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gimmethatagustd · 4 months

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oxygen | jjk

If you get caught, you'll both die. Jungkook wants to be yours anyway.

○ Pairing: Mafia!Jungkook x f!Reader

○ Rating: Explicit/18+

○ Genre: Mafia, established relationship, angst, smut

○ 9 / 100 Drabble Challenge (Mafia)

○ Word Count: 2,053

○ Warnings: Organized crime, toxic relationship, emotional manipulation, infidelity (MC's boyfriend is Yoongi *gasp*), MC is actually kind of sick in the head lowkey lmfaooo, marijuana (is it a jai fic if weed isn't at least mentioned?), casual conversation about being murdered, dom!reader, sub!Jungkook, gunplay, consensual sex while under the influence of alcohol, unprotected vaginal sex, orgasm control, hair pulling, rough sex, pain kink

○Notes: I was never here. I repeat, I WAS NEVER HERE.

○ Post Date: February 13, 2024

○ Masterlist |

○ What was Jai listening to? Oxygen - Jackson Wang

“I fucking hate you.”

Jungkook tastes blood as he watches you stumble up the marble stairs, break-ankle stilettos grating into the stone like his molars grate against each other when he chews the inside of his cheek.

It takes three steps before you give up, bending to slip your finger under the thin black strap that hugs each ankle to keep the red bottoms in place. Off-balanced from holding your leather jacket balled up under one arm, you teeter on one foot, and Jungkook has to fight the urge to grab your waist.

Air rushes out of Jungkook’s nostrils, a scoff that mixes with the wind. It’s one of the last days of summer before autumn cuts the nights short and chills the air. If Jungkook could have his way, he would be sitting out on his balcony right now with a fat blunt and his phone on silent.

Instead, he’s dealing with you.

“Are you just gonna stand there, or are you gonna fucking help me?” you snap, words slurring together when you pout through them.

Jungkook tongues the inside of his cheek where he’s bitten into the fleshy skin. The metallic flavor mixes oddly with the aftertaste of his half-smoked blunt from earlier.

“Thought you said you hate me,” Jungkook sucks his teeth, tattooed fingers squeezing your bicep to steady you while you unclasp your shoes.

“I do.”

“Hmm.” Jungkook exchanges a grip on your arm for the heels, black and deadly like the Glock clipped to his waist.

Your dress rides up far enough that your asscheeks are exposed when you bend down again, your skimpy black thong doing nothing to cover you. The sheer pair is one Yoongi bought you for Valentine’s Day last year. Yoongi hadn’t batted an eye when he dropped thousands of dollars on a lingerie set that he isn’t even patient enough to appreciate on your body before he rips it off.

Not Jungkook, though. Jungkook is patient.

“Carry me,” you whine, pushing up against Jungkook’s side, nimble fingers wrapping around his wrist and tugging.

Jungkook knows not to look up at the columned overhang, but the many cameras lining the mansion's exterior weigh heavily on him as he helps you up the stairs to the front door.

“I can’t,” Jungkook grits his molars, jaw flexing beneath taunt skin, “And you know that.”

The keypad at the front door unlocks with Jungkook’s thumbprint. Inside, the foyer is dark. It’s nearly four in the morning, and the rest of the guards are either monitoring the cameras or asleep. They’re all lower-level and easily bend to Jungkook’s will, meaning none of them will rat you out for slipping off in the dead of night to go party with your friends despite being under strict orders not to leave the house until Yoongi returns from his business trip.

As second-in-command, Jungkook should be in Japan with Yoongi, handling what will likely be one of the largest arms deals in Bangtan’s history. But Yoongi is paranoid, and paranoid men don’t leave their girlfriends with just anyone. Especially when their girlfriends are trouble.

And you? You’re trouble in a tight little black dress, hips swaying as you walk with new purpose through the foyer, your leather jacket thrown on the floor for Jungkook to pick up as he trails behind you — always trailing, following just a half step behind you, only in front when he puts his life on the line over yours. And he does, has the scars on his body to prove it, scars you like to bite to remind him of everything he’s willing to lose for Yoongi. For you.

There are only three types of rooms in the house that don’t have cameras installed: bedrooms, bathrooms, and arms rooms. You like to have Jungkook fuck you in all of them.

Tonight, it’s one of the basement-level arms rooms, the one Yoongi likes to use for entertainment because there’s a full bar and a conference table typically littered with guns, drugs, and money.

And sometimes, if Yoongi is in a shitty mood, girls.

You don’t care what Yoongi does, though it wouldn’t matter even if you did. As Bangtan’s leader, there’s no room for criticism of the boss — unless someone wants to lose a limb or their life, and Yoongi is known to be trigger-happy.

You learned that from him.

Jungkook lets out a shuddered breath as you drag the muzzle of his gun from the middle of his sternum down his abdomen. The metal is cold, and you move slowly, taking your time over every hill and valley of his muscles, painting goosebumps across his skin until you reach the waistband of his underwear.

The chamber is empty, but it still makes Jungkook’s heart jump in his throat when you press the gun against his clothed cock.

“Yoongi is going to kill us one day,” you whisper, rolling your bottom lip between your teeth to bite back a smile.

Jungkook leans back with his elbows against the table where you’ve sat him at one of the chairs. You’re in your heels again. Jungkook loves it when you stand over him, a powerful force far too often squandered by Yoongi’s overbearing leadership and desire to be the most feared person in the room. It’s one of Yoongi’s greatest mistakes.

You’re gorgeous, stripped down until all you’re wearing is another man’s Valentine’s Day gift, your own body a present Jungkook has the unholy pleasure of opening again and again — but only after you’ve opened him up, gutted him like a fish.

Or blown him open, a bullet bursting like shrapnel to cut him from the inside out. Jungkook would let you do it.

Jungkook stares up at you with innocent eyes that tell nothing of the secret horrors his hands have done, of the horrors he has endured and inflicted upon others. He stares up at you with innocent eyes and his lips wrapped around the muzzle of his gun that you hold with your finger on the trigger.

“Bang, bang,” you giggle as the gun clicks, and Jungkook lets you slide it further into his mouth, the tangy taste too similar to blood and nothing he hasn’t tasted before.

Maybe it’s fear that makes Jungkook crave you. Maybe Jungkook has a death wish. Maybe Jungkook likes the idea of you being his lifeline, the sole decider of whether he lives or dies. All it would take is one tiny confession twisted into a lie, and you could convince Yoongi that Jungkook came onto you and tried to seduce you.

Jungkook knows Yoongi would enjoy making him suffer if he thought Jungkook was treating you unkindly. Yoongi would enjoy violently murdering Jungkook even more if he knew just how good Jungkook treated you.

You don’t pull the gun back until Jungkook gags. Tears collect along his eyelashes, but he blinks them away as you toss his gun onto the table.

“You’d let him kill you.”

“Yeah,” Jungkook’s voice is hoarse from the gun, and it cracks when you sit on the table in front of him and spread your legs. “I would.”

“You’re fucking stupid.”

“So are you.”

Jungkook’s cock throbs as he watches you slip your thong down your legs. You drag his spit-slicked gun along your dripping pussy, parting your folds and getting the muzzle shiny with your arousal. When his eyes flit up to meet yours, you let out a broken moan, tongue slipping out to lick your bottom lip.

“Come here,” you beckon, the curl of your finger tugging Jungkook forward like a red string tied in a noose around his neck. He fits perfectly between your thighs, his clothed cock pressing against your exposed pussy.

“Can I kiss you?” Jungkook whispers against your lips. His body crowds yours, forcing you to tip your head back to look into his pretty doe eyes.

“Be a good boy and clean this up first,” you say as you hold up the gun in front of Jungkook’s face.

Jungkook doesn’t look away as he licks a stripe up the length of the gun’s muzzle, too turned on by how intensely you watch him lick and suck your juices off it. How eagerly he bends to your will is pathetic, but he doesn’t care.

When you toss his gun away to dig your nails in his hair and tug him into a bruising kiss, Jungkook feels like he can finally breathe.

You taste sweet, like whatever fruity cocktails you’d been drinking with your friends. Jungkook sucks your tongue, and he feels the vibration of your moans go straight to his leaking cock.

“Fuck me,” you moan with nails in his back, “And make it hurt.”

Jungkook helps you off the table to bend you over it. He may prefer sex that is slow and face-to-face, but Yoongi is coming home in a few hours, and sometimes, you like to punish yourself by denying yourself the sweet, sensual care that Jungkook prefers to give you. Sometimes you like it dirty and fast like this, Jungkook fucking into you with your wrists behind your back and your face pressed into the conference table’s cold, sleek surface.

You look forward to the tender bruise you’ll have on the apple of your cheek and against your hips from where Jungkook fucks you hard enough that you slam into the edge of the table. It’s a gamble, wondering if this will be the time Yoongi finally notices.

Sometimes Jungkook wonders if Yoongi already has noticed, and he’s just biding his time, waiting for the opportune moment to kill you both.

“Fuck, jagi,” Jungkook moans. The table squeaks and grunts as the force of Jungkook fucking you pushes the table back and forth across the floor.

“Do I feel good, baby?” you gasp, twisting your hands in Jungkook’s so you can wrap your fingers around his wrist, too, to have something to hold onto.

“So good,” Jungkook whimpers, tightening his grip on your wrists. “Can I cum? Please?”

Your skin is probably chafing from how hard you’re being bounced against the table, but all you do is moan and clench around Jungkook’s cock, taunting him.

“Jagi, please,” Jungkook begs, hips faltering slightly. You’re so wet and creamy. There’s something about fucking you in the arms room that always makes you feel and sound better.

“You wanna cum? Baby boy wants to cum?”

“Wanna cum so bad, you feel so, fuck, so, so good.”

Jungkook lets go of your wrists to dig his fingers into your hips and pull you onto his cock with each thrust. You lift off the table slightly so he can wrap one arm around your waist and slip his fingers through your folds, playing with your clit as he fucks you. He knows he needs to make you cum first before you’ll let him.

"Just like that, you're doing so well," you pant, pussy clenching and pulsing around Jungkook's cock so hotly that he knows you're going to cum soon.

Luckily, it doesn’t take long. Jungkook has you so worked up that you cum once he pinches your clit, rolling it between his fingers while you writhe and squirm on his cock, whimpering his name.

“Come on, baby,” you moan, “Cum for me, now.”

Tilting your head up, you let Jungkook kiss you. He squeezes his eyes shut as he cums inside you, mouth hanging open and completely useless to kiss, so you press light kisses along his sweaty throat instead.

“Thank you,” Jungkook whispers once his body has calmed down, gently easing out of you. His hands shake as he collapses into the chair and pulls you into his lap.

You kiss him properly this time, sliding your hands through his sweaty hair. He’s pussy-drunk, fucked dumb, nothing but static in his head as your lips glide with his. He could stay like this, pliant like clay in your hands, let you mold him into whatever you want him to be. Let you make or break him. Jungkook doesn’t care.

“Tell me you love me,” you demand, nails sharp against Jungkook’s scalp.

“Jagi,” Jungkook whimpers when you pull his hair, “I love you so much. I love you more than anything.”

“More than yourself?”

“More than myself.”

You hum into the next kiss, and Jungkook feels his body melt.

Disclaimer: All my writing is fictional and for entertainment purposes only. None of these characters are meant to actually represent the real people mentioned in the stories.

All rights reserved © @gimmethatagustd - Do not copy, repost, modify, or translate any of my writing. Do not use my writing for any AI purposes whatsoever. Do not use my fics for anything aside from reading and commenting on them. My fics will only be posted on this Tumblr and on AO3 (gimmethatagustd & daddytaehyungie). Request an AO3 account here.

#jungkook x reader #bts x reader #jungkook fanfic #jungkook smut #jungkook angst #bts smut #bts angst #bts fanfic #100 drabble challenge #jai writes #gimmethatagustd #oxygen

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hoseoksluna · 20 days

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BERRIES | jjk ft. jhs

pairing: ex-boyfriend!jungkook x oc (feat. hobi)

genre: angst, tiny fluff, itty bitty smut

word count: 6.0k

summary: your ex-boyfriend shouldn't have this much influence over you when you have a new man, should he?

playlist: berries / pinterest board: berries

warnings: depression, daddy issues, use of titles, oc has dirty thoughts about hobi (do we blame her? no, we do not), slowburn, implied sex, dd/lg, soft argument

note: this took every last bit of my strength, so i had to split it up. i'm sorry if this is a piece of absolute shit, but as you all know work this week squeezed everything out of me and i'm so exhausted that i'm not even sure if this is worth posting. i struggled a lot with this fic, rewrote it multiple times, and i'm so very happy that it's finished. i hope you all enjoy the start of a new series, this time a slowburn that will have more parts, more depth and everything. and surprise! it features hobi, my beautiful husband. it was my first time writing about him and he's missing so terribly from my soul that it was one of the reasons why i struggled so much. i wish it weren't like this for my first time with him, but oh well. i hope you, guys, enjoy. please, let me know what you think. <3

The satiny material of your cream-colored dress must be the one and the same that these sculptures had worn centuries ago. You can almost imagine the softness kissing your fingerprint instead of the cool stone as you graze your touch against each and every immortalized angel of loveliness. You’re stirred by a sense of poignancy—that you’re alive and they’re not and yet you believe that as you stare at them, feel what they’ve been through the more you study their eternal expressions, they stare right back with their eternally tender eyes, see right through you, through your heart, know its contents. You wish you were in their place instead; you’re sure they would’ve handled your cursed life better than you can.

Or you wish you were as stony as them.

But you’re an opulent fountain of emotions that are anything but gentle.

This thought distracts your attention from the way your feet ache in the boots you chose to wear to impress your date. Thigh high, with black knee socks underneath to keep you warm from the cruel breath of autumn. Hoseok is carrying your trenchcoat as you’re adventuring on your own in this art museum and that’s the only sliver of kindness he’s shown you this very morning.

The only compliment you’ve received from him was a nonverbal one. An up and down look with a smirk creeping in when he picked you up at your apartment. No hug, no caress. You felt so small—and awkward a little bit, comparison rushing in. Not in the form of a wave of the sea, but in the form of a snake, its thick body tightening around your throat. An ouroboros, which made you regret going out on a date so soon.

It hasn’t even been a month since you’ve become a single girl again, learning how to walk in this new, harsh reality, your legs wobbly, weak and too, too heavy. And the lack of comfortable physical contact made you see your ex-boyfriend before your own eyes, the memory of how he acted at the beginning of your first date. The way he picked you up into his arms due to his excitement of being with you and carried you inside his car. He put on your seatbelt for you. Drove carefully. Held your hand as he led you to the restaurant he picked for you. Even during the walk after while you talked about the stars and you couldn’t help but tell him that his eyes were filled with them.

Hoseok did neither of those things. He had asked you where you wanted to go and you’ve wanted to visit the museum for quite a while, so you suggested it. He had agreed, no sort of enthusiasm evident in his voice muffled by the phone call. And you’ve barely exchanged a few words during the half an hour of your time spent here, let alone led an entire conversation. You should’ve heeded the warning when it was right in front of you.

Hoseok is certainly not of the artistic kind.

Looks quite bored as you turn your head to look at him, your coat dangling from his arm so terribly devastatingly. And when you focus your gaze to your right, where a dark wine-tinged room, with golden frames of paintings, awaits you and where you’ve longed to go the moment you stepped a foot inside this grand building, a distaste pools on your tongue, your former aesthetic elation ruined.

You’re surprised he didn’t stand you up.

You don’t even want to take pictures. As a matter of fact, you want to go home. But you can’t. Can’t ravage your only possibility and means of forgetting the person you still love. Can’t really encourage Hoseok to leave your life, not when you’re the type of person that doesn’t find love upon every corner you turn to.

This is your only chance. And he’s the only man you’ll conceivably have in your life for quite some time.

You walk up to him and take your coat from his arm. His eyes deepen on you, in fact they haven’t strayed from you during the entire half an hour—and that bothers you. If your ex-boyfriend were here, he’d share the beauty with you. Make you laugh so hard that the sound would echo around the vast room. Perhaps give life to the sculptures and they would laugh along, too.

Your heart hangs heavy in your chest, sinks ever so slowly and you can’t bear it. You need to leave. Take this date elsewhere, hope for betterment to grace you—to have but a fragment of pity for you.

“You hungry?” you ask, softly, willing your voice to be smooth and not divulge the brassy storm of your emotions to him. Hoseok doesn’t know anything about you. Doesn’t know that you yearn for another person to be standing in his place. “Did you have breakfast?”

Hoseok needed the date to be in the early hours. Said he had a meeting in the afternoon. Would be working on a project with his colleagues until the late hours. You didn’t mind, not really, in fact it animated you—brought briskness into the sadness of your headspace, knowing it was rainy and cloudy outside. Perfect weather for the influence of the arts. That is, until you realized that it was a grave mistake to take a businessman to a museum; that you dragged a heathen to a church.

Hoseok shifts his weight on each foot, his shoulders swaying with the movement, and he licks his lip, bringing your attention to them. Small, but full—you wonder what they would feel like against yours. Wonder if he’d be gentle with you or violent. If he’d stroke your hair or grip it; fondle the ribbon you’re wearing in a half up do or untie it, entirely. Use it for another means like your ex-boyfriend invariably did.

Your distaste grows, but not for Hoseok. It grows like poison ivy for yourself and your tendency to compare him with someone he doesn’t deserve to be juxtaposed with.

Guilt blossoms in your sternum, the leaves of that poison ivy. Pretty to the eye, but deadly for the body. Just like you. You’re too baneful for such a pretty man like Hoseok. You’d do well to respect his boundaries and abstain from physical contact, prevent red rashes from marring his skin.

“I haven’t eaten yet,” Hoseok says, just as softly, rubbing the nape of his neck, the black cloth of his dress shirt taut over his arms—a pretty sight, one that could be hanging in the wine-tinged room for generations to gawk upon. “Truth be told, I was too nervous.”

A brief smile adorns his slender face and you melt, the poison ivy scratching you raw. Your heart picks up its rhythm, flattery clothing it in a protective layer and you pout, your hand itching to graze his forearm. But a hidden fight rises in you, an army of darkness ready with their bows, their arrows shooting thoughts into your brain about how little you’re worthy of such kindness and favor.

Though when Hoseok blushes upon seeing your tender expression, it gives you some sort of strength to stand tall against those demons. Despite the fact you don’t understand it, you don’t question it either and you cling to it, sensing its freedom speaking to you in a foreign language. A yearning forms in you, one you haven’t yet had the possibility of meeting. A yearning to learn its syntax and vocabulary. And when you give in to it, the poison ivy in you lessens.

This is good.

You reciprocate his smile and you coo. Find it the easiest thing in the world. And because you’re so grateful for what he’s unwittingly done for you, you decide to share your truth with him as well.

“Let’s go eat, then.” Your eyes crinkle and you’d bet light flickers in them, for your whole body does, you sense it. A warm light enlarges on its axis, taking a hold of the heaviness you felt. “There’s no need to be nervous. It’s what I told myself when I was getting ready. My stomach hurt and believe it or not when I told myself these words, it stopped.”

Hoseok chuckles, his arm slapping back to his side, but you notice that it trembles. You’re so touched by it that you become angry at yourself, self-hatred clashing with that warmth. You misinterpreted him so unfairly and what’s more, you wallowed in your brokenness and your heartbreak, when Hoseok had been nervous and timid the whole time, which now sheds light on his lack of closeness with you.

You’re despicable. And the awareness of it transforms into that snake tightening around your throat again. Only this time, you welcome it. Long for it to take your life. It’s the least you deserve.

But you’re not letting yourself loll in the bed of your horrendous emotions. No, you lift your hand and you caress his arm, the one that quakes. And amidst the sepulchral attention of the sculptures, you’re a witness to that trembling’s halt, to Hoseok’s visible tranquility, and you want to weep.

You know if you were to gaze at the eternal angels of beauty, you’d see stony tears appear on their ivory cheeks, too.

“I’m sorry,” Hoseok mumbles and you curl your brows in confusion, not knowing what he’s apologizing for. Hoseok opens his mouth again to speak, but he pauses, sloshing the words in his mouth. You feel so bad that a craving to better yourself overcomes your entire being. “I’m sorry for being such a buzzkill. If you wanna explore this place more, we can. I saw you looking at the room with the paintings.”

He tilts his head in the direction of the aforementioned room, but you care very little about it as of now. You’d much rather take this elsewhere and get to know him better, so you don’t make the mistake of distorting him again. You’re not very keen on forcing a heathen to pray, either, however you do appreciate his willingness and attentiveness. Carry those things into your jarred heart, fold them inside its chambers, the edge pieces to the puzzle of his personality.

“Don’t worry,” you murmur, taking it one step further and hooking your arm around his. Hoseok sighs, his shyness slowly breaking apart as he clasps his hand over yours and if you could dissolve any more, now would be the perfect time for it. His hold is strong and steady—and it creates something stable within you, an orchard of fruit trees, pink and green, and bushes of berries, a safe place you want to rest in; lay down your brokenness and woes in. “You’re good. No need to apologize.”

His blush deepens at the reassurance and he smiles, softly, running his thumb over your knuckles. And the gratefulness you feel due to the fact he’s touching you, it is the rain that freshens up the apples and cherries hanging on the twigs of those trees, guiding it into full bloom. You focus on it—focus on the thick, cottony material of his dress shirt as you rub his forearm in response. You want to acknowledge yourself with the unspoken parts of him like these, remember them, allow them to heal you and crack the plaster over your heart.

And there you hear it. The crumble as Hoseok leans in and presses a chaste peck onto your cheek, lingering there for a second more, inhaling your sandalwood scent. And his smile widens as he looks down on you at such close proximity, erasing your touch-starvation once and for all. It’s your turn to blush now and you feel an inkling to shy away from his gaze, but you stifle it back. Curl your mouth in a smile—your heart thumping louder amidst the orchard now that it has more space to function in.

“No, I really want to apologize. It’s been too long since I’ve been on a date and you’re so stunning that I’ve forgotten my game, so I can’t help but to be nervous. I don’t know how to act around you,” he says, mutedly, punctuating his sentence with a breathy laugh, glimmering eyes flicking to the lining of your silky neckline just below your collarbones, tracing the miniature cherub hung up on your dainty necklace plated in gold, motionless against your dress. Your own heart grows wings and momentum in its place, fluttering in haste to move closer to him. He bores his gaze back into yours, letting it stay there. “Art isn’t really my thing, but you look like you belong here. Look like all those angels around.” He nods at your necklace. “And like that angel, too. Can I take a picture of you?”

You’re so taken aback that you don’t have time to respond. Pulling out his phone from the pocket of his dress pants, he withdraws from you and gently ushers you in the direction of the closest angel, your trenchcoat slung over his arm again, vibrating with life. He positions you how he likes—right in front of the immense sculpture, your head turned slightly to the side so the wisps of your white ribbon in your hair can be seen. His touch grounds you, tells your bloodstream, your organs that everything is okay, repeats it a little louder to your headspace—all before war could be declared with you.

Hoseok, the prince of peace.

The prince that crouches to the dirty floor so the vastness of the angel’s wings can fit in the shot. Yours, too. You think you’ve grown a pair of your own, alongside your heart, now that your shared honesty brought you closer.

You struggle to hold back your sob, to stop the corners of your mouth from rounding, your chin from quivering—all because the lightness that you sense wrapping over your heart is one you haven’t felt in a really long time. You feel taken care of, feel like you can depend on him, and while you can’t explain why you feel that way, you consider that such an immense blessing, regardless. So much that your eyes wet for the camera, but you don’t mind. Let that be captured in the memory—the mending that occurred. And let that be safe with him.

You smile and the flash goes off, which causes you to burst into giggles, your liquid softness forgotten, and run to him, your palm covering his phone camera so nobody sees his defiance. You look around to make sure no employee is in sight before you face him, cheeks warm, heart warm, wings warm, body warm. Hoseok quirks a brow, confused, gaping up at you from his position, and you take a deep breath to halt another inrush of laughter.

“You can’t take pictures with flash here. They’ll throw us out,” you whisper-shout, your giggles escaping your tightened mouth. His own forms into an ‘O’, fingers clicking on his screen, presumably turning off the automatic flash.

“I didn’t know,” he whisper-shouts back, mouth stretched in a lopsided grin. “I haven’t been here since I was a kid.” You shake your head, shoulders still shaking with the last of your giggles. He probably didn’t have a phone back then, which makes it even funnier. He inspects his settings again to make sure it’s all good before his hand finds your thigh and pushes you back. “Okay, I turned it off. Go back to the angel.”

It’s your whole body that flutters now, not just your heart, both pairs of wings unfurling, and when you retrace your steps, you still feel the heat of his touch—half on the fabric of your dress, half on your bare skin. And as you smile more naturally for the picture this time, greed kisses your core. A greed for more of his touch; on the same place as well as elsewhere.

A twinkle of where he could possibly touch you flashes before your eyes and it’s all your focal point consists of when you turn your head to your former position the way he wanted it and he praises you for it: “Good, good.”

Your muscles clench as you imagine his hand going underneath the fabric, exploring what’s hidden in there for him. The words of praise he would utter at the discovery of your private flesh. Your ears must be red. Such a twist of events you didn’t expect. A meek form of demureness creeps in, enveloping you in a feminine sensuality and you’ve missed feeling this way. Missed feeling pretty and alluring for yourself first, then for a man second. Missed being the center of your attention like this, of someone else’s as well.

You’ve always loved it. Perhaps due to the fact that you very seldom have it—so when it does come, it changes your life and you attach your being to it.

You didn’t anticipate going home with Hoseok, especially not on the first date. But because you’re being fed, you don’t really care about being proper. You want to go home with him and so you simply shall.

Can’t let the opportunity run away from you.

And so you arch your back a little bit more, look up at the angel and give her your silent thanks, your hair flowing around your form when you flick your gaze back to Hoseok to see him concentrated on the task, his smooth features gravely serious. Your stomach flips.

“Now from the back,” he instructs without lifting his eyes off of the screen of his phone. “Just like you were.”

A breath lodges in your throat, the double meaning burning the poison ivy down to ashes and you swallow it, let your stomach acid consume it until there’s nothing left of it, until all that your body carries is nothing but the lightness and the seductiveness that Hoseok gracefully gave you, the comfortable heft of the wings that grew because of him.

It’s those things that drive forth your following words with the world’s ease, unabashedly.

“You want it from the back?”

Hoseok’s mouth parts and the look he exchanges with you should chill your blood, but it doesn’t. If anything, it boils it. The heat that wafts off it pools in your core before ascending to your imaginary wings, leaving them dripping with sweat and the dew of titillation. Hoseok’s eyes narrow, shadowed by the furrow of his brows, encouraging it all the more.

There is it—the heady energy shift, permeated with the sweetest of berry juices, stemming from lust, from the orchard he planted in you. Strengthening your allure, steeling you from head to toe. You submit to it; kneel into it, notionally. Your elation raises from the dead—and you grin.

“Behave.”

A pulse in your private parts. The lengthening of your expression of delight. Your wings, your muscles clench and the same winged creatures soar to your heart from your stomach, squeezing the beating flesh. You swivel on your heels, the hem of your dress rippling, exposing more of your tender skin, the ribbon in your hair following suit.

Hoseok sucks in a breath. Your cheeks ache from the joy’s strain and it is utterly exhilarating to you.

“Yes, sir.”

Hoseok coos his approval and you can’t take it anymore. You let him take a few more pictures as you move around, dancing in your own way, running your fingers through your hair, trying to distract yourself from the throbbing between your legs, but to no avail. And when you sigh and face him head-on, Hoseok is already on his feet, walking towards you with a reappearing lopsided grin that forces the butterflies gnawing at your heart to go absolutely rampant.

You’re done for. You need to take him home. You’re not even curious about how the pictures came out—you can always look at them later.

Hoseok seems to know about your neediness because when he crosses the distance, he cups your chin. Makes you look up at him. And his smirk deepens while your heart increases in size, wings flitting at the special attention.

“Such a pretty girl,” he murmurs, caressing your skin with his thumb. Your eyes round and the heat you feel is sweltering underneath your clothes. All the more reason for him to take them off. “The pictures are great. Wanna see?”

Biting your lip, you shake your head, briefly. “What I want is to make you breakfast,” you say, mirroring his tone, hoping he gets the hint.

Hoseok waggles your chin, humming. “Oh, yeah?”

Fuck. If his scolding already didn’t make you submissive, then his response and his actions have. You wet your mouth, teeth instinctively sinking back in, and only nod. Hoseok opens your coat and covers your shoulders in its warmth, pressing the cotton twill fabric against your sternum.

“Thank you, sir.”

A fond sound pours out of him and the fact that he likes to be called by that title heightens the pulse between your legs. “Let’s go.”

He leads you towards the exit with a hand on the small of your back and you’re so happy to be touched at last that with a final look at the angels, you send out your silent love and goodbye to them, thank them one last time for the kindness you received because of them, one that you so ferociously sought after and longed for.

They seem to bow to you, happy to be of service, and you smile so profoundly that you feel as though nothing could stain your joy and mar it all over again. They wouldn’t allow that to happen—and a tendril of hope burst open within you like sunlight tearing through clouds, one that is suffused with the notion that Hoseok would stand in the way, side by side with those sculptures, too.

And he does when you swivel your head back and catch a glance of someone you know.

A piercing on the side of his brow, unchanged from the last time you saw him. Round eyes, murky. Ashen complexion that used to bloom with vibrant tints. Full, soft-toned mouth, ever so stuck in that pout, one you used to kiss until it bruised.

Your bloodstream doesn’t cease its flow. Not until you notice the person beside him.

A girl with an aura so cataclysmic that it forces you to stop dead in your tracks. An August night storm personified, obnoxiously sweet-smelling of the past summer that you spent with her companion. The hollow, funereal scent of a meadow doused in petrichor—she walks with it, her hands intertwined before her in a clasp.

You wished for him to be in Hoseok’s place so ardently that he appeared. And now that you contemplate him, the lack of distance between him and the girl, it makes you regret that you ever did.

Because, unknowingly, it drenched you in gasoline and his presence is a lighter, hers the hand that has flicked it to life and now serenely holds it against your skin, waiting until the flames, little by little, devour you whole.

And the job is finished when both of their heads whirl, meeting your livid stare.

And Jungkook, too, stops dead in his tracks.

“Do you know him?” Hoseok asks and you find it strange that you can hear him when all you can see is red.

And the red fades into the matching black shirt that Jungkook is wearing, into his bluntly pained mien; into the strands of his date’s short hair and her scrunched up brows as she regards you with a strong aversion that makes you scoff. And the same red weakens when Hoseok turns your attention to him by playing with the ends of your ribbon, grazing them before twirling them around his finger.

A breath of fresh air, he is.

You don’t know what to say. Don’t know whether to tell him the truth or come up with something that won’t devastate what you have currently going on with him. But if you lie to him, you’ll stumble into a dead end you’d much rather stay clear of. You’d see it before your eyes once you do take him home and it would ruin the newness he brought up with you, preventing it from taking root in you.

Devastation awaits you in either case. Both you and Hoseok.

Cursed, your life is. Doomed, absolutely fucking doomed.

What would the angels do in your place?

Seeking their wisdom behind you, it is not in them that you find your answer, but in the passing pair dressed in black, making their way over to the dark-wined room. He’s pretending he didn’t see you at all, walking away from you without saying a word, despite the fact you broke up on good terms.

You worshiped him in this very building almost on your knees and he dismissed you as if you meant nothing to him, caring for the feelings of his date, instead.

Peculiarly, the sentiments Hoseok installed in you, both of the passionate and the soft kind, turn that fire blue and it becomes the driving force that guides you to act without a single thought spared.

“Yeah, I do know him. Do you mind if I quickly say hi to him?”

The corner of Hoseok’s mouth curls and he caresses your hair down your back one last time. “Go, I’ll get the car ready.”

Such a confident, strong man, broken out of the confines of his former timidness. Not possessive, nor insecure—letting you do what you want. Respectful of your personal life that doesn’t include him just yet. And for that very reason it will—as soon as you’re done putting out that fire in you.

It’s not only you that has gone through a change upon this hour and it strikes your awe, enough for you to lean in and peck his cheek, just like he did to you.

Hoseok makes a sound of endearment, pivots on his feet to leave you to it, but you grab a hold of his hand. Have a need to say something to him.

His brows rise at the attention and you brush your hand across his knuckles, mimicking his previous actions, having learned them, intimately.

“Thank you, Hoseok. Really,” you say with a smile that could magnetically pull the sunlight out of its hiding place behind the clouds and bathe this bizarre room in light. You squeeze his hand.

A swirl of shyness flushes his face in rose pink and he shakes his head. “No need to thank me,” he assures, reciprocating the smile. “And call me Hobi. You can save Hoseok for later.”

Your jaw falls open and Hoseok chuckles, warmly, deepening the pulse between your legs until a wet spot adorns your panties beneath your dress, one that you look forward to showing him at the aforementioned time.

He pivots again and you watch his tall, lean figure leave. Back muscles clothed in black, straining against the fabric. He must’ve undergone his military service.

A beautiful man. You can’t wait to taste him. Taste that manliness.

Loosening a breath, you turn around to search for your ex-boyfriend. And much to your dismay, he’s appreciating the angel sculpture—the very one and only Hoseok took your pictures with. Fire licks at your every nerve ending, but then you notice that his date is nowhere in sight.

A perfect opportunity to do what you want to do.

Pulling out your phone out of your little purse, you look for his name in the history of your calls and tap on it, placing the device against your ear, your hoop earrings clashing against the screen. You watch him palm his pocket as the vibration disturbs his aesthetic pleasure and he casts a long glance at your name filling up his screen. Doesn’t comb his gaze through his surroundings. No, he seems to be transfixed by the twist of events and when he swipes his finger to accept the call, his stare begins to dig a hole into the dirty, marble floor.

Doesn’t say anything.

You scoff, fury grazing your fire. “You’re pretending not to know me? That’s low.” His pout rounds and the tip of his shoe traces the edges of the ruination he’s caused. Remains silent. “Who’s your little girlfriend? I thought you’d introduce me. Where is she, anyways?”

It’s him who scoffs now and he flicks his gaze towards the face of the angel. It’s like he’s staring right at you. “You shouldn’t be doing this, little one.”

The too familiar pet name brings agony to your heart and you would break had Hoseok not given you his strength, if the dependability of him waiting for you outside wasn’t real. And the allure and the lightness in you, perhaps the very love of the sculptures encompassing you—all of those things only vivify your solidity. You have no reason to break, you’re safe.

“Well, I think you should be a good Daddy and meet me right there in the red room,” you seethe, glad for the anger to be lingering in you, for the utterance of the title leaving you unscathed. You’re just giving him a taste of his own poison, nothing else.

Jungkook runs a hand through his hair and sighs, clenching his jaw. “Don’t call me that.”

You chuckle, enlivened by the provocation. “I can do whatever I want. Besides, you started it.”

He grits his teeth. “Not when you’re talking to me, you can’t.”

Your fire rises in overwhelming waves, your curt response ready on your tongue, but Jungkook hangs up, making you shut your mouth, instantly.

You hate him for that; hate him with the entirety of your being.

What has happened to your friendship? To the sweet, weeping Jungkook who broke up with you because he didn’t want to cause you any more pain with the state of his mental health, who has been dealing with depression for so long that he’s reached a point of no return, a lightless room with no windows, where all he saw was you, and he didn’t want you to be a victim of such unhealthy attachment. So he bid you goodbye, hugged you until you couldn’t breathe and let you go.

Three weeks ago.

You haven’t seen him or heard from him since until now. Until you’ve found someone else and moved on with your life. That’s just your luck.

And now the person you’re gazing at, it’s not the same one that wept against your chest. Yes, he might have been strict with you during intimate times, teased you with his fatherliness during the day even—but that invariably was imbued with the mellowness of love.

Try as you may while his words ring in your headspace, you cannot unearth any trace of that same mellowness in it. Only bitterness, coldness and a profound darkness.

Jungkook pockets his phone and, leaving both of his hands there, sunk deeply, he walks over to the wine-tinged room, his frown obscuring the place in gloom. Murky clouds, personified. A perfect match to the storm of his companion. Bile lodges inside your throat.

You follow after him, your feet aching terribly in your boots, but it serves as some kind of alleviation to the tautness of your emotions, of your confusion, disgust and offence. Makes you feel better—because once you see Jungkook ogling a certain painting of a woman beaming at him softly, dressed in flowers, blues and greens as the redness akin to your fire burns in her background, the agony tries to slither its way inside your heart, but fails.

You’re a locked orchard.

Jungkook senses your presence and he swivels, biting the inside of his cheek, pierced brow quirking. There’s a strain to his shoulders and his Adam’s apple bobbles as he takes in your appearance. The creaminess of your short, silky dress, the darker shade of the same color of your trenchcoat slung loosely over your shoulders, exposing your brown, leather, high-heeled boots, your matching purse clutched in both of your hands as you strut towards him. Calm, all of a sudden. It does nothing to you, nothing whatsoever—your heart momentarily attached to Hoseok.

“I thought you’d already left,” he murmurs, tipping up his chin. Begins to sway back and forth on the balls of his feet, the carmine hues of the room swathing him in a deeper shade of darkness. “Isn’t your boyfriend waiting for you?”

You don’t bother to correct him. It’s none of his business who Hobi is to you, not when he treated you like a stranger.

“We were about to leave, but then I saw your actions,” you say, quite monotonously, your calmness as disturbing as it is triumphant. You yourself even wonder at it. “What the fuck was that?”

A smirk. “Glad to know I still have some kind of effect on you.”

You scrunch up your brows, distaste once again pooling in your mouth. “Trust me, I would’ve done this with anyone I know. You’re not special.”

His smirk widens. “So, you’re not jealous?” He rubs the side of his jaw, staring at you, intently, and disgust comes over you like a splash of a wave, soaking you in cold sweat.

He did it for that very reason—to make you jealous. Walked right past you, just to get a rise out of you. As much as you loved him half an hour ago, that affection turns into dust within you, sprinkling the fruit trees and the berry brushes with its gray smithereens, poisoning them.

Ouroboros, all over again. Full circle. Anger covers your disgust.

A voice echoes within the room. Airy and light, as feminine as it is otherworldly, and you know, without a doubt, who it belongs to. It doesn’t suit her, not in the slightest.

“There you are,” your ex-boyfriend’s companion trails off, the clapping of her flat shoes halting. “Who are you?”

You only turn your head to the side, signaling to her that you’ve heard her question, because you fix your stare back at Jungkook as you answer it. “It’s not something you should trouble yourself with. Can you give us a minute?”

You don’t hear any movement, so she must be stubbornly staying where she is. All right, she can join the conversation for all you care.

When you turn your head back around, you catch stars oozing from Jungkook’s eyes, a conveyance of adornment painting his face in gentle colors that could never be associated with this room. There it is, the face you know, so resplendent of the one you last saw. And it grazes your anger, whispers to it that it was a mistake, a game of pretense, because you’re reverently acknowledged with his soul—you know who he is. While it may explain his fucked-up behavior, you don’t soften. Not at the hint of familiarity. Not even at the hushed hint of your deduction telling you that the reason why he unmasked himself was because you chose him and didn’t run away when his companion spoiled your short time together.

You don’t soften because you simply don’t want to.

You don’t want to give in to any means of getting close to him.

The chapter is finished. You shouldn’t have called him. You should’ve left with Hobi.

You don’t wish to keep him waiting long, nor do you wish to keep sprawling in your mistake. You pivot, ready to leave, but Jungkook captures your hand. Desirousness palpitates in his eyes as if he, too, needed to tell you something of urgency.

You’ll hear him out, but that’s the end of it.

“Can I see you later?” he asks, pupils growing in size until they absorb his chocolate irises, his grip over your hand tight and heated. A wind blows in your orchard, sweeping away all the darkened smithereens left by the bane, freshening you up.

You don’t really think that’s a good idea.

“I won’t have time for you later, I’ll be with Hoseok.”

To Hobi, you won’t lie, but the same can’t be applied to Jungkook.

His breath hitches in his throat, disappointment weighing him down, the thought of you being intimate with someone who is not him causing his posture to slouch even more.

But he surprises you with the words he says next.

“I’ll wait, then. Let me know when you’re alone.”

And you surprise yourself even more when you nod, turning on your heel and scurrying off to meet Hobi outside.

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah.

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bunniekittiee · 8 months

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Bi-Han’s s/o’s relationship with his brothers

I have decided to bless the Lin Kuei brothers fans and give you both the headcanons along with the fic (coming soon hehe). This is for being v supportive and very welcoming! I appreciate it all.

When you came into Bi-Han’s life, they were extremely grateful that you have begun to change him.

He was very cold (haha sub zero joke) towards his brothers and could be standoffish.

But once you and Bi-Han began your relationship, they were at ease that he was slowly changing.

Kuai Liang and Tomas think you are amazing, especially for changing Bi-Han’s demeanor.

All three of you like to enjoy tea together when Bi-Han is busy with his duties. They make sure to keep you busy if they are not busy themselves.

During tea time, they talk about quests they have went on with Bi-Han and even childhood memories.

Yes they tell you the embarrassing ones.

No please do not tell the Grandmaster, he will lose his mind.

And probably beat the living crap out of them.

Anyways, you all have good laughs during tea time and it is a way of unwinding for them.

Bi-Han may not have a craving for sweets, but his brothers sure do!

If you are skilled at baking, they are silently waiting for you to make them treats.

They don’t care what it is, they will eat anything.

The first time you make them sweets, it is during the Mid-Autumn Festival, and you decided to try moon cakes.

By the Gods, they absolutely devoured all of them.

Bi-Han watched in amusement as they stuffed their mouths with your sweets. He felt his heart swell at the fact that you could take care of his brothers.

He remembered that and kept that in his mind if anything were to happen to him, he knew that you would take care of his brothers.

Sometimes, you like to give them treats during their breaks, and they get so excited.

Kuai Liang enjoys doing yoga with you as it gives you both some bonding time one-on-one.

Yoga helps loosen his muscles and clear his mind, along with meditation, and having another person there enjoying it makes him feel good.

As I mentioned in my other headcanons, Bi-Han is not jealous of his brothers spending time with his s/o.

He has to deeply trust his siblings on missions and in battle, so he absolutely trusts them with you.

Plus he understands that it can be difficult to be cooped up for long periods of time as he is busy and doesn’t always have the time to take you out.

So his brothers will do it for him!

Dinners at Madame Bo’s is usually paid for by Tomas and they are fun.

Sometimes, Raiden and Kung Lao will join you.

Kuai Liang will bring along Harumi as well!

You and Harumi are definitely close as she is like a sister in a way. You are only surrounded by men for the most part, so having another woman is like a breath of fresh air.

Kuai is very happy that you and Harumi are good friends.

Sometimes on the dinner dates, you wish Bi-Han was there, even if he had a scowl on his face.

You missed your husband very much no matter what. There was nothing that could change that.

When you and Tomas were venturing into the forest, you both found a tiny ocelot kitten.

With no mother in sight, Tomas gently picked it up and you both exchanged the look.

“We have to keep it.” you both said at the same time.

Bi-Han was not overjoyed that you had found this kitten. He thought of it as a distraction and that you both were messing with natural selection.

After a lot of pleading and promises, he reluctantly let you keep it.

You and Tomas immediately ran to show Kuai Liang who grinned at the sight of this tiny kitten.

Just like that, this ocelot became the family pet.

As much as Bi-Han may have been against it, he did think the little ocelot was cute.

Bi-Han got to name her since it was a part of the agreement they made, so he named her Jia.

Jia was well behaved due to Bi-Han’s discipline and she was a great addition to the family.

Bi-Han is happy to know that you are close with his brothers. It makes him feel at ease knowing that you get the breaks you need from the snowy terrain and you don’t go out alone.

He’s an overthinker, so even if he knows that you are all safe, he will still think the worst.

When you married Bi-Han, you married the clan and partially his brothers as they will be with him for most of your lives.

If you had not taken a liking to his brothers, Bi-Han would not know what to do at all.

But since you are all close, he is relieved.

#mk1 2023 #mk1 #mortal kombat x reader #mortal kombat #mk bi han #mk kuai liang #mk tomas vrbada #mk sub zero #mk smoke #mk scorpion #bi han #kuai liang #tomas vrbada #bi han headcanon #lin kuei headcanon #lin kuei

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thatacotargirl · 1 month

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Hello! I read your cassian x reader period fic and absolutely loved it! I had a request if you don't mind...

one with cassian where maybe reader has been a part of the inner circle for a while and because of this her and cassian have been really really close friends for centuries…but one day on the streets reader locks eye with a male who is her mate…but the male is not cassian just some random person…and she is ecstatic that she has finally found her mate and someone she will be able to spend the rest of her life with because even though she has had a major crush on cassian…she knows he will never return those feelings because she finds herself incomparable and insignificant compared to cassian…however later on the male wants to reject the bond because he doesn't find the reader attractive and mocks her and all…she goes crying back home and cassian finds out and comforts her…maybe months later after the bond with the other male was broken…she finds that the mother has given her a new mating bond…that connects her to the one she has always loved…Cassian❤️

Hi!! Thank you so much for your support! And I LOVE your idea - I hope you like what I’ve done with it!

Inbox is always open for requests ❤️

Seconds Chances

A Cassian x Reader Imagine

The day that Rhysand saved you from the Autumn Court ranks up there with some of the best days of your life. Also up there is the day that he introduced you as a member of his Inner Circle, and your eyes first lay on Cassian.

You didn’t think there was a single person in all of Prythian who would deny Cassian’s beauty. He was in an entirely different league to any male or female you had met before. What started as lust developed into a crush and, over the centuries, turned into feelings you couldn’t quite describe. Although really, they could be summed up quite easily. You had fallen in love with Cassian.

You were sure Cassian did not return those feelings, but you truthfully didn’t mind. You didn’t want anything to risk destroying the friendship that you had with him. Cassian was the first there to pick you back up when you fell, to dry your tears and make you laugh again, to support you and encourage you to be the best version of yourself. It wasn’t a surprise that you ended up falling in love with him. He cared for you in a way no one ever had before, and you were so grateful to have him in your life, even if you knew it would never be how you truly wanted him.

That was why, when you were walking the streets of Velaris after dropping off a letter for Rhysand, you were ecstatic to lock eyes with a blonde male and feel the snap in your chest as the bond clicked into place. After a brief exchange, you agreed to meet for dinner that night, and you rushed back to the River House to get ready.

“I found my mate!”, you screeched, running through the River House door. Feyre caught your hands and steadied you.

“You what?!”, she replied, eyes wide.

“I found my mate!!!”, you repeat, practically bouncing in her arms with excitement. Feyre grinned and pulled you into a hug as several bodies appeared behind the pair of you.

“Your mate?”.

You looked over Feyre’s shoulder and straight at Cassian. His face was contorted slightly, almost like he was in pain. You quickly raked up and down his body looking for injuries, but you couldn’t see anything obvious.

“That is wonderful news!”, Rhys smiled, reaching over to pull you into a hug. “I knew the Night Court was the right place for you”. He winked as he let you go, and your friends took it in turns to share their congratulations and shower you with hugs and affection. Cassian approached, a forced smile on his face as he pulled you in for a bear hug.

“I’m so happy for you”, he said. He sounded genuine, but there was something empty about it. You knew that he had hoped a few females over the years had turned into his mate, including one of Feyre’s sisters, but the Mother hadn’t yet blessed him. It must be hard for him to see his friends’ mating bonds snap and not his own.

“Thank you”, you smiled, breathless from all the love of your family. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to get ready for a date with my mate”. You beamed as you bounced up the stairs, closely followed by Feyre and Mor who insisted on helping you get ready.

Your family waved you off as you left for your date. You chuckled to yourself. They were almost more excited for you than you were for yourself!

As you approached the restaurant, you saw your mate standing by the door. The closer you got, however, the more you felt a deep void in your chest. You tugged the bond as you approached him, a gasp leaving your lips as you realise your figurative hands come up short, the bond no where to be found. Your raise your head to meet his, and his eyes hold an evil gleam.

“You must be stupider than you look if you thought I was going to accept a bond with you”.

You freeze. This wasn’t the same male you spoke with this morning, was it? Seeing your confusion, he takes a step towards you, looming over you in a way so intimidating it made you whimper.

“Look at you. I would be the most foolish man alive to saddle myself with you for all eternity”.

Whilst you did still stick out at the Night Court, quite clearly heralding from different lands, you knew you weren’t unattractive. At least, you didn’t think you were?

You couldn’t bear his smirk any longer. You tried to pull the bond one more time and he noticed.

“It’s gone. Maybe now the Mother will realise the error of her ways and give me a second chance”.

Your heart broke.

You turned on your heels and ran for the River House.

Your family were not expecting you back from your date so soon, so when they heard you come thundering through the front door they all stood abruptly from their chairs. You looked in at them, faces full of concern and sorrow, and couldn't bear the pity. You fled up the stairs to the guest room and slammed the door behind you.

It was only a few minutes later that you heard someone knock at the door and Cassian's scent flooded in. He didn't wait for your reply. He walked over to the bed, sat, and pulled you onto his lap. You leaned into his chest and sobbed.

"What happened?".

"He broke the bond. He said only a foolish man would want to be saddled with me".

Cassian's heart hurt as he held you cried harder, soaking his shirt with your tears. He held you closer, trembling with anger that some male you met on the street could reduce you to tears like this, could take advantage of your kind heart, could throw away the one thing that he had prayed to the Mother every night could be his - your heart. He had wished for centuries for you, for your love, to be yours. This male had it in the palm of his hands and had thrown it away.

"What's wrong with me?", you asked quietly, avoiding his gaze.

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing. You are perfect", Cassian replied back softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

"Then why didn't he want me?", your voice broke as you whispered the question.

Cassian had no answer. He only held you closer and let you cry in his arms.

8 months later

With the help of your family, you had slowly begun to heal. Your heart was mended piece by piece with each bit of love and care they showered you with. Cassian was by your side every spare moment he had, doing everything in his power to make you smile, laugh. It was music to his ears. You had also resumed your duties to the Night Court, after Rhys had insisted you take a prolonged vacation to focus on yourself and your healing.

It was at one of these Night Court meetings that your life changed forever.

You were characteristically late to the monthly Inner Circle meeting, having spent far too long in the library that morning. You ran into the room, out of breath, giving a sheepish and apologetic smile to Rhys. You went to take your seat beside Mor when you heard Cassian's sharp intake of breath. You looked up at him and felt it. The snap. It was so powerful you could have sworn the entire room heard it. Your eyes locked with Cassian's as you heard Feyre gasp, realising what had happened.

"Looks like the Mother gave you that second chance", Rhys smiled, pulling Feyre into his side as they watched the pair of you process what had just happened.

"My mate", Cassian whispered.

"My mate", you replied, breathless.

Within seconds, Cassian had cleared the table, swooped you into his arms, and walked out the room with you.

"I take it we need to reschedule, Cass?", Rhys called after the pair of you, amused.

Neither of you replied, simply gazing at each other as he carried you up the stairs.

"I prayed to the Mother for you every day for centuries", Cassian confessed, tears filling his eyes. Yours mirrored, as you reached up a hand to hold his cheek.

"I prayed for you too, Cassian".

#a court of frost and starlight #a court of mist and fury #a court of silver flames #a court of thorns and roses #a court of wings and ruin #acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar x reader #cassian x reader #cassian imagine #cassian #acotar oneshot #acotar imagine

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fayes-fics · 4 months

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When The World Is Free: Chapter 8 - Je N'en Connais Pas La Fin

MASTERPOST PREV | NEXT

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, WW2 AU.

Warnings: tiny dash of spice… making out, hands wandering. Light angst, emotions, late-night confessions.

Word Count: 2.3k

Author’s Note: Multi-chapter fic based on a request by the lovely @amillcitygirl. Please see the masterpost for a synopsis of this story. Please don't be mad at me about this - I could not go with the cliche of wedding night. These idiots just need one more night to get their sh*t together. Sorry, and yes, as penance, Chapter 9 will be posted very soon. Thanks to @colettebronte for beta reading. Enjoy!

Montivilliers (just outside Le Havre), September 1939

A nervous energy ripples through your limbs as the four others leave, traipsing across the garden to the neighbouring cottage, leaving you and your new husband alone. Still waving awkwardly from the patio as they all disappear from view. A chill passes through you, just noticing how cold the night air is, autumn drawing in and without the warmth of Benedict holding you in some way, as he has been the past few hours. You startle slightly as he interrupts your reverie by chivalrously wrapping the faux fur stole around your shoulders.

“It’s my something borrowed,” you blurt, unsure what else to say.

“Eloise?”

You just nod, too nervous all of a sudden to look up at him.

“Let’s get inside,” he suggests, observing even the extra layer does not halt your shiver, gesturing to the kitchen door.

You walk awkwardly past, catching a whiff of his delicious scent that you woke up to this morning, the involuntary urge to sway into him intense.

You drift to the living room, Benedict wandering to the gramophone, putting on a mellow jazz record before taking a seat; part of you sad he chooses the armchair, not the sofa beside you.

“Well… that was a day,” he understates in his usual affable manner.

“I don’t know how I can ever thank you,” you respond earnestly, looking down at the simple band on your finger by reflex. “It’s all thanks to you that I have a chance to escape while I still can.”

“You would have done the same for me,” he demures with a quiet certainty that makes you yearn to touch him.

Instead, you exchange slightly awkward smiles, the mantlepiece clock ticking sounding so loud, even with the music playing.

“And I'm sure you will get home one day,” he assures. “Your family, I'm certain, miss you… and... And your fiancee,” the reluctance in his words evident.

“I’m not sure a married woman can have a fiancé anymore,” you remark; the lash of guilt every time Stanley’s name is invoked lessening with every moment you spend alone with Benedict.

“You can once you are a single woman again, as soon as you are safe,” he counters softly, so altruistic in his manner your throat almost itching with unspent words—a want to yell. No! Fight for me! I want you more than I ever will want him!!

“You yourself said on the train that perhaps there is something better out there for me,” you respond cautiously. “The longer this adventure runs, the more certain I am of that.”

His mien is profound as you finally raise your eyes to his, wanting so much to say more but feeling too tongue-tied and cowardly to be that selfish, to declare he is what you want.

He shakes himself a little and leans back into the armchair as if resetting himself and the line of conversation. Like he senses the mutual danger lurking there.

“Tomorrow, when we sail… they will likely notice the date on our marriage certificate,” Benedict counsels gently. “That may raise flags about the authenticity of our union.”

“What can we do to assuage them?”

“Come up with a plausible story. Be physically affectionate. They may ask no questions, or they may ask as many as they wish,” he warns, “especially of you. They may ask you about…” Benedict pauses, his face flushing a little, “… intimate matters. They have every right to ask if the marriage has been consummated.”

You feel yourself flashing hot as he says it. “I should lie?” you whisper.

“You should say whatever you think will make them believe we are a real couple,” he obfuscates.

“I’m a terrible liar…” you confess, blushing when you realise your words could be interpreted as an invitation to be intimate. And on this, your wedding night.

His gaze is heavy. “You can do it y/n. Your freedom and safety may depend on your ability to convince them you love me... And I you.”

I think I might, your mind screams.

“I know… I… think I can do it,” you falter, replaying every kiss you have shared. “We seem to have done a great job convincing Jerome and Marie…”

“They are not looking to see artifice,” he counters. “British soldiers will be.”

“Sh… should we practice?” It’s out of your mouth before you can stop it, champagne again taking your tongue, a deep flush spreading over your skin as you realise it.

“Y… yes, I think maybe we should,” he agrees very quickly.

He stands somewhat awkward, peeling off his jacket and rolling up his shirt sleeves, leaving his waistcoat. You find yourself again mesmerised by him, as you were that night in Paris, wanting to run your hands over the flex in his arm muscles. In fact, you are so distracted you don’t even realise he is proffering you a hand out of the chair. You spring up to your feet without his help, the idea of touching him right now entirely too distracting, which seems to amuse him briefly before his expression turns sincere.

“We have kissed, but not as lovers, as married people would. We... we may need to do so, casually, of course, within sight of those allowing boarding,” he opines, even as your heart speeds up, realising what he is saying.

“You think we need to�� practice more kissing? Now?” you are mildly annoyed by how stupefied you sound.

“Yes,” he confirms, drawing closer, “passionate, real kissing.”

You are looking up into blue eyes and a gorgeous face as fingertips loop around your wrist as if checking your pulse.

“Grab my wrist if you want me to stop,” he tutors softly, so gentlemanly in his approach, even as you fret that he can feel your heart rate hammering hard in your veins.

Once again, time is in slow motion as his lips descend. At first, the kiss is breathtaking but still chaste, like previously. But then there is a noise in the back of his throat that makes the hairs on the nape of your neck stand on end; his lips part yours, a wave of damp heat as the kiss deepens. His tongue swipes yours tentatively, a tease before you mirror his moves. He tastes of champagne and something else that is entirely him, an impulse to bite the inside of his cheek. And then it’s abruptly fervent, wanton - like a dam has broken - his hands gripping the crest of your hip bones, each finger an insistent dig into your flesh.

Finally, given the permission, you don't hold back. Pushing into him, one hand grasping the buckled loop at the back of his waistcoat that cinches it to his slim form, the other winding around his sturdy neck, encouraging him to lean down further, take from you. The kiss seems never-ending, a rolling wave of to and fro, a dance not unlike the one in the square just last night. Those fireworks still explode, but this time, it feels like those ones that are so powerful they knock a punch to your solar plexus, a ricochet you feel physically,

His hands slide up your back, a sensual drag that makes you moan into his mouth, a noise he greedily swallows. But he stops as they reach the faux fur wrapped around your shoulders and reluctantly breaks the kiss.

“Please, take this off,” he implores, “I cannot do this with you wearing my sister's clothing,” he points out with a cringe that creases his face charmingly.

Your responding giggle causes him to break into a lopsided grin, and wordlessly, you untie it as he watches, pupils blown. When you push it back off your shoulders, it hits the rug behind you with a soft whump, and your instinct takes over, rocking onto your tiptoes, one hand sliding into the lush hair at the back of his head and bringing his face back to yours.

The minute your mouth opens to his, you are heavy and weightless all at once, not unlike that wooden roller coaster on Coney Island that made you see stars. Your nails flex on his scalp as his hands slide over your dress, looping low around your hips, tugging you snugly into his body as your tongues tangle.

This.

This must be what the girls whisper about—a tart metallic boiling in your blood, a heavy tug deep inside your pelvis that needs relief. A wanting so physical it almost hurts, a hunger that makes you feel reckless, liable to behaviour you could never justify, a pure carnal caprice. But all too soon, he is pulling back, a need to breathe, even as he does so inches from your face, his eyes locked on yours as they flutter open.

“Again,” you murmur, uncaring how gossamer thin your excuse is, just wanting more.

His eyes are glittering as he complies. Kissing like a wild storm now, hands hot through the thin, cool silk fabric. And you cannot stop the noises you make, shameless and breathy, right into his open, wet, questing mouth. Pressing hard against his body, a solid warmth in his trousers promising things you need so badly you crave to curl around him, open yourself to him.

You have never felt this before. A tingle under your scalp that vibrates all the way down to your toes. A want to take and be taken. To bite and be bitten. To ride and be ridden. For him to rip your dress from your body and throw you onto the sofa—a yen that feels not entirely human and definitely not civilised.

It's like he senses your thoughts have slid somewhere wild, or perhaps his have too, as when he pulls back, he is panting, and there is a quaking in his entire being like he is crackling with energy.

“Please. Go.” His voice is ragged, deep, almost wrecked. “Please. I… I can’t do this anymore,” his voice cracks a look that is at once hungry, aching, and barely contained restraint.

Please don't be a gentleman now, Benedict. Please. No. God. Not now. Don’t.

“I’m s…sorry,” you stutter, feeling guilty you have pushed it too far but utterly unmoored by the searing passion and the sting of his rejection, albeit reluctant.

Even you can see the war in his being, physical desire being muzzled by the gentleman he was clearly raised to be. Knowing if you stand here much longer, something will happen that one or both of you will regret. Your wedding ring seems to burn your skin as you turn around and shrink away, leaving the room, not daring to look back, knowing he has also turned away with ragged breaths.

As you climb the stairs, feet feeling leaden, your body in utter turmoil, you hear the discordant scratch of the gramophone being halted. You undress in a daze, swearing you can still feel the heat of his handprints through the silk of your dress. Climbing into the bed approaching numb, champagne swirling unease in your gut with all the rich foods, an oily disquiet that means it takes ages to settle.

You lay there fitfully for what feels like hours, tossing and turning, picking over the minutiae of every moment with Benedict - tonight and all the nights and days before. Seeing possible signs that make your heart clench.

Could it be that he is not doing this all for show?

It's a seizing thought that catalyses your body: it has you up on your feet and rushing down the stairs in your nightgown, breathless and stumbling. But when you round the corner into the living room, all your courage to declare it is sapped by the sight of Benedict sleeping, curled slightly, looking smaller somehow, his back turned to you, face buried into the back cushion of the sofa.

Instead, you back away, padding to the kitchen to take a glass of water, hoping the hydration will stave off the worst of a hangover; the water is a relief to the tumultuous, racing feeling as you stand on the large slab of earthen tile gleaming in the moonlight, cold underfoot. You pour another glass for him without thought.

Tiptoeing back into the living room, careful not to wake him, you crouch beside him to leave the glass of water within easy sight and reach should he stir. But you find yourself unable to leave without saying something. The temptation to confess to his unconscious self is impossible to resist, the grip on your own glass so tight.

“I’ll never be able to repay you,” you murmur to his back, fingers itching to trace over the bare skin of his shoulder blades where they peak out of the blanket. “For this unbelievable act of kindness and generosity. And yet… god, this is so selfish,” you flick your eyes up to the ceiling to stem a tear you feel gathering, “… still I’m greedy. Always wanting more. Wanting…. Wanting to never return to my old life. Wanting to run away. Wanting this… Wanting this to be real.”

The last phrase is barely audible, but still, you are instantly horrified that you confessed it out loud, even to his unconscious, sleeping frame. And you know you must leave.

God, what is wrong with me? What is this? Temporary insanity? Too much alcohol, a fake wedding and an impending war are not a good recipe…

It’s a silent internal lament as you stand up and withdraw, self-chastisement echoing so loud in your head. And yet, you can't resist a parting sentence from the doorway.

“Goodnight, Benedict, you are truly the very best of men...”

—

What you don’t see as you slowly climb back up the creaking wooden stairs is Benedict’s eyes blazing open, a look of utter astonishment claiming his face as he twists around and stares at the doorway you left by, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

He was never asleep.

And he heard every single word.

Benedict taglist: @foreverlonginguniverse @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @amygdtjhddzvb @sya-skies @balladynaaa

#benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton fluff #benedict bridgerton angst #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #bridgerton fluff #bridgerton angst #bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x female reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x y/n

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readychilledwine · 4 months

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Dollification

✨️Kink Education with Elizabeth✨️

**reminder, we do not yuck other people's Yums on this blog**

Dollification is the sexual attraction or arousal to the idea of becoming a living doll. In this kink, you have the doll and their owner in a total power exchange dynamic. The owner of the doll will decide how their hair done, their clothing, their makeup, their mannerism, etc. Being a sub does not guarantee that a person would enjoy the Dollification process. Dolls tend to enjoy being objectified, so they enjoy the idea of someone owning them and treating them like a possession.

There are different types of dolls that all have their own attire. The most common are Lolita dolls, latex dolls, baby dolls, zentai dolls, and living Barbies. For this fic, I focused on the living barbie.

Living barbie dolls are known for being into bimbofication, or the act or process of being made beautiful but acting or being seen as stupid. Bimbos traditionally have a very specific stereotype that crosses well into barbie world. Blonde, makeup, tight clothing, revealing clothing. Some barbie dolls will go as far as plastic surgery to achieve the barbie body and looks as well.

One aspect of Dollification that may be odd is that the dolls remain silent during sex. The idea is to be as close to a doll as possible, so silence is a part of that. I have Seraphina breaking that rule a little as an understood thing between her and Azriel.

💕Peep the Valentine's Day List Here💕

💙 Peep Lollipop here to meet our OC💙

As always, NSFW below Cut

Azriel x Seraphina Vanserra

Warnings - complete power exchange, some impact play, dehumanization, restraints

Azriel was a smiling like one smug bastard as he circled his mate.

His precious little mate.

Sweet Seraphina was dressed in a lace blue corset, breasts pushed up high, and waist snatched in. A pretty matching thong left nothing to his imagination.

Her hair was down exactly as he had asked, brushed and left with those full body waves, a bow keeping some of it tied back while the rest fell naturally down her back like a waterfall of fire.

Even the makeup was exactly as he had asked. Soft, highlighting those Autumn Court features, mascara used to make those thick lashes seem bigger.

She was perfect before she had so willingly handed this level of submission to Azriel, but something about having his own living breathing doll, something about controlling what she wore, how she looked, her mannerisms, that really got him off. "Such a beautiful thing, aren't you?" He had trained her well, smirking as she didn't respond and only stared ahead. "You have permission to smile." He placed a kiss on her pointed ear, watching in the mirror as he eyes fluttered shut and a soft smile graced her full lips.

His hands began roaming her body, squeezing her breasts along the way down. "I know you are still learning," he bit her shoulder gently before kissing the mark and kissing up her neck. "So I will allow you to make noise, but to be the perfect doll, we need to work on silence. Okay, pet?"

Serphina didn't respond, knowing she had only been given permission to express pleasure and nothing else. "Good girl. Good fucking girl." His voice dripped with pride, with arousal, and something Sera had learned was Azriel's way of expressing affection.

He kept her facing the mirror, and he began. That lacy thong he had admired was pulled down by his shadows, and his hand went to cup her sex, groaning as he found her dripping. "Insatiable, aren't you?" Her breath hitched at the accusation, at the reminder of what she'd become to him.

A sex doll. A pretty little toy owned by him that sat waiting where he sat her just anticipating his cock. He had taken her fashion sense, her free will, her body, and she gave it to him so willingly, so freely.

She made no noise as two thick fingers dipped into her heat, prepping her for him. She wouldn't get to cum tonight. She was his doll right now, not a living breathing being with needs. She couldn't help the small whine leaving her as his fingers curled, tensing her and reminding her of what he could do, what she'd be missing tonight. "Always so fucking ready for me."

Azriel pulled her by her hair. "Walk," he all but dragged her to the bed, forcing her to lay facedown on it. His fingers resunk into her as his shadows forced her hands to her back and her apart, holding them there. Pressure was building in her stomach, a soft moan escaping every so often muffled by the bed.

As he was pulling her apart, a smack rang through the air, and Sera instantly pulled her lip into her mouth, biting down. She was allowed to express pleasure, not pain. Another smack came, and it took her willpower not to move, to cry.

Azriel's fingers left her cunt and everything seemed still for a second. She took a few deep breaths, and then the contact came again. A quick, precise slap landed on her core, and Sera broke. Her body jolted, and she squirmed, whimpering in pain as Azriel stared down at her with a smirk.

He forced her face further into the bed. "Dolls don't move, Seraphina." Her breath was blocked off, it felt as if she was inhaling her own heated exhale, choking on it as he shifted behind her, clothing long gone.

She felt the ties of her corset growing tighter, restricting her breath further. "Be a good fucking doll and stay still or I'll have to punish you." He entered her without warning, sliding in to the hilt. His hand holding her head down moved to her ass meeting his other hand there as he squeezed the supple flesh and began pounding. He forced her hips up enough that the arch of her back now dug her face into the bed, cutting off her air supply again.

She moaned into the sheets as his cock dragged inside of her, remaining as quiet as she could. It was hard, so hard, when her mate, the picture of male perfection with the cock to match, was hitting every nerve, every hidden spot inside of her that was begging for attention.

Azriel allowed her one kindness. He kept the bond open, allowing her to feel his pride, his love, his happiness, and every single ounce of his pleasure her tight heat was bringing him. She was untouched by any male besides him and he had begun whispering to her not long ago how it was as if she cunt began to change herself, perfecting in to this perfect sleeve made just for him. His groans were getting louder, thrusts quicker and quicker.

He was close, so close, and Seraphina smiled into the bed, lightheaded from the lack of air.

She had only made a few noises, only moved once. It was a vast improvement from their first round of doll play that ended in Azriel's frustration and the pale skin of her ass bruised and sore for a few hours.

He squeezed her ass again, spitting on her back entrance as he did and moving one hand to have this thumb circle that entrance. She moaned again, cunt clenching as she did, at his teasing. "Being so good, sweetness. So close," she knew from his panting from how sloppy his thrusts were becoming, from the twitching inside of her.

He also knew she was right there, waiting for a command he would not give her tonight. He'd leave her wet and wanting once he stripped that corset off and took care of her. He knew it was cruel. Knew he should treat her better, but part of why she got off in this was the dehumanization, the denial of her needs.

The thought of her submission, of her trust and love for him, had him roaring, spilling every last drop into her. He rode out his high before leaning down and kissing the base of her neck. She whimpered below him, body desperate with need as he pulled out of her, watching their juices leak out of her, mixing together. The sight had him itching to take her again, but she needed a break. She needed out of that damned corset, she wanted to breath, to snuggle.

Azriel began working at the ties, pulling her up by her arms and pushing the hooks together in the front to take it off in one movement. "All done, Seraphina. You can behave normally now."

He watched her shoulders fall in relief and turned back to look at him with soft doe eyes, waiting for his praise, for the aftercare he'd so lovingly give her. He leaned in, kissing her and pumping his love down the bond before turning her to he could rest his forehead on hers.

"You did so well, my salvation. Took everything so much better this time. I am so proud of you. I know that must have been difficult." She nodded as he leaned to kiss her again. "Did you have fun?"

"Any time your inside of me is fun, Azriel."

The comment sent heat to his cheeks, a smile appearing to show off those dimples. "Then I'll try to be inside of you more. Let's go take a bath."

"When do I get to finish?"

The question made him growl, pulling her to him by her neck before cupping her chin. "In the bath if you're a good girl."

"Then I'll be the best girl," his cock twitched at the underlying tone in her voice.

He had created a monster. A tiny sex fueled monster who had an appetite that matched his now. His true equal. "We'll see," his tone was a warning as she flashed a serpent like smirk, reminding him so much of her eldest brother.

He'd fuck that smirk right off her face permanently some day.

And she was secretly praying for him to do it.

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanager @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho

@mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr

Valentines Day Taglist:

@sfhsgrad-blog @amara-moonlight @eternallyelvish @novaksangel @teenageeggscissorslawyer @thisblogisaboutabook @amygdtjhddzvb

@justasillylittlegoofyguy @avajustreads

@littlestw01f @azriels-shadowsinger @acourtofladydeath

Azriel Taglist:

@elle4404

#acotar #azriel acotar #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x vanserra!oc #acotar x oc #azriel x oc #readychilledwine valentines day bingo

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daryl-dixon-daydreams · 11 months

Text

"Be right back," you announced to Rosita and Carol, getting up and rushing to the front door. You couldn't help the wide smile that formed when you realized it was Daryl standing there waiting. "Hi," you greeted him warmly. "What's up?" The heat and humidity of summer had finally broken and given way to a gloriously beautiful autumn day. His wavy brown hair was lightly tousled from the wind.

He seemed nervous, shifting his weight back and forth, turning something copper colored and fuzzy over and over in his hands. "Uhh—just wanted to drop this off for ya..." He thrust the orange something into your hands and your fingers sunk into velvety soft fox fur. A pelt. "I trapped it last year and made it into scarf-kinda thing 'n—the weather's turned now and all. Thought ya might need it." He stood there looking as if he was somehow imposing on you by standing on your front stoop. "Yer always cold, ya know," he drawled, trailing off at the end.

"Thanks," was all you managed and it was woefully inadequate. You were a little surprised by the whole occurrence.

"No problem," he said, ducking his head and turning to rush down your front steps.

"Hey—Daryl!" you called after him. "Rosita and Carol are here. We were just having some drinks... Carol stole some wine from the pantry. If you wanted to come in?"

He looked like he was considering saying yes for a brief moment, chewing on his bottom lip, but he eventually ducked his head. "Nah... ya'll have a good time. I dun wanna get in the way of a girls' night."

He'd already turned to leave again when you said his name once more. "Daryl!" you called after him again. "You're never in the way," you asserted, cocking an eyebrow up at him.

He nodded, one corner of his mouth twitching up. "Thanks. But I'll just see ya around, alrigh'? Dun drink too much," he cautioned you.

You watched him rushing away up the sidewalk and disappeared back inside, turning the fox fur over and over in your hands the same way he had been.

"What's that?" Carol asked as you stepped back into the kitchen.

It took you a moment to even register that she'd said something to you. "Huh? Oh. It's a fox fur scarf. Daryl just dropped it off," you said. "I'm not sure why—but he said the weather's turned and—" Carol and Rosita exchanged a look and you saw it. "What? What was that look?" you asked urgently.

Rosita let out a dry laugh as if the meaning was the most obvious thing in the world. "Hey, stupid. He likes you," she said pointedly.

You stared at her. "He just knows I'm—I get cold easily..." But even you sounded unconvinced.

Carol rolled her eyes and reached for the bottle of wine again. "God, all this denial is making me sick," she joked, shooting you a look. "Daryl Dixon gifting you something he made with his own hands is the equivalent of a male peacock spreading its tail feathers. This is your signal. Earth to Y/N! Do something!"

You felt your cheeks flush. "What am I supposed to do?" you asked rhetorically.

Rosita shoved the unopened bottle of wine toward you on the table, her eyebrows lifting. "Take this over to his room in the basement with two glasses and climb in his bed," she laughed. "That should be obvious enough even for him."

"Stop..." you muttered, still flushing furiously.

Carol finished pouring more wine into her own glass. "Just do something! The man is doing his best and Lord knows he needs some help," she smiled.

Prompt: "Hey, stupid. He likes you." A/N: Fuck, this is cute. Not me wanting to write this as a whole ass fic....

#that peacock line tho #lmao #and y/n grabs the bottle of wine and goes #and daryl is just laying in his bed when they burst in #and he's like ???#daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon twd #the walking dead #twd fanfics #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl imagines #daryl x y/n #fanfics #writers of tumblr #twd drabbles

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the-sinking-ship · 5 months

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Never Mind the Bollocks by The_Sinking_Ship

Pairing: Draco/Harry

Rating: E

Wordcount: 118K

Collection: H/D Erised 2023, @hd-erised

Tags: found family, friends with benefits, slow burn, they were roommates, reluctant celebrity Harry Potter, not-so-reluctant celebrity Draco Malfoy, clubbing, drinking, smoking, drugs, parties, running from the cops, Harry rides a skateboard, jealousy, action, banter

Characters: Hermione Granger, Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini, Viktor Krum, Oliver Wood, Ron Weasley, Luna Lovegood, Ginny Weasley, George Weasley, Seamus Finnegan, Astoria Greengrass, Dean Thomas, OCs (seriously, the gang's all here)

Summary:

If someone told Harry six months ago that by autumn he would be single, living on whisky and toast, and dancing the night away with Draco Malfoy, he would have told them to get their head checked.

And yet, here he was.

Notes: This fic was written for @shiftylinguini as a part of the Erised 2023 gift exchange! Big thanks to my betas @mintawasalreadytaken and @drarrymyheart for corralling this monster and the Erised mods for their patience and hard work.

READ ON AO3

#I'm baaaaaack mfers!!#erised 2023 #storiesfromthesinkingship #never mind the bollocks fic #drarry fic #drarry fanfiction #harry potter #draco malfoy

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himbocoups · 1 year

Text

˗ˋˏ Epistolary Yearning ˎˊ˗ | 18+ Only

synopsis: a series of letters, speckled with notes of budding romance and longing, exchanged between a newly married couple separated by seas and the ongoing war the emperor sent his commander to end.

pairing: duke!lsm x reader (gn afab)

genre: epistolary form, historical fantasy, romance | smut

tags: arranged marriage, mentions of a war, dk and yn accidentally invent the concept of planes, two people very much falling in love | degrading, fingering, guided play, honey play, marking, mirror play, pet names, praise, pussy slapping, riding, spitting, squirting…

wc: 5.13k

message from nu: fueled by my love for historical, fantasy, and isekai manhuas. big thank you to my beta readers (@heartkyeom, @aceofvernons, and @multi-kpop-fanfics) for reading when I was playing with the format of this fic + @junkissed with helping out with the syntax for this one very confusing line I wrote. also summoning @onlyseokmins bc I told her I'd tag her once duke!dk was finished <3

himbocoups's masterlist

Letter One - YN

My Lord,

How are you? I hope your trip is going as smoothly as planned.

It has been a while since I last heard from you. As Summer comes to a fading end, Autumn threatens to wash the foliage to hues of brown and auburn. And I sit at the library nook beside the window, taking quill to parchment against the cover of a heavily bound book and scratching against blank pages before I can muster the courage to write to you. I do sincerely apologize if this attempt seems strange.

Though I pity our brief time together, the only things I familiarized myself with are your scintillant eyes. Maybe instead of feeling as dull as the color of nature, I’ll think about how the color is reminiscent of your eyes. Eyes, these beautiful jewels seem to reflect the light through your smile. I can’t help but imagine myself as the last person to see them every night as I lay beside you as we drift off into slumber. Would it be too forward of me to say that the thought of growing fond of you, not just your eyes, is slowly appealing more and more to me?

However, I do have hesitations as I am left alone to roam these lonely halls in a place so unfamiliar to me. It would be a pity shall I reach familiarity with my surroundings before I become familiar with you. Or even worse, to have you forget your familiarity with me.

Please be safe for me. Hurry home soon.

Letter Two - DK

My Jewel,

For someone who longs for familiarity, you need not create even more distance between us through formalities. And my love, you need not refer to me as your Lord. Love is all I ask for, as love is what you will always be to me. Albeit, I do find it disheartening to read that you think of me so lowly. I could never forget someone as precious as you, even if you do not believe in your preciousness.

Nevertheless, I, too, pity the brevity of our time together. Marriage agreed upon through an exchanging of letters by our guardians, now our marriage follows suit in the epistolary form. Yet no descriptive access through penmanship could ever grant the feeling that blossomed inside me and continues to bloom since I first laid my eyes upon you. And on the eve of the third week of our matrimony, I was whisked away to end the war. I do sincerely apologize for my absence.

On this rocking ship, all I can do is stare into the swirling sea in search of a passing merchant ship with letters to deliver. The birds that soar above me seem to provoke me with their independence, cawing in hearty guffaw at the fact that this poor man can never take flight at any moment back into his lover’s arms - where he feels most at home.

Maybe we should take giant birds instead of ships, soaring in the skies and reaching our destination in an instant. How wondrous that would be.

But I am an equally lonesome Commander among his squadron, a man who keeps the first letter from his lover in the pocket against his breast and his wedding band around his neck. Just thinking about how you were thinking about me while writing that letter, still thinking about me, conciliates any disarray in my mind. And I promise you that I will make you feel loved for the rest of your life, even if our love is only budding.

I will lead my men well. Then I will lead myself home. To you.

Letter Three - YN

My Dokyeom (If it is fine to refer to you in this way),

I do have to admit to my shyness, how my face flushed with heat when you referred to me as your beloved. Your “love”…my goodness, our servants nearly called the doctor over when they saw my state of awe. Although, I do apologize if the language in my initial letter seemed blunt or made you feel even a hint of sadness that I accidentally made you for a man with a cold demeanor.

You wrote: “Maybe we should take giant birds instead of ships, soaring in the skies and reaching our destination in an instant” in our last exchange. What a preposterous idea! But what a new discovery to find that you are as funny as you are charming. Shall we commission a local alchemist to create potions that magnify tiny sparrows to large ships? Or shall I ditch my archery lessons in exchange for nights in your magnificent library, scouring the archives with the hope to find a recipe to an enlarging potion hidden in a romance novel?

Oh, how I wish everything could be as easy as depicted in romance novels or that one Opera we went to watch. Days consume me on end. Not in the way in which I consume much of my leisure time by staying in the places we frequented in our time together, but in the way in which time passes by so slowly it feels like the concept of time is consuming me instead. I wish it were you who were consuming me even though I do feel it through your love. Because I, too, keep your letter near me. And I trace over the areas your quill indented the parchment, so much that I sometimes end up smudging the dried ink with my hand.

I do miss you...even more when everything around me reminds me of you. Because you, who makes silly promises about a budding romance, will also be the receiver of my elementary promise about my slowly collecting love for you.

P.S. They are close to finishing our portraits. I have yet to decide where they are to be hung.

Letter Four - DK

My Love,

My Seokmin. Seok. Min. Mine. Beloved. Love. Dearest. Husband. Equal. Anything but Duke, Lord, Commander, or Dokyeom is welcome. How I wish for the day I get to hear my name leave your lips through a soft murmur, laughter, greeting, whisper, and mayhaps even a whine.

Honeymoon was cut short by my trip across the sea. We are finally on land. In front of me is a crackling campfire whose glow conceals the redness of my cheeks, dappled with jubilance from reading your last letter.

My dearest shy and humble lover whose metaphoric propositions of love are anything but reticent, I have annotated my favorite portions and circled words that I replay in my mind as a source of comfort. However, like what you did with your quotation of my imaginary bird ship, I must reference a few nuances in your letter that I find interesting. Particularly, I find that you must be careful in formatting your syntax, my beloved — for your way of language is enough to drive a sane man mad. Just think of me: a sane man before I had you and now a man slowly falling madly in love with you.

Referring back to how time achingly consumes you, your “I wish it were you who were consuming me. Although I do feel it through your love” causes me to quiver in a way that is only shared between two lovers. I am a man whose honeymoon was interrupted by the king’s call, a man who is weeks without his lover, a man who has needs - desires. And your need for me to consume you? I can only pluck it out of context.

If everything around you reminds you of me, then I must tell you that I hope your reminder does not make you suffer as how I suffer. My love, do you know how painful it was to lay in my bed while the ship continually rocked back and forth? It was reminiscent of our second week together when you decided to mount me in bed, your beautiful opalescent undergarment covering an action so lewd that it could never be named in public. Yet I was a man on a ship with his aching cock in his hand, imagining his newly beloved on top of him who squeezes him tightly as they ride his lap.

No hand could ever replace the fervor of having you rock me, leaning forward to kiss me down my naked chest while sucking and licking the thin area of skin right above my collarbone. How warmly your walls enveloped my own, squeezing and contrasting with every glide you make. I couldn’t help but twitch in you, trying to hold in my selfishness by grabbing onto your thighs - kneading and feeling the skin fill the areas between my fingers. But you bounced on my lap like a bunny in heat, causing my hands to trail further upwards until they lay on your ass…I wanted to worship you by turning myself into a throne, a marble stand so others could be in awe of you for centuries to come.

Mouth unable to talk, your kitten drooled onto my lap and coated the surface with liquid lust while you whimpered as I praised you for treating me so well. I scooped the syrup from the maple tap and brought it to my mouth to suck; even now I can still feel your sweet syrup rest on my tongue and swirl in my mouth. Yet there I was on that boat, losing my mind with my hand on my tap. Bed sheets soaked with my sweat, I could only imagine that it was your sweat-glistened skin that stuck against mine. It was but a shame, and still is but a shame, that the image of you collapsed against my chest with exhaustion when your thighs trembled with such a quake only exists as a memory. How long would it take for me to turn the memory of me looping my arms around your back and pushing your upper body against mine, feeling you build and crash through a scream, into our reality?

The land is no better than the sea. Truly, it must be treason to think such impure thoughts while riding on my finest stallion to head to our base. I am a Commander, a Duke for God’s sake. But the bouncing, the clopping - oh, beloved, my skin pricked with heat so much that I thought bandits were ambushing us. The pain I felt while I waited for my swelling to go down - I am utterly embarrassed to admit I almost released while riding in front of my men.

How I wish I could come running back home to you. Shall I single-handedly overturn the monarchy so we can be equal partners to the throne? So that we can be rulers who need not leave our estate? Just give me the word, and the empire will be yours. Then I would never need to leave your side. That I guarantee.

P.S. Hang the portrait wherever you please. Perhaps the ballroom so I would always be with you during the night of the balls.

Letter Five - YN

My King,

How mad of you to write such vulgarities, to suggest usurping the throne only if it means being able to stay with me. You are a Commander. You are a Duke. You are one of the King’s men. Do you not fear the inevitable consequences that you would face should your letter be opened by anybody other than myself? Do you not fear what would happen to you if your lust-driven joke was wrongly taken for treason? I must say that despite everything, I found myself dipping a finger into your words and listening to my juices sing your letter like lyrics.

Your words comforted my ache at my core, skillfully fighting fire with fire to extinguish my burning forest. However, if you were to turn into a mere object – a chair, a throne, a stand – I would never be satisfied in your worship. ‘Tis true that I would like to be worshiped by you like the first time your palm cupped my face in private confinement under the shade of the gazebo in the garden. With nobody around us, your face softened to reveal the most beautiful smile I have ever seen. Earnest eyes flittered to and fro as you studied me in awe and whispered words of praise. Up until then, I never even knew you could worship a person such as me. Yet, you, a mere stranger I met a few hours ago, placed a kiss upon my lips as soft as the petals on the flowers that surrounded us.

If worshipping me means an inanimate you, I don’t think there would be anybody who could worship me with such sincerity and reason as you do…and I quite like the animate you even if the animate you screamed at the bug upon your sleeve. I couldn’t stop laughing then. And when you looked back at me with those bashful eyes, I knew this would be a marriage filled with laughter.

Laughter, as I have recently learned, doesn’t only exist jovially. No. Reading your comment about my syntax, I almost erupted in a peal of sinister laughter. My poor lover with his cock in his hand and his quill in his other and his attempt to warn someone with such an extensive educational background about their syntax…you are too pure for this world. Should it make you feel better in any way, I have also thought about you in ways such a person in my stature should never.

The other day when I was particularly distracted by the particular “unease” that had been building inside me, I accidentally launched a practice arrow into the wind. Chasing it, I happened upon our agriculture stables where the young workers sit and milk our cows. I swear, I must have been in such a delusional state to feel such a rush just from watching the motion of our cows getting milked that I ran off to the kitchens without picking up my stray arrow.

Can you believe it, my dear? Have you been thinking of me differently since I admitted to almost leaking when I saw the cows getting milked? Would you think of me even differently if I told you I thought of you while talking to our ice sculptors? If you can quench my thirst on my loneliest days, I can only imagine what taking you in paired with ice would feel like for both you and me.

Mayhaps, we should convene in the kitchen at night after the bell strikes twelve when all of our kitchen staff have retired. I want to kiss you with cherry-stained lips, watching tint transfer onto yours as I play with the seed of the fruit in my mouth while I wait for our cups of tea to steep. Kissing, I hope, would act as an analgesic for your painfully sleepless nights. Still, I find it abstruse that a kind, gentle, and good man like you would live such a cathartic life as a commander. Enerverated in every way as I am, I can only offer a somnolent kiss in hopes of luring you to sleep before your tea can fully steep.

“What is a man without his honey,” you would say. Then I would ask you to specify what type of honey you are referring to.

You would reply with this cheekiness in your voice while your lips pull into a wide smile, “the syrup.” If I’m not wrong, you would peck the top of my head while you reach over me to grab the jar that the cook keeps at the counter for you to easily access. Because the man with a honeyed siren voice that often procures lullabies for me to fall asleep also has a taste for the pollinators’ syrup.

As you can tell…we are not simple people. We are not a regular couple. We have exchanged letters for longer than we have physically been together. So when I tell you to close your eyes to try to find your honey, would you? If I blindfolded you with a kitchen towel and told you to search for the dab of honey I swatched on my body, could you do it? Would you go to the lengths just to search for the honey to your tea?

Would you use your nose and sniff along my skin, searching for the floral and fruity aroma? Gently picking up my arm and bringing it to your nose, would you gently guide your nose along the surface of my skin in a position so intimate that you feel my arm hairs tickle the tip of your nose? Would you guide your nose upwards along my arm until you arrive at my collarbone, sniffing and docilely licking areas you think to be as sweet as honey?

Imploring you in your reconnoiter, I must keep quiet as I watch you blindly explore every groove of the topography of my body. I imagine myself tilting my head towards the side to allow you access to the side of my neck, sharply breathing in as you nose the area in which I am the most sensitive. I see you hesitate for a second before planting your supple lips against the skin as if to sample before making a decision. To your surprise, what coats your lips in a sticky and sweet amber gloss is the honey I placed on my neck slowly trailing towards my collarbone. And I watch you intently as you lick it off your lips, leaving a translucent liquid sheen.

Affected by a magnetic lure, you would somehow find yourself in front of me, your head positioned right above the slowly trailing bead of honey. It starts with a lick, hot tongue against cold skin. I can’t help but feel how the bumpy texture of your tongue cleans and pulls its way up my neck. After the hot saliva hits cold air, you take off the kitchen towel and look at me like a puppy waiting for its owner.

“Such a good boy,” I murmur as I take the towel from your hand and wrap it around the nape of your neck to pull you in closer. “How does it taste?”

What is more, is that I hope that in that moment my heart is not the only one that is beating as fast as how a hummingbird flaps its wings. My greedy husband, you back me against the kitchen island until you are pressed firmly against me as I watch and feel you bite and suck a garden of flowers across my neck and chest. Your large hands find themselves around my thighs, kneading and squeezing them so much that the fabric of my night clothes bunch in the palm of your hands. So I maneuver your hands around my waist, and you spin me around and bend me against that counter so I can feel you push yourself against me.

“Be good for me,” you would command while undressing me.

Then I would feel it, hands spreading my legs and fingers prying my ass apart, and then your warm and flat tongue against my kitten. One single lick would make my knees buckle. But you eating me out from behind, the way you knead my ass while you take your time swirling your tongue against my lips and lapping up my juices would make me come in an instant. Your tongue presses against my nub while your nose digs itself into my opening almost to the point where you’re fucking me with the tip of your nose, yet it is me who begs for air. And you keep my liquid on your tongue as you rise from your knees to pull my head back until I’m looking at you and your swollen and burgundy lips with my head tilted backward.

And you pry my mouth open with your hand and watch me catch that sweet honey on the tip of my tongue.

My dear, I am much too hot to even think about what comes after you let go of my jaw. My tenses in this letter are all mixed up because I’m so caught up in my delusions that I mistake dreams for reality. I feel ashamed to revert to such elementary composition when I am clouded by lust. But in this sensory game of wits, who do you think would win — the explorer or the explored?

P.S. I’ve had our painting temporarily hung in our dining room as I cannot even bring myself to think about the possibility of hosting a ball without you. The great ballroom has been collecting dust since the first month you left for the war. Besides, invitations to the first ball of the season have long been sent out. I attended and made some acquaintances. Are you proud of me? Are you missing me as much as I am missing you?

Letter Six - DK

My Sweet,

Loneliness is when you are trapped by your stillness while everything around you splits into two and crumbles. And you are stuck in the open space of where everything once was, you in your bubble of muteness as the world crashes and breaks in a cacophonous roar. The feeling that engulfed me during these past few months was beyond my description of loneliness. So with a happy heart, I am telling you that the war is over. I’m coming home soon to hold you in my arms, to show you what this world that surrounds you is truly like — delicate and with the warmth of a glowing morning Sun that promises juvenescent Springs until the end of time.

Regarding your question about the potential winner of the sensory game you described in your last letter, whether I am the person exploring or explored, I know I would always be the victor as only a true victor can call you “his.” My sweet love, I hope to stick by your side as long as I prefer honey in my tea and you by my side when I sleep.

However, with a slightly interruptive transition, I have a few requests regarding the contents of your postscript. That is:

One, I am wholly and with every fiber of my mind, soul, and body proud of you. You, my shyest lover who sought friendship in your moments of loneliness, I love you so. Yet I find myself utterly in distress that I cannot co-host our tea parties until later should you hold one in a few days. Our estate is boring, and it must be tiring seeing the same things and people every day for the past few months. I urge you to go out more and explore so I can come home to plentiful stories told in your voice. I want to fall asleep to your descriptions so I can dream of how you see the world around you.

Two, of course, I am missing you. Even if I were a few yards away from you, I would still miss you. I am currently bothering our treasurer in regards to spending the rest of our budget on a winter wonderland in which we would freeze the entire world so I could easily and quickly sled back home like a seal off an iceberg. However, our treasurer is insistent on saving the budget for lodging, travel, and sustenance. I, for one, think I am right.

Three, I think this might be my last letter in a while as when this stack of parchments finally reaches you, I would almost be home. So I am struggling between keeping this short and straight to the point or long and thoroughly eloquent with everything that I want to write and say to you. Instead of coming to a conclusion by myself, I bid you farewell until we meet again with this set of instructions within my set of requests for you. I’m sorry if the format of my letter makes it very hard for you to read. Like how you described your delusions, I often find myself alone at night imagining you by my side so much that I feel your physical presence next to me.

Four, as for our portrait in our dining room, I must ask you to perform a favor for me as I have not seen the finished painting myself. It is a test regarding the “likeness” of our portraits that can only be performed by yourself. When you wish to perform the test before I arrive, please excuse all our staff who stay by your side during dinner and ask to eat alone. Should they give you looks, please say that it was requested by me.

When you are alone, I need you to get into a position in which you can look at yourself through the large mirror that is mounted above the low mantle towards the end of the dining room table. I assume our portrait is hung on the wall at the other side of the dining room table, am I right? If you move the plates and sit on the table, you should be able to look at both your entire body and our portrait through the mirror. Do not worry about making a mess my dear.

Perhaps this test may be a little lewd for a dinner setting. But after your proposed rendezvous in the kitchen in your last letter, I suppose this test would be nothing to you.

Look at yourself in the mirror. Can you imagine me behind you, slowly kissing down your neck as I undress you while the candlelights flicker beside us? Our shadows cast against the walls that surround us tell the story of two lovers slowly conjoining into one. And I sit you against the front of my naked body, bending your legs and positioning them so you can see all of you through the mirror.

My love, can you see your lips unfold into a beautiful bloom, leaking with its sweet nectar for your man to taste? The sweet nectar, the glistening substitute to the honey our staff brought alongside our dinner rolls, rolls off the flower and soaks the tablecloth beneath you. Tonight I am not doing anything except revel in your beauty like a man awestruck by something so exquisite that he cannot do anything but stare.

I want you to imagine that the same me in the portrait is the me you imagine to be behind you, the very me who writes this letter and instructs you on how to pleasure yourself for the night. Suck on your own fingers, my darling. Bring your fingers to your lips, and let me see the way you ready yourself before the pleasure comes. Because what I want is for you to fuck yourself well for me so that after you’ve squirted all over the dining table your pussy continues to throb so much that you confuse it for your beating heart.

Don’t be shy. Bring your soaked fingers to your folds, and trace along the lines of the petals. Look at how they seemingly open and close as your stomach jerks in reaction. Slowly rub yourself up and down, coaxing that beautiful sigh that I know too well out of your mouth. Feel the pads of your finger mix with your juices, slipping easily and making your hand glide smoother.

Are you looking at me through the mirror? Are you begging me to instruct you in other ways to satisfy your lust? Do you want to rub your pearl and flick it with your finger in a way that makes you clench and collapse?

What is it, honey? Are you whining for me to make you feel good? But this is your guided session. Don’t you see yourself through the mirror, so pathetic looking that you would do anything that I tell you to do? Then take that same hand you used to tease yourself and slap your pussy for me. Bring the hand back and bring it down on your pussy quickly and with so much might that the sound of palm against tender skin echoes throughout the empty dining room.

Don’t you feel pathetic? Getting off from you slapping your own pussy? Doesn’t it please you and make feel so dirty at the same time? When you’re striking your palm against your pussy over and over as your other hand unconsciously reaches upwards to knead your sore nipple, are you looking at yourself through the mirror? Are you still imagining me sitting behind you on our dining table, whispering and taunting you as you attempt to come undone? If your head is not completely clouded with lust, when that pussy is throbbing with such pain and pleasure, you will take your finger to your entrance and insert it slowly so you feel your warm and wet insides slowly swallow your finger the further in it goes.

Let your mouth hang open as you plug yourself with another finger. Fill the lonely dining room with your sweet moans for me. Listen to your kitten squelch and leak the more you pump yourself so that a warm and hot feeling grows in your stomach, making you clench your body tighter and tighter. Scissor your fingers, and fill up that empty space where my cock usually rests. When you release, pull out your fingers as you come on the tablecloth and look at the cream I miss the most.

You’re so perfect, you know that? You’d look even more perfect when you’re on your knees with your fingers underneath you and inside of you. Bounce for me my sweet, ride your own fingers as if you’re riding me. Massage yourself with your other hand, grabbing and kneading your breasts and your nipples as I do for you. Can you see yourself through the mirror more clearly when you’re in this position? Do you see how messy and needy you look while you’re pathetically riding your own fingers? Do you wish they were mine? Do you wish they were my thighs?

Open your eyes for me as you reach another wave of ecstasy. Look at me in the eyes, the man painted next to your glowing figure as you reach your last high. I know you can do it. Scream my name if you love me, and squirt as if your pussy was crying for the man you love.

Turn your head around when you’ve caught your breath. Look at our portrait. Do you see how I’m smiling at you?

I’m proud of you, my love. Thank you for holding on for so long. I’ll be home soon.

P.S. I love you.

#svthub #seventeen smut #svt smut #seventeen imagines #svt imagines #dk smut #seokmin smut #dk x reader #seokmin x reader #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #dk imagines #seokmin imagines #✏️ ━ himbocoups

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perseusjackson-jasongrace · 2 years

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sending love to the @percyjacksongiftexchange pinch hit writers this weekend! mwah you guys got it <3

#percy jackson autumn equinox fic exchange #ciara’s convos

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heavyhitterheaux · 7 months

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Boys Day Out

First Lady of Private Garden Fic

Synopsis: First Lady sends her favorite boys Jack, Axel, and Urban to the Chelsea game

Pairing: Husband!Jack Harlow x Wife!Reader

First Lady of Private Garden Masterlist

Requested by: 1/3 of hot chips and bad decisions @hoodharlow 😘

Please Do Not Repost My Content Anywhere

Hearing the doorbell ring, you checked the security cameras to see that it was Blanca and Jessica and quickly went to open the door from your spot on the couch that you had been sitting on.

Once they stepped into the house, they took notice of how quiet it was and looked at you confused.

“Where is everyone? Because I don't think I have ever heard your house this quiet.” Jessica whispered, ultimately waiting for her nieces and nephew to tackle her. Because she knew that it was only a matter of time.

“I was thinking the exact same thing.” Blanca added as the two of them followed you into the kitchen as you poured all three of you a glass of red wine.

“Umm, Y/N? It's 9 in the morning.” Blanca called out to you once you had slid her glass in front of her seeing as you still haven't said anything.

“I'm fine, just taking it all in and it's 5 o'clock somewhere.” You said while sighing and immediately downing your glass and opting now to drink straight from the bottle.

“I-......” Jessica started to say as she and Blanca exchanged a look.

“Do we….”

“No, you do NOT need to call him.” You blurted out immediately knowing she was talking about Jack.

“We're going to have to disagree with you there.”

“I sent him, Ax, and Urb to London for the Chelsea game because they were getting on my last nerve. Not Axel, but the other two. I love them to pieces, but got damn. I needed a breather. Jack has been up my ass lately.”

“Uh? When is he not? That's your husband?” Blanca asked you not understanding because there was never a time that you didn't want to be around him.

“I'm trying to plan something for him that's really special and I can't do that when he is breathing down my neck. Now add three little people into that equation. I can't even pee by myself anymore without one of my four children, yes, I said four but I should have said five because Urban is my oldest banging on the door. Last night I was this close to sleeping in the bathroom with the door locked.”

“And Jack would have still broken down the door to get to you.”

“Correct.” You sighed while continuing to sip from the wine bottle.

“But where are your other two?”

“With my parents. I called my mom this morning and I was like you begged for grandchildren so come and get them.”

“I literally CANNOT.” Blanca exclaimed while laughing.

“I put Ivy and Autumn on the doorstep with their backpacks with clothes and toys for the entire weekend and I was like see you next week. I really wanted to say see you when you're 18, but that wouldn't have gone over well so now I have been sitting in silence and I am not complaining one bit.”

Meanwhile, Jack, Urban, and Axel had just landed in London and on the way to the hotel, Ax asked Jack for his phone.

“Daddy, can I see your phone?”

“What do you need it for, bubs?” Jack asked as he stuck his hand in his pocket to get it out.

“I need to talk to mommy.” Ax answered without missing a beat and Jack knew that it was only a matter of time.

“Hold on, let me facetime her.”

You answered on the second ring and all you saw was a fluffy head of brown curls.

“Mommy!”

“Hi my baby boy. Move the phone from your face a little. All I can see is your hair!”

Jack helped him adjust it so now you could see both of them.

“There's my two handsome boys. Well three because I know Urban is there somewhere too.”

“I still haven't forgiven the two of you for leaving me at wing stop.” Urban said while leaning over so that you could see him too.

“Urby! That was ONE time!”

“One time too many!”

“Wifey, what are you up to?” Jack asked as he saw you nursing a bottle of red wine. Little did he know, this was your second.

“Enjoying sitting in complete silence besides B and Jess.”

“I…. Not hot chips and bad decisions!”

“Yes, hot chips and bad decisions! Leave us alone!”

“Jack, stop getting on your wife’s nerves!” Jack heard Jessica say as he saw her walk past in the background.

“Jessica! And don't eat all my snacks either!”

“Well I have to because we came to watch the game with wifey and keep her company!”

“Baby? Since when do you watch soccer?” Jack asked while looking at you confused.

“Since today. And I always used to watch you play anyway.”

“Mommy, I miss you.” Ax piped up and you could feel the tugging of your heart strings.

“Ax… we literally just got here.” Jack said while shaking his head and Urban stifled a laugh.

“Daddy, you just said that you missed mommy before we called her.”

“I…. it be your own kids.”

“I miss you too bubs!” You said and saw him crack a small smile.

“But you don't miss your husband?!”

“Yes of course I miss my baby daddy, but you and Urby have been getting on my LAST nerve this past week.”

“Wait! NOW WHY AM I IN IT!?” Urban exclaimed while leaning back over into the camera and looking confused.

“Urban Henry… don't go there with me. You and your best friend act more like toddlers than my actual toddlers.”

“I… I'm going to get you for that when I get back.”

“Mm hmm, sure. Anyway, I love all three of you very much, but especially Axel Wyatt. And have fun at the game. And Axel?”

“Yes, mommy?”

“Be on your absolute best behavior for daddy and Uncle Urby. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I promise.”

“Listen to everything that they say, okay?”

He eagerly nodded his head as you then focused your attention on Jack.

“I love you, smush.”

“I love you too, baby girl. Promise to call you later.”

The three of you were in the kitchen making snacks for the game when a picture suddenly came through on your phone from Jack.

Smush- I thought the shirt was fitting so I had to buy it. We're eating and then going to the game. Hot chips still got you in one piece over there?

You- I'm about to yell and you know why I'm about to yell but I'll give you a chance to fix it first. Send me a pic of Ax in five minutes and what I see will determine if I kick you and Urban’s ass. And yes I am in one piece, but you and Urby won't be if you don't fix what's wrong

Urban was sitting across from Jack and saw how his face got a confused expression and immediately asked what was wrong.

“Do you see anything wrong with the pic of Ax I took?”

“No. It looks fine.”

“Then why did she send me this?” Jack asked as he shoved his phone towards Urban who instantly rolled his eyes.

“Why am I ALWAYS in it!? And what in the world are we supposed to fix in five minutes!?”

“Your guess is as good as mine! Even though there's an entire ocean between us, I take her threats seriously.”

“Only a matter of time before she shows up if we don't fix it.”

Jack quickly sent you another text telling you how confused he was.

Smush- Baby, I'm not understanding 😕

You- You have three minutes

“URB! HELP!” Jack yelled while shoving his phone towards him.

“WHAT YOU YELLING FOR?! HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO HELP YOU IF I DON'T KNOW WHAT’S GOING ON EITHER?!”

“This is just as bad as when I thought I lost my wedding ring.”

“Had us both stressed out but she had it the whole time.”

“Bubs, finish up your food so we can get to the stadium and put on your coat.”

“But I'm not cold, daddy.”

“Ax, if we go home and you end up getting sick, your mother will not be happy with me so put it on. And put your hat on too.”

“So, you want me to be hot?”

“Axel, put them on and put them on now before I call her.”

“Fine.”

It was the middle of the game when the three of you were watching in your living room when the camera suddenly cut to Jack, Urban, and Axel and your eyes instantly went wide as you grabbed your phone. Jack still didn't figure out what was wrong with the picture of Axel that he had sent you earlier, but seeing him at the game without his coat on while Jack and Urban was wearing theirs had you instantly annoyed. The last thing you wanted to deal with was a sick Axel because he is literally Jack in a little kid's body and acted exactly how he did when he got sick.

“Why doesn't Axel have on his coat?” Jessica asked as your fingers were flying across your phone screen asking your husband the exact same thing.

“That's what I'm asking him right now.”

You- Jackman Thomas Harlow

Smush- 👀

Smush- Whatever it is, I didn't do it and neither did Urban because I know you’re about to throw him in there too

You- If our child comes back to Louisville sick, I will not be happy

Smush- Why would he come back sick?

You- He doesn't have on his coat!

Jack then turned to Axel who had once again taken off his coat after he had told him numerous times to keep it on.

“Bubs!”

“Yes, daddy?”

“Put your coat on! Why do you keep taking it off!?!? It is 40 degrees out here and your mother will kill me if you have so much as a sniffle when we get back. And where is your hat!?”

“In my pocket.”

“Axel Wyatt….”

“Yes?”

“You have five seconds to get your hat and coat on.”

This continued on and off for the rest of the game and Axel only kept his coat and hat on for a total of thirty minutes between Jack and Urban telling him to put it on.

The three of them were now flying back and Jack was praying the entire time that Axel wouldn't start sneezing or spike a temperature. He was currently laid out on Jack when he felt his forehead and it was slightly warmer than usual and he immediately groaned.

“She's going to have a damn fit.” He muttered to himself, but Urban heard him.

“Not your fault that he kept taking it off.” Urban responded while shrugging.

“Hmm, tell my wife that and tell me how it goes.” Jack replied as Axel shifted his position on his lap and cuddled closer to Jack.

Jack and Axel had been back for a few days when you heard several sneezes in a row from your husband and all you did was sigh as you walked in the direction that he was in which was your bedroom meaning that he was awake.

When he spotted you, he looked up at you with his eyes red as well as his nose.

“No. Don't you dare say it.”

“Say what, baby?” You asked him while coming up to hug him and reaching up to give him a small kiss which he gladly accepted.

Your immune system could handle it and typically while everyone in the house was sick, you weren't.

“Your son got me sick.”

“Oh, so now he's my son? Since when is he not yours too?”

“He's the one who didn't wear a coat for the majority of the time and I'm the one who gets sick. How does that work?!”

“Because kids are literally walking germs. That's why.”

Axel peeked his head into your bedroom and you motioned for him to come all the way in.

“Yes, bubs?” Jack asked and Axel sighed before letting out a fit of coughs.

“Daddy, you got me sick. I don't feel good.” He said as he reached up towards Jack so that he could pick him up.

“I did WHAT NOW?” Jack asked as he picked him up.

Axel didn't have time to answer, but instead sneezed on Jack who had a look of disbelief on his face.

“Seriously Ax? Bless you.”

“Sorry, daddy.” Ax answered as he did his best to cough into his arm.

“And mommy, I was so cold when we were at the game.”

“I….” Jack started to say but then turned back to look at Axel.

“That's what happens when you don't listen to daddy and you got me sick. Not the other way around.”

“I didn't start coughing until you did.”

“Okay, enough you two. Get in the bed, NOW.”

“Do we get cuddles from you?” Axel asked looking up at you hopeful as Jack climbed into the bed with him in his arms.

“For now, you're cuddling daddy because you are not getting mommy sick. I'll bring meds and food soon.”

Axel sighed as he looked up at Jack.

“You aren't mommy, but I guess you’ll have to do.” He said as he climbed on Jack’s chest and laid down while trying to get comfortable.

“Really, Ax?”

“Daddy, just try not to snore. I'm taking a nap, wake me up when the food is done.”

“As long as you don't kick me like you usually do we shouldn't have a problem.”

“Not my fault you take up all the space.”

“You little…”

“OKAY! Both of you lay down right now.”

Without another word, both of them did as they were told and you simply placed kisses on both the tops of their heads.

“Not another word out of either of you and Ax, the next time daddy says for you to put on your coat and hat in 40 degree weather, you do it.”

“But.. “

“Not another word, remember?”

This led to Axel getting a pout on his face and cuddling closer to Jack who simply laughed.

“So much for boys day out. Now the both of you are sick.”

Suddenly your phone went off in your hand indicating a text from Urban.

Urby Baby- Your son got me sick

You- Well according to him his father got him sick

Urby Baby- Can you bring me soup? PLEASE

You- I do something nice for the three of you and this is what I get in return? I have to take care of all three of you now that yall are sick!?! Do I have to do everything!?!?

Urby Baby- Come on Lil Bit, I said please!

You- Be over here in fifteen minutes 🙄

Liked by y/ninsta, blancahood, jackharlow, claybornharlow, jessicakelce, saweetie, druski2funny, dualipa, and 492,736 others

urbanwyatt: and it was at that moment, jackharlow knew he fucked up lmaoooo

lilnasx: who was he texting? urbanwyatt: lilnasx as Axel likes to call her, the boss lol jackharlow: I was fighting for my damn life in those text messages. wifey going off and me not having any idea what she's talking about y/ninsta: and now all three of you got me sick smh jackharlow: y/ninsta that leads to ultimate cuddles from me and Ax y/ninsta: jackharlow so he can sneeze in my face like he did you? jessicakelce: now you do something nice for them and this is how they repay you? outta pocket y/ninsta: jessicakelce same thing I said smh urbanwyatt: y/ninsta my soup was good bestie. thank you 🥰 y/ninsta: jackharlow babeeeee my throat hurts jackharlow: y/ninsta I got a cure for that 😏😏😏😏 jackharlow: y/ninsta wait, baby why'd you lock the bedroom door?! not you leaving me and Ax outside y/ninsta: jackharlow when you say stupid shit like that, this is the result lilnasx: jackharlow what the boss says goes jackharlow: lilnasx not you too 🙄

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#jack harlow #jack harlow fic #jack harlow fanfic #jack harlow x reader #jack harlow x black reader #jack harlow fluff #jack harlow imagine #jack harlow concepts #jack harlow x you #first lady of pg

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stargirlfics · 8 months

Text

Standing in the Eye of the Storm

Joel Miller x Black F!Reader

You find each other at the end of the world

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, apocalypse soulmates y’all! mutual pining, a whole lot of yearning, feelings, smut: body worship, praise kink, unprotected PiV, dirty talk and oral, aftercare

Word Count: 2.5k

Note: It is here! My first kinktober fic which I decided to make a Soulmate AU bc why not imagine Joel being yours! Hope this one gives you steamy but cozy autumn feels! 🍁

The same scars mark your bodies like a map of constellations.

Some are old and faded, remnants of an ancient life now gone and some are fresher than others, more recent and raw but that’s no matter to you.

It’s him and you’re not quite sure how you know but you do and the first time he noticed you, there wasn’t any doubt he knew too. Somewhere deep down in your bones, in your soul.

It was after weeks of bumping into each other, by the stables or the occasional glimpse of each other in the dining hall and later at night–at the bar, an entire room between you.

Things started to make sense. Being drawn to someone was one matter but this felt different, like a tether, something stronger than just a spark or a pull. Restless like the changing auburn leaves it left you with little else to drive your mind in circles about.

Could you allow yourself to run away with this silly notion of soulmates? After everything? Wounds were tricky like that but you wanted so desperately to be hopeful that you clung to it, cherishing the inkling of emotion that bloomed every time you thought of Joel Miller.

You had only spoken to each other a handful of times. Timid words exchanged in short conversations or questions but nothing that would let either of you linger for too long.

There was more to be said in the silence of your careful orbit around each other and how he never seemed to stray far.

It made you feel safe knowing he was near, that even though you were both keeping each other at arm's length unsure of how to approach this, he wasn’t trying to avoid you.

You knew many who had lost the one they were bonded with when the outbreak happened and always assumed there wasn’t much chance of ever finding yours since the world had crumbled but everything changed the minute you came home to Jackson from a journey of your own and met a curious teenager and the grumpy man she came with.

It’s different now, carved pumpkins and the early autumn chill made your walks into town in the mornings just as romantic as you were feeling on the inside.

It was your favorite time of year and you were falling in love from afar.

Finding each other in a crowded town square was easy and sometimes you wondered if he knew just how much your pulse fluttered every time you stumbled across those big, brown eyes of his already looking your way.

How could it be possible to get over how it felt to be looked at like he was taking in every detail of you that he could? Like he didn’t want to forget for a single moment.

To Joel, the mention of your name always came with the image of marigold orange against dark skin and your sweet sounding laugh dancing in the air.

His gaze was always intentional with you, focused on the pretty tilt of your lips when you smiled but most often paying attention to how your hands touched everything with such gentleness.

He wasn’t the only one watching though, you were staring right back and noticing too. The way he walked and how broad and tall he stood, the way his forearms looked when his sleeves were rolled up, how beautiful the curve of his nose was or the gruff edge to his voice that gets a touch softer when he speaks to you.

An aching began to settle under your skin, swirling deep in your spine and spreading out into your heart the more it carried on.

Longing for someone this much wasn’t something you’d been prepared for but in the effort to keep clinging to your dreams of fate you let your mind wander to thoughts of Joel and everything you wanted to say to him.

You needed him more than you could express.

And though he hadn’t admitted it with words, his feelings for you were the very same.

It’s Joel who breaks first, showing up at your door one rainy evening with a storm raging in his eyes.

The salt and pepper of his hair was more pronounced in this light and you could see all the texture in his handsome face standing this close, your soft smile breaking through the surprise of the moment.

You just wish you could tuck this little moment away and remember it forever.

But there’s no time to fret about it anymore because you’re ushering him inside and out of the chill, suddenly nervous as you shut your door.

He looks a little unsure too, hands curling and uncurling, taking a steadying breath before speaking.

“Think we have some things we need to talk about, darlin’. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long but...I…” his voice falters trying to find the words to convey it all and he sighs.

You shiver at the pet name, how sincere and sweet it sounds coming from him. The hardened lines on his forehead and around his eyes have softened and you try to hold back all the emotions threatening to burst through your chest.

“It’s okay, I know. It’s a little hard to wrap your head around so I don’t blame you, Joel. But I would love to talk, absolutely.”

His shoulders sag with relief and you take a moment to appreciate how natural he looks in your space, like he’s already part of it and it makes your heart clench.

It takes him a long moment but he finds the words he’s looking for watching the way you wait so patiently, how much he knows you care even though you must be just as scared as he is.

The conversation goes well into the evening, the two of you slowly unraveling your feelings and the harsh realities and your fears, marveling at how it almost seems ridiculous to be soulmates to one another after so much loss but being unable to deny the quietly simmering fire between you at the same time.

It’s when the last golden edges of the sun start to disappear behind the surrounding woods that things fall silent and become much more intimate.

He’s standing at the window in your living room, taking note of the old, chipped frame—making a mental list of what he’d need to reinforce the wood before winter arrived, when you catch his eye, rising from where you’d curled up on the couch, two mugs of tea empty on the table nearby.

He’s holding himself back, because it’s been too long since he’s touched anyone and it’s almost too much to think about. How it would feel to get close, to let you in when he knows it can all be taken from him in an instant.

And you understand, because all these weeks you’ve been holding back too. You’ve been aching inside from a respectful distance, not wanting to push him for more than what his heart was willing to give.

But it was all too much now regardless of the space you tried to put between you.

You find yourself facing him, watching him uncross his arms after a moment and step towards you.

“Joel, it’s killing me, please,” you’ve been trying not to beg, you swear to him but your voice drips with desperation and there’s devotion in your tone and he can’t stand it anymore.

He doesn’t have to take more than two steps to close the distance and he doesn’t have to think twice about reaching out to press you against him, like he’s been imagining of doing late at night when he can’t quiet the noise in his head.

A soft gasp fills the air when his hands, calloused and warm, slide across your hips. You’re buzzing, feet stumbling forward until you’re bumping chests and your arms are thrown around him before you’re burying your face into his shoulder without thinking.

Tingles erupt across your skin the longer you embrace and Joel can’t get over how perfect you feel in his arms and how much he doesn’t want to let go.

You’re unbelievably warm under his hands, his thumbs just brushing over the top of the waistband of your jeans making your heart race.

Gathering a little courage you lean back to look at him, your fingers brushing down over his chest until he’s leaning into you, closer than he’s ever been.

“I’ve been wanting to kiss you for so long, you know that?” His voice was low and rough and there was an edge to his tone that made you clutch at his shirt just a bit tighter.

That storm was still swirling in his eyes and you’re drawn right in, moving before you can try and scramble for words, pressing your lips to his and kissing him soundly.

Finally, and that’s all you can manage to think before he returns your kiss with an equal hunger.

Your unsteady steps were careful as you led him to your bedroom, only getting pressed against the wall twice on the way.

It almost felt surreal, that this was now yours to have and before you can really process it, he’s helping you lay back against the bed.

The scruff on his jaw tickles your neck when his lips press against your pulse point and you’re like soft earth in his hands, letting him move you against him, savoring the way his hands roamed so tenderly but feverishly across your body.

“Need you so badly, Joel,” your whine made his chest tighten, hastening to give you everything you could want.

You’d soon learn to be thoughtful about what you pleaded for, your clothes long since discarded on the floor.

It wasn’t long before you found yourself at the mercy of two thick fingers filling your soaked core to the knuckle, plunging and curling until he found the angle that had you hiding your face in his shoulder again.

Strong arms kept your legs from closing as you squirmed, allowing for no reprieve from the way he was working you open.

“Let me have it, sweetheart. Been doin’ so good for me, just let me have it,” Joel husks in encouragement when you start to clench around his fingers, following his words with a well placed hand against your jaw.

You’re sure your nails are leaving dents across his forearms but he doesn’t seem to mind and you’re too far gone to care.

All you can feel is him, your face hot and your chest heaving at the intensity just as it hits you and you’re coming with a whimper that he muffles with his mouth, tongue slipping across yours when you moan.

Joel curses under his breath when he parts from you to look down and see your pretty cunt pulsing around his fingers, praising you at the wet sound of your release.

You coat him so perfectly he can’t help but taste you off his fingers before he returns his focus to the rest of your body while your breathing evens out, trailing kisses over your skin, the scars that he shares with you; every inch of you he can get his hands on is given attention.

But you’re full of need, even after that, desperate for more now that he’d given you a taste.

Anything he wanted give you, you’d take and that was a promise. One he could feel and see by the way you yielded to him so easily, holding yourself steady against his torso with soft resistance while he sunk every inch of his thick cock inside of you.

Nice and slow, easy, letting you get used to the weight of him, how good it felt when he rolled his hips and left you clutching at the blankets.

“Fuck…I love it when you start shakin’, honey. Is that the spot?” Joel coos, already knowing that it is, that you’re gonna fall apart in his arms soon.

It’s an act of worship, the way you both grasp for each other, craving to be connected and never apart again.

Your head tips back against the mattress every time he drops his hips down, pushing himself deep. The sounds you make are ones Joel swears he could never get tired of and he loves how they still slip out from behind your attempts to quiet them.

That only makes him want to fuck you better, so he does.

It’s when his thumb moves down to swirl over your clit and his tongue lowers to swipe across the stiff peaks of your nipples that you start to see stars from the tears pricking at your eyes. You’re gonna come again, telling him as much in broken pleas.

His hair is a mess from where your hands have tugged and raked through the strands while he speared into you, knocking breaths lose with each thrust, setting your nerves alight over and over.

“There’s my girl. All mine, aren’t you?” he grunts, talking you through another orgasm.

You nod after a moment, remembering to respond to him, wanting him to know how good he’s making you feel, and then he’s cupping your chin, tipping your face up so you have to look at him.

“Need you to use your words, darlin. I know you can do it,” the rasp of his voice has you remembering yourself.

“Yes! I’m yours, all yours.”

Always yours.

Only once he knew you were saited and content, limbs loose and still a little shaky from just how much you had felt tonight did Joel allow himself to chase his own release.

On this matter you had insisted on having your chance to get a taste, humming in delight as your lips wrapped around the sensitive head of his cock, tasting yourself on him as you let him fill your mouth.

Until the length of him is slipping down your throat and he has to resist the urge to press his hips further, cursing and praising that sweet yet wicked tongue of yours that swirls across his shaft, tipping him over the edge.

You’re swallowing him down while you reach between your thighs to quell the arousal climbing higher as you choke on him, all salt and warm skin flooding your taste buds.

It’s enthralling, listening to the rough groans he lets out and how he twitches in your mouth as you clean him up.

After, your heart thumps wildly in your chest but he doesn’t let you get overwhelmed. He tells you how proud he is of you and you’re beaming, falling back on old habits–watching him with sleepy eyes while he soothes the twinge in your muscles.

Outside, the rain had started again, casting a cozy mood over the approaching night.

It feels right the more you think about it, the way he pulls you into his body, tucking you against him like it’s where you’ve always belonged.

There was no going back now but that didn’t scare you any longer, not if it was Joel by your side.

Just by the way he laced his fingers with yours in the dimming light of your bedroom, you knew you were going to love each other for a long time to come.

---

A/N: I simply live for intensely passionate smut scenarios with this man, that is all! Thanks for reading this, I love you!

some tags, no pressure @saradika @tarrenterror25 @ozarkthedog @moreofem @wyn-n-tonic @sugadolly @squidlywiddly87 @fluffyprettykitty @inklore

#amalia writes #kinktober #joel miller x reader #joel miller x black reader #joel miller x woc #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfic

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