#one line and he had me WEAK

[a55goblin]

my first interaction with ifan

[rauzagel]

Now I dictate the terms and you agree to them. Master and Vassal.

When Raphael tells you that he's your master... Hah. Yes, please.

[pumpkinrootbeer]

Eugene was truly the best boyfriend. saw his girlfriend get broken up with, and immediately had a revenge glow up. Imagine being Cassandra seeing your ex girlfriend's boyfriend and he's wearing a golden choker with the just deepest v neck known to man, the world's sluttiest gloves, and a thigh garter. I'd have to give up then and there.

[thefandomenchantress]

What the TMF Characters Say When Someone Says They Look Pretty Today

What it says in the title, haha. I'm going to add a keep reading since it gets long, though.

Jake: "Oh, thanks!" (Basic reply but obviously appreciative, smiling at them)

Hailey: "Oh, um, thank you. That's really nice of you." (A little taken off-guard, but smiles once she realizes they mean it)

Drew: "What? Thanks, I guess?" (Has no idea how to respond, will also add that he has a girlfriend if they seem too flirty)

Daisy: "Aww, thank you, that's really sweet! You look pretty today, too!" (Appreciates it but is also legally required to compliment them back)

Lia: "Huh? Oh, thanks! I actually tried this new mascara today, maybe that's why. It's called--" (Engages in friendly talk with them, flattered)

Zoey: "Yeah, I know!" (Genuine confidence; she knows she's pretty but likes when people point it out)

Liam: "Yeah, I know." (Fake confidence; clearly surprised and trying not to seem flustered (failing immensely))

Henry: "Haha, very funny. >:( ...WAIT YOU'RE SERIOUS??? Oh, well that makes sense, too." (Will assume they're joking until told otherwise, but afterwards he looks quite proud of himself (He will also warn them his heart is reserved for Lia))

Maria: "Oh, thanks." (Smiles, clearly already knows this but doesn't mind being reminded of it)

Stacy: "Thank you so much! I really like your bracelets, where'd you get them?" (Very flattered, wants to return the favor and compliments them about something she sees them wearing)

Milly: "...Oh, uh, thanks?" (Initially looks angry before realizing they aren't joking or making fun of her, thanks them a bit confusedly) (If they do it again after that, she will be ready this time and answer more confidently about how yeah, she does look awesome today)

Zander: "I have a boyfriend." (Once they clear up that they didn't mean it like that, he will be very appreciative and most likely tell them about how cool it is that they get his style, and that they are one of few people he respects at this school)

Luke: (Zander tells them Luke has a boyfriend before he can say anything /j) (No, but seriously, Luke thanks them and reacts similarly to Stacy, asking about something they're wearing so they can feel pretty too)

Sean: "Oh--Thank you! That's really nice of you. How are things going?" (Initially surprised but very flattered, strikes up a conversation to get to know them better/how they're doing)

Elliot: "Oh, um, thank you. I don't really know what to say...You look pretty, too!" (He gives them a nervous thumbs up, regrets that, then smiles at them) (He clearly does appreciate it, but doesn't know how to respond)

Sadie: "...Oh. Thank you, that's really nice...You look nice, too." (In her shock forgets to respond, before smiling and thanking them, then deciding to compliment them back, since she knows that's what Daisy does)

[batsplat]

throwback to a couple of my favourite backhanded sets of compliments that casey and valentino threw each other's way

“It’s difficult to say who is the most talented rider,” Stoner said. “Valentino has talent in several things that I lack, for example in dealing with the media. In some aspects he is more talented than me, in others I am more talented. It’s a speech that applies to everyone. Lorenzo has shown that he is more talented than Valentino, and he showed it when they both had the same bike. Dani [Pedrosa] also has great talent, and if he manages to have a great season, without injuries, everyone will have to deal with him.” “We [riders] are all here for the same reason,” the Australian added, “we have the same passion. We all take the same risks and we have to respect each other: there is no reason for hatred, for hating an opponent. We are mature people and we have to realize that. I have great respect for the riders who ride clearly, without doing stupid things. We know that there could be an accident at any time, and we know how difficult it is to stay at the front every week, the effort that this requires. I have great respect for Lorenzo, he is a great fighter. The same goes for Valentino, Dani, Andrea…”

(from 2012) the one-two punch of the media comment and the jorge comment to shit on valentino's talent is really strong stuff. bunch of obvious insults couched in language that's barely trying to hide it but is JUST enough for plausible deniability, like yeah he really did get way better at this whole media schtick bless

“Stoner did an amazing job at Ducati. When I looked back at his telemetry I used to wonder how he’d achieve such times!” Rossi said. “People used to think he was very quick – but not particularly intelligent. And that’s why, eventually, he was successful. The reality is that at Ducati he had to go beyond the limits. Go quicker and quicker. And, if you ride like that, you eventually crash! “We had completely opposing paths in our careers: he’d always ridden for one manufacturer, Honda, under the guidance of Luca Cecchinello. When at Ducati I think he must have thought: ‘Stuff that! This bike is good. I have to win!’ “I, on the other hand, had come from years of success with Honda and Yamaha, and I immediately realised that the bike wasn’t the best. I’m certain that, were Stoner to climb onto Dovizioso’s Ducati tomorrow, he’d still manage to finish a race in 6th place. He used to ride in an incredible way. He’s unique. “Do I miss him? On the track, yes. He has fantastic talent and was difficult to beat. But off the track, no I don’t miss him. Without him there is much better camaraderie between the riders.”

(from 2013) kinda the last time he spoke about casey in any depth for close to a decade, but it's a personal fave interview because there's a really neat 50:50 split between compliments and insults. incredible tonal whiplash in every line

[oso-nan]

has someone made gifs of the two times luigi has ripped his shirt off yet

[cattatoir]

Absolutely sick on all the GO discourse slap a bad haircut on me and call it high school like I’m still doing superwholock

Aziraphale’s process behind falling for Metatron’s trick— is it a mistake or bc he believes in good and Crowley? like it’s not both

[yrrtyrrtwhenihrrthrrt]

In light of Brian Thompson being shot dead on my birthday (🎉🥳🎂) I'd like to share a personal story about UnitedHealthcare.

During the peak of COVID, my family all got sick. I couldn't be on my parents' insurance because they were both older and on Medicare. So, I had insurance through my University: UnitedHealthcare.

For some reason, rather than roll-over each year, I got a new plan each year that ended after May and didn't start until August, so I was uninsured for the summer months, but it was a weird situation that the university denied, and told us we were supposed to be insured year-round, it was messy.

Both of my parents went to the hospital, and I got sick too. I had to take care of my pets, and myself, and try to stay alive and keep my pets alive when I was so weak I could hardly move. When my parents came home, my condition got dramatically worse (I think my body knew it couldn't give out, because there was nobody to take care of me, so once my parents were okay, it completely crashed and failed.)

I started experiencing emergency symptoms. It was a bit hard to breathe, my chest hurt, and I was extremely delirious. I wanted to call my insurance to see if I was covered (this was during the summer) and I was connected to some nice person, probably making minimum wage, who told me with caution in her voice that my plan was expired. I had no active insurance, but she urged me to go to an emergency room. I remember saying something to the effect of "You just told me I don't have insurance, I can't go to the hospital, I can't afford it."

She sounded so genuinely worried and scared. I remember she said "You really don't sound good, you sound really sick, please call 9-1-1" and I think I just said "I can't afford it without insurance, don't worry, I think I'll be okay."

And she paused and said "I don't want to hang up the phone with you like this." And it sounded like she was holding back tears. And I don't remember what I said, I think that I would be okay, and I hung up.

I still think about her. I wonder if that phone call haunted her, or if she had dozens of calls like that a day. I wonder if she thinks about it at all, if she wonders if I died after she told me I didn't have insurance and therefore couldn't go to the hospital without incurring a tremendous financial burden. I wonder if she feels guilt or blame-- of course she shouldn't, it wouldn't have been her fault if anything had happened to me. Maybe it's self-centered to wonder if she thinks about it. I'm not the main character and it was just her job. But, still.

I think about how evil it was that we were put in that situation. Because offering year-long continuous coverage through the university plan would maybe cut into profits, maybe not benefit shareholders enough, maybe cut into Thompson's $10 million salary. While his minimum wage administrators have to feel afraid to hang up the phone, because on the other line someone might be dying, and they wouldn't know. While his patients hang up and decide to take their chances rather than put their family through that trauma.

This is UnitedHealthcare. This is Brian Thompson's legacy. This is why, understandably, an entire nation is jubilant that he was gunned down like the vermin he was. I don't care about his widow. I feel pity for his children, despite the fact that they will inherit millions, but I feel more pity for the children of his victims patients who are gone because they didn't want THEIR children to inherit crippling debt. Brian Thompson got what he fucking deserved. I pray that he not be the only one. I pray for continued safety, peace , and anonymity for his killer.

American healthcare is a disease.

[the-weeping-dawn]

////

[acourtofquestions]

Kingdom of Ash Chapter 66

Chapter; Highlights, etc. (you know the drill😂)

Aelin awoke to the scent of pine and snow, and knew she was home.

Not in Terrasen, not yet, but in the sense she would always be home, if Rowan was with her.

His steady breaths filled her right ear, the sound of the well and truly asleep, and the arm he'd draped across her middle was a solid, warm weight. Silvery light glazed the ancient stones of the ceiling.

Morning—or a cloudy day. The halls beyond the room offered shards of sound that she sorted through, piece by piece, as if she were assembling a broken mirror that might reveal the world beyond

Apparently, it had been three days since the battle. And the rest of the khagan's army, led by Prince Kashin, his third-eldest son, had arrived.

It was that tidbit that had her rising fully to consciousness, a hand sliding to Rowan's arm.

A caress of a touch, just to see how deeply the rejuvenating sleep held him. Three days, they'd slept here, unaware of the world. A dangerous, vulnerable time for any magic-wielder, when their bodies demanded a deep sleep to recover from expending so much power.

That was another sliver she'd picked up: Gavriel sat outside their door. In mountain lion form. People drew quiet when they approached, not realizing that as soon as they passed him, their whispers of That strange, terrifying cat could be detected by Fae ears.

Aelin ran a finger over the seam of Rowan's sleeve, feeling the corded muscle beneath. Clear her head, her body felt clear. Like the first icy breath inhaled on a winter's morning.

During the days they'd slept, no nightmare had shaken her awake, hunted her. A small, merciful reprieve.

Aelin swallowed, her throat dry. What had been real, what Maeve had tried to plant in her mind-did it matter, whether the pain had been true or imagined?

She had gotten out, gotten away from Maeve and Cairn. Facing the broken bits inside her would come later.

For now, it was enough to have this clarity back. Even though releasing her power, expending that mighty blow here, had not been her plan.

Aelin slid her gaze toward Rowan, his harsh face softened into handsomeness by sleep. And clean—the gore that had splattered them both was gone. Someone must have washed it away while they slept.

As if he sensed her attention, or just felt the lingering hand on his arm, Rowan's eyes cracked open. He scanned her from head to toe, deemed everything all right, and met her stare.

"Show-off," he muttered.

Aelin patted his arm. "You put on a pretty fancy display yourself, Prince."

He smiled, his tattoo crinkling. "Will that display be the last of your surprises, or are there more coming?"

She debated it-telling him, revealing it.

Maybe.

Rowan sat up, the blanket sliding from him.

Is this the sort of surprise that will end with my heart stopping dead in my chest?

She snorted, propping her head with a fist as she traced idle marks over the scratchy blanket.

"I sent a letter-when we were at that port in Wendlyn."

Rowan nodded. "To Aedion."

"To Aedion," she said, quietly enough that Gavriel couldn't hear from his spot outside the door. "And to your uncle. And to Essar." Rowan's brows rose. "Saying what?" She hummed to herself. "Saying that I was indeed imprisoned by Maeve, and that while 1 was her captive, she laid out some rather nefarious plans."

Her mate went still. "With what goal in mind?"

Aelin sat up, and picked at her nails.

"Convincing them to disband her army. Start a revolt in Doranelle. Kick Maeve off the throne. You know, small things."

Rowan just looked at her. Then scrubbed at his face. "You think a letter could do that?"

"It was strongly worded." He gaped a bit. "What sort of nefarious plans did you mention?"

"Desire to conquer the world, her complete lack of interest in sparing Fae lives in a war, her interest in Valg things." She swallowed. "I might have mentioned that she's possibly Valg."

Rowan started. Aelin shrugged. "It was a lucky guess. The best lies are always mixed with truth."

"Suggesting Maeve is Valg is a fairly outlandish lie, even for you. Even if it turned out to be true."

She waved a hand. "We'll see if anything comes of it."

"If it works, if they somehow revolt and the army turns against her..." He shook his head, laughing softly. "It'd be a boon in this war."

"I scheme and lie so grandly, and that's all the credit I get?"

Rowan flicked her nose. "You'll get credit if her army doesn't show up. Until then, we prepare as if they are. Which is highly likely." At her frown, he said, "Essar doesn't wield much power, and my uncle doesn't take many risks. Not like Enda and Sellene. For them to overthrow Maeve ... it would be monumental. If they even survived it."

Her stomach churned. "It's their choice, what they do. I only laid out the facts." Carefully worded facts and half guesses. An absolute gamble, if she was being honest.

Rowan smirked. "And other than attempting to overthrow Maeve's throne? Any other surprises I should know about?"

Her smile faded as she lay back down, Rowan doing the same beside her. "There are no more." At his raised brows, she added, "I swear it on my throne. There are no more left."

The amusement in his eyes guttered. "I don't know whether to be relieved."

"Everything I know, you know. All the cards are on the table now."

With the various armies that had gathered, with the Lock, with all of it.

"Do you think you could do it again?" he asked. "Draw up that much power?"

"I don't know. I don't think so. It required being ... contained. With the irons."

A shadow darkened his face, and he rolled onto his side, propping up his head. "I've never seen anything like it."

"You never will again." It was the truth.

"If the cost of that much power is what you endured, then I'll be glad not to."

Aelin ran a hand down the powerful muscles of his thigh, fingers snagging in the rip of fabric just above his knee. "I didn't feel you get this wound through the mating bond," she said, grazing the thick ridge of the new scar. A trophy from the battle. She made herself meet his piercing stare. Did Maeve somehow break that part of it? That part of us?

"No," he breathed, and stroked the hair from her brow. "I've realized that the bond only conveys the pain of the gravest wounds."

She touched the spot on his shoulder where Asterin Blackbeak's arrow had pierced him all those months ago. The moment she'd known what he was to her.

"It was why I didn't know what was happening to you on the beach," Rowan said roughly. Because the whipping, brutal and unbearable as it had been, hadn't brought her to the brink of death. Only into an iron coffin.

She scowled. "If you're about to tell me that you feel guilty for it—"

"We both have things to grapple with—about what happened these months."

A glance at him, and she knew he was well aware of what still clouded her soul.

And because he was the only person who saw everything she was and did not walk away from it, Aelin said, "I wanted that fire to be for Maeve."

"I know." Such simple words, and yet it meant everything-that understanding.

"I wanted it to make things ... better." She loosed a long breath. "To wipe it all away." Every memory and nightmare and lie.

"It will take a while, Aelin. To face it, work through it."

"I don't have a while."

His jaw tensed. "That remains to be seen." She didn't bother arguing. Not as she admitted, "I want it to be over."

He went wholly still, but granted her the space to think, to speak.

"I want it to be over and done with," she said hoarsely. "This war, the gods and the Wyrdgate and the Lock. All of it." She rubbed her temples, pushing past the weight, the lingering stain that no fire might cleanse. "I want to go to Terrasen, to fight, and then I want it to be over."

She'd wanted it to be over since she'd learned the true cost of forging the Lock anew.

Had wanted it to be over with each of Cairn's lashes on the beach in Eyllwe. And all he'd done to her afterward. Whatever it might bring about, however it might end, she wanted it to be over.

She didn't know who and what it made her.

Rowan remained silent for a long moment before he said, "Then we will make sure the khagan's host goes north. Then we will return to Terrasen and crush Erawan's armies." He brought her hands to his mouth for a swift kiss.

"And then, after all that, we'll see about this damned Lock." Uncompromising will filled his every breath, the air around them.

She let it be enough for both of them.

Tucked away his words, his vow, all those promises between them and extended her palm in the air between them.

She summoned the magic-the drop of water her mother's bloodline had given her.

Mab's bloodline.

A tiny ball of water took form in her hand. Over the calluses she'd so carefully rebuilt.

She let the gentle, cooling power trickle over her. Let it smooth the jagged bits inside herself and sing them to sleep. Her mother's gift.

You do not yield.

When the Lock took everything, would it claim this part as well? This most precious part of her power? She tucked away those thoughts, too.

Concentrating, gritting her teeth, Aelin commanded the ball of water to rotate in her palm.

A wobble was all she got in answer.

She snorted. "Faerie Queen of the West indeed."

Rowan huffed a quiet laugh. "Keep practicing. In a thousand years, you might actually be able to do something with it."

She whacked his arm, the droplet of water soaking into the sleeve of his shirt. "It's a wonder I learned anything from you with that sort of encouragement." She shook the wetness from her hand. Right into his face.

Rowan nipped at her nose. "I do keep a tally, Princess. Of all the horrible things that come out of your mouth."

Her toes curled, and she dragged her fingers through his hair, luxuriating in the silken strands. "How shall I pay for this one?"

On the other side of the door, she could have sworn that cat-soft feet quickly padded away.

People gawked in the halls, some whispering as they passed.

The queen and her consort. Where do you think they've been these past few days?

I heard they went into the mountains and brought the wild men back with them.

I heard they've been weaving spells around the city, to protect it against Morath.

Rowan was still smirking when Aelin emerged from the communal ladies' bathing room.

"See?" She fell into step beside him as they aimed not for their room and ravishment, but for the hallway where food had been laid out.

"You're starting to like the notoriety."

Rowan arched a brow. "You think that everywhere I've gone for the past three hundred years, whispers haven't followed me?" She rolled her eyes, but he chuckled. "This is far better than Cold-hearted bastard or I heard he killed someone with a table leg."

"You did kill someone with a table leg." Rowan's smirk grew.

"And you are a cold-hearted bastard," she threw in.

Rowan snorted. "I never said those whispers were lies."

Aelin looped her arm through his. "I'm going to start a rumor about you, then. Something truly grotesque."

He groaned. "I dread the thought of what you might come up with."

She adopted a harsh whisper as they passed a group of human soldiers. "You flew back onto the battlefield to peck out the eyes of our enemies?" Her gasp echoed off the rock. "And ate those eyes?"

One of the soldiers tripped, the others whipping their heads to them. Rowan pinched her shoulder. "Thank you for that."

She inclined her head. "You're very welcome."

Aelin kept smiling as they found food and ate a quick lunch-it was midday, they'd learned-sitting side by side in a dusty, half-forgotten stairwell. Much like the days they'd spent in Mistward, knee to knee and shoulder to shoulder in the kitchen while listening to Emrys's stories.

Though unlike those months this spring, when Aelin set down her plate between her feet, she slid her arms around Rowan's neck and his mouth instantly met hers.

No, it was certainly not at all like their time at Mistward as she crawled into Rowan's lap, not entirely caring that anyone might stride up or down the stairs, and kissed him silly.

They halted, breathless and wild-eyed, before she could decide that it really wouldn't be a bad idea…

… If Aelin was being honest with herself, she was still debating hauling him into the nearest closet when they set off to find their companions at last. One glance at Rowan's glazed eyes and she knew he was debating the same.

Yet even the desire heating her blood cooled when they entered the ancient study near the top of the keep and beheld the gathered group. Fenrys and Gavriel were already there, Chaol with them, no sign of Elide or Lorcan.

But Chaol's father, unfortunately, was present. And glowered as they entered the meeting that seemed well under way. Aelin gave him a mocking smile and sauntered up to the large desk.

A tall, broad-shouldered man stood with Nesryn, Sartaq, and Hasar, handsome and brimming with a sort of impatient energy. His brown eyes were welcoming, his smile easy.

She liked him immediately.

"My brother," Hasar said, waving a hand without looking up from the map. "Kashin." The prince sketched a graceful bow.

Aelin offered one back, Rowan doing the same. "An honor," Aelin said. "Thank you for coming."

"You can actually thank my father for that. And Yrene," said Kashin, his use of their language as flawless as his siblings'.

Indeed, Aelin had much to thank the healer for.

Nesryn's sharp eyes scanned Aelin from head to toe. "You're feeling all right?"

"Just needed to rest." Aelin jerked her chin at Rowan. "He requires frequent naps in his old age."

Sartaq coughed, keeping his head down as he continued studying the map.

Fenrys, however, laughed. "Back to your good spirits, I see."

Aelin smirked at Chaol's straight-backed father. "We'll see how long it lasts."

The man said nothing.

Rowan motioned to the desk and asked the royals, "Have you decided-where you shall march now?"

Such a casual, calm question. As if the fate of Terrasen did not rest upon it.

Hasar opened her mouth, but Sartaq cut her off. "North. We shall indeed go north with you. If only to repay you for saving our army-our people."

Aelin tried not to look too relieved.

"Gratitude aside," Hasar said, not sounding very grateful at all, "Kashin's scouts have confirmed that Terrasen is where Morath is concentrating its efforts. So it is there that we shall go."

Aelin wished she had not eaten such a large lunch. "How bad is it?"

Nesryn shook her head, answering for Prince Kashin, "The details were murky. All we know is that hordes were spotted marching northward, leaving a trail of destruction in their wake."

Aelin kept her fists at her sides, avoiding the urge to rub at her face.

Chaol's father said, "I hope that power of yours can be summoned again."

Aelin let an ember of that power smolder in her eyes. "Thank you for the armor," she crooned.

"Consider it an early coronation gift," the Lord of Anielle countered with a mocking smile.

Sartaq cleared his throat. "If you and your companions are recovered, then we'll press northward as soon as we are able." No objections from Hasar at that.

"And march along the mountains?" Rowan asked, scanning the map. Aelin traced the route they'd follow. "We'd have to pass directly before the Ferian Gap. We'll barely clear the other end of this lake before we're in another battle."

"So we draw them out," Hasar said. "Trick them into emptying whatever forces wait in the Gap, then sneak up on them from behind."

"Adarlan controls the entire Avery," Chaol said, drawing an invisible line inland from Rifthold. "To pass north, we have to cross that river anyway. In picking the Gap as our battleground, we'll avoid the mess that would come with fighting in the midst of Oakwald. The ruks, at least, would be able to provide aerial coverage. Not so with the trees."

Rowan nodded. "We'd need to march the majority of the host up into the mountains, then—to come at the Gap from where they'd least expect it. It's rough terrain, though. We'll need to pick our route carefully."

Chaol's father grumbled. Aelin lifted her brows, but his son answered, "I sent out emissaries the day after the battle-into the Fangs. To contact the wild men who live there, if they might know of secret ways through the mountains to the Gap."

Ancient enemies of this city. "And?"

"They do. But at a cost."

"One that shall not be paid," the Lord of Anielle snapped.

"Let me guess: territory," Aelin said.

Chaol nodded. Hence the tension in this room.

She tapped a toot as she surveyed the Lord of Anielle. "And you won't give one sliver of land to them?"

He just glared.

"Apparently not," Fenrys muttered

Aelin shrugged, and turned to Chaol. "Well, it's settled, then."

"What is settled?" his father ground out.

Aelin ignored him, and winked at her friend. "You're the Hand to the King of Adarlan. You outrank him. You're authorized to act on Dorian's behalf." She gestured to the map. "The land might be a part of Anielle, but it belongs to Adarlan. Go ahead and barter it."

His father started. "You—"

"We are going north," Aelin said. "You will not stand in our way." She again let some of her fire kindle in her eyes, set the gold in them burning. "I halted that wave. Consider this alliance with the wild men a way to repay the favor."

"That wave destroyed half my city," the man snarled.

Fenrys let out a low, disbelieving laugh. Rowan snarled softly.

Chaol growled at his father, "You're bastard."

"Watch your tongue, boy."

Aelin nodded sympathetically to Chaol. "I see why you left."

Chaol, to his credit, winced and returned to the map. "If we can get past the Ferian Gap, then we continue northward."

Past Endovier. That path would take them right past Endovier. Aelin's stomach tightened. Rowan's hand grazed her own.

"We have to decide soon," Sartaq declared.

"Right now, we sit between the Ferian Gap and Morath. It would be very easy for Erawan to send hosts to crush us between them."

Hasar turned to Chaol. "Is Yrene anywhere near done?"

He leaned an elbow against the arm of his wheeled chair. "Even with the few survivors, there are too many of them. We'd be here weeks."

"How many injured?" Rowan asked.

Chaol shook his head. "Not injured." His jaw tightened. "Valg."

Aelin frowned. "Yrene's healing the Valg?"

Hasar grinned. "In a manner of speaking."

Aelin waved her off. "Can I see?"

They found Yrene not in the keep, but in a tent on the remnants of the battlefield, leaning over a human man thrashing upon a cot. The man had been restrained to anchors in the floor at his wrists and ankles.

Aelin took one look at those chains and had to swallow.

Rowan laid a hand on her lower back, and Fenrys stepped closer to her side.

Yrene paused, her hands wreathed in white light. Borte, sword out, lingered nearby.

"Is something wrong?" Yrene asked, the glow in her hands fading. The man sagged, going boneless as the healer's assault on the demon inside him halted.

Chaol steered his chair closer to her, the wheels equipped for rougher terrain. "Aelin and her companions want a demonstration. If you're up for it."

Yrene smoothed back the hair that had escaped her braid. "It's not really anything that you can see. What happens is beneath the skin—mind to mind."

"You go up against Valg demons directly," Fenrys said with no small amount of awe.

"They're hateful, cowardly wretches." Yrene crossed her arms and scowled at the man tied to the cot. "Utterly pathetic," she spat toward him—the demon inside him.

The man hissed. Yrene only smiled. The man—the demon-whimpered.

Aelin blinked, unsure whether to laugh or fall to her knees. "Show me. Do whatever it is you do, but show me."

Borte said, "It's not very exciting with them tied down, is it?"

Sartaq threw her an exasperated glare. As if this were a conversation they'd already had many times. "You can be on mucking duty, if you'd prefer."

Borte rolled her eyes, but turned to Aelin, looking her over with a frankness that Aelin could only appreciate. "Any other missions for me?"

Aelin grinned. "Not yet. Soon, perhaps." Borte grinned right back. "Please. Please spare me from the tedium of this."

"And you believe them?" Fenrys asked.

Hasar patted the hilt of her fine sword. "Our interrogators are skilled at retrieving the truth."

Aelin ignored the roiling in her stomach.

"So you free them," Gavriel said, silent for minutes now, "and then torture them?"

"This is war," Hasar said simply. "We leave them able to function. But we will not risk sparing their lives only to find a new army at our backs."

"Some willingly joined Erawan," Chaol said quietly. "Some willingly took the ring. Yrene can tell, when she's in there, who wanted it or not. She doesn't bother to save those who gladly knelt. So most of those she does save were either fools or taken forcibly."

"Some want to fight for us," Sartaq said.

"Those who pass our vetting process are allowed to begin training with the foot soldiers. Not many of them, but a few." Fine. Fine, and fine.

Yrene gasped, her light flaring bright enough that Aelin squinted.

Yrene slumped back, Chaol shooting out an arm to brace her. The healer only took a perch on the arm of his chair, a hand on her heaving chest.

Aelin gave her a moment to catch her breath. To manage such a feat was remarkable. To do it while pregnant ... Aelin shook her head in wonder.

Yrene said to no one in particular, "That demon didn't want to go."

"But it's gone now?" Aelin asked

Yene pointed to the man on the cot, now opening his eyes. Brown, not black, gazed upward.

"Thank you," was all the man said, his voice raw.

And human. Utterly human.

[rindreamery]

out of breath, got me going like...

some of the attractive things that the blue lock men do. featuring: itoshi rin, itoshi sae, nagi seishiro, michael kaiser, oliver aiku, yukimiya kenyu ─ content: fluff, suggestive

note. yukki debut on my acc ??? do we fw the casual, less poetic writing cuz there was really no way to make this poetic 👩‍🦯 just astronomically down bad writing all around

itoshi rin sends you gym pics without you having to ask.

it initially took a lot of convincing, at first, to get rin to send you a picture. in his eyes, it was embarrassing— the idea of pulling his phone out mid-workout, taking a picture, sending it to you, and then going back to whatever he was doing. his mind would drift off to the weird stares he would probably get from others, and the fact that he also wasn’t exactly known for knowing how to pose to begin with. as much as he loved making you happy, there were just some things he was not willing to do.

it took a lot of begging, and for the first few months, the answer was always, “no.”

the first picture came unexpectedly. your phone was thrown off to the side of the bed, not really anticipating any texts from rin for the next hour or so, given the fact that he was at the gym. so you were surprised when you heard a familiar tune come from your phone— one specifically assigned to his contact. you had no idea why he would be texting you. 

you’re absolutely floored at what you see; jaw left hanging and eyes practically bulging out of their sockets, almost dropping the phone.

it's a gym picture. he's doing a normal pose, nothing too special. he’s standing in front of the mirror, one hand shoved into the pocket of his shorts, and the other holding onto his phone. his face was partly covered by his phone, but you could see the blush spread across his cheeks and the tips of his ears. but it wasn’t that that got your attention— no, it was something entirely different.

he was wearing a sleeveless compression shirt, giving you a full view of his arms. they were glistening in sweat and perfectly toned. the arm that was propping his phone up was slightly flexed, from the position it was in, adding to the bulk and definition in his biceps. and you could see the veins traveling up the arm of his hand, the one that was shoved into his pocket, crawling up from the back of his hand to his forearm. the bright overhead lighting, with a combination of the dim background lighting, served to emphasize every line and crevice of his exposed skin. 

“this what you wanted?” came a message right after, “i know you’re reading this right now, respond.” you felt weak. he definitely researched how to do this.

words couldn't describe how you felt. so, your immediate response was to send him a flurry of incoherent texts; a mixture of randomly pressed keys and crying emojis. but that’s what feeds his ego— your reactions are what makes smile smugly to himself, covering his lips with his hands as he reads your texts over. he starts to send you gym pictures more consistently after that, patiently waiting for your response after each one. at this point, it’s become a part of his gym routine.

itoshi sae drapes his arm over the back of your seat while reversing.

driving with sae was a true test of control— specifically, yours. it had become increasingly hard to focus whenever he was driving, with every little motion of his body seeming to pull your attention away from the road. he was just so distracting, to the point that you had started offering to drive instead. yet to no avail, because he always insisted on being the driver, furthering your silent suffering in the passenger's seat. but, there was nothing more testing than whenever he was reversing the car.

it’s an internal battle; it takes everything in you not to ogle him so openly. and somehow, you’re losing a battle to yourself.

it’s as if your eyes instantly become magnetized to sae— the way he moves when he rests his arm so casually, yet so securely, on the back of your headrest’s frame. and it doesn’t help that this position gives such a perfect view of him. the way the muscles in his arm ripple and flex ever so slightly, but visibly, under his loose dress shirt. the way his folded sleeves ride up every time, and the exposed part of his forearm constantly taunts you to take a peek. you hate that you suddenly become hyperaware of everything he does in that moment. especially his fingers, and the way they tickle the back of your neck, almost touching you but not quite there.

you have to hold back the subtle shudder that sweeps over your body.

it feels like he’s taking up so much space, demanding you to notice him. the way the scent of his cologne wafts over to you, the bergamot and sandalwood notes of it slowly overwhelming your senses. the faint shift in his posture, emphasizing the subtle stretch of his neck, giving you a view of his collarbones and necklace. and the way his lips curve ever so slightly when he speaks, his voice in a low tone, with his eyes flitting over to you momentarily before they’re back on the road.

it has to be intentional, he has to be aware of what he’s doing. “you’re doing this on purpose,” you mutter under your breath, willing yourself to turn away and look out the window.

“doing what on purpose?” he asks, but the mirth in his tone is evident— you can practically hear the tiny smirk that’s splayed on his lips. you’ve concluded that he’s sick in the head, that he’s playing with you right in your face. “i’m just making sure we don’t get into a crash, you baby.” and you willingly fall for it, every time.

nagi seishiro becomes clingy when it's just the two of you.

laying in your lap, while you’re absorbed in your own hobby, is one of nagi’s favorite pastimes. it keeps him close to you, but allows you both to do your own thing. sometimes, he’d take a nap while you work, one hand loosely holding onto yours in his sleep. other times, he’d play video games on his phone, making sure his volume is turned all the way down to not distract you. but most of the time, he likes to just lay there and admire you, with a barely noticeable smile on his lips.

but he becomes somewhat miffed whenever your hair falls in front of your face, blocking his (initially) flawless view of you. and it annoys him more whenever you don’t push it out of the way.

so, he decided to take it upon himself to move it for you, arm lazily stretched up to reach for you. you barely noticed it at first, so absorbed in the book that you were reading. the sensation of his fingers ghosting over your cheeks doesn’t register in your mind, and his touch is barely there. and then you feel it. his fingers are in your hair, gathering the strands on the back of his hand before he’s brushing it out of the way. it’s so gentle, the way he locks your hair behind your ear, and the way his hand lingers a little longer on your skin after. his fingers then travel from your ear to your jawline, finger lightly tracing the side of your jaw, and it makes you curl in on yourself at the feeling. (it tickles, but also oddly comforting.) and then, he’s pulling his arm back down to reach for your wrist instead, fingers wrapping around it.

your skin is tingling, and the surface of your skin feels warm— taken aback by the sudden act of affection. you glance down at him with a curious look, only to see that he’s already staring attentively at you, and you feel his hold on you tighten. “you know,” you begin, “you could’ve just asked me to do it for you.”

"you always get so lost in whatever you're doing," he mumbles slowly, his voice sounding almost whiney at the fact. his hand, the one firmly holding onto your wrist, is traveling up until it’s wiggling the book out of your hand. (you don’t miss the small furrow of his brows when you jokingly grip onto the book, before giving in and letting it fall to the side.) he takes this chance to intertwine your fingers, his larger hands completely enveloping yours. "i don't mind it, but i hate when i can’t see you."

michael kaiser holds intense eye contact with you when you're talking.

at times, you found it hard to talk to kaiser. he's constantly exuding such an intense confidence, one that's often present in his gaze, that you could never truly hold face-to-face conversations with him. you're always shying away from it, crumbling under the intensity, and he finds twisted pleasure in how flustered it makes you. the way the words always die on the tip of your tongue whenever your eyes meet, when you see that his focus is locked on you

it makes you look away, because it's the only thing you can do to escape it. but kaiser doesn't like it when you're looking away from him— he wants your attention. he wants to see you when you talk excitedly about your day.

he’ll get that attention however way he can. from where you're seated on the couch gives him quick access to you. you can feel his tattooed hand crawling up the skin of your thighs, sliding up slowly, leaving a trail of goosebumps as he goes. he stops short of the hem of your shorts, planting his hand firmly on the spot. he gives it a firm squeeze, fingers digging into the plush of your thighs— trying to get you to cave into him. “why won’t you look at me when you talk?” he’s leaning into you, invading your personal space despite the spacious couch. you can feel his breath on the shell of your ear with each word, “mein liebling, i want to see you when you talk. look at me.”

“you can listen to me talk without needing me to look at you,” you swallow, and his grip tightens ever so slightly at your words.

you're shifting awkwardly, trying to ignore the way your heart beats a little faster at the proximity, at the fact that his voice has started to sound almost pleading. almost— because he would never admit to something as desperate as pleading. it’s hard to focus when he’s this close, when he’s right there. his fingers remain on your thigh, tracing deliberate lines over your skin, and despite the way you're trying to resist, you can feel your resolve crumbling.

it’s not every day that you see someone like kaiser be on the precipice of begging for your attention. 

“i promise, i’ll stop teasing you. look—” his other hand is hooking under your chin, coaxing you to look at him. and you do— his eyes, once intense and teasing, now holds a softer and almost guilty looking gaze. “keep talking, yeah?”

oliver aiku likes to loosen his necktie with one hand after a formal event.

neckties are the worst, an opinion oliver will stand by ‘til the end of time. he absolutely despises having to put one on for formal events, and he’ll do his best to charm his way out of having to wear one. it never works, so the second he puts it on, he’s already thinking of the moment he gets to pull it off of himself. he doesn’t think much of it when he does it— one finger looping in the space between his neck and necktie, and he’s pulling at it without care.

but recently, he’s started to notice how intently you’d been staring each time he did it.

oliver’s got a keen-eye; not even the smallest thing can get past him. he drinks in the sight of you when he does it, eyes fixed on you, and taking joy in the fact that you don’t even seem to notice. you’re too busy being fixated on his hand, and the way the vein on his hand becomes prominent when he flexes it to pull, or the way his fingers seem to play around with the fabric. your eyes are so sharp, but somehow so unfocused, all at the same time. he loves how it gets you worked up.

it’s entertaining, so he takes it up a notch.

he drags his fingers, slowly, down to the first button of his shirt. and then he’s unbuttoning it with one hand, putting in extra effort in exposing his collarbones. he can’t fight the grin that makes its way to his lips, at your reaction— your eyes are widening, and he can visibly see you gulp at the sight. and then your eyes are shooting up to meet his, and his grin becomes impossibly wider.

“like what you see?” the teasing and flirtatious lilt in his voice is unmistakable, and you can’t help but draw your eyes back down to where his hand is twirling the tie around his fingers. he makes you tick, but he’s also so attractive, and you hate that he can easily make you blush with his words.

“you wish.” you choose to look away with a scoff, crossing your arms over your chest. “it’s gonna take more than that.” that makes him oddly excited, brows raising in mild surprise, and you honestly should’ve known better. it’s like you’re offering up a new challenge to him, and he gladly accepts.

oliver still hates neckties; that’s an opinion that will never change. he still looks forward to the second he gets to pull it off. except now, he gets to play a little game with you while he does it.

yukimiya kenyu keeps a hand on your back at all times, in public.

it’s a habit formed purely from the fact that the streets of shibuya have the tendency to become really crowded, and yukimiya hates it when you get separated from him in such a crowd. he likes it when you’re right by his side— he can keep a close eye on you at all times and protect you from getting pushed around. and originally, it started off with holding your hands. it was fine during the colder seasons, providing the two of you with extra warmth. but you had both quickly realized that it could become quite uncomfortable during summer, making your hands all sweaty and sticky.

so he experimented. he let his arm drop from your shoulders to the small of your back, his palm hovering over your skin, initially unsure of how you would react.

“is this okay?” he would lean down to whisper in your ear, and his voice was so gentle and so concerned about you. even when he was the one getting shoved around by the crowd, with people constantly running into the sides of his shoulders, he was still only thinking about you. you and your comfort. “tell me if this is uncomfortable, and i’ll figure something else out. okay?”

it made you shiver— you felt a heat crawl up your spine, and your stomach was immediately fluttering with butterflies.

you nod, “no, this is okay.” more than okay, actually, but you keep that to yourself. “thank you for asking.” he flashes you one of his pretty smiles, and he leans up to look straight ahead in the crowd again. but this time, his touch is more present— his palm is now firmly planted onto your skin, and he’s actively weaving you through the crowded streets.

whenever someone would get too close to you, or if he anticipates that someone is about to crash into you, his hand would travel to the side of your waist. and yukimiya grips on it, pulling your body flush against his side, effectively pulling you out of the way. “sorry,” he’ll whisper an apology, not having intended to hold you so tightly. his hands will go right back to where they initially were, not without trailing his fingers on the way back, leaving sparks tingling across your skin where he touched. “did i hurt you?”

“no, i’m fine,” you can keep your hand there, you almost tell him. it drives you insane that everything he does is unintentional— but maybe, one day, you'll be able to tell him exactly what you’re thinking.

© rindreamery, 2024

tags. @choccorin @mininji

[suksatoru]

smile for the camera! — ft. k. bakugo x fem!reader

katsuki bakugo is tricked into smiling during an interview when they bring up your name!

you didn't notice it at first, but katsuki bakugo developed smile lines after meeting you.

he didn't smile much as a kid. most of his baby pictures consisted of him either crying, screaming, or making some sort of vulgar gesture at the camera. it only got worse as he entered his teen years. his temper calmed down a bit, sure. but the chances of catching katsuki bakugo smiling were as rare as catching lightening in a bottle.

the paparazzi were well aware of the famous dynamight barely having any pictures of him smiling out on the internet—there were three singular photos out there that consisted of him with a somewhat pleased expression on his face, and the only reason he looked that way was because you were in frame right beside him.

it seemed to be a well known fact that getting bakugo to smile was nearly impossible—but the current interviewer sitting in front of bakugo was determined.

"great explosion murder god dynamight—or, well, just dynamight sir—what would you say is your favorite part about being a hero?"

katsuki stops himself from rolling his eyes, already anticipating the rest of the interview's questions as he answers flatly

"the glory. the strength. and kicking ass—make that the first thing, actually."

"okay! now, i'd like to ask you a few more things..." the young woman chirps up, and katsuki sighs and tells her to continue. the next dozens of questions were just as he'd predicted—stuff like asking who his biggest inspiration was, what kind of merch his team would be putting out in the upcoming months, and what he thought his weaknesses were.

"—and i don't have weakness. i'm fucking perfect, ask anybody. now, are we done here?" he snaps, rolling his shoulders as he moves to stand up, eyes flitting towards the exit with nothing but disinterest

he'd spent an entire hour answering these stupid questions when he could've been out fighting villains, finishing up his paperwork, literally anything else would be more time fulfilling than answering baseless questions like these ones.

the interviewer's eyes widen when katsuki stands up from his seat, stretching his arms above his head with a grunt before she quickly interrupts him

"what about your wife!"

"....eh?"

"your wife!" she says, quickly collecting herself

"could you tell us about her? it seems like many of your fans are interested in learning more regarding you two! you have a very private relationship, so it's only natural for people to be curious!"

katsuki blinks, absorbing her words. slowly, his feet—once pointed towards the exit—shift ever so slightly towards the woman

"well...what do you want to know?"

and that's how katsuki found himself sitting in the same seat another hour later. except this time, he had the dorkiest grin ever plastered on his face.

"oh i knew i wanted to marry her the first time she yelled at me—she was pretty feisty back in our ua days. still is, but now all the insults she throws my way usually have the word babe or honey added at the end. she has a clever mouth, i'm warnin' ya—you don't wanna get into an argument with her."

the interviewer laughs, and katsuki decides he might come back to this station another time if they asked. he's... well, simply put, having fun.

he leaves after another forty minutes, only because his manager literally dragged him out of the room—he had a meeting to attend and then his patrol—but he left waving at the camera crew and in a far more better mood than he'd arrived in.

katsuki spends the rest of the day getting through all of his hero duties, the interview slowly being pushed to the back of his mind as he focuses on finishing all his work and coming home to you.

it's nearly nine pm when he opens the door to your shared apartment—groaning about how tired he was and how you better not be asleep—when he hears your padded feet running towards the main entryway to greet him

"you're home!"

he offers you a slanted grin, opening his arms for a hug

"missed ya today," he mutters, pressing a kiss onto your scalp as you peer up at him with a grin—looking a little too happy.

"what're ya cheesing so hard about?"

you hum, tapping the back of his thigh with a knowing grin

"your ma called. guess what she told me?"

katsuki groans, shrugging off his gauntlets and boots before tugging you towards the couch in the living room, flopping onto it while mumbling under his breath and pulling you towards his chest

"you two devils were probably gosspin' about me, that old hag better not have sent you any pictures or i swear—"

"she told me to turn on the tv and head to channel seven."

katsuki pauses, staring at you with furrowed brows. well, it couldn't have been him on channel seven, right? he didn't have any crazy villains to deal with for once, so it wouldn't make sense for him to be on one of the main channels today.

"what..."

he smacks his forehead with an embarrassed groan when you pull out your phone and show him your recording of his interview. you're practically bouncing on the couch beside him with glee as you shove the screen in his face

"you're smiling! they made it the cover of their video, too—gosh you look so cute when you smile! and you're talking about me!"

katsuki huffs, but watches you play back the video with a cheesy grin on your face. your round eyes are illuminated by the screen, and you re-watch the video with your lips parted in awe

"you got the real thing right in front of you but you'd rather watch that...i see how it is." he grumbles, something similar to a pout forming on his face when you still don't acknowledge him—too busy watching his video as you bring the phone closer to your face

"i'm going to screenshot your smiling face in this video and make it my profile picture on insta—"

he snatches the phone out of your hand, powering it off before tossing it aside and wrapping his strong arms around your waist in an iron grip

"i'll make that one of you snoring and drooling all over my chest my profile picture if you even think about it."

"i'm pretty sure half the comments on that video literally have your smiling face as their profile picture."

"...well that's a lot of people i'm gonna have to sue."

[maskedbyghost]

What’s better than a jealous, possessive Simon? Nothing. Get ready for all the drama and dirty you didn’t even know you needed. cw: jealousy, possessiveness, explicit language, rough sex, dirty talk... MDNI

You didn’t mean anything by it.

Really, you didn’t. Just a harmless laugh at some half-assed joke from one of the new guys on base. He was nervous, awkward, trying to find his footing among a team full of people who didn’t blink twice before throwing themselves into the line of fire.

So you were being nice. You smiled. You touched his arm when he said something funny. You laughed—not even your real laugh, just the polite one. The one that lets people think they’re charming even when they’re not.

But Ghost saw it.

He was halfway across the room, but he saw the way you leaned in, the way your lips curved, the way you let your hand rest on that guy’s forearm just a second too long. His jaw clenched, his arms crossed.

You saw it out of the corner of your eye and figured he was just being his usual silent, broody self. But the look he gave you? That wasn’t just disapproval. That was something else...

You forgot about it after a while. Finished the briefing and headed back to your room. You got halfway through pulling your shirt off when there was a knock—no, a thud—at your door.

You barely had time to register it before the door swung open.

He didn’t wait for permission. Didn’t ask. He just stepped in, shut the door behind him, and locked it.

“Something you need, Lieutenant?” you asked, arching a brow, still standing in your half-unbuttoned pants.

He didn’t say anything. Just stared at you, jaw tight behind the mask, chest rising with slow, controlled breaths. Then he walked toward you, calm and quiet, like he had all the time in the world.

You blinked. “Ghost—”

His gloved hand came up, grabbed your chin—not rough, but firm enough to shut you up.

“You like makin’ other men laugh?” he said low, his voice rough and close.

You swallowed. “It wasn’t like that.”

“No?” He tilted your face toward his. “Could’ve fooled me. Thought I was watchin’ my girl giggle like some fuckin’ schoolgirl over a guy who couldn’t make you come even if you spelled it out for him.”

You snorted nervously, trying to keep it light. “Jealousy doesn’t look good on you.”

He leaned in until his mask brushed your cheek. “Next time you flirt,” he growled, “I’ll put a leash on you.”

Your breath caught, and that’s all it took.

He grabbed the waistband of your pants and yanked them down in one smooth motion, spinning you around and pressing you up against the wall. His hand was at the back of your neck, pushing you forward until your cheek was flat against the cold surface.

You opened your mouth to speak, but the sound got caught in your throat when you felt him behind you—already hard, already pressing into you through his gear.

“Ghost—”

“Simon,” he corrected. “You’re gonna say my name when I fuck the brat out of you.”

His hand slid between your legs, rough gloves against bare skin, and you gasped when he touched you—no teasing, no buildup, just dirty, possessive fingers sliding right through your slick, like he’d expected it.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he murmured, voice darker now, lower. “Drippin’ for me while you’re out there laughin’ at other men’s bullshit. You think they could make you feel like this? Think he’d know what to do with a needy little thing like you?”

You whined when he pressed harder, after yanking off his gloves and sliding two fingers inside, curling them deep, rubbing against that spot that made your knees weak.

“Answer me.”

“N-no, he wouldn’t,” you breathed out, already shaking.

“That’s right.” He pulled back just long enough to undo his belt, shove his pants down, and drag your hips back against him. “You’re mine. Been mine. Just forgot for a second. S’right—I’ll remind you.”

You moaned when he pushed in, when his cock stretched you open without warning, just thick, hard, possessive pressure that made you arch your back and grab at the wall for something to hold on to.

He groaned behind you, one hand fisting in your hair, the other wrapped tight around your throat. “Fuckin’ tight,” he muttered. “Can feel how wet you are—fuck, bet you were thinkin’ about me when he made you laugh. Bet you were hopin’ I’d get like this. Mean. Messy. Jealous.”

You couldn’t say anything, couldn’t breathe past the way he was fucking into you, deep and rough, hips slamming into yours with every thrust like he wanted to fuck the memory of that other guy right out of your body.

“Let me catch you lookin’ at someone else again,” he said, teeth at your shoulder, biting down hard enough to bruise. “I’ll make sure they know who you belong to. I’ll fuck you in front of him if I have to. Let him watch you come on my cock while you scream my fuckin’ name.”

“Simon—fuck—”

“Yeah, that’s it. Say it again.”

“Simon—please—”

“Please what?” he snarled, snapping his hips harder, angrier, dragging every inch of him out slow before slamming back in like he needed to ruin you.

“Please don’t stop,” you gasped, fingers scrambling at the wall, legs shaking.

“Wasn’t planning on it. Not until you learn your fuckin’ lesson.”

He reached around, rubbed your clit in tight, messy circles, just enough to send you spiraling. You came with a cry, body locking up, trembling around him, and he didn’t stop—not even when your legs gave out. He held you up, kept fucking into you with punishing pace, chasing his own release like he had something to prove.

“Gonna fill you up,” he groaned, voice ragged now. “I’ll fuck you so full you’ll be leaking for hours—so every step you take reminds you who fucked you stupid.”

You whined, barely able to keep upright, and with one last thrust he buried himself to the hilt and came with a low, filthy growl, his hips jerking against you as he emptied inside.

He didn’t pull out. He just stayed there, chest heaving, hands still on your hips, like he couldn’t let go.

After a long pause, he leaned in and said, right against your ear:

“Do it again, and I’ll make sure the whole base hears what you sound like when you’re mine.”

-------------------------------------------

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay @akkahelenaa @lovelovelovelovelove987654321 @wraith-bravo6

[missdynamighttt]

can i just say... bf! katsuki is my BIGGEST weakness during ovulation week.

it started this morning when you caught sight of katsuki fresh out of the shower. hair damp, towel slung low on his hips, abs on full display, steam rolling off his skin like he was the main event of your personal thirst trap.

and, okay, that wasn’t new. katsuki was always hot. but today? goddamn, he was ruthlessly, unfairly, painfully hot.

the way he tilts his head slightly, jawline sharp enough to cut? ruthlessly hot.

the way he runs a hand through his damp hair, pushing it back, only for a few stubborn strands to fall over his forehead again? unfairly hot.

the way his voice drops when he’s right out of the shower, grumbling "hey, pretty." ? painfully hot.

at breakfast, he rolled up his sleeves, forearms flexing as he poured coffee, his back muscles flexing and his sweatpants hanging just right. then he smirked at you over his coffee mug, all lazy and cocky like he knew exactly what he was doing.

katsuki leaned against the counter, sipping his coffee, eyes flicking to you as you sat stiffly at the table. "you good?"

you blinked rapidly. "huh?"

he raised an eyebrow, setting his mug down. "i said, you good? you’ve been actin’ weird all mornin’."

you let out a very unconvincing laugh, waving a hand. "weird? me? pfft, no. what? i’m totally fine. why wouldn’t i be fine?"

he squinted at you. "you’re talkin’ too fast."

"no, i'm not," you blurted, voice an octave too high.

his eyes narrowed further. "alright. if you say so."

then, in the most infuriatingly nonchalant way, he stretched, arms lifting over his head, shirt riding up just enough to expose that stupidly perfect v-line that made you wanna take his stupid sweatpants down and show him what else was fast.

was this ovulation? was this what biology had reduced you to? some desperate, needy girl thirsting over her boyfriend for simply existing?

it wasn’t fair. it wasn’t your fault that your biology was telling you that your boyfriend—the one currently standing there, stretching like he wasn’t a menace to your self-control—was the most attractive man to ever exist.

by the time he kissed your forehead before heading out for work, you were trying to hold back.

and now, hours later, when he finally walked through the door, sweaty from the day, you just snapped.

he could barely get an "'m home," before you grabbed his face, and kissed the hell out of him.

it was desperate, almost aggressive. like you were trying to pour everything you couldn’t say into the way your lips moved against his. your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, your body pressing against his like you needed him to feel it.

katsuki made a noise of surprise before growling into the kiss, hands immediately gripping your waist. "the fuck’s gotten into you—?"

you didn’t let him finish. you kissed him again, harder this time, tilting your head to deepen it.

he chuckled against your lips, all rough and fond. "shit, sweets. you ovulatin’ or somethin’?"

your face burned. "just shut up and let me kiss you."

his grin was cocky, but his eyes—fuck, his eyes were soft. the kind of soft that was willing to do anything for you.

"yes, ma’am."

that was 20 minutes ago. your boyfriend was a man who never held back—not in fights, not in arguments, and definitely not in bed.

"katsuki—!"

your voice hitched, his hands gripping your hips so tight you knew you’d see bruises in the morning.

right now, he had you on your hands and knees, back arched, your cheek pressed against the sheets as he fucked you senseless from behind. every thrust was deep, hard, and his thick cock stretching you in a way that had your mind going hazy.

"fuckin’ perfect," he groaned, voice dripping with hunger. "so tight— s’like you were made for me."

your fingers fisted in the sheets as you turned your head to the side, cheeks burning. "d-don’t say that..."

he let out a rough chuckle, leaning down so his chest was flush against your back, lips brushing the shell of your ear. "what? you don’t like hearin’ how fuckin’ perfect you are? how good you feel wrapped around me?"

you let out a whimper, already flustered from the way he was ruining you, but the words made your body react even more. a fresh wave of heat washed over you, your walls squeezing around him as he cursed under his breath.

"oh, you fuckin’ love that, don’t you?" his tone turned smug. "gettin’ all dumb on my cock, my pretty girl likes hearin’ how fuckin’ good she is?"

you shook your head quickly, a feeble attempt to deny it, but the way you clenched around him betrayed you.

"embarrassed?" he taunted, voice dripping with sin. "bet if i told you how fuckin’ pretty you look right now. mouth all pouty, eyes tearin’ up from takin’ me so deep, you’d clench around me again, huh?"

you whined, squeezing your eyes shut as he punctuated his words with a particularly deep thrust.

"that’s it," he murmured, kissing along your neck. his pace never faltered, each roll of his hips sending you spiraling deeper into pleasure. "so damn cute when you get all shy on me."

you gasped, face burning, but your body betrayed you again, thighs trembling as you struggled to keep yourself upright.

he grinned against your skin, placing a possessive bite on your shoulder before pulling back and snapping his hips into you harder.

"fuck," he growled, voice wrecked. "pussy’s squeezin’ so fuckin’ tight—goddamn, you’re so needy for me. you want more, don’t you?"

you shook your head again, biting your lip to stop the desperate sounds threatening to escape, but he wasn’t having it.

"wrong answer, pretty," he huffed, landing a sharp slap on your ass that had you jolting forward. "you don't want more?"

"i—" your voice came out breathless, barely above a whimper.

another slap, this time accompanied by a punishing thrust that sent you spiraling. "c’mon, pretty girl. use your words."

you were too far gone, pleasure twisting in your core, your head spinning from both the rough pace and his filthy praise. it was too much—too intense, too embarrassing.

"yes... yes, i want more," you mewled, shaking. "please, katsu.. don't stop..."

"that's it. so fuckin’ cute, all flustered while i’m deep inside you. my pretty little thing," he pressed a hot, open-mouthed kiss against your neck, nipping at your skin. "shit, you’re squeezin’ me so tight. i should praise you more often if it makes you this fuckin’ wet."

he was relentless, every filthy word paired with deep, punishing strokes that sent you spiraling. your legs trembled as pleasure coiled tight in your stomach, and he felt it—knew exactly how close you were.

"cum for me, sweets," he ordered, voice rough. "cum all over my cock, c'mon."

and fuck, with that, you did make a hot-white mess—his name tumbling from your lips in a wrecked, needy cry.

katsuki didn’t stop. if anything, he fucked you through it, pressing kisses against your flushed skin.

"such a good fuckin’ girl," he murmured, hips stuttering as he chased his own high. "makin’ a mess all over me—fuck, i’m gonna fill you up real nice."

with a final thrust, he spilled inside you, groaning as he pressed himself as deep as he could go. his arms caged you in, keeping you close as he panted against your skin.

even afterward, when you were still catching your breath, he didn’t stop. his fingers traced lazy circles on your waist, his lips pressing soft kisses along your shoulder. "y'alright, sweets?"

you hummed in response, body still trembling slightly as you melted against the sheets. your breath was unsteady, your skin sticky with sweat, and yet katsuki still held you like you were the most precious thing in the world.

the best damn thing he’d ever laid his hands on.

he leaned down, kissing the top of your head before shifting onto his side, pulling you with him so he could hold you properly.

a low chuckle rumbled in his chest as he kissed your jaw, then the corner of your lips. "knew you liked my dirty mouth, but fuck, baby, you really got off on that, huh?"

your face burned, and you weakly swatted at him. "don’t start."

"but you do," his smile was smug, but his touch was impossibly gentle as he tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "get all shy when i tell you how fuckin’ pretty you are."

you groaned, hiding your face against his chest. "i hate you."

he scoffed, fingers brushing over your spine in slow, soothing motions. "yeah? that why you're still clingin’ to me?"

your body betrayed you, curling into him instinctively, and katsuki’s smile softened into something fonder.

his hands moved over you like he was memorizing you all over again, rubbing at the spots he knew would be sore in the morning, pressing soft kisses anywhere he left marks.

“did i go too hard?” his voice was quieter now, laced with genuine concern. “y’know i’d never—”

you shook your head before he could even finish, reaching up to run your fingers through his messy hair. “no, katsu. you were perfect.”

his eyes softened, and he pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead. “good. and for the record? i meant every fuckin’ word.”

you sighed, smiling despite your embarrassment, and katsuki sees right through you.

“better get used to it,” he murmured, voice dipping into that rough, affectionate tone that always made your heart ache. “ain’t ever gonna stop tellin’ you how fuckin’ perfect you are, sweets.”

and you realized that katsuki bakugo, your relentless, insufferable, painfully hot boyfriend, had always been your biggest weakness. ovulation week or not.

‎‧₊˚✧[ it's me, kia ! ]✧˚₊‧ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ ‎‧₊˚✧[ more of katsuki ! ]✧˚₊‧

⋆˚࿔ kia's note ˚⋆ ovulation week hitting me hard >< also consider this part two to this fic where katsuki does more praise and reader is shy. hope you guys enjoyed💜💜

[catbolt]

Sylus is attentive, extremely so. Nothing about you is secret from him, whether you wish it was or not. Since you've been together, you've found yourself a victim of his control-freak tendencies— the fact your location, step count, heart rate, and apartment security cameras had all become his personal business was something that took a while to get used to. He's respectful as he can be about it, regularly reminding you he does it only to make sure of your safety and always coming clean whenever he's been snooping. Over the months you've grown to find it endearing instead of creepy, because it makes crystal clear how he simply cares so damn much about you.

You can't hide from him, even when you want to the most. When you're holed up under the blankets in the dead of winter, the shitty weather and 4pm sunsets bringing out the worst of your depression, he texts: "Sweetheart, 150 steps? Am I reading this right?"

You cringe, wanting to disappear. "Stop tracking me," you respond back.

"Have you not gotten out of bed?" His follow up text comes in immediately, and then those three dots pop up on your screen again. He's not giving you a chance to respond with the "I'm fine" he already knows you've halfway typed out. "I'm coming over. No questions asked."

Before you know it he's at your door, making himself at home without asking, his care quiet and efficient. Mephisto keeps you company in bed, chirping and whirring on your nightstand as Sylus busies himself tidying the apartment. After a moment, Sylus brings you a glass of water, toothbrush and toothpaste from the bathroom, a hair tie— little things that make you feel a bit more like a person again.

He then slips into bed next to you, helping tie your hair back into a neat ponytail as you demolish the first glass of water you've had all day. You give him a wordless, grateful look.

"You know, I won't think you're weak if you ask me for help," he murmurs gently, his voice gravelly and tender. He squeezes your shoulder.

You want to tell him that you know, but that it's just really hard. He gives you a warm look that makes you feel like he's just read your insecurities like a book, his hand slipping into yours beneath the blankets. He intertwines his fingers with yours.

"This is why I keep tabs on you, sweetie. I need you to know that I'll always be here."

[A/N]: this a combination of some similar requests and an expansion on one of my sylus headcanons! if you sent a request along these lines hope you enjoy :)

[g-k444]

okayy so what about free-use trains? free-use Ubers? free-use transport?

You order your uber and it comes to you with a freshly needy slut on her knees with a collar around her neck and chain binding her to the backseat where you can do as you please to her as you commute from place to place.

Perfect, right?

Well, perfect for you at least - not for me. I'm a working woman. I have a job I need to get to and when it just so happens to be an early 7am morning, so what if I accidentally type the last number of the cab service wrong?

the line should go dead, i should look down and reread the number and realise that ive typed it out wrong and correct it and properly order my transport.

what shouldn't happen, is for an uber to be placed regardless - and for when i enter the vehicle, there to be a chain and collar snapped open on the floor of the uber.

i realise my mistake as soon as i step in - i accidentally ordered one of those horny fuck-taxis instead of my normal cab to work - but it's too late to back out and reorder my cab as the driver speeds off without asking for my destination. S'pose he just remembered it from the phone call.

but no.

instead he pulled up outside a block of flats, and the door i sat besides was opened as a man entered and frowned.

why's she sat on the seat? that's not very obedient - is your quality dropping? And why is she not collared up?

my own look of confusion was slowly replaced with horror as i realised that both the driver and passenger thought that i was a... worker.

i stuttered to correct the man's misinterpretation, but before i could get the words out, he had slapped me around my face, shocking the words out of my mouth as i was dropped to the larger-than-average footwell.

and then all control was out of my hands as the man's hand wrapped around my neck and forced me onto the ground, struggling against my wriggling and helpless body that screamed for help as he snapped the collar around my neck - binding me to the godforsaken taxi as a slut for his helping

my breaths came out fragmented and i could feel tears pooling in my eyes in horror at what was happening - what he was doing.

His arms wrestled with my blouse, not caring to undo the buttons of my delicate white dress shirt - instead ripping them open like a box of biscuits, pulling my decency away from me and leaving my heaving breasts in nothing but a bra that swayed to accustom my bust as the car turned a corner.

his cock came out then, as he used my neck to push me and hold me on my back, his fingers pushing against my clit through a pair of tights and panties - pulling the both of them off and to the side before plunging his cock into my pussy without any lube - forcing a scream from my throat as me began shagging me against the car floor, nudging my nipple into view from behind my bra before his cold breath enveloped the bud and began playing with it

he leaves almost perfectly in time for him to reach his release - cumming inside my pussy whilst i still cried and covered my face with hands - however i felt no relief as another man entered the back of the car, with his cock already released and swinging like a weapon between his two legs as he shut the door behind him with a wide grin at the "office worker themed wear" i seemed to kinkily sport.

and this man seemed to think that my cries and pleads for helps and screams and weak pushes to get him off me were-

Wow! You really like cnc huh, more of your sluts should do this gig!

After multiple men - multiple rounds - multiple cumshots that left my skirt wet and stomach twisted, the car stopped and no man entered the car... and even the collar unlatched from around my neck!

i couldn't believe it... was i free?

i didn't give myself a chance to second doubt myself.

i pushed myself out of the car despite my weakness, my eyes adjusting to the brightness of the world i was thrust into outside of the cab- realising i was outside my work building!

a shiver ran through my body as the cool wind seemed to illuminate the hot trickle of liquid down my leg, and as i looked down i realised that there was cum leaking from my pussy.

blushing and realising i was in public like a wreck, i hurried into the building just as i heard the bell going off - indicating the midday break...

i ran to find the nearest toilet as the rumble of feet comign down stairs became louder - finally finding a WC sign on a door and launching myself through it - breathing a sigh of relief as i found a safeplace to open my eyes and look into the mirror to see....

fuck. i looked like a fucked out mess. my bra had been flipped on one side so that teh cup was squashed beneath my tit that was free and lay like a pillow against my chest, free of its material constraints - my stomach with white stripes of cum that lead to a wet skirt and more cumstreaks that fell down my thighs and tights.

the door squeaked and i whipped my head around, freezing in shock as i made eye contact with a...

a man. multiple men. coming to use the toilet during their break and freezing in shock at the cum-soaked girl stook half-naked in the middle of the men's toilets

their eyes raked up adn down me and i felt myself turn fearful once more as i noticed their expressions of... hunger.

A squeak left my mouth in shock and pain as both of my tits were grabbed in handfuls by a pair of hands from behind me, pressing up my tits and squeezing them, presenting them to the men that stood in the doorway before i heart a-

"i think we got our lunchtime treat right here, huh?"