#not to mention the tender moments too like the bathtub scene and their first kiss with the lollipop….

[newar]

somebody complaining that the handmaiden sex scenes were too “weird” what’s your problem with pov you’re a pussy about to be eaten camera shots and passionate holding-hands scissoring

[efyra]

Bubble Bath • Fred Weasley

pairing: dad!fred weasley x mom!reader

summary: after an exhausting day at work, fred comes back home to his wonderful family.

word count: 2.6k

warnings: fluff (?); mentions of sex.

author’s note: i had a dream about having kids with fred and this idea came into my mind - so i just had to write it?

like always, i’m sorry for any grammar mistake 🥺

reblogs are always welcome

you can check my other works here

The first time Fred Weasley thought "bloody hell, this must be the happiest day of my life" - which he could remember - was in a summer of 1985 when Bill and Charlie taught him and George how to play Exploding Snap. The second was when he started his studies at Hogwarts in September 1989. The third was the following year when he and George were accepted into the Gryffindor’s Quidditch team as beaters. The fourth time was on a winter's afternoon in 1993 when he had his first kiss. The fifth was when the dream of opening a joke shop with his twin had become even closer to reality after Harry gave them the Triwizard Tournament prize. The sixth was in a 1995 night when he lost his virginity. The seventh time was the day Weasley's Wizard Wheezes opened at Diagon Alley in 1996. The eighth was in May 1998 with the defeat of Lord Voldemort. The ninth was when he met you on a spring morning in 2001. The tenth time was when you agreed to go on a date with him a few days later. And since then, Fred Weasley had lost the count. 

But he remembered the most special days. 

The day you kissed. The first night you spent together. The lunch his mother prepared at the Burrow so that you could be introduced to the Weasley family. When you finally said "I love you" to each other. That afternoon you agreed to have a picnic, but you didn't check if it would rain and came home soaked. The next morning that Fred woke up sick and you made him some soup. The time you two couldn't sleep then you stayed up all night talking while drinking hot chocolate. When Fred asked you to marry him on the first day of a new year. That summer day in 2004 when you and Fred said "I do" and made a vow to love each other for all eternity. The dinner where you revealed that you were pregnant with your first child together. The day Maeve Weasley was born and your world had changed completely. And since then, Fred Weasley went to sleep every day thinking, "bloody hell, this must be the happiest day of my life." 

He was enchanted with every little moment. 

Fred was thrilled the moment he hold Maeve for the first time and nested her in his arms; he pressed a delicate kiss on her forehead, feeling that newborn baby smell and watching her sleep peacefully, finally realizing that she was his baby - his baby to care for, to protect, to love; his daughter. 

He remembered the first time Maeve opened a toothless smile, that she babbled something in the baby’s language, when she ate solid food when she was six-months-old and ended up with banana puree - made by mommy - all over her face, the way she clapped her hands when she heard Hermione singing muggle’s nursery rhymes, when she took her first steps two weeks after her one-year birthday. Fred was not ashamed to admit that he cried when Maeve first called him "Daddy", that he got emotional every time she lay on his chest and fell asleep there as if it was the most comfortable place in the world, of how he couldn't stop smiling silly while watching her dance "head, shoulders, knees and toes". Since Maeve was born, Fred Weasley thought he couldn't be happier. 

But you got pregnant again; and in 2008, Alexander Weasley was born - better known as "lil’ Alex". 

And Fred was, once again, in heaven. 

Just like happened with Maeve, he was enchanted by his son from the moment he heard that little weeping for the first time; he couldn't help but be amazed to see that the e/c color of your irises were reflected in Alex's eyes, that his nose was very similar to his father's and that he had much more hair than his sister when she was born - and once again, he had fallen in love with that newborn baby smell. 

Fred's heart melted completely when he saw the scene of you in bed holding Alex in your arms while Maeve was sitting next to you, her neck stretching so she could see her little brother more closely; he opened a broad smile with that vision, the vision of his family - his to care for, to protect, to love, his family.

That day, Fred sat next to you on the bed, taking Maeve on his lap and placing his arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer to his body; he remembered the way you looked at him with a tender smile decorating your face and said: "you and I make beautiful babies," but before he could answer, Maeve exclaimed: "but Alex looks like smashed potato!”.  Fred used his free hand to tickle his daughter briefly, who let out an angelic laugh and squirmed in his arms, saying: "not the tickle monster, Daddy!", he laughed once again, kissing Maeve's fluffy cheek; his heart seemed to barely fit inside his chest of how much love he felt at that moment. Then, your head rested on his shoulder, Fred turned his head to give you a long kiss on the temple; you, in turn, lifted your face towards your husband, sealing your lips in a very short but passionate kiss - passion for the beautiful family you built together, for the life full of joys that awaited you and without forgetting, of course, the overwhelming passion you still felt for each other. 

It wasn't always easy. 

Despite the joys that fatherhood brought in your lives, conciliating raising your children with your jobs and the marital relationship was something that sometimes you failed at. Sometimes you fought for silly reasons, other times for more serious issues, but you never forgot that in the first place you loved each other. 

The worst fight you and Fred had was when the two of you were facing difficulties at work, and without even noticing it, you started to take your frustrations out on each other; you both spent a whole day not talking - just talking about your children - but in the late afternoon, when you and the redhead were distracted with work matters while Maeve and Alex were playing in the middle of the  living room, your daughter shouted cheerfully: "Mom, Dad, look! Alex likes when I dance!", the two of you immediately dropped the papers you were reading and watched the scene before your eyes: Maeve - with 3 years-old - was making extravagant ballet moves and Alex - who had just completed 8 months - was sitting on the fuzzy carpet, applauding his sister with a smile of few teeth decorating his face. At that moment, your eyes met with Fred's, and as if you were having a mental conversation, you two agreed: "No work in this world was more important than this: Maeve dancing ballet while Alex applauded". When the children slept, you had a long talk and made up in the best possible way: in bed. 

And you were fine. Better than just fine; you and Fred were happy with the life you built together. And even if some days weren't so good, the redhead would still sleep thinking that he had lived the happiest day of his life because it was one more day by your side while raising your children together, because it was one more day with his family. 

Today, Fred felt exhausted; he and George stayed until later at the shop because they needed to make an inventory of their products, and even though they had several employees so they didn't need to overload themselves with work, that task was something they didn't trust anyone else to do but each other. 

As soon as he arrived at his home through Floo Network, Fred was surprised that there was nobody in the living room and that no three-years-old girl jumped on his arms saying: "Daddy, Daddy, you're home!", but he heard laughter coming from the upper floor. He took off his shoes and socks, leaving them in the corner, and went upstairs; Fred followed that familiar sound and stopped in front of the bathroom suite you two shared, which was with the door ajar. 

For a moment, he allowed himself to watch the scene: inside of a huge white ceramic bathtub, were his wonderful children and sitting on a stool right next to it while holding Alex - who had already completed one year old - with both hands, you were wearing only a simple t-shirt and cotton shorts, your hair was in a tight bun on the top of your head; you were laughing while looking at Maeve, who was pretending to be a fish and imitating Dory's line in "Finding Nemo" when was speaking whale - you two really thanked Hermione for all the childish entertainment she introduced to you over the years -; the little girl was talking to Alex - who was supposed to be the whale.

"Ah, so you’re there" Fred said with a broad smile on his face; Maeve exclaimed an excited "daddy", splashing drops of water on all directions when she jumped. "I thought I was abandoned" he joked, walking towards the bathtub, and squatting close to where you were. "Hi, baby."

"Hi, love" you answered, smiling sweetly and leaning slightly towards your husband so you can greet him with a peck on the lips. 

Fred also greeted his children, saying tenderly: "Hi, little princess. Hi, little prince"; you two chatted distractedly while watching your children play in the bathtub - Maeve still pretended to be a fish and Alex played with a rubber duck. 

"How was your day?" he asked. 

"Normal" you shrugged. "Nothing new, which is a relief." 

"That's good. And how are our little angels?" 

"They've had dinner, played a lot and now they're taking a bath to go to bed. Did you have dinner?" 

"Yes, I ate something at the shop with George." Fred placed a hand on your knee, squeezing it gently. "I'm sorry for staying..."

"Don't apologize" you interrupted him. Your husband had never helped you to take care of the children; he had never helped you because that was his job too - he wasn’t “helping” you; he was taking care of his kids. Fred never expected compliments or medals for putting his children on bed, for giving them food, for waking up in the middle of the night when they were crying or for changing diapers; he knew that those were his responsibilities as much as they were yours. "I know" you sent him a reassuring smile. Days like this when you and Fred didn't do those things together were very rare - after all, you were partners for life. 

"Thank you" your husband smiled.

"And what about your day? Could you finish the inventory?" you asked. 

He let out a tired sigh, watching Alex chewing on the rubber duck. "Well... yes, but not everything. I still need..." 

"Daddy!" Maeve demanded his attention, interrupting him. "Look what I can do!" she said before immersing her head in the water for a short second before pulling it up again, her hair sticking to her cheeks as she wiped the water off her face. "See?" she opened her eyes and looked at her father, waiting for his answer. 

The redhead didn't take long to react, quickly applauding enthusiastically. "Wow, princess! You truly are a little fish! Did you see her, Mommy?" he looked at you. 

"I did, Daddy!" you smiled. "Our little Maeve already is a big girl!" 

Fred got rid of his jacket and tie, rolled up his sleeves to his elbow and sat on the bathroom floor, standing next to the bathtub as he listened intently to his daughter tell him about her fun day with Grandma Molly and Grandpa Arthur; Maeve said that Uncle Harry and Ginny showed up for a visit, so she played with her cousins all afternoon - she was asleep when you arrived at the Burrow right after work, but Alex was very agitated. 

You both took the opportunity that the little girl was very distracted and started to give your children a bath; you were soaping Alex's body while Fred washed Maeve's hair. He took the handheld shower and used it to rinse the shampoo, being careful to not let the foam fall in her eyes or ear. So, you two changed; now, you washed Maeve's body while Fred poured the baby shampoo on Alex's hair. Your husband stayed on his knees, leaning over the bathtub to hold his son firmly with one arm while using the other to give him a bath; the one-year-old was still very focused on chewing the rubber duck. 

Fred laughed. "You really like this toy, don't you, big boy?" he said to his son, who looked at his direction with his big e/c eyes. "This lil' duck is tasty, isn't it?" he said in a higher pitch and musical tone. Alex pushed the rubber toy away from his mouth just to laugh at his father, bouncing in his arms. "Yeah, you like it," the redhead smiled. "Maybe you can tell Grandpa Arthur what is the function of these rubber ducks, huh?"

You were washing Maeve's armpits when you heard the sound of your son laughing; you looked at that direction and a broad smile appeared on your face as you watched Fred talking to Alex about his toy. Then, your daughter also laughed. 

"Mommy!" she said between laughs. "You're tickling me!" 

"I'm sorry, honey," you said with a smile, pulling the little girl close so you could give her a kiss on the cheek. 

Minutes later, the children were properly dressed in their pajamas and Fred went to take a bath. And the scene he found when he returned to his room was even more adorable than the one in the bathroom: you were with your back against the headboard and, on each arm, you nested Maeve and Alex while singing them a lullaby as they were drinking hot milk from their bottle. 

His daughter was the one who saw him leaning against the door, she demanded that he come to bed with you, and as soon as Fred did, Maeve left her position to lay her head on her father's chest - now you and Fred were lying on the edge of the bed and your children in the middle of you two. 

"Daddy, can you tell us a story?" the little girl asked. 

"I don't know, honey," he said. "Mommy was singing."

"But the song's over, isn't it, Mommy?" your daughter looked at you. 

"Yes, dear" you nodded, opening a little smile. 

"Will you, Daddy? Please?" Maeve made a pout. "Alex also wants you to tell us a story," she looked at her little brother, who was almost asleep on his mother's arms. "Yes, Daddy, tell us a story," she said in a soft tone - as if it was the little boy talking - "see? He wants it too!" 

You both laughed at your daughter's little trick. "Well, Daddy, it seems they want you to tell us a story," you shrugged, still with a smile on your face. 

"How can I deny a request from the three loves of my life, huh?" Fred smiled, squeezing Maeve in his arms and giving her a kiss on the forehead. 

You listened carefully as your husband told the story of two fire-haired brothers who fought against a terrible one-eyed monster and managed to obtain a precious magical item: a map that led them to various adventures around the world. And when the two brothers discovered how to get to the Candy Land, you and Fred noticed that your children were already deeply asleep in your arms. 

You both shared a look and a smile. A passionate look at the love that existed in your family. A proud smile for the life you had together. 

"I love you" your husband whispered at you.

"I love you too" you whispered back. 

And before Fred fell asleep, he thought, "bloody hell, this must be the happiest day of my life."

taglist: @eunoia-kth

[lit-in-thy-heart]

merlin and gwaine, (romantic relationship) Hug with a kiss/ Lifting-off-the-ground hug

@bionic-staring-machine thank you for sending in a prompt!! 💕(and i'm going to try not to say that word too many times in this post this time...)

this is set in 4×06 because we ignore canon in this household, seeing as we were robbed of a merwaine reunion scene even though gwaine had literally been praising merlin moments before they found him

(some creative licence used with the fomorroh kicking in)

hope you enjoy it and i will gladly take more prompts from people!!

again, under the cut because i cannot keep things concise:

The ride back to Camelot was more of a trial than training had ever been. Gwaine could feel Merlin pressed against him for the whole journey, relishing the arms encircling his body – even if they were caked in mud – and the soft breath bumping clumsily against the back of his neck. He wanted nothing more than to hold him close, even if they were currently pressed against one another, and let the overpowering taste of cinnamon that clung to Merlin’s pores numb his tongue. Of course, at that moment, it was mud that would be the overpowering taste, and Gwaine had to remind himself of that fact each time the urge to turn around and kiss Merlin overwhelmed him.

They finally trotted into the courtyard and Gwaine dismounted first, his hands reaching up to slot beneath Merlin’s armpits. Although Merlin seemed fine, he was still wary of applying too much pressure to the tender area where Merlin had been wounded. As he absorbed Merlin’s weight, Gwaine rooted his feet more firmly into the ground, lowering the servant carefully and quietly enquiring after his welfare with his eyes. Receiving a gentle smile in return, Gwaine ducked his head slightly and turned to Arthur, one hand still hooked around Merlin’s arm.

‘I’m just going to help get Merlin cleaned up.’

There was a slight smirk playing on Arthur’s mouth as his eyes darted between the two of them. ‘Of course.’ He approached Merlin and ruffled his muddy hair. ‘It’s good to have you back, Merlin.’

With one final smile, he jumped up the steps and disappeared into the castle. As the horses were taken back to the stables, Gwaine turned to look at Merlin again. He had spoken at all on the ride back, mentioned nothing about the situation he had been in, but Gwaine couldn’t blame him. He was probably still in a state of shock and unprepared to discuss his ordeal just yet. Gwaine’s thumb found shelter beneath Merlin’s jaw and gently stroked away a thin layer of mud. There would be time for Merlin to talk, more than enough time, and Gwaine would be there, waiting, when he was ready.

‘Come on, my bog man, let’s get you cleaned up.’

There was a tight nod and Merlin leaned into Gwaine, hand reaching down for the knight’s. Settling his gaze in front of him so as to better navigate their way to his chambers, Gwaine gently tugged Merlin alongside him, careful to keep the pace slow and prevent Merlin from stumbling. When they approached Gwaine’s chambers, his servant, Tom, was on the verge of passing by. Gwaine caught his shoulder lightly with his hand, murmured in his ear about the possibility of fetching a bathtub, and slipped through his own door, Merlin in tow.

Merlin still wasn’t saying anything and, when Gwaine glanced at him after stripping off his cloak and chainmail, seemed to be flinching sporadically at nothing tangible. Eyebrows drawing together, Gwaine squatted down in front of the bed, teasing Merlin’s gaze towards him as his fingers clasped his face.

‘Hey. It’s okay, you’re safe now. I’m not going to let anything happen to you again.’

Gwaine was still desperately holding his gaze as Tom entered with a bathtub and second servant carrying hot water. Fingers still framing Merlin’s face, Gwaine tore his eyes away to thank them and waved away offers to help him. He didn’t want to overwhelm Merlin with too many faces, not after he presumably encountered numerous ones when in the clutches of the mercenaries.

Once the door had closed, Gwaine moved across the room to lock it and poured the water into the tub, pushing up the sleeves of his gambeson and loosening the knot of the string around his wrist to tie back his hair. ‘Merlin,’ he softly said, returning to the servant. ‘Is it alright if I undress you?’

Merlin blinked once, twice, and the smallest of smiles crept onto his mouth. ‘You don’t have to treat me like I’m about to break, Gwaine, it’s okay. I’m okay.’

There was a strange lilt to his voice that pierced the odd word and Gwaine fought down the curiosity rising within him. He had no idea what exactly Merlin had been through, and a change in tone could be a completely understandable consequence. It sounded as if he was trying to force the words out, as if they were caught in some sort of trap and were struggling to worm their way through the holes in the net. Instead of asking, Gwaine elected for an indicator of reassurance, placing one hand on Merlin’s cheek as he eased the knot in the neckerchief with the other.

At Gwaine’s touch, Merlin closed his eyes, back remaining taut as the knight peeled off the jacket and gingerly pulled Merlin’s shirt over his head, tossing it to one side on the floor. Gwaine hesitated. The remnants of the wound were still hauntingly apparent on Merlin’s chest as he reached out, fingers barely making contact with the mutilated skin for fear of aggravating it. There were no signs of infection and the blood that Gwaine would have expected for such a wound was absent. A delicate crease formed beneath Gwaine’s lower lip but he decided he’d wonder about why mercenaries would patch Merlin up later. His hand travelled further down the servant’s body and Merlin was undressed by the muscle memory in Gwaine’s fingers before he uncertainly clambered into the water.

The mud ran like veins of blood when Gwaine ran his wet hand along the cocoon it had formed around Merlin’s body. He was careful to avoid the wound, along with the constant chastisement that he should have been paying more attention to Merlin, and Merlin leaned back against the side, focusing on the movement of Gwaine’s fingers. As the touch migrated to Merlin’s hair, he closed his eyes and tilted his head further back. Gwaine worked his way through the matted thatch on top of Merlin’s head slowly, rubbing the strands between his fingertips and giving in to the urge that had been plaguing him since he had set eyes on Merlin again. His mouth found Merlin’s temple and he withdrew as he felt the muscles in Merlin’s cheeks twist into a smile.

Gradually, Merlin’s hair returned to its natural hue and Gwaine seized a cloth to chase away the last splashes of mud hiding behind his ears. Gaze dropping, the knight frowned at what appeared to be a long bruise stretched across the back of Merlin’s neck. His fingers dusted over it and Merlin violently lurched forward, sending water splashing over the sides of the tub.

Head lowered, Merlin took a sharp breath and opened his eyes, looking anxiously towards Gwaine. ‘Sorry.’

Gwaine shook his head, wiping his hands on the cloth. ‘I’m the one who needs to apologise. I should have realised it would be so tender, being so fresh.’

Merlin’s hand jumped to the back of his neck, water dripping like spring dew from his fingers. ‘What is it?’

‘A bruise, by the looks of it,’ Gwaine said, standing to retrieve a towel. ‘And a painful one at that; it’s slightly raised.’

Making contact with it, Merlin pressed down on the affected area and resisted the urge to throw up. He could have sworn that the skin beneath his fingers had moved. ‘Weird. I don’t remember getting it.’

Gwaine spared him a smile. ‘That’s not surprising. How many times do you wake up with your legs covered in bruises?’

‘That’s because you kick me during the night!’

‘Yeah, but you don’t remember getting them, do you?’ Gwaine replied, holding out the towel. The mild nausea in his stomach had subsided now that Merlin’s voice wasn’t sounding so strange. His smile faded slightly. ‘Though it was concealed by your neckerchief. It may have been that they thought the best way to transport you was by that, and it’s left a mark.’

Merlin stepped out of the bath and wrapped the towel around his waist, fingering the wound on his chest. There were words just waiting to pour out of him, but it was as if they were being held back by the anticipation of waiting for a signal before an attack. He chose to smile at Gwaine and tried not to worry too much about the slight tinge of concern that lurked in his eyes. It was only natural that it was there, after all. Merlin had disappeared off the face of the earth and had come back beaten and bruised. Of course Gwaine was going to be concerned about him.

As an attempt at reassurance, Merlin took several steps towards the knight and put his arms around his neck. ‘I’m okay, you know,’ he quietly said, the short four words drawing all the strength he had from him.

Despite it being the tone that he’d used time and time again with Gwaine, it felt unnatural on his tongue. Merlin pushed it aside. He was tired, that was all. He still loved Gwaine.

The knight wrapped his arms around Merlin, settling against the right side of the servant’s body and burying his face in his shoulder. ‘You scared me, you know that? I couldn’t sleep at all. Not by myself. Not when I knew you could be out there somewhere, dying.’

Merlin’s hand reached up to cradle the back of Gwaine’s head. A strange sensation was washing over him, filling his limbs with a numbness that he forced them to bitterly push through because his heart was telling him to cling to Gwaine, even if his head was beginning to grow impatient and was hissing ideas of pulling away and fleeing to Arthur. ‘I know,’ he heavily said. ‘I know.’

He did pull away, then, his hands catching Gwaine’s arms as he teased away the knight’s face from his shoulder with his mouth. As Gwaine felt Merlin’s lips kissing away the tears that had threatened to fall onto his chest, he snatched at them with his own mouth, savouring the taste that was like rain on the ground. His arms were still tightly wrapped around Merlin, as if his body was afraid that Merlin would disappear without a trace once again, fingers fumbling across the masterpiece that was Merlin’s frame. Merlin’s body was the only map that Gwaine could ever recall from memory and his grip found the hidden coves that remained a secret to the rest of the world.

Knowing that it probably wasn’t wise to do it when Merlin was in such a delicate condition, despite all the servant’s assurances, but too weak to fight yet another urge, Gwaine gradually lifted Merlin off the ground, twisting one leg between the servant’s.

Merlin, ignoring the distant screams in his head of being off-track, pushed out a laugh once he had recovered from the initial shock. ‘You’re going to injure yourself, Gwaine.’

‘You give your muscles more credit than is due, Merlin,’ Gwaine grunted, electing to carry Merlin over to the bed.

Merlin’s muscles, however, won that particular battle with the aid of gravity and Merlin fell backwards onto the bed, barely missing the circle of mud left by him earlier. Gwaine rolled to the side and moved to detach his arms when Merlin pressed himself against the knight’s chest. It wasn’t often that he was able to lie in Gwaine’s arms, and to say that he was irritated at the growing sense of restlessness in his legs and mind would be an understatement. He allowed himself to bask in the warmth of Gwaine’s body for several moments more, trying to tether himself to the gentle pulse throbbing through them both, and kissed Gwaine’s mouth once more before disentangling himself and finding the spare clothes he kept in the wardrobe.

When Merlin had quietly exited, Gwaine clung to the shadow of his body against his own, rather than the heavy tone or anxious alertness that had encircled Merlin’s eyes. Merlin was home, and that was all that mattered. With a sigh, Gwaine hauled himself into a sitting position. Perhaps it was a good opportunity to strengthen his muscles. If he had it his way, Merlin would be receiving a number of hugs over the next few days, and Gwaine did not want to face humiliation in front of other people at being unable to lift Merlin up and sustain the position.

[sugar-petals]

Can you tell us how to please a soft sub and hard sub? Like what could a guy enjoy?

it’s 95% individual, i’d ask + negotiate before ideas for play. i can suggest scenes but still, it might not be his limits. to remember is what differenciates the two: hard subs enjoy pain + power, soft subs don’t.

you can likely please the latter if you’re a gentle femdom aficionado. still depends on what kind of GFD you like, but you can grow into the role you agree on, shift. it’s a bit easier: fewer prerequisites. ofc there’s etiquette + talent, but you can please by tuning into the role pretty well. 

the former: not as flexible. there are set qualities. understand this as a ‘needed with good reason’ profile rather than gatekeeping. sadism is the requirement. no 50-50 zone, you feeling that you are a natural is key. your sub won’t be happy if you merely try it. it’s usually clear to a domme anyways, you either lick your fingers for s/m or not.

↳ as for specific kinks. what i can give you is a list of things to AVOID for each.💡it’s a roundabout way to see what he prefers and each sub’s a different case but it’s a compass.

✏︎ soft subs — don’ts

hair-pulling -> choose fondles and pats instead wherever he likes it the most.

name-calling -> praise is usually preferred

yelling -> whispering/soft-spoken, this is an asmr zone ☁️

hard spanking -> lighter squeezes

no squishy props -> use pillows, blankets, plushies if he wants. but, in any case, you’ll need pillows. can’t have enough of those.

tears -> only as a spontaneous release [during aftercare], most soft subs aren’t into dacryphilia

chaos -> soft subs love consistency. 

too much genitalia focus -> don’t forget the smooches and forehead kisses, and massages possibly. if he likes that, tend to seemingly neglegible body parts even, like ears and toes. boop the nose.

toy overwhelm -> back to basics, never forget he loves your hands. idea: choose pastels for color if you do get toys. dramatic black/red/metal is for the hardcore femdom department and suits the mood better. you likely have that preference already if you strictly soft dom.

breath play -> stick to neck kisses. mouth gags, same thing, he probably isn’t comfortable with it.

leaving marks -> 50-50, again, ask what kind you can and cannot leave. if he likes it, do 20% marks, 80% affection.

pragmatic, planned aftercare -> make it extensive + adapt easily. seems counterintuitive since hard subs take a lot more, but let me tell you soft subs think aftercare is literal catnip. if you’re a big brain domme, you transfer some aftercare favorites to the main act. also, about pragmatism: unlike with hard subs (see list below: #21), come up with a more fine-tuned safeword/limit system. these are play scenes where you can go into many different directions so that’s why. 

straightforward -> it’s no problem if you’re the indirect or shy type as a domme, it’s about careful questions toward him here. many soft subs approach their dommes well with wishes. ironically, hard subs are the other way around, they might anticipate more unless they’re very extroverted. the biggest hard subs were the quiet kiddos at school 😉 soft subs can be bubbly and reveal their demands rather easily.

deprioritize your orgasm -> make him tend to you in a lazy, slow demeanour. spoil each other.

all over the place -> stick to bedroom bed, bathtub and couch unless otherwise requested. the point is to have a safe and comfortable spot.

breaking him -> never push, always guide. again, consistency, no highs and lows.

suppressing critique -> he wants to know where to improve, show him exactly how to do things the right way and work with mistakes. not humiliating, more like teaching. 

dungeon -> keep it above ground. 

hands-on ownership -> show him he belongs to you in other ways. spoil him, that’s the best way.

high heels -> too impractical for 80% of GFD activities. fetish gear generally doesn’t work here. just mentioning, it’s probably already clear to everyone. and, purely soft dommes don’t gravitate towards dominatrix fashion in the first place.

passive -> unlike with hard subs, you likely do a lot of the work. soft dommes are busier than people expect.

atmosphere? -> switch on the fairy lights, candles, make it dim. make it as romantic as possible.

power imbalance -> air to breathe for any hard sub, but soft subs prefer flatter hierarchies. mind you, your position is still one of guidance. 

✏︎ hard subs — don’ts

tender voice > grit and growl in their ear aye

questions > proportion-wise, give more commands instead.

no tools -> introduce some devices according to your couple taste.

lenience -> tame that provocateur 😄 you define where his place is. show him, physically. under your foot, kneeling, bowing? find that perfect position for the two of you. 

only caressing > choke and slap him, but ask/announce right beforehand.

unbridled aggression -> misguided way of dominance unless it’s primal play. i know it’s more negatively connotated but deliberate brutality is the word, you exact it while keeping rather cool. unless... he fancies you as the angry mistress, or passionate, punishing. but then again, no aggression. just brutality. the difference is huge. the more sadistic the play, the more contained your action. not all understated, just very directed and according to how you spoke about it, and according to the feedback in front of you. you get perfect awareness, not dizzy tunnel vision and fluctuating feelings. i say brutality because it indicates a person knows what they’re doing. aggression and anger means you bottle your judgement. the brain switches off there, it gets too erratic. also, aggression is less severe and a means to an end while brutality is for its own sake and goes heavy which is what hard subs enjoy: since they’re masochists. aggressive and violent dommes are just assholes, brutal hard dommes... are good dommes. 😛

free reign clothes -> tell him what type of outfit makes him domme candy. experiment plenty. don’t worry, most hard subs enjoy being told what to wear. and even if they don’t, suggesting it won’t piss them off. also, you can get strict and exacting as fuck with this. hard subs want your possessiveness in creative ways.

plain undressed -> chances are CFNM could be a hot idea sometimes, or fetish wear which is often appreciated in all things hardcore. then again, dressing up is no must, but definitely try all-black outfits, suits etc, whatever makes you radiate authority and the upper hand. remember, hierarchy. your superiority is what he enjoys during sex, he actually gets confused if you don’t show it in your particular way. if it’s not clothes, it’s the voice, anyway. the voice lives in his head rent free.

no control -> full body attention, grope him the way he likes. also, the nape of his neck is where your hand belongs. guiding his head is just...mmh ❤️

monotony -> hard subs like a rollercoaster. roleplay = perfect opportunity.

static plans -> important: hard subs learn fast. since pain-pleasure is involved their sensations are more intense so feedback is usually unequivocal. mind you, soft subs can sort their preferences well but for them it takes exposure to variety.

what’s a nipple? -> pinching and more is most likely welcome. ask and test.

spoiling -> spoiling no. rewards, yes. he works for it. what does he work towards? pleasing you completely. in your body and commands.

shy domme -> when it comes down to it, you need to be resolute and eloquent. if you struggle with it, e.g. start with being stoic. pick your favorite pokerface and have a signature smirk lmao! and definitely do in-depth talks. yes, about his desires. unlike soft subs, some guys take more time to open up here. 

dry -> lube. keep it wet, especially his tear ducts anyway. 

unsure experiments/not knowing the outcome -> seriously tackle and prepare skills. yes, whip your pillow first. you can ‘try’ things with soft subs, but you ‘do’ things with hard subs. why? less room for errors. you please him by being precise. don’t let it intimidate you, simply take it as a responsibility he respects you greatly for.

heels -> hard subs might like that. plus, you’ll often simply stand. he does lots of the work. hard dommes can be more laid-back than you’d expect. remember, you kick his ass and give orders. he’s a pretty active party. exception: he’s tied up.

hesitation -> hard dommes have to be quick. especially since we edge a lot. also, never hesitate to praise.

forgetting skin -> stimulate large areas as much as you can.

unarmed -> chances are he likes knife play, ask about it.

too much caution and pampering -> an insult to his esteem. i’m not kidding. he feels in his element when you don’t hold back anxiously. trust his strength 😊 it’s a perk of femdom in the first place, you may be working on more muscles and often more space on the body, most maledoms don’t have that luxury. the same goes for safewording, keep it simple and applicable for the heat/reflex of the moment. it’s counterproductive to be overcautious since it makes it too complex.

the usual spot -> if he’s down: play everywhere, consider every room together. a cold and hard surface does something for a hard sub. as does rug burn if he likes that. make him do all kinds of things 100% naked on a carpet while you watch, it’s so humiliating. i did it, the result was my sub discovering even higher levels of sluttiness. 

suppression -> ask him to let it out vocally when he’s shy or not experienced. you’ll both love what follows. most hard subs are screamers. i hope you don’t have neighbors.

soft illumination -> use artificial light. not just to make your patient - doctor roleplay perfect, but because a hard domme needs to see what she’s doing for safety reasons already. use your (soy wax!) candles to ruin his back instead.

serious -> hardcore femdom is at its best when it’s peppered with little giggles. bring a feather just in case.

PS: these can even apply if they enjoy doing both, you have to match your tone according to the mood and plan then.

[rilakoya]

Oh, pt. 3 (m.)

— genre | Roomie/Bestie!Namjoon x female reader + fluff + angst

— words | 3.9k

— member | Kim Namjoon

An awkward encounter with your roommate triggers painful memories, but there’s a way you can learn to move on.

— warnings | NSFW, mentions of sex, body worship, fingering (f. receiving)

*Y/N- Your name

1 2

A/N: It's taken me a long time to get back into this fic, and I'm so grateful to you all for being so patient with me (I'm definitely looking at you, Owls-and-stars ! As many of you know, this was my very first fic ever, and of course as an overachiever, I had to start with a miniseries, so this has been a growth exercise for sure. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy!

[As he disappears around the corner, you roll over on your side, curling yourself tightly into a ball and pressing a fist to your mouth to muffle the sobs as the tears fall hot and fast onto your pillow.]

Oh my god, he’d done it. Was he dreaming? Or better yet, was he insane? Could this possibly end well? Never in his wildest fantasies could Namjoon have imagined that he would be in this position. But there was no way he was going to turn back now. This was an opportunity to show you what was possible, what you deserved. Taking a deep breath, he focuses himself. Just do this one thing, yes, one thing at a time. He knows that he could frighten you away if he’s too aggressive. But dammit, he’s seen you go through so much and he is so sick of watching you underestimate and undervalue yourself because of your ex’s stupidity. You are such an amazing woman, so beautiful inside and out, kind-hearted, impatient, compassionate, stubborn, intelligent, and strong, with crazy quirks and occasionally unpredictable. You’re wonderful, and he feels fortunate to be your friend. It is time you understood that you are worthy of every good thing life has to offer, starting now.

One thing at a time, man. Start with this one simple act, running you a bath. And so, he concentrates with almost ritualistic intent, ensuring the water temperature is just right, pouring in your bath foam and salts, reaching for your fluffiest towel and making sure your robe is within reach. Finally, it becomes increasingly apparent that he’s just stalling, so he hurries out of the bathroom in hopes that you haven’t fallen asleep.

You’re not asleep, of course, although you wish you could be, and though his heart breaks just a bit more at the evidence that you’ve been crying, he pretends not to notice. “Let’s get you cleaned up, princess.” He reaches over you and takes you in a soft embrace, before reaching under you and lifting you like you’re delicate, fragile. And to be honest, in this moment, maybe you are. Normally, you’d be raising hell about being carried around like you’re incapable of walking, but right now, you’re emotionally too drained to give a shit, and there’s a part of you soaking up Namjoon’s tenderness and care. So you don’t complain as he places you gently into the bathtub, releasing a comforted sigh as the water soothes over your frazzled nerves and pretending you don’t notice the painfully tented profile of his sweatpants when as he closed the bathroom door on his way out. 

How could you be so… there are no words for it. Foolish? Wanton? Shameless? You wince internally at the last mental suggestion, all too aware that shame is something that you currently feel, in spades. What the hell were you thinking? Are you so dick-deprived, so sexually depraved that you just had to bed your bestie? Shit. Your lengthy attempt to baptize yourself in your bathwater was enough to burn your eyes with the soap from the water, but not enough to cleanse your mind and the contents within.

You’ve been staring at the closed door for several minutes, but that’s not the scene inside your head. No, your mind is a theatre, and the current showing features the delicious sight of Namjoon, his sculpted abs taut with tension, his neck arching temptingly in alignment with his pale blonde tresses thrown back in abandon as he strained against the pleasure of your mouth laving over his thick, hot, throbbing…  

Fuck. You really needed to stop reading so many romance novels, and you also needed to stop remembering the lingering, savoring kisses, the excruciatingly tender caresses, the passion that made you feel so needy and desperate, the way you almost came apart at the hand of-

Miserable, obliterating hell, you wince, your best friend. Can you even still call him that? Are you still friends, or more, or- shit- even less now that you just had to be a horny slut? The reemerging horror and subsequent shame is enough to send you diving back under the lingering bubbles once more.

The first brisk jolt of the shower does nothing to calm Namjoon’s mind, nor the raging boner he’s been sporting since he pulled out of you.

Oh God, get it together, man. He was ruined, absolutely ruined. He was so stupid for you before, and now this. Why had he ever thought this would be a good idea? But how could he ever walk away from a chance to love you the way you deserved? To make you feel beautiful and desirable, to cherish you in a way that none of the others ever had, the only way that you were worthy of. He would walk through fire doused in gasoline for the chance, and here you were, so trustingly offering yourself into his care. He could not, would not fail. God, if only you knew how much he loved you. Play it cool, Joon. He knew his place, knew you didn’t really see him how he saw you. But he knows he can show you so much more, and now that you’re willing to let him, he’s willing to take it as slow as you need, for as long as it takes. He’s well-equipped for the marathon of bringing you to the fullness of love that he has for you.

It took all of his willpower to walk away from you just now, when everything in him was crying out for you. The longing to take you into his arms and pamper you and whisper words of tender affection into your ears as you reclined against him, as he gently bathed you and scrubbed your worries away as he washes your hair for you… oh too much.

For now, he’d settle for plotting as he temporarily froze his hunger for you with a frigid shower, the only kind that helps. At least, it helped until he allowed himself to remember the sound of you, the feel of you as you writhed under him, lost in the throes of passion. Oh fuck, the smell of you, the taste of you on his tongue… he groaned in torturous recollection, overcome by the memory as his mouth begins to water at the thought of all he’s been missing. You were sweeter than he’d even dared to imagine…. Shit, focus, Namjoon… He turns the temperature of the water even colder as he conjures up mental images of calculus problems, quantitative physics, and chess strategies and tactics so that he can make it through his shower in peace, all while planning a strategy of his own.

Bathwater long gone cold, you accept your fate and brace yourself for an encounter with your roommate-turned-hookup, rounding the corner to the living room/kitchen area with almost militant intent. The curtains are open and the sun is bright, illuminating the clean, peaceful space that is completely foreign from the way you and your girlfriends left it the night before. For a moment, you stand there, a bit lost and blinking. It feels like an age has passed since last night, hell, since this morning. But in truth, it’s still Saturday, and Namjoon is still a sweetheart, which is why he is currently putting breakfast takeout from your favorite diner on plates, the aroma of coffee wafting enticingly toward your caffeine-deprived nostrils. He glances up mid-plating when he hears you enter, scooping up a steaming mug of devil’s brew and handing it to you with a nonchalant brush of his lips against your forehead in greeting.

You pause mid-step, unsure how to proceed, but Namjoon continues serving the food like nothing has happened, launching into a casual recitation of his plans for the day, plans which most notably involve him being gone for a significant portion of the day, beginning shortly after he serves breakfast. You can feel the tension slowly draining from your body as he chatters on, until you’re leaning slightly against the counter watching him work although you don’t quite recall coming further into the room.

Before you can process this further, the movement of a pulled out chair registers in your periphery, distracting you from any unsettling notions. Namjoon waits calmly as he gazes at you, one gently arched eyebrow serving as both invitation and silent challenge. Accepting the seat, you murmur your thanks, stomach complaining loudly in anticipation of the food. “Eat up, it’s all for you,” Namjoon informs you, chuckling as you duck your head in embarrassment and surprise.

“Wait, you’re not eating?” you ask. Even though you aren’t sure if you could be completely comfortable sharing a meal with him so soon after everything that’s happened, you don’t want things to be so awkward that he feels he has to avoid you. Shaking his head no, Namjoon starts to sit down on the edge of the table next you, then seems to think better of it, at the last minute pulling over a chair to your side and plopping down. “I told you earlier, Y/n, I have to go into work today. But,” he pauses, taking a breath, “I did want to talk to you before I left… and I, uh, kinda hoped that the food, you know..” Now you were the one who had to laugh. “Joon, did you hope to coax me out here with food?” Your laughter grows even louder at the sight of Namjoon looking…sheepish. “Well...yes?” And then he was joining you in your laughter.

“Okay, but for real, Y/N, I know that you don’t want to discuss what happened this morning, and like I already said, I won’t ask you to if you would rather not. But I just wanted to say again that I only want you to feel comfortable. I know that I’m asking for a lot, asking you to trust me. I just- I just want to know that we’re okay?” The sincerity shining in his eyes is almost too much, but you know it would hurt his feelings if you looked away right now. “Yeah, Joon, we’re okay; promise.” You see his posture lighten with this, as if a weight has been cast away. Was he really that serious? You don’t know what to do with that information. You decide to file it away for later review, being drawn back to the present moment by the gentle tug of Namjoon’s hand on yours. “I, um, I also wanted to ask…” He’s the first to look away after all, voice trailing, face growing redder as the moment drags on in silence. You wait, assuming he will eventually say what’s on his mind, but the seconds tick by on the wall clock as you watch him seem to struggle in an internal battle, you realize that you are going to have to be the one to gather courage to bridge the gap. “Ask me what, Joon? My food’s getting cold, you have to go to work, and I’m starting to get nervous.” Head snapping up at the sound of your slightly peevish tone, the words seem to fall out before he can fully control them.

“Iwaswonderingifyouwouldstillallowmetotry?” Taking a breath, he tries again. “Sorry- I- I was wondering… if you would still let me try? To, you know?” Closing his eyes briefly, he gathers his courage one more time. That seems to be his thing, you notice vaguely. “I really want to please you, Y/N. Will you let me?” This he says so gently, so intently, that you feel yourself swoon a bit inside. The answer is yes, hell yes, always yes, but your brain fails to communicate the message so you just sit there, staring at him a little lost until you finally realize that he’s still waiting for your response. “Yes,” you nod, a bit dumbly, and the smile that he gives you in return is almost blinding. “Okay,” he sighs, leaning in to touch his forehead to yours before leaping back with a start. “Oh shit, I’m going to be late!” Jumping up, he grabs his keys and bag and heads for the door.

Finally redirecting your attention to your probably-now-cold pancakes, you barely register him say, “I forgot something,” and are startled by the way his face intrudes into your vision, until he kisses you, quickly and suddenly, and you forget everything, too. The tender brush of his lips coaxes and caresses, soothing your lingering worries and filling you with the suggestive promise of more before he pulls away, tasting your lips once more before he speaks. “Thanks for an amazing morning, Y/N,” and then he’s gone for real, and you’re left sitting dumbfounded at the table, food long forgotten. “Thank you, Namjoon.” And for the first time in a long time, you dare to daydream of good things to come.

The warm and fragrant atmosphere of candles at dusk, providing both soft illumination and forgiving shadow. The decadent softness of a plush blanket. The exotic curve of a softly curled wisp of hair. The burnished ochre of a well-loved page, no longer crackling with the crispness of paper newly printed, but rather whispering and sighing like a lover sharing secrets. To Namjoon, that is what Heaven is like, because it is this moment that he is spending with you. In this instant, watching you, curled up against his side with your favorite book, breathing in your tantalizing scent as he pretends to read over your shoulder as an excuse to appreciate the delicate arch of your neck: how could he not feel like the luckiest man alive?

Lips softly trailing behind his fingers as he traces light patterns over your skin, Namjoon’s almost imperceptible sigh echoes your own. It’s been a few weeks since that fateful experience, and Joonie’s been as good as his word. He hasn’t pressured you to have sex again, but he’s been, well, affectionate. It started out slow: with him sneaking quick kisses every now and then or finding reasons to touch you more. But then it evolved and escalated, quickly. Swift pecks turned into much more heated kisses, and tender caresses have started to get a bit hot and heavy at times, but he always seems to bring you to the point of relaxing into it, of enjoying it, and then lets it die away. You’ve been trying not to overthink, not to read even more into this already complicated situation, but then again, when have you ever successfully corralled your brain when it wanted to be chaotic and inconvenient? So, naturally, right now as the two of you are simply basking in each other’s presence, the words are out of your mouth almost as soon as you think them.

“Hey Joon, what are we doing?”

“Hmm?” His reply is notably distracted as he continues to nuzzle his way toward your jawline. “Reading?”

“No,” you begin patiently, although that patience is swiftly disappearing into the fuzzy haze of what you’ve begun to refer to in your mind as “casual lust”, aka whatever the hell it is that Namjoon has been teaching you to feel recently. “No,” you try again, more firmly this time. “I was reading, or trying to.”

His lips pause in their exploratory mission as he sees that you are struggling to concentrate, and in true Namjoon form, he places all of his attention on whatever it is that you wish to say. However, the fingers that continue idly tracing your side still threaten to steal your focus. “I was reading, and you are,” you breathe, “doing, well, this, whatever this is that you’ve been doing. You know, all of it. The touching and kissing. What’s up with that?”

Namjoon has been diligently listening, attentive to hear your concerns, but now that you’ve voiced your complain, he can’t help but smile inside. This is good. You sound slightly disgruntled, but he’s spent the past few weeks learning your body, learning you. He knows that you like it. If anything, you sound… unsettled. Dissatisfied, even. That is very good. It means you’ve been adjusting, getting comfortable with feeling good. Who knows? Maybe soon, you’ll feel comfortable enough to allow yourself to feel even better. Of course, he doesn’t say that.

“Do you mind, Y/N? Does it bother you that I touch you? I can stop if it does…”

“No,” you reply a little too quickly. “I don’t mind. I guess I’m just...curious.” Because it feels like more than just messing around, you think to yourself. It feels...tender...romantic, even. It makes you feel like home, Namjoon, and I don’t know what to do with that.

“Curious?” he parrots. “Then allow me to satisfy you. Your curiosity, I mean.” The devious glint in his eyes confirms that he knows how it sounded and makes you suspect that he meant to give you a double meaning. “I could tell you all the reasons why I can’t seem to keep my hands to myself when you’re around, why I always look for a reason to touch you, why I’m so hungry for that sweet mouth of yours. I could tell you that I am just trying to make you feel good, and that would also be the truth. But in all honesty, Y/N, I just really enjoy kissing you.”

His declaration makes you freeze, but Namjoon gives you no time to think or fret before he’s using his hands and his lips to erase every last thought and potential worry from your brain, his tender kisses branding your flesh with their heat, the gravel in his voice causing your mind to stall and go blank.

“I enjoy it because your skin is so soft, and you taste so sweet, and I love how your eyes close and your mouth falls open because you love the way my lips feel on you… Or am I wrong, Y/N?” Even your name feels like a caress falling from his lips, and the sound of it makes you shiver a little. “Don’t you like the way it feels when I run my lips across your skin, savoring the taste of you?” He knew you did, and heaven help him, he did, too. It would also be true to say that he loves being with you, always has, but he knows that to admit that would scare you, would pressure you. So instead, he’s still honest, but he only tells you what you can stand to hear, what you can handle…

Right now, he knows you could handle a little less talking on his part.

And so, he continues to show you instead, artfully undressing you in a slow, painstakingly deliberate way, feasting on your beauty with his eyes, his hands, his mouth. The praise in his words, the adoration in his eyes, the reverence with which he devours every inch of you, unhurriedly, passionately… it’s enough to lose yourself in the feeling.

His nose brushes the soft skin where your side and hip meets, pausing to inhale the sweet, earthy smell of your arousal heavy in the air. Fuck, you make his mouth water. Placing another kiss, this time at the top of your thigh, he takes another deep breath, this time discreetly reading your body language for any signs of tension or discomfort. His fingers hook into the waistband of your panties, your last remaining article of clothing, lightly teasing both the material and the ticklish skin underneath. “Baby,” the nickname comes so naturally to him now, “may I- Shit.”

The question is interrupted by the jarring ringtone, the obnoxious one that indicates it’s his job calling. His apologetic dimpled expression is all it takes for your to swallow your frustration and give him a forgiving smile as he reaches for the phone, pulling the blanket over you to prevent you from exposure to chill in his absence. As his voice and footsteps fade around the corner, you finally release a shaky breath of pent-up emotion.

Damn, Namjoon is good. It seems that no matter how frequent these encounters have become, he still never fails to leave you breathless. It’s true, that in some perverse way, you’ve gotten used to the initial feelings of arousal-- they don’t frighten you anymore, not in that “he’s expecting something from me” way. Now it’s easier to just relax and go with the flow, if being horny as hell on a regular basis can be considered relaxing. But it is nice to be able to just appreciate feeling good at the hands of a skilled and handsome man without strings attached. Unless of course you count heartstrings. Yours, to be specific. But, yeah, no, you’ve decided you’re not counting.

You’re counting, comparing the number of heartbeats per second against what you consider normal; is your heart beating unusually fast?

And you’re hot; god, why are you so hot all of a sudden?

You feel unsettled in your skin, restless and slightly desperate, and you determine that you must have dozed off while Namjoon was gone. You say “was” because you’re faintly aware of his bodily presence next to you, adding to your body heat.

It’s probably the blanket, you think, and in the next moment you’re peeling back the covers, feeling the cool air ease the discomfort of your skin.

Better.

Only now, you’re aware of your exposed, naked body, of your nipples erect from the chill, of soft hands grazing over your breasts, your collarbone, your stomach… Fuck. It feels so good to be touched, so soothing in the wake of the ache that’s been building in your body for so long.

You’re so needy…

A faint whimper escapes as you feel one nipple pinched, the other one twisted and caressed alternately. More. You need more and you need it now. You’ve no sooner thought the words than the hand pinching and pulling your breast makes its way down your torso, circling and stroking your clit.

So good, it feels so good, but still you need more.

“More, please,” you plead, and you’re rewarded by the stretch of two fingers plundering your heat, while the other hand continues to edge you toward your pleasure. You’re on fire now, but every sensation is hurtling you closer, closer. But you want to see his face, hear his voice. Why won’t he say something?

“Namjoon?” you say, but did your mouth move? “Joon,” you try again, more moan than anything as you feel yourself racing towards the precipice of bliss. “Please.” And then you hear him, sounding so close and so far away.

“It’s okay, baby. I’ve got you,” and then your world is exploding, hard. It feels like worlds are contained in a single moment, all expanding at once to give you a divine glimpse of unnameable glory before it’s all gone again in a blink, and as your body fights to regroup, you’re forced into- awareness?

You awaken breathless and disoriented, forcing your eyes to focus in the dimly dawn-lit room. As you struggle to catch your bearings, your eyes meet Namjoon’s penetrating gaze, dark, hungry and intense as he stares back. A slow smile spreads stealthily across his face, seductive and slightly predatory. “Did you have a nice dream?” he inquires, in a tone a shade too precise to be innocent. Still groggy, you search your brain to try to catch his meaning… until suddenly you falter, recalling the moments prior to your awakening, both figurative and literal. But wait, you scramble mentally to put the pieces together, there’s no way he could know…

Your confusion is written all over your face, and still you flounder, until he reaches out and grabs your hand... the hand that you’ve been touching yourself with in your sleep, now coated with the juices from your thoroughly soaked and sated cunt. Before you can fully allow your mortification to process, Namjoon, the bastard, proceeds to wrap those plush, agonizing lips around your fingers and lick them clean, never breaking eye contact, and the growl of pleasure that escapes his throat is positively feral. Well, fuck.

Part 1 Part 2 Tag list: @lamourche, @brie02, @btsspell, @kpurereactions, @ringsofjoon, @maddoxwildove, @socialmaddox, @chiminiemoans, @serendipitiousbutterfly,  @ogsoftbabyboy, @kludsy, @wallflower060, @chimsinyourarea, @tokikav, @bangtanpraise, @dragonsbbygirl, @awsome-small-k, @notyourtypicalrose, @spider-manblog, @awesome-ash15, @its-joyvely, @swiggitswooggit, @sungoldish, @b-angst-tanrecs, @owls-and-stars,  @everything-got-confusing, @i-hate-this-name-thingy, @imverywiggly, @chimsbabyy, @armyguide, @sosok-lucasa, @markslefttiddie, @awkwardwookie, @loststars2255, @sehuns-vi-vi, @nari-la-morena, @wheelsxsoftiee, @latina-nerd, @sandra123abc, @aeiva, @kaeru012, @kimtaehyungisbiasdestroyer, @jiminsthicccthighs, @xcharlottemikaelsonx, @spike-meowsters, @jiminieslovely, @inlovewithjooniejoonie, @slut-for-fandoms, @mozy-j, @byuns-coco, @jellycake2109, @bitesizebtsrepost, @rosiexx8, @thirstykpophoe, @trashynctzenwritings, @groovygooppersonfish, @mochiiblues, @maryseesthings, @passportapprovedobsessed, @perfect4niall, @scalbra, @sailorjoonies, @amordesiempre01, @bubblyabs, @joonlonelyheartsclub, @speakyourselfloveyourself, @gabriellagena, @shoot-shoot-bang-bang, @lifesaleech, @teddybearmuke, @lyssakrista, @flawlessbitcx, @7sirens, @kittenxo2, @satiricallll, @hellosweetiesworld, @kathrynwynterbourne, @alphnai​, @chocolatedreamlandfury​, @lakeli​, @jkxnochu​, @bangtanhardcore​, @iriswashername​, @bts-7-forever​, @bobatae13​, @jessica-lynn93​, @4namjoon​,  @sakurauchiha2018​

[golddaggers]

baby pictures

pairing: thor x female!reader

warnings: slight mentions of smut and a looooooot of fluff. srsly

a/n: anon, i’m not sure it’s quite like you imagined, i kind of went along with the plot and added some stuff. i still hope you like it. :) 

later addition: forgot to add the translation to some old norse words haha. well “mín dróttning” means “my queen” and “sváss” means “beloved one, sweetie”. and dearling is the old spelling of “darling”, it’s not a goof. well. now it’s explained. 

word count: 2,1k+

It had been six months since Thor asked you to join him in his stay at Asgard, six months of living in pure bliss. Most of the days you had to force yourself to believe it was really true, that you were there with him after all. Waking up to his warm body wrapped around yours so tightly you sometimes had to elbow him to loosen up a little. Waking up to the light, rhythmic snoring and the smell intoxicating you.

There was no single doubt in your mind that being married to that man is everything you want. To give him children and watch those electric blue eyes shine with excitement. He will be such a great dad when the time comes.

With a smile, you wrap yourself in a silk robe and goes to the dining saloon, finding Frigga eating breakfast by herself, which was not an unusual sight.

Often the two of you would be stuck together when both Odin and Thor were called up elsewhere to battle in the name of Asgard. In the beginning, it wasn't so great to be around her. Frigga certainly wasn't pleased with her son's choice, she thought he could much better than a Midgardian, a plebeian. Sif was her obvious choice, she'd spend hours emphasising how great she was. How beautiful. Strong. Fit for a future king.

It had made you feel so little and meaningless, you'd smile and dismiss yourself to your room. Only inside you allowed yourself to cry, your insides sadly agreeing with her. Yes. Thor would be much better with someone like him, someone fit for a future king. And it wasn't you.

The memories stung, you reminiscing on the night he finally found out what his mother was doing. Thor had grown very mad, cheeks bright red in anger.

"My love, why haven't you told me?"

"I-I didn't think it mattered." Your voice is barely a whisper, tears staining your cheeks. "She's your mother, Thor. She only wishes you the best."

His eyes were narrowed, thick arms crossed tightly against his broad chest. It was a sight that would leave anyone trembling in their knees, scared of this man's wrath. Not you though, you could only think that he looked absurdly cute when he was angry. You just wanted to run your fingers through his hair while kissing that adorable pout, the pink bottom lip puckering forward.

A gentle sigh pushed past your lips as you opened your arms to hug him. If anything, you didn't want him to be angry at his mum. He had an adoration for her she had no wishes to destroy, that was why she hadn't said anything. There were so many more things for him to worry about than the petty way of his mother to treat you.

"I am going to speak to her."

"No, baby, you don't have to. It's nothing. So what if she thinks you should marry someone else? She's in her right to want the best partner for you."

"You are it." Although it was meant to be a quiet whisper, Thor's deep, loud voice certainly made itself heard. "You are the best partner for me. I love you, little bird, and I am not allowing my mother to make you think otherwise."

He was crouched forward, his face buried in the crook of your neck, the thick beard bristling the skin. You shivered when his lips found the soft spot slightly below your ear, nibbling at it lightly. Large hands gripping on your hips, heat radiating from his body to yours. You wanted to stay inside his arms forever.

That night he made love to you with so much tenderness, so much care. Thor has never failed at making you feel wanted, whether it was when he pushed you against the door because he couldn’t wait to be inside you or when he spread your legs wide, tasting you at leisure. It was a mad, blinding love. One you wanted to drown in it.

Despite your request for him to keep this between the two of you, he spoke to his mother the day after, while you were still asleep. To this day you’re not quite sure what he said to her, but she hasn’t been anything other than nice to you ever since, always chatting about Thor’s childhood, how this little blond boy grew up to be a warrior, so strong and fearless. She talked about how overprotective he was with her, always ensuring she was okay. You absolutely adored these conversations.

Once the awkwardness was gone, Frigga turned out to be the loveliest woman. She was kind to you and by her blue eyes, ones that looked exactly like Thor’s, you could tell she was actually being sincere. You’d laugh together, have meals together. Finally, she became the mother-in-law you were expecting when you first arrived.

And she had been for the last four months, making you feel much more at home each day.

“Good morning, dearling.” The tall, beautiful woman said, putting down the cup of tea she was having. “I take you had a good night of sleep?”

“Yes. Yes, I had, thank you.”  You smile briefly, rubbing your eyes sleepily, going over to take a seat across her. “And you?”

“I have, yes, thank you for asking.”

There was a moment of silence as you poured fresh coffee into a tall mug. Everything smelt absolutely amazing, your stomach growled, arguing in hunger. You hadn’t realised you were so hungry, normally you didn’t eat much in the morning, just the enough, but today you wanted to swallow all the great dishes in front of you.

“They should be back today.” Frigga expresses, sipping at her tea again, a genuine smile on her lips. “Thor must miss you deeply. He was always dispirited when he came here and had to be without you.“

“He misses you too, all the time we spent at Earth, he would tell me stories about his parents, especially about you.” 

“Really?”

“Yeah, late at night he’d go on about how we would love one another because our personalities were so similar. Then he would laugh, saying that maybe my temper wasn’t just as calm as yours.” A gentle chuckle slips from Frigga, she feels happy to imagine her son being a perfect mama’s boy, gushing about her. “I suppose he wanted the two women in his life to get along.”

“He most certainly did.”

The memory of him makes the two of you exchange an intimate smile, which feels oddly familiar. In the past week that they had been gone, Frigga clung a lot to you, bringing you to her room, braiding your hair… She was honestly treating you like the daughter she haven’t had. Not that you were complaining, you liked the extra care. And being able to tell Thor about his mum would make him happy, so you were even happier.

Breakfast went on and ended in a burst of laughter, Frigga has told you a story from his early childhood, he couldn’t have been more than four when she heard childish screams and ran to find out what was going on. She recalls being so concerned until she saw them, her toddlers inside a bathtub, playing carefree with tiny boats.

In wishes to show you, she took you to a great living room, searching for the pictures that had been taken at the time.

“Look.” She hands you a photograph of said scene. “Loki was always trying to kick his big brother, but seeing them play was so relieving.”

“Oh really? I never thought they had such a complicated relationship, Thor speaks very fondly about his brother.”

“Thor adores Loki, always has, but Loki is… complicated.” As she shrugs, you comprehend it’s a delicate matter. “Never mind that. Look at this one!”

“He was so cute!” There’s another photo in your hands, a pale baby bathing while golden locks fall to his face and he smiles happily. “No wonder he turned out to be so handsome.”

“Although I am his mother, therefore entirely biased, he is a beautiful man.” There’s proud beneath those words, chest slightly inflated. “When you have children of your own, you’ll know what that’s like.”

“Hmm, actually, I was-”

Before you could tell her, two mighty men strolled inside the huge room, their voices loud as they discussed, although you couldn’t quite pin what they were talking about. Your heart thumped upon seeing him, there were minor bruises on his face, but the smile, it had you tingly, blue eyes watching you with adoration. A week was too long for you to be without him.

It didn’t take long for you to feel a pair of strong arms pulling you up from behind to a back hug, his heady scent flooding you completely. After so long, you were at ease. It made you nervous when he took a while to come back home, of course you knew he was strong enough to defeat all of his enemies. It didn’t stop you from being nervous still that one day… Well. No use to dwell on those now, he was home and safe.

“Hello, milady.” Odin takes on of your hands to place a kiss on its back, one of his arms looped around Frigga’s waist. “Hope my Frigga treated you nicely?”

“She is a delight as always, sir.”

“Oh no, no need to call me sir. You’re family.”

Thor smirks against the skin of your neck, where his head is in hiding, long fingers fiddling with your robe's knot. It was such a small sentence but it really got to you. Perhaps it was because of your current state that family suddenly became so important to you. Plus being in an entirely different realm sure made you feel out of place.

"What were my two beautiful women doing?" It was your fiance's turn to ask. "Must say your laughter is certainly satisfactory."

"Your mum showed me some baby pictures of you. You were such a cute child."

"He takes after me." Odin boasts, the four of you laughing in unison. “Why don’t we give them some space, mín dróttnig? Thor has not sealed his lips about this girl in the journey back, he needs time with her.”

“Odin!” Frigga scolds, a blush rising to her pale cheeks. “You are embarrassing our son.”

“Oh no, mother, it is true, I cannot function without my sváss by my side and I have missed her quite a lot.” For a quick moment, you feel him tighten his arm around you. “But what were you showing her?”

“For the cold temperatures here, you sure spent a lot of time naked.” You mocked, giggling at him, noticing the tips of his ears go pink as you look back at him. “It was just you bathing. Loki and you certainly looked cute playing together at four.”

“Mother!”

“And with that, we will leave you to it.”

There’s the reminisce of a chuckle as the elder couple leaves, Thor spinning you to take a proper look at his wife-to-be, taking in all the features he missed when away, the smoothness of your face on his hands and your lips against his. It was a short, desperate kiss, showing all of the longings you both had. When air made itself necessary, you hide your face on his stiff chest, enjoying the warmness it gave you, large hands going up and down your back.

"I see you and my mum are doing well."

You nod.

"I think she wanted to have a daughter instead of boys. One day she took me to her room and spent two hours braiding my hair." Thor snickers. "It's good though. I like spending time with her, makes me miss my mama less."

"Oh, sváss, we'll go to Midgard soon, I have to make sure Asgard is safe."

Reaching up to cup his cheek, you enjoy the prickling his beard causes. It's so sweet how he worries about your wishes even though there's so much in play, so many wars to fight and lives that were dependent on him.

"There's something I want to tell you."

"Yes?" He urges you forward, a crinkle of worry appearing on his forehead. "Is everything okay?"

"I am-" Your lip rests between your teeth as you hesitate. "Oh Thor, how would you feel about having a baby?"

"A baby? Are you with a child?" The booming voice questions, cobalt eyes wide in astonishment.

"Shhhh. I don't want people to know yet."

"Are we becoming grandparents?" Frigga sneaks her head into the room, Odin smiling behind her. The All-Father sensed your different energy. "Why haven't you told me, dearling? We could have started preparing-"

"Mother-" Thor cuts her off. "-You are overwhelming her. She needs peace. Come now, sváss, I shall take you to our chambers."

A loud squeal slips as he lifts you in his arms, your weight disappearing in the magnitude of his thick biceps. You drape your arms on his shoulders, supporting yourself while smiling in pure glee.

"Get my daughter-in-law back, we have planning to do, Thor."

"Later, mother."

And with that, he takes you to your bedroom, your heart filled with happiness. Feeling like your life is exactly where it should be.

tags!

marvel: @frenfics

thor: @lancsnerd @odinson-barnes

[okimargarvez]

HURT- open wounds

Original title: Hurt.

Prompt: Luke’s dark thought, destiny, contrasted love.

Warnings: sexual content, dark thoughts.

Genre: angst, drama, romantic, smut, dark, mistery, frienship.

Characters: Penelope Garcia, Luke Alvez, BAU team, O.C.

Pairing: Garvez.

Note: multichapter.

Legend: 💏😘😈🔦🐶❗🎈👻.

Song mentioned: La tua vita intera, Tiziano Ferro.

Hurt- Masterlist

MY OTHER GARVEZ STORIES

Chapter 4

 Roxy is your dog?

In the exact moment when he sees the meeting between the only living being that for some years he was granted to love, his dog, and the woman he identified as his healer, but to whom he has so far shown only the worst sides of himself (and certainly not love), he realizes he is screwed.

Because her face is so soft, as she bends to allow Roxy to fill her with kisses. She's so sweet and tender, so innocent, and she is lost in a smile that doesn't have anything built. He had told her: he was sure that she would have liked her. But he couldn't imagine what would be his reaction to such a thing. It's too much, she's too maternal. Too much concrete. Real. No longer Sif, she isn't an unknown and distant deity. She is a very real woman, with which it's too easy to imagine a future that can't only provide for night raids and ambushes near her car.

He can't afford to make such conjectures. Because she could even fall in love with him now. Because she doesn't know everything. But he is not able to stay in a relationship declared, in which one of the two hides something so important to the other, who says he loves. And as much as she is... well... special, not even Penelope can understand certain aspects of its past. Things that he had to do. Things that he saw. Or at least, she wouldn't be able to look at him the same way. And it's not only compassion, as he thought at first. He doesn't care that she doesn't think more about him like macho fearless. But when (if) she was to find out certain things, she would run away. No one has the courage to face this. And if she would remain, it would be only for that her innate maternal spirit, her desire to see other people happy... but not for love. And this means that in any case, she would break his heart.

And probably it'll shatter even hers. And that absolutely he can't allow that.

Because if he can't (he isn't able) to protect her from his more impulsive part, he must at least protect her from his black part. Dark.

 -I know you didn't want to like me at first, so I figured I'd make it easier on you...- he refers to the earliest days, before anything happened between them. It was so obvious her effort to keep him at a distance. He doesn't have time to think about it: he asked at JJ, the one that was seemed the most rational and the blonde had explained the "complex" situation, the kind of special relationship that Penelope had established with his predecessor. And, in retrospect, he understood how this factor had an impact on what had happened. But at the moment he wasn't yet aware of.

-So you profiled me?- but already her expression is playful. Her smile lights up her face.

-Luke Alvez, behavioral analyst. That's what I do.- and the exact moment when the elevator doors close, almost like a curtain, she throws herself on him, kissing him passionately, completely overwhelming him. He is in shock. Breathless. Unable to take control of the situation. But both before and she put her lips to his, he tangibly feels the love, yes, love, not something like that, just the love in the air. He must not give in. He can't.

But he is human. He is made of flesh. He is weak.

 With a hand he grasps the leash, the other in that of the woman. He turns the key, he opens the door, he loose Roxy and he nods her to enter. She, between timidity and curiosity, advancing slowly. She scrutinizes every detail. The walls are almost completely bare. Not a photograph. Not a painting. If not the standard ones that real estate agents use to make the home more appealing.

The furniture is essential ones: a low table in the living room, a sofa and two armchairs; all the classic appliances in the kitchen, table and chairs; a bathroom with shower, bathtub, sink, washing machine; a room by equally empty with only one bed. He follows her along the tour, saying nothing. He is aware that this place doesn't say anything about him, just as his desk in the BAU offices, as Prentiss had noted. But even the absence means something, for those who want to go further. For those who want to strive a little more. And Penelope has exactly this intention.

There is one last room. The door is closed. She turns to him, seeking his approval. He simply nods. She puts her hand on the knob and rotates. His fingers go confident toward to the switch. The light blinds them for a moment. She waits that she acclimatizes. And what she sees, surprising her, although perhaps it should not. It's full of boxes. They will be at least twenty, not all the same size. And each bearing an inscription, some dates for her incomprehensible. Some date back to six years ago.

Curiosity is a lot strong, but not so as push her to invade his privacy. If, when, he wants to, he'll tell her everything. Maybe one day he'll open them and reveal the contents. She starts to turn to him, to let him know that she'll not interfere, but fails in the movement, because she encounters an obstacle. His back.

-Luke...- he makes a sign that she doesn't need to say anything. The darkness goes back to reign. He closes the door behind them. He lets go of his past.

 -... and then we were in the mall, there were people everywhere, from my height this looked like a forest of legs. I was afraid, I held the very strong my father's hand. I was terrified of losing me. It was a time that children were kidnapped, at least one a week. My mother was very upset. Maybe she had passed me this fear. I've only realized long, long time after.- she pauses, without looking at him, she rest against his back better. He strengthens the hold of arms between her breast and her hips. -With this anguish I found myself in a row, along with many other children, to have my time with Santa Claus. And the man...- another pause. This time lasts longer. She can't continue. Perhaps she could stop here. No need to add all the details, because he understands what happened. Her eyes are shiny. It's been so many years, yet that trauma, that bullshit, stood there, on her heart, in her soul.

But he takes her for the chin with two fingers and forces her to look at him directly. -Penelope...- he is now also allowed to use her name. It brings so many things behind. Maybe it's random, maybe not. He'll ask her one day. Who knows if her mother was fond of the Homeric poems. -You don't have to...- but she nods.

-No, I can. That fake bearded gave me a nice palpated on my breast (if I can call it that, I was flat as a board), making the sound of a horn.- she closes her eyes, and she relives that scene, now blurred in her mind, cause the time was elapsed. -Maybe that's why I don't love Christmas, don't get me wrong, I love the holidays, stay with the people I love... the colors, the lights, the tree... the decorations... Christmas spirit... but I hate the idea of going to a mall looking for gifts. It shouldn't be a commercial festivity. But now all are such. Easter is chocolate eggs. Valentine is chocolates and flowers. Even the feast of the dead, chrysanthemums and night-lights.- he is surprised by the way she took her speech, the annoyed tone that took her voice. But she profoundly right.

-So wouldn't you want to receive chocolates for Valentine's Day?- he asks playfully, trying to lighten the mood. He doesn't know how to comment on her words, it's such a serious and precise speech, that he was impressed. She grasps his effort and chuckles.

-I think it's much more important to love each other for the other 364 days, or behave, or treat women well and not just give them mimosas on March 8... I think it's a much greater effort, than acting different briefly. And those who complain all year of how life sucks make me laugh, they seem almost ready to commit suicide, and... when approaching the December 31, they are the first to write stereotyped phrases about how this year was magical and special...- Luke squeezes her harder to himself, feeling her (and his) needs warmth. She rests her head on his chest. She could fall asleep there, yes, who cares of back pain that she'll have tomorrow.

They remain in silence after so many words. The Penelope's voice is like music to the ears. A banal and yet an unavoidable truth. He could listen her for hours. He loves the way her opens with him, without expecting him to do the same thing, without expecting it. He loves her spontaneity and sincerity. And discover every nuance of her personality: with the team he had only got to know of her "crazy" part, the one that always had a joke ready, to make less tragic tolerance of the worst cases. For a laugh or a smile. And at the same time this help them to not go crazy, not to be absorbed by the dark world around them. How she did, to see those colorful, that rainbow, he still didn't understand. But tonight, he had discovered that she wasn't just a flower child, a hippy exalted, a positivist with blinders on. She was able to grasp even the gray shades of life, but she had the great ability to take even the smallest flash of light from the darker room.

-Penelope...- he only repeats her name. One time. And then another. Because he can't do anything else. -Penelope...- because before he didn't ever do, and now he has to compensate. She is no longer a Scandinavian god and distant, no, she's a woman, the woman who wants next to him.

Perhaps out of embarrassment, perhaps for fear of the effect of the power to hear him say her name had exerted over her, she begins to speak. -Before I work for the BAU I was a hacker. I'm still on the blacklist of the CIA. I got caught, although I never said it clearly to anyone. I was tired of that life.- why she told him such a thing? What the hell he will think of her, now that he has discovered that she was a criminal?

-What did you do to be arrested?- he asks without loosening his grip, with quiet and careful voice. Penelope sighs.

-I would sneak in large companies that used the animal testing. I'm not ashamed to have it done. I'm not ashamed of that part of my life.- she turns to face him clearly. -But the environment around me, it wasn't healthy. There was a strong desire for rebellion, but against what? The company, the world, our parents. They were just excuses. But this did feel us alive...- Luke understands that she refers not only to a group of friends, but one in particular. Now, however, he doesn't want to know. He only wishes that her face softens into a smile. He takes her face in his hands, and relaxes some wrinkles cause from the tension. He massages her shoulders, going gradually toward the center. With the eye he sees they are almost three in the morning.

Despite some mild protest by her (to the worry that he gets hurt, because of her not lightweight) he manages to carry her to his bed. He lays her gently. She expects him to go straight to the point. But is not so. He spends at least twenty minutes to explore every fold, every single centimeter of her body, devoting himself exclusively to her pleasure, slowly stripping her (before with his eyes). Snatching thousands of groans from her.

There are no one "I love you." No one "I have fallen in love with you." It's not yet time.

But the next morning, the first thing they see opening their eyes, are those of the other.

TAGS: @theshamelessmanatee @itsdawnashlie @talesoffairies @janiedreams88 @kiki-krakatoa @yessenia993 @teyamarra @c00lhandsluke  @gcchic @arses21434 @orangesickle @entireoranges @jarmin @kathy5654 @martinab26 @thisonekid @thenibblets @perfectly-penelope @ambrosiaswhispers @maziikeen92 @lovelukealvez @reidskitty13 @jenf42 @gracieeelizabeth27 @silviajajaja @smalliemichelle99 @charchampagne14 @ ichooseno  @ megs2219 @rkt3357 @franklintrixie @thinitta @ chewwy123 @skisun @maba84 @saisnarry @myhollyhanna23 @thenorthernlytes 

[zutaralesbian]

top 5 luke moments, top 5 maxanne scenes, top 5 things you'd fix from got

Oooh thanks!

Top 5 Luke moments:

1. “I’m a jedi, like my father before me.” This is such an obvious choice and probably what 95% of the Luke stans on here would say is their favorite Luke scene, but I don’t care. I have to list it is as my #1 because it’s simply the best. It encompasses one of the main reasons that I love Luke so much as a character…he’s a main male protagonist whose biggest strength is his compassion and refusal to give in to darkness. In most other sci-fi adventures this kind of scenario would end with the male protagonist killing both of the antagonists, but with Luke, he wins by doing the exact opposite. The only time he’s provoked into violence during the entire scene is when Vader threatens Leia, but he picks himself back up at the end and stands by his convictions, not allowing the Emperor to drag him into the same trap that his father fell into. And it’s his complete refusal to fall into the dark side that inspires Anakin/Vader, someone whose been completely consumed by darkness for over twenty years, to drag himself out of that hole in order to save his son. It’s just…amdkndknd. I can go on forever about why I love that scene. If I ever have a son, Luke is the kind of character that I would want him to aspire to be like. 

2. The scene in ESB where he completely abandons his jedi training to go save Han and Leia, despite both Obi-Wan and Yoda telling him not to. This is a significant scene that sets Luke apart from the majority of the other jedi…he ultimately follows his heart over what’s “wise” or “responsible”. He leaves,probably very prepared to die, to save the people he loves. He’s mostly untrained but Han and Leia are in danger, so he has to at least try to save them. Further proof that he’d never fall into that “no attachments” BS. 

3. All of those scenes where he sassed Jabba during ROTJ. “I warn you not to underestimate my power”. It’s like, after he found out that Darth Vader is his father, he stopped giving a fuck and turned into a beast lol. 

4. His duel with Vader in ESB. It’s hard to watch that scene because it’s so clear that Luke is physically outmatched, but what I always found admirable about that scene is that he still never gives up. Vader says “it’s useless to resist”  but Luke continues to resist. He gets the “soft cinnamon roll” label a lot but my son is also a fighter. 

5. All of his interactions with Artoo and Threepio. The first time I watched ANH, I actually originally thought that Leia was going to be my favorite character (as of now, she is my second fave) but one thing that stood out to me about Luke in ANH was how he talked to Artoo and Threepio. While everyone else throughout the movie see’s them as droids, Luke treats them like his new friends. “You can call me Luke.” And you keep getting that vibe with their scenes together throughout the rest of the trilogy too (especially with Artoo). Luke is just a genuinely kind person. 

There’s scenes in TLJ that I really liked too, despite how much I complain about it. (That scene with Leia in particular was admittedly beautiful). But i’m too mad about it right now to even think about including any of them in the list lol.

Top 5 Maxanne scenes:

1. “I believe that in this moment, you cannot fathom leaving me.” It might seem kind of weird that I put this one as my first pick because it’s kind of sad in tone. Max is talking about the impending doom of their relationship. But I just love the acting in it. The way they both look at each other throughout it. It’s something you can’t watch without thinking, “god they’re in love with each other.” And the kiss that follows it is the most tender and beautiful kiss in the entire series imo. 

2. “There’s nothing important that does not include you.” I put this as #2 and not #1 because it reminds me that Eleanor died and makes me sad because of that :/ But I really do love it. It’s my main OTP quote for them for a reason. The entire speech just encompasses how much much Max’s relationships with both Anne and Eleanor truly shaped her arc throughout the show. Watching Eleanor’s mistakes, and eventually having to grieve her death, is what pushes Max to realize that she needs to fix things with Anne. And that hand-holding in the snow at the end

3. Anne opening up to Max about what happened to her when she was young and how Jack saved her, and why she feels like she owes him for that :/ Anne and Max both suffered r*pe and abuse at the hands of men, and I love the narrative that they’re both survivors who confine in each other about it and help each other.   

4. That scene where Max is sitting in the bathtub and Anne is just kneeling on the floor next to her and staring at her like she’s the cure to everything bad in the world. “You saying this ain’t real?” “Of course it is.”

5. Their first kiss. It was so emotionally packed and sexy. And thinking back on it now, I think it was kind of funny that Max just assumed that the reason Anne was in such a bad mood was because she was sexually frustrated (because of her). She was obviously right, but damn, I wish I had that much self confidence lol. 

Honorable mention to “I will stand between you and them and I will protect you.”

Top 5 things i’d fix from GoT:

Damn, only five things? Lol. Here’s my attempt at narrowing it down. In no particular order:

1. I would erase Sansa’s season five arc and give her the Alayne Stone arc from the books instead. (For people who don’t know, in the books, Sansa disguises herself as “Alayne Stone”, Littlefinger’s bastard daughter and is still currently at the Vale). The downside to that is that we would have had to watch her interact with Littlefinger even more than we did on the show, but it still largely beats the Ramsay shit. And my girl would have gotten her well-deserved arc of slowly developing into a true player of the game. 

2. Catelyn’s arc. (Which would have included Lady Stoneheart). People who only watch the show would probably be shocked to know that Catelyn was actually supposed to be more important of a character than Robb was because the show let Robb completely sideline her in the arc that was mainly supposed to be hers. Robb was a side character in HER story, not the other way around. She was a POV character for a reason. Smh. So yeah, i’d definitely fix that. 

3. The mess that was Sansa and Arya’s story line in S7. YIKES. Erase, erase. 

4. Speaking of erasing, bye bye J*nerys. (There’s a large chance that this is going to happen in the books as well, which is ick, but i’m at least hoping that it’ll happen in a way that doesn’t make Jon and Dany completely OOC lol).

5. JAIME’S CHRACTER. Holy shit lol. I would give him the development that book! Jaime got, and none of the BS the writers pulled with him in seasons 4 and beyond. 

BIG honorable mention to Dorne too. Dorne is actually a really interesting plot point in the books, but on the show, it’s pretty pointless and boring. 

[dadvans]

TOP FIVE THINGS MASTERPOST (2/3)

Christophe Giacometti’s boyfriend proposes to him in the kiss and cry.  Yuuri is about to go on, is looking up at the big screen saying, “how embarrassing!  I would hate someone making such a public spectacle of a private moment.”  Victor spends Yuuri’s entire free skate canceling the series of ice dancers and crowd participants and camera guys he had hired for a very public proposal that it is NOT HAPPENING.

The entire restaurant erupts with applause when the table next to theirs announces their proposal, an engagement ring presented to a bride in a glass of champagne.  Yuuri says, “I can’t imagine such a tacky and cliched proposal.  Can you really not think of something more personal and romantic than what movies have shown you?”  When the waiter comes around with their ‘complimentary’ glasses of champagne, Victor double-fists them both, swallowing hard around a 10k diamond ring.  “I was very thirsty,” he says, signaling for another round, choking a little.  “So, so thirsty.”

Realizing how flawed his Public Display of Affection technique was, Victor decides to have a more private engagement.  He hides the ring on Makkachin’s harness and has a five-course dinner catered at home, courtesy of him not knowing how to make anything except for protein shakes and scrambled eggs on toast.  Except that’s the day that between Victor getting flowers and Victor picking up his new Soon-To-Be-Ravished Engagement suit, Yuuri takes Makkachin to the groomers and comes back excited to show off a clean-cut dog minus one engagement ring.  (“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the groomer says the next day, flashing a suspicious gold ring they were not wearing the day before with a flip of their hand.  “I didn’t find anything.”)

Yuuri meanwhile realizes what Victor’s game plan has been the entire time, and feeling awful, decides to ask for his hand in marriage in a public display of affection.  They’re seeing a hockey match as a family with Yurio, and Yuuri lets the event staff know ahead of time he would like to propose to Victor on the overhead screen.  The venue tries and fails—the kiss cam lands on Yuuri and Yurio when Victor is getting more drinks.  Yurio sees his moment and Goes For It ™.  

They don’t expect it to go like this: Yuuri on the couch getting a foot rub, face lolling to the side.  “Marry me,” he says, and he means nothing by it, but everything at the same time, and Victor kisses his big toe and says, “I do.”

It’s a home birth.  They’ve got fucking mood tapes made, they have candles, they have a pool in their living room, they have comforting smells.  Yuuri is ready.

Yuuri is NOT ready, but he pretends he is ready.  The comforting smells are not comforting and Victor opens all the windows and he is in so much pain and Yuuri really hates this??? But Victor Does Not Know.  All Victor knows it that Yuuri has a well-organized birthing kit, full of things like ziplock bags he’s written PLACENTA on in his neat, English handwriting, and a cheap shower curtain to line the bathing tub covered in orange and blue squids.  He calls the neighbors about the loud noises and when the baby doesn’t come, but the contractions are shitty, he lets Victor practically break his hand as they walk in circles around their small concrete backyard in New York.  

Yuuri calls the midwife and Yuuri makes green tea with brown rice and Yuuri sweeps the floor approximately twenty-nine times and Yuuri pours him glass after glass of water and sits with him on the edge of the bathtub while he tries and fails to pee and cuts him thin slices of watermelon and wipes his sweaty hair back and traces his fingers through Victor’s scalp.

Yuuri’s face is there.  It’s the only face Victor needs to see.  There’s a midwife and an apprentice and Makkachin (and waiting out in a car trying to manage his own panic attack, Yuri Plisetsky) there too, but as far as Victor’s world is concerned it’s Yuuri, Yuuri, Yuuri as he pushes and breathes and shifts and breathes and cries and breathes, and Yuuri is there, and he’s beautiful.

Yuuri is so good at positive reinforcement and telling Victor that he did a good job, even though they’re both crying, and he’s so good at holding the baby and looking at the baby and saying, “baby,” with vocal chords capable of making noise, and Yuuri is so good at being tender and wonderful and himself and pressing kisses to Victor’s sweaty temple and cutting the chord and laying next to him and saying, “way to go, papa, looks like we just won gold.”

When he had to tell Victor that Air Bud wasn’t a documentary

When he has to tell Victor that Ronald McDonald isn’t a real person, and definitely not a politician or someone who sacrificed his own life for America.  

No, he never took a giant robot to school.  No, that was—it’s just in a lot of cartoons, Victor.  Giant robots aren’t a thing in Japan.  No, we have a defense force, we do not have an army of giant robots.  

No, Victor, potato vodka is not a vegetable, please stop arguing with me, this is the seventh time.

Victor is devastated when they move to Venice Beach after retiring to find out that rollerblading and fishnet shirts are No Longer A Thing.  Also, that Pauly Shore is no longer relevant.  Victor watches Encino Man seven times that weekend and refuses to go outside.

MAN, i couldn’t answer this one, and i’ll tell you why: even though you wrote “’typically’ masculine,” it just suggests so much and so little.  this is a hard hunger to feed.  when i read this, it seems like someone wants to cement one identity as ‘more masculine’ and another as ‘more feminine’.  it also completely disregards that the idea of ‘masculinity’ is not constant through different cultures, and what ‘masculine’ in russia and ‘masculine’ in japan may not, and is not cohesive with the western idea of masculine.  i tried to answer this initially anyway, but it just made me too uncomfortable.  yuuri and victor are men, but they shouldn’t be regulated by that, and they also shouldn’t have to live out expectations beyond that.  i don’t feel comfortable defining that. ��does that make sense?  i hope this doesn’t bum you out, but for multiple reasons, i couldn’t answer this one.

The entire sequence of Yuuri’s breakdown in the parking lot, his free skate, to the kiss in episode seven.  I love Georgi’s FS music when they’re recovering from seeing each other raw and walking toward the rink, I love Yuuri’s recognition of Victor as an imperfect human and imperfect coach, I love the monologue while he skates, I LOVE him attempting the quad flip for the first time.  The kiss was the first part I had seen of the anime, and it convinced me to watch the show, because I’m so tired of queerbating, but!! When i saw it within the series, the emotions that built up to it completely wrecked me.  I still get emotional watching it.

I have watched the airport scene from the end of episode 9 probably just as much as I’ve watched the kiss.  The way Victor says, “it would be nice if you never retired.”  Fucks me up!!! Just fucks me up.

Any second that Christophe Giacometti is on screen.  I love him.  I love him so much.  

The entire first nine episodes with the new eyes of the episode ten reveal. Coupled with the last ten seconds of episode ten.  “BEEEEE MAAAAAAI COOOOOOCHI”

The fucking pairs skate, fucking end me, jesus fucking christ.  

HONORABLE MENTIONS: when they hug during the flashback over Yuuri getting that 4F score, when they kiss rings, touch hands, touch each other, whenever Victor gets in Yuuri’s space that no one else is allowed to occupy but Victor can with ease, the aggressive hugging sequence in episode nine, just like, the entire fucking series, leave me alone.

Yuri doesn’t give a shovel talk, but he does suggest he and Yuuri kill Victor with a shovel so they can be together forever.

Yakov wants to tell Yuuri to be good to Vitya, but after the incident at the Rostelecom Cup, he realizes that Victor probably needs the shovel talk a lot more than Yuuri.  Yuuri doesn’t skate past Yakov’s criticisms sing-songing “I can’t he-e-a-a-r y-o-o-o-u,” and he doesn’t invite the entire st. petersburg philharmonic to compose from the stands while he works on his new routine, and in the end yakov’s shovel talk is more like, “if you ever need help burying his body, it would please me greatly to help.”

Georgi tries to give Yuuri the shovel talk, because Georgi understands Real Pain, and it’s what he would have wanted when his heart was broken, but then Yuuri looks away and grabs at the inside of his elbow shyly and says, “I heard what you went through with Anya, I can only imagine how that felt, so I understand—“ and Georgi is crying Yuuri suddenly and holding him.  

“I didn’t think he had a heart to break before he met you,” Mila admits as they watch Victor practicing his jumps.  He’s been able to add another half rotation to his triple axel, but his knees have been hurting him lately, and in turn it hurts to watch how determined he can be when he really wants something and has no way of hiding from it.  “But he does, even if he’s better at hiding how he feels about you than he does about his sport.  You break his heart, I break your legs.”

Victor’s always been Lilia’s favorite student from Yakov, and she’s always had a working rivalry with Minako, so any time Victor shows up in less than perfect form, when he and Yuuri aren’t looking at each other with the usual tenderness in the mornings, she sees no problem in pulling Yuuri aside and making him do hundreds on a reformer until he’s throwing up.  It’s more effective than any shovel talk.