what else Enstars could have done with Ibuki besides what they're doing now. (This one is long!)

When it comes to putting Ibuki in another unit, its very debatable, but its not impossible. Below are just my own thoughts and I'll get into why I wrote this at the bottom.

So, units!

fine: Not the best. Writing-wise, I don't think it's impossible to fit Ibuki in... somewhere? But all in all, fine doesn't lend itself to a story that would make Ibuki's addition natural. Also, aesthetically, it doesn't seem up Ibuki's alley. While Eichi's actions in Okinawa could lead to an interesting conflict with developments for both parties which plays into real-life social issues, that depends on Enstars' ability to write it, which is currently in an unideal place. That being said, I am waiting for the day that Ibuki sues Eichi. Put your court skills to use!

Trickstar: Likely not. Again, like with fine, Trickstar's overall writing makes this difficult and unnatural. Maybe with a lot of pre-existing development where its made clear that he'll join, but otherwise, he's difficult to slot in Trickstar's current dynamic (and that's not even going into Trickstar's historical importance to its producers as being the four of them + Anzu).

Ryuseitai: Possible! Ryuseitai is currently in a directional shift + leadership shift, and Ibuki's addition plays well into this setup. Additionally, in Enstars, the pre-existing lore is that units must have 2 - 5 idols as a result of War-era imposed restrictions, and it would be interesting to see how that tidbit of worldbuilding holds up in relation to this idea. Ibuki and Tetora's interaction in Ibuki's Idol Story 2 also provides some idea of how Ibuki's inclusion would go, and the interaction also makes the inclusion less sudden. Though, if memory serves me well, he rejected being the leader of EsuPuri because it was child-like? or childish? Anyway, he might have similar concerns with Ryuseitai - or he could embrace his inner-child some more. Ibuki should watch Kamen Rider Geats.

ALKALOID: It can work! ALKALOID is in a bit of a lull writing-wise, and adding Ibuki could be just the thing to stir them up. Ibuki's personality + identity means that like each member, he is marginalized, but his narrative doesn't seem to be stepping on anyone's toes. He also seems more ambitious and energetic than the average member, which could be interesting. The points about Tetora made above also apply with Hiiro and Ibuki. However, how Ibuki would wind up in ALKALOID seems hard to determine, since they are weapons-but-not-really-anymore of StarPro. Unless Eichi takes interest in Ibuki? Plus, there are only 4 suits in a deck of cards. Guess we'll have to make up a fifth one... (Would Ibuki be "one of the kids" or would he be Tatsumi's grandchild? The world will never know...)

Eden: Highly unlikely. Unless Ibuki REALLY sweeps Ibara off his feet, its not happening. Eden also has an "it is the Four of them" atmosphere - and even if it didn't, I can't imagine Ibuki being the most comfortable in this setup. The aesthetics also aren't really for him. Maybe when you're older and more experienced, Ibuki...

2wink: How. (everything from this point on is a joke to be clear) In the twin unit? The 2 unit? Do we kick one of them out? Does Ibuki become a triplet? What's the thought process here? Where are we going from here? Is Ibuki the family therapist? Are we finally getting 3wink (thrwink... thwink...)?

Valkyrie: In Shu's words - Non. Writing-wise, this just wouldn't happen. Plus - and this really was the only way that I could word this - Valkyrie's freakisms are not for the weak of heart, and while I don't doubt Ibuki's tenacity, I'm not sure if he would want to be around these two for an extended period of time. The aesthetics also aren't tailored to him. Additionally, Shu's habit of calling Rinne a barbarian doesn't translate well here, and gets us into a situation with a lot of microaggressions and little to no resolution.

Crazy:B: There's a chance - if Lady Luck's in your favour. If any unit were to suddenly add a guy midway, it should be the rebellious unit, no? A unit that appeals to outsiders could also make Ibuki feel welcome as someone unfamiliar to Japan - or it could make him feel more isolated, but that depends on a lot of things. In their writing, Crazy:B has been focusing a lot on their interpersonal relationships lately, and Ibuki's addition might get them back into their greater theme of rebellion - or it could ruin what has been established about their interpersonal relationships, and we wind up going over the same song and dance when it comes to rebellion. Fans are also really fond of the Crazy:B dynamic now, so adding in another guy likely would not fair well. Then, same concern as ALKALOID - how would Ibuki end up here? Lady Luck'll have to be extra nice to Ibuki if he joins this unit...

UNDEAD: Hard to imagine. Honestly, I just couldn't visualize this one. In all fairness, Enstars' ability to integrate Kaoru and Adonis into UNDEAD's major arcs hasn't always been the most stable (see: HappyElements not using their names once in the original summary for UNDEAD's climax event) and Ibuki would likely get the same treatment, if not worse. Again, very hard to integrate Ibuki in writing-wise, and he would definitely be outright neglected. A shame, because while he might not be suited to UNDEAD as a unit, it's not as impossible to imagine his interactions with the individual members.

Ra*bits: Hmm... Ra*bits' recent attempts to mix "cute" and "cool" so as to stand apart from girl groups while still retaining their existing appeal gives a bit of room to work with. Ibuki's definitely a "cool" guy, so I imagine that he could teach them quite a bit - but it doesn't look like he gets much in return for now. Aesthetically, it bears for him the same problems that EsuPuri does. Again, that doesn't even go into Ra*bits as "the Four of them". Maybe if they develop a lot of interaction beforehand and clearly outline their future goal...

Knights: I have ideas (but Enstars might not)! With Esu formerly studying under Knights, do you have any idea how funny this would be? People were a bit peeved that EsuPuri and Knights had similar aesthetics, but introducting Ibuki into Knights then setting up Knights as their senpai + rival could be so fun, especially with a rivalry between Esu and Ibuki to mimic the older rivalries our protagonists had (Trickstar - fine, ALKALOID - Crazy:B). Like, the guy that dropped out of being leader, ultimately leading to you to become leader in his absence, is now singing and dancing with your senpai who are considered some of the best in the industry. Also, like with Ryuseitai, we get to poke at the worldbuilding that previously established that units cannot have more than 5 members. Please tell me you see the vision. (though I will concede that the aesthetics + goals of Knights don't scream Ibuki).

There's also something here that applies with some other units as well - which is that putting Ibuki in units where the leader is one of the younger characters in the franchise helps show off how pre-existing characters have grown. Since Enstars characters have been aged up a year 1-2 times, there's been quite a bit of growth for them, but people tend to be stuck with their impressions of when these characters were younger. EsuPuri + Ibuki can help show the growth of the younger characters by putting them into senpai positions, sometimes for the first time. So, for Knights, it means that Tsukasa would have a proper junior for the first time - which either leads to interesting developments for the Knights characters or neglect of pre-existing relationships.

Which is to say that a) we get to see Kasa-kun curbstomp a bunch of children and b) we get to see Kasa-kun realize that having an energetic junior isn't better than having energetic seniors.

Switch: Not the one. Can't really see Ibuki in this one for, as always, aesthetic and writing purposes. Additionally, SwitchPs have noticed that Sora doesn't get as much attention as the other two, which could go in two ways. 1) Ibuki and Sora become an in-unit pair akin to Natsume and Tsumugi, and their developing relationship allows them to battle this disparity in attention or 2) the lack of attention gets heightened, with either Sora, or Ibuki - or even both - being neglected.

MaM: Interesting. Madara and Ibuki both seem to be the independent type, and its noted that Madara isn't mindful of others when dancing in a group since he's used to being alone. Though, his experiences in Double Face must have changed that, and it would be interesting to see how he has changed since Double Face's creation - but if not written well, it could trivialize Double Face's history. On one hand, fans enjoy seeing Madara make friends, but on the other hand, Madara's choice of being solo has been quite the question, and Ibuki's addition might bury this worldbuilding away if not written well. It definitely has potential, but it has just as much potential to go awry. Ibuki could be Madara's lawyer instead I guess.

Solo: HappyElements, hire me and I will raise you to levels you could never fathom!

They could have made a whole show of it! Have Ibuki go from unit to unit where he's their understudy for the duration of the event and have him assess whether or not he wants to join! This would tie into the junior system in J-POP where idols pre-debut usually become backup dancers for other units, going on to do interviews, songs and other things to build up a reputation before debuting and using their now established fanbase to make a lot of dough! It would tie in so well to the idol-like direction that HappyElements is taking with 4piece!

It could have been such a grand event! Have them build up the hype over time, show off the pros and cons that Ibuki sees in joining a unit, and then when the time comes to announce his decision after months, maybe even years in real-life - pull the rug out from under everyone and have him go solo! And since going solo isn't allowed in-universe, have them confront the War-era rules that continue to affect idols! Let Ibuki challenge the idol rules that Eichi once established and mess with the system!

And if he were rivals with Esu? Imagine if he outperforms EsuPuri as a solo idol - that's gotta be a hit to Esu as a leader... Man...

and AKATSUKI...

The new AKATSUKI could have been "an idea of Japan that represents everyone" which acknowledges those beyond the Yamato. It could have recognized the diversity in Japan, and allowed for the "idea" of Japan to no longer be dominated by the majority - a unit that respects the people of Japan who are normally forgotten. An AKATSUKI were Ibuki's traditions are celebrated, not chiseled down.

Instead, Ibuki is being absorbed into "the traditional Japan" - a very different scenario from the above.

That's all from me. I have a little extra info below for the curious.

Why write this? It's not really related to your blog...?

Fair question. But for one, I think that we forget that writing is a part of HappyElements' problem of discrimination (but just one part). As people have mentioned for years with Adonis, its pretty clear that the message is that racism is bad - its just that in their writing, HappyElements reinforces the racism that it claims to be against, thus pitting themselves against their own message.

This is only exemplified more in the recent AKATSUKI event, but what I really want to address is fan reactions.

There's a bit of a rift growing now, particularly with AKATSUKIPs and IbukiPs

"If you were a real AKATSUKI fan, you would still recognize and support them as four."

"AKATSUKI is only ever three, the AKATSUKI with Ibuki in it is not who I grew to love."

"AKATSUKI fans are being so rude - there is no problem with Ibuki joining, and he deserves to be in a unit."

"Ibuki shouldn't be in this unit, and it hurts for me as his producer to see him here."

But here's the thing:

Fans are not the ones who created this situation, so why are they blaming each other?

Enstars did not write a good event for either AKATSUKI or Ibuki, frankly speaking. Even if you remove every incident of racism from Enstars, the writing quality is still bad. Even if the writing quality was good in this event, it would not change the imperialistic tones.

But this is not a dichotomy - HappyElements doesn't have to choose between making either AKATSUKIPs happy or IbukiPs happy. It could have written anything else, as I've demonstrated in my writing exercise above. Some fans have been theorizing about other units Ibuki could join, and some are rather amenable to Ibuki joining their own favorites! HappyElements chose the most divisive decision, sullied further by a slew of problems.

When the song Tenshou KAGETSU was first released, prior to the story release, there was a common sentiment in the comments:

"Let's hope for an event that will make us both [AKATSUKIP and IbukiP] happy!"

And their hopes weren't misplaced. It was more than possible.

HappyElements' choice is what made it impossible.

[lavampira]

I’ve temporarily given up bidding on a house again so I’m tempted to redecorate d’alia’s apartment :o)

[ouaw-facts-i-just-made-up]

The Krew works out together, usually honing a particular skill that they wish to work on (agility, weight lifting, defensive maneuvers, etc). Gideon is always extremely excited about it, and as the only one who's actually into fitness, he likes to hype up everyone especially when they beat their PB.

He'd never admit it but seeing Gideon happy is the reason Kremy actually gives a shit rather than phoning it in. The rest, while it's a bit of a struggle, do enjoy having a skill to get them out of a bind.

Hootsie gets put in a little coach outfit too, she's not helping really but isn't she cute???

[solomiracle]

i think it'd be interesting if the brothers' comments on solomon acting more like a demon than human actually went somewhere. it's really only used for comedy, but even then, it kinda falls flat since it seems to only stem from him being immortal and shady or whatever. if they focused on it and made it have some weight, i think it could be a really good source of angst and character development for solomon.

solomon prides himself on being humanity's protector, the one who will keep his fellow humans safe from unnecessary otherworldly interference. but if demons started comparing him to themselves, denying him his humanity, his entire motivation for doing what he does, how would that make him feel?

[exopelagic]

DND IS SO FUCKING COOL

[valiasims]

Cozy Cabin Collection - Nursery

Hey everyone!

Sorry for the delay I was working a lot on this to be the way I wanted it to be but here it is! The next part of the Cozy Cabin Colletion is the nursery.

This time I wanted to bring a cozy, bear themed nursery with neutral colors and elements that represent nature.

This set has started a little difficult and I had to change some things because I wanted to include windows too but I realized there are so many things I want to make that the windows have to be left out this time. So I basically wasted a 3-4 days. Technically those days aren't wasted because I'll include the windows hopefully in the next set but I had less time for the items in this set.

I had a rough time with the curtains because at first these looked more thrown on the crib but I discovered that the arch is exactly the same as some in-game arched windows and I wanted them to be useable more ways so I redid them to be more curtainy. This inspired me to do arched windows so maybe I'll do them next, I'm not sure yet.

So about the items. I made these arches with the wooden frames to go together as you can see. All of them come in all 3 wall heights. The best to place them with half tile placement turned on with the F5 key.

I added 3 different furniture to slot into the wooden frames. You can mix and match these however you like or use them separately. With the half tile placement you can put them next to each other perfectly. 2 of them are shelves and one is a dresser with dresser functionality.

I mentioned the curtains the fit perfectly under the arch so you can use them like a canopy above the crib.

The changing table is base game and functional.

(The armchair and deco cushion is from the previous Entryway set.)

I think that's it, please let me know how you like it and if you have any errors, problems let me know as well! Hope you have a nice day/night and enjoy this set as much as I loved to create it. Despite some things being difficult I really enjoyed doing these items and this is my favourite collection I've done so far.

The Set Includes

Crib

Changing Table

Wooden Arch (3 heights)

Wooden Frame (3 heights, Left and Right variation)

Dresser

Shelves (2 variations, with tree design, without tree design)

Sheer Curtains

Bear Lights (3 heights)

Baby Blankets

Stack of Books

Children's Books

Lying Bear Plushie

Sitting Bear Plushie

Wooden Bears Family Deco

Round Rug

-DOWNLOAD HERE- Public release on the 17th of December 6PM CST

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Till The Water Boils Over Or The Frog Drowns.

Pairing: Yan!Gojo x Reader x Yan!Geto (JJK).

Word Count: 5.8k.

TW: No Curses AU, Dub/Con -> Non/Con (Revoked Consent), Fem!Reader, Oral Sex, Unprotected Sex, Kidnapping, Financial Abuse, Psychological Abuse, Infantilization, Spanking, Unbalanced Power Dynamics, and Forced Codependency. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

[Part Two]

It started the day Satoru first introduced the concept of ‘time out’ to your relationship.

He was immature and you were stubborn. You loved him, but without Suguru’s even temper and calming presence, sparks tended to fly in a way that left you at each other’s throats. With your arms crossed over your chest and your eyes narrowed, you’d watched him sigh, roll his eyes, and storm out of your shared bedroom, slamming the door behind him. You gave yourself a second, then another – sucking in a shallow breath and shutting your eyes, talking yourself through all your usual cool-down methods. You were supposed to go out, tonight, to a restaurant you and Satoru had both been talking about for weeks. You still had about an hour before Suguru was supposed to get home, before you were all supposed to leave together. It wasn’t a good day to fight, even if you knew Suguru would smooth everything over as soon as he got home.

When you were done, you moved to the bedroom door. One hour was plenty of time to talk things out. One hour was plenty of time to kiss and make up, even if you would hold a grudge for a—

You pushed gently on the door. It didn’t budge.

You tried the knob. It turned, but the door still didn’t open.

You pressed your shoulder into the wood, shoving with more force than you ever should’ve had to use. Something shifted – a chair slotted underneath the handle, Satoru’s back leaning against the other side of the thin wood – but didn’t give.

The frustration you’d only just managed to suppress resurfaced immediately. Still pressed against your side of the door, you called out, attempting to keep your tone soft, light. “Satoru? Baby?”

 The sweetness in his voice was equally artificial. “I’m right here, angel.”

“I—I think the door might be jammed.” You tried the knob again, rattling the metal for emphasis. Satoru only hummed in response, and you grimaced. “Are you gonna let me out, ‘toru? I really don’t have time to be—”

“Ninety minutes.”

“…ninety minutes?”

“Ninety minutes,” he repeated. You could practically hear the smirk in his voice. “After that, we can check and see if you’re still feelin’ so bratty.”

You were almost thankful there was a door between you. If it hadn’t been there, you might not have been able to stop yourself from throttling him. “Satoru, I really don’t have time to—”

There was an obnoxiously loud hum, the sound of footsteps moving down the hall. You groaned, resting your forehead against the cool wood. Whatever. He was being petty, again. You could do ninety minutes. And, even if you couldn’t, he’d probably be back in ten, tail between his legs and pouting for your attention.

You quickly resigned yourself to passing the time as quickly as possible. You laid face-down on your bed, bemoaning your taste in men and picturing all the ways you could break up with Satoru, once he let you out. You scrolled through your phone, spamming Suguru with half-coherent messages and memes from the very depths of your camera roll. You re-organized your closet, sorting your clothes by color and alphabetizing your shoes. You managed to read a full page of one of the bulky historical fiction novels Suguru kept on the bedside table before deciding you’d be better off breaking up with both your current boyfriends.

You checked the time when you were done, and discovered that you’d managed to kill a whopping fifteen minutes.

God, you were so fucked.

Only half-consciously, you gravitated back to the door, slumping against it. You opened your mouth, ready to call out to Satoru and say whatever you had to say to get out, but another voice cut in before you got the chance. “Baby?”

Suguru. He must’ve gotten back early. You let out a shallow sigh, letting your head fall forward in relief. “Right here,” you said, making no effort to hide your exasperation. “Can you open the door? I think ‘toru blocked me in.”

His deep chuckle was muffled, but still clearly audible. “I’m afraid I can’t. He’s still pretty mad, couldn’t stop talking about how you copped an attitude with him.” There was a pause, a shoulder being rested against the other side of the door. “I think he mentioned something about a dress?”

You were glad he couldn’t see you – he would’ve hated the way you grimaced at the reminder. “It’s a nice restaurant. I wanted to dress up a little, but he’s just so immature, and when he saw the dress I wanted to wear—”

Suguru cut in. “The red one, right?”

“Yeah, with the window on the chest.” You sighed. “Please, Suguru? I really don’t want to spend the next hour of my life locked in my own bedroom.”

Another laugh, this one more stifled than the first. “He just knows how pretty you’d look, babe. Probably doesn’t want anyone else to find out how beautiful our partner is.” When you didn’t respond, he added, “Didn’t he just buy you somethin’ brand new? He can’t complain if he’s the one who picked it out, right?”

You pursed your lips. He had – a pure ivory dress, a little shorter than mid-thigh and sleeveless, not exactly conservative, but not meant to show as much skin as you usually preferred to. It’d come with matching gold jewelry, and you’d politely accepted the gift, kissed him on the cheek, and stashed it under your bed to rot. It wasn’t ugly, nothing so expensive could be, but it suited Satoru’s tastes, not yours.

“I don’t know,” you muttered, trying to soften the harsher edges of your distaste. “You know how Satoru is. Everything he picks out is just so—so him.”

“I’m starting to think you both might be causing problems.” You kicked the base of the door, but Suguru didn’t indulge your outburst with acknowledgement. “Just try it on, alright? If it’s that bad, we can always go without him.”

It took another minute or so of condoling, but soon enough, you were slipping into Satoru’s gifted dress, cursing as you struggled with the tiny, finicky zipper and smoothed wrinkles out of abused silk. You pulled your fingers through your hair once before returning to the bedroom door and knocking defeatedly. As if to add insult to injury, the door swung open in an instant, a smiling Suguru waiting on the threshold.

“See? Absolutely gorgeous, as always.” He leaned forward, cupping your cheek. You let his lips brush over your forehead before pulling away. Thankfully, he wasn’t cruel enough to draw it out any longer – his hand falling to yours and taking it up, tugging you gently towards the living room. “Satoru’s going to forget he was ever mad at all as soon as he sees you.”

You didn’t bother responding, only slumping against his side and letting him guide you forward. Distantly, you heard Suguru calling out to Satoru, but you were already busy – too occupied promising yourself that this would never, ever happen again to care what either of them was saying.

You would, of course, be wrong.

~

Barricaded doors quickly became a weekly inconvenience. You and Satoru fought often (never intensely and never for very long, but often), and he owned the apartment – meaning, despite all your whining, you couldn’t exactly tell him that his doors couldn’t all lock from the outside. Your ‘cool-down sessions’ (Suguru’s words, not yours) lasted anywhere from twenty minutes to a couple of hours, and Suguru was always the one to let you out. When you couldn’t be locked up and left to stew, Satoru would take it upon himself to leave the apartment – if only for as long as he thought it would take for you to forget you’d argued at all. You got used to it quickly. It wasn’t fair, you didn’t enjoy it, but you got used to it. You’d always had more patience than you really should’ve, when it came to Satoru’s antics.

And then, Suguru started showering with you.

Finding time to spend together was an ever-present obstacle in your relationship. Satoru alternated sporadically between planning lectures and grading papers late into the night to rolling his eyes at the concept of due dates and dulling out extra credit on a whim, and trying to guess if Suguru would be free was a pursuit in futility – his sermons were scheduled, but he was almost always being called out on some mysterious errand on behalf of one of his countless, faceless apostles. You didn’t work at all, but you went to school, and you kept yourself busy. You’d never be as busy as Satoru and Suguru, but you did your best to keep up with them.

Currently, you were basking in the afterglow with Suguru, your head resting on his chest and his arms wrapped loosely around his waist. Satoru was already gone, rushed off to some early-morning lecture, but Suguru didn’t have anything to do, and you—well, you could miss a lecture or two if it meant spending time with him. And, even if you couldn’t, it was hard to imagine tearing yourself away from the feeling of his calloused fingers tracing aimless patterns into the small of your back, of his lips pushing warm, open-mouthed kisses into your shoulders, your collarbone, your throat. His hands drifted to your hips, grip tightening ever-so-slightly, and you felt a raspy groan reverberate against the side of your neck, Suguru pulling you close as he—

“Save it,” you said, drawing back. He pouted and you grinned, pecking the corner of his jaw and sitting up, letting his sheets pool around your waist. “Just for a few minutes – I feel gross.” A full groan, this time. You laughed, combing his disheveled hair back and pressing another kiss into his forehead, this one lingering just a beat longer than the first. “You’ll survive a shower, Suguru.”

You felt him shift underneath you. Before you had a chance to pull away, he was sitting up, his arms still around your waist – keeping you messily laid across his lap. “I’ll come with you.”

“You’ll wait your turn.” And then, when he only hummed in response, “I’m being serious. Somebody in this relationship has to wash their hair every now and then.”

His face was already buried in the crook of your neck, and he was moving toward the edge of the mattress with your body still tucked against his chest. He was planning on carrying you, presumably. Sometimes, it felt like if it were up to Suguru, you’d never walk anywhere on your own again. “I know.” His voice was still raspy with sleep, his usual articulation weighed down by the fatigue that came with a morning spent in bed. “I’ll help.”

“That’s really sweet, but—” You strung your arms around his neck as he stood up, taking you with him. “—I think I’ll be alright on my own, Suguru.”

For the first time all morning, his eyes flickered open, wandering idly in your direction. He held your gaze for a beat, then another.

Finally, the edge of his lips quirked upward – the sly, knowing grin you’d fallen in love with soon painted across his lips. When he spoke, it was in a tone to match, all confidence and cloying, calculated sweetness. “No.”

You faltered, at that. “…no?”

“Don’t wanna be away from you for that long,” he mumbled, by way of explanation. “Whatever you need to do, I’ll take care of. Don’t want you to have to worry your pretty little head over anything.”

You tried your best to laugh, but it was a weak effort, better left unacknowledged. “I don’t know how I feel about my boyfriend offering to, I don’t know, shave my legs or something.”

He only soldiered on, as if you hadn’t said anything at all.

~

You felt Satoru’s hands on your waist first, then his chest against your back. His mouth found the curve of your throat as if by instinct, teeth grazing against a bruise Suguru had left in the same spot the day before. You felt him lean against you and dropped the knife you were holding onto a nearby cutting board, bracing yourself on the edge of the counter to compensate.

You glanced over your shoulder as his head bowed, face soon buried in the dip of your shoulder. He must’ve just gotten home – he was still wearing his sunglasses, only the first three buttons on his shirt undone. You grinned, twisting around just far enough to kiss the top of his head before turning back to your ingredients. “Rough lecture?”

“Grad students,” he muttered, the dread in his voice plainly audible. “One more fucking extension request, and I swear, I’ll fail the entire class.”

You hummed, letting him sink further into you. You might’ve let him stay there, too, if one of his hands hadn’t fallen to your ass while the other slipped underneath your loose shirt. Before he could creep upward, you jabbed an elbow into his chest. “Keep it in your pants. You still smell like a college campus.”

Of course, he didn’t budge. “But I missed you,” he whined, as shameless as he was clingy. “I had to leave so early, and I was stuck in my office for so long, and I’m gonna die if I have to wait any longer. Is that what you want? For me to die?”

“You could always go to Suguru, if you’re that insatiable.”

“But I want you.” You felt a thumb slip below the waistband of your sweatpants (or, Suguru’s sweatpants, technically – he’d been unbearable unless you were wearing his clothes, recently) and batted his hand away. Your efforts were, predictably, unsuccessful. “Please, baby?” And then, after a beat. “You don’t care about dinner more than you care about me, do you?”

You felt something delicate inside of you falter, crack, then fall apart entirely. It was strange – how long you could nurse a wound without acknowledging it existed at all. “It’s not that, I just—” You stuttered, then stopped entirely. You deflated underneath Satoru’s weight, and as if in response, he held you that much tighter, keeping you as close as you could be, lest he carve open his chest and force you into the open cavity. “I… I guess I feel like I haven’t really been doing a lot for you two, lately. You pay all the bills, and Suguru goes out of his way to take care of me, and there just… It makes me feel kind of useless.” You tried to punctuate the confession with a smile, a laugh, but both were hollow beyond the point of recognizability. It would’ve been better if you hadn’t tried at all. “You get it, right? I just—I don’t want to be the only one not doing anything.”

There was a beat of silence. You felt Satoru settle against you, his chest pressing into your back before he pulled away, detaching from you entirely. You sighed, letting yourself relax.

And then, just as suddenly, you were off of your feet and in Satoru’s arm, one tucked under the bend of your knees while the other supported your back. You managed a stammered, half-coherent protest, but if Satoru was listening, he wasn’t bothered.

He carried you out of the kitchen and into the living room, your half-finished recipe forgotten in favor of dropping you onto the nearest couch and kneeling over you, already pulling on the collar of his shirt. “Sounds like our baby’s been thinkin’ too much.” He was grinning, his glasses sitting low on the bridge of his nose. “Let me put a stop to that.”

You opened your mouth, but you didn’t have time to respond. His mouth was already crashing into yours; swallowing down anything you might’ve said and replacing it with a breathy moan, a haze over your conscious thoughts.

You didn’t bother trying to talk your way out from underneath Satoru, again.

~

You couldn’t breathe.

It took you a moment to realize what was wrong, another to put together why. You felt the blunt tip of Suguru’s cock hit the back of your throat as Satoru’s chest pressed into yours, the latter pressing the air out of your lungs while the former forced you to choke what little was left up. Satoru had set a relentless pace; his thrusts brutal, his tempo erratic, his hips crashing into yours with enough force to bruise. Two of Suguru’s thick, calloused fingers were lodged between your body and Satoru’s drawing quick, precise patterns into your clit, while both of Satoru’s hands were wrapped around the underside of your thighs, keeping your knees pinned to your chest, your body folded in half and pressed into the mattress. They’d always been taller than you, with Suguru kneeling by your head and Satoru looming over you, they both seemed so much bigger. They both seemed so, so much stronger than they ever had before.

You couldn’t breathe. The lack of oxygen was already rushing to your head, already replacing your sense of logic with a shrill, panicked buzz. Your body hurt everywhere they touched it, the warmth pooling in your core and arousal left behind by previous climaxes not enough to dull the sharp sting of Satoru’s nails against your skin, not enough to soften the harsh edge of the grin you could only barely see spread across Suguru’s lips out of the corner of your eye. It was a struggle just to move your jaw, and even then, any sounds you were able to make were borderline incoherent – your little chants of ‘red, red, red’ so stifled and so garbled by Suguru’s cock that you couldn’t have blamed him for not hearing you at all. It was only when you tried to pull your head back that his eyes fell away from where Satoru’s cock was fucking into your dripping cunt and to your face, tears of distress already beginning to prick at the corners of your eyes. You let out one more panicked cry, hoping beyond hope that he’d be able to see the fear in your expression and know something was wrong, but that grin you had loved so much only widened, sharpened. “Like that, princess?” You felt his free hand on the top of your head, fingers carding through your hair while the patterns being pushed into your sensitive clit sped up, intensified. “Faster,” he cooed to Satoru, his voice laced with something vicious and mocking. “If she can still cry, she can still fuck.”

He didn’t mean it. He couldn’t mean it. Suguru just liked to be mean in bed, and Satoru liked to indulge him. That was the only reason they were doing this to you, that was the only reason Satoru listened; leaning that much more of his weight onto as his cock beat against the walls of your cunt. “Fuck,” Satoru muttered, as Suguru’s cock twitched against the roof of your mouth. “Got tighter when you said that. Is that what you want? For me and him to fuck you unconscious?”

This time, you didn’t try to pull back, you jerked – lurching out of Suguru’s hold, drawing back until you could gasp and pant and fill your aching lungs. “Red,” you half-choked, half-cried. “Red, red, stop, too much, I can’t—”

Satoru cut you off with a throat groan. You felt his form tense against yours, heard a shameless moan spill past his lips, and suddenly, it was like you’d forgotten how to breathe entirely. “Too close for that,” he muttered, his lips close enough to ghost over the shell of your ear. “You can take it for me, angel.”

You couldn’t, but you didn’t have time to tell him that. You opened your mouth, but all you could seem to spit out was a keening, pitiful whine as you felt something deep in your core pull taut and snap, as your cunt clenched around him and you came undone on Satoru’s cock for the nth time. At the same time, he went stiffed above you, forcing his hips flush with yours and filling your abused pussy with something thick and searing. The feeling was alien, strange. You could’ve sworn he said he would wear a condom, tonight.

It felt like you laid there for a small eternity – trapped under Satoru’s limp body, Suguru still petting idly through your hair. You stared unblinkingly at the ceiling until, days later, Satoru pulled himself upright with a raspy grunt, turning to Suguru. You were vaguely aware of his head being lowered into Suguru’s lap, moving to finish the job you hadn’t wanted to, but that seemed distant, unimportant. The room was too small, too closed-off. You weren’t getting enough air. You were too warm. You were too small. You—

You needed to leave.

Your body was on the edge of the mattress before your mind could make the conscious decision to move. You were shaking, despite the damp humidity clinging to your skin, but you tried to ignore that and focus on getting your feet underneath you, on fishing Satoru’s shirt off the floor and pulling it over your head. You’d need pants, too, and your wallet – maybe you’d still have a little cash stowed away, something from before Satoru insisted you start carrying one of his platinum cards. You’d spend the night in a hotel, or better yet, rent a car – get out of Tokyo altogether. You had a friend who lived outside of the city – or, you used to, at least. You couldn’t remember the last time you talked to someone other than Satoru and Suguru.

You made it to the doorway before Suguru called out. “Going somewhere, princess?”

You froze, but didn’t look over your shoulder. You could barely stand. You needed to go. “I just—I think I need a little air.”

“Give us a minute. Me or ‘toru should go with you.” There was a lull to his voice, an airiness just barely audible over the slick, sloppy sound of Satoru’s mouth moving over his shaft. You could remember admiring that about him, once, constantly thinking about how lucky you were to have such a cool, confident boyfriend. Right now, though, it was hard to think of his unfaltering composure as anything but inhuman. “It just wouldn’t be safe to let you—”

“I need air,” you repeated, because it was true, because you did. Little, black spots were already starting to dot your vision, and it felt like someone was trying to wrap their hands around your throat and squeeze. “I… I think I might be gone for a while, too.”

For all his tenderness, Suguru didn’t sound very concerned. “How long?”

“A couple hours,” you tried, and then, much more quietly, when he let out a disbelieving hum. “…a few days?”

This time, Suguru didn’t have to say anything at all. Leaning against the doorway, Satoru’s cum still dripping down the inside of your thigh, it took less than a minute for you to crack on your own. “I think we… I think I might need a little space.”

There was another beat of silence, occupied only by a soft groan from Suguru, the sound of noisy swallowing from Satoru. Finally, he sighed. You didn’t dare to look, but you could picture him shaking his head, smiling as he rolled his eyes. Acting as if you’d just said the stupidest thing in the world. “What do you think, Satoru? Have we waited long enough.”

“—too long.” Satoru’s voice was hoarse, breathy. In your peripheral, you could see him dragging the back of his hand across his lips as he raised his head. “We’ve had everything ready for months, now.”

That was all Suguru needed to hear. He turned back to you, letting his head lull to the side. “Come back to bed, won’t you, princess?”

You didn’t respond. What little air you still had hitched in your collapsing throat as you attempted to move forward, only for a hand to catch your shoulder and hold you in-place. It was Satoru – now standing less than a full step behind you. He didn’t bother with a warning before wrapping his free arm around your waist and dragging you into his chest and off of your feet. You made a weak effort to thrash, to squirm, to dig your nails into the forearm laid over your midriff, but Satoru didn’t make a sound, didn’t let you go, only hauling you back to where Suguru sat on the edge of the mattress. You shouldn’t have felt as betrayed as you did. They’d both always been able to pick you up and throw you around like a kitten, being carried from place to place by its scruff. It was always only going to be a matter of time before they stopped listening to your half-hearted protests entirely.

“Over the knee,” Suguru said with a sort of flippant, beckoning gesture. “I want to make sure we get off on the right foot.”

Wordlessly, unceremoniously, you were dropped face-down into Suguru’s lap – his thighs pressing into your exposed stomach. Satoru lowered himself to the floor in front of you, sitting cross-legged and reaching out, cupping your face delicately. More out of reflex than anything intelligent, you tried to push yourself up, but a hand on the small of your back was enough to keep you paralyzed. Sometime between the doorway and the bed, the shaking had gotten worse. You doubted you’d be able to keep your legs underneath you, anymore. “Twenty-five,” he announced – an executioner reading out his victim’s sentence. “Fifteen for trying to leave us, and ten more for not listening to me. Does that sound fair, Satoru.”

“So mean, Sugu’,” Satoru whined, but you could already see a crooked smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. “The poor thing doesn’t even know what’s going on.”

“Which is why we have to make a strong impression. I want her to know there’ll be consequences for misbehavior.” You felt his hand drifting up the length of your spine, lingering on the sensitive junction between your shoulder blades. “Twenty-five, okay, princess? I’m going to need you to count for me – if you lose track, we’ll have to start over.”

“Suguru, ‘toru, I don’t—I don’t understand what—” You were cut off by a sudden, bruising blow to the plush of your ass – all force, no friction. It took you a second to realize that it was Suguru’s hand, another to consciously acknowledge that he’d spanked you. Like you were some bratty toddler. Like he wanted to hurt you.

It took another lash to know you out of your spell-bound state and send a keening, pitchy cry spilling past your lips. The tears you’d managed to hold back minutes ago were back in full-force, dripping down your cheeks and pooling on your chin, accompanied by the occasional sniffle or ragged sob. Suguru hummed, but any sympathy he might’ve had remained unexpressed, hidden behind a thick veil of strict impassivity. “I need you to count. I know it’s hard, but it’ll only get more difficult if you don’t cooperate.” He paused, clicked his tongue. “We’re still on one. Are you going to be good, or do I have to get the belt?”

“Hurts, Suguru, you’re hurting—”

Another blow, this one to the back of your thighs and twice as harsh as the first two. Meekly, you mumbled a weak “…one.”

You couldn’t see past your own tears by the fifth strike, and by the tenth, you were sobbing openly. Each blow leaves your skin burning and your ass pulsing, but despite everything, he was far from brutal. His pace was measured, precise, and he was strategic – careful to never abuse the same spot to the point of numbness. After the fifteenth, you sniffled and forced yourself to raise your head, meeting Satoru’s eyes and silently pleading for his pity, for his help. Rather than empathy, you found a glassy stare and his hand in his lap, pumping idly over his cock. A few hours ago, you could picture yourself teasing him for not being able to go a full minute without someone touching him, even himself. Right now, the sight alone was enough to make bile rise into the back of your throat.

His thumb ran over your cheek, his palm settling under your chin and tilting your head back. “Don’t give me that look. This is twice as gentle as he’s ever been with me.”

By the time it was over, you were near-inconsolable, every number followed immediately by a string of distorted gibberish, a disjointed plea for him to stop, or be gentle, or let you go. You laid limp across Suguru’s lap as he drew slow, tender patterns into your abused flesh, every little touch sparking a new kind of pain, dragging another ragged sob up from somewhere deep and visceral in your chest. He was talking to you, cooing sweet nothings, but you couldn’t hear him. You didn’t want to hear him. You wanted to leave.

But, you couldn’t, and even if you’d had the strength to try, you wouldn’t have gotten very far. You hadn’t seen him move, but at some point, Satoru must’ve left the room. When your crying began to wane and you could bare the thought of opening your eyes, you found him standing in front of you, holding a glass of water in one hand and three white pills in the other. “Open up,” he said, drawing out each syllable for a beat longer than he really had to. “It’ll help with the pain, promise.”

You pursed your lips, grit your teeth, but Suguru’s thumb pressed into a fresh bruise and fear immediately overwhelmed your sense of caution. Suguru took precious seconds to reposition you – drawing you up by your shoulders to straddle his thigh – and Satoru’s hand found its way back to your cheek, his thumb tapping your bottom lip and slipping onto your tongue as you, reluctantly, opened your mouth. The pills were first, allowed to sit on your tongue until their bitterness reached the back of your throat, then the water, poured sloppily enough for the excess to spill out of the corners of your mouth. The reaction was instantaneous – a wave of nausea, then fatigue, your eyes immediately too heavy to keep open, your body too distant to justify attempting to control. You went slack, falling against Suguru, and he chuckled, bowing his head.

The last thing you felt was his mouth against your throat before everything went numb.

~

You woke up hours later, tucked into a bed that wasn’t yours and in more pain than you’d ever felt before.

Shock and terror startled you into consciousness before you could so much as attempt to fade back into blissful oblivion. You tried to curl up, to make yourself as small and as safe as possible, but your leg caught on something – a leather cuff, discovered after throwing the sheets that’d been laid over you to the side. A shackle, lined in velvet and sitting loosely at the base of your ankle, a silver chain connecting it to an unseen point underneath the bed. You gave it another tug, just to check, and unsurprisingly, it refused to budge. You choose to look away before the pit quickly opening up inside of your chest could deepen any further.

Instead, you turned your attention outward – to the rest of the bedroom. It wasn’t the one you shared with Satoru and Suguru, or the undecorated guestroom Satoru had semi-converted into a home office. The walls were a pale pink, the shelves already stocked with stuffed animals, fairy lights, jewelry boxes that (knowing Satoru) were no doubt filled to the brim. You weren’t wearing Suguru’s shirt anymore, either. Your blood ran cold as you glanced down and found yourself in a pastel blue nightgown – all lace and silk and frills no one could ever hope to actually sleep in. You didn’t know whether to be disgusted that they’d re-dressed you while you were unconscious, without your permission, or thankful they hadn’t waited until you were awake enough to try and stop them.

Seconds seemed to move in thick, dripping clumps. You couldn’t be sure how long passed until your disoriented stillness was interrupted, but by the time the plain, white door (a neat row of undone deadbolts visible above to the knob) swung open, Satoru stepping through with Suguru following shortly behind him. Automatically, you started to move towards them, but caught yourself, pressing you back into the headboard and crossing your arms over your chest, as if that gave you any kind of authority. As if there was any authority you could have, chained to the floor in the bedroom of a pre-schooler.

“You were beginning to worry us,” Suguru started, sitting on the foot of the bed. “But, then again, our little princess was always a delicate one, wasn’t she?”

You stiffened, bristled. You opened your mouth, but closed it as Satoru draped an arm over your shoulders, collapsing next to you. “Here,” he said, holding something out. “Suguru wanted to make you ask, but I’m not that stingy.”

 You attempted to shift away from him, but Satoru had never made things that easy. He clung to you that much tighter as your eyes fell to his hand, finding—

A cup.

A sippy cup, pink and plastic and decorated with little, glittering clouds.

The nausea was immediate, nearly overwhelming. You wanted to vomit. You wanted to throw it across the room. You wanted to do anything but accept it, but your throat was bone-dry, a steady throbbing already begging to root in the back of your skull. Wordlessly, you snatched it out of his hand and (with more than a little strain) pulled off the lid, drinking as quickly as you could. Satoru’s nails scraped against your bicep, but neither of them commented.

Suguru waited until you were finished to go on. “You’ll get used to it, after a few weeks. It’s really not that different from our prior relationship, just a few aesthetic changes ‘toru and I thought a—” He paused, grinned. “—softer environment might suit you.”

“We can be more honest now, too.” Satoru sounded too giddy, too happy. “Those last couple of days practically killed me – having to watch you leave the apartment, acting all independent n’ shit. This way, there won’t be anything stopping us from keeping you all to ourselves.”

A beat passed in silence. It took you a moment to realize you were supposed to say something, and another to actually open your mouth, to find your voice when all you wanted to do was shrivel up and shut your eyes. “I don’t really understand what’s going on,” you muttered, like that would make it true. Like enough stuttering, simpering obliviousness would be what made them change their minds. “When are you going to let me go?”

Beside you, you heard Satoru try and fail to suppress a breath of a laugh, and Suguru’s grin only seemed to widen.

[rafeysbunny]

Ok rafe doing coke with the reader and then having a fuck fest 😌

a/n. this has been sitting on my asks for a while now, i really hope you get to see it anon! thanks for the request!

you are giggling softly as rafe's finger gently rubs a tiny bit of coke onto your pink gums for the second time tonight, the effects of the drug already kicking in —even though he was careful enough not to give you too much.

is it bad that you love getting high with him?

you can't help but suck his digit in a playful manner before he finally pulls his hand away, a thin thread of saliva stretching in between his finger and your lips as he takes it out of your mouth.

"now stay still for a sec, baby," he mutters, pouring a bit of the white powder for himself over your sternum.

your shirt is laying somewhere on the floor of his living room, boobs on full display while he does a line on your chest using his credit card —he has been insisting on doing this all night, and it's not like you can deny him anything.

every little brush of his fingers lights your skin on fire, more than it usually does, and you know that's the cocaine doing its thing. your little nipples are hard, panties already wet as you watch him lean forward to snort the cocaine from between your tits, his tongue sliding all the way up your flesh where the coke was just laying when he's done so none of it goes to waste.

you gasp in response to his actions while you reach out to tangle your fingers in his soft, blonde hair. you give it a slight tug, knowing how much he loves it when you do that, and you're rewarded with a little grunt of his own.

he leaves a trail of wet kisses all over your chest, collarbone and neck as he makes his way up your body, aiming for your lips. he kisses you like he's starving as his large hands force your thighs open so he can slot himself in between them. you're both panting when he breaks the contact.

"how you doin', baby?" he asks breathlessly, lips still brushing against yours while he talks, "feeling good ?"

you nod in response. "so horny, rafey," you pant out, your hips unconsciously bucking up to grind your pussy against his cock over your clothes, desperate to feel him.

"suck a needy, little slut, huh?" he chuckles darkly, wrapping a hand around your slender neck.

he's just as turned on as you are, his hard dick throbbing insistently inside his pants while he stares at your semi-naked body squirming beneath him on the couch. your breath hitches slightly at his rough grip and you can feel your cheeks blushing when he grinds back, the friction making you shudder.

"dirty girl... so fuckin' desperate for cock," he murmurs hoarsely.

his calloused thumb gently presses against your pulse point —feeling your fast heartbeat there, while his free hand reaches out to grasp the waistband of your shorts and yank them down your smooth thighs, exposing your black lace underwear. when he slips that same hand inside your panties, he finds you soaking wet for him.

"drenched already ? haven't even touched you properly yet... what a pathetic whore," he taunts.

he smirks against your flushed cheek as he pushes two of his thick fingers inside your tight cunt, and your pussy flutters around them. the dirty talk, added to the degrading words sent your way, has you turning to putty in his arms.

"gonna fuck this slutty cunt the way it deserves, you hear me?" he says, curling his digits inside you to hit your g-spot. when you moan and nod eagerly in response, he adds, "yeah? want me to ruin this fuckin' perfect pussy? words, baby."

you shiver at the demanding tone he uses with you, his raspy voice filling your ears and striking just the right chord in your brain to make your pussy drool.

"yes, need you to fuck my pussy so bad," you answer between pretty whimpers.

"you're gonna get it, a'right."

he's quick to get rid of your remaining clothes and then he undresses as well. once naked, he grips your hips roughly to turn you around, bending you over the couch. as he positions himself behind you, his hands are restraining you, one of them forcing your head onto the cushions so your back is arched while the other is pinning your hands at the bottom of your spine.

when he finally thrusts into your sloppy cunt, you're seeing starts behind your closed eyelids as you let out the loudest moans he's ever heard from you, which only motivates him to fuck you harder, hips slamming roughly against your plush butt and pussy squelching lewdly around his cock. he'd make you cum again and again, fingers bullying your swollen clit until you're begging him to stop, pretty cheeks wet with tears. only then, he allows himself to cum.

"baby, fuck, so good f'me," he'd moan while he fills you up, dick throbbing inside your spasming cunt as he fucks you through his orgasm, "such a good little slut."

more.

[byoldervine]

Foreshadowing Ideas

• Character themes/motifs. I’ve heard of one writer who tries to give each character their own theme for similes, metaphors, descriptions, etc so there’s like a theme to the way they’re portrayed. You could use that to foreshadow notable secrets about the character that will later be revealed, or if at any point they’re disguised then you can use that to tip off the reader that they have the same motifs and so might be related/the same person

• Tiny details hidden in lists. Say the MC was trying to work out the identity of a bad guy, who we know was wearing a red shirt on the day of a big bad event. A few chapters later, MC is checking around their best friend’s room to find them, with the place its usual mess with discarded takeaway boxes, the bed unmade, a red shirt left on the floor that could use a good sweep. The red shirt might not click with all the readers, but those who register it upon their first read will eat it up

• Inconsistent behavioural patterns. Once we have a good idea of what a character is like, having them act out of character can set off alarm bells and make us question what’s occurred to make them act this way. Let the other characters register it too, if it’s reasonable that they would, but let them ultimately brush it off quite quickly to keep it subtle. Or just call it right out, whichever you prefer

• Unreliable narrators. Let one character say one thing and a second character say another, even if they both ultimately agree on the same thing but get one or two small details wrong. Ideally do this two or three times in order for the reader to know it’s not just a mistake in the plot but an intentional inconsistency, but even if it’s only done once and it’s taken as a mistake it’ll still slot together like puzzle pieces in the end and they’ll be kicking themself for dismissing it

• In-universe red herrings. If you’re going to add red herrings as foreshadowing, it’s helpful if the red herring aligns with the intentions of someone person aware of the upcoming plot twist who’s trying to control the narrative. Say the plot twist was the reveal of a mysterious character’s identity to be the best friend of the MC, the best friend might have deliberately thrown the MC off their scent by planting suspicions in the MC’s mind that a different character was the mysterious character’s identity all along. This is less about foreshadowing the actual reveal, of course, but rereads will be a punch to the gut when everyone realises that all this misinformation and red herring business came from someone trying to cover their own ass rather than coming from misunderstandings or multiple other random sources

[biteyoubiteme]

redlightdesign

fem!reader x hyunjin 

synopsis: you get tattooed by your favorite tattoo artist. 

warnings: !!!🔞!!! tattooartist!hyunjin, tattooing, needles, pain, oral (f!rec), use of teeth, overstim, multiple orgasms (f!rec), squirting, fingering, pussydrunkvibes, subspace kinda, prob forgot some sorry 

wc: 5.2k

an: I want a new tattoo </3 feedback appreciated! [m.list] not proof read sorry ;-;

You didn’t think you would ever get a consolation let alone an appointment with redlightdesign. For over three years you have been submitting a request anytime their books were open. You set timers for when the form dropped to make sure you were one of the first to be seen but everyone was doing the exact same thing. 

redlightdesign would make an announcement that the submissions were closed an hour later saying they were booked solid for the next three months. The process repeats itself and every time you pray you get a response. 

Thirteen forms later and you finally got an answer. Your dream tattoo will be underway in a matter of weeks. You made sure to keep the perfect space open for the piece. Not a single artist is the right fit to do your idea justice the way Redlightdesign could. 

Before you read the email you didn’t even think you would ever be picked, your thigh would just always be bare for the possibility that never would come to fruition. But sitting in a coffee shop on a Sunday morning avoiding finishing your homework for Monday's class you jump on the opportunity to check your phone when it dings. Post notifications for redlightdesign on since you started following them. Every time they announced open books or a dropped appointment you jumped to put yourself up for the running. You remember the magazine article Redlightdsign had been featured in that started your obsession. The anonymous tattoo artist is based in Seattle and New York, traveling across the states to get a wider audience. Not that they needed the help, they were globally known, with people submitting forms all around the world, purchasing plane tickets after they confirmed an appointment. 

It was stiff competition and the anonymity of the artist was sacred to each client. There was barely any information about Redlightdesign on the internet besides the finished product, and the address to their studios was only given out just before your appointment. Once the details of the New York studio had been doxxed online and redlightdesign had stopped working for a year, packing up and shutting down in well deserved retaliation. When they came back to their socials they made it clear the next time they wouldn't stop for a year but quit entirely. No one shared any information after, only stating that Redlightdesign was one of the nicest people they have ever been tattooed by and a photo of the beautiful work after. 

But there sipping on an almost empty drink avoiding work that needed to be done you felt your pulse race just like every other time you've submitted a form. Only this time your stomach bottomed out seeing the email that popped up in your inbox a few minutes later. 

h.rldesign/gmail.com Hi, I love your idea and sketches. I think this would transfer perfectly in my style. If we are to do the piece on the thigh at the size you want I think it's best we split the work into two appointments. My open slots for this would be January 9th and 10th. Let me know if these dates work for you and then I can get started on designing and cleaning up your idea. -redlightdesign 

even just knowing their email address was shocking enough, seeing a response could have sent you into a coma. If Redlightdesign needed you on the 9th and 10th you would do everything in your power to be right at their door. You didn't care if you had to call in sick, you would put on the most convincing fake cough known to man; you would sell out stadiums with the performance if need be. 

You couldn't type a response fast enough, needing to send in a confirmation just to know it was solidified. Within seconds you got a link for a deposit to hold the dates and a promise that Redlightdesign would be working on your piece asap. You were too excited to even think about your work anymore, sitting in the coffee shop staring down at your phone in disbelief. 

It was only a few days later when the first drafts of the tattoo you would be getting were sent over for you to approve. You could tell the work had been drawn in a sketchbook and scanned to send in an email, the charcoal lines and highlights showing the detailed work. It was everything you could have hoped for, redlightdesign taking the amateur rendering of your idea and turning it into the masterpiece sitting in your inbox. They promised to have perfected versions ready when you arrived early on the ninth, reminding you that they would transfer it into the stencil and use a pen to finish drawing the finishing touches to make sure it flowed with your body just right. Make sure to eat before the appointment and don't wear any lotions on the tattoo area. Take care to remember we can take as many breaks as you want you have the day booked up with me so no need to rush through just to get it over with. 

You made sure to dress appropriately. A pair of shorts you didn’t mind getting ink on in case any decided to ruin them. It was cold the morning of the ninth, a drizzle setting in as you made your way towards the address you had been sent before you had woken up. Even just seeing the street name and knowing this whole time you’ve been a fifteen-minute walk away from Redlights studio was bizarre. How many times have you driven by the building without ever knowing? 

The email with the address had said the door would be open and to take the stairs up to the loft. The separate space on the ground level was a bakery, the sign flipped to closed. But as you felt the first droplets of rain you pulled on the handle for the door only for it to not budge. You check the address again to make sure it is right, you can see the windows to the studio above but the curtains are pulled shut. You were running over the email you could send to redlightdesign, reading it over once more when someone reached past you making you jump. “holy shit you almost gave me a heart attack,” you breathe your phone pressed to your chest. 

The soft laugh of the person beside you is muffled behind the black medical mask they wear, long dark hair hanging on their brow leaving only smiling eyes glancing over you. “I'm sorry I was running late and didn't make it in time to beat you here,” they push their key into the lock twisting until it clicks, painted nails wrapping around the handle to hold the door open for you. 

You give a weak thanks stepping into the little hallway leading to the stairs waiting for them to step in and follow. 

You're trying hard not to make it seem like you're staring at them but it's almost impossible not to. Right in front of you is the person whose identity has been hidden from the public for years. You've tried to imagine what redlightdesign looked like since you read that magazine article. Now with the early morning mist still stuck to their hair you were seconds away from knowing exactly what they were like. Watching how their long fingers flipped over the keys looking for the one to unlock the loft door, how they used their shoulder to push open the door turning back to give you smiling eyes, waving you in. 

They moved around to pull open the long cream-colored curtains, the gray light pouring in revealing the space. The walls have tacked up charcoal drawings, painted landscapes, and oil pastel flowers. A worn brown leather couch pushed to one side, heavy white blanket pushed back like someone had taken a nap there against the throw pillows. Tattoo bed next to rows of inks and past designs. On another wall a cluster of polaroids, stepping closer you can see its every tattoo that redlightdesign has done here. You're excited to see ones they haven't posted on their socials, so distracted you don't hear a closet door opening and the wheeling of a cart behind you. “I wanted to be set up so we could get started right away but,” when you turn you see them shrug. The view outside of the waterfront off in the distance matches some of the paintings done during different times of the day. 

“It's okay I can wait, we're booked all day right?” 

“yes that's right,” they go through their bag pulling out a large sketchbook, “here take a seat and we can go over some of these together,” 

they sink into the couch pushing back the blanket to make room for you to follow. Your thighs touching before they hand over the sketchbook. You're amazed by the craftsmanship, and the detail put into each variety of the tattoo idea you have given them. No other artist has given you so many possibilities, maybe one of two but a whole spread dedicated to small details was never on the table. redlightdesign had taken time working through this with passion. “Wow,” you breathe not knowing where to look first. 

“do you like it? It's a big thing, a tattoo of this size, and I wanted to make sure it really had all the elements you wanted in it while also not being too chaotic and messy. You see this one has less shading and seems more open but this one is heavy-handed if you're into that kinda style. I see you have other work done on your arms and if you want to go that way style-wise I think this one would be perfect,” they point at the one you've been focused on knowing that it was exactly what you wanted. 

“It's amazing, they all are, I'm so impressed redli-“

“Hyunjin, you can call me Hyunjin,” they chuckle, “I should have introduced myself earlier but I was late and it slipped my mind I'm sorry,” 

“no, it's okay thank you hyunjin,” you try the name in your mouth, “I think this is exactly what I want, better than what I could have imagined,” 

“great I'm happy to impress let me get this printed in a stencil and we can add anything else after we find the right placement,” you watch as they stand moving to the corner with a desk, you can't see their face but know they've taken their mask off as they turn on the printer. “Do you live around here or was it a commute?” 

“oh I live right up the street, I was surprised to see how close it was to my place actually,” you say over the sound of the scanner. 

“that's good, sometimes I have people coming from all over it's fun to finally have a local visit,” 

“I would have come out to New York if that's where you would have been,” you admit. 

“I haven't been out there in a while, they are doing construction on the street the studio is on so I've been located here for a while now,” he states pulling out the stencil sheet. “I did a few different sizes to start with,” 

he turns around and you're shocked at how beautiful Hyunjin is. In all the time you've thought about redlightdesign never did it cross your mind to account for prettiness but if you did your scale would be broken. You're still seated when he comes over and kneels in front of you. 

“Can I?” he asks looking up at you, your hands in your lap covering your thighs.

“oh yeah sure,” you're flustered lifting your hands away. 

“left or right?” he asks, holding two of the stencils over each leg. 

“right,” your hands sinking into the couch as Hyunjin wipes his thumb over your bare thigh. He shows you the three different sizes and you decide on one before he asks you to stand in front of the mirror so he can place the stencil on. 

“Here,” he mutters, being gentle to get the placement right in the first go. “We can always print more if you don't like it here,” he blows cool air over the purple lines traced on to make sure it's dry enough for you to move. He slides his hand behind the pit of your knee tugging your leg. You reach out to steady yourself with his shoulders, the backs of your hands feeling the tickle of his long hair hanging past his ears. He lifts your leg enough so that your foot is resting on his thigh, his hands slipping over your skin checking it looks good. 

You love the way he's found the perfect spot on your thigh so that it flows with your body, “I think you got it first try,” 

“Look in the mirror first just to make sure,” he lets you go, pulling himself to stand behind you so that you can see yourself. 

“yes it's perfect,” and he nods, grabbing a purple pen. 

“finishing touches then,” he gets back down in front of you lifting your foot back to his knee so that he can steady you. The marker is cold on your skin as he draws, adding lines and shading in spots to make the work blend better. When he blows on the wet lines of ink you shiver especially when he draws on your inner thigh, your skin so sensitive you swear you could imagine his fingers tracing shapes instead of the pen. “Perfect,” he states, giving your knee a tap letting you know he's done. “Let me set up and if you need the bathroom before we start I'd go now. I have water and a kettle for coffee over under the desk, and we can stop for lunch around let's say twelve or one-ish?” 

You nod, taking your seat on the tattoo bed. He's set it up so that you're slightly leaned back but still sitting up. You watch him pull on black gloves and get all of the inks and needles ready, following a system you've seen done before. He clicks on a stereo the soft song playing in the background just loud enough for us to talk if we wanted to or just to listen. you adjust in your seat when you hear the sound of the tattoo gun whirring, hyunjins free hand stretching your skin in preparation, “The hard part will be around the knee so let's get that area out of the way,” 

you nod watching as he starts, the familiar burn of the needle digging in but not too painfully. He was right that it was worse than some of your other tattoos but not unbearable. What distracts you is how concentrated he looks leaning over your leg, hair pushed back behind his ears but one strand hangs across his forehead, the corner of his lip between his teeth. 

He starts to ask you small questions about yourself, the conversation leading to learning about him and how he got into tattooing. He talks about his art and the little things he likes. Both of you are so invested in one another that you don't even notice how far you've come in the day, lunch already rolling around before you know it. He's gotten through more than half the outline when he starts the loose wrap to keep it clean while you go out for lunch. The bakery is just downstairs offering lunch deals you can't refuse and when you get back upstairs both of you sit on the couch and continue your conversation. Giggling over nothing much but being comfortable in each other's company more than what you could have asked for. 

redlightdesign could have been a total dick but you were blessed enough to get someone so genuinely kind and talented. And when you got back in the chair to finish the day's session you were sad to know that tomorrow would be the last time you saw Hyunjin unless you somehow got another appointment. The idea in it of itself was making you dread leaving. 

“Could you tie my hair up?” he asks lifting his wrist up to you, a hair band waiting for you to take off. You lean over taking the tie from him and running your fingers through the dark strands. He hums as you brush the hair from his face gathering it all to tie into a ponytail. “thank you,” he nods letting the end bob up and down, a sweet smile teasing his lips before he goes back to the linework. 

When he finally declares you done for the day you sigh, his thumb smoothing over the ends of the tape he's put to hold the wrap he put over your thigh. His finger slips across your inner thigh making you jolt harder than when the needle was to your skin. “sensitive?” he asks and you nod, not wanting to think too much into it. You were definitely sensitive but not from the pain, watching his long fingers work over your skin didn't put the cleanest image in your head. 

He starts to break down his workstation, cleaning up and wiping everything to disinfect. While you put on your coat he asks, “Do you want to get dinner?” you turn to make sure he is not on the phone but he is in fact asking you, “I know this great spot a block over it's not that far a walk if you're up for it?” 

“Sure,” you nod and he rubs the back of his neck. 

“You know if you're not busy or anything I don't usually ask clients out for dinner but we were having a good chat and you know if you don't want to,” he drags on his ears pink, it was cute to watch him flustered. 

“I'd love to go to dinner with you hyunjin,” you smile following him out. 

You share an umbrella as you make your way to the small cafe-style restaurant, outdoor seating covered with a canopy so you won't get hit by any rain. Sitting across from one another, Hyunjin asks to see your other tattoos. You lay one arm down on the table, hyunjins fingertips ghosting over your skin as he traces the lines of all your other work. “I think I've seen this one before, did you get it from Felix? Or what's his username…”

“youg.ink?” you nod, “I actually got it because I saw you mentioned them before and it introduced me to their work. instantly fell in love with this when he offered it up,” 

hyunjins not even paying attention to the tattoos anymore as he lets his fingers glide over your smooth skin. Most times after a client was done for the day in his chair he walked them to the door, waved goodbye, and worked in the studio on the next person's design. Most times he had people who he didn't mind not seeing again but you and your laugh, your gentle conversation, made him want to break his own rules for once. He walks you home after dinner and promises to see you tomorrow at the same time. 

When you show up for your second session you're double fisting two iced coffees; the door is already unlocked as you make your way up the stairs. Hyunjin is sitting at the desk with headphones on sketching away before he sees the movement in the corner of his eye. He gives you a big smile, all teeth and is so cute. He tugs his headphones off letting them hang around his neck, “you got me a coffee?” 

“Maybe or maybe I have a caffeine addiction,” you joke, handing over his cup. You look over to see what he's working on and he leans back to give you a better view. 

“The next client wants their back done, it will be spaced out over the next four months. first sessions tomorrow,” 

“I wouldn't even know where to start on something that big,” 

“the same way I started yours,” he looks down at your legs, the wrap still in place only today you're wearing a skirt instead of shorts. The only other clothing item you felt would give him space to work today. Hyunjin looks back to his sketchbook, shutting it and standing. “let's get you up on the chair and get started,” 

you follow his instructions, sinking back into the chair and letting your skirt bunch between your legs to expose your thigh. Hyunjin starts to set up his station, pulling on his gloves after flipping to the sketch of your design to have to glance at while he works. “might hurt today with all the shading if you need any breaks let me know we can go as slow as you need,” he peels away the tape before cleaning your leg with a towel and watered down soap. “It already looks good,” he nods, pressing around the tattoo. 

“I think I can handle it,” 

“Okay, we can work the bottom to the top again today, get the area closest to the knee and get the most painful bit first,” 

and you think you can handle it and you can for the most part but the dragging of the needle over the still red outline from yesterday is painful today. Your hand bunching in your skirt as you remind yourself to breathe. You let your head roll back in the chair not able to watch anymore, focusing on the music playing, the dull hum of the tattoo gun usually comforting you but now a reminder that you're here for a while. 

hyunjin is trying to concentrate, he's great at what he does, but what's testing him is how you're flashing your panties at him. he was going to say something, bring up a conversation about anything but when he looked up, a simple glance he was face to face with the dark grey fabric, the outline of you silencing him. You didn't even notice, your neck exposed as your free hand not holding your skirt gripped the armrest. 

Tattooing people made nudity and almost nudity normal. It was why Hyunjin preferred his private studio so that he could make people feel comfortable, it was better than having someone who wanted a hip tattoo strip in a shop where anyone could watch. But with you sitting in front of him he forgot that he shouldn't look so close. Because instead of ignoring the view he was imagining ways that he could make your pain more bearable. Imagining how if he reached over and brushed where he knew your clit would be waiting you wouldn't be moaning in pain. 

It's not until lunch that your skirt is let go but it's done the work of keeping Hyunjin hard for the entirety of the progress he's made toward the tattoo. When he sprays the tattoo down with the soapy water beads roll back up your leg because of the way the chairs are angled. The cold water feels great against your hot skin and Hyunjin apologizes for the mess passing you a paper towel to wipe any that got too far. You slightly lift your leg to wipe your inner thighs, the movement flashing Hyunjin again only this time the droplets of water had dampened your panties. The gray fabric was dark where he had been fantasizing they would be. 

He doesn't even want to think about standing from his stool knowing that the second he does he will have to adjust himself only drawing attention to the fact he is very hard. He tries to make a list of things in his head as he wraps your thigh. To think about how it's almost over, that you will be gone in the next hour or two but that only makes it worse. You would be gone when he was this needy? He wanted to make an excuse to have you come back for another session. But it was quite obvious he would be dragging out the appointment when he only needed to do a small section when the two of you were done with lunch. He could have waited and finished, pushed your lunch back, and waved goodbye but no. 

He swiveled his chair away from you, taking a sip from his almost empty cup of coffee as you slid down the bed to stand. Hyunjin takes a breath and prays you don't notice but it's the first thing you see when he turns, the strained outline not very well hidden. You pretend to look out the window, feeling your cheeks get hot. All you can think about is if it was your noises that did it, all the whimpering wasn't usually how you handled tattoos but this one was the biggest piece you've gotten, and didn't know two sessions would make your usually composed self break so easily. it would explain the silence compared to yesterday. So you toy with the idea, how far would he go if you made yourself available? 

You grabbed lunch together, hyunjin putting a pillow over his lap to steady his plate of food but both of you knew that wasn't the real reason. And when you were back in the chair you intentionally let your skirt roll up this time. It doesn't help that he's now working on the part of the tattoo closest to your center, how he wraps his hand around your thigh, pushing your legs further apart to reach a spot on your inner thigh. Gloved fingers brushing over your panties for the smallest second, your hips sinking into the seat to keep yourself from moving. Hyunjin noticed but needed to get through the rest of the tattoo, if he stopped now he wouldn't know when he would start again. Your lip between your teeth he watched as you tried to close your legs again to block your exposed panties, now wet with your slick and nothing else. He could see the spot and almost ripped his gloves off as soon as he finished his work. But now he was teasing you. Cleaning the tattoo down and wiping it down. He doesn't even bother with the normal photos he would take right away instead putting on the second skin to protect the tattoo. As he smooths the thin film over your inner thigh he lets his fingers slip up brushing against your center to see your reaction. 

Your head rolls to your shoulder watching him through your lashes as he takes off his gloves and tosses them on the cart. He lifts the armrest on the tattoo chair before reaching behind your knees to pull you to the edge of the seat so your legs are dangling off the side. “how is it someone can make the prettiest sounds and sit so still for me?” he leans down and plants a kiss on your tattooless thigh, “because all I could think about was how I wanted to see your legs shaking for me while you whined like that,” 

you tried to draw your knees together but he was in the way, kissing up your inner thigh, nipping at your skin with his teeth. When he reached your skirt he flipped it up with a lazy hand giving you no time before his thumb was over your clit rubbing a harsh circle over the fabric. You felt the shock run up to your stomach, your voice breathy as you whimpered his name. He followed the wet line down the front of your panties before hooking his finger along the seam to pull them back. He wanted one taste, needed one taste but knew he wouldn't stop at just one, not when you looked this edible and ready for him. 

He ravages your clit, your hands shooting to his head burying your fingers in his hair as he sucks. He's careful of your tattoo but your other thigh is fair game for him to wrap his arm around and push you open, fingers bruising with how he spreads you. His free hand prodded your entrance, circling in your wetness before slipping in knuckle deep. “Hyunjin,” you whine, your hips rocking against his lips, feeling the build up of your orgasm. He curls his fingers pressing up into you enough to make your legs jerk from the new angle. 

You're seeing spot before too long, hips stuttering as he gives a final hard suck, fingers still as you clench around them. You're moaning so loud you're sure someone will hear but you don't even care. Hyunjin doesn't stop the flick of his tongue against your clit making you cry out, “I said I wanted to see them shake,” devilish smile covered in your slick before he latches on to your clit again. Fingers pumping in and out of you before he presses deeper into you. You can feel tears at the corners of your eyes, and when he pulls away slightly to let his teeth brush your clit you're done for, legs trembling as you cum. He is persistent and you have to tug his head away, a slight smile stuck on his wet lips as he watches your body shake from the overstimulation. “once more?” 

“I can't- I can't do it,” you shake your head but he drags his fingers out slowly before inching them back in, your hips jumping. 

“I know you can, you've been doing so good for me already, one more time won't hurt,” he hums, dipping his nose down to brush over your nub. Jolting at the feeling he turns his head to kiss your inner thigh, slowly building up speed with his fingers, “can't you do just one more?” it's the way he asks so softly, the heavy gaze under heavier eyelids that makes you nod. 

You're so sensitive that one lick has you shaking, your orgasm feeling so far and yet so close all at once. His tongue laps through your folds circling your clit. Hyunjin is obsessed with the taste of you, completely under the spell of your pussy and how it responds to his touch. He could go all night eating you out, watching as you fell apart again and again before him. Your cries are getting louder and before you know it your back is arching into him almost coming off the seat, your orgasm so intense you don't expect the clear fluid to squirt out of you until it has. 

You're breathing so labored you place a hand over your chest to try and calm yourself. hyunjins pleased grin is the only thing you see before he pulls his fingers out of you and sticks them in his mouth to clean them. Every once in a while your legs jerk from an aftershock, the delight in his eyes worth how tired you feel. Your thighs are sticking to the leather seat under you as Hyunjin pulls your underwear back into place leaning down to leave a ghost of a kiss over your clothed clit. “next time I want you to cry this pretty for my cock okay?”

[3amfanfiction]

What is your favorite trope woth each CoD guy?

I love favorite tropes. Okay so starting off strong we have:

John Price who I love to see in the exhusband role (the one where everything works out in the end ofc). Give me a John who fought but conceded when you insisted on a divorce. Irreconcilable differences.

But you wouldn't be able to tell from the outside looking in because he doesn't change his actions at all. Still does the yardwork for you every weekend, goes to the grocery store and stocks your fridge, you'd better not leave out a to-do list that you're meaning to get to bc that man will see it sitting on the counter and take it as orders.

And heaven help you if you come home stressed and anxious and he happens to be there (you've taken his key three times, how does he keep getting in?) bc he's pulling you to the bedroom and proceeding to work every bit of stress out of your system enthusiastically. You're going to be a wobbly-kneed foal by the time he's done with you.

And then we have Kyle Garrick who I love to read in the 'everything he's saying could be true but he could also be spinning it to keep you from acting out'. This is a little darker but I love when reader is kidnapped/forcefully relocated through extenuating circumstances and the reasoning he gives could technically be true. But it could also be a line, used to keep you manageable.

Bc he's so pretty and he's so well spoken that surely he wouldn't lie to you. And what he's saying makes so much sense, how could it not be true? All the while he's facilitating things that corroborate his story, pulling you in deeper and deeper until you don't even think of running away anymore.

Johnny MacTavish? Breeding kink breeding kink breeding kink. That man was raised catholic and he wants his own house filled with the pitter-patter of tiny feet. He wants chaos in his home and he's not above a little stealthing to make sure it happens. Give me a man who wants (fictional) babies with me so badly that he would do anything to see it through.

And finally Simon Riley who I'm unafraid to say is my favorite and who I love in any role he plays. But my favorite is when he's half of a ghoap pairing, being so good-naturedly dominant and letting Soap have his lead, running around and getting in trouble while he follows behind and glares at anyone who might upset his boy.

And then Johnny does something silly like kidnapping you and bringing you home as a present (after he spends a little one-on-one time with you first ofc). Then here comes this mountain of a man, looking at poor little kidnapped you, all teary-eyed and pleading and Johnny--grinning like a cat that caught the canary. Proudly showing off his new toy.

Simon who takes it all in with a slow blink before slotting you into their lives like you'd always been there, no you can't leave pet, this is your home now.

[jamminvroomvroom]

adrenaline, baby.

ln x wife!reader

ahahaha i couldn’t help myself. wrote this at godspeed (20 mins) and i’m not even sorry. not my finest work but i could not care less this is peak brainrot (waving at you @lavenderlando). feral is the only word on my mind at this time. gg lando.

warnings: listen it’s porn with minimal plot. minors dni i am so serious!! 18+, smut, fluff, breeding kink, implied overstimulation, mentions of pregnancy, marriage, it’s just unhinged idk

your back couldn’t have hit the bed soon enough, touch starved bodies moulding into the cloud-like mattress. you’d waited all weekend to get him on top of you, and now that the stress of the race weekend had melted away, you’d been able to put the do not disturb sign to good use.

lando’s adrenaline rush had sent him feral.

he hadn’t stopped touching you since he’d been able to, practically dragging you through the mexican paddock, into the car, through the door of your hotel suite. he’d attended to his race duties and now lando had a wife to attend to.

six months of married bliss meant one thing: a lot of sex in a lot of places. you didn’t know how to keep you hands off of one another, proud of yourselves for making it behind closed doors this time. it meant you could take your time, that he could take you apart just how he liked to, and that’s what he did.

“c’mon, baby. need you nice and ready for me.” lando muttered into your neck, punctuating his words with a kiss below your ear. he had two fingers working in and out of you, curling deliciously against your walls. “did all of those overtakes, and then i did them again. now, m’gonna make you come for me again and again.”

he was a man, possessed.

a strangled cry tore from the back of your throat, zero regard for the neighbouring rooms as you fell apart, spasming into the white bed linen. lando didn’t stop, fucking you through the waves of pleasure until tears pricked your eyes and you were squirming away from him.

there wasn’t a second to recover, his curls tickling your thighs as he slotted between your legs, tongue lapping up the mess he’d just made. your ears were ringing, eyes squeezed shut, thrashing hard before your body dissolved completely under his touch. you couldn’t figure out where the pleasure started and where it ended, all you knew was that your second orgasm was approaching faster than lando has made up all those race positions.

“oh my god.” you repeated over and over like a prayer, blindly tipping over the edge, his tongue stroking your clit while his fingers coaxed you to your second release.

“i’m not done with you, baby. gonna fill you up again, just like you keep asking me to.” lando groaned, scaling up your body. you shuddered at his words, your body set on fire. it was a sort of given, at this point, that you were trying. or, to put it more accurately, not not trying. it did something to you, the idea of him letting loose, not a single barrier between your intertwined bodies, and he loved it as much as you did.

a litter of soothing kisses were placed up your throat, before he reached your lips, his own slotting over yours. it was messy, passionate, quiet whimpers being traded between you as he found his rightful place between your parted thighs. your legs were hooked over his hips, pulling him in, the tip of his cock painting over your folds. and then he was inside of you, slick bodies at one, and a switch in him flipped.

lando went deep, rocking into you like it was the last time. it definitely wouldn’t be. he could have left an imprint of your body in the mattress, holding you down as he ruined you. it was desperate, new urges unlocked in him since you’d started this new venture in the bedroom, no limits. you couldn’t keep up with him, letting him do all the work, just how he liked it. and you fucking loved it.

all you could do was clamp down on him, a beautiful mess at his mercy, his name chanted into the room. everything was hazy, nothing, there was only him and you. you arched into him, clawing at the bronzed, glowing skin of his lean back, eyes rolling in your skull at the way his muscles felt as they tensed under your touch.

“one more for me, baby, one more for now and i’ll give you what you want. gonna make me a daddy?” lando’s breath fanned your face as he spoke, watching with a smirk at the way you absolutely lost it.

you were sobbing when you came, the aftershocks continued by the way you felt him reach his own release. white heat pricked your skin and you collapsed even further into the bed, wrecked beneath him. you were grinning lazily, panting hard, eyes shut from the exhaustion. lando kissed away the tear tracks, residing inside you as you both came down from the high.

the air changed drastically, softer, intimate. he found your lips again, gentle this time, affectionate pecks reviving you.

“you okay, my love?” lando whispered. you breathed a laugh.

“you’re too good to me.” your voice was raspy, your vocal chords shot from a weekend of screaming his name in every possible context. “proud of you, honey.”

lando hummed softly, grateful for your praise. he scanned your face, an angelic glow gracing your features. his beautiful wife.

“gonna get you cleaned up.” he went to roll off of you, but your legs tightened around his waist.

“not yet. wanna stay like this for a minute.” your voice was laced with sleep, and lando couldn’t help but smile.

“this might have been the time, y’know.” lando’s words came out excitedly, unable to contain his delight at the idea of having a family. your family.

“and even if it wasn’t, i don’t mind the free practice.” you teased, but the giddy feeling in the pit of your stomach told you something, and so did the test you took four weeks later.

-

idk what came over me idk what happened lol. bye.

[on-my-vigilante-sht]

Forgiveness

Cregan Stark x Reader

Summary: Cregan begs for his wife’s forgiveness when he accidentally injures her.

Warning: no use of y/n, dirty talk/mentions of smut, injuries, i'm pretty sure that's it

Word Count: 2.3k

Masterlist

Cregan sat in his study, buried in letters and decrees that claimed they required the utmost attention. They all said that even if they truly did not require that level of priority. However, everyone wanted their Lord’s approval and signature, leaving him to sort through what was a priority and what could wait. In some ways he missed the war, at least he was fighting and protecting his realm then. He felt like a true lord then. Now, he may as well be a bureaucrat locked in some tower of the Red Keep, imprisoned by his own position.

As he moved on to some sort of land dispute, there was a harsh knock on his door. “Enter,” he called, not even looking up.

The large, heavy door swung open, revealing a guard. “Lady Stark, my lord,” he announced.

Interest piqued, Cregan looked up just in time to see the guard step aside, revealing his lady wife. Without having to be dismissed, the man exited, shutting the door behind him to leave the couple alone.

“I haven’t seen you all day,” his wife explained her presence, approaching his desk.

For the first time that day, the Warden of the North took a break from his work, setting his quill down and leaning back in his seat. Sparing a glance out the window, he realized that it was dark. It had only been mid-afternoon when he sat down to begin his bureaucratic duties. “I suppose you’re right,” he confirmed, recalling that he had gently pressed a kiss against his sleeping wife’s head when he woke before disappearing for the day.

Opening his arms, he invited her to approach. Taking his cue, the lady of the north took a seat on his lap, easily slotting into his body. It was a well known fact that the Lord and Lady of Winterfell were unusually affectionate for a pairing of such high status. Typically, love was reserved for those who did not marry for status, or for extramarital affairs. But it seemed the Stark couple had been quite lucky in their match.

“The day has ended, we should go to bed,” Cregan’s wife asked in a soft voice, her fingers trailing through the hair she swept away from his face.

He smiled, finding his tension soothed by her mere presence. “Aye, I wish that I could but this has to be done,” he sighed, gesturing to his desk still covered in documents.

Observing all the work, the lady sighed, leaning her head against her husband’s for a moment. “But you, my lord, are the Warden of the North. Who is to tell you when things must be done?” she asked suggestively, knowing what calling him ‘my lord,’ did to her husband.

Cregan let out the faintest growl, wanting to dive into his wife right there but he restrained himself. “Why I thought that was your job,” he teased.

Fortunately, she laughed, throwing her head back in a way that made Cregan want to mark her neck in the way he so loved. “Please,” she dismissed, “I can hardly get my own husband into bed. How can I tell you what to do?”

He chuckled. “Fortunately for no one, my discipline is strong enough to withstand your temptations. Although, I admit they are barely capable. I swear to you,” he began, gently lifting his wife from his lap, “that I will be in our chambers within the next hour,” he said, eyes flickering to the candle on his desk that was nearly at its end. “I expect you to be ready for me,” he uttered darkly.

His wife blushed like it was their wedding night again, despite hearing far more vulgar things from her husband. “And how shall you expect me?” she asked teasingly.

Cregan bit his lip. As adorable as he found his wife when she was shy and coy at the mere inclination of sex, he loved when she was daring and teasing. He thought for a moment, staying silent for longer than necessary only to create an illusion for his wife. “Naked. On our bed. With your fingers between your legs.”

~

Once again Cregan found himself locked away in his office, buried in endless paperwork. He was deeply entrenched in some matter of land disputes when the door suddenly burst open. Cregan looked up in astonishment, his mouth open to reprimand them for their dismissal of protocol.

“My apologies, my lord,” the out of breath guard interrupted. “But a wildling has attempted to enter Winterfell. Says he wants to be a southerner, like us.”

Cregan quirked a brow, utterly confused as to why this required so much urgency and why someone had dared call him a southerner. “And why does this require so much urgency that you have broken protocol?”

“The gatesmaster believes this may be some sort of ruse to breach the walls of Winterfell.”

Cregan nodded, standing up. As he exited his office, he found a group of guards standing outside, seemingly waiting to follow them outside. He did not say anything about the waste of manpower at his door but headed outside. “Which gate was it?” he asked.

“The north gate,” his guard answered.

Nodding, the Warden of the North headed out to the northern courtyard. As he exited the walls of the keep, he intended to greet the gatesmaster who stood talking to another sentry. But catching sight of the supposed wildling made him freeze. Standing there by the gate was a disheveled man, looking as if he had spent his entire life in the woods. And talking to him, unguarded, was the Lady of Winterfell.

Cregan abandoned his path towards his gatemaster to get his wife away from the wildling. Who would have possibly thought it would be wise to leave both the wildling and his wife unguarded, even more so to let them meet? He was not thinking clearly as he reached the pair, grabbing his wife’s arm to wrench her away from the vile man before her. He must have pulled harder than intended because she let out a yelp as he did so. Still, he did not comprehend it as he whirled around to face his men, still clutching her arm.

“Who left them unguarded?” he demanded, his voice booming so loud it silenced the entire courtyard. He watched in rage as the crowd of men all sent glances to one another.

The spell was only broken by his wife’s cry. “Cregan, you’re hurting me,” he heard his wife whimper. Finally looking at her, he realized just how tightly he was gripping her arm. He relaxed his grip a bit, but still held on tight enough to push her so she stood in front of him, making himself a barrier between her and the wildling. She let out another cry as he jerked her, her free hand reaching for the hand clutched around her arm. She grabbed his wrist in a futile attempt to get him to let go. “Cregan, let go,” she cried again.

Seeing his wife’s face twisted in pain, the Lord of Winterfell realized what he had done. Quickly, he released his grasp, her arm falling into her own grasp. The cold air that whipped through Winterfell became biting as Cregan watched his wife cradle her arm against her chest, backing away from him as if he were the threat. As she backed up toward a guard, gesturing for him to escort her away, Cregan’s heart broke as he realized that in that moment, she felt safer with a guard than with him.

His jaw clenched as he leveled a glare to the men that had followed him, realizing that they had all run to tell him what was happening rather than do their actual jobs. He turned to his gatesmaster who had approached them by now, the few guards who had remained now taking hold of the wildling. “Take him to the dungeons I will deal with him later,” he gestured to the potential threat. “As to this lot, see to it they have nights watch for the next week.” He leveled one last glare at the group of men before heading back inside, intent on finding his wife.

Cregan was already planning his apology to his wife as he reached the hall that housed their chambers. As he walked down the hall, the guard that had escorted her earlier exited his chambers before taking his post just outside the door, sparking some level of unfounded jealousy.

As Cregan walked up to the door, the guard gave him a slight bow. “My lord,” he greeted. He did not reply, simply continuing toward the door, waiting for the guard to open it. But rather, he just spoke again, “The lady has asked me to inform you that she wishes to be left alone.”

Cregan stopped, looking incredulously at the guard. His words stung to hear. He had sworn an oath to protect his wife and had promised her parents that he would be a good husband and never hurt her. Yet here he stood, being barred from his wife by her own wish, with a man of his employ guarding her against him. The sentry looked deeply uncomfortable under his lord’s glare. He truly wanted to honor the wishes of his liege lady but her husband’s orders came first. Reluctantly he reached over, opening the door for the Lord of Winterfell.

Satisfied with his influence, Cregan strolled into his chambers, intending to begin the apology when he stopped short upon seeing the room empty. He turned to look at the guard as if to ask where his wife was. “Some maids escorted her to the maesters,” he informed nervously.

Cregan leveled yet another glare at the man before clenching his jaw and exiting the room, storming towards the maester. As the lord of Winterfell left, his guard briefly considered alternative employment.

Although Cregan had stormed towards the maester’s turret throughout Winterfell, he slowed as he approached the structure. Despite the guards posted outside holding the door open for him, he paused before the building, taking a breath. His wife’s scared expression flashed through his mind and that was a sight he never wanted to see again, yet he knew he would never forget it. The image made all the rage evaporate from him as he slowly entered the turret.

Ascending the stairs, he reached the healing room that he had often visited as a boy. Always having his training injuries and general wounds of boyhood treated here. Sat on the bench in only her shift and skirts was Cregan’s wife, having her arm bandaged in a way that held it to her chest, just as she had chosen to hold it.

Maester Kennet noticed the lord first, slowly halting his movements to look at the man. His wife turned to see the reason for the maester’s pause. She turned, finding her husband standing at the top of the stairs looking like a hollow version of himself. His face looked crestfallen as if he were informing them of a death.

Before she could snub him with a turned gaze, Cregan fell to a knee, his head bowed. “My lady, I truly do wish to apologize to you. I truly never meant to harm you,” he began, his voice dripping with a desire to be believed. “I swore an oath to protect you, as that was all I was trying to do. But instead, I hurt you, and that is a failure I will carry with me until my grave. I understand if you are unable to forgive me, I was being brash and absentminded. But all I ask is that I may be near you.” He looked up slowly, meeting his wife’s gaze. He could not read anything from it aside from pain.

Cregan had felt the pain of wounds of war before, but nothing hurt more than when his wife turned to look at Maester Kennet. But she only whispered a dismissal before looking back to her husband again. Cregan stood eagerly as the man’s hands gently left his wife’s shoulder before he approached his lord. The aging man paused beside Cregan, patting his shoulder momentarily before continuing down the stairs, leaving the couple in privacy.

Cautiously, Cregan approached his lady, once again crouching before her. “I truly am sorry,” he repeated. His wife said nothing as her gaze fell to her lap. But she turned her non-bound hand over in her lap, inviting his hand in hers. Cregan took it eagerly, his other hand going to her face to brush her hair aside as he gently grasped it. “I love you,” he breathed.

“I love you too,” she cried, falling into him. Cregan caught her, careful of her shoulder as he held her close, even pressing a kiss to the injured area as if promising to care for her.

He continued to hold her and continued to apologize. “I truly did not intend to harm you. I just saw you standing with that wildling, unguarded and all I knew was that I had to get you away from him.”

A comforting hand in his hair soothed him, halting his words. “I know,” she assured. “Maester Kennet explained why you were so upset. I apologize for not being more cautious. I just felt he was being treated unjustly.”

Cregan pulled away only enough to look at his wife, nodding in understanding. “You have a large heart,” he commended. “And it is my job to protect it. Sometimes I get carried away with it.”

The lady smiled, “Well I don’t suppose I can fault you for that.”

Cregan smiled at her forgiveness, once again holding her close. With all forgiven, he gained a teasing lilt to his voice. “Did you send that guard to our chambers to intentionally mislead me?”

“Perhaps,” she agreed, the teasing lilt finding her voice as well. But she attempted to distract from it with a stroke against his back. “I was quite irritated with you.” Cregan just chucked, the rumble of his laugh soothing his wife as they fell back into normalcy.

Masterlist