#do you want the truth or something beautiful ; ( drabbles )

[myownwholewildworld]

gif by @\watchbroken

“you ain’t falling asleep again” — an oldman!joel miller drabble

main masterlist | ao3 pairing: oldman!jackson!joel miller x f!reader summary: joel takes viagra and can't keep it down. he decides you can help. and the glasses stay on. a/n: please everyone say, THANK YOU SYD @syd-djarin !! i wouldn’t have written this if it wasn’t for you! tysm for allowing me to be shamelessly feral and for cheering me on, you know i love ya <3 anyways, hope you guys like this drabble, i am ovulating. heed the warnings and enjoyyyy xx tags/warnings: 18+, mdni. pwp. filthy smut. the old man’s glasses stay on. breeding kink. consensual somno. use of viagra. brief reference to a limp dick situation cause it’s hot. period sex and descriptions of period blood. joel goes down to town on you (f!oral), so vampire!joel if you wish cause he loves it. fingering. unprotected piv. creampie. age gap, no age gap, your choice. no description of reader other than afab. unedited, soz, i'm horny and i wanted this out asap. w/c: ~1.8k

Joel resented you. Really did.

You were sprawled across his bedsheets, legs splayed without a worry in the world. And here he was, on the rocking chair facing the bed in his Jackson home, watching you enjoy your beauty sleep, while his cock beat hard on his calloused hand.

He’d definitely overdone it with the viagra. At the tender age of sixty-one, Joel sometimes needed a bit of help to get him going. The first time he’d remained limp on your hand, despite your best efforts, had really stuck with him. Truth be told, that hadn’t stopped you from sucking him off, giggling and drooling all over his dick. But still, it embarrassed him. So, when Joel had the chance to trade for some pills, he did.

And now he had to deal with the consequences of his actions. He’d been railing you all night till the first lights glittered in his room—your beautiful body bouncing on his cock while the light reflected off the sweaty drops kissing your skin. But unlike him, you were spent and in much need of some rest.

Joel, on the other hand, had not been able to go back to sleep. As soon as he heard your soft, cute snores, his veiny cock had hardened again. Unconsciously his eyes darted to the sweet nook between your thighs. He really had the best view from here, eagerly watching his spent dripping down your slick slit.

The chair rocked under him, his big hand palming the growing erection, his eyes roving over every delicious curve of your body. And then something caught his eye—the cum leaking from your pussy was no longer white, but a shade of pink.

Joel sat on the verge of the rocking chair, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose to have a better look. No, his old man’s sight wasn’t betraying him—you really were bleeding.

His cock had a mind of its own, reacting to the call of nature in the most primal way. Joel tugged at his shaft, squeezing himself tight while a pearl of precum adorned his flushed cockhead. Your period couldn’t have come at a better time. Joel thoroughly enjoyed himself when that time of the month arrived—a reminder of how breedable you were.

Joel stood up, throbbing cock on hand and his cracking knees betraying his moves. He couldn’t just stay put any longer—surely, you’d understand that he was compelled to do this. That he just couldn’t stop himself, not when you were freely bleeding on his white bedsheets.

You stirred a bit when the wooden floor creaked beneath his weight, but your eyes stayed shut. Joel tiptoed to the foot of the bed and carefully sat on the mattress. Up close, he inspected your cunt with diligence. Your pussy was still gushing out his pinkish cum, but he needed to see red.

Bunching the bedsheets on his fist, Joel swiped your seam clean, his thumb stroking your entrance through the fabric to ensure no remnants were left behind. Once he was satisfied, he laid on his tummy and moved your legs, so the back of your knees rested on his shoulders. Now he could really see your slick cunt up close.

Joel spread your pussy lips, coaxing them apart to stretch your crying hole. A few seconds later, he was gifted with a glob of blood. He thumbed your clit softly, coaching your cunt to leak some more period blood for him, and you quietly squirmed. Another red bubble dripped down your fold, smearing your sweet puffy lips, staining his sheets. His eyes locked in on your beating bud, and he just knew what he had to do.

Hypnotised by the sensuality of it all, Joel leaned in and kissed your begging clit. The fingers that were stretching your lips open for him travelled down your glistening seam until they reached your bloodied opening. Without even doubting himself, Joel shoved his middle and ring ringers in your wet warmth, the squelching of your blood almost making him feel dizzy with lust.

Joel suckled on your clit, your thighs trembling against his ears, and then his mouth dropped. He removed his fingers from your tight hole and coated the skin of your inner thigh with your own blood while his tongue dived in.

Your pussy tasted divine. Metallic, fertile, slightly bitter. His favourite flavour, that was for sure. When Joel lapped your whole seam, from your seeping entrance, through your clit, to your mound, he felt your hand fisting his salt-and-pepper curls.

“Joel… What are you…” you trailed off sleepily, moaning as your back arched off the mattress.

Joel looked up at you, smirking like the devil he was.

“Just let me have this,” he almost implored, pecking the bloody fingerprints he’d left behind on your inner thigh.

“Are you… are you still hard?” you managed to croak out, eyes fluttering shut when Joel latched on your clit again.

“Mhm,” he mumbled, mouth full of you.

Joel alternated between fingering you and prodding your hole with the tip of his tongue, drunk with your iron-like tang, thumb pressing tight circles on your clit. And he truly didn’t stop until your legs were shaking uncontrollably around him and you were mewling your pleasure, your wails echoing in his bedroom.

With a bit more of encouragement, you finally came in his mouth. Joel didn’t hesitate to drink everything your cunt oozed out—the period blood mixing with your cream was his personal nectar. His favourite breakfast. He shamelessly licked your folds and hole clean, revelling in how your entrance quivered around the tip of his tongue when he poked at it.

Your mind was still hazy with the ghost memory of your wet dream, but Joel eating your bloody pussy out definitely had you delirious. This old man of yours knew no shame, no hard limits. And you loved him for it.

When Joel emerged from between your thighs, you gasped, and your pussy gushed. His beard was covered in your period blood, even his cheeks were smudged. And Joel just… looked so chuffed about it all, it made you smile back at him.

You glanced down at his lap when he knelt between your legs, his broad hands resting on your knees to part your thighs for him. His stiff cock greeted you, swaying and throbbing. He was about to fucking explode, so red and swollen, leaking precum everywhere—you truly feared for his wellbeing.

“Fuck, Joel…” You bit down your plump bottom lip, eyes focused on his dick. “How many pills did you take?”

“Two. I wasn’t sure if one was enough, needed to make sure I could fuck you all night long,” he admitted, tapping your clit a few times with his warm, tacky cockhead. “And then you fucking bail on me, falling asleep and leaving me hanging.”

Before you could defend yourself, Joel buried himself in you down to the fucking hilt in one smooth thrust. You braced yourself and grabbed at his forearms, back arched so much that your nipples were kissing his naked chest.

Without exchanging another word, Joel began railing you hard, his throbbing cock growing inside you, impossibly so. He filled your entire pussy, the tip of his dick kissing your cervix every time he hammered in. No thoughts formed in your brain, you could only moan and sob and scream his name so everyone in Jackson would know you were getting your guts fucked.

Joel imposed a punishing pace, anchoring his hands to the headboard while his hips slammed against yours, the clapping of skin on skin competing with your loud groans. His mushroom head dragged alongside your anterior wall every time he ploughed you, rubbing that precise spongey spot inside you that made your pussy hug him tighter.

You just managed to open your eyes and glance up at him. He was gorgeous, the most handsome man you’d ever had the pleasure to meet. And he was all yours.

With every plunge, his old man’s glasses slipped further down the bridge of his aquiline nose, until they caught on the tip of his nose. The glass was all foggy now, and you were almost sure Joel couldn’t see shit right now. The picture made you smirk, but his incessant shoves forced your mouth to shape a perfect O before you began moaning his full name again.

Joel was fucking you so hard into the mattress, the precarious balance of his glasses gave way, and the frames fell onto your chest. Without thinking, you snatched them to put them on back on his nose but then you thought better of it. Instead, you put them on and looked up at him with a sly grin—it was all blurry, but could still make out his face and feral eyes.

“Fucking beautiful,” he husked out.

You felt the pulse emitted by his girthy cock, and the threat of his orgasm called to yours. When the first ropes hit your cervix, you came with him, your pussy milking him dry of every single drop he fed you. Joel filled you up to the brim with his cum and not satisfied with it, he fucked his spent into you for a couple of minutes while your used cunt spasmed around him.

You were truly spent, laboriously breathing, your heart racing wild in your chest. Joel was heaving too, and his greying brows furrowed when his cock left your entrails.

You couldn’t help but look down—you had left pink creamy rings on his hard cock, a mixture of your juices, his cum and your period blood. And when you peeked over at your pussy, you sighed. Yes, your pussy was smeared red, your inner thighs too, and you were still bleeding onto his sheets.

You should have felt slightly embarrassed, but knowing how much Joel enjoyed you on your period, well... there was literally nothing to be shy about. As a matter of fact, you had been waiting for this time of the month to come, because you just knew that Joel would be feral about you.

Letting your head fall back for a breather, you felt Joel pet your overstimulated clit. You whimpered a little, your nerve endings flaring alive, almost painfully, and your brows bunching together in concentration.

You managed to open your eyes again, and then you realised. He was still hard. Very much so.

“You ain’t falling asleep again,” he groaned, pointing an accusatory bloody finger at you. “‘M not done with you yet, sweetheart.”

He was right. Joel didn’t let you.

[baby-yongbok]

"Let Me Make You a Mommy"

SKZ Maknae Line x Reader

⤷ Smut | drabbles/hard thoughts

⤷ WC - 1.7k [total]

⤷ CW - breeding kink, rough sex, creampie, degradation, praise, teasing, unprotected sex, 

⤷ A/N: It's Maknae Line Time! ... Somehow Seungmin and Innie's ended up being the longest ... anyway, I hope you enjoy♡

Hyung Line | ⋆｡‧˚ʚ Masterlist ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Han

He's a mess above you, hair damp with sweat, mouth parted, hands gripping the backs of your knees to keep you spread open for him. The headboard slams against the wall with every thrust, the bed creaking like it’s begging for mercy. But he doesn't slow down. He can’t even fathom the thought of stopping. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—” he groans, voice cracking as he slams in deep again. “You feel so good, baby. So tight. So wet—shit, I’m gonna lose my mind.”

You’re already half-gone, body rocking with every thrust, barely able to keep your eyes open with how hard he’s taking you. Han fucks you like he’s made for it and you take it like it’s all you know how to do. It’s carnal how he presses you open, fucking a whimper out of your throat every time his hips slam home, like he’s trying to brand you from the inside out—like he won’t stop until your cunt forgets anyone who isn’t him.

He leans down suddenly, forearms bracketing your head, hips still pounding into you without pause. His forehead rests against yours and he moans—loud—like your body’s dragging the truth out of him.

Then he says it.

“Let me make you a mommy.”

Your whole body locks up. His doesn’t. He slams into you harder.

“You want that?” he pants, words slurred and frantic. “Want me to fill you up? Fuck a baby into you?”

“Ji—”

“Bet you’d look so good,” he growls, eyes blown wide, totally wrecked. “Walking around full. Round. Dripping with me.”

You whimper, and that sound breaks him—he starts babbling, so close, completely unhinged.

“Wanna see you take it. All of it. Wanna come so deep you leak for hours. Wanna ruin you—fuck, wanna keep you like this.”

He kisses you sloppily—teeth, tongue, need—and then pulls back just enough to watch your face.

“Gonna give it to you, okay?” he gasps. “Gonna come inside you like you were made for it.”

One more thrust. One more shattered moan.

And then he’s spilling into you—loud, twitching, clutching you like he needs to anchor himself to survive it.

He doesn���t stop moving, just slower now, grinding into you like he wants to make sure every drop stays.

“Shit,” he breathes, blinking hard, chest heaving. “I meant that. Every word.”

And you know he did—because Jisung never says what he doesn’t mean. Especially not when he’s this gone.

Felix

He moans when you pull him in deeper—legs wrapped around his waist, nails scraping down his back. His body is flushed and slick with sweat, golden skin glowing in the dim light as he thrusts into you, slow at first, savoring the drag.

“You feel so good,” he whispers, voice low, eyes locked on yours. “So fucking perfect for me.”

You tighten around him and his breath catches, hips faltering just a bit.

“You’re everything,” he says, like a prayer. “Don’t wanna be anywhere else.”

His hands cradle your face as he fucks you, tender and steady, like he can’t believe he gets to have you like this.

But then your fingers slide into his hair—tug just a little—and the sound he makes isn’t soft. It’s raw. And suddenly his pace changes. Faster. Deeper. More desperate.

“I want—” he gasps, cutting himself off with a groan. “I want something.”

“Tell me.”

He hesitates. Thrusts hard once, and again, and then—

“Let me make you a mommy.”

The words come out breathless. Shaky. Like he’s been holding them in.

You blink up at him, stunned, and his face breaks into this wrecked, needy expression.

“I think about it,” he pants, fucking you harder now, voice dropping into something rough and gritty, close to a growl. “Think about coming inside you. Filling you up. Watching you swell with me.”

You moan—loud—and his grip tightens.

“You’d be so beautiful,” he says, voice cracking. “You already are. But like that? Mine?”

His rhythm starts to lose its smoothness—hips snapping with less control, mouth parted, breath caught on every thrust.

“I’ll be good,” he whimpers, forehead falling to your shoulder. “I’ll take care of you. Everything. Just let me do this. Let me give you something.”

He comes with a cry muffled against your skin—body trembling, cock buried deep as he spills into you. He doesn’t move for a while, just stays pressed against you, breathing hard, whispering soft nothings into your shoulder.

And then, when he finally pulls back to look at you—eyes dark, voice barely audible—

“I want all of you. Always have.”

Seungmin 

“Look at you,” Seungmin mutters, voice like hot iron cutting through the haze as he drags his cock slow and deep. “Already cockdumb and I’ve barely even started.”

Your hands are fisting the sheets. Back arched. Lips parted as he keeps you there—legs wide, hips tilted just how he wants them. The way he fucks you is deliberate. Precise. Like every thrust has a goal.

You try to say his name, but all that comes out is a broken whimper.

He leans down until his forehead is brushing yours, hips still rolling in maddening rhythm. “So good for me,” he breathes. “Take me so well. Always do.”

And then he goes still. Deep inside you. Not moving.

His hand curls under your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his gaze.

“You want everything from me, don’t you?” he says, voice low and sharp. “You want me to fuck you full. Fill you up until it sticks.”

You can barely breathe.

His thumb brushes your bottom lip as his cock twitches inside you.

“Let me make you a mommy.”

You gasp. The way he says it—like he’s offering a crown and daring you not to kneel for it.

“I bet you think about it,” he whispers. “I know you do, I do too, all the time. Watching you swell with me. With us.”

Your body clenches around him involuntarily.

He groans, low in his throat—and then it all shifts into something heavier. What comes next is pure fire behind the eyes.

“Say it back.”

You blink, breath shuddering.

His voice drops. “You heard me. Say it. Say you want me to make you a mommy.”

“Seungmin—”

“Uh-uh” He thrusts once, sharp and deep, and you cry out. That was a warning. “Say it.”

You’re shaking, heart pounding, every nerve ending lit up like a live wire—and he’s watching all of it, waiting. Not letting you look away.

“Say it, baby,” he murmurs, voice dangerously soft. “Or I’ll stop right now.”

You don’t even think.

“Make me a mommy.”

He goes still again. Eyes dark. Breathing hard.

“Again,” he rasps.

“Please, Seungmin—make me a mommy.”

And then he’s gone. All restraint snaps as he drives into you with brutal precision, fucking you like he’s trying to etch himself into your DNA.

“Good girl,” he grits. “So fucking good for me.”

You can’t think. You’re crying his name, legs shaking, nails digging into his shoulders as he fills you deep, deep, deeper, like he’s trying to give you every drop he has.

And when he comes—buried inside, panting against your skin—he says it again, this time like a promise:

“We’ll make it real. Just say when.”

Jeongin

You’re testing him—and you both know it.

Feet in his lap, short skirt riding up your thighs, head tilted like you’re innocent. But your smirk says otherwise.

“I don’t know if you could handle me,” you tease, swirling your wine glass, legs slowly parting as he watches, sharp-eyed and far too quiet.

Jeongin doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t bite back. He just shifts—broad shoulders rolling, a slow smirk rising like a storm behind his eyes.

“I don’t want to handle you,” he says low, fingers dragging up your shin. “I want to ruin you.”

You blink. The air thickens.

He sets your glass aside, pushes your legs open with a firm hand and leans in, lips brushing your ear as he murmurs, “I know that’s what you really want too, isn’t it?”

He moves you, you barely register it until your hips are in the air, ass up for him and he pries your legs apart. You moan, gripping the couch cushions like they’ll save you.

“You want it?” he growls, fingers digging into your waist like he’s deciding how rough he wants to get. “You want me to fuck you stupid?”

You look back at him, just barely—biting back a smile, biting back a moan. “You’ve been talking a lot, Jeongin,” you pant. “Still waiting for you to actually do it.”

That’s all it takes.

His eyes go dark, pupils blown, and he’s on you before you can blink. 

He flips up your skirt and you yelp when his hand comes down in a harsh slap that makes you jolt. You feel him moving, you can hear the clinking of his belt then the drag of his zipper.

“You keep teasing like you’re not desperate for this,” he says, cock pressing right at your entrance, thick and pulsing. “But I can feel how ready you are. All wet, waiting for me to fill you up.”

“Jeongin—”

“You want it?” he growls. “You want me to breed you?” He slips in easily, groaning at just how ready you are to be torn apart.

You whimper—pathetic and honest.

One hand snaps to your throat, wrapping his fingers around and dragging you up against him, your back to his chest and the breath knocked out of you as he buries himself. 

“Still waiting?” he sneers against your jaw. “You’ve got a smart mouth for someone already shaking.”

Your previous bratitude fades the second he thrusts, hard and slow—obscene.

“You’re gonna be sorry you said that,” he whispers, tightening his grip just enough to make your pulse stutter. “Or is this what you wanted?” You whimper.

He’s fucking you like a threat. Every drag of his hips a punishment—every thrust precise, overwhelming, relentless. His hand slips between your legs, thumb circling your clit like he knows just how to end you. And he does—tears slipping from your eyes as your body tightens around him.

“Let me make you a mommy.”

Your pulse stutters.

His mouth finds your throat. He kisses slow—possessive.

“You’re gonna take it,” he hisses, “And you’re not gonna spill a fucking drop.”

You don’t answer—you can’t. But the way your hips buck and your fingers claw at his forearms says enough. He spills into you with a guttural curse, eyes locked on yours like he’s never letting you go.

And he won’t. Not now. Not when you’re his.

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[starboygojo]

IN HIS CASTLE, I WHITER.

sukuna x concubine reader

slow burn ; drabble ; angst with a bit of comfort ; concubine reader ; smut ; everything is consensual.

author note: idk this was a random thought but ugh i love the trope of concubine reader x sukuna 💔 leave a like or comment if you enjoyed reading ^^

You were not the first woman to be brought to Ryomen Sukuna’s palace, but you are the only one who lasted. Originally gifted to him as a peace offering from a broken clan, you were meant to be a disposable concubine. Something to toy with.

But you didn’t flinch. You met the King of Curses with steady eyes and silence. Intrigued, Sukuna kept you close. At first, for amusement. Then, for convenience. And finally because he didn’t want anyone else to have you.

He makes you his official consort, a title just shy of wife. The others in his harem fade into the background. You’re the only one he calls for. The only one who dares speak back. But even with all his power and obsession, he never says he loves you.

No, you were not his wife. Everyday you had to remind yourself that you were just a mere concubine. You were not his wife.

But he summoned you more than anyone else. He called you to his private chambers, where no one else was allowed.

Sometimes he took you rough and fast like it meant nothing. Other times, he touched you like you’d break under him, his lips brushing your throat with something that almost felt like restraint. But afterward, he always left.

No words. No warmth. No belonging. You were not his, and you hated how your body still craved him.

You begin to wilt.

The castle is beautiful but lifeless. Cold halls. Locked doors. Endless winter outside. You’re dressed in gold, given jewels, kissed when he wants to but never chosen with his heart.

Your mind begins to fracture in the quiet. You miss the sun. His pride will be the death of you.

You are one of the only living thing in his castle. No birds. No flowers. No warmth. Sukuna keeps you close like a pet, yet never lets you bloom.

Because no flower survives long in his garden. And he likes them best when they wilt.

You and Sukuna fall into a rhythm. Arguments that end in heavy silence, touches that linger longer than they should, nights he stays longer in your bed than intended.

One night, after a rare moment of softness, he almost tells you the truth. That you matter. That he doesn’t want to lose you. But his pride chokes him. Instead, he leaves you shivering in silk sheets with nothing but silence.

You fall ill wether it’s real or spiritual, no one can say. The castle drains you. And still, Sukuna won’t name what he feels.

His servants begin whispering that the King has cursed himself with pride. That the woman in white robes is dying of unspoken love. And then the castle begins to rot from the inside.

1. He calls you after battle, blood still on his hands. You expect his usual cruelty. Instead, he kneels between your thighs and worships you like he’s been starving. His voice is hoarse when he murmurs, “Only you taste like this.”

But when you ask what that means, he pulls away, cold again. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

2. Another concubine tries to seduce him. He brushes her off. But that night, Sukuna comes to you furious, possessive, desperate to remind you who he chooses. A man full of pride and mind full of knowledge melts against your knowing touch. Sukuna wouldn’t dare do something without the go ahead from you.

You look up with your eyes that gleam at him to continue. And continue he did.

“Do you think I’d touch anyone else like this?” he growls, dragging your hips to the edge of the bed. “This body is mine.”

3. You try to leave—quietly, without a goodbye. You’re halfway down the palace steps when he appears. “You don’t get to walk away.”

“Then say it,” you whisper. “Say you want me.”

He grabs your chin, forces your gaze up. His eyes burn.

“I need you. Isn’t that enough?”

You shake your head. He breaks.

And when he kisses you, it’s not a demand. It’s a confession his mouth is too proud to speak.

Sukuna begins to linger after. Not every time. But enough for you to hope.

He touches your hair while you sleep. He kills a man for looking at you too long. He builds you a private garden in the middle of a castle that’s never known life.

But still he won’t say the words. Won’t call you “mine��� where others can hear. Won’t admit that your absence guts him.

And as your humanity wilts, Sukuna begins to feel the ache of what he’s losing but love might not be enough to undo the rot. Your heart aches for him, you slowly begin to question. Can the man who destroyed your spirit before learning your heart ever love you back?

4. Ryomen Sukuna is not fond of asking for forgiveness. No empathy should ever linger in his head. Although one particular argument between you two finally made something in him change. The silent treatment was killing him.

His hands tremble. You’ve never seen him like this. Not when he’s bleeding. Not when he’s furious.

“I love you,” he says again, voice cracked and low, as if he still can’t believe the words live in his throat. You reach for his face, your fingertips brushing the blood on his cheek.

“Then stay,” you whisper. “Stay with me. No more leaving.”

He swears under his breath, breath hitching as he leans in. The kiss he gives you is nothing like the ones before there’s no hunger, no cruelty. Just ache. His lips part over yours slowly, trembling with restraint, like if he takes you too fast, you’ll break.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he murmurs against your mouth. “Tell me if I hurt you. Please.”

Your heart stutters. Sukuna—the King of Curses—is asking. Begging for permission.

You nod, whispering, “Touch me.”

And gods, he does.

He undresses you carefully, reverently, pushing aside silk and lace as if he’s peeling back petals. His calloused fingers skim every inch of your skin like he’s memorizing it just in case.

“You’re so soft,” he breathes, his voice thick with need. “So fucking perfect. How did I not see it sooner?”

When his mouth moves down your neck, over your chest, you feel his breath stutter.

He lingers. He kisses your ribs. Your stomach. Then he spreads your thighs slowly, like he’s opening a gift he thinks he doesn’t deserve.

“You always taste like honey,” he murmurs, settling between your legs.

And then he lowers his head. His mouth on you is worship.

His tongue moves slowly, deliberately, his eyes locked on yours the whole time. One hand holds your thigh down while the other slides into your trembling fingers you’re holding hands as he eats you out like it’s his religion.

“Let me hear you,” he rasps. “Don’t hold back. Let me know I’m still making you feel good.”

You whimper. He groans.

He moans into you when you arch your hips, dragging his tongue deeper, flicking it in circles that drive you wild. He’s murmuring against your skin things like

“I should’ve done this every night…”

“No one else gets to hear you like this…”

“I’ll never let you go again…”

When your orgasm hits, it’s not sharpit’s devastating. Your body clenches, your chest arches, and you cry out his name, tears slipping down your cheeks as the wave crashes through you.

Sukuna kisses his way back up, tasting you on his lips, his breath heavy.

“I need to be inside you,” he growls, voice ragged. “Now. Please.”

He sinks into you slowly. Too slowly. Like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he moves too fast. Your walls flutter around him and he groans, burying his face in your neck.

“You fit me too fucking well. Like you were made for me.”

And when he moves, it’s gentle, rhythmic, hips rolling into you in a way that feels like he’s trying to imprint his soul onto yours. His hand slides between your bodies, thumb circling your clit again, and your second orgasm builds with the pressure of all those unspoken years.

You cry into his shoulder. He whispers into your mouth

“Don’t go. Please, don’t leave me.”

“I love you—I’ll say it a thousand fucking times. Just don’t go.”

You come with a sob, clinging to him like you’re anchoring him in this world. He follows seconds later, releasing inside you with a shudder, biting down on your shoulder as his body locks with yours.

Afterward, he doesn’t move. He just holds you, one hand stroking your hair while the other stays tangled in your fingers.

“Stay,” he whispers again. “You’re mine. You’ve always been mine.”

And this time… maybe, you do. For now you are his wife.

[ggukivrse]

henna kisses | jjk

summary. in which you're stuck waiting for your henna to dry, and jungkook takes full advantage to pepper you with kisses

pairing: jeon jungkook x reader

word count: 0.6k

genre/warnings: established relationship au, FLUFF, they’re just very much in love it’s sick

notes: first of all, TYSM FOR 500 FOLLOWERS OMG :0 i literally started this acc 3 weeks ago so this is wild to me, but genuinely, thank you so so much ☹️ i wrote this drabble as a baby army so it’s very self indulgent loll, but some of you wanted to read it when i mentioned it here, so here it is :> likes, comments, reblogs, asks & feedback are very appreciated! enjoy reading <33

⌗ masterlist. ⌗ taglist. ⌗ feedback

Your hands are frozen in mid-air, fingers spread, palms facing the ceiling like you're offering up something delicate to the universe. The henna glistens wetly against your skin, intricate patterns looping and curling over your fingers and wrists.

You can't move. You can't touch anything. You can't even scratch the itch teasing the inside of your elbow. And Jungkook knows it.

He's sitting cross-legged in front of you, chin resting on one hand. He looks far too pleased with himself, far too comfortable.

"You know," you say, careful not to shift too much, "this is your fault."

"My fault?" he echoes, all fake innocence, the corners of his mouth twitching. "You're the one who wanted henna."

"You're the one who did the henna," you argue, looking down at the designs blooming over your skin. Tiny flowers, delicate vines, little stars tucked into the spaces between your knuckles. "And you made it so pretty. I didn't know you could even draw like this."

He beams, the kind of smile that makes your stomach flip even though you're firmly planted on the couch. "I had good inspiration."

You roll your eyes, but your cheeks are heating up. You can't even hide it; your hands are too occupied to pull a pillow over your face or smack him playfully like you usually would.

And Jungkook knows. He scoots closer, the couch cushions dipping under his weight. You narrow your eyes at him.

"Kook," you warn. "Don't you dare."

He grins, devilish, and before you can do anything, he's leaning in, brushing the tip of his nose against yours, feather-light. You squeak, trying to recoil, but you can't do much without ruining the henna.

"You're defenseless," he singsongs, poking at your cheek with the gentlest tap of his finger. You jerk your head away instinctively and he laughs, low and breathy, the sound vibrating right into your chest.

"I hate you," you mutter, glaring.

"You love me," he corrects, like it's the simplest truth in the world.

And he doesn't give you a chance to argue, swooping in to press a kiss to your forehead. Another to your temple. One to the tip of your nose. He's quick about it, peppering kisses wherever he can reach, giggling when you try to dodge.

"Jungkook," you whine, laughing despite yourself. "You're going to make me mess it up!"

"I'm helping," he insists, kissing the corner of your mouth, so soft and sweet it makes your heart ache a little. "Distractions make time go faster."

You groan, slumping against the couch, careful to keep your hands up. "You're impossible."

"You picked me," he reminds you smugly, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. His fingertips are warm and careful, like he knows you can't retaliate and is being extra gentle to compensate. "You and your pretty hands."

Your voice is small when you say it, but it slips out anyway. "You really did a good job."

Jungkook's smile softens. He leans back just enough to look at your hands, admiration flickering across his face like he's proud of the art and proud of you just for trusting him with it.

"You look beautiful," he says simply, no teasing now, just honest, overwhelming affection. "Hands and all."

You can't hug him. You can't kiss him back. All you can do is sit there, heart pounding out a rhythm that's almost as intricate as the designs he drew on you, and wait for the henna — and maybe your own overwhelming feelings — to dry.

taglist | click here to join: @thegreatdepressionme @golden-loona @kissyfacekoo @cookysstuff @whoa-jo @minghaosimp @dark-enigma1806 @yooniepot @levisnumber1 @blueofocean @oumy221 @uarmygguk @libra04 @parkinglot-nights @jungkook1love @eyesforjungkook @ronyiboniyy @sebastianlover @nikkinikj @kenzierj11 @bugbxte @operation-619 @gguklovrr @annyeongbitch7 @sheshya @mswannadiesworld @yunhoswrldddd @myenergyandstuff @stardustbaee

[delugyu]

holy shit now i NEED to see a part 5 of that drabble gawdamn

ask and you shall receive!!!

(wc: 3.2k / warnings: masturbation, beomgyu’s fantasies in detail [including fingering, gyu being mean, virginity loss (again, just a fantasy), choking (f rec.), guilt], jealousy, possessiveness, angst, gyu is SOOOO pathetic like i feel bad for him)

the world doesn’t end with a bang or a big flash, but with a single instagram post. you’re officially with taehyun now. beomgyu stares at the picture of you that his friend posted, and some ugly feeling forms in the pit of his stomach. you look stunning, smiling at the camera with a fondness that makes beomgyu feel sick. he can imagine how giddy taehyun must’ve been posting this, getting to flaunt you publicly however he wants.

beomgyu must not be a good person, because he can’t bring himself to feel an ounce of joy for you or taehyun. he doesn’t like his friend’s post or type out a cute comment in congratulations. he just stares at the picture of you and thinks about how cruel you are.

beomgyu knows you only ever wanted him to teach you some things about sex. he knows he should have never wanted more than that. he knows it all, and it aggravates him so badly that he still craves you beyond those short-lived moments.

you must’ve known how easily you can make a man’s heart flutter. you had to know you were driving beomgyu insane this whole time, you saw all the signs yourself. you knew, right? he looks at your picture again—your kind eyes, your soft smile, your pretty face that he’s kissed enough times to memorize—and feels bad for even thinking you would be so mean.

you’ve got a flower in your hair, and everything about you has a whisper of innocence. something in beomgyu’s chest clenches, and it feels as if he actually lost something. you were never his, he tries to remind himself, but it’s not convincing him.

he can’t ignore the truth: to him, you were his. he had you in his sheets, he held you in his hands, he watched you bare your skin. he’s more familiar with your body than taehyun could ever be.

at least for a few moments, your lips were beomgyu’s. his eyes catch sight of that smile you wear in the picture, a smile you wear for taehyun. there’s a dull ache that grows inside him, and he should shut his phone off and think of something else, but he can’t. what could beomgyu have done differently to get you to look at him like that instead?

for a few moments, your face was his to hold. your neck was his to kiss. your body was his to undress, your skin was his to explore, your air was his to breathe. he had you in ways more vulnerable than anyone else has before, and so you were his.

he’s felt the beat of your pulse beneath his tongue when he familiarized your neck with his mouth. he’s felt the tremble in your legs when your orgasm creeps up, felt your hips under his palm when he held you down to endure the feeling. he’s heard the way you cry when the pleasure’s too much for you, and he knows where to pepper his kisses to soothe you. he knows you better than anyone else does.

you’re wearing a very pretty dress in the picture. beomgyu would have loved to see you in it, but you saved it for taehyun. beomgyu decides that you just must not care about him, that he’s just been some pawn to use to get to taehyun. you don’t care about beomgyu’s feelings, or the things beomgyu likes, or what dresses he might find you pretty in.

his stomach twists, and there’s a knot growing in his throat. the hand that’s not holding his phone grips his bed sheets, like that’s going to do anything. there’s an anger he feels deep in his chest that he needs to get out.

he wants to bring you here, wants to throw you down on his bed and push up the skirt of that cute dress you wear. it’s beautiful, and you look beautiful in it, but he fucking despises it. he’d tear it to shreds, make sure you can never wear it again.

he’d hold your chin up and make you look him in the eye. you wouldn’t dare look away, he’d keep your eyes on him and level you with an unwavering stare. he can imagine how confused you be, how your eyes would be filled with so much regret and sadness. you know that only beomgyu is good enough for you, so why run off to other guys who aren’t half the man that he is?

“apologize,” he’d demand, leaving no room for excuses. he wants to see you shed tears, to see the proof of how sorry you are. you’re so nice, too. he’d forgive you so easily as long as you told him you were sorry, but he’d still have to reclaim every part of you as his own.

he imagines your pitiful voice. “i’m sorry,” you’d whimper, and he’d press his knee between your legs. you’ll show him how much you mean it, you’ll give him all of you this time.

his hand finds his cock as he thinks about the way you’d jolt when he smacks your thigh. you’d gasp, so shocked, so scandalized, before moaning when beomgyu pushes his hand beneath your panties. beomgyu groans and spits in his hand to lubricate the slide of his fist over his shaft.

he’d tsk at how wet you’d be already, wanting to embarrass you a little. you deserve it for making him feel like this right now. his fingers would slide through your folds before they find their way to his mouth. he can’t help how he fiends for your taste, swirling his tongue around the digits before returning them to your cunt.

he’d push two fingers in, and you’d squirm and whine like the little virgin you are, but he’d hold you down and make you take it. you’d look so cute digging your nails into his skin as your pussy clamps over his digits. he fists his cock a little tighter, grunting as he fucks up into his hand.

he wishes you were here to take care of this for him. your hand feels so much better than his—smaller, softer, prettier. but you’re probably with taehyun right now, and you’re probably not even thinking of beomgyu. how fucking evil. he should show you how much you’re hurting him.

“you’re only mine, right?” he’d ask. even as you’re gasping and barely thinking straight while he fucks his fingers into you, he’d make sure you give him an answer. you’d have so much trouble trying to form a sentence, but you don’t get to cum without telling him this. “you’re mine, mine, mine,” he’d grunt out, holding you in place when your body starts thrashing around.

would his fingers jackhammering into you be too much to take? what a poor thing, soaking wet but still too tight to fit his cock. he’d wait for your answer, but you’re stuck moaning and crying out, just like a dumb little doll.

“you’ll never look at another man again?” he’d ask, and if you can’t bring yourself to answer that, he’d take your jaw in his hand and make you nod your head. “that’s right,” he’d say, so proud of how fucked out he made you. “never again.” he’d lean in to kiss your cheek, and you’d finally cum on his fingers.

it’s not quite enough, though. beomgyu’s cock is leaking now, begging to reach his climax, but he’s nowhere near done with what he wants to do with you. he imagines you catching your breath, laying beneath him like you’re his pretty whore, and his dick twitches in his hand. he wants to ruin you. much worse ideas start flooding his mind.

he’d run a hand down your leg, soothing, gentle, make sure you’re not tense or scared. all he can think about is sinking into your cunt, but you wouldn’t know that yet. you’d look so tempting, hole fluttering like it’s begging to be filled. beomgyu’s hands shake, stomach tensing as if this is all actually happening.

is this too mean? a part of him feels bad, but clearly not bad enough—he’s stroking his cock with a lot more fervor as he imagines your moans when his tip breaches your entrance. you’d be crying out apologies, begging for beomgyu to forgive you for ever even speaking to taehyun. the thought has him squeezing the base of his cock, on the verge of cumming too soon.

he feels guilty. he gets meaner. he’d sink into you all the way, holding your throat in a possessive grasp. you’d stare at him like he’s the only person in the world—finally—and he’d feel good about himself again. he’d feel like he’s worth something again.

tears brim his eyes, and his hips snap up into his fist, imagining it’s your cunt he’s fucking into instead. you’d be so warm, so wet, so tight, and all his. no one else would ever be able to know how you feel.

he needs to feel you wrapped around him, needs to feel your walls spasm as you cum on his cock. he won’t survive without it. his thrusts get angrier as he imagines ruining your cunt for anyone else. he’d make sure no other cock could satisfy you, and especially not taehyun’s. you’re just so fucking mean to him, can’t even let him have you to himself.

beomgyu spills all over his hand, hips stuttering as his orgasm takes over. your name flies from his mouth, and a tear falls from his eyes as he clenches them shut. he’s shaking a little from how intense his high was, breathing hard from the aftermath.

if he thought cumming would make him feel better, it doesn’t. he’s still pissed, and he still feels like shit, and he still wants you to break up with taehyun. beomgyu has never been an irrational person, but his mind is slipping from him now, all because of you.

he’s a little embarrassed of how depraved his fantasies of you became. he’d never be that rough with you. he thinks you’re something fragile and delicate, but you just make him so angry. he couldn’t help but want to take it out on you.

he hopes you don’t hate him. he hopes you still think of him fondly, if you even think of him at all. maybe you’re not as hung up on him as he is to you. maybe he should text you right now—maybe he should see you right now.

he wonders how you’ve managed to make him lose all his pride in such a short amount of time. you’ve reduced him to a much more pathetic man than he ever was before; he knows this because he’s walking to your apartment, desperate to pry something sweet from you. he feels like shit, and he just wants to see your face, to hear your voice, to smell your perfume.

he wishes he could just stay in his bed and be okay with everything, but he’s not. he’s standing in front of your door, knocking his fist against the wood, body all jittery and antsy. it’s like he’s actually addicted to you. it looks like you’re the one ruining him, after all.

“oh, hi, gyu,” you greet when you open the door, sounding as sweet as ever. it makes him want to sob. “what are you doing here?” you ask, brows slightly scrunched.

“what happened?” he asks, incapable of saying much more than that. he’s scared his voice might break or that a tear might fall if he says too much. he steps into your apartment, not daring to take his eyes off you even as he shuts the door behind him.

“what?” your voice is laced with confusion, and beomgyu doesn’t understand how you don’t immediately see the problem. how could you do this to him so suddenly?

“tell me you don’t really like him,” he says, eyes wide and pleading as he stares at you. he hates your silence. he hates it, it’s driving him crazy. “please,” he begs.

“is this about taehyun?” hearing his friend’s name on your tongue is almost enough to make beomgyu fall to his knees. he needs you to hate that guy—and he’s awfully sorry to taehyun, but he’ll do just about anything to get you away from him.

he wants to take a step towards you and close the space between your bodies. it feels so unnatural to be standing so far apart. he can’t do that anymore, though, not when the threat of taehyun finding out hangs over his head.

he almost asks you again to tell him if you like taehyun, but he thinks he might collapse if your answer is anything but no. his heart pounds, and he can’t seem to calm himself down. why does this feel so drastic? he needs his brain to let his heart know that he’s not dying.

“what about us?” he asks instead. his eyes dart between yours, but it’s hard to find your answer in your face. you wear a slight frown, eyes barely able to meet his own. you stand so still that beomgyu wonders if this is just his imagination again.

“we'll just have to stop all the… you know. since i’m with taehyun now,” you answer meekly, as if you’re letting him down easily. that’s not the case—nothing about this is easy.

it’s not just about the sex for beomgyu, and he thinks you know that. the way you soften your voice, the way you avoid his gaze, everything just tells him that you know the truth. maybe you knew before beomgyu even did. he likes you more than a friend, more than somebody he just hooks up with. he likes you enough that you could break his heart.

beomgyu shakes his head, unwilling to accept it. he’s pouting, eyes pleading as he stares at you like that might convince you to comfort him. he wants you to come forward and touch him, to cradle his face in your hands and coo at him gently. he wants to lean his face into your shoulder and sob. he wants to cling onto your body and never let go, wants to drag you everywhere he goes so he’ll have you forever.

he waits for you to make the first move. if you move forward even an inch, beomgyu would make it easy for you and meet you the rest of the way there. you don’t move, though. what more do you need him to say?

“i don’t like taehyun,” he admits. you still don’t move. he continues, “but i want you to be happy.”

“thank you.” you give him a small smile.

“i just really don’t want you to be happy with him,” he says. you sigh and look away, and beomgyu feels bad for making you feel so awkward.

“i’m sorry. i don’t know what to say,” you reply.

you don’t have to say anything. you could just let him hold you right now and he’d feel a little better.

you speak again, “are we still friends?”

he looks at you for a long second. your brows are upturned, eyes dimmer than usual. he misses when they gleamed with curiosity and excitement. he fights back the urge to hold your face and kiss your eyelids.

he doesn’t want to hurt you. “yes,” he says.

“thank god,” you sigh, finally falling into him. your arms wrap around him, and beomgyu doesn’t hesitate to hold you in his embrace. he urges the earth to stand still for a moment, just so he can bask in your touch a little longer.

he holds you like you’re something precious, like he’ll be losing something when he lets go. beomgyu knows taehyun doesn’t cherish you like this. he just has to make you see that.

when you pull away, you linger in his proximity, close enough that beomgyu could lean down and kiss you. something in your stare tells beomgyu that you’ll miss him too, that you’ll miss what you used to have. it’s either that or beomgyu’s really gone crazy now, seeing whatever he wants to see. he’s too scared to mention it in case he’s wrong.

“let me stay tonight,” he whispers, as if talking too loud will break the moment.

you look like you consider it for a second. “you know i can’t,” you say. he wants to kiss the pout off your face.

“then let me stay five more minutes.” he grabs your hand, and you don’t pull it away. he brings it to his mouth to kiss it, then your wrist, then your inner arm. he’s soft and sweet and gentle; he wants to prove that he can be a good boyfriend, too. it’s not just a role taehyun could fulfill.

“i can’t,” you say. you step away just an inch, but beomgyu follows, not allowing the space to form between you.

“one more minute,” he insists, using his free hand to hold your waist. long enough for one more kiss, so he can remember your taste when he goes to sleep. long enough to draw one more gasp from your mouth as he lets his hands roam your body. he waits for your permission, ever so hopeful, but you don’t give it to him.

“good night, gyu,” you say as you break away from his touch. your hand is slow to retract from his, but maybe that’s just beomgyu’s mind playing tricks on him.

he wants to call you a lot of different things right now. mean. cruel. heartless. but the sour words don’t roll off his tongue when he’s around you; that would be impossible.

“good night, pretty,” he says. that feels a lot more fitting for you.

you laugh, “don’t call me that.”

“why? i always have.”

“no you haven’t,” you say, walking towards the door to open it for beomgyu. your tone holds mild annoyance, but your smile is the fondest one you’ve given him today. it gives him all the more reason to keep calling you that.

beomgyu steps out, and he etches your smile into his mind before you shut the door. the moment it’s closed and beomgyu’s left to walk back to his place, he’s finally hit by the weight of his actions. he made himself look so desperate and stupid. taehyun would never have to beg for your attention or your time.

he thinks about it the whole time he walks home. maybe you have a thing for strong guys. that’s fine, beomgyu can start working out. or maybe it’s taehyun’s intelligence that draws you to him, then beomgyu could pick up some books. he thinks of everything taehyun has that he doesn’t, and suddenly he feels competitive.

he stares at his ceiling once he’s back in bed, zoning out and wondering what he can do to get you back. he’s gone through a whirlwind of emotions today, but what he feels more than anything right now is fear. what if you’ll never think beomgyu is good enough? what if you fall in love with taehyun too fast, and beomgyu loses his chance? he can’t let you slip from his fingers.

beomgyu gets a notification, and he checks it too eagerly, thinking it might be from you. instead, he finds a text from taehyun—some link to a video he thought was funny or whatever. he huffs out in annoyance. now he’s just back to feeling pissed again.

taglist: @hyukarma @moaadiry @lilysiaaa @razsberrie (probably forgetting ppl who have asked before i’m sorry it’s been a minute 😭)

[someoneelse0109]

˚₊♡JUNGKOOK FANFIC RECOMMENDATIONS˚₊♡

ೀ My most favorite works are collected in one selection. I think they are famous and many of you have read this, but they are my favorites, maybe you missed it so you should read them.

ೀ Special thanks for the @enchanthings divider. It's beautiful, so I will use it.

𓄵 Symbols: 💜 - fluff, ❤️‍🔥 - smut, 🖤 - angst, ❤️‍🩹 - hurt/comfort , 🤬 - swearing, 🎭 - drama, 🔪 - thriller, 🍑 - PWP, ✍🏻 - one-shot, 📝 - drabble, 👩🏼‍💻 - series

⟣ FRIENDS WITHIN TOUCHING DISTANCE by @dailynnt

━ ❤️‍🔥, 🖤, ❤️‍🩹, 🤬, 🎭, 🔪, 👩🏼‍💻 | mafia au

━ Jungkook and you, his childhood friend, live together in an apartment, sharing space as roommates. Your relationship, built on years of friendship, is gradually becoming strained by growing sexual tension. You decide to become friends with benefits, trying not to complicate your feelings. But Jungkook's world is not so simple. When you begin to realize that he is hiding something, you open the veil of his double life - a world of mafia, criminal activity, and risk that could ruin not only your deal, but everything you valued in each other.

⟣ AURORAᴺᵒʳᵗʰᵉʳⁿ ˡⁱᵍʰᵗˢ by @dailynnt

━ ❤️‍🔥, ❤️‍🩹, 🤬, ✍🏻 | ex to lover

━ A relationship that survived a breakup but could not be forgotten. Like the northern lights that appear only at certain moments, their feelings had their peaks and troughs, but always remained on the horizon. You meet your ex at some event. The feelings are still alive.

⟣ AGAINST THE RULES by @dailynnt

━ 💜, ❤️‍🔥, 🤬, 📝

━ Controlling yourself and not getting feelings for any of the memebers was the number one task. Besides, you're not allowed to do that. The company rules strictly forbid it. But it was with Jungkook that you had the hardest time. Because he always showed special feelings for you, and you stubbornly thought that he was just being caring. You thought that right up until this moment.

⟣ The Feeling's Mutual by emmiouija

━ ❤️‍🔥, 🤬, 🖤, 🎭, ❤️‍🩹, 🔪 | mafia au

━ You hated your brother's best friend. Jungkook was annoying, arrogant, and patronizing; he was downright insufferable. But when he offered to teach you everything he knew about sex, and in exchange, you would pretend to be his girlfriend to make his ex jealous, it was a proposition you weren't sure you could refuse.

⟣ teach me daddy by redcherrykook

━ ❤️‍🔥, 🤬, 🍑, ✍🏻 | daddy kink

⟣ ⋆˙⟡step by step - J.JK by @rispwr

━ ❤️‍🔥, 🖤, 🎭, 👩🏼‍💻

━ When your first love becomes your last love, but obstacles come your way, will he truly be your last love?

⟣ “3 words, 8 letters. I mean it” - J.JK by @rispwr

━ 💜, ❤️‍🔥, ✍🏻

⟣ Coming home to you. teaser + moodboards by @rerefundslocals

━ ❤️‍🔥, 🖤, 💜, 📝

━ when Jungkook returns to Willow Creek, what happens when he meets you again, struggling to make ends meet.

⟣ Take care of me - J.JK by @rispwr

━ 💜, ✍🏻

━ you haven’t gone to school or even touched your phone due to your flu. jungkook rushes to your apartment to take care of you

⟣ Stuck With You by @aajjks

━ 💜, ❤️‍🔥, ❤️‍🩹, ✍🏻

━ Imagine being stuck in a room with a walking nightmare who really wants to fuck you.

⟣ too much ☆ by @kissforyouu

━ ❤️‍🔥, 💜, ✍🏻 | daddy kink

⟣ UNO by Craztextae (Ao3)

━ ❤️‍🔥, 🍑, ✍🏻

━ A friend wants to play a new game with you.

⟣ That Night of Graduation bysmartkookiee (Ao3)

━ 💜, ❤️‍🔥, ✍🏻

━ After a stupid game of Truth or Drink you are convinced into telling everyone about the time you and Jungkook hooked up together the night of graduation. A missed connection that you and Jungkook hadn't even talked about. Bringing up some unexpected feeling that you hadn't realized had been lingering between the two of you.

⟣ The Art of Boxing by seokiie

━ ❤️‍🔥, 💜, ✍🏻

━ Jungkook loves boxing and in an attempt to get closer you ask him to teach you a few moves. You didn't think it would end up with you pressed face-first against the boxing ring floor.

⟣ JUST FRIENDS by @kinktae

━ ❤️‍🔥, 💜, ❤️‍🩹, 👩🏼‍💻

━ The transition from best friends to best friends with benefits is never easy, especially when there’s a daddy kink involved.

⟣ Blackjack by @kpopfanfictrash

━ ❤️‍🔥, 🖤, 🔪, 🎭, ❤️‍🩹, 🤬, 👩🏼‍💻 | mafia au

━ Bangtan is one of the most vicious mafias on the west coast. Only six members are known by name though, with a mysterious seventh member dubbed only as ‘the shadow.’ When you become indebted to the worst of the worst – how, exactly can you find a way out?

⟣ Oh My God, They Were (Quarantined) Roommates by @ot7always

━ ❤️‍🔥, 💜, 📝

━ What do you do when you’re quarantined for months on end with Jeon Jungkook - S tier cuddler, workout robot, and thirst trap extraordinaire? Fuck him, you guess.

⟣ (he)art thief | jjk by @latetaektalk

━ ❤️‍🔥, 💜, 🖤, ✍🏻

━ “jungkook is charming, kind, smart, and funny. jungkook is the guy to fall in love with. he is perfect in every sense, except that he is also a member of a notorious heist group and only getting close to you to steal from you. but what does he do when he starts to fall for you? who does he choose? his brothers or you?”

⟣ COLD NIGHTS & BLURRED LINES (m) — JJK by @awrkive

━ ❤️‍🔥, ❤️‍🩹, 💜, 📝

━ jungkook and you have been in a sexual relationship with each other for four months now, and it’s casual for the most part. but as time passes, you can’t help but feel that some of the lines suddenly got blurred in the process. is it a cliché to blur the lines with your fuck buddy? it definitely is. will you do something about it? both of your emotional constipation have a hard time saying yes.

Only the first page. I will add as I find something new ❤️‍🔥 Enjoy reading 💜

[emeraldserenade]

Could I request a fic of Joaquin getting jealous when another man approaches and flirts with his girlfriend? ☺️

Green Really Is Your Color ~ Joaquín Torres

synopsis: Joaquín likes to think he isn't a jealous man, but you know that can't be farther from the truth.

tw: fem!reader, sleazy man being insistent that he buys reader a drink, jealous Joaquín, barely edited.

fic, ficlet, drabble, request

This isn't as great as I was hoping it would be, and I'm sorry for that. I hope you like it anyway!

➽──────────────❥

You were used to it, the stares and low whistles you get when you dress up. Joaquín claimed he was used to it, that he was ok with it. This wasn't something you could control after all, he couldn't control it either.

"Hey, beautiful," a sleazy looking man slid right between you the women you were having a conversation with. You went up for a drink and got distracted asking her about her lip combo and then the conversation kept flowing from there.

"Hi," you gave him a short lived smile as you leaned away from him.

"Can I buy you a drink?" He was already waving the bartender down who gave him an odd look, knowing that you were with Joaquín.

"Oh, I'm ok, thank you," you gave the bartender a look, one you hoped he understood.

"Are you sure? A pretty thing like like you shouldn't be without a drink," he flashed you a smile and you could see the unnatural look to his veneers. You watched as the girl's hand slid into the open space his arm and the counter and discreetly pull your drink to her. You made a mental note to thank her when this was all over.

"I'm not drinking tonight," you smoothly lied, moving one of your legs to the outside of his. So he couldn't trap you if he got so bold.

"Not just one?" He was really pushing his luck, you quickly stood up. You stiffened when you felt a hand land on your lower back.

"It's just me, Angel," Joaquín reassured you and you relaxed.

"Who are you?" The man puffed his chest out at Joaquín.

"Joaquín Torres," you heard the light growl in Joaquín's voice as he introduced himself.

"Oh shit, you're Falcon," the man suddenly changed his behavior, looking more scared now. Joaquín didn't even have to say anything more until the man ran away, you relaxed into Joaquín who still stood stiff.

"Thanks for saving my drink," you took it from the girl and downed it. Before quickly giving her your number saying that she should call you sometime so you could be friends, and left with Joaquín.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

"Joaquín, are you ok?" You gently asked your boyfriend who hadn't said anything to you since the bar. He hummed before walking back into your bedroom, you kicked your shoes off at the door before following him. "Joaquín, Amor?"

"He didn't touch you, right?" Joaquín's voice came from the bathroom and you heard the water turn on moments later.

"No, just got uncomfortably close and kept insisting I let him buy me a drink," you explained, walking to the open door of the bathroom. You saw Joaquín strip his shirt off and undo his belt before turning towards you.

"You wouldn't let him buy you a drink, even if I wasn't there?" You squinted your eyes at Joaquín, trying to figure out what was happening. You watched as Joaquín just stared at you and suddenly you understood.

"Are you, Joaquín Torres, jealous?" You walked to him, wrapping your arms around his neck.

"I," Joaquín started but paused. "No," he lied and you just smiled at him.

"It's ok to be jealous," you told him, smiling wider when he placed his hands on your waist. "I get jealous too, it's not easy watching my boyfriend get hit on by horde of girls," you placed a kiss to Joaquín's cheek.

"You do a good job at hiding it," he huffed, clearly not upset anymore.

"Because I'm used to it, it happens all the time," you watched as he slowly understood.

"I'm sorry," he apologized but you just shook your head.

"You have nothing to apologize for," you told him. "But if you really want to, you could let me shower with you. You know, to save water."

"To save water?" He raised an eyebrow while a smirk slowly overtook his face.

"Of course, no other reason," you slowly pulled away from him, but was stopped and pulled into a kiss.

➽──────────────❥

Masterlist | Requests

[meiluu]

Edward Cullen's Mate

Edward Cullen/ Afab!Reader

cw: SMUT 18+ MDNI, oral f receiving, unprotected p in v sex, edward breaks the headboard hehe, and edward is completely enamored with you.

(I need to get this out of my system, been thinking about him a lot recently...)

this was supposed to be a short drabble but i just couldn't shut up

reader pov.

Being with edward has been nothing but a beautiful and slightly chaotic ride. With finding out he wasn't human instead was a hundred something year old vampire along with the rest of his family. And then as your relationship grew as did the romance between you too, and that grew tenfold when the magnetic pull you felt for one another was because you were mates.

Fated to be together, equals, crafted for one another, you both completing one another and that never felt truer than now.

Body underneath his stony one, feverishly chilly lips leave a scorching trail of kisses from your neck to your bare chest. edward inhales your scent, and scent that didn't have him craving your blood like he was supposed to instead it calmed and aroused his body in a tantalizing mix. His eyes flick up to yours, pupils nearly completely dilated leaving behind a dark amber ring at the edge of his iris. Love and lust in his gaze has your body warming, and you knew that your gaze mimicked his.

"So beautiful. I'll never get enough of you my love." his word are spoken with nothing but truth. Leaving your shared gaze he continues his journey down your torso, soft hands caressing your hips squeezing the plump flesh before leading down your thighs to the backs of your knees. Mouth leaving behind love-bites upon your skin, each one sending jolts of heat straight to your core, evidence of your arousal staining the insides of your thighs.

Going lower with each kiss pulling your legs apart allowing him to sink further down, mouth right above where you need him most. A blush covers your cheeks and the tops of your breast, "Edward- you don't have to do that."

His gaze snaps up to you, and the sight of his head between your thighs with the full intention to bring you pleasure has you holding back a shiver. "I want to, God you have no idea how long I've wanted to do this. Can I ?" Why would you ever deny that? Nodding your head edward goes back to staring at your weeping cunt.

Hands tighten their grip on you before he's pushing them further apart and up, completely baring you to him. You watch as his mouth descends until you feel his tongue lick up from the bottom to your clit. softly wrapping the bud with his lips gently sucking on the bud, sending a shockwave of pleasure through you. A moan falls from your slightly swollen lips, seeing your obvious satisfaction edward continues his ministrations. Swirling his tongue a sucking in your clit, body lighting up in euphoria as a ball of pleasure settles into the pit of your stomach. Shaky breaths leave you as your gaze stays locked onto edward’s head, vision blurring around the edges as your mind begins to wholly submit to him.

Then his mouth is leaving your clit all too soon, but you don't have to wonder for long where he's going next. His tongue delves straight into your cunt, mouth covering the bottom half of you. Your eyes widen before rolling back into your head at the mind-numbing sensation of his tongue massaging your walls, pushing in and out of you. Then one of his hands is leaving your thighs and begins to swirl your forgotten clit between his fingers.

Your breathing is uneven breast rising and falling as you try to catch your breath. Heart racing as your body becomes so pliant and warm under his devotion. Your moans and cries of his name bounce around the room, hands going to his soft hair to tangle themselves within them, hoping to keep yourself grounded. The knot within your belly only tightens with each moment that passes. Your mind lagging behind as it gets lost within this pleasure, you realize a little late that edwards tongue has left you but his cool fingers have entered and taken the spot where his tongue once was. Curling up sweetly rubbing into your g-spot, a near-cry of pleasure leaves you at this.

The ball of pleasure that had settled within your core tightened and then you where cumming, as your cunt milked his fingers as they continued to abuse your g-spot. With your high fizzling out of you, thighs shaking with the intensity of your orgasm. Your eyes open looking down to see edward leaning his head against the one thigh he still had a grip on, fingers still buried within you and a smirk of satisfaction upon his face.

"You look so gorgeous when you cum." giving the inside of your thigh a sweet kiss before he starts to sit up, wrapping your legs around his waste. Face rising up to yours, his mouth comes down giving you a kiss that leaves you breathless. "Do you want to keep going?"

"Yes-yes, please." no shame, your words are full of need and edwards smirk brightens. "Of course my love, I am at your whim."

Reaching down taking edward by surprise, you grip his hardness, a groan leaves him at your soft hold. Lining him with your cunt you let him slowly sink into you. Your head falls further into the pillow as edward grits his teeth hoping to keep himself in control.

He stretches you out just perfectly, filling you up with no space left and your walls wrap so beautifully around him, so warm and wet and oh so welcoming to his cock. You were both made for one another as you slot together- bodies entwined with one another. "Move, Edward please." as your words leave you, he is obeying.

With near flawless movements he starts a slow yet deep pace, bottoming out to the hilt. Each thrust has you keening in utter ecstasy body lit aflame. But his pace begins to pick up speed as your cunt continues to push him to his limits by squeezing him, and with every pull out of you, your walls are trying to suck him back in. God he never knew he could feel like this, so wholly enraptured, this was his new drug and Edward knew that he would never want to part from it.

Your thighs tighten around his waist, arms leaving the bedsheets to latch onto his back. Nails digging into his stony muscle, as your head buries into his neck where his scent is strongest. Your sounds of pleasure are right by his ear, the most beautiful song he's ever heard. His arms leave your waist in favor of the headboard, harshly gripping onto the mahogany. Edward moans along with you as he tilts his pelvis down and up, kissing your g-spot with the tip of his cock. And with his pelvis hitting your clit with every thrust back into your cunt.

Your arousal leaks out staining the fronts of his thighs along with the sheets beneath you, your heady scent filling the space around you two. Edward feels the head board snap then crumble within his grasp and not a moment after that does he feel your cunt quiver as you cum, walls milking him as a gush of your arousal stains his thighs. An unfiltered moan falls from edward, completely in shock at this sensation pace becoming frenzied as he pistons into you with the sole intention to cum within your cunt. Your head has fallen back into the pillow body buzzing in overstimulation as your third orgasm nears.

"Edward-please, please, I need it." words broken up by moans as you barely get them out. Edward's body hunches over yours, hands coming down from the shattered headboard to the sheets beside your head before quickly wrapping around your body. Pulling your chest against his, a hand against the small of your back the other at the base of your head.

His body trying to get as close to you as possible, trying to bury himself within you. Cock bullying your overstimulated and weeping cunt that continues to welcome him in with every thrust, pace now rougher and faster. Each time his cock bottoms out reaching the end of you your moans are punched out of you, mind having turned to mush. Your ears are hypnotized by the heady squelching sound of your cunt along with edwards moans of pure pleasure.

Edward feels the painfully tight knot of pleasure in his pelvis snap, cock swelling as he empties himself within you, eyes closing from the heavy orgasm. That orgasm grows tenfold with you cumming again, walls milking his cock in an attempt to ring him completely dry. Slowing down his thrusts as you both come down from your highs, coming to a stop as you are both left in the aftershocks of your orgasms. Gently bringing you back down to the bedsheets, turning to the side with you still within his embrace. feeling your racing heart against his chest.

Ever so softly he begins to place chaste kisses upon your skin along with 'I love you's, soon your body is lulled into unconsciousness, as edward continues to give his worship to your body. As you rest he lays protecting and watching over you and with every moment that passes does he fall more and more in love with you.

His mate, made just for him.

---

*not edited*

[javierpena-inatacvest]

hi Madeline! it’s me ready to annoy you with more javi THOTS

I know that man goes feral seeing you pregnant , especially when you start to show because everyone will know that HE made you that way and that you belong to HIM and it just makes him feel so primal and feral

Cassidy oh my GOD 😩😭 (y'all gotta stop doing this to me (pls actually don't), my baby fever is already so bad and this is not helping 💀) You are 100000% correct and now I can't get this out of my head and what was supposed to be a little drabble has decided to turn into a full blown thing WHOOPS

Insatiable

Summary: Javi thought he couldn't love you anymore than he already did- that was until the two of you found out you were expecting. Now that your baby bump is finally starting to show, Javi can't get enough of you.

Word Count: 3.7k

Pairing: Husband!Javier Peña x Pregnant Wife!Reader (no use of y/n)

Warnings: SMUT (18+), unprotected p in v (listen... she can't get pregnant if she's already pregnant soooooo), oral (f receiving), vaginal fingering, breeding kink (bc this man will keep you barefoot and pregnant as long as you let him), creampie, Javi is literally obsessed with you and is foaming at the mouth 24/7 watching you carry his baby, Javi is so excited to be a dad, Javi loving his cute lil family so much it makes me wanna vomit

A/N: Me: Damn, I need to write about something other than babies and breeding kinks. Also me: .... No. Don't mind me while I run laps in frantic circles and howl at the moon thinking about this because good lord, you know this man's breeding kink is an unstoppable force of nature

"What are you looking at?"

"Nothing."

"Well that look on your face definitely doesn't say nothing, Jav."

You couldn't help but giggle at the way Javi's eyes had been glued to you from the moment he had entered the kitchen, arms crossed over his chest and hip resting against the counter, admiring you like some sort of breathtaking piece of art as you worked on finishing up dinner.

Because truth be told, to him, that's what you were. Javi had no problem making it very clear to you that he was convinced you were the most beautiful woman to ever walk the face of this earth- beauty not just in the way that you appeared, but a beauty that came deep within your soul that had changed him in a way he would have never thought possible. A beauty that had given him a life he swore he would never deserve- that someway, somehow, you had wanted to spend the rest of your life loving him.

Even after over a year together, a new house, and a ring on your finger, Javi found himself falling harder and harder for you with every passing day. He was honestly convinced it was physically impossible to love you any more than he already did.

That was until four months ago, when the two of you found out that your love would no longer be spread between just the two of you- In a few months from now, it was soon going to be the three of you.

After watching you grow and carry his baby the past four months, Javi learned that despite all odds, he could love you more that he already thought possible.

"Your face says 'I'm thinking very dirty thoughts about my wife' or 'I'm really focusing on trying to hold in a fart' and if the second one's the case, I don't think it's very fair you still get to look that hot while you fart". You smirked, raising an eyebrow at Javi, reaching next to him to grab the dish towel you had been using to wipe your hands before mirroring his stance against the countertop.

"Luckily for you, it's not number two." Javi huffed, rolling his eyes at you before his gaze traveled down to your stomach.

Over the past few days, you had finally reached the point where you were starting to look pregnant, and not just like you had eaten 7 Thanksgiving dinners (as you lovingly liked to coin it). Your bump was now beginning to protrude out of your tighter fitting shirts, excited to see your belly starting to grow, giving your hand a new place to rest on top of the subtle curve, making you grin every time you placed it there.

You had also discovered that not only was Javi just excited about your adorable bump, your husband was ecstatic about it. Your pregnancy was now no longer the hardest secret he'd ever had to keep for the first 12 weeks of your baby's life, it was now an opportunity boast about the fact that you were his beautiful, pregnant wife, and that you and that baby were his.

At this point, there probably wasn't a soul in Laredo that didn't know you were pregnant, because everywhere Javi went, it was a chance to let anyone and everyone know he was going to be a dad, and you were the one carrying his baby.

"Hey, I have to leave our meeting early today because my wife has an ultrasound today for our baby."

"I know peanut butter and pickles is a weird combination, but my wife is pregnant, and what the baby wants, the baby gets."

"Just wanted to get the truck checked out since my wife and I have the baby to drive around in a few months."

And while maybe it was overkill, he just couldn't help it. There was something about becoming a dad, seeing you pregnant, knowing that he was the other half of your baby growing inside you that drove him absolutely feral.

If that gold, diamond band wrapped around your finger wasn't enough to prove that you were his, the baby he had put in your now barley bulging belly sure as fuck was.

Javi reached out his hand, fingers splayed across your stomach with an undeniable smile spread across his face as you rested your palm over his grasp, the two of you staring down stomach.

"Watchya thinkin' about, Jav?" You teased, speaking on behalf of both you and baby Peña as Javi stared at both his and your hands covering your bump, silently admiring the simple moment you were sharing.

"Can you believe we fucking made this?" Javi laughed quietly to himself, still in shock every time he really thought about how he was going to be a father. "That we're actually gonna have a baby?"

"Actually, I can, considering we were both there, and it was very fun." You giggled, lacing your fingers between Javi's and bringing his hand up to your mouth to plant a soft kiss on it, "It's crazy, Javi. I can't believe we're actually gonna be parents."

"Yeah? Fun, huh?" Javi smirked, bringing his other arm to wrap around your waist, fingers beginning to dig into your hips as he pulled you closer.

"Out of all the things I enjoy doing with you, Javier Peña, making babies is very high on that list."

Biting down on your lip, you leaned further into Javi's touch, your bump barley getting in the way of being chest to chest as he craned his neck down, engulfing your mouth in an electric kiss that had you feeling like you were floating.

"Fuck- I'd make 100 babies with you, Hermosa." Javi groaned, feeling the growing bulge in his pants starting to press against your thigh in between kisses.

"100?! Jesus, Jav, are we planning on running a circus?" You laughed, Javi too wrapped up in the thought of you carrying another one of his babies to even process your joke.

"I don't fuckin' care. I'll give you as many babies as you wanna have. You're so fucking sexy being pregnant."

Without your lips ever parting, Javi swung you around so that your back was pressed against the counter, caging your body under his before letting his kisses travel down your neck and collarbone, across your chest and south towards your stomach, until he was dropping to his knees in front of you.

"Javi, I've spent the past three months eating nothing but Hot Cheetos and pickles and complaining about how I need to throw up every thirty seconds, last time I checked, that's about as far from sexy as you can get." You tried your best to muster out some sort of laughter, but with the way that Javi was kissing you, letting his hands roam up to the waistband of your shorts, slowly beginning to tug your bottoms off your hips until you were in nothing but your underwear, Javi was making it very difficult to play into your joke.

Not that you were complaining.

"Nuh uh," Javi hummed, gently tracing his fingers over your covered folds, arousal seeping from your core into the dampening cotton, "Do you know how fucking sexy it is seeing you carry our baby? Knowing that you let me get you pregnant? Grow our kid and give us a family? Baby, if that's not the fucking sexiest thing I've ever heard, then I don't know what the fuck is."

Rubbing and forth, the pads of Javi's fingers applied more pressure to your clit, making you let out a whimper as he finally tended to the throbbing ache that had been rapidly building between your legs. At this point, your underwear was clinging to the outline of your cunt, swollen and puffy with anticipation as your slick soaked the fabric.

"Fuck, you're so wet for me already, baby girl." Javi tutted, hooking his fingers around the waistband of your panties and shuffling them down your legs, revealing the shiny mess smeared between your thighs from your weeping hole.

Scooting himself closer, Javi hooked one of your legs over his shoulder, wrapping his arm around your thigh to hold it in place and keep you balanced. His fingers slid through your folds, parting them with a V of his fingers to softly kiss your clit, big brown eyes looking up at you, pooling with lust as he watched you writhe under his touch.

"F-fuck, Javi, oh my god." You whined, noticing the shift in how your changing body and hormones made you even more responsive to Javi's touch, your pussy already beginning to clench around nothing with the way your stomach was swirling with arousal. "Please, baby, fuck."

"Please, what, Hermosa?" Javi smirked, peppering more soft kisses to your sensitive nub, knowingly driving you wild.

"T-touch me, baby, please. Please, don't fucking tease me, I just- Fuck-"

Before you could finish your plea, Javi had his head buried between your thighs, lapping you up like a man lost in the desert, finally finding his oasis. Long, flat strokes of his tongue swiped against your clit, already working at an unforgiving pace, ready to make you fall apart for him over and over.

Your hand shot down, digging your fingers through the thick, brown locks of Javi's hair, trying to find any way to brace yourself as an all too familiar tingle began to build in your spine as your sensitive bundle of nerves throbbed against his tongue.

You were convinced there wasn't a man on the face of this earth who loved eating you out more than Javi, riding a serotonin high every time he settled his mouth between your parted legs, worshiping your pussy until it wept for him like a dam finally breaking its seal and flooding him with your slick.

As if you weren't close enough already, Javi slid two of his fingers into your entrance bumping up perfectly against the sweet spot inside you, curling just enough to send you moments away from spiraling.

Without faltering his pace, Javi's lips latched around your clit, sucking intensely while his fingers pulsed at the perfect rhythm, feeling your pussy flutter around him.

"Fuckfuckfuckfuck!" You threw your head back, orgasm rushing through you forcing your cunt to clamp down around Javi's fingers, slick gushing around them. Javi's strong grip held your legs in place, trembling with pleasure as you came, letting you catch your breath as your chest heaved while you came down from your high.

Javi placed a soft kiss on your sensitive clit before tossing your legs off his shoulders to stand, hands cupping your jaw to lock your lips in a passionate kiss, the tangy taste of you still fresh on his tongue.

"Turn around, mi amor." Javi cooed, gently letting his hands down your body, running over the swell of your stomach until he reached your hips, guiding you to face the edge of the counter until your forearms were resting on the ledge, bare ass pressed against the bulge straining against the denim of his jeans.

You craned your neck over your shoulder to see Javi frantically working at his belt, metal quietly clanging until a swift tug had his pants and boxers pooled around his ankles. You let out an audible moan as you felt his tip swipe through your folds, collecting your arousal to coat his cock, stroking himself with the mix of your slick and his precum.

"Fuck, you're so perfect," Javi whispered, pressing a kiss onto your shoulder and trailing the pecks of his lips up your back and neck, "So fucking beautiful carrying our baby." One of your hands shot back, grabbing at Javi's waist to brace yourself as he pushed into your heat, shaft filling you up inch by inch until he had bottomed out, hips flushed with your ass.

The sweet stretch and sting of Javi's length had you reeling, your sensitivity from your last orgasm on top of the already increased sensitivity from new waves of hormones, jaw going slack at the sensation of his fullness, greedily pushing your ass back into him to take as much as you could.

"Move, baby, fuck- please," You whimpered, bracing yourself against the counter, grinding your bottom half into his hips to do anything to ease your ache, "Javi, fuck me baby, please, I- oh fuck-"

Before you could finish your plea, Javi was beginning to pound into you at an already punishing pace, punching into you g-spot in a way that made your eyes nearly roll in the back of your head.

"You want me to fuck you, Momma? I'll fuck you, hermosa. Whatever you want, baby, you know I'll give it to you." Javi smirked, fingers digging into the curve of where your hips meet the meat of your ass, thrusting into you with thick drags of his cock, intoxicated by the warmth and wetness of your velvety walls.

Releasing the grip of one of his hands, he wrapped it around your front, splayed as it slid down the curve of your belly to reach between your legs, rubbing firm circles into your clit.

You couldn't help but buck back into him, feeling your stomach swirl with arousal and anticipation of your impending orgasm beginning to build, the combination of the snap of Javi's hips and pressure against your sensitive nub making you feel like you were melting under his touch.

"Fuck, Javi- Fuck, oh my god. Fuck, you feel so good. Oh shit- don't stop, baby." You moaned, feeling your pussy starting to flutter around his cock as he continued to fuck into you, your borderline incoherent babbling only egging him on more as his thrusts became faster.

"I won't stop, pretty girl. I won't stop until I fuck you so full of me, you'll be dripping out of me for days. Fuck- I won't stop until give you as many fucking babies as you want." Javi grunted, gritting his teeth as he rammed into you, feeling the knot beginning to tighten in his own stomach at the thought alone of being able to get you pregnant again.

With his one hand still rubbing your clit, his other arm scooped around your front, pulling you from resting your weight on your forearms against the counter to have you stand up straight, your back flushed against his chest. With you pressed against him, Javi couldn't help but suck and nip at your pulse point, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he pulled you in closer, holding you steady while your body began to tremble on the brink collapse.

"I know you're close, baby. It's alright, mi amor, I've got you. Wanna feel you soak me. Cum all over my cock before I fill you up." Javi groaned, his words hot against your skin between kisses along your neck and shoulder blade, shifting his grasp to cup one of your swollen breasts in his palm, fingers gently toying with the hardened buds of your nipples.

The added sensation was all it took to send you over the edge, orgasm crashing through your body with an unforgiving wave of intensity, pleasure radiating through every inch of you as your cunt clamped down around Javi's cock, gushing with your arousal as you came.

Knowing you had reached your end, Javi began to chase his own high, his thrusts becoming sloppier and more erratic as your body melded with his, nearly going limp in his grasp from how good he had made you feel.

"That's my girl. Fuck, I can't wait to get you pregnant again, let everyone see how you're all mine carrying our baby. Gonna be such a good Mom, giving us a family, making me a dad. Oh fuck- I love you so much. So fucking much. Te am- ahhhhhh, fuck!"

Before he could finish his thought, Javi was spilling inside you, the hot ropes of his spend coating your walls, a low groan humming deep in his chest as he filled you with every last drop he had to give. Javi's body slumped into yours, his head resting on your shoulder as both of your chests rose and fell with heavy breaths, hearts racing in sync as you came down from your highs.

Carefully slipping his softening cock out of your heat, you could feel the mix of your spend smearing between your thighs and dripping down your legs as Javi grabbed your waist, turning you to face him so your mouths could meet in a still messy dance of tongues and teeth.

"Holy fuck..." You huffed, finally managing to get a word out through your breathlessness and giggles, looking up at Javi, blissed out grins stretched across both your faces.

"Holy fuck..." Javi parroted, the two of you happily giggling half naked in your kitchen, the both of you staring down at your stomach as Javi rested his hands to cradle your bump.

"This one's not even here yet, and you're already thinking about number two?" You snickered, raising an eyebrow at your husband, gently tracing circles with his thumb around your stomach.

"Huh?"

"Don't think I didn't hear what you said. Let's get this one first, then we can think about another one." You teased, giving Javi a little nudge as his cheeks flushed pink with embarrassment, sheepishly darting his eyes towards the ground.

"Sorry, I- I just, God, something about you being pregnant- drives me fucking crazy. I love both of you so fucking much, I swear." Javi sighed, soft smile spread between his cheeks, eyes glancing back and forth between your bump and equally happy grin stretched across your face.

"We love you too, Javi." Pressing up on your toes, you planted a soft kiss on Javi's cheek, draping your hand across his, resting happily on your stomach. "Listen, if you want baby number two, you gotta help me finish cookin' baby number one. And baby number one is hungry. Do we have anymore sour-"

"Sour gummy worms? I picked some more up on the way home from work yesterday."

"Oh thank God, I was about to go drive to the store pantsless to get some if we didn't. Fuck, I wonder if we still have-"

"Watermelon? Got that and green grapes too, just in case." Javi chuckled, pressing a gentle kiss into your messy hair.

"God, I love you." You beamed, making your way towards the pantry, "You keep this up and we're makin' baby number two on an expedited timeline there, Jav."

"Sour gummy worms and watermelon is all it's gonna take?"

"Like I really needed that much convincing anyways? I told you earlier, making babies with you is one of my favorite things to do. Sour gummy worms and watermelon is just a nice bonus."

Taglist:

@chaotic-iguana @rhoorl @bbiophiliaa @purpleprincess75 @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

@pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24

@3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85

@partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo

@endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns @missladym1981 @milly-louise

@jay-zzle @the-one-with-the-grey-color @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled

@pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper @vee-bees-blog

@hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @msmorningstaarr

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@copperhalfcent @theoraekenslover @bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog

@samgirl4life @pigeonmama @survivingandenduring @itsokbbygrl @javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

@purpleprincess75

[madewithangst]

SVT + subtle acts of love

This is HIGHLY inspired by Jana's prompt

PAIRING: seventeen (ot13) x gn!reader FORMAT: drabble/headcanon WARNINGS: none?

🍒Seungcheol

Guiding you with a gentle hand on the small of your back. He's definitely the type to protect you at all costs—no question about it. He’ll make it clear to everyone that you’re HIS, but still respects you deeply. While Scoups often gets portrayed as the possessive, alpha type, the truth is, he’s more of a big softie with still a touch of gentlemanly charm.

😇Jeonghan

Fixing your clothes or hair. Knowing Jeonghan, who always has the prettiest hairstyle, he also pays close attention to how you look. Not in an overbearing or toxic way, but because he understands the little things—like how it feels when your blouse is unbuttoned, your bangs are out of place, or your makeup gets smudged. In a way, he becomes your personal "appearance police," always looking out for you.

🦌Joshua

Randomly giving you flowers. This man is a living uwu. We all know how pricey flower bouquets can be. With your hectic school/work schedule, receiving a bouquet always makes your heart swoon—but it's not just the flowers; it's the thought behind them. Joshua always makes sure to think of you, and with his means, why not spoil you with the most beautiful flowers he can buy?

😺Jun

Giving you food without asking. Remember that Teen Vogue interview where they played truth or dare with snacks on the table? Yep, this is totally inspired by that moment—Junhui was too busy mukbang-ing. But honestly, he gives off this vibe wherein whatever he snacks, you snack too. Especially after his trips to China—goodness, the amount of food he brought back just to share his favorite treats with you!

🐯Hoshi

Grabbing your hand and swinging it back and forth. As an introvert myself, physical touch is something I'm deeply into. Hoshi may look loud af on TV and in stadiums, but when the spotlight and cameras are off, that's when his introverted side kicks in. He recharges with cuddles and every bit of physical touch he can get from you. He loves doing the gesture of swinging your hands back and forth when you're out in public—it's his way of channelling his energy and finding comfort in your presence.

🐈‍⬛Wonwoo

Pulling out the chair for you. Another man that is a living uwu. With the world we're living in now, it's rare to find a gentleman like Wonwoo. It’s a small but meaningful gesture that shows he values your comfort and wants to make you feel special (bonus: he knows the gesture makes you swoon).

🍚Woozi

Writing you a love letter and hiding it for you to find. With a mind that never rests, and being in love with you only fuels his creativity. The boys joke that his song lyrics are getting too personal and too cheesy, so some of them get rejected. Clearly, the inspiration is you. So to channel his overflowing emotions, he turns to writing love letters, a practice you adore.

⚔️Dokyeom

Humming a song to calm you down. It started when you were having nightmares while he was away on tour. Luckily, it was daytime where he was, so he was there to comfort you with a phone call. He sang you to sleep that night, and since then, he’s never stopped singing for you especially when you need him most.

🐶Mingyu

Making your lunch to take to work/school with you. This man was born in this world to cook for you. That's it. He's the team leader in the kitchen department, but who can blame him? The guy can cook! He knows you need an extra minute of sleep, so he adjusts your alarm and takes care of the smallest tasks on your to-do list, like checking off "make lunch" for both of you.

🐸The8

Paying complete attention to you. Doesn't matter if he's in the middle of reading, painting, or even eating (especially eating), Minghao will turn his entire body toward you, giving you his full attention. He’s a man who believes in the importance of deep connection. So talking is very essential in your relationship. Whether you're ranting about work, sharing thoughts on the latest anime, or asking for fashion advice, he's always all ears.

���Seungkwan

Remembering something you told him. He has this remarkable ability to remember, which is probably a skill required when you're a big pop star. Even the smallest details of what you've shared with him are carefully stored in the file cabinet of his mind. He'll bring up something at the most unexpected moments, showing you how deeply he listens and values every word you say. It’s a quiet yet powerful reminder that you matter to him in ways you might not even realize.

🐼Vernon

Waiting at the door to come greet you when you get home. We all know Vernon and his naps, right? The boys know him all too well. That's why they couldn't believe it when you told them he's always there to greet you at the door when you arrive home (unless he's not home). He likes to nap on the couch when you're not home, so if he's napping, he'll wake up at the rattle of the key in the door. Eating? He'll run towards the door. Showering? Obviously impossible, but you'll still hear his loud voice from a distance. Baaaabe~

🦦Dino

Giving you a massage. Lee Chan is built to make others smile, and he pours that energy into every gesture. You were the one who started giving him massages because you noticed how his Hyungs always playfully tackle him, leaving him a bit worn out. Now, giving you massages has become his way of showing care, and he does it with a gentle touch, always focused on your comfort. It’s his quiet way of returning the favor, making sure you feel relaxed and appreciated, just as he always does for you.

a fun fact nobody asked, these three boys in the pictures are my holy trinity Thank you for the wonderful prompt @creativepromptsforwriting ✨

[inkedinshadows]

Unraveling Truths

This is a bonus scene for my miniseries "A Helping Hand". You can read part 1 of 3 here. I know I wrote it in August, but I got a few requests for more so here we are.

Pairing: Azriel x f!reader

Summary: Azriel finally explains to his mate what the wingspan business is all about.

Warnings: smut, oral (m receiving), written in 3rd POV (matching the rest of the series)

Word count: 2.6k

A/N: I love time zones because it’s 2am here but it’s still the 16th in the US so I’m technically not late :) This fic is just another proof that I can't write drabbles lol. Anyway, hank you @azrielsshadows42 for the inspo 🫶🏻 and thank you @azrielappreciationweek it was so much fun writing for this event 💙💙

“You still haven't told me.”

She watched him from his bed, the sight still so new that Azriel's heartbeat quickened each time he saw it.

For the past week, she had spent every night with him, usually in his room. Yet walking in to find her reading a book while she waited for him was something he was still getting used to. And something he would never take for granted.

Azriel sat on the edge of the bed, leaning closer to brush a kiss to her temple as she set the book down. “Told you what, beautiful?”

The corner of his lips curled up at the small blush that colored her cheeks, even after a week of hearing that nickname. He was never going to stop using it.

He began to take off his boots, holding his breath as she knelt behind him and unfastened the latches of his shirt. Her fingers brushed the base of his wings, and he had to muster all his self-control to keep his body from reacting.

“About wingspan,” she replied casually. “You still haven't explained it.”

He froze, sitting a bit straighter. “Why do you want to know?”

She undid the last latch, and though the shirt now hung loosely around his torso, he made no move to remove it.

“Because I want to know all about you.” She moved to sit beside him, seemingly unaware of his slight change in demeanor. “And because you said you'd explain, but you still haven't.”

Azriel swallowed thickly. He'd been happy to hold her in his arms every night, knowing she'd be the first thing he saw in the morning. His hands had never wandered too freely over her body. He wanted to take things slow with her, not only to respect the trauma she had endured, but also because she wasn't just another girl. She was his mate, and he'd be damned if he ruined things by rushing them.

But he couldn't deny he had thought about how she would feel. How she would taste. How she would look while he pleasured her.

Her question about wingspan certainly didn’t help.

And if she was bringing it up again after a week, her curiosity wasn’t likely to fade anytime soon.

“Alright,” he finally said, and she rewarded him with that beautiful smile of hers—the one that never failed to make his heart skip a beat. “Rumor has it that the span of an Illyrian’s wings reflects the size of… certain body parts.”

She frowned, a small crease appearing on her brow. He resisted the urge to smooth it away with his thumb.

“What body parts?” she asked, her gaze wandering up and down his body as if she could see the answer somewhere.

He was glad she wasn’t looking at his face when he replied, “Intimate body parts, Y/N.”

Her eyes shot up to meet his, wide with surprise and shock. A faint blush colored her cheeks as she looked down again. Straight at his crotch.

Azriel had to draw on five hundred years of composure to keep himself from shifting—and, more importantly, from hardening under her gaze. She’s just surprised, he told himself. That’s why she’s looking. Nothing more.

When she met his eyes again, her voice was quiet, as though she was too shy to ask but couldn’t help herself.

“And, uh…” She paused, clearing her throat before finishing. “Are those just rumors?”

The words slipped out before he could think. “No. It’s true.”

She studied him for a moment, and he feared he’d said too much and made her uncomfortable. But before he could apologize, she spoke again.

“Does Cassian really have the largest wingspan?”

He couldn’t stop the smirk that spread across his lips. “He likes to brag about it, but no, he doesn’t.” And though he knew he probably shouldn’t, he added, “I do.”

Her eyes widened, dropping to his crotch again. This time, his body reacted before he could stop it, and he felt himself beginning to harden in his pants. Her cheeks flushed an ever deeper shade of red.

“Hey, it's alright,” he murmured, tilting her chin up so she would look at him. “I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

To his surprise, she gave him a soft smile. “You didn't. I asked. It's just…” Her voice trailed off, and she looked away for a moment before returning her focus to him.

“I just don't have much experience,” she whispered.

Azriel needed to change the topic immediately before his mind began running wild, thinking of all the things he could show her, all the sensations he could make her feel, all the possibilities. He reeled in his thoughts.

Sliding an arm around her waist, he pulled her closer. “It's alright,” he repeated, pressing another kiss to her temple. “We don't have to do anything. I don't want you to feel pressured.”

“But what if…” She hesitated, but as she bit her lip, she placed her hand on his leg, just above his knee but close enough for Azriel to be acutely aware of every small movement of her fingers. He was caught in a suspended moment, where everything hinged on her next words.

“What if I want to do something?”

His heart pounded in his chest. “You… want to?”

Despite the blush still coloring her cheeks, she held his gaze and nodded, a shy smile playing on her lips. He struggled not to kiss her right then and there and let his hands explore every inch of her body.

“Tell me what you want, beautiful,” he said instead, keeping his voice quiet and steady. “Anything you want, you can have it.”

She looked down, her gaze landing on the erection he could no longer hide. “I want to help you with that,” she murmured, her hand sliding up to his thigh and squeezing gently.

Azriel sucked in a breath. Unable to stop himself, he shifted, spreading his legs slightly to bring her hand closer to where he wanted it.

“Are you sure?” he asked. He needed her, desperately, but he didn’t want her to feel obligated.

Instead of answering, she stepped off the bed. Her eyes never left his as she moved between his parted legs, her fingers reaching for his shirt. He didn't stop her as she tugged it off, revealing his tanned chest.

“I'm sure, Az,” she whispered, her finger tracing the swirling lines of his tattoos. She'd done it many times before, but now it felt more intimate, more intentional. “Let me do this for you.”

He couldn't hold back any longer. Not when she looked at him with rosy cheeks and eyes full of desire. They both wanted this, and he wasn’t going to turn her down.

Cupping her face in his hands, Azriel pulled her in for a kiss. As their lips met, the bond between them came to life, glowing bright and golden in his chest and filling him with warmth that had nothing to do with the heat of his growing arousal.

“Go on, then,” he murmured against her lips when he finally found the will to break the kiss. “You can do whatever you like.”

She smiled, and under Azriel's attentive gaze, she knelt between his legs. From where he sat, the neckline of her nightgown left little to the imagination. He swallowed, his breath catching as she began unbuttoning his pants. He lifted his hips just enough for her to slide them down his legs, along with his underwear, leaving him bare before her. Her eyes widened slightly as the took him in.

“You weren't lying about it,” she murmured, glancing up at him. “I didn't expect you to be… this big.”

His smirk turned smug. “You certainly know how to flatter a male's ego.”

She chuckled, averting her gaze for only a moment before reaching out. Her hand wrapped around his aching cock, making him gasp audibly. At the sound, a smile of delight appeared on her face, and she began to stroke him slowly, her movements gentle and exploratory.

His eyes locked with hers, and, encouraged by the connection, she grew bolder. Her grip tightened slightly, and he instinctively bucked his hips forward. Still, he held back as much as he could, letting her set the pace she was most comfortable with. But she leaned closer, her eyes searching his for permission, a silent question lingering in them.

Azriel brushed her cheek, his thumb tracing her bottom lip. “Whatever you like,” he repeated in a whisper.

She nodded, and as his hand slipped away, she leaned in, her tongue flicking out to run along his cock before her lips closed around his tip. He sucked in a breath, resisting the urge to push himself deeper into her mouth and holding his body still. The only sign of his impatience was the faint rustle of his wings behind him.

She continued to stroke him slowly, teasing him with gentle squeezes and soft touches, her tongue swirling around his head until precum leaked out. But with each of his sighs and the small, involuntary twitches of his hips, her confidence grew. She took him a few inches deeper, hesitating briefly sliding before her lips farther down his cock, stretching her jaw to fit as much of him as she could.

“Fuck…” he groaned, the word escaping his lips as she hollowed her cheeks. Her mouth was warm, wet and impossibly tight, and it took every ounce of his self-control not to thrust into her. Instead, he tangled his fingers in her hair—not to guide her, but to ground himself, needing the connection, needing to feel her any way he could.

His little outburst seemed to wash away the last traces of her shyness. She began to bob her head, still using her hand to cover what her mouth couldn’t take, her tongue swirling around him with ease. Her eyes stayed locked on his, and Cauldron boil him, Azriel could have come right then.

His mate was on her knees before him, pleasuring him in a way he had never dared to dream of. Over the last week, he'd fantasized about it once or twice, but he’d assumed she wasn’t ready to take that step and relished the simple intimacy of a gentle, teasing touch while cuddling.

But here she was, her boldness lighting a fire inside him.

“Gods, you’re so beautiful like this,” he murmured, a moan spilling from his lips.

She blushed again but only moved faster, taking him deeper. His eyes rolled back, and his fingers tightened in her hair. When she whimpered softly, the sound sent a shock of pleasure through him, clouding his mind and driving him closer to the edge. He rocked his hips once, unable to hold back any longer.

“I’m… I’m close, sweetheart,” he panted. He didn’t care if he didn’t last long, didn't care that she’d been working him for only a few minutes. His release coiled tighter in his gut, his breaths coming faster, and he knew he couldn't hold it back. “You should stop if you don’t want me to come in your mouth.”

But the desire in her eyes only burned brighter, and she didn’t stop. Instead, she put even more effort into it, her free hand resting on his thigh while the other one squeezed gently at the base of his cock. When she hollowed her cheeks again, her warm mouth enveloping him so perfectly, Azriel’s control shattered.

With a groan, pleasure crashed over him, his release spilling down her throat. She swallowed every drop, the rhythmic contractions of her mouth around him drawing out his pleasure for a few more moments before he relaxed again, loosening his grip on her hair as he struggled to catch his breath.

After a moment, she pulled back, and Azriel immediately felt the absence of her warmth around him. Her hand slipped away as well, and for a beat, they simply looked at each other, twin smiles of satisfaction on their faces.

“You were wonderful,” he said eventually, helping her stand and guiding her to sit on his lap. “That was incredible.”

Her blush returned, deepening at his praise, an endearing sight he would never grow tired of. It made him want to keep complimenting her, especially after the pleasure she’d just given him.

He kissed her, savoring the softness of her lips and the familiar taste he’d come to cherish over the past week, now mixed with a hint of own release. His tongue slid into her mouth, entwining with hers while his hand drifted down to her thigh, brushing the hem of her nightgown. She didn’t pull away, but Azriel sensed the sudden tension seizing her body, despite her attempt to hide it.

He immediately withdrew his hand, silently cursing himself for assuming too much, especially after being so careful to let her dictate their pace.

Pulling back from the kiss, he searched her eyes. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I should have asked.”

She shook her head, but she didn't look at him. “No, it's my fault. When I said I don't have much experience, I… I actually meant I don't have any experience.”

Azriel did his best to mask his surprise, not wanting to make her feel more self-conscious. Gently, he placed his hand on her waist, drawing slow, soothing circles over the fabric of her nightgown.

“Why didn't you tell me?” he asked softly.

Her eyes remained fixed downward as she nervously fidgeted with her fingers. “Because you're five centuries old,” she whispered. “You must have so much experience with these things, and I don't, and I didn't want you to be disappointed if I—”

“Hey,” he interrupted, unwilling to let her continue down that path. Tilting her chin up with a gentle finger, he waited patiently for her to meet his eyes. When she didn't, he murmured, “Can you look at me, sweetheart?”

Slowly, her gaze slid to his. Azriel offered her a soft, reassuring smile, hoping it would ease her worries.

“I don't care if you don't have any experience,” he said, his hand still caressing her side. “I'm not disappointed. All that matters to me is you and whether you're comfortable with whatever we're doing.”

She nodded, though some tension still lingered in her body. He could tell she struggled to believe him, but he wanted to make it clear that he would respect any boundary, any hesitation. She came first, and she always would. Everything else could wait.

“We can take things as slow as you want to,” he continued. “I won't rush you. You're in control, Y/N. Always. Okay?”

At last, he felt her body relax, a relieved smile appearing on her face. “Okay,” she said quietly. “Thank you.”

“Good.” Azriel smiled back, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Will you let me get up for a moment? I'll wash up quickly, and then we can go to sleep.”

Her smile grew, a hint of playful anticipation gleaming in her eyes. “Can we cuddle?”

He chuckled. “Of course we can cuddle, beautiful.”

As she slid off his lap, he stole one last kiss before getting up and heading to the bathroom. He could feel her eyes following him, and he couldn't help but smirk.

He wanted her, but if she needed more time, he'd give it to her without question, even after what she'd just done for him. After all, her trust and comfort were more important than his need, and he knew that waiting would only make the moment she was truly ready even more special. The wait would be worth it.

Because she was worth it. She was worth everything.

General taglist: @mrsjna @navyblue-eternity @paintedbyshadows @highladyandromeda @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @azrielsmate3 @mollygetssherlockcoffee @mirandasidefics @tinystarfishgalaxy @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @anarchiii @readinggeeklmao @anneas11 @azrielslittleslut @lilah-asteria @aaahhh0127 @lorosette @azrielsrealmate @pey2618 @mellowmusings @k8r123-blog @daughterofthemoons-stuff @minnieoo @saltedcoffeescotch @georgiadixon

Azriel Week: @fourthwing4ever

[sixeyesonathiel]

bloom in the blood — teaser

pairing — ares!gojo x aphrodite!reader

synopsis : in the early days of olympus, when the gods were still shaping their thrones and their names were still sharp in mortal mouths, two ascensions altered the course of heaven. one, carved from war and flame. the other, crowned in silk and worship.

they were never meant to meet.

but the world doesn’t always listen to prophecy. and when love and war find themselves in the same room—the sky holds its breath.

a/n : tags to be included just know it's a oneshot full of banter and yearning w/ smut, all i can say is prepare for satoru crashing out bcs the woman he's falling for fucks around with literally anyone but not with him LMAO. do tell if y'all want me to create a tag list for this <3 this oneshot is based from my drabbles, you can check it out here!

the sky was red, raw, still bleeding from the last war when they dragged you before the gods. your bare feet scraped the cold marble of olympus, bruised and dusted with ash, each step a reminder of the mortal earth you’d been torn from. your lips burned, stained with pomegranate wine you hadn’t chosen—left at your shrine by men with trembling hands, their eyes wet with desperation, their voices cracking as they whispered your name. your skin shimmered under the flickering torchlight, kissed by pollen, crushed gold, and the weight of offerings piled too high. mortals called you blessed. beloved. a miracle. their words clung to you like damp silk, heavy and unwanted.

but you were no goddess.

not yet.

just a woman with a face sharp enough to cut empires, beautiful enough to set them ablaze.

your gaze flicked upward, defiant, as zeus loomed from his throne—marble carved from thunder, draped in stormlight that pulsed like a living thing. his eyes, cold and ancient, studied you like a riddle he’d already decided was beneath him. behind him, olympus breathed, its golden columns trembling faintly, as if the mountain itself feared what you might become.

they called you dangerous.

not for a blade in your hand—you carried none—but because the world wielded one for you. kings had slaughtered bloodlines for a glance from you. sons had burned their fathers’ bones for the ghost of your smile. temples—holy, sacred temples—had crumbled to ash because your name lingered on mortal tongues longer than any prayer. when the gods tried to turn away, the mortals only screamed louder, their voices a tide that drowned out divine decrees.

“if she makes gods tremble as a mortal,” zeus declared, his voice rolling like a storm down a shattered peak, “then let her be a goddess. let her be worshipped instead.”

his words were not praise. they were a sentence.

they crowned you with pearls ripped from the marrow of sea monsters, their luster cold against your scalp. they bathed you in milk and honey, the sweetness cloying, sticking to your skin like a second chain. silk wound around your limbs—dyed with sunset and desire, so thin it felt like a lover’s breath—until you stood transformed, a vision too heavy to bear. they named you divine, not out of reverence, but to leash you. a crown, after all, is just another kind of collar.

elsewhere, the god of war tore a man apart with his teeth.

his name was satoru, and it still is, though mortals speak it only in shadows, pouring wine into the dirt, whispering behind bolted doors. they call him plague-bearer. butcher. saint of slaughter. but the truth is older, sharper: he was the first to ascend, not through glory or fate, but because even the underworld spat him back out. they say he died once, maybe twice—it didn’t matter. his body refused to rot. his sword never fell. every battlefield he touched still bears the scars of his hands, the earth itself remembering the weight of his steps.

“war can never be loyal,” zeus once muttered, watching him from a distance, his voice thick with something like fear. “we made him because we had to. because nothing else could stop him.”

satoru never craved divinity. but when the gods opened their gates, he strode through, blood-soaked and laughing, his grin a blade that cut deeper than steel. he killed like it was art, each stroke deliberate, each scream a note in a song only he could hear. he smiled like it hurt, like the act of joy was a wound he’d chosen to bear.

in a world where the gods were still young, still bleeding from mortal wounds, two forces were carved into being: love and war. they were never meant to meet. you didn’t know him. didn’t care. your temples rose on distant peaks, your altars draped in roses and gold, where men wept in your lap and tore each other apart just to die with your name on their lips. and far from your sanctums, satoru stood knee-deep in blood, his grin white and wild under a black sun, never knowing that the one thing forbidden to him—the one thing he might break for—was already burning with worship on another mountain.

“love has always ended wars,” the fates whispered, their threads taut between bony fingers. “but this love will start one.”

he didn’t know your name. not yet. but he would. because war always finds a reason to burn. and the gods, poor fools, had just given him his.

you.

the gods were arguing again, their voices a dull roar in the vaulted halls of olympus.

satoru leaned against a massive column, its marble too smooth, too clean for the filth still clinging to his skin. a half-empty goblet dangled between his bloodstained fingers, the wine inside catching the torchlight like liquid rubies. his armor hung loose, undone, the red and black silk of his tunic parted to reveal a chest still smudged with battlefield dirt, scars glinting faintly under the divine glow. his boots scuffed the polished floor, leaving faint streaks of mud and blood—marks of a war he’d abandoned hours ago, bored of its predictable end. he tilted his head back, pale lashes brushing his cheekbones, and watched a spider crawl across the gilded ceiling with more interest than he spared the council’s squabbles.

another pantheon forming. another city teetering on war. someone wept over tithes, another over priesthood succession—it was all the same. petty noise, perfumed panic, the soft rot of gods grasping at power they hadn’t earned. satoru’s lip curled faintly, his boredom a sharp, living thing, coiling in his chest like a beast waiting to snap.

“have you heard?” a goddess hissed, her voice sharp behind an ivory fan, pearls clinking against her goblet as she leaned toward a godling draped in rubies. “he made her divine. the mortal girl. the one whose beauty sparked three wars last year alone.”

satoru’s gaze didn’t shift, but the spider froze, legs tensing, as if it felt the air thicken. he didn’t look at them—not yet. not until the word slipped from their lips like a curse.

“the new goddess,” they whispered, reverent and afraid. “goddess of love.”

he laughed, a sound that cut through the murmurs like a blade through silk. not polite. not cruel. something raw, guttural, that made lesser gods flinch and the marble itself seem to shiver. he pushed off the column, muscles flexing under pale skin, the goblet swaying dangerously in his hand. his mouth curled into something too sharp to be a smile.

“goddess of love?” he echoed, dragging the words slow, like they tasted of ash. he stepped into the circle, wine sloshing against gold, his boots leaving faint smears on the floor. “what, she fluttered her lashes and someone handed her a throne?”

silence.

a few gods shifted, their robes rustling like dry leaves. one chuckled, too nervous to stop, and choked it back under satoru’s glance. the air tightened, heavy with the weight of his presence—smoke, cedar, and something scorched clinging to him like a second skin.

“love doesn’t win wars,” he muttered, tossing the goblet aside. it hit the steps with a dull clink, wine pooling red and rich, seeping into the cracks like blood. “love dies screaming on battlefields. love is what weak men beg for before i take their heads.”

his lip curled, baring teeth still stained with the memory of violence. “she must be fucking useless.”

he didn’t think of you again. not until the festival.

it was a spectacle he despised—loud, gaudy, drowning in gold and laughter too sweet to trust. a celebration of the seasons, where gods flaunted new robes and mortals poured honey-wine with trembling hands.

satoru had been summoned, not invited, dragged in like a blade on display. he slouched in a throne too polished, near the edge of the marble amphitheater, a goblet loose in his hand, the wine inside warm and sour. his other hand rested on the hilt of a dagger hidden under his robes—not because he needed it, but because its weight felt more honest than the applause.

he watched nothing. heard less. the perfume in the air stung his throat, thick with jasmine and myrrh. the lyre’s notes clawed at his skin, too soft, too delicate. he shifted, restless, the silk of his tunic catching the light, red and black like a wound half-healed.

then you appeared.

he didn’t see you first—he felt you. the hush that fell, sudden and absolute, like a thousand throats catching at once. the sunlight shifted, bending as if it answered to something greater than itself. then you stepped into view, and the world tilted, just enough to make his breath hitch.

you weren’t dressed to be seen. you were dressed to be worshipped.

translucent silk clung to your body, whispering secrets with every step, its edges catching the light like liquid flame. your skin glowed with divine ichor, kissed by gold dust and perfumed oils that smelled of lotus and something darker, sweeter. your hair was pinned with ivory combs, delicate strands spilling over your shoulder, catching the sun like threads of molten glass. each step was silent, commanding—not ethereal, not fragile, but like gravity itself knelt to you.

your eyes swept the crowd, slow, dismissive, lips parted just enough to hint at indifference. you offered nothing but presence, yet every god and mortal leaned forward, supplicants at an altar they hadn’t chosen. your hands were bare, wrists unbound, and somehow, every divine being forgot what power tasted like.

satoru blinked, his grip tightening on the goblet. for a moment, he thought it was a trick—a glamour, a curse. but no. you weren’t trying. you didn’t need to.

you didn’t look at him. not once.

and that was the problem.

his fingers clenched, wine sloshing over the rim, dripping onto his thigh. something coiled in his chest—sharp, nameless, alive. by the time he realized he was standing, the goblet had cracked in his grip, gold bending under his strength. his palm bled, slow and deliberate, wine mingling with blood, trickling down the stem in delicate streaks.

he didn’t notice.

couldn’t.

not when you were gliding across the marble like a storm on the verge of breaking, your gaze never once faltering in his direction.

his breath slowed, not calm but honed, like a predator scenting something it hadn’t learned to name. every instinct rose, ancient and patient, stirring under his skin like a tide pulling back before a crash.

you didn’t speak. didn’t smile. didn’t flinch.

and that made it worse. because satoru had killed kings for less. because gods had begged for his glance—and you didn’t even spare him a thought.

the silk of your dress shivered as you passed a column, your shoulder brushing the edge of shadow, and he could swear it trembled in your wake. behind you, a chorus lifted their voices, their song soft and reverent. he didn’t hear it. not really.

he was watching the way your bare foot kissed the marble, the arch of your ankle, the tilt of your chin like you carried the weight of a crown you hadn’t asked for. he saw the way your hands rested at your sides, loose but commanding, as if you could summon oceans with a flick of your wrist.

you were beautiful. too beautiful.

but it wasn’t that.

it was the nerve.

you hadn’t even looked at him.

and now you’d never leave his thoughts again.

weeks passed, and your name became a wound. once a curiosity, it grew into an invocation, spoken in places it didn’t belong—on battlefields, by dying men whose last breaths weren’t for war but for love. soldiers carved your sigil into their armor, scratched it into blades like a charm against death. queens knelt at your altars, clutching roses and begging for your favor before sending their sons to slaughter.

and satoru hated it.

not because it rivaled him. not because it mattered. but because every time your name crossed mortal lips, it clawed beneath his skin, a splinter that refused to bleed out.

so he did what he always did when the ache grew sharp—he picked a fight.

he stormed your temple in the middle of a rite, dust still clinging to his greaves, blood crusted along his throat like a second skin. his tunic was torn, dark with sweat and ash, and his mouth curved in something too wild to be a smile. laughter lingered in the cracks of his lips, though his eyes were cold, sharp, like a blade half-drawn. the doors groaned under the weight of his steps, and every priest in attendance forgot how to breathe.

acolytes scattered like doves, their robes fluttering in panic. dancers froze mid-turn, silk suspended like a held breath. the air thickened, heavy with incense and the scent of crushed petals—hibiscus, lotus, rose—cloying and sweet, clinging to the back of his throat.

only you didn’t move.

you sat on a platform of rose-quartz steps, draped in sheer ivory that caught the torchlight like moonlight on water. garlands of hibiscus curled around your ankles, their red petals stark against your skin, like blood spilled in offering. lotus petals floated in a shallow basin at your feet, their scent thick with honey and something deeper, darker. your posture was relaxed, one elbow resting against the curve of your throne, fingers tangled lazily in your hair, as if the world hadn’t just shuddered at his arrival.

but you felt it. he knew you did.

your face was unreadable beneath a thin veil—until you lifted it. your eyes met his, not with fear, not with awe, but with a flicker of irritation, like a cat disturbed by a sudden noise.

“you’re not supposed to be here,” you said, your voice low, silken, sharp enough to draw blood.

satoru stepped forward, boots crushing a garland underfoot, the petals snapping like bones. the sound echoed in the vaulted chamber, louder than it should have. his pale hair clung damply to his brow, blood dried along his cheekbone, dark against skin that glowed like moonlight. his smirk was mean, carved from something jagged.

“then make me leave.”

incense twisted between you, thick and heavy, curling upward like it, too, waited for your next move. petals bled under his boots—red, white, bruised—sticking to the leather like offerings gone sour. his shoulders rolled back, lazy but deliberate, like a beast stretching before a hunt.

you didn’t rise. didn’t blink. your eyes dragged over him, slow, unimpressed, taking in the blood, the sweat, the torn silk. “you think you can scare me into reverence?”

he scoffed, circling the altar like a storm circling its eye. “i think you’re used to men begging.”

his grin sharpened, teeth glinting in the torchlight. “i’d rather die.”

“pity,” you murmured, standing at last.

your voice was quieter now, but it cut deeper, each syllable a needle under his skin. you stepped forward, and the floor seemed to shrink beneath him. your chin tilted, crown catching the light, shoulders squared in soft defiance. the silk of your robes whispered as you moved, the sound louder than it should have been in the silent hall. “dying is the only thing you’re good at.”

he laughed, low and dangerous, the sound rumbling like thunder trapped in his chest. blood lingered between his teeth, a faint red stain when he bared them, and for a heartbeat, your gaze lingered on his mouth—too long, too sharp.

there it was. the spark.

“you think love matters on a battlefield?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper, daring you to lie.

your gaze didn’t waver. “i don’t need to fight,” you said, stepping down to his level. the silk barely rustled, but the room tightened with every inch you closed. “they destroy themselves for me.”

his mouth twitched, not amusement but something darker, hungrier. “then you’re just another coward,” he hissed, and now he was close. too close. his breath was fire, his presence heat, cedar and blood and something scorched. “you watch from your throne while the world tears itself apart in your name.”

you stared up at him, unmoved, gold at your temples glinting like a challenge. “you kill to feel alive,” you said, soft but vicious, each word a blade. “i make them beg to live.”

you leaned in, just enough for him to catch the sweetness on your throat—lotus, honey, divine. “which of us is the monster?”

and everything stopped.

satoru froze, his smirk fading, his breath catching like a blade in his chest. the air cracked, too thick, too heavy, incense flaring upward like it feared what came next. the god of war—untouchable, insatiable—stood still, not because he couldn’t move, but because something in him didn’t know how.

you weren’t afraid of him. you didn’t want him. you didn’t need him.

and that was the moment he started to burn.

you turned away first, veil slipping back down with a flick of your fingers, the gesture effortless, dismissive. you sat, the hem of your robe curling around your ankles like water, the room exhaling with you. the acolytes trembled in the shadows, their breaths shallow, their eyes darting between you.

behind you, satoru stood in silence.

his fists clenched, knuckles white, blood seeping from where his nails bit into his palms. his breath came sharp, chest heaving once—twice—then stilled. his eyes traced the curve of your shoulder, the fall of your hair, the way your fingers rested on the throne like you held the world in your palm.

he didn’t leave.

not yet.

he stayed, long enough to make the acolytes’ hands shake, long enough to memorize the shape of your silence. because now he knew your name. and war never forgets.

you weren’t a threat to peace—you were a reason for war to breathe again.

[maddie0101]

𖤐 wanted (dean winchester x fem!reader)

𖤐 summary: you went looking for something real, only to come back broken. But this time, Dean won’t stay silent—because you were always his.

𖤐 warnings: tension, cussing, angst.ᐟᅟ.ᐟᅟ, brief mention of sa but nothing major, protective!dean, jealous!dean, hurt/comfort, angry!dean, love confessions, I’m a whore for possessive/jealous dean.

𖤐 word count: 1.7k (this was supposed to be a drabble, oops)

𖤐 note: (PLEASE READ .ᐟᅟ.ᐟᅟ) this fic has some undertones that might not be a good fit for some readers. It has a brief mention of unwanted touching but that is it. please don’t continue if you aren’t comfortable with that. my inbox is always open ❤︎

You were in there, getting ready, and he hated it. Dean sat at the library table, staring blankly at the open lore book in front of him. He wasn’t reading a damn word of it, hadn’t been for the past twenty minutes. His beer sat untouched, the condensation pooling onto the wood, but he didn’t care. All he could focus on were the sounds coming from your room down the hall.

The shuffle of fabric as you changed. The soft hum of music playing from your phone. The faint clatter of makeup on your dresser, the light steps of your bare feet against the floor. Every little noise made his stomach twist.

Because you were getting dressed up for someone else and he hated it.

Hated the thought of you smiling at another guy, laughing at his dumb jokes, letting him see that softer side of you—the side Dean had spent years memorizing. He could already picture it. Some asshole sitting across from you at a candlelit table, looking at you like you were the best thing in the room—because you were.

Dean should’ve been that guy. He should’ve been the one making you laugh, the one earning those soft looks. He should’ve been the one waiting at your door, breath catching in his throat when he saw you for the first time. But he’d wasted every goddamn chance he had, stuffing his feelings down, pretending he didn’t care.

And now? Now he had to sit here and let some other guy take what should’ve been his.

The door to your room creaked open, and Dean barely had time to steel himself before your footsteps echoed down the hall. He clenched his jaw, keeping his eyes on the book like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

Then you stepped into the room and Dean damn near forgot how to breathe.

You were beautiful. More than beautiful. Whatever word existed beyond that, that’s what you were. Your dress hugged every inch of you just right, your hair framed your face in a way that made his fingers twitch with the need to touch, and your eyes—Jesus, your eyes—held that nervous, excited glimmer that made his stomach drop. You smiled, and it knocked the wind out of him.

“Hey,” you said, voice light and hopeful. “How do I look?”

Dean swallowed, hard. Like his. Like the one thing he could never have. He forced a smirk, though it felt like a goddamn lie. “You look great, sweetheart.”

You beamed, and he swore it physically hurt. Because that smile wasn’t for him. It was for the guy waiting for you, the one who had no idea how damn lucky he was.

You glanced down the hall. “Sam’s still in his room?”

Dean barely managed to nod. “Yeah. Probably got his nose in a book.” His voice was rougher than he meant it to be.

You laughed softly, and he wanted to bottle up the sound, keep it for himself.

With one last glance in the mirror, you grabbed your coat and headed for the door. “I’ll see you guys later.”

Dean just nodded, watching you disappear down the hall but flinched as the bunker door opened and closed. He exhaled sharply, gripping the bottle in front of him so hard his knuckles turned white.

All because he’d been too much of a coward to tell you the truth.

He'd spent the whole fucking night stewing. Dean was absolutely restless, pacing the bunker like a caged animal, throwing back beers that did nothing to cool the fire burning in his gut. He kept telling himself he was overreacting. That you were just on some normal, run-of-the-mill date. That you’d come back all happy and flushed, and he’d have to sit there and pretend like it didn’t rip him apart inside.

But he wasn’t overreacting because you were out there with some guy--Some guy who didn’t know you the way Dean did. Who didn’t know how you scrunched your nose when you were thinking too hard, or how you hummed under your breath when you were lost in your own world. Some guy who hadn’t bled beside you on hunts, hadn’t stayed up drinking whiskey with you at 2 a.m., hadn’t patched you up after a close call and whispered, You scared the shit out of me, sweetheart.

Some guy who wasn’t him.

And yet, he was the one you had gotten all dolled up for. He was the one who got to take you out tonight. Dean had no one to blame but himself. He’d had years--years to make a move. To tell you how he felt. To stop hiding behind cheap one-liners and stolen glances when you weren’t looking. But he hadn’t. And now here he was, waiting for you to walk back in, trying not to imagine the worst.

The bunker door creaked open and Dean’s head snapped up. The second he saw you, every muscle in his body went tight.

You weren’t smiling or glowing like you should have been after a date. No, you looked wrecked. This was something different. Your arms were wrapped around yourself, your shoulders tense, your eyes… fuck. They looked lost. Like you weren’t even here and Dean felt something cold slide through his veins.

He was up and moving before he could think. “What happened?”

You didn’t answer. Didn’t even look at him. You just shook your head and walked past him, heading straight for your room.

Dean turned, watching as your door clicked shut behind you. His stomach twisted, his hands curling into fists. This wasn’t just a bad date. Something happened. And the longer he stood there, the worse the thoughts got.

Fifteen minutes later, he heard it. A muffled, broken sound from behind your door. Dean didn’t hesitate. He crossed the hall in three long strides and pushed your door open without knocking.

You were sitting on the edge of your bed, head in your hands, shoulders shaking.

“Sweetheart,” he breathed.

Your head snapped up. For a second, it looked like you might tell him to go--to leave you alone but then your face crumpled, and that was it. Dean was in front of you, sinking to his knees, hands gripping your arms, grounding you.

“What happened?” His voice was low, barely keeping the fury at bay.

You swallowed hard, shaking your head. “I don’t—”

“Don’t bullshit me.” His voice was sharper than he meant it to be, but he couldn’t help it. Not when you looked like this. Not when you were shaking. “Tell me what the fuck happened.”

Your breath hitched. You squeezed your eyes shut, and when you spoke, your voice was so small, it nearly fucking killed him. “He tried to touch me.”

Everything in Dean went still. Then, rage. It hit him like a goddamn freight train, something hot and violent curling in his chest. His jaw clenched so hard it ached, his hands flexing against your arms.

“He tried, and I—I knocked him out.” A humorless, bitter laugh slipped from your lips. “One good shot to the jaw. Bastard hit the floor like a sack of bricks.”

Dean should’ve felt relief at that. Should’ve been proud because of course you took care of yourself. Of course you didn’t let some asshole put his hands on you.

But you weren’t proud, you weren’t even angry. You just looked… tired. And that? That fucking gutted him.

“I should’ve seen it coming,” you whispered. “Should’ve known it was too good to be true.” You gave a small shake of your head, staring past him, lost in thought. “Every time I think, maybe… maybe this time, maybe I’ll meet someone who actually gives a shit about me—” Your voice cracked. “I end up alone.”

Dean’s throat felt tight. That’s what this was about. Not the asshole who tried to touch you. Not the fact that you had to deck him just to get away. It was about the fact that you wanted something good. Something real and you were convinced you were never going to find it. And that? That pissed him off more than anything.

He wasn't pissed at you, never at you. But at himself. Because how the fuck had he let you feel like this? Like you weren’t wanted? Like you weren’t worth more than some shitty, bottom-feeder loser who didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as you?

Dean exhaled sharply, voice rough. “That’s bullshit.”

You blinked, startled by his tone. “What?”

Dean shook his head, jaw ticking. “You sit here thinking you’re not wanted, thinking no one gives a shit, and it’s bullshit.” His hands tightened on your arms, firm. “Because you are wanted, sweetheart.” He swallowed hard. “More than you fucking know.”

Your lips parted, and for a second, you just stared at him, like maybe—maybe, you were finally seeing it.

Dean’s fingers slid up, cupping your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheek. His heart was pounding, but he didn’t care. He was done hiding. “You wanna know why I was so pissed when you left tonight?” His voice was barely above a whisper now. “Because it should’ve been me.”

Your breath hitched.

Dean leaned in, just enough for his forehead to brush against yours. “Should’ve been me takin’ you out. Me makin’ you laugh. Me tellin’ you how goddamn beautiful you are.” His fingers traced along your jaw, his lips so close they almost ghosted over yours. “Because you were never his for the taking, sweetheart.” His voice was a growl now, low and possessive. “You were mine.”

For a second, neither of you moved.

But then you surged forward, crashing your lips against his. Dean groaned, hands flying to your waist, pulling you flush against him as he kissed you like he’d been starving for it. Like he’d been dying for it. And fuck, maybe he had. Maybe he’d been waiting for this since the day he met you, holding himself back like an idiot.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, and Dean was gone. He deepened the kiss, sliding his hands up your back, pressing you so tight against him that there wasn’t a single inch of space left between you.

You weren’t just kissing him back. You were taking. Claiming him the way he’d always wanted to claim you. And fuck, if that wasn’t the best thing he’d ever felt.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, your forehead rested against his, your fingers still tangled in his hair.

Dean let out a shaky breath, his thumb brushing over your lips. “You feel unwanted now?”

You let out a breathless, almost laugh, shaking your head. “No.”

“Good,” he murmured, pressing another soft kiss against your lips. “Because that’s never gonna happen again.”

author’s note:

I think I might have to write some fluff after this one…I feel like I always put the reader and Dean through hell 😭 oops.

two fics within the same day?? yeah, I’m on some shi (not literally just sleep deprived:)

tags:

@freeluigihesbae @aylacavebear @supernotnatural2005 @bettystonewell @lieutenantchaos @bejeweledinterludes

If you would like to be tagged please fill out this form and I will add you to the list! ❤︎

≪ my works ≫

[restinslices]

Can we take our beautiful boy Smoke's virginity? 🙌🏾

I was thinking of a drabble but you can write this however you find easier ;)

If Tomas has no fans, then I'm dead. No gender is specified and reader is a softie because it's what everyone in this situation deserves. Also POV jumps from his to the readers. This was supposed to be a drabble but then I kept typing :D

Tomas was considered behind when it came to certain life experiences. It wasn't something he was necessarily ashamed of, but it was something he knew was true. His type of life didn't allow him to worry about certain things.

Dating was one of them. He knew that teenagers and young adults were supposed to date and experiment, but he never did. Never dated anyone, never held hands, kissed someone, went beyond that.

That didn't mean he had no desire to.

"Are you sure?" You asked softly, eyes observing his reaction to everything. "We can stop. I won't be upset or anything". The truth was that you wanted him badly, always had and always would. You would've certainly lost track if you had to count the amount of times you daydreamed about having him all to yourself, lips on yours, hips moving in a steady rhythm. But a relationship and sex wasn't a one way street. You wouldn't pressure him to do anything he wasn't comfortable with, even if you would be old and wrinkly by the time he wanted to be inside of you.

Tomas on the other hand felt a sense of nervousness he had never felt before. As bad as it sounds, killing someone was easy. He did it without thinking. Now though, you were depending on him for pleasure. "I'm gonna be incredibly bad at this... " he mumbled.

"That's alright" you said in the same soft tone, hand wrapping around his, which was wrapped around his cock. "Everyone's first time is weird. You'll get better over time. I'll help you".

Your other hand cupped his face, your thumb tracing his cheekbone when you noticed him leaning into your touch. "You can say no whenever and we'll stop. I promise"

"I want this". Nerves and all, he wanted this. Your hand stayed on his, guiding him closer and closer to your entrance, his nerves becoming stronger.

And then his nerves stopped, replaced by something far stronger; pleasure. He felt a chill go down his spine, and he only had the tip in. How long was he expected to last when you felt this good?

He felt equally good to you. Sure, you had been with other men before, but they were smaller. Everything about Tomas was bigger - his dick, his arms, his pecs, his height, everything about him made him better than any man you ever met.

You continued guiding him, making him stretch you around his cock slowly until eventually you could feel his balls pressed against you. And although you wanted him to pound inside of you right then and there, you forced yourself to remain patient. Tonight wasn't just about you. It was about him. Your arms wrapped around his neck and pulled him closer to you, taking in how pretty he looked with his lips parted and deep breathes coming in and out of him.

"Wow" was all he could muster when he finally spoke.

"Good wow or bad wow?

"Definitely good- wait. How long am I supposed to last?

"Uhh" how long? Um, long enough? You didn't know if there was an average time, but you knew the chances were low that he'd make it. "Don't worry about lasting long. It's your first time, okay? You'll last however long you last"

He nodded before his lips found yours, muffling both of your gasps as he pulled out, then pushed himself back in. "Was that okay?

"Perfect. Keep doing that" your legs wrapped around him, keeping him close as he began to find his rhythm.

Tomas couldn't understand why he hadn't done this with you before. Well, he understood that he simply wasn't ready before now, but the way you gripped him made him forget all about those previous worries. You were perfect. Stretching you open was almost too easy, but now that he was inside you, your hole held him tightly, letting him feel every bit of you. Every bit of your insides that were made for him.

He didn't know how fucked out he looked. That's what added to your pleasure besides the obvious. He had bit down on his lip to stifle his moans at first, but after some time he just couldn't keep quiet. If he wasn't kissing you, whines were falling out his mouth. Here he was, an assassin with arms bigger than your hands and a heavy cock in between his legs, whining because of how good you felt.

It wasn't one sided. He felt perfect to you aswell. His thick cock stretched you open, his veins rubbing against your insides. You hardly needed to instruct him. His tip always managed to be exactly where you needed it to be.

"I'm-" his sentence was cut off by a choked groan, his eyes squeezing shut as he shot his load inside of you.

You placed soft kisses on his cheeks, soothing him as he came down from his orgasm. "You did really good" you praised in between kisses.

His head fell to the crook of your neck, your fingernails gliding along his scalp and you unwrapping your legs around him. "You didn't cum" you heard him mumble against your neck. Well, you both had known he wouldn't last long

"No big deal. Tonight wasn't about me, it was about you. Did you like it?

"You have to ask?

You chucked, "I just enjoy clear communication"

"Then yes, I liked it". He lifted his head up enough to give you a kiss on the cheek, "should I feel this tired after?

You nodded, then tried to push him off only to feel him swat your hands away. "Wanna fuck you again, just need to breathe. Stay"

Who were you to turn your pretty boy down?

[fanaticsnail]

Can you write something romantic for yandere Mihawk? Like a drabble or headcannons?

🐈‍⬛

I don't think I've ever written yandere before, but I wanted to give it a go. I hope this is what you were looking for! 🖤🐌

Obsession

Masterlist here

Word count: 1,200+

Synopsis: Many believe Mihawk keeps the knowledge of his spouse a secret because he is a private man. Truth of it is, he is simply obsessed with you and doesn't believe any other pair of eyes is worthy of meeting their gaze with your majesty.

Themes: yandere!Mihawk x gn!reader, possessive attitude, obsession, infatuation, pining, longing, lusting, love, romance, kissing, yandere trope.

Notes: I will do anything to write a man in love. I love how period-drama romance looks on Mihawk, and I couldn't not write him with a little bit of a possessive flavour. I made the banner with OPLA's Mihawk wanted poster.

Tag list: @since-im-already-here @feral-artistry @mfreedomstuff @gingernut1314 @jintaka-hane @daydreamer-in-training @carrotsunshine @indydonuts @i-am-vita @sordidmusings

While many were aware that Dracule Mihawk was married, they simply presumed he was a very private man. He enjoyed keeping to himself, and allowing himself the courtesy of remaining in solitude with his spouse while tending to his title as World's Greatest Swordsman.

In some aspects, he did. He did enjoy keeping to himself and remaining in solitude while he lived in the high keep of his castle, surrounded by swirled mountains and his well-tended gardens. But at the crux of his entire life, the center of his world and the prized diamond in his vast treasury, was you.

You ruled his heart, controlled his chin and the direction his gaze fell with a simple whisper of a word or the scent of your perfume. He was a man consumed, humbled by his infatuation to the point where his love fell into captivated, depraved fixation.

To put it simply, Dracule Mihawk wanted to keep you all to himself. He was a man consumed by his bewitchment and infatuation with the owner of his heart.

He was never one for sharing, never joining a crew or forming a bond other than rivalry with another person. As soon as he met you, everything changed for him. His heart soared, his breath was stolen from his lungs, and his eyes never strayed from honing in on your beauty.

He wasn't sure what it was you did or didn't do that had him fall to his knees and begin to worship at your altar. All he knew was he wanted you so desperately, craved to be by your side always, and wanted to shy you away from the wandering eyes of all whom he deemed unworthy to have their gaze fall upon your majesty.

When your courtship first commenced, he attempted to keep his tribute humble and small. But as your eyes lit up at the first offer of a simple rose he carved from his favored floral shrubbery, he knew he wanted to spoil you with lavish luxury. Each gift was catered to your interests and tastes, items you never thought he paid enough mind to your conversation while promenading, hand interlaced within the crook of his elbow.

He paid mind to it all. The way your voice changed when speaking on your passions, the questions you asked him about his life before working for the World Government, how you paused in the garden and listened to the sweet chirps of birds begin courting their mates. He hung on your every word, movement and motion.

For someone so stoic and reserved, the way his heart melted for you the moment your eyes met was as if his cold vessel was chaperoned into the bright light of a warm sunset. He couldn't get enough, and when he was certain you returned his love, he refused any exchange of dowry for your hand.

He wanted you to be his just as much as he desired to be yours. That was more than enough for him, and he would never leave you for wanting or without for all the days of your life.

The first time he was summoned to perform his duty as a warlord for the World Government after your marriage, he was overcome with rage at the thought of leaving your side. He almost took the head of the carrier bird with the summons for his assignment, but withheld his violent act at the sight of you offering the bird your Berry, and gifting them your palm filled with sunflower seeds.

As soon as the bird fled, he lifted your palm within his own, brushed the darkened casings of the remains from the seeds' shells, and rose the flesh to his lips to kiss away the indents of pecks the bird left in raised welts on your skin. Cupping his bearded chin, you rose his amber eyes to meet with yours.

“I will return to you,” his voice mourned for you above the softest whisper, “I will always return to you.” Leaning his cheek and chin into your palm, he closed his eyes and furrowed his brows in deep yearning.

“You are always so good to me,” you responded in a tone that mirrored his own, prompting his eyes to snap open and gaze deeply into your own. “I trust you to find your way home once you conclude this contract.” Ushering his face closer to you, you whisper against his lips before fully making contact, “I will be right where you left me, waiting for you to return.”

Mihawk's eyes darkened, his pupils blown black and eclipsing his honey-hue with the intensity of his possessive gaze. He knew he was many things to you, and good was far from a sentiment he held for himself. His desire to keep you secret was not to keep you safely tucked away from those who wished to do him harm, but because he was truly a selfish man.

As your lips closed in around his own, he was ready to commence his enthusiastic consumption of all that you had to offer him. Each kiss he pressed into you felt both like the first time he had ever felt such passion, and the last time he was ever to claim such a prize.

Hands clawing at your hips, he drew you flush with his own and angled his chin to deepen the oscillation. Tongue darting out to taste yours like a delicacy he was never again to roll over his palate, the muscle ground against your lips and lewdly consuming your kiss with lusting desire.

Both pulling away from one another, he rested his forehead against yours and took a moment to catch his breath. Eyes closed and brow lowered, he shared breaths with you and savored every moment you shared with one another.

“I crave the day we meet again, my precious consort,” he pressed his lips to your forehead, “My guiding light to point me home,” his lips dart down to claim your cheek beneath it, “The crown jewel in my treasury, and reigning monarch of my very soul.” He pressed a chaste and longing kiss once more against your lips before pulling away.

“Always so charming, my love,” you smile up at him, removing your hands from his face and smoothing over his leather shoulder pads of his outer great-cloak. “I will be right here ready to receive you, as I always am.”

“My beloved,” he whispered, his eyes falling half-lidded and dark eyelashes fluttering from your lengthy confession.

“My dear,” you breathed his whisper within your chest and replaced it with your own. You pressed your lips to his cheek, an offer of your blessing to embark on the next chapter of his journey.

Dracule Mihawk was a man consumed with the love he had for his counterpart. He rued each day to depart from your side, and would have no quarrel with offering his opinion as such to the official whom summoned him.

Truthfully, he was a man infatuated by his spouse that it bordered on domination by his strongest emotions, but choosing to keep them beneath the surface to not tighten you with his intensity. It was his addiction, his fix in a world full of darkness and torment.

He was your loyal zealot, knight and fierce protector, and you...

You were his obsession.

[totallynotashieldagent]

It starts small. After everything that happened, Mark just wanted to find someone who was so far removed from his hero life and somehow, he found you.

Bright smile, easy eyes, and completely unaware of his truth. Or even his name.

He was just a face in the crowd but god the way you smiled at him, the way you treated him so... normally. Like a human. A real person. One without responsibilities. One without the weight of the world on his shoulders. Not Omniman's son, or Mark Grayson who was always breaking promises. None of that. Just ... Mark.

Something he hadn't been since before he got his powers. Something he'd always taken for granted until afterwards. When he couldn't have that anymore.

And to you?

To you, he's just the guy who you bumped into at the bookshop and then somehow ended up seeing everywhere.

It was weeks of randomly seeing him at various location that you finally gathered the courage to approach him.

"If you're stalking me, you're doing a very bad job." You'd said with an easy laugh and gods above, devils below, Mark felt his heart skip several beats for it.

He had shaken his head and laughed nervously. Something about coincidences and how the universe works in strange ways.

But he couldn't help himself. You were so beautiful. So untouched by the cruelty he knew.

So he did what he shouldn't have done. He asked you to sit. To join him.

That little meeting turned into a day's worth of conversations. About everything. About nothing. And when you parted ways, he wanted to keep you. Or maybe have you keep him? He wasn't sure but he knew he wanted more. More than just this fleeting connection.

So... numbers got exchanged and the dates- well, no, not really, not officially- but the meetings continued. The conversations became softer, lighter.

Random texts of hope you're dry whenever a storm rolled in or did you see this? with a new clip attached.

Mark was just grateful for it all. He didn't have to save you. He didn't have to fight to be your friend. He could simply say BRB and disappear for hours before coming back and the conversation continued as if he never left.

There was a simple warmth to the way you existed that brought him to his knees, honestly. When you listened with full attention. When you talking about random things without expecting him to have a world changing opinion.

And he knew it wouldn't last forever. His secrets always threatened to claw their way out, bubble up at the back of his throat like bile. But he was selfish enough, for the first time ever, he wanted to be selfish enough to take whatever he was given and say thank you for it.

.

.

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Drabble Masterlist.