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k4marina · 7 months ago

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— ii. Dragon Rider || Heart of the Dragon

synopsis: a new routine in a new world

warnings: idek lol. unedited and not properly read (i kept falling asleep lmao)

series masterlist || next part

~ 2.5k word count.

game of thrones x modern!fem!reader

[gif found on pinterest]

Never in my life have I regretted anything more than I did now.

“Me and my big fucking mouth,” I grunted, getting up from the ground and dusting my leather pants. Gray Worm looks at me with a slightly amused expression. Of course he would, he just dropped me onto my ass for the fifth time today.

It had been almost two weeks after the Small Council meeting. There had been a few more since then, but no major topics were discussed, other than Varys begrudgingly backing what I had said about Cersie having scorpions when asked if his little birds had any news. The new armor and weapons for the Unsullied are also being made. After a few talks with Daenerys, Gray Worm, a few Unsullied commanders, and I, the new armor design was decided on. Surprisingly the Unsullied were very artistic people and had great ideas.

And, within the past two weeks, I’ve been tortured everyday, my limbs aching all the time, threatening to fall off. Everyday, I’ve been woken up at four in the morning for my sword lessons with Gray Worm for five hours a day. When I said I wanted to learn, I didn’t mean I wanted to train to be the world's best swordsman of all time.

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” I say towards him, wiping away the sweat on my face.

“I have no idea to what you are referring to, My Lady.” Gray Worm says, feigning innocence.

“You can’t call me ‘My Lady’ and then drop me on my ass for the fifth time.” I pointed out.

Gray Worm smiled and got into a fighting stance and I mirrored. “Your defense has gotten better; however, your strength and stamina is lacking.”

He gave the signal and charged towards me, going to swing towards my left. I sidestepped and blocked the hit with my sword before knocking it back. This time, I went for the attack, but Gray Worm expertly blocked me and knocked the sword out of my hand. The sword clattered against the stone ground, landing a few feet away from me.

“Maybe it’s best we stop for today.” He says, picking up the sword and placing it back onto the rack. I let out a sigh of relief and walked over to the inches, grabbing a towel and wiping the sweat away from my face and neck.

“Be honest,” I said, turning towards him. “Am I a lost cause?”

He snorts out a laugh and shakes his head. “Apologies, My Lady.” Once he’d composed himself he answered, “No, I do not believe you are a ‘lost cause’. It may seem difficult now, but it will get easier later on.”

“Wow, wise words,” I said sarcastically, taking a swig of water from the canteen. “They should call you ‘Gray Worm the Wise’.”

“I’m pleased that you think I am someone with wisdom.” He says, giving a small bow, making me chuckle.

After the lessons, I took a bath in my room, this time with the help of the servants. The first few days I would have them leave so I could bathe myself, but I guess over the days it just naturally happened. Once bathed and dressed in a white dress with gold embroidery and pearl beads before I made my way to the hall to have breakfast with Daenerys.

Not only was it a good way for us to get to know one another (mainly her learning about me) as well as discussing future events and how we would maneuver through it. However, not all of it. I had made the decision to not tell her about Jon Snow or the White Walkers, I think that’s something she should organically go through. All she knows about Jon is that he’s the King in the North is Jon Snow, Ned Stark's “bastard” and the former Nights Watch Lord Commander who came back from the dead.

The doors to the hall were swung open for me and I walked in, spotting Daenerys at the head of the table, looking through some documents. The sound of the doors closing, snapped her out of her thoughts. When she saw me she smiled, which I returned.

“What did I say about bringing work to the dining table,” I lightly scolded. She gave me a sheepish look and protested, “it can’t be helped, it's important work. As Queen I’m expected to do this and more.”

I walked over to her, carefully taking the documents and setting them off to the side. “Dany, you’ve been a Queen since you married Khal Drogo. You need to step back and take some time to just be Daenerys. Otherwise you’ll grow overworked.”

“Alright, alright. If you’re so sure.” She nodded towards the servants to begin serving the food. Like always, an array of food was laid out for us to eat. We both began to eat, making small talk and updating each other with any new updates.

“Gray Worm has been telling me that you’re quite exceptional with a sword,” She teased.

I playfully rolled my eyes, groaning, “not you too.” She let out a laugh, teasing me some more. “What? He says you’re a fast learner. He says he’s never seen someone land on their arse five times in a row.”

“Right, that’s it.” I huffed. “I’m running away.”

Daenerys laughed some more and I tried to hide my smile. Truthfully, she reminded me of my younger cousin in Volantis, Mera. Both of them had a heart of gold and an innocent child-like soul deep down.

“The servants told me that you refused to have your hair braided.” Daenerys points out. She’s not wrong. Instead of braiding my hair I opted to leave it in a ponytail or let it down.

“Well, I haven’t won any battles.” I said. “Each one of your braids represents a battle won, I haven’t won anything.”

“So if you win you’ll braid your hair?”

“Sure, why not. Why? Do you not want me to?”

“No, no. Actually, I would quite like that.” She smiled.

I eyed her suspiciously, “don’t tell me you’re planning on putting me in the frontlines.”

She shrugged. “Maybe. Your lessons with Gray Worm are going well. Who knows, by the time we’re ready for war you’ll be a master swordsman –or rather swordswoman.”

The rest of the breakfast went fine. Daenerys and I decided to take a stroll around the castle ground claiming she has something to show me. She dropped off the papers in her office before taking me through the back of the castle to the open fields in the back. The wind swept by us, carrying the saltiness of the ocean and the fresh scent of grass.

“Where are we going?” I asked as she led me deeper into the field.

“I just wanted to show you something. They’re right over there.”

We stood atop a hill and at the foot of the hill on the other side resting were Daenerys’ dragons. I felt my heart stop. No way. What the actual fuck. My mouth ran dry as I looked over the three dragons. Drogon, Rhaegal, and Viserion, all in their full glory. I looked over to Daenerys who was already looking towards me.

“You’re serious?” I ask. She smiles and nods. “What if they don’t like me and decide to eat me?”

Daenerys laughed, her cheeks turning pink. “They will do none of that sort, I swear. I have a strong feeling that they will like you.”

Carefully she led me closer to the three dragons. With every step they just grew more and more. They towered over the two of us and stood with immense power. And to think that these three are just a small fraction of the size of Balerion and the rest of the Targaryen fleet.

We stood a few feet away but I could still feel the heat that they emitted from their bodies. Their majestic eyes that were probably the size of my head watched me carefully. Shiny scales adorned their bodies that looked to be about the size of my hand or bigger. Their one claw nail was the same size as my limbs.

Holy fuck was this crazy. I’d read about these dragons and even saw a few drawings made by people who’d seen them in textbooks, but being this up close and personal with them was a whole other experience.

Oddly enough, for such dangerous creatures, they seemed to emit a sense of calm.

“You feel it too?” Daenerys eyes my reactions to the dragons. “Their calm.”

I nodded. “I thought my heart would be doing somersaults in my chest, but it’s not.” After the initial shock, I felt my body relax.

“They’re so beautiful.” I said to no one in particular.

We hung around them for some time, allowing me to get used to their presence while Daenerys told me stories about her and her dragons.

I looked over the dragons. Drogon, named after Daenerys’ husband Khal Drogo. Rhaegal, named after Rhaegar the Dragon Prince. Viserion, named after Viserys the Beggar King.

Daenerys followed my gaze to the cream and gold scales dragon that laid on the grass alongside his brothers. Viserion and Rhaegal seemed to play fight while Drogon watched.

“Despite their playful nature, those two are the oldest.”

“What?

The dragons carefully made their way over to where we stood. Drogon moved towards Daenerys, moving his tail around her as if giving her a hug. Rhaegal moved around behind us, opting to lounge. Viserion, however, moved closer to me. His green eyes bore into mine, as if it was trying to communicate with me.

He brought his face closer to me, like a dog wanting to be pet. I glanced back at Daenerys who nodded.

Viserion tilts his head when I carefully bring my hand up to stroke his gold and cream scales. A deep purr comes from him, nearly startling me. He nuzzles his head into my palm and purrs some more. It wasn’t like a cat's purr, more like a deep bass.

“Would you like to fly him?” Daenerys asks.

“Yes,” I replied without a thought, too entranced at the dragon in front of me.

She moves around Drogo, standing to the side of him.

“Stand like this,” she says. “This is what I find the easiest.”

I mimic her stance, standing besides Viserion. Drogon crouched down and Daenerys carefully stepped up, using his scales and spikes to seat herself atop the dragon.

I copied her, being careful to not hurt Viserion (not that I’d be able to) and sat myself on top of the gold dragon. It was uncomfortable, almost like riding a really large horse with spikes and scales. How Daenerys was able to ride her dragons without a saddle or harness was beyond me.

My hands gripped onto the spikes on Viserions back, holding on tightly as the gold dragon began to shift around from a crouched position to fully stand. My hands gripped onto him tighter as I tried not to fall off. I peaked over its massive body to see that Viserion was getting ready to take off.

“W-wait!” I looked towards Daenerys who was watching from atop Drogon. “Why is it taking off? What do I do?” Panic filled my voice.

There was no way in seven hells that she thinks that I can fly, right?

“Hold on!” She grins just as Drogon takes off into the sky. VIserion gets ready and I can already feel myself slipping off. He takes off just as I adjust my position, hunching down and tightening my grip onto his spikes.

Wind rushes past my ears and my hair flows all over the place. Instinctively, I closed my eyes while Viserion flew in the air. I could hear Daenerys call for me from across the sky.

“Open your eyes!” She says. “You’ll be safe, I promise.”

Carefully, I opened them. It was brighter up in the sky than on the ground and had a lot less clouds. I could hear the, surprisingly, gentle flaps of Viserions wings. I cautiously looked down, seeing that we were miles off the ground, so far up that we could see Dragonstone Island and I could feel my stomach start to buzz.

“Don’t look down,” I look up to see Daenerys. “When it was my first time I was terrified, as well, but you cannot let your fear control you or else it will transfer to your dragon.”

I nodded, taking in her words and sitting up straight with confidence. Despite still feeling uneasy I managed to get my grip on things (literally). Daenerys’ words rung in my ears.

“Your dragon,”

I’d read of Dragons bonding with non-Targaryens or non-Valyrians, case and point being Hugh Hammer riding Vermithor during the Dance of Dragons. But it would make sense if I could bond with Viserion in light of recent findings.

“Alright, let’s see what we can do.” I said to Viserion and I.

—

Daenerys and I spent the rest of the day riding our dragons. It was challenging, especially the part where you literally have to hold onto for dear life, but rewarding in the end.

In the end Viserion and I had truly bonded. He would know what I was thinking or how I was feeling without even saying a word to him. At first I thought it was just the two of us getting the hang of each other, but Daenerys explained that this was what she and Drogon felt. It was hard to believe that I was a Dragon Rider. But then again, this past week has shown that anything could be possible.

Getting off the Dragons was harder than getting on, my dress snagging on its scales, but not ripping entirely.

“I can help you with your riding,” Daenerys says as we walk back into the castle.

“I’d like that.” I replied. “I’m sure we can find books in the libraries that can help us too.”

“Have you uncovered anything else?” She asks, expectantly.

I shook my head. “Nothing of significance. I’ll keep reading and let you in on my findings.”

We split off so we could clean ourselves up and get ready for dinner. The bathtub was already ready for me when I entered the room. I pulled off my dress and sunk into the steaming hot water. The tension in my shoulders loosened and I dipped my head back to rest on the edge of the bathtub.

The weight of my necklace lay heavy on my chest, a firm reminder of my… predicament. I tried not to think about it all, otherwise I’d just spiral into some rabbit hole. Some days I wonder if it’s all some sort of dream. A long, vivid dream that I can't wake up from. A knot pulls at my chest, and my throat closes. My eyes flicker up to the ceiling, tears threatening to fall. I took a deep breath, the only thing I can do is take everything in day by day.

And then I fully submerged myself into the water.

a/n: finally, it’s here :) mb if there’s any spelling mistakes, i tried to proofread it but i kept falling asleep and couldn’t be asked anymore 😭 i’ll fix it later, trust 🙏.

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saltnsugarbear · 3 months ago

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bad blood!Carmy nsfw headcanons (18+)

summary: just some nsfw thoughts on Carmy from my series!

title from: series playlist!

word count: 2.4k, pure filth <3

content warnings: smut MDNI!! claire mention (I'm sorry), afab reader genitalia, unprotected penetrative sex (birth control does not save you! wear a rubber), maybe breeding kink if you squint really hard, vaginal oral, vaginal fingering,

read part one or part two!

-i just want to preface with, you have fucked

-unlike Carmen

-it takes a very long time for you guys to get to this point in your relationship, given everything thats happened in the past

-to not spoil what I have planned, but the first time you guys sleep together is maybe during the construction? most likely during season 3 timeline (June-ish)

- if it's during season 3, then it's definitely after you've told him off again and you're both worked up.

-it's after service and you're both in the alleyway, yelling at each other over a cigarette.

-at one point you're up in his face, poking his chest and your cigarette is dangerously close to burning a hole in his chef whites. your chest is heaving as you finish telling him off and thats when it happens.

-Carmy is,,,, very not elegant when kissing you lmao

-he's very awkward! he's only ever kissed Claire! so he very easily lets you take control of the kiss

-however he does end up corraling you against the wall, hands on your hips and in your hair and everywhere

-you've both discarded your cigarettes and you're grabbing handfuls of his chef whites. he is impossibly close to you and you need him closer

-youre both desperate and know you're limited on time right now

-this, by the way, has carmy x host/waiter written all over it because you and Richie are a team! the dynamic duo! the baddest host/waiter team!

-anyways back to it, you're both desperate, horny, and frustrated

-youre both fumbling with the others pants. Carmy has yanked yours down to your knees and is now helping you undo his belt and buttons

-i, personally, am not one for backshots but thats simply whats most convenient right now!

-so after you've got his pants unbuttoned you turn yourself around, preparing for the feeling of brick against your hands and cheek

-carmy, ever the gentleman, shucks off his chef whites and gives to you as a barrier between your face and the wall

-he adjusts your hips so they're farther from the wall, ass sticking out a little more (just for his enjoyment)

-you can hear him spit into his hand and the sound of his hand slicking up his cock. the sound is filthy and it has you rocking your hips back a little which makes Carmy huff a laugh

-"that fuckin' needy, huh?" carmys lips are against your ear, he's slipping the head of his cock between your folds and briefly nudges up against your clit

-you open your mouth to respond but as soon as you do, carmy is sinking the head of his cock into and you very quickly forget whatever smart-ass comment you were going to make and is replaced with a breathy gasp

-he gives you the briefest moment to against before he's sinking further into you until his hips are flush against your ass

-carmen gives you another brief moment to adjust to the size of him before he places his hand over yours on the wall and starts a furious pace

-"such a fuckin' smart mouth.." carmy grunts out, his whole demeanor the opposite of how he usually is

-its kind of hot

-he keeps up the dirty talk with things like "where'd that mouth go, huh?" "don't have anything to say?" "fucking you so good you can't think?" and like you really cannot think, the only noises coming out of your mouth are strangled moans and labored panting

-it goes against everything in your being and dynamic to not bite back at him but he's just fucking you so good all you can think about is his hand on your hip and hand and how deep he is inside you

-"all y'needed was to have my cock in ya and you shut up?" "what would they think, their smart mouth host just need a good fuck." "should have known y'needed to be full to behave yourself"

-your orgasm is a shock to you with all of his comments but Carmy is not done! no sir! he proceeds to fuck another one out of you before he's pulling out and finishing in his hand (which he wipes off on the rag from his back pocket) (which has now been disposed of in the dumpster)

-carmy is ragged against you, catching his breath with his chest heaving against your back

-you can't think past the body warmth he radiates around you and the brush of his thumb on your hand and hip

-once you've both caught your breath, carmy pulls pulls your underwear up before he flips you for your back is resting against the wall

-carmy doesn't let you think to hard in the moment and fixes your appearance for you. he pulls your pants back up, tucking your blouse into the waistband and fixing your hair

-carefully, carmy takes his shirt from behind your head and slips it back on before he fixes his own pants

-he gives you a brief parting kiss, its soft and sweet compared to the way he was just railing into you

-carmy enters through the back before you, giving you more time to collect yourself before you have to face the staff and customers again

-okay second scenario, let's go

-if it happens during construction on the restaurant, it's after hours when Carmy is sorting through things or planning the menu by himself.

-maybe he's asked you to come take a look at the dish he's working on, tell him if you think the ingredients are right or if it looks good plated.

-your faces are really close to each other, you're peering over his work and he's watching you take everything in.

-when you look up at him, you're somehow even closer. you can feel his breath on your lips and can bump his nose with yours if you move even a little

-you're not really sure who moves first but suddenly you're kissing. its short before carmy pulls away, wide eyed and looking like he's about to apologize

-you swallow any possibility of that happening by kissing him again and he lets you, any thoughts of the menu quickly forgotten in favor of simply kissing you

-Carmy brushes all of the paperwork to the side and sits you on the desk, bringing your feet to rest on the chair behind him

-this version is much more desperate and hot and communicating everything neither of you will say out loud

-its really soft and sensual and this kiss is polar opposite to the first scenario

-carmy really takes his time with you cause there's no one to interrupt you tonight

-his hands are everywhere, sliding over your chest and down your ribs, pulling your hips impossibly closer

-he slides a hand down your pants, albeit shy, and is a little bit shocked at how wet your underwear already is, and this earns you a shocked groan against your mouth

-you take that as an opportunity to deepen the kiss and Carmy lets you take the lead

-Carmy clumsily moves his fingers past your waistband and the feeling of his fingers against you makes your hips jerk

-ever the quick learner, Carmy begins rubbing at your sex and it has you moaning into his mouth

-his fingers dip ever the slightest down to brush against your slit and has you whining in response (which Carmy thoroughly enjoys but I digress!)

-Carmy spends a lot of time toying with your clit and using your own arousal that the steadily building knot in your stomach just snaps

-he pulls back and watches in amazement as you clench around nothing and try to trail after his mouth to stifle your moans

-to help you, carmy dips one of his fingers inside of you and it has you gasping into his mouth

-carmy helps you ride out your orgasm with one finger and eventually ups it to two, which makes you bring a hand to his hair to tug him closer to you

-the sounds you're making would be slightly more embarrassing if you weren't so desperate and didn't think Carmy was incredibly turned on

-using the release around his fingers and thats slowly seeping out of you, he brings his thumb to your clit to work at it softer this time

-if you thought you sounded needy before, its nothing compared to when carmy starts fucking three fingers into you

-he brushes up against a spot that has your eyes roll back into your head, tugging hard at Carmys roots and causing him to groan into your mouth

-your second orgasm rocks through your body like a semi, the air is punched out of your lungs and you feel like your legs are jello

-the whine thats let past your lips when carmy removes his fingers is embarrassing but your body mourns the loss all the same

-anyways he's so sweet, he helps you work of your pants, lifting your hips to get them down throwing your shoes and jeans to the side somewhere

-once he has your pants off you still can't think

-your brain is foggy with your first two orgasms, it feels like you're floating as Carmy unbuttons his pants and briefs, pushing them down to his knees

-all you can do is gasp when he nudges your clit with the head of his cock and then guides himself to your entrance

-slowly Carmy sinks into your heat and he groans at the feeling of your tight walls around him

-as he pushes deeper into you, he captures your lips in a kiss thats sloppy and interrupted by both of your moans

-once he's fully inside of you, somehow you feel more full then you thought possible with his pelvis flush to yours

-when you lean back on your hand to help roll your hips into his thrusts, Carmy places his own over yours and uses it as a means for momentum

-its a slow and even rhythm Carmy has set. you can feel all of him as he pulls out to the head and thrusts back in

-with two orgasms, you can already feel a third on its way

-Carmy is whispering simple sweet things against your lips

-"come on, baby, need you to wait just a little longer. I know you can hold on a little longer." "feel so good around me, jus' perfect." "fuck.. feels like heaven, holy shit"

-soon youre crashing into your third orgasm and you all you can do is gasp out what sounds something like his name

-"fuckin' christ, sweetheart. can't- don't think I'm gonna last much longer-"

-clumsily, Carmy lifts up the hem of your shirt as he pulls out and paints your stomach in his cum

-all either of you can do is look down at area he's covered, both of your mouths agape as you attempt to catch your breath

-carmy quickly tucks himself away before he's opening the file cabinet and takes out the box of tissues Mikey had left in there ages ago

-he kisses your face softly as he starts cleaning you up, trailing them over your cheeks and jaw and nose as he slowly starts helping put you back together

-an overall soft and sweet afterglow (you'll worry about what it mean later, when you can feel your legs again)

-riding him but you guys are sharing a cigarette on his couch, do I need to say more?

-the answer is yes I do

-it's very lazy sex. after service, you're both bone tired but Carmy needs to be close to you right now.

-it's more like cockwarming then actually riding him.

-his chef whites are unbuttoned and his t-shirt is rumpled underneath. his jeans are pulled down to his knees, your own discarded on the floor next to the couch

-carmy hasn't even fully removed your shirt, he's too busy peppering kisses along your sternum and leaving little teeth marks around your nipples

-at a certain point it becomes too much (too little really) and carmy flips you over, laying you on the couch cushion and thrusts into you with a little more firmness

-reverse claire stealing a smoke, carmy grabs your wrist and brings the filter to his lips, making very intense eye contact with you as he takes a drag and hits that one spot that makes you gasp and your eyes roll

-this is also probably the first night you let him cum inside you what can I say, double whammy

-when he's close, he chokes out your name but you're shaking your head, bringing one of your legs up to keep his hips flush with the backs of your thighs

-carmy is sick (not actually) because holy shit you're going to let him fill up you say less

-he definitely picks up his pace, at this point chasing his own release and your own

-hes kind of feral at the idea of filling you up what can I say

-digging through the basement storage with him

-quickie in the basement is what I'm hinting at

-hes got you sat upon the work table, one of your legs hoisted so your knee is against his shoulder

-this is desperate and rushed, you only have so much time before someone comes down to check on you guys

-probably after construction has started and you guys are trying to sort through this stuff before The Bear opens

-idk you guys are like rabbits after your first time together its kind of crazy

-ive been struck with the idea of make up sex which would be really soft and kind of hot

-he's trying to figure out, still, how he can make up for what he's done and you've excepted that he won't be able to. and you've told him this, he ruined your career, there's little you can do to fix that.

-however Carmy still feels like he needs to repent for what he did

-so he does such in the only way he knows how

-eating you out, a classic

-he spends hours between your thighs, pulling orgasm after orgasm from you, always dancing on the edge of overstimulation

-at a certain point carmy let's out a particularly powerful groan, you only learn what that means when he comes up to kiss you with a wet patch in his jeans

-however, ever the dedicated to your pleasure, carmy is ready to go and make it up for you with his cock

#saltnsugarbear #too much salt (18+)#carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #the bear fanfiction #carmy berzatto fanfiction #carmy berzatto imagine #carmen berzatto #the bear

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bubsmiraculousau · 3 months ago

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These are my OT5 brainstorm pages. Elaborations on how I got to these below! I reference concept pages so if you see any pictures you don't recognize that's why. <3

First up is Cat Noir who I think is already perfect lmao. For my version though I wanted to lean closer to his PV design because I love it, like his larger triangle nose (you can't really see it at the angle in my drawing but it's there I swear!), the bigger bell, the more elaborate belt, etc.... so basically everything ... just in my style instead.

With my designs I think that whenever someone transforms into their miraculous persona it's based on what they think a hero looks like or what they think is cool. I think Adrien reads a lot of comic books and is a fan of characters like Batman (relatable for him LOL), Catwoman, and Nightwing, so his suit reflects that kind of vibe.

Extra: I decided that Ladybug and Cat Noir's masks go all the way up their foreheads because it looks nicer in my 2D style with their bangs haha.

Next up is the one and only Ladybug! Unpopular opinion but I actually like the all red suit! My hypothetical series would be a webcomic, and I feel like in action scenes the red differentiates her from Cat Noir esp at a distance, and more red style keeps their color ratios even.

I like the ladybug designs with a bunch of black sections they're very cute! Just not for my au. (I think it's just me but I find drawing the ladybug designs with inverted red dots to feel sacrilegious in a way,,, just my neurodivergent brain lol)

And I am a long ribbons truther, I love them and they can be very expressive. Also I knew I wanted Marinette to have a more vertical circular eye shape because her shape vibe is definitely a circle (Adrien's is triangle) and it reminded me of the eyes for the main girl in princess jellyfish (I've never seen it, love the style tho)

Her hair is a more bright blue to contrast her hair against her suit, and make her look more cartoonish. I imagine her idea of a superhero comes from kids shows and some magical girl anime. So her hair has a plastic shiny texture to it because when she thinks 'superhero' she thinks of kids toys. Also I just like color! The blue kinda gives comic spiderman vibes imo (the version with the light blue instead of the navy)

Queen Bee definitely changed the most throughout the design process. I really like her in-show design so I just tweaked it to be more my vibe. Adding a crown because she's a Queen.

Something that I've noticed is that Alya and Chloe actually share a lot of traits (There's even some old concept notes where I believe Alya and Chloe either switch names or roles at some point?? The miraculous concept info rabbit hole is real y'all) and I think this comes through in their final designs.

Like they both share a middle part, which bothers me for some reason, so I decided to give Chloe a little Ariana Grande side part into a ponytail.

I wanted each character to have a cool little piece on their costume, so I tried these little hip things to make her more commanding and girlboss, but currently her weapon is similar to ladybug's (but more like one of those hair ties w the little disco balls on them) and it would sit on her hip and would clash w her hip thingies, so I just decided to make her weapon the hip things instead, combining the two.

Something else that bothered me a lot was that Rena was the only one with white on her costume. Everyone has black but she's the only one with white... my brain says that this cannot be. So I tried to give Bee some fun white fuzzy bits but the texture just was too different...

And then I had the mega-brain idea to make her hair white to tie in the white from Rena. Her and Cat Noir both having blonde hair irked me as well LOL so this hit two birds with one stone. I wanted her hair to be sharper and more aggressively drill shaped because of her abrasive personality haha.

After that, is Carapace. I had an idea for him from the start because I felt like his in-show design just doesn't match his personality... I couldn't make his outfit all loose because I wanted to stick generally to the miraculous suit formula, but I feel like 'skin tight suit' just isn't his vibe. So he has a kind of hammer pants situation.

I think they capture Carapace's b-boy ninja turtle vibe while still looking like a miraculous outfit. Though I decided later that I wanted the pants to be a lighter color for contrast and the visor to be white (to tie in that Rena Rouge white).

Lastly is Miss Rena! Something that bothered me (back on the similarities to Chloe) was that they both have ponytails (yes I know I'm crazy). Even though they have very different textures I just wanted each of them to be distinct from each other. So I put her hair down and just dramatized her regular hairstyle.

Also her and Queen Bee both have black gloves to their upper arms, which, you guessed it, bothered me. So I shortened Rena's to just reach her elbow.

I wanted her to look like a magic-man, her illusion powers evoke a showmanship energy to me. I imagine her and Cat Noir are quite the dramatic theater kid-esque duo.

So, for drama I tried some flowy arm bits, which I think ended up just looking a little strange, so I'll pocket that idea for something else. Then, I tried to add her coattail from the show, but it ended up looking a little frumpy, not the drama I wanted.

I ended up making her coat more triangular in the front, to give off the vibe of a magician's vest, and changed it to solider red/orange double coattails, which I think makes her more magic-man-ish. And I think the white ends made it too busy.

So those are my hero designs! I'm still working out Hawkmoth and Mayura, esp Hawkmoth because I am not good at drawing masculine older men...

If y'all want LESS of the artistic process let a girl know lol! I know some ppl like it but this is very long,,, all my drawings will not have text this long! thx for reading if you did tho xx

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pedrospatch · 1 year ago

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to hell and back l one

Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Female Reader

series masterlist l main masterlist l next chapter

summary: After escaping a group of brutal slavers, you are left with permanent physical and emotional scars. Unwilling to put your trust in another human being ever again, you spend a year fighting for survival alone in the post outbreak world. But when you choose to save the life of a man named Joel Miller, the wall that you’ve built to protect yourself slowly begins to crumble.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY MINORS DNI. canon violence, canon language, brief mentions of slavers, brutality, torture, assault, guns, reader is an archer, mentions of hunting, animal death, injured/unconscious Joel, very minor mentions of blood, age gap (reader is 30, Joel is 56) very brief mention of scars, reader does not/cannot speak at times, a lot of internal dialogue from reader, at one point reader does try to speak to Joel but she is unable. *please be advised that no specific diagnosis is used or will be mentioned, i’m writing the series with the idea that reader herself cannot fully comprehend her inability to speak at times. basically the gist of it is we have a very traumatized person who does not realize just how traumatized she is.

word count: 8.2k (good lord I am so sorry)

a/n: not a whole lot to say except for that this is...different. at least i think it is, i could be wrong lmao. this is by far one of the most challenging things i have ever decided to write, but hopefully it turned out okay

California l Fall, 2023

You’d been on the run since dawn.

It was several hours later now and nightfall was approaching—and it was approaching a hell of a lot fucking faster than you could have even anticipated. The darkness was quickly closing in, falling around you like a velvet black curtain. However, stumbling around blindly in the dark was currently the very least of your worries.

Your feet were raw, both completely blistered and bleeding through your socks inside of your worn out, muddied white canvas sneakers. Your sore, aching legs screamed out for mercy and your knees trembled violently, threatening to buckle out from underneath the weight of your body at any given moment.

In the week and a half leading up to your escape from captivity, you’d been deprived of both food and water—it had been your punishment for closing your eyes and turning your head away after you’d been instructed by the slavers to watch their brutal assault of the young teenaged girl that you had been sharing a cage with. She’d been unable to keep up with her work duties, and they had decided to make an example out of her.

Despite still having been forced to witness the horrendous, unspeakable things they’d done to that poor girl, your initial resistance resulted in you being beaten and then starved for several days. Occasionally, one of the late night guards would try and bribe you, offering a small piece of jerky or a couple of stale crackers in exchange for a blowjob. At first, you told him you’d rather cut your own tongue out with a rusty blade than suck his dick, but when he proposed the disgusting, vile trade again just a couple of nights later, you’d accepted it—because him pulling you out of that fucking cage after hours and removing the tight shackles from your wrists when no one else was around would give you the chance to finally make a run for it.

You swung yourself around the nearest redwood tree, slumping back against its thick, wide trunk. You covered your mouth with your two hands in an attempt to silence the sound of your heavy panting.

Besides being in pain, malnourished and severely dehydrated, the exhaustion was starting to set in too. The adrenaline pumping through your veins had brought you this far, but exactly how much farther could it take you? How much longer could it possibly keep you going before your tired body decided to give up and give out?

Somewhere behind you, you could hear the men calling out cheerfully.

One sang out, “Come out, come out, wherever you are!”

“Come out and plaaaaay,” a second taunted.

The third shouted, “We’re gonna get you!”

Their giddiness made you want to vomit. If your stomach hadn’t been empty, you would have.

Those sick, twisted fucks weren’t letting up.

They’d been on your heels for hours.

The large group of slavers in California were over two hundred strong and had dozens of prisoners chained up in their human cages—they had more than enough people to force into labor. There was no need for them to waste their time and efforts going after you, but after spending the last eight months witnessing firsthand how these sadistic bastards operated, it occurred to you that their desire to recapture you wasn’t out of a need for labor. It was for their entertainment.

They were hunting you down for sport.

This was their idea of fun.

“Fuck,” you whispered underneath your breath, your hands falling down to your sides.

Something had to give.

Your legs, your body, your will to live.

Perhaps all of the above.

You couldn’t keep on running for much longer.

And even if you could, where the hell were you supposed to go? How were you supposed to get there?

You had no food, no water, and no weapon.

Just the torn, tattered clothes on your back.

You were defenseless against whatever else was out there and you couldn’t see yourself surviving longer than a couple of days at most.

There was a part of you that wanted to give up and surrender. If you could be absolutely certain that they would shoot you dead on the spot, you would actually consider it and step out from behind the tree—hell, you would happily let them put a bullet between your eyes and put you out of your misery once and for all. But they wouldn’t be so generous. You knew they would have their way with you here in the middle of this forest and only after they were done would they take you back to their settlement where they’d put you right back in shackles so the real torture could begin. Just like that teenaged girl, the slavers would make an example out of you so that nobody else in their right mind would even think about running away.

They would be sure to make your death as slow and as agonizing as possible.

No. If you were going to die, then you were going to die. But fucking not like that.

Hearing them draw closer towards where you’d been hiding, you pushed yourself away from the redwood and willed yourself to keep on going.

Wyoming l Fall 2024

Your eyes softly flutter open.

Bright, early morning sunlight filters in through the ripped, white lace curtains that hang over the small, square shaped window right above your head.

Blinking the sleep away, you prop yourself up slightly on your elbows and take a glance around at your surroundings. The old, abandoned cabin that you’d stumbled across just a couple of days ago is tiny, cramped, and crumbling. It also reeks—it smells damp, musty, and earthy, like rotting wood. But beggars can’t be choosers and you are certainly in no position to be a chooser right now. It’s not what you consider to be ideal, but it’s four walls and a roof, which is more than anyone can ask for. It’s sparsely furnished with a table and two chairs, an old wood burning stove you had been too afraid to light because you didn’t want to risk setting the place on fire, and there’s even a small, twin sized bed for you to sleep on. Well, perhaps calling it a bed was a tad bit too generous. It’s really just a mattress sitting on four large concrete blocks. It’s rough, dirty, and torn with rusted springs and bits of fluff sticking out from every corner. Still, it sure as fuck beat the hell out of sleeping outside in the dirt and using a rock as a pillow.

Besides the luxury of having something close to a proper roof to sleep under, there’s also a lake just two and a half miles north of the cabin where you had been able to fill your canteen with fresh water. Not to mention, you’d also been able to bathe and wash your clothes for the first time in a couple of weeks. You had been on your own for about a year now, and this was the luckiest you’ve gotten in terms of finding a decent place to stay.

Whether or not it’s safe, it was still too early to tell.

Sure, you were out somewhere in the middle of bumfuck nowhere and hadn’t seen a single soul, living or dead, in a couple of months now. But that still didn’t mean that running into the infected or other people wasn’t a possibility. Letting your guard down was risky. Too risky.

You swing your legs over the side of the mattress and sit up, slipping on your pair of warm, wool socks before tugging on your boots—you’d found them over the summer and even though they had been about one size too small for you, you’d managed to break them in since then and the supple brown leather now molds almost perfectly to your feet. You stand up and lift your arms up above your head while simultaneously twisting your stiff, sore back in a painful, but much needed stretch. You’re only just a couple of months shy of turning thirty years old, but lately, your bones snap, crackle and pop with each and every movement, making you feel twice your actual age.

The thought of it makes you snort in amusement. You should be so lucky to stay alive long enough to see the age of sixty. Hell, you’re still unable to fathom how you’d even made it this close to seeing thirty.

Dropping your arms back down to your sides, you make your way over to your khaki colored pack and pull out your aluminum canteen from one of the side pockets. You twist off the cap and gulp back a long, cool drink of water, hoping to get rid of the dryness in your mouth and the cracks in your chapped lips. As soon as the liquid makes it all the way down to the pit of your stomach, the hollow, muscular organ grumbles loudly, demanding food. You’d had some decent luck while out hunting the previous morning, capturing two wild rabbits—you had eagerly skinned, cleaned and cooked them both, devouring one right after the other so fast that it had nearly made you sick. It had been a pretty decent meal, but not nearly enough to completely satisfy your ravenous hunger. Prior to finding the cabin and settling in, you had been living off of a couple handfuls of nuts and berries for three days while on the move. You were still fucking starving and all you could do was pray that you’d find more rabbits today.

Maybe you’d get even luckier and spot a pheasant. It was their season, after all.

You drink some more water and set your canteen aside. You’d planned to return to the lake later in the afternoon to refill it as well as to have another bath. You pull on your faded, black denim jacket over your hoodie and pick up the wooden bow and brown leather quiver of arrows sitting beside your pack. You’d found the weapon in some hunting shop back in Utah that had already been picked clean to the bone over the last couple of decades. However, no one had even bothered with taking the bow. It hadn’t really surprised you, though. In the post outbreak world, a bow and arrow would do absolutely nothing to protect against the infected runners and stalkers—and it would do much less to protect against clickers unless your aim was flawless.

Still, a bow was useful in its own right.

It was perfect for hunting game. It was silent, keeping you and your location concealed from potential passersby at all times. Most importantly, you could reuse your arrows so long as you were careful and didn’t break them while removing them from your kills—and in the event that you did happen to snap an arrow, all you had to do was salvage what you could from the damaged projectile and make a new one. Simple as that.

Your father had taught you how before he’d died.

“Why bother with a bow? What about a gun?” you had asked him.

“Might not always be able to get your hands on a gun,” he’d replied as he sharpened an edge of the small, thumb sized rock in his hand. “Or bullets. It doesn’t hurt to have alternatives in the event that you can’t get your hands on either of those things, kiddo.” Despite being in your mid twenties at the time, he’d still always call you kiddo. “Always have a backup weapon, alright?”

He’d been wise to give you that advice.

You did have a firearm, a colt pistol that you hardly have ammunition for. There were ten rounds left in the clip and with no luck in finding any more in the last couple of months, you’d decided to preserve them, saving what little bullets you had left for a real emergency. You kept the gun tucked into the waistband of your jeans at all times, along with the sharp switchblade that you used to gut and skin game. As far as weapons go, you sure as hell could’ve been a lot worse off. But if you happened to stumble upon more ammunition for your gun, you certainly wouldn’t complain about it.

Slinging your bow and the quiver of arrows over your shoulder, you grab the dark gray foraging bag that you used to collect and carry your kills in and leave the cabin, feeling somewhat confident enough to leave the remainder of your belongings behind instead of hauling them all along with you like you had the morning before. It wasn’t that you feared someone would come along and steal them. There wasn’t really anything for anyone to steal, anyway. Rather, you’d gotten so damn used to the instability and the constant moving around—you never stayed in one place for too long and were always prepared to run. But today, you decide to leave your things in the cabin, feeling certain that you would return in just a couple of hours.

You step out onto the creaking, three step porch that’s so old it buckles slightly under your weight and a gentle breeze nips at your cheeks and nose. It’s the middle of autumn in Wyoming and the air outside is fresh, cool and crisp. Winter was looming right around the corner like a dark shadow, and although you’d somehow managed to make it through the previous year’s brutal snow season, that didn’t do much to stop you from being nervous about the one that was to come. If all went according to your plan, you’d be holing yourself up in that shoddy little cabin until the worst of winter was over and then you would move along.

To where?

You didn’t have the slightest fucking clue.

You make a short trek about two miles south, going in the opposite direction of the lake and finding yourself closer to the thick forest trees that surrounded the base of the mountain range out in the distance instead. There’s a dried, grassy clearing just feet from the entrance of the forest—finding a single, decently sized boulder in the middle of the wide, open space, you decide that behind it is the perfect spot for you to set up and hope for the best. Carefully setting your things down on the ground, you pull out a pair of old, cracked binoculars from your bag. You lean your body over the smooth, round top of the rock and lift them up to your face, peeking through the lenses. You hope to spot something right away because it sure would be fucking nice to eat something sooner rather than later. Otherwise you might just start gnawing at your own arm.

Diligently, you scan your surroundings for any and all signs of wildlife.

That’s when you see it, standing near the edge of the woods.

You gasp softly as your sights fall upon the deer.

Pulling your face away from your binoculars, you blink furiously before taking another look just to be sure that your eyes hadn’t been playing tricks on you. It’s not a hallucination. It’s a white tailed deer, a female, and from the look of her, she has to be at least about a hundred pounds. At least.

You try to not get too far ahead of yourself, but it’s far too late. The thought of finding some herbs and making a hot, venison stew for supper makes your mouth water. The rest of the meat could be dried out and made into a batch of jerky that could feed you for months. Months.

Then, you suddenly remember you’ve never even attempted to bring down an animal of that size before and you’re slapped back into reality.

You think about your father, who would bring home a deer every weekend after going on his hunting trips with some of his old college buddies. “You want to aim for the heart or the lungs,” he’d say as you and your siblings would watch him dress the carcass, much to your mother’s chagrin. “Look between the shoulder blade and the last rib,” he would tell you and your brothers. You’d also had an older sister, but she had always been incredibly squeamish and had a soul that was much too sweet and caring for hunting. She would always want to bring home every animal your father shot and nurse it back to health. “Somewhere between those two lies everything you need to hit in order to do the job and do it well. And for the love of god, don’t you ever aim directly for the shoulder. Behind it, kiddos, always aim behind it. You got it?”

“Yes Papa,” you’d all chime out together.

Setting down the binoculars in your hands, you reach for your bow and pluck an arrow from your quiver before stepping out from behind the boulder. You’re careful to be as silent as possible as you take a few steps closer towards the unsuspecting grazing animal. You position yourself and stand perpendicular to the deer, placing your feet shoulder width apart—you’re a little farther from your target than you would have preferred, but you don’t want to risk going any closer and scaring her off, so it would have to do. Once you feel comfortable enough with your stance, you nock the arrow and set it on the string. You then hold the string and steady your grip on the bow, relaxing your shoulders before drawing it and pulling your arm back until you’ve reached your anchor point, which is always the corner of your mouth.

Breathe, you remind yourself calmly as you aim at the delicate spot behind her shoulder blade. Nice and slow. Breathe.

Just as you’re about to release the arrow and take your shot, the deer whips her head back towards the trees and her ears prick forward—a split second later, she darts off, zooming across the field in the opposite direction of where you’d been standing.

Your mouth falls open in disbelief.

“Are you fucking shitting me?” you mutter under your breath.

Frustrated, you lower your weapon and just as you start to contemplate whether or not it’s even worth it to try and hunt her down on foot, you suddenly hear something—it isn’t until the noise draws closer to where you’re standing that you realize it’s the sound of a galloping horse.

Perplexed, you squint over in the direction of where you think it’s coming from, right near the edge of the trees. Then, just a moment later, a brown stallion emerges from the woods with a dark haired man riding in his saddle. He holds a rifle in one hand and clutches the reins tightly in the other.

Gasping, you whirl around on the heel of your boot and immediately make a beeline back to the boulder. You swing around the rock and crouch down, ducking out of his sight. You couldn’t be too sure if he’d seen you or not, but it doesn’t matter—a wave of sheer panic washes over you and you can physically feel your own body preparing itself to go into fight or flight mode. Despite having your gun tucked into the waistband of your jeans, you still haven’t reached for it and continue to clutch your bow and arrow in your hands instead.

Swallowing dryly, you turn and carefully lift yourself up just enough so that you can glimpse over the top of the boulder. That’s when you see a second man emerge from the woods. This one is blond and he is on foot instead of a horse. He’s also armed, carrying a shotgun.

“You’re mine you fucking son of a bitch!” he shouts. He lifts his weapon, aims, and then squeezes the trigger, shooting the horse in the side and bringing him down instantly. His rider goes flying off and he hits the ground several feet away from the dead animal, landing so painfully hard that even from a distance you’d manage to hear the loud, cracking sound his body had made upon impact.

You momentarily freeze.

Your heart anxiously jumps up into your throat as you watch the shooter begin to approach him. The attacker moves slowly and with no haste seeing as his helpless victim is lying there motionless on the ground with his eyes closed and no idea that he’s about to die. The blond man comes to a halt just a few feet away from him, grinning as he lifts his shotgun once again and points the barrel of it at the other man’s head. His index finger hovers over the trigger.

Before your mind and body can even make the connection, you rise to your feet and aim your bow, swiftly sending an arrow straight through the blond man’s neck. He crumples, falling to the ground writhing and squirming as he bleeds out in less than sixty seconds.

You wait it out for another minute, refusing to move another muscle until his body finally goes limp and you are certain he’s dead. Taking a look around, you make sure the coast is clear and grab your belongings, slinging them over your shoulder before you make your way over to the scene. Unsure of whether or not there could be others heading in this direction, your plan was to pick off their guns and any other useful supplies before making a run for it back to the cabin. You crouch down beside the man you’d shot and killed, carefully pulling your arrow out of his neck. It makes a loud, horrid squelching sound as you remove it and blood from his jugular splatters your blue jeans. You then pick up his shotgun and check the chamber for ammunition.

Just like the pistol tucked away in your waistband, there’s hardly any rounds left, making it all but useless. Rolling your eyes, you carelessly drop the gun on top of his chest and move on in search of the rifle. You spot it right beside the dark haired man.

Apprehensive, you cautiously make your way over towards him. With how still he had been lying, you could have sworn he was gone—perhaps the fall off of his horse alone had killed him. But just to be sure, you decide to give his side a harsh nudge with the toe of your boot.

He groans and his head rolls to the side.

He’s still alive.

You effortlessly string the bloodied arrow in your hand and aim it right at his chest.

Move again and you’re dead, motherfucker.

“Ellie,” the man mumbles, his eyes still closed.

Ellie?

You slowly lower your bow.

Without realizing it, a little bit of your guard lowers along with it.

Carefully, you sink down onto one knee next to the man and get a better look at him. He’s much older than yourself, somewhere in his fifties if you had to guess. He has harsh forehead lines, deep creases in between his eyebrows, a patchy beard that is speckled with many, many grays, and wild waves of thick hair that look soft to the touch. Though some of his features are a little worse for wear due to his age, he’s still quite a handsome man from what you can see. He also appears to be in decent shape, clean and well fed, and you detect the light scent of laundry soap on his clothes. Surely, he had to have been part of some kind of group, and judging by the leather trimmed saddle on his horse, this group was one that was very well off in this post outbreak world.

You hesitate, but then lift a slightly trembling hand and take the side of his face, cupping it in your palm as you turn his head towards you.

There’s blood on his right temple and your fingers reach up to touch what you had assumed was the source of the bleeding—but then you realize it was a scar, maybe an inch or two in length at most and completely healed. Your fingers trail up even further and venture into his hair which, as it turned out, is in fact just as soft as one would imagine. You find a small gash on his scalp and your fingers become coated in the man’s blood.

Must’ve hit himself on a rock or something.

Your hand leaves his hair and you place it on his broad chest as you begin checking him over for any other potential injuries or wounds. Slipping your opposite hand inside of his brown jacket, you lift the hem of the dark green thermal henley he’s wearing and you discover the scar on his temple isn’t the only one he possesses—he has several more, way too many for you to count on one hand alone. You’re so preoccupied with inspecting the remainder of his abdomen that you don’t even notice the way one of his hands is slowly reaching for yours, the hand that’s still resting on his chest, right over his heartbeat.

Semiconscious, the man takes your hand in his so damn gently that it startles you and takes you by surprise, but it doesn’t frighten you. Weakly, he laces his fingers together with your own and he speaks again, uttering softly, “Babygirl.”

Puzzled, your eyebrows knit together.

It almost sounds like he’s pleading.

For what—for who? For Ellie?

Is she the babygirl he’s referring to?

Your other hand moves up to his shoulder and you give it a violent shake.

Hey, you’ve got to get up now.

“H—” You try to speak the words, but can’t. They’re formed in your mind and it feels like they are right there on the very tip of your tongue, but when you open your mouth, they refuse to come out. You frown.

It’s happened before.

In the spring, you’d stumbled across a small group of people while out hunting in Idaho—it was the first time you had seen other human beings since leaving California in the fall. There had been both men and women and they even had children with them, but that did nothing to stop you from panicking when they’d approached you. One of the women cornered you, trying to tell you that they were traveling across the country to the east coast. “It’s okay,” she’d tried to tell you, holding up her hands. “We’re not bad people, I promise. We’re just trying to get to the quarantine zone in Boston. I think you should come with us, honey.”

You’d been so terrified that when you’d tried to tell her that you didn’t want to join them, you couldn’t push the words out. It felt like your voice had gotten stuck in the back of your throat. That’s how afraid you’d been.

Technically, you can speak.

You’d talk to yourself often when you were feeling lonely. You would read the books you carried in your pack out loud. Hell, you even liked to sing.

But whenever you became stressed, anxious, or scared, it would happen. You’d lose your ability to speak and to communicate—not that you had anyone to communicate with except for yourself, but that’s besides the point. No matter how hard you tried to force your vocal cords, all you could get out were quiet, strangled noises. It was as if your own fears chased your voice away and during periods when you were under extreme distress, it would take several days for you to find it again. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that, whenever you used your voice back in California, it only led to the harshest of punishments.

A gunshot sounds off in the distance, snapping you out of your train of thought.

You shake the man again, harder this time.

Come on, get up! They could be coming this way!

It’s useless. He’s losing complete consciousness.

You hear another gunshot and this one sounds like it’s coming from the base of the mountain range on the other side of the trees, not all too far from where you are. For all you know, it could very well be members of his own group who are firing those weapons out there. But whether it was his group or the other man’s group, it doesn’t really fucking matter. You don’t want to run into either one of them, regardless of who were the good guys and who were the bad guys. In your eyes, everyone’s a fucking bad guy.

Yanking your hand out of his, you get to your feet and prepare to make a run for it. But just as you’re about to take off, the man mumbles one last time. It’s incoherent and barely audible, but you manage to catch that name again. Ellie.

Ellie, Ellie, Ellie.

For some reason you can’t quite explain, that sweet little name bounces around in the inside of your skull.

You chew the inside of your cheek anxiously.

If it’s his group out there, they’ll save him.

If it’s the other man’s group, they’ll kill him.

Normally, you’d have no problem with the idea of leaving another person to die.

After everything that happened in California, you had lost your sense of humanity. Your ability to empathize and actually give a shit about other people had been long gone—or so you’d thought. But you had just saved this man’s life and now you find yourself unwilling to run the risk of leaving him for dead. And you don’t have the slightest fucking clue as to why. He’s a stranger. He shouldn’t matter to you.

You exhale a heavy sigh of defeat.

Okay, how the fuck do I do this?

Without much time left to waste, you gather up your belongings over your shoulder and pick up his rifle, slinging the brown leather strap across your chest so the gun rests comfortably against your backside. You walk around him, lean over, and hook your arms securely underneath his. Using every ounce of physical strength you have inside of you, you start dragging him back to the cabin as fast as you possibly can.

The pretty melody fills his ears as he comes to.

“Somewhere over the rainbow, way up high

there’s a land that I heard of once in a lullaby…”

Joel Miller isn’t all too sure if heaven is a real place that actually exists, but the very minute he hears the feminine voice singing, he can’t help but think he’s died and that’s exactly where he’s gone—because only an angel could possibly have a voice like that. So rich, so smooth, and oh so sickeningly sweet.

“Somewhere over the rainbow, skies are blue...”

The ballad being sung is all too familiar to him.

The Wizard of Oz had been Sarah’s favorite movie back when she had been a little girl, when she was seven years old and she still believed in princesses and fairy tales and faraway lands with yellow brick roads. Even when she grew older, his daughter continued to hold a soft spot for the film and Joel would watch it with her every Thanksgiving at his parents’ house right after their dinner—it would air on cable and Sarah would beg him to let her have her slice of pecan pie while sitting cross legged on the floor in front of his old man’s television set.

“So long as you don’t make a mess on Nana and PopPop’s carpet,” he’d warn her. “Deal?”

Sarah would beam at him and nod eagerly. “Deal!”

He’d grab his own slice of pie, park it right on the couch behind her, and together they would get lost in the whimsical world of Oz, although admittedly he’d usually fall deep into his food coma long before Dorothy had the chance to make it back home to Kansas.

“Where troubles melt like lemon drops

away above the chimney tops

that’s where you’ll find me...”

The words fade and the rest of the song is now being hummed.

Goddamn, he thinks.Even the humming is too fucking beautiful.

Joel feels a cold, damp cloth dabbing at his sore right temple.

Come to think of it, everything is fucking sore.

Once, when Joel had been in his mid twenties, he had been doing some under the table roofing job with his younger brother, Tommy. It had been the hottest day of the summer in Texas, and the two of them thought having a couple cold beers with their lunch to cool off would be a good idea. The pair of them went back to work and started fucking around, goofing off like the drunk idiots they were. While horsing around, Joel accidentally stumbled right over the edge of the roof and he had fallen about fifteen feet to the ground, landing on his back on Mrs. Adler’s lawn. Luckily, he’d been okay after the fall and hadn’t sustained any serious injuries or broken any bones, but he had spent the following three to four weeks feeling like he’d been hit by a fucking Greyhound.

That’s how he felt now.

Like he’d been hit by a fucking bus. Twice. There isn’t a single part of him that isn’t pulsating with pain—his back, his shoulders, and his head. Oh god, his head feels the worst. It’s fucking killing him.

Joel’s eyelids twitch and he cracks them open ever so slightly, just enough that he can see the silhouette of another person hovering over him. He feels a hand at the crown of his head as the other continues to dab at his temple with the cool cloth. It feels incredible against his warm skin and even sort of soothes the pain.

He lets out a small groan and the humming ceases.

Finally, he manages to force his eyes open.

Joel hears a little gasp and the bed he’s lying on squeaks and shifts. He then hears a loud thumping sound as if something, or someone had fallen to the floor.

Although he’s still disoriented and his entire body aches with even the slightest movement, Joel manages to push himself up into a sitting position. Blinking rapidly, his blurred vision steadies itself after a minute and he glances around. He’s in a small, single room wooden cabin that has seen better days in its lifetime. Looking down, he sees that he’s lying on a bare, worn out mattress with his own jacket draped over him like a blanket. He racks his mildly concussed brain, trying to recollect what had happened—it takes him a minute, but one by one, the memories start flooding back to him. Joel had been leading mid morning patrol with Tommy when they had been ambushed by a large group of hostile raiders. He remembers shouting at his brother, telling him that he’d try and lead some of them off, away from the direction of their community. He’d succeeded and managed to pick off a few of the bastards that had been tailing him with his rifle, all except for one. The very last thing that he remembered was the sound of a gunshot behind him before his horse went down and he’d been thrown off and knocked out.

Everything after that was nothing but a blur.

Joel takes another look around the cabin and that’s when he sees you.

You’re on the floor, backed up against the wall near the foot of the mattress. Your eyes are wide and round, like a deer caught in the headlights. Your chest heaves, rising and falling rapidly—you remind him of a helpless, frightened animal that had been cornered by a vicious predator. You clutch the handle of a switchblade up against your chest with the blade pointing downwards, holding it so tightly in your hand that Joel can see the skin stretching tightly over your knuckles.

“Who the hell are you?” He grimaces slightly, his own voice causing his head to throb.

You don’t reply.

Joel moves onto his next question. “Where am I?”

Again, no response.

He tries again. “Are you alone?”

Silence.

Joel takes a better look at you.

You’re young. You couldn’t have been older than your late twenties, perhaps even your early thirties although that might have been a bit of a stretch. You had that look about you, one that had become all but too familiar to him in the last two decades—the exhausted appearance of someone trying to survive in the post outbreak world. Your face is tired and worn, but somehow still soft and youthful at the same time. You might have looked a little rough around the edges, but you’re still the prettiest goddamn thing he’s seen in a long, long time.

Joel speaks again. “Who are you? Where the hell are we?” When he’s met with complete silence for the fourth time, he raises an eyebrow, feeling annoyed. “You gonna fuckin’ say somethin’ or what?”

You can only stare at him, your fingers wrapped around the handle of your knife in a vice-like grip.

Joel frowns.

Are you really that fucking terrified of him?

Or perhaps you can’t hear?

Only one way to find out, he thinks to himself.

He raises his voice, asking once again, “Who are you? Where are we?”

You wince, your features twisting in discomfort.

Oh, you could fucking hear him, alright.

Joel swings his legs over the side of the mattress, his movement causing you to shrink back further against the wall, almost as if you were trying to become a part of the old, rotted wood. He holds up his two hands, demonstrating that he has no plans to move another muscle towards you. “How long have I been out?”

He tries to show some patience and gives you a minute, gives you a chance to respond, but when you say nothing, he can’t help but sigh out in frustration. Just when he’s about to force himself to come to terms with the fact that he wouldn’t be getting any kind of answers out of you, you lift your free hand and hold up three trembling fingers.

His stomach sinks. “Three days? I’ve been out for three fuckin’ days?”

You give him a nod so tiny and so subtle that he would’ve missed it had he blinked.

“Fuck,” Joel curses, hanging his head. He begins to spiral.

What happened to Tommy? And the others?

Did they make it out alive?

And then Ellie’s face flashes in his mind, causing the blood in his veins to run ice cold.

What could she possibly be thinking right now after he’d been missing for three whole days? Who was taking care of her and looking after her while he wasn’t there?

He needed to get back to Jackson—he needed to get back to Ellie.

He wasn’t sure how he would be able to do that if you didn’t start talking soon and answering his goddamn questions.

Lifting his head, Joel looks over at you again.

“You all by yourself?”

You hesitate, but then nod in reply. Yes.

Joel sighs, his tense shoulders relaxing. That’s a start. “Listen, I’m gonna need a little help here, alright? I don’t remember much ‘bout what happened. I’m part of a community. I was out on patrol with my group when we were attacked by raiders. There were too many of them and I tried to lead some of them away,” he explains. He might not have known what had happened after he’d been thrown off of his horse, but the fact that he’s in your cabin and he’s alive help him piece at least one part of the puzzle together. “Wait a minute. Did you—did you save me out there?”

Sucking in your bottom lip, you nod again.

Stunned, Joel’s eyebrows raise up towards his hairline. “You fuckin’ serious?” he can’t help but question in complete and utter disbelief. Skeptically, he presses, “But how? What happened out there? How did you get me here all by yourself?” His queries spill from his lips one after the other despite knowing most of them, if not all of them, would go unanswered.

You look overwhelmed by them—by him.

Figuring it’s best to take it one slow step at a time, Joel stands up and he cautiously walks over towards you. He holds out his hand. “S’alright,” he assures you in the most gentle voice he can muster. “I ain’t gonna hurt you.”

You refuse to loosen your grip on your knife, but you accept his hand and allow him to help you up to your feet. Given that you didn’t lodge the blade straight through his chest, Joel would say some progress had been made.

He releases your hand and takes a step backwards to give you your space. He isn’t too sure if you can’t talk or simply don’t want to talk—still thinking you’d been the woman he’d heard singing when he had drifted back into consciousness, he guesses it’s probably the latter.

Joel tries to think of questions he knows you’ll be able to answer without having to speak.

“How long have you been by yourself?”

Shifting anxiously from one foot to the other, you hold up one finger.

“Sorry darlin’ but that don’t really help me much,” he mutters, shaking his head. “Are we talkin’ one week? One month?”

You make a gesture with your hand. Keep going.

“One year?” He doesn’t bother hiding his blatant skepticism. “You’ve been completely alone for one whole year?”

You point at him. That’s right.

Joel is beside himself. He’s almost in awe over the fact that you’ve survived on your own for so fucking long.

“You got any other weapons besides that knife?”

You nod over towards a bow and sheath of arrows next to your backpack.

“You’re kiddin’ me. That’s all you’ve got?”

You narrow your eyes at him.

Hey, it’s a good weapon and it saved your fucking life, thank you very much.

“Sorry. Just can’t imagine that thing would do much against a clicker. ‘Specially if your aim is shit,” Joel muses. He notices the offended expression on your face and quickly moves on. “You don’t have a gun at all?”

You reach behind yourself and pull out a colt pistol from the waistband of your jeans. You finally set down your knife and then show him that you’re low on ammunition and don’t have any more. Tucking the gun back into your jeans, you step around him and walk over to a corner where his rifle is propped up against the wall. You pick it up, make your way back over to him and hand it over.

I believe this belongs to you.

“Thank you,” he utters quietly, taking it from you. “And I ain’t talkin’ ‘bout the gun, either. I honestly don’t think I’d be standin’ here alive if you hadn’t done whatever it was you did out there.” His eyes try meeting yours. “I’m serious, darlin’. I owe you one. I really fuckin’ do.”

You shrug, too timid to meet his gaze.

“I’m Joel,” he says after a minute, setting his rifle down. “What’s your name?”

You simply stare at him.

“Oh that’s right,” Joel mumbles sheepishly. “You can’t—” He stops himself, but he’s sure you know what he’d meant to say.

You can’t talk.

“You got a pencil or somethin’ to write with?”

You snort and roll your eyes at him. No, sorry. Silly me totally forgot to pick up a pack of pencils while I was out scavenging for supplies the other day.

Joel chuckles and holds up his hands in defense. “Figured it was at least worth askin’,” he says. “It’d be kinda nice to know the name of the person who saved my fuckin’ ass, you know.” He clocks the way the corners of your mouth threaten to turn upwards into a tiny smile at his remark. “How ‘bout a map? You got one of those so you can show me where we are?”

You hold up a finger, as if telling him to give you a minute. Digging into one of the front pockets of your pack, you pull out a large map of the state of Wyoming. It’s severely creased, as if you’ve folded and unfolded it hundreds of times. You hand it over to him and as he holds it out for you, you point to your current location.

“Jackson’s ‘bout fifteen miles south from here,” Joel murmurs as he scans the map. Suddenly, his dark brown eyes flicker over your wrist—the long sleeve of your thin gray shirt had hiked up, exposing severe discoloration and scarring that went all the way around, marking your skin.

Noticing where his gaze had wandered off to, you quickly retract your hand away from the map and tug your sleeve down back into place. But it’d been much too late. He had seen the mark, clear as fucking day.

Joel awkwardly clears his throat and for the sake of not causing you any discomfort, he pretends he hadn’t seen a goddamn thing. He turns his attention back to the map. “Remember how I told you I’m a part of a community? It’s in Jackson and it ain’t all too far from here,” he states, peering up at you from over the top of the map. “The town’s gated and it’s secure. You’ll be safe there. If we head out right now, we can make it there by nightfall—”

You back away from him, shaking your head.

I’m not going with you.

He cocks an eyebrow at you. “Look darlin’, I don’t mean to offend, but you ain’t gonna last a whole lot longer out here on your own, especially not in a place like this with winter right around the corner. If you don’t starve to death, then you’ll fuckin’ freeze to death.”

You glare at him and lift your chin.

I’ve been doing just fine on my own, thanks.

Having read your mind, Joel sighs. “Alright, fair enough. You’ve gotten this far by yourself, but that don’t mean you gotta turn down an offer for some help. Just come with me to Jackson—”

You shake your head even harder.

The last time that you had agreed to go back with a stranger to their camp, you’d been imprisoned. Tortured.

Joel observes you, and it doesn’t take him very long to connect the dots between the scars around your wrists and your refusal to leave with him. His hard, stony face softens. “Listen sweetheart, I ain’t all too sure ‘bout what’s happened to you,” he says, choosing his words carefully. “But I can assure you that you ain’t gotta worry ‘bout a thing this time around. Just come with me and I’ll prove it to you.”

You toss him a skeptical look.

“Jackson is a safe place,” he swears. “My brother runs it along with his wife and a small council. There’s families, lots of children—hell I’ve got a kid myself. Teenager. Her name is Ellie and she’s fifteen years old.”

Your lips part slightly and your eyes glimmer with something that looks a lot like recognition, though Joel can’t be too sure what had prompted it. Perhaps you’d known someone with that name once in your life.

“There’s plenty of food, running water, electricity,” he lists off in an attempt to sway you. “It’d be a shot at a normal life. Wouldn’t you like that?”

Crossing your arms, you lift your chin again.

You’d heard that before.

Why the hell should I even trust you? Why should I trust this place is what you say it is?

Joel bites back another frustrated sigh.

Normally, he wouldn’t bother to put up with such stubbornness. He wasn’t one to plead or beg and part of him almost wanted to give up so he could be on his way, but you had saved him from being killed. He owed you his fucking life. He had to get you to go with him. He wouldn’t give up until you agreed to go to Jackson with him.

“I’ll let you carry your weapons,” he offers as a compromise. “Hell, you can even walk behind me with your gun pointed at the back of my fuckin’ head if that’s gonna make you feel safest.”

You squint at him. Really?

“Or that bow of yours,” he adds, chuckling softly. “It’s your pick, darlin’. Whatever’s gonna make you feel comfortable. I’ll trust you not to shoot an arrow through the back of my skull—all I ask in return is that you at least make an attempt to trust me too. I think that’s a fair enough deal. Don’t you?”

You bite your bottom lip.

I don’t know about this.

“I really don’t wanna leave you out here all alone,” Joel says, taking a step closer towards you. He finds himself feeling surprised that it hadn’t startled you and he only hopes that means that, to some degree, you trust him already. “Please. You saved my life—and I know you probably don’t need me savin’ yours, but at least let me take you to Jackson so you can see for yourself what we’ve got goin’ on there. If you don’t like it and you don’t wanna stay, then we’ll load up your pack with food and supplies. We’ll put you on a horse and you can be on your way. You can choose to leave and no one will lift a finger to stop you, I’ll make sure of it. How does that sound?”

He waits, giving you a chance to think it over.

Finally, after a minute, you sigh and reluctantly nodd your head.

Okay. I’m gonna try and trust you.

“Good,” Joel says, softly. “Now get your stuff and let’s head out before we start losin’ daylight.”

#joel miller series #joel miller story #joel miller #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x oc #joel miller angst #joel miller pedro pascal #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #joel miller imagine #the last of us fanfiction #fic: to hell and back

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sanjisblackasswife · 2 years ago

Text

OP Men Reacting To You Saying a Dirty Pickup Line (NSFW)

Ft. Sanji, Law, Zoro, Ace, Shanks, Luffy

I may make a Part 2

Black Fem Reader in Mind

Sanji: “They Say Kissing is a Love Language…Want to Have a Conversation with Me?”

Cigarette drops quick af

His eyes grew wide and he nearly slapped his self trying to prevent any nose bleeds

Sanji stutters in his movements, should he—?

He didn’t want to have a blood fest and ruin this opportunity but he was taking too long to decide

Now you could just laugh and say just kidding but he actually looked too cute to pass up this chance so you pull him in between your legs on the counter and kiss him

Y’all had a very long and messy conversation

Law: “I Know I’m 5’10, But With You I’d Be at Least 6’5””

“How the hell would you be 6’5”—-“

Squints his eyes at you because clearly you’ve said a riddle and he just don’t get it yet

You sit at his desk just swinging your feet hoping he’d understand, but he just gives you an annoyed look because he can’t figure it out.

“Im talking about your cock—“

“Alright get out.”

Zoro: “The Tongue is The Strongest Muscle in The Body, Wanna Work it Out?”

This mf has no clue what a flirt or a joke is and looks at you like your crazy

“What am I ganna be Doing? Tongue curl ups?”

“I’m flirting you dipshit!”

“You’re fucking terrible at Doing so what the hell does that even mean?!—“

“IT MEANS IMMA KICK YOUR ASS IF YOU KEEP TALKING TO ME LIKE IM CRAZY!”

“YOURE THE ONE ASKING STUPID ASS QUESTIONS—!”

No pussy for Zoro for the next month

Ace “I Just Got Black Bed Sheets Want to Make Them White?”

“How will we—-OHOHOHOOOO!”

He is such a dumbass lmao

He has pink cheeks but he is a giggling mess all day

He ends up repeating the pickup line while you both are alone and damn near has a wheezing fit

“CAN YOU NOT!”

Never again.

Shanks: “Please don’t let this go to your head, but do you want some?”

Well aren’t you adorable..

He chuckles in his drink and sets it down, pulling you close so your ear is by his mouth he whispers

“Remember how you said I should start wearing more jewelry? Well, I’m curious on what would look nicer; your necklace above my face or your anklet on top of my shoulders?”

You in fact did figure out both looked good on him that night

Luffy: “The Only Meat I Want in My Mouth is Yours.”

“I just finished my meat Y/N and I just asked you if you wanted some and you said NO!”

“I—“

Why would you even try to give this man a pickup line it’s already hard enough to date this man

“NOT THAT MEAT YOUR MEAT!”

“I JUST ATE THE MEAT!”

“NO!”

You point at his crotch and he just looks down and then back at you in confusion

“There’s no meat there Y/—“

“NEVERMIND LUFFY!”

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llocket · 4 months ago

Text

how come people are caring about whitewashing now in genshin?

i am poc!!!!!!! i am south asian!!!!!! i have rights to talk about this and give my opinions on a nation (sumeru) that is 70% based off my culture!!! do NOT come at me!!!!!!!!!!

ive been into genshin since 2.2 or something like that, wayyy before sumeru. when the time sumeru came, i was so incredibly disappointed (still am!!!) with the character designs. everything from the music, landscape and even food was perfect in genshin but the biggest part of the game, the characters, their designs were awful.

ive been speaking about their designs and how bad they are ever since, but barely anyone else actually cares about it. the "caring" only lasted 2 weeks max, and then everyone stopped talking about it. crazy!!!!!

natlan is now coming out soon, and the same people who were defending sumeru's character designs / did not ever speak about them, are now talking about natlan's character designs and their archon, isn't that strange?? how come people are only starting to care now? they act as if it wasn't a huge problem before.

YOU PEOPLE DO NOT ACTUALLY CARE ABOUT WHITEWASHING!!!!!!!!!

more of my yapping below:

if people actually cared about the whitewashing in genshin, they would ALSO point out the whitewashing in sumeru and even inazuma. are you kididng? have you seen nahida? (post abt how she shouldnt be white here) have you taken a look at dori? shes SUCH a weird combination of cultures. she is NOT done right. a lot of inazuma's character designs have issues fromwhat i've heard from other poc in the community; a lot of clothing is very off and incorrect.

I CAN LIST EVERYTHING WRONG WITH SUMERU'S CHARACTERS. but the biggest one i can say is ALL OF THEM HAVE BEEN WHITEWASHED TO DEATH. but literally no one cared!!!!!!!!! well, they did but only for a short amount of time

"oh my god!! they've whitewashed natlan so much" you act like this hasnt been happening for a while now lmao... even in inazuma, a lot of the traditional clothing has been made to fit the western gaze and to "make them hotter"..... you guys can NOT be serious.

people are only caring about natlan because it's hot news. people will stop talking about the whitewashing in natlan after a while, and thats a problem!! it really shows how racist the genshin community is and its so disgusting

if people actually cared about whitewashing, you would have done your boycotting as soon as designs were looking off. not now, but even when the shogun was released. people truly dont care for poc voices

a lot of the player base will silence poc in the community without hesitation... jesus christ you guys are worse than the dsmp fandom with racism 💀💀 you guys dont care about actual racism!!! you only care about your ships!!!! i am done 🙏

anyway. thats my yearly yap of the season... support me i actually take representation presented in media seriously 💞💞💞

#emma 🌻#talking #genshin impact #原神 #sumeru #inazuma #natlan #racism #whitewashing

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fillinforlater · 1 year ago

Note

When is the next part of Eleven to One: Hate You Lots coming? I am dying to see Chaewon become the next cum slut.

Eleven to One: What's to Hate?

Male Reader x Ahn Yujin, Kim Minju, Kim Chaewon

Length: 4294 words

Tags: Daddy kink, nudist kink, submission, teasing, teaser, trap, making out, passionate kissing, being watched, girl on girl kissing, girl on girl action, fingering, loss of voice, loss of mind, breeding kink, hate sex, choking, riding, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, emotional manipulation, degradation, emotional hurt, everything is fucked up af, doggy, breeding doggy, self-restraint, female orgasm, creampie, good_girls!Minju and Yujin / broken!Chaewon (?)

TW: degradation, hate sex, emotional manipulation, the story is already very fucked up, what are you still doing here lmao?

Credit: @sooyadelicacies for being my co-writer!

(A/N: Finally, another part to this... series. I don't even know how to describe it, but we'll go down a spiral and completely out of control lol. Here is the previous part btw, here is the rest of the series)

"Daddy, I found a letter in the mail."

Yujin's nude body slides through a small gap in your office door. Oh, what a life you're living. All your insane previous work hours reduced to two six hour shifts in your own apartments. Hyewon prepares, executes and delegates everything, you only need to check and sign. She is great and makes you millions in mere weeks.

"Thank you, Yujin. Put it on the pile with the others, right there." You point at a corner of your desk, but Yujin hesitates.

"I think this one is... special," she says and shows you the large envelope. "Look at this playful Emoji on it. Something seems to also bulge it, definitely not paper; something round I think."

"The Emoji looks more like a smiley, don't you think?" you ask, looking past the white, definitely filled envelope to your smocking hot girlfriend. She shrugs her shoulders, you almost believe her.

"Chaewon?"

"She'd never put a smiley on there for you!"

"Maybe she is mocking me?"

"Oh, Daddy," Yujin chuckles. "Just read it after work. I have to head out now, dance practice."

"Sure, but can I ask you a favor?"

Yujin turns around again and smirks. Her amazing thighs jiggle when she steps a bit closer again. You could ravage her every single fucking seconds of your life, if only that was a possibility.

"Yes, of course, Daddy~"

"Try to get both Chaewon and Minju here at 9pm—scratch that, 8pm. I want them both freshly exhausted."

Yujin ponders for a second, playing with her long hair, before leaning in close to your ear, her heat radiating straight to your face.

"Hm, I think I can arrange that."

“Hello? Yujin? I'm here."

Chaewon's loud voice comes from the front door of your apartment. It might still be enough to fill the vast confines of each room, but you can hear it slowly dwindle from hours and hours of vocal and dance practice. Surely she won't be able to keep this volume up for long.

"Should I call her?" Yujin whispers in your ear, obediently sitting on your thigh.

"Let her look for you. Where is Minju?" you ask and take a look at your watch. 7:58. Interesting. Minju not being early isn't a surprise, but Chaewon being here before the time? She must have hurried.

"I told her to be here, 8pm flat," Yujin murmurs and fiddles with the collar of your shirt. You grab her wrists and look at her somewhat intensely.

"Try calling her. Hurry."

"Yujin! Where are you?" Chaewon calls again, then her voice cracks. "I don't want to play these games, not with this pig around—"

"What pig?" you shout back, making even Yujin shudder as she rushes towards your office to hide and look for a phone. "I do not allow such animals in this house."

You could practically hear Chaewon's face morph into a scowl at your voice.

"You heard me! You're a pig. I am only doing this because Yujin invited me over!"

"Well then, come on in!" you sarcastically laugh back, making sure to be louder than her, to urge her not only to walk further into the trap, but also to raise her voice at you.

“Fuck you," Chaewon hisses and enters the living room. In the flickering light of your fireplace you see her hatred filled eyes stare at you. God, she tries so hard to kill you with just that look, but it's all futile.

The white dress makes her look like an angel, a sweaty angel that has the fabric stuck to her small body. Her hair is a mess, her faint makeup is a mess, now her voice is a mess mess mess.

"Fuck you, where, where is she?"

"Oh," you mock her with a pout and reach for a glass of wine on a side table. "Your voice... you should drink something, hm?"

Suddenly, Yujin bursts into the room. Chaewon's features turn from gloomy to delighted, but just as quickly she just looks lost and, judging by the light pink hue on her round cheeks, horny.

"She'll be here in a minute, Daddy," Yujin purrs and grabs the glass from your fingers. "Hi, Chaewon. Nice to see you~"

“Minju is a part of this too?" Chaewon asks.

You ignore her and continue on.

"I must admit, you do look quite stunning in that outfit. It's a pretty dress."

"I'm not here for you to gawk at."

"Hmm. No, I think it's quite the opposite."

You turn your attention back to Yujin and motion for her to sit back on your lap and give you a sultry searing kiss. As she does, you fixate your eyes for one second on Chaewon. Oh, she is gawking. She is so focused on it, the way Yujin's bountiful curves melt into you, how willingly she becomes your good little baby girl, to be played with. You can hear her gulp and the revealing dress becoming too warm.

"Daddy, your tongue," Yujin quietly moans, trying to get more from you, but your ears have already picked it up: the arrival of Minju, hectic and clumsy as per usual. The front door crashes open, it hits the wall and almost comes back to haunt the poor girl.

"I-I'm here—Chaewon-unnie!?"

"Minmin, look at who I personally invited over,” you boast from your couch and take a final sip of wine. “You're right on time, but try to be early in the future."

"Yes, Daddy! Oh, I want to kiss you too, Daddy..." Minju says with longing, seeing Yujin on your lap.

“No, Minju, don't," Chaewon barely crooks out past her dry lips, her gentle red lipstick almost peeling off of it. She uses the remnants of her energy to put both a foot and an arm in the large door frame, but it won't be enough. Her blockade is too small, Minju could still get past it.

In desperation, Chaewon resorts to other means. She grabs her taller friend and with a knee between her legs pins her against the door frame. Minju yelps, her own hands trying to avert the attack.

"Please don't go to him! Stay here, stay w-with m-m-me..."

Endearing, it makes you feel like the heartless animal Chaewon probably envisions you being. A pig, greedy for only the most beautiful, submissive, willing girls, never stopping. No, Yujin isn't enough, perfection isn't enough. You need Minju, on you—but there is something even more fun right now.

"On second thought," you say in the general direction of the two, Yujin's saliva still fresh on your tongue, her soft fingers on your cheekbones. "Don't kiss me, Minju. Go kiss her. Kiss her now, right on the lips."

"Wha—" Chaewon stops to breathe.

"O-okay, Daddy."

Suddenly, the roles are reversed. The hands that pressed, the knee that pinned, the eyes that begged; the dynamic falters. Chaewon, only wanting Minju to look at her, can't bear the adorable, loving features coming closer, the puckered lips, oh they look so soft…

"Minmin, time to put your training to use. Make Chaewon feel good," you say gently as Yujin keeps kissing your neck. You watch the show unfold before you.

First a peck. Simple, disarming. Chaewon's weak arms bend more and more, she can't keep her friend away. Of course she wants this, but you cannot be the one in control of it. Feel adrenaline rush through your body as Chaewon caves in, nothing compared to Minju's unstoppable approach.

Secondly, the tongue. Minju's prise open her Unnie's lips and you hear, see, even feel her squirm and willingly lose the battle when Minju wraps her arms around her waist. Chaewon becomes one with the doorframe, seemingly one with Minju when their legs brush and tongues twirl like greedy tornados. Chaewon even follows Minju, when she backs off a bit and disconnects their lips—just to adjust her hair, smile brightly with her huge blush and dive back in.

You turn to Yujin in disbelief.

"How—since when is she so good? Our little Minmin..."

"We trained her well, I guess~" Yujin smiles lewdly, another torrent of sloppy kisses.

"You lewd slut. Get me out of these clothes."

"Of course, Daddy."

"Also..."

"Yes, Daddy?"

"You're still the best kisser, Yujin."

She smiles from ear to ear, her hand already popping open your buttons and belt.

"Thank you."

You allow Minju to keep pleasuring a little longer Chaewon, to bring the elder to the brink of bliss. Like the test ride of a new sports car, Chaewon gets to feel every extraordinary, expensive curve and benefit of what she can never have. Not when you’re still pulling the strings.

"Minju, you're such a good kisser," Chaewon says softly.

"Daddy's been teaching me well and—"

"That's enough Minmin,” you call her and consequently bring Chaewon down from cloud nine. “Come here."

Minju merely nods and without a care in the world, she moves over to you as you plant a sloppy kiss on her lips. Chaewon’s hands tremble as if she’s feeling the withdrawal of a drug.

"Daddy, did I do well?" Minju gleefully asks.

"Yes you did, baby girl."

"What the hell?" Chaewon's eyes glaring daggers.

"Oh. Did you think Minju was into you? That she was enjoying it? Why don't you tell Chaewon the truth." You command Minju.

"Unnie, I," Minju hesitates, her stammer only interrupted by Yujin slurping on your cock and drowning it in her drool. "I like you but... you are not a g-good kisser. I liked yo-your fingers but Daddy and Yujin are—"

"No! They are using you!"

Chaewon has lost her voice, tears spark in her orbs as she reaches for her throat. She wants to shout at you, scream her love back at Minju, but it hurts. It's not coming out.

"Minju," you groan, your voice teasing. "Why are you still wearing clothes?"

"Oh, sorry Daddy. I'll lose them asap."

"Very good. And then you can get your prize."

In the flash of an eye, Minju is naked, her clothes spread all over a tearful Chaewon and a cockhungry Yujin, who you quickly guide next to you on the couch.

"I give you a choice," you tell your girlfriend. "You can masturbate while watching us or you can try to keep your hands off your body and then I'll fuck you the whole night. Your call."

Yujin's eyebrows furrow. It's rare for her to not touch herself when naked on any occasion, but around you and her hot former bandmates and all the sex that's about to happen, it is close to impossible.

You don't think about her for another second. Minju finds her way on your lap, your stiff, lubed up rod in her always curious hands. Grab her by the waist and spin her around so she faces Chaewon. A disappointed moan.

"But I can't kiss Daddy like this."

"Just turn your head to the side, Minmin. I can kiss you from every angle. Now spread your legs and show her how I fuck y—"

"No, I don't—"

You interrupt Chaewon by spitting at her pathetic figure kneeling on the ground. Her nerves must have been broken; confusion, anger and never before felt horniness all wrestle for control in her delicate body while she can barely speak.

"You know what you need to do," you growl and push your cock upwards into Minju who desperately searches for your lips as groans escape her own. "But just watch, I guess."

You begin to pump into Minju and kiss her with pure lust and dominance. Her entire being submits to you, becomes obedient and willing to take your cock faster, harder, deeper—you know the drill and so does she. Minju’s lips have an addictive taste, it might stem from Chaewon, whose sweet loss you can (metaphorically, of course) nibble from her friend.

"Minmin, you know Chaewon loves you right? Like loooves you? How do you feel about that? Do you think you can ever love her back the same way?"

"Yujin… make him stop..." Chaewon all but cries out.

Yujin however is in her own world. Her struggle is real, no matter how deep she digs her nails into the couch, they try to sneak back and touch her needy spots. The three aroused nubs, her clenching pussy, hell, her entire body has become an erogenous zone at this point. She reaches for some of Minju's clothes to maybe tie herself up, but all she finds are panties, stained with love juice and perfectly smelly.

Chaewon looks back at you as you ravage her friend. Your thrusts go harder, your grip on Minju's hips and tits gets tighter, your tongue licks faster—has it always been this close? Chaewon wonders, her eyelids flickering.

His cock is... right there. Oh God, she is taking it so well, Minju's pussy looks so good, so stretched... and her midriff is so smooth.

"I-I," Minju's screams get Chaewon out of her dream. "I loved Unnie! Her fingers, her lips, but... she has not been th-there for mee—

"Ah, Daddy, I'm cumming!"

In the midst of her climax, you pinch Minju's nipples and bite her ear. Your cock stretching her to the max, you ask:

"What do you love? Say it!"

"Daddy's cock! Daddy's cock is the best."

"I'll do it." Chaewon unzips her dress, face pale and blank, voice fragile and pleading. "I'll fuck you. Please."

"And then?" you respond, a babbling Minju unceremoniously dropped onto a still restraining Yujin, who shrieks at the touch of hot skin, sweat and saliva on her own scorching body.

"I—what more do you want?" Chaewon asks shakily.

"You don't get it do you? I don't care if you fuck me or not. I don't need you. No. I want you to beg for it. I want you to realize whose fucking house you're in right now. Your Yujin is mine. And your Minju? She won't ever love you unless I give her permission. So first, you're going to apologize to me. You're going to get on the floor and beg me for forgiveness and then you're going to beg for my perfect fucking cock, Kim Chae-won."

Chaewon, struck by lightning, hesitates to respond. Whatever sentence her brain is scrambling to create, it's not a worthwhile response. In fact, nothing is. She is a puddle, absolutely destroyed by your authority, her every weakness now used against her.

All that can work now is taking action. Fighting back, literally.

In a single motion, Chaewon rises from the ground and the ashes of her dignity like a phoenix, digs her fingers into your jaw and pounces on your lap. There is a new fire in her eyes, blue flames of frustrated rage that show that she is indeed no celestial, but a woman filled with vengeance.

Panties pulled to the side, she guides your cock behind the curtains of her short dress and like a magician makes it disappear in her tight entrance. Feel that she is a lot wetter than last time right from the get go; her pain resistance due to your size seems to have risen as well.

What can you do in the face of this power, this unbridled will, her hips that smash down on you with the force of a falling anvil, the pointy ends of her nails in the skin of your cheeks, piercing like arrows, her hateful moans of victory? Chaewon will fuck you senseless, squeeze out every word of a long apology and show Minju that serving you is a waste of time. You're a pig after all.

At least that's what you make her believe.

Your face twists into a smile.

"A whore who can't control her urges. Who is the pig now? C’mon then, fuck it out of me, if you think you can! I'll tell you what: If you make me cum before I make you cum, I'll release Minju back to you. You'll both be free to go and I'll never bother you again.

"You're sick,” Chaewon hisses back. “I want Yujin free too."

Yujin looks at you for a moment, wondering if you would really give her away like that, fingers on Minju’s body to distract her from the juices leaking out of her pussy.

"Listen here," you viciously whisper and pull away Chaewon's hand which bothers your face. "Try to get some leverage in this position, before making absurd demands. As of now, you have nothing on me."

"I-I'm on top," Chaewon moans, continuing to bounce on your cock.

"It means nothing. I can easily make you cum like this. I can also make you cum by folding you in half and pressing you into the couch or picking you up like a human fleshlight or... fuck, I could order your friends here to force a hundred orgasms out of you, all before you can even think of satisfying me.

"Do you understand, Chaewon? Earn yourself the spot above me, because right now, you're nothing but a toy."

Chaewon's face contorts in pleasure and embarrassment. She can't let these insults get to her, but at the same time, she gets off to them. Her pussy clenches around your cock, needily sucking it back in, wanting it to fuck upwards and claim every inch of her hot, velvety insides.

"At least your body is honest." You smirk.

"Wh-what—ah, no!"

You get a hold of Chaewon's hips, her dress spilling out of your hands as you hold her steady and thrust into her. Unlike before, you make sure to give her every inch every time. Chaewon's eyes roll up in her head, then down to your body, easily overpowering hers from below. Her voice breaks at every moan and scream, and she can't bear the sight of her friends, who look on closely.

Their Unnie is becoming stupid for this cock.

Minju pouts sadly.

"Chaewon-unnie, you should enjoy it. Daddy's perfect cock...it's the most special thing," Minju mumbles, drool in the corner of her pretty mouth.

"Unnie, maybe you should apologize to Daddy. He'll make you feel good," Yujin says sincerely.

"N-never! I-I will n-not—"

All it takes is you swiping her clit, found under her dress. The tiny bundle of nerves had it coming and now the fearless leader is cumming on your cock. However, it is not this grand, cathartic orgasm for her, just a demonstration of your power. Frankly, this is what you think Chaeeon deserves: A pleasureless loss, pathetic for the woman she wants to be. So much on the line, yet she did not even come close to achieving her goal.

In a well-timed outburst of your horny rage, you pull out of her and throw her on the couch. Giving Yujin a teasing brush on her flexed thigh and then a kiss because she needs to hold out just a little bit longer, you then focus on Minju.

"Get on top of Chaewon," you order. "I'm gonna fill you in Doggy for being a good girl."

"Thank you, Daddy," Minju excitedly says and once again traps Chaewon with her body.

You push inside Minju's sweet pussy and tug at her hair.

"Minju, how would you feel if I bred you tonight? How badly do you want to be bred?"

Yujin almost became distraught, before remembering her place and knowing this was a part of your plan. You wanted to show Chaewon what was truly yours.

"Daddy… I don't know if I'm ready to raise a child, but I want to carry yours so badly," Minju whispers and looks right through Chaewon’s hazelnut eyes.

Perfect. You would fuck Minju, break her while Chaewon would be right below her, helpless to watch as you filled Minju with your seed.

"I want you to tell Chaewon the truth,” you tell Minju and caress her smooth back before pushing it a bit closer to Chaewon. “Then you can be filled to the brim."

"I want Daddy! I want his Daddy cock and his Daddy seed deep in my pussy! I want him to breed Minju every day!"

Minju has never clenched harder around your dick than at this moment. It's not a hyperbole, because for the first time you find it irresistible to not cum in another pussy that isn't your girlfriends'. This moment right here, this impeccable, cruel set up is Minju has finally becoming ethereal truth and beauty: on all fours, drooling on her former lover's face, sweat pouring out everywhere, nothing can fill her heart like you.

Fill her, you do. The way to Minju’s heart is through her desperate, empty pussy—try to rephrase that at a different time, because now, it’s quite befitting. The breedable girl won’t be able to keep herself upright for long, that’s the measurement of power for how hard your thrusts are. You don’t really want her to anyways. She is allowed to freely fall on top of Chaewon, who constantly fails to close her eyes to Minju’s face.

A face of desire, of pleasure; a tongue hanging out, hoping to suck the same cock that’s rearranging her insides—also something that should be rephrased. One day, but not today. Today you give Minju loving spanks for being the good, rod-taking girl that you and Yujin envisioned her to be. After the fifth slap, her legs go weak first, her midriff meets Chaewon’s, but her pussy still sucks you back in. Minju is thirsty.

Thirsty for cum, and you give it to her greedy pussy that wrings you viciously. Minju is a vacuum, getting your balls dry and although you make sure everything is dumped deep inside her cavern, huge amounts still drip out of her and onto Chaewon, who shrieks at every impact of cum on her skin.

You're still dreamy, Minju's deep breaths are the only thing audible to you, her ass the only thing in your line of view. It seems you forgot something, a promise you have made.

"D-Daddy!" Yujin calls for you and shakes your shoulders violently. "I haven't touched myself, please, please, please fuck me now! I'm a good slut, use me, fill me, I need your cock."

You turn towards her. This poor girl is standing there, shivering, her wrists awkwardly turned to prevent her from touching her already squeezing pussy. In a moment of thrill for you and catharsis for her, you grab Yujin's hand and pull her into your bedroom. The door shuts and moments later, Chaewon and Minju hear their Dongsaeng cum, loud and proud.

"Yujinie is—" Minju whispers, wanting to start a conversation, but Chaewon interrupts her.

"A-are you really going to be pregnant?" Chaewon quietly cries out, tears and snort on her face. Minju props herself up and smiles down at her dear friend.

"To be honest," she starts and blushes. "No, I'm protected. But it feels so good, so right to say it."

"Th-that is fucked up, Minmin," Chaewon whimpers.

"Unnie, sex can be so much fun. Here, put your finger in me, like you used to! He feels so warm, and there is so much."

Minju guides Chaewon's fingers to her freshly fucked, leaking entrance and although she hesitates for a bit, Chaewon starts to finger more and more cream out of her friends cunt. Minju softly moans and they both watch a downpour of white fall on Chaewon’s navel in the middle of August.

"I was unsure at first too," Minju continues and cups Chaewon's face. "But it can feel so good, the best feeling ever. I won't leave that.

"I still love you, though. We all do. Yujin and Eunbi-unnie and Hyewo—"

"What do you me—oh my God."

Suddenly, Minju kisses the beyond shocked Chaewon before the latter loses her mind to the most absurd scenario that is imaginable but also so immoral, it should not be. Instead Chaewon melts into Minju's lips and decides to stay quiet. She could never be part of such a fucked up game, it’s just wrong, filthy, absolutely disgusting. He is such a pig!

"Unnie, come here more often. Daddy can be so soft, he will train you, you will be better at sex and one day, he will cum in you and you will love it.

Minju, you are out of your mind… but what if—

"Trust me~"

The luxury of getting up at 11am and still making more money than most people do in their life time should be appreciated by you, but instead you whine over the fact that after three more rounds with Yujin after the initial, massive filling of Minju and eight hours of sleep, you have to get back to ruling your business empire.

That's when you find the envelope Yujin brought yesterday. You finish a boring phone call and pick it up, still very much unsure of what the round thing inside it is. Tear it open and a letter slips right out—along with a cute little collar. Intrigued you begin to read while you pick up the round object.

Dear you,

yes, you. Yujin told me that you exist. You're her boyfriend and although she doesn't talk about you often, I can tell she really loves you. You seem like a very wise person, especially when you can get along with Yujin.

I wanted to ask you something: could we maybe chat a little? Talk face to face? I know it's a weird request, but I kinda want someone to talk to right now. I feel I can trust you, more than other people around me. If you can keep your relationship with Yujin a secret, this will be easy-peasy, right?

Feel free to talk with Yujin about this first, but you both keep quiet! I don't want the others to be worried.

Thank you very muchie!

Signed

Yena, meow

#kpop smut #female idol smut #girl group smut #male reader insert #izone smut #male reader #male reader smut #ive smut #le sserafim smut #lesserafim smut #chaewon smut #yujin smut #minju smut #ahn yujin smut #kim minju smut #kim chaewon smut #2kim smut

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basketonthedoorstepofthefbi · 5 months ago

Text

"obstinate, headstrong girl" part 2 - aaron hotchner x fem!reader

read part 1 here

wc: 3000

cw: mentions of food and alcohol! enemies to lovers! poorly researched medical information lmao i am a liberal arts girly i just need it for the plot. typical bau meddling, reader is lowkey a bully but dw bc hotch is still a little bitch, part 3 to come c:

a/n big fat thank you to my bestie @cerisereids for all her help workshopping / brainstorming with me! i also got the BEAUTIFUL dividers from the immensely talented @saradika-graphics

You.

With your red dress and your attitude, throwing back amaretto sours like they’re tequila shots - who gets drunk on amaretto sours? They’re basically safe to drink while pregnant. To be fair, you didn’t get sloppy, or even really that drunk. By the end of the night, your eyes appeared just a bit heavy, like someone had tied miniature weights to your eyelashes.

Your eyelashes. Aaron had never found eyelashes, of all things, to be attractive, but here he is, in the middle of a work day with a report half-finished (and half-assed, at that), and he’s thinking about your eyelashes.

He’s thought of basically every part of you already today. Your knees, your dress, what’s underneath it. You have been sucking him into a black hole all day long, and he’s to the point where he’s halfway wishing for a serial killer so he can focus on something else.

He plows his hand through his dark hair, shaking off the overwhelming thoughts of you. He checks the silver Rolex on his wrist. It’s nearly time to leave. Aaron doesn’t usually do this, but he decides to leave this report for tomorrow, when he can look at the letters on the page and not see your face, hear your voice.

Just as he starts packing up, there’s a knock on his open office door. Aaron’s dark eyes flicker up to see Garcia standing in the doorway, Morgan’s tall frame looming behind her. “Hotch, you got anything going on tonight?”

Aaron shakes his head. For once, he actually doesn’t. “Jack’s at a sleepover,” he says. “What’s up?”

“We’re taking Spence and Jacqueline to this nighttime vendor market thingy,” Penelope says, scrunching her nose up with a smile. “You remember Jacqueline?”

It’s been a week since Derek’s birthday, when Jacqueline and Spencer were introduced. More relevantly, since Aaron laid eyes on you. “I remember.”

“You wanna come with us?” Penelope asks with bright eyes. Aaron opens his mouth the decline almost immediately, but Penelope beats him to it. “Y/N’s not coming.”

Aaron arches a brow. “What makes you think I care if Y/N’s coming or not?” he asks.

“Oh, c’mon, Hotch,” Derek puts all his weight on the doorjamb. “We saw you staring at her at my birthday. It’s about time you moved on from Haley, any-”

“If I say I’ll come out, will you stop talking?” Aaron cuts him off, grabbing his briefcase.

Derek ponders this for a second, even looks to Penelope as if to ask permission. He shrugs his shoulders in what Aaron suspects will be the first little white lie of the evening. “Yeah.”

How anyone was able to sprain their ankle while shopping for books is beyond you. Leave it to Jacqueline, the wide-eyed, quirkily clumsy ingénue of her very own romantic comedy, to trip over a curb while gazing starry-eyed at the oh-so dreamy Dr. Reid. She called you from the emergency room with a shrill panic lining her voice, and you immediately leapt up from the couch. You didn’t even bother pausing your show on the TV, just slid some shoes on, grabbed your bag, and bolted out the door.

You’re taking extra long strides, your flip-flops smacking obnoxiously against the linoleum tiles of the hospital floor. When you spot Jacqueline sitting up in the bed, still in her own clothes, you feel instant relief. At least she’s not panicking anymore. Spencer sits diligently by her side, fidgeting with the edges of the sheets. Jacqueline’s right leg is elevated atop several pillows, with a meek smile on her face once her eyes meet yours.

“Spencer, you’re supposed to keep an eye on her at all times,” you joke with a weak laugh, sighing as you plop down in the empty chair beside Spencer’s.

“She saw something shiny and wandered off,” Spencer shrugs, and Jacqueline glares at the both of you.

“This whole talking about me like I’m not here, thing? Not my favorite,” she deadpans. There’s the Jacqueline you know and love. In crowded social settings, she can be reclusive and difficult to open up. But with only a few people around - especially people she’s comfortable around - Jacqueline is a completely different person.

You’re glad she feels comfortable around Spencer after just a week of knowing him. They’re not even officially dating, per se, but tonight they went out with Penelope and Derek to test the waters. You think it’s cute - like two fifth-graders on a chaperoned outing to the movies, with their parents sitting a row behind them.

You were invited to tag along, but you didn’t want to be the fifth wheel. You also were having a really long, insufferable week, and you simply needed some recharge time. So you politely declined.

“Oh, shush, you’ve got bigger fish to fry,” you tell Jacqueline playfully, eyes darting down to her elevated foot. “So, what’s the damage?”

“Sprained ankle, possibly fractured,” Spencer rattles off. “Usually an x-ray isn’t required, but since Jacqueline’s having pain in her malleolar zone - that is, the top part of the ankle that connects to the tibia - the doctor ordered one. We’re waiting on the results to come back, but I think they’ll just put her in a brace for a few weeks. Statistically speaking, only about 15% of sprained ankles result in significant bone fractures.”

You release an awkward little chuckle, very nearly overwhelmed by the amount of information Spencer just dumped on you. Jacqueline shrugs her shoulders a little, like this is just how he is, and I love it.

You blink a few times as you absorb all of Spencer’s ramblings. “So.. she’s gonna be fine?”

“Yeah, she’ll be fine,” Spencer cracks a smile, and his thumb brushes affectionately over the top of Jacqueline’s hand. Your friend blushes furiously, ever-so-clearly under the fluorescent lighting.

“So what exactly happened?” You ask.

Before either of them get to answer, imposing footsteps grow louder, and you hear a familiar voice say, “Okay, coffee acquired.”

Smooth like the neat whiskey he was throwing back the night you met him, Aaron’s voice drags down your spine. Your belly does acrobatic flips. You visibly tense up for a second before turning around to see Aaron with a cardboard drink carrier in his hand containing three to-go cups of coffee.

“Oh, hi, Y/N. When did you get here?” Aaron’s voice goes flat, and he meets your eyes civilly.

“While you were getting coffee, I presume,” you deadpan, and you swear you see one of those imposing brown eyes twitch.

“Right,” Aaron hands Jacqueline her coffee, and then has to lean over you so he can give Spencer his. You catch whiffs of pine and espresso and dark leather. His chest is basically in your face for a solid three seconds. God, he’s broad. He’s also in a suit, save for the jacket and tie, and your eyes catch the crinkly lines in his white dress shirt, no longer crisp from being worn all day. They look like rivers on a map. “Well, I guess I’ll be going. Glad you’re okay, Jacqueline, that was quite the fall.”

“Oh, no, Aaron, you don’t have to go!” Jacqueline pipes up, holding her coffee with two hands. “I mean, only if you need to, but, we’re still waiting for my X-ray to come back, and I know I’d love the company.”

You look at Jacqueline with a bewildered expression. “I mean, I’d love the company of all of you,” Jacqueline corrects, her cheeks pinkening.

You cross your ankles, suddenly aware that you’re in your loungewear - beige linen shorts and a blue Georgetown sweatshirt - and your hair sits in a haphazard knot on top of your head. You have to remind yourself that you don’t care. That Aaron Hotchner’s opinion of you does not matter.

Aaron seems momentarily frozen in place, standing at the foot of Jacqueline’s bed. His eyes dart to you as if to silently ask permission to stay, and you give a subtle, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it shrug and tilt of your head. He inhales and you see his nostrils flare. He clears his throat and says, “Let me find a chair, then.”

There’s something humorous about a man as tall and imposing and draconian as Aaron Hotchner looking for a chair in the emergency room bay of a hospital. Shoulders hunched so he doesn’t inconvenience anyone. You hope he feels embarrassed and humbled by the experience. A muted smirk rests upon your lips as you watch him most unhelpfully, not even bothering to move from your seat.

Eventually he finds a free chair in the corner and drags it to the other side of Jacqueline’s bed, keeping a respectful distance. He looks across the bed at Spencer, who sits beside you. “Did you tell her that Garcia basically pushed Jacqueline over the curb?”

Fluorescent lighting had never been so flattering before. Under its clarifying spotlight, Aaron gets to see details of you he’d missed at the bar where you first met. The texture of your skin, an extra little sliver of thigh from those linen shorts he wasn’t privy to before.

And when he leaned over you to give Reid his coffee? He caught your intoxicating scent and now he fears it will either be stuck in his nostrils forever, or it will fade too quickly, before he can commit it to memory.

“Penelope did what?” You’re asking, looking at Reid, then Jacqueline, brows creasing in the middle.

Aaron folds his left leg atop his right, then nods with an amused smile. It’s clear you still don’t like him - might even hate him for how cold he was to you at the bar the other night. He can tell by the way you refuse to look at him unless absolutely necessary, how your jaw visibly tenses every time he addresses you directly.

“I have no solid proof,” Aaron begins, offering the information as an olive branch. Your eyes snap to his and he’s jarred for a second, then he continues, the corners of his lips ticking up into an amused smile. “But one second, I see Garcia and Morgan at least three feet behind where Jacqueline’s walking, and the next thing I know, she’s on the ground and Garcia’s apologizing profusely.”

“Why isn’t she here?” You laugh softly, and Aaron’s chest thrums. He can’t diagnose his reaction to it, but your laugh, no matter how strained and merely polite it might be at this moment, could be the thing that kills him.

“Something about feeding JJ and Emily’s cat while they’re on vacation,” Jacqueline chimes in. Aaron clocks the younger woman’s eyes and how glued they are on Reid. She’s been so closed off every time Aaron’s around, so this tidbit of information coming from her surprises him. Aaron’s wondered this whole time if she truly likes Reid or if she’s just being kind.

You nod in understanding and lean back in your chair. Little wisps of your hair fall into your eyes and you brush them back delicately with your index finger.

Jacqueline pipes up again, her voice still timid and maybe a little tired. “Would you mind maybe getting me a snack?” She asks you.

Aaron watches the softening of your expression as you look at Jacqueline fondly. You would do anything for her, and he can tell. “Of course,” you squeeze Jacqueline’s uninjured leg as you rise from your seat.

“And maybe Aaron can go with you? Since Spence is pretty hungry, too, right, Spence?” Jacqueline proposes.

Your soft expression twists into one of slight irritance.

Aaron knows exactly what Jacqueline is up to, but it takes Reid a lingering moment to catch on. “What - oh, yeah, I’m starving,” the good doctor adds, even going to far as to pat his stomach, as if to say it’s hollow in there.

Your eyes shrink in annoyance, and you seem to plaster a sickly sweet smile onto your lips, one that would make demons shake in their boots. You lock eyes with Aaron, as if to say, well? What’s it gonna be?

Aaron asks Jacqueline and Reid what they want, then leads the way out of the ER and towards the cafeteria. The hospital’s signage is fairly easy to follow, and Aaron slows his usually long strides so you don’t have to struggle to keep up.

He gestures to your Georgetown sweatshirt. “You graduated from Georgetown?” He asks.

“No, I just like to wear merchandise for schools I didn’t attend,” you deadpan, and there’s that goddamn attitude again.

Aaron considers laying it all out - right here, right now. You’re not even thirty yet, from what Garcia’s told him. He shouldn’t be attracted to you, but he is, and god, is it killing him. Instead, he just furrows his brows and doesn’t say anything.

“Yeah,” you soften a little, shoving your hands in the pockets of the sweatshirt. You seem to be cutting Aaron a little bit of slack, for whatever reason. “Yeah, I went to Georgetown.”

Aaron holds the door open for you when you reach the cafeteria. You feel a little bad for your snarky comment in the hallway. You were not raised to be outwardly rude. You were raised to hoard your resentment like a precious flower, nursing it so it grows big and strong.

“Jacqueline made it really sound like an emergency, huh?” Aaron asks, following you to the line. You shoot him a quizzical brow, and he gestures to your ensemble.

“Oh, excuse me for not wearing an Armani suit to the hospital,” you roll your eyes, but they linger on the wrinkles in his dress shirt. “You just went out right after work, then? In your fancy suit?”

Aaron smooths his fingertips over the white cotton. The color reminds you of freshly cleaned bedsheets. “Yeah, and it’s not Armani, for your information.”

“Sorry, Mr. FBI. What is it, then, Dolce & Gabbana? Ralph Lauren?”

“Tom Ford.”

“Like that’s any less pretentious,” you scoff.

“Hey, I can spend my money however I choose,” Aaron says, and you know he’s right. That doesn’t mean you’re not going to give him shit for it.

“Must be nice to just burn cash,” you say dryly. “I’m sure your wife loves that.”

“I don’t have a wife.” You look at him over your shoulder and his eye twitches a little when he says this.

You’re not sure why you mention a wife anyway. Maybe you’re merely curious, but then again, you’ve already clocked that he’s not wearing a wedding ring. “Girlfriend, then,” you correct. “Do men your age call them girlfriends, or do you prefer the term mistress?”

“Men my age?” Aaron laughs bitterly. “I don’t have a girlfriend,” he says. His voice is stringent, right on the line of annoyance. You smirk to yourself and grab a tray so you can carry the food. “Even if I did, I wouldn’t call her my mistress, because I don’t have a wife to cheat on with her.”

“Bachelors in the 1800s called their girlfriends mistresses,” you point out, though your facts are coming from Bridgerton, so you’re not sure if they’re entirely accurate. “I don’t know how old-fashioned you are.”

“I’m not,” Aaron says simply as you load an individual-size veggie pizza on your tray for Jacqueline, then grab a bag of chips and a soda for yourself. Aaron grabs the sandwich Spencer requested, and you lead the way to the checkout.

The cafeteria worker punches in your items, and then Aaron’s. “Oh, we’re not together,” you correct politely.

“It’s fine,” Aaron insists, pulling a silver AmEx out of his wallet. You reach for your own wallet to try and beat him, but he’s already swiped by the time you even get it out.

You thank the cafeteria worker before gathering everything in your hands. “You didn’t have to do that,” you say as you and Aaron head out of the cafeteria. He holds the door open for you, again.

“It’s not a big deal,” Aaron says as you walk through the open door. “Chivalry is still alive, as far as I’m concerned.”

“Not old-fashioned, huh?” You smirk as you look up at him, feeling your cheeks redden a bit. Wait, when did this become playful jesting rather than straight-up bullying?

“Maybe a little old-fashioned.” Aaron’s lips hint at a smile, and you feel your mouth go dry.

“Shocking that you’re still on the market,” you say, admittedly because you’re curious about what Penelope said the other night at the bar. Something about Aaron going through a hard time.

“My job requires a lot of my time,” Aaron explains. Your footsteps slow a little and he matches your pace. “Even if I found someone worth all the trouble, I don’t think I’d have the time to dedicate to a relationship.”

“Worth all the trouble?” You repeat, a scoff lining your voice like a thousand tiny needles. Aaron resists the urge to visibly wince at your reaction.

Why you’re prompting all this relationship discussion is beyond him. He’s a profiler, for Christ’s sake, but he can’t pin you down, for some reason. He lays the brickwork down and builds his walls up again. For a moment, back in the cafeteria, he was starting to let you in.

But, no, it doesn’t matter how god-forsakenly adorable you are when you scrunch your nose or call him out on his bullshit. Aaron’s not ready for this kind of thing yet, so iciness is necessary. It protects him, it protects Jack, but - and, maybe most importantly - it protects you.

You’re young and you’re willful. You’re a goddamn hurricane, a force to be reckoned with, but your stubbornness is a house of cards. Aaron Hotchner knows that if he hurts you, the cards will fall. And he could never forgive himself for something like that.

So when you look at him for some kind of explanation, throwing him an arched brow and the opportunity to explain himself, he doesn’t take it. Instead, he watches as you pick up your pace and walk ahead of him, leaving a hell of a view and a frustrated, fully-grown man in your wake.

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #hotchner x reader #basketonthedoorstepofthefbi #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner enemies to lovers #criminal minds fic #criminal minds imagine #aaron hotchner x you #hotchner x you #hotch x you

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wraithdance · 12 days ago

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https://www.tumblr.com/wraithdance/765961917651140608/i-really-liked-your-explanation-of-the-whole?source=share

I am really bad at articulating my thoughts but I think about this a lot as someone who hopes to 1- major in neuroscience (i'm 18, going to uni next year) and 2- is trans. I know being trans is not the same thing at all as POC experiences with fic, very cognizant of that, but more to the point where I relate to the aspect of not being able to get over the like mental wall of seeing "neutral" readers as me? I don't know what my brain is doing when i read certain fics but sometimes i can't do it.

I feel like I should close read some of my favorite fic and least favorite fic to see if there are triggers I didn't notice on the first read. does that make sense or seem similar to what you experience? Again I know it's not the same thing, but like i am so curious as to what cis straight white people put in their fic that makes it so obvious that they're cis straight white.

I am sorry if this bothers you, really not my intentions, I am obviously a future brain nerd and i can't stop thinking about this

Congratulations fellow Nerd! You've activated my interest in Race theory and fandom writing from an academic perspective!

Writing reflects life and to answer this question properly, I have to talk about life shit to catch you up to speed, (this should help if you take a sociology or cultural anthropology class lmao) So, Welcome to:

Calvary yaps: Sociology & Intersectionality in fandom writing 101!

Disclaimer: I'm just a random bitch on the internet who loves English and the ridiculousness of social hierarchies, this will be referencing American social constructs and in groups only, with a focus on my experience as a Black American woman who reads a shit ton of books. Don't fight me if you hate my explanation, I will simply not respond.

Read my house rules before sending me an ask, I'm just being a dumb ass rn and word vomiting my interests, so pls i beg no follow up questions unless I say I'm open to em later.

Definitions to know:

Socialization: the act of preparing individuals to participate in society by learned social norms taught in ones family or social settings like school/friend groups. (one can be socialized in gender, race, cultural practices, etc.)

Social Hierarchies: systems of social organization in which some individuals enjoy a higher social status than others (in my opinion this is a lingering safety measure from lizard brain cavemen hunter/gatherer days)

Intersectionality: A term coined by Kimberlé Crenshaw; The process of acknowledging the unique parallels a marginalized person experiences when they have more than one marginalization (ie: race, class, gender, sexuality, ability, size, etc.)

Matriarchal society: Social groups/family structures that center female figures as representatives of authority.

Implicit Bias: Unintentional bias a person may have towards a group or individual based on learned stereotypes, prejudices, perceptions based on another's background or state of being.

first, yes anon you are making sense! So the main question:

'What cis straight white people put in their fic that makes it so obvious that they're cis straight white?'

I've been mulling this question around in my head for a few days and tried to figure out how to articulate this without going into depth in Sociological theory, but I can't! So here we are lmao, this is long as fuck so TLDR here.

I've talked to a LOT of Black and PoC people over the last months because I thought I was the only one who felt strange or could tell immediately when a writer was white, despite doing the best job they could to be neutral.

Every person I spoke to agreed they could tell right away even if we don't share similar racial backgrounds.

The answer I've come up with to why that is, is because white people are socialized (taught by society/their parents how to behave) in a way many black and PoC people are not, so their reader characters will often act in a way PoC people have learned not to, so it flags for many of us.

I plan to answer another question about this at a later date so an example is with shit like:

An over deference to hyper masculine male characters (for PoC cultures like certain Black/Latine groups that are often matriarchal in nature and don’t ascribe to as many traditional gender roles, this is a flag), lack of interpersonal/familial connection, over meekness, no challenging of external factors so things just HAPPEN to the reader and lack of awareness of surroundings to name a few.

A lot of the language of the irl world places white cis people from Western countries as the default and everyone else as others. In which, PoC people have learned to navigate the world very carefully with a hyper-focus on what will potentially bring them harm/scrutiny/ostracism especially in white dominant spaces.

That extends to when we have down time while reading or partaking in media smfh.

I'm sure you've had to learn the same as a trans person navigating cis spaces and it's the same with any marginalization! If you are disabled you have an awareness of able bodied people and their expectations, same with being fat amongst skinny people, etc.

The more marginalizations you have, the louder the rules of social hierarchies become. Which is why many marginalized ppl stick close to those who 'get it' in their social groups as an act of safety in numbers. (Many of us attempt to have strong family connection/harmony because of this)

So referring to your comment about being trans is not the same thing at all as POC experiences with fic, it is when you are a Black or PoC trans person! My angel face @/buttdumplin has spoken a lot about that as a Mexican transman reading fics by cis people!

(Please for the love of God no one come to me explaining how marginalized they are so they shouldn't be lumped in with the white ppl PoC are cognizant of, I will check myself into a psych ward)

So what does that gotta do with reading fics?

No matter what anyone thinks, it is damn near impossible to not frame your writing from the perspective of your lived experiences. It's why even when I try my hardest to make my characters not sound Black, they will always read that way because I have been Black all of my life!

And it doesn't just happen with race, go on tiktok and search male authors writing women. (or here's another article lmao)

Also ask a Southerner how they know someone has never been to the South and don't know shit about our accents when they write Graves. There are linguistic tells that flag off and why we flame actors who pick up southern accents for their roles.

(They chew on that terrible goddamn Appalachian or Louisiana Accent not realizing Southern accents come in many fonts.)

So when I read a fic about Kyle Garrick from a non black person, I can tell the writer is non black by linguistic implications, the things they emphasize about him and what they don't. It doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy reading fics from non black people, I can just tell!

And sometimes that means I, and other PoC's associate the Reader as a white OC while reading fics.

For example, all black people are not monolithic because of our cultural and regional experiences, but many of us share common threads. That's usually family involvement, colloquialisms, that stupid fucking cookie tin our elders put sewing supplies in...

Other non Black PoC people might share similar cultural practices, so when I'm reading fics from say a latina, I will cock my head and go wait.... are you...? And surely enough, they are a person of color.

But even while reading from a non black PoC, I have to tread carefully because anti black sentiment exists in many cultures, which is why you'll hear me say Black and PoC/Non black people interchangeably.

It’s how the conversation of Implicit bias comes up, because unknowingly non white characters can sometimes be written with a hyper focus that makes them seem inhumanly one characteristic or with little to no background while the other characters are fully fleshed out.

like the character of color is just a stand in to move the plot around white characters forward.

So all that to say, without sometimes meaning to white writers will always sound off to me in a way that my brain can pick up on in the most minuscule ways because my awareness of my blackness/otherness has been drilled in from birth and reinforced by social norms.

I can even tell immediately if a white person has been around only white spaces their whole life with the jokes they tell lol.

In the grand scheme of things the race of the writer is most important to me when something jarring comes up that slaps me away from the experience, it explains so much of the disconnect.

Every marginalized person has a threshold for what they can ignore as a ‘trigger’ before they’re ejected from reader inserts, mine is usually the association with racial historical happenings, certain gender dynamics, etc.

It's why I mention crying like a little bitch when I read my friend Jess's (Kyletogaz) TF 141 Hair series, Dragon’s (Dragonnarative-writes) Transferrable Skills, and even Xavi's (Buttdumplin) Piercing fic.

Reading those fics felt like safety and familiarity. It was a moment where I realized I could drop the mental load I had no idea I was carrying, where I was trying to prepare myself for potential emotional damage and just READ.

It's also why as a Black person who fucks with kink and sex work it's been so touch and go when navigating dark fics/kink fics/fics about Sex workers.

Because there are different rules of engagement non white kinksters have to be aware of and that leads to a point on the collective vs. Individual experience as a PoC in kink, that I’ll eventually make a post about at some point or another. Maybe…

So yeah I’m tired of yapping. I hope this long shit was enough of an explanation!! Thanks to my friends Kiko, Jules, Xavi and Folded for yapping with me so I could articulate this better!!

#asks #calvary talks fandom shit #please I beg don't send me more asks on this #my poor brain needs to focus on some more school shit

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hwanghyunjinenthusiast · 13 days ago

Text

[22:30]

AN: I am not immune to slutty Seokmin. Tagging thee Seokmin lover @onlyseokmins because, it turns out, I was actually serious about that drabble lmao. This is somewhat of a belated Halloween drabble.

General tags and warnings: Lee Seokmin x Fem! Reader, established relationship, Reader is shorter than Seokmin, somewhat public sex, oral sex (m. receiving), slight throatfucking (f. receiving), bits of praise, some hair pulling (f. receiving) and Reader cries at points.

I will block you if you are a minor and/or have no easily visible indication of your age on your blog if you interact with me in any way.

Mingyu's closet is more spacious than you thought it would. Not that the breathing room is much help since you're determined to shove your tongue down Seokmin's throat until the two of you are forced to separate for air.

You're not sure whether it's the string of saliva that still connects the two of you or the weighted gaze he's levelling at you that cause your clit buzz to life and your pussy feel suddenly, violently, empty. Maybe it's the nudge you can feel against your stomach. Maybe it's all of the above.

"Missed you," he breathes and god, it takes everything in you not to just shove him onto Mingyu's messy floor and ride him until you're both a tangled mess of limbs, sweat and cum. However, you're a woman on a mission.

"Missed you too, Minnie," you coo into his jaw, peppering it with kisses and dragging your eager hand down his firm body. Desire pooling in the pit of your gut when you touch his bare stomach, biting back a grin at the way he shudders underneath your fingertips and the way his muscles jump with every brush and press.

Halloween snuck up on the two of you. Between drowning in university assignments and your respective jobs, it's a miracle the two of you even found time to attend Mingyu's party. A miracle you're eternally grateful for because it gave you your boyfriend in the sluttiest (and admittedly, laziest) devil costume you've ever seen.

The irony is not lost on you.

The little, red horns on his head are cute but, the remainder of his costume leaves his enormous arms and tempting stomach free for you to salivate over. That's not even to mention his unnecessarily tight, black pants that hug his thighs and ass in a way that makes you feel a little stupid. The plastic pitchfork he brought with him is somewhere forgotten in Mingyu's massive home.

"You look so pretty," he whines and, frankly, you think he's being a little unfair but, you kiss him in a significantly sweeter way than moments ago for the compliment all the same. You'd opted for a lazy angel costume. Scrapping the look together from white articles of clothing that had been gathering dust in the back of your closet and a pair of too old angel wings that Jeonghan was more than happy to do away with. It's nothing spectacular but, you know you could wear a shirt you've had since high-school and Seokmin would still think you're the most beautiful woman on the planet.

A thought that reminds you of the mission you're on.

The disappointed noise that builds from the depths of his (wonderfully broad) chest when you pull away from his mouth almost makes you laugh. He watches you curiously until you eventually settle on your knees and the blush that floods his handsome face makes you just want to devour him where he stands. Which, in a way, you intend to.

"You don't have to–" you cut off his sweet but, predictable rambling by pressing your mouth to the outline of his cock and just barely pushing down a smirk when he groans and shudders violently against the wall.

"I want to," you respond simply because, well, you do. Sweet is always the word that jumps to your mind when you think of your boyfriend, with considerate being a very close second. However, sometimes, it can be to a fault. You think you can count on both hands the number of times he's let you suck him off in the months the two of you have been together. Seokmin is a giver. It's simply who he is. But sometimes, sometimes you wish he'd just take.

Or, to be more precise, let you take what you want from him. Sometimes a woman just wants to choke on her very hot, devil costume clad boyfriend's huge cock.

Any further protests die on his tongue when you reach to unbutton his pants and drag his zipper down in record time. His eyes burn you from the inside out, watching the entire time while you pull his pants and boxers down his firm thighs. His cock bobbing free, barely an inch away from your face.

Even though you've seen it thousands of times, it never fails you to leave you a little breathless and at a loss for words. You remember getting into a debate with Soonyoung and Seungkwan about whether or not dicks can be pretty and, you still hold firm that they'd change their mind if they ever saw Seokmin's.

Not only do you love feeling and tasting him but, the way he reacts to every, minute movement makes you a little delirious from the power of it all. Case in point, the choked out whimper that leaves his thoroughly kissed mouth when you attempt to wrap a hand around him. He's too thick for you to do it fully but, the tightness of your fist is enough to feel him twitching in your hand.

Always so responsive.

You let unadulterated desire lead you. Licking along the underside of his cock, savouring the taste of him on your tongue while your hand gradually starts to pump him. The urge to shut your eyes is strong but, the urge to watch the way he grows increasingly dishevelled is even stronger.

His hips jolt forward when you mouth at his already leaky tip. This time, you allow yourself a grin. Lapping up as much of his pre-cum as he readily offers and pumping him just the slightest bit faster. Arousal leaves your panties sticky and your walls fluttering but, that can wait for the time being.

His hands ball into fists at his sides when you start to take him into your mouth. His entire body tenses and shakes as he watches you take as much of him as you can, relaxing your jaw and allowing him to kiss the back of your throat. Your hand continues to stroke the rest of him that you can't fit in your mouth as you start to move.

You learned the hard way that it's better to build your pace so, you start slow. Moaning around him as more of his pre-cum leaks out of him and coats your tongue. The weight of his cock and the taste of him causes your mind to grow increasingly hazy, lidded eyes trying their best to keep watching the way his face twists in pleasure and his dark locks stick to his sweaty forehead. Seokmin always looks beautiful to you but, he looks otherworldly like this.

When you first gag around him, his hips sharply thrust into your mouth, chasing the feeling before he pulls back and babbles out apologies. You can only hope the look you shoot him is enough to let him know it's okay, you're okay before you focus your attention back on increasing your speed and tightening your grip around him.

"You–You're so good," he chokes out, one of his massive hands finding its way to your hair, "Your mouth is so fucking good," he groans when you lick at a prominent vein. His praise only pushes your further, harder, testing your limits a little and taking down a little more of him than before. Tears well in your eyes and your throat burns a little but, it's so worth to feel the way his pulses in your mouth and his fingers unknowingly weave themselves into your hair.

"I'm–I'm close," he heaves, blown-out, wet eyes seeking out your own as he shallowly thrusts into your mouth and braces himself against the wall. His grip on your hair is gentle, all things considered, but the slight sting still heats your blood and adds to the growing mess between your thighs.

The knowledge that he's close motivates you even further, the growing ache in your jaw be damned. You're thankful for the obscenely loud music blasting outside the closet door because otherwise you're sure someone would have heard the sounds of you gagging on Seokmin's cock by now, made even more obvious by your increase in speed. Snaking your hand from his throbbing length, you ensure your eyes are open to watch the way tremors shake his body when you fondle his full balls in your hand.

For all his gentle tendencies, Seokmin is prone to losing himself when he cums. This time being no different. The thrust he gives you is brutal, prompting more tears to well in your eyes as his fingers grip your hair harshly. His cock impossibly deep while he shoots rope after rope of cum into you, his broken moans echoing all around the two of you.

You try your best to swallow every drop, a few dribbling past your swollen lips and joining the mess of spit you're sure is covering your chin. Ever the gentleman, Seokmin eases out of your mouth gently and all but, sags against the closet wall. Your respective laboured breathing all that fills the space for a moment.

Your throat hurts and you can tell your jaw is going to have an ache in it tomorrow but, it was all beyond worth it. Watching the way he looks absolutely shell-shocked right now does amazing things for your ego.

"You're crazy," is the first thing he says between breaths and a startled laugh leaves your lips.

Yeah, maybe but, you don't think you can be blamed for that when he looked so sinful in his costume (well, calling it a costume is generous but, still).

Reblogs are greatly appreciated.

Do not repost, edit, copy and/or translate my work. I do not give you my permission to do so, nor will you ever receive it.

Seventeen Masterlist | Ko-Fi

#dk x reader smut #seventeen x reader smut #lee seokmin x reader smut #seokmin x reader smut #dk smut #seventeen smut #lee seokmin smut #seokmin smut

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