He knelt, laying his walking stick on the ground. As a rough fingertip brushed the petals, Slate’s eyes warmed briefly.
She had been in hunting leathers, not silk. Leathers that followed her slim body with insets of net that had made it all too evident that she didn’t have additional layers beneath. And had looked at him with eyes just a shade too golden to match the flowers that she had found so interesting.
A single yellow poppy, tucked into the lapel of his hunting coat. She had gazed up at him as she did it, smiling only with her lips, the expression not reaching her eyes.
…and he had dug up several of the poppy plants. Repotted them, wrapped a ribbon around the pot and sent them to her, in lieu of the seeds she’d mentioned obtaining.
That had been it, hadn’t it? The start of it all.
Because of these simple flowers.
Jaw clenching, Slate looked down at his green-stained fingers. The shredded remains of the flowering plant scattered across the ground. And he dug. Dug through the rocky earth, tearing furrows in his tough skin. Dug until he’d unearthed all of the plant’s roots and torn them into unrecognizable pieces.
That accomplished, he rocked back onto his heels and dropped his head, the tears coming tiredly now. Resignedly.
All he could wonder was if there was anywhere on Tyria that he could go where he wouldn’t be reminded of her.
So, in all the excitement about the POV scene, I nearly missed this perfect piece of fanart!! Look at him. Look at his stubbly face. The hair, the square jaw, the thin lips … the artist, Leila Rheaume did a PERFECT job, wow. I wish I knew if she had an instagram or a deviantart or a tumblr or sth so I could tell her how perfect her art is!! I love that it’s a tarot card??? The Magician, how perfect. Today is a good day you guys. Today is a really good day.
Lena: “Well, when i was first adopted by the Luthors, I adored Lex. When he showed me his true colours, I was crushed. Tried everything to reach him, to bring him back to the side of good but there was no use. I’d lost him.”
Kara: “I spent most of my life wishing I could talk to people that are no longer here.”
They both look so sad when they’re exposed to any glimpse of each other’s sad/tragic past. The look in their eyes, that slight jaw drop, that slow eye blink. Their facial expression is so clear about their feelings for each other, how much they care about the other. It’s mutual. That “wow i would take care of you so hard” is very much real.
Warnings: SMUT DEAR GOD SMUT, dirty talk, Sub!Jimin, Dom!Reader, orgasm denial, overstimulation, ass play, swearing, bondage
Word Count: 5586
Wow okay so I read @seokvie‘s and @btssmutgalore‘s sub!Jimin fics and they inspired me to write my own. I’m decently proud of this, considering I have 0 experience writing something like this. Thank you to @jin-oppa for gushing about this topic with me and @fortheloveofsuga for just being a good person in general.
Many would look at your boyfriend’s sharp jaw, thickly muscled thighs, and chiseled face and assume that he was dominant in bed. Rough, even. Jimin did, indeed, carry himself with straight shoulders and his head held high–long legs carrying him confidently across the room as his dark eyes zeroed in on something in the distance. He would present you out in public as if you were a work of art, his thick hand pressed into the small of your back and his full lips grazing your temple. If ever any other man raked their eyes down your body, his warm eyes would harden to stony obsidian orbs–either lowering his hand to rest on your ass or keeping direct eye contact with the potential threat as he brushed his lips across the expanse of your neck. Your boyfriend dominated you in romance, indeed. But you had a secret.
Park Jimin was not dominant in the bedroom.
He would occasionally play the dom role, his jaw clenching and nostrils flaring as he rammed into you from behind–leanly muscled chest pressed against your back as he leaned over you to growl obscenities in your ear through gritted teeth. When he was angry, he would pull your hair and bring you so close to the edge that you could feel yourself beginning to tip over, just before he would yank you back again. But that was only when he was so furious that he was seeing red.
Most of the time, he preferred to wholeheartedly submit himself to you. He thrived off of your praise, the little phrase “Good boy” nearly flinging him off the edge and into an orgasm any time you breathed the words into his hair. He loved to be tied up, and teased, and spanked until he was begging you to let him cum. He adored it when you tortured him with sucking on his cock long past he was finished, the mixture of pain and pleasure drawing him nearer to yet another release.
It wasn’t always so extreme, but there were nights when he needed to be controlled and you needed to control him.
Feyre just returned to the Spring Court. She has her relieved victim mask on, Tamlin thinks everything is back to normal, Lucien is still suspicious af, everything is going smoothly—then Ianthe makes an appearance.
Ianthe goes into hysteria, making apologies and excuses, saying how she never meant to hurt anyone personally, that she didn’t know this would happen blah blah blah. And Feyre’s mask slips.
The memory of the roses, of what just transpired in Hybern, and what Ianthe had done to her mate and countless others had Feyre punching the priestess square in the jaw. Sending her reeling to the ground.
Tamlin looks at Feyre like ‘wtf just happened’ and even Lucien stops his 'I’m so on to you’ look in turn for a 'holy shit she really just did that’ look. Feyre just steps around Ianthe and carries on her way with an 'Oops.’
Highly unlikely? Most definitely. But was this fun to write? Of course. And would it be satisfying? Hell. Yes.