#how are yall putting out a drawing a day??

[fleurinat-t]

A/N: Hey yall, this is gon be a long one so yall heeseung stans are gna have a field day with this one. Im a heeseung stan so yall already know i had  fun writing this. Anyways enjoy my fellow engenes!

Notebook letters

L.H.S x fem! Reader

༘⋆♡⸝⸝💌⊹💌જ⁀✎✉°˖➴༘༘⋆♡⸝⸝💌⊹💌જ⁀✎✉°

You never planned on writing to Lee Heeseung. He was the quiet guy two seats behind you in literature class, the one who always had earbuds in during breaks and doodled aimlessly in the margins of his notebook. You didn’t even know he noticed you—until it happened.

It was a boring Tuesday morning, and you were half-asleep when your pen fell and rolled backwards. You twisted in your seat to grab it, but before you could, a hand extended it to you.

Heeseung.

He didn't say anything, just offered a tiny smile and held out your pen. But when you took it, there was something else: a small sticky note wrapped around it. "You dropped this. Also, your pen is dying. Might want to retire it soon "You blinked at the note, your lips twitching into a smile. You tore a small piece of paper from your notebook and scribbled back:

"Thanks. I was hoping someone would sponsor me a new one "You didn’t expect him to reply. But the next day, there was a brand-new pen sitting on your desk before class started — a pastel purple one with a tiny bunny charm.

Taped to it was another note:

"Sponsored. Limited edition. Write wisely."

And so it began, Every day after that, you and Heeseung exchanged notes in a tiny, beat-up notebook you passed during class. It lived at the bottom of your shared desk drawer, carefully hidden under worksheets and snack wrappers.

At first, the notes were short:

"Today’s lecture might actually put me in a coma." "Same. If I don’t make it, delete my search history."

Then they grew:

"What kind of music do you like?" "Mostly indie stuff. But if you tell anyone I have a soft spot for early 2010s pop, I’ll deny it."

And later still:

"You’re really easy to talk to. Weird, huh?" "Not weird. You feel familiar. Like… comfortable."

One rainy Thursday afternoon, you found a new page folded inside the notebook. It wasn’t just a note — it was a drawing. A simple sketch of a figure curled up in a giant blanket, a steaming mug on their head. Underneath, Heeseung had written: “You said you liked rainy days. This is what I imagined.”

You stared at it for a long time.

Then you wrote back:

“I’d share my blanket. And the mug.”

After that, things shifted. He'd brush past your desk a little more slowly. Smile a little more often. And his notes became warmer. Softer.

"I like how your handwriting curls a little at the ends. It’s cute."

"You’re not so bad yourself. In fact… you’re kinda my favorite part of this class."

You didn’t know what to write back to that one. Your fingers hovered over the page, then finally, you scrawled a heart — just a tiny one, in the corner.

The next day, he circled it with a matching one next to it. It wasn’t until the last week of the semester that the notebook disappeared. You panicked a little. Checked under desks, flipped through folders. Nothing.

No more messages. No Heeseung.

Then, the day before finals, you found it.

Stuffed in your locker, wrapped in a paper bag. Inside, one final note:

"I didn’t lose it. Just wanted to write this last one in peace." "I was wondering if… you’d want to keep writing. Not in class, not in the notebook. Just… with me." "In real life." "Maybe over hot chocolate? I found a place with blankets and mugs big enough for two."

Your heart skipped.

You turned the page.

He’d already written your answer:

A checkbox.

☐ Yes

☐ No

☐ Only if there’s marshmallows

You grabbed a pen and checked the last one. Twice.

The next morning, you tried to act normal. Tried to walk into class like your heart wasn’t doing that annoying skipping thing and your cheeks weren’t on fire every time the door creaked open.

Heeseung was late. Of course.

You were chewing on the end of your hoodie string when he finally walked in, a little damp from the drizzle outside, hair tousled from the wind. His eyes found yours instantly. You didn’t even try to look away. He passed by your desk slowly, like always, but this time, he leaned in just a little too close and whispered, “Marshmallows it is.”

Then he grinned. Soft. A little shy. The kind that reached his eyes.

You swore your heart stuttered.

He slid into his seat behind you, and class started like usual. Except nothing felt usual. Not when your brain kept replaying Marshmallows it is like it was a love confession. Not when his sneaker kept tapping lightly against the back leg of your chair—on purpose, you were sure. Not when, halfway through the lecture, a folded note landed on your desk like magic.

You opened it with a practiced flick. “Do you think they’ll notice if I kidnap you after class?”

You bit your lip to hide the smile, scribbled back, and flicked it behind you. “Only if you make me scream.” There was a pause. A quiet cough from Heeseung. Then another note returned: “Please clarify. That could go several ways.”

You laughed, earning a weird look from the TA. You didn’t reply right away. Let him sit with it.

At the end of class, you packed your bag slowly, half-expecting him to vanish like usual—but there he was, lingering by the door, notebook in hand. Your notebook. “You forgot this,” he said.

You raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t you say it was retired?” He opened to a fresh page. Blank. Clean. “Thought maybe we could start a new chapter.”

You stared at him for a moment. Then you took the notebook, flipped to the first page, and wrote: “Chapter One: The Hot Chocolate Pact” He leaned over your shoulder and added beneath it: “Starring: One caffeine-dependent girl and a quiet guy who’s really bad at flirting.”

You nudged him with your elbow. “You’re not that bad.” He raised an eyebrow. “You got me to say yes, didn’t you?”

He smiled then—more sure of himself now, like he finally realized you weren’t just playing along.

And together, you walked out of the classroom. Not with sneaky glances or stolen notes. But shoulder to shoulder. Side by side.

Just two people. One notebook. And a whole lot of story left to write.

༘⋆♡⸝⸝💌⊹💌જ⁀✎✉°˖➴༘༘⋆♡⸝⸝💌⊹💌જ⁀✎✉°

A/N: I wanted to try a new style of writing!!!!! Also im working on the next jean part!!! I hope yall enjoyed!!!

[cripplingoptimism]

Kicking off Inktober with some angst. I love the thought of both Sidon and Link wrestling with their growing feelings for each other. All they can do is share quick touches and cryptic words in the moments where they're lucky enough to have their paths cross in between their respective responsibilities.

Side note; I don't hate Yona. Her marriage to Sidon just felt entirely political and not based in any kind of feelings. I'd like to think she would care less if Sidon took up a human side piece lmao

[demi-pixellated]

🌻Blade Breaker II & The Rose Noble🌹 - Power Couple of New Fodlan -

I am SO EXCITED to show my full piece for Sunflower, A Leonie zine. What a beautiful book, with all it’s fantastic merch, and I’m so glad I got to be apart of it and show my fav cavalry girl all the love she deserves!! Thank you to everyone who supported the zine, but if you missed out the first time around, don’t sweat it! Sunflower is now having it’s leftover sale!! 🌻 Pick Up A Copy Here 🌻

[risingsunresistance]

twitter is entering their "rts > likes" phase now that likes are private after they spent years calling us ungrateful for being demotivated by ratios lmao

[rhysroshalfile]

normal about this

washroom angel

fem!remmick x reader (18+ mdni)

on a routine bartending shift you find a butch in the alleyway and decide to take her home

author's note: hello fellow wlw remmick fans. happy pride month (even though it's almost over) enjoy this delicious little number brought to you by the cigarette i had earlier. big shout out to @rhysroshalfile because their femmick is quite literally the blueprint for this. grma enjoy! warnings: oral (fem recieving), penetration, strap-on, vibrators, drool, biting, hair pulling, sub and bottom remmick, remmick being stalkery (the usual)

You pour another drink for a waiting customer, smirking as she hands over a bill and compliments your makeup.

“Your girlfriend must love all that,” she jokes.

She’s an older butch. She has a strong chin and short hair and a tattoo on her bicep. 

“I haven’t got a girlfriend.”

“That’s a shame.”

“Sure is.”

Another dollar in the tip jar. 

“Thank you, love,” you chirp, making her grin at you. 

“Hi, gorgeous,” a familiar face greets you, sitting at a stool. 

“Hi, Lola,” you greet her back. “You want your usual?”

“Please, babe. I’m dyin’.”

You giggle and start to work on a cosmo.

The night continues, you serve more drinks and get more compliments. Other fem patrons ask where you got your boots or what brand of mascara you wear. 

“Wait, the makeup is so on,” a one with a pencil thin mustache and pink hair purrs.

“Thank you, love your hair,” you return, passing a hard seltzer over the bar. 

You wipe your hands on your apron. 

“I’m going for a smoke, Colm!” you call to the other bartender, an older gay man who wears one gold earring.

“Right, dear.”

You step out the back into the alley and light yourself a cigarette. Your lighter sparks, but doesn’t light. 

“Oh, come on,” you hiss, shaking it.

You try again and fail.

“Shit.”

You look around, trying to ignore the multiple couples kissing, or the blowjob occurring in the corner. You see a scrawny butch alone.

“Have you got a light?” you ask her. 

She flinches. 

“You scared me.” 

She’s Irish. 

“I’m sorry,” you coo sweetly. 

“I-I got a light.” 

She nods, producing a lighter from her pocket. She lights your cigarette and you watch her hands tremble. 

You take a puff, tasting that bitter smoke as it fills your lungs. You exhale away from her face.

“Thanks, love.”

You lean against the side of the building.

“So, where’s your girlfriend?” you tease, pointing at the dark alley.

“What?”

“Your girlfriend. Unless this was a one-time kinda thing.” 

“I-I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Well, this alley’s just for smoking and fucking, so if you’re not doing either, why are you out here and not inside?” 

“I was nervous,” she admits sheepishly. 

You know this type. The baby gays who put on their dad’s clothes and go out for the first time, and shake like leaves in the corner of the bar. Too scared to make moves. 

Her clothes definitely don’t fit, baggy trousers held up too high by a tight belt. 

“First time?” 

She swallows hard. 

“Yeah…”

You introduce yourself, offering your hand. She shakes it.

“I’m Remmick,” she says.

“Remmick,” you echo. “Did you give it to yourself?”

“I did.”

“Would you like to come in with me, Remmick? I’m the bartender. I’ll give you something really strong, shake those nerves off.”

Remmick nods, eyes wide as she stares at you. You’re the prettiest thing she’s ever seen. Your breasts barely contained by your strappy top and the black lace of your panties peeking over the top of your short skirt make her heart thump in her chest. 

You finish your cigarette and flick it on the ground, putting it out with the heel of your boot. The sight makes Remmick weak in the knees. 

Remmick sits at the end of the bar and you smile at her.

“You want a drink?”

“Yeah. I… um…”

She’s staring at you. You raise a brow expectantly.

“Why don’t you take a look behind me and I’ll come back, okay?”

She nods.

You look back down, helping someone else and peeking at Remmick as she fiddles with her hands. 

“What’s got your eye?” Lola asks. 

“The baby butch down there,” you say, pointing to the anxious thing at the end of the bar. “I found her in the alley.” 

“Found her?”

“Like a stray kitten.” 

“She is cute. She looks nervous.”

“First time, I think.”

“Well, you’re always so welcomin’ to the new girls,” she jokes.

You are. The bar owner had to institute a rule of one person in the employee washroom at a time because of you. 

Not that anyone pays attention to it. 

“I sure am,” you joke. “Do you want another?”

“I always do.”

You can sense that Remmick is wanting to ask you something, so you make Lola’s drink and set it down, then float down the bar to her.

“Can I just have a beer?”

“Sure.”

You crack open a cold bottle and push it to her. 

“Thanks,” she says, unable to meet your eyes.

“Yeah, sure. Let me know if you need anything else, okay?” you tell her, touching her arm. You can feel the muscle tense under your touch and you try not to laugh at her.

“I will. Thank- uh, thank you.” 

There is no way you’re leaving without her tonight. 

The night winds down, and more people leave. The bar that was previously hot, sweaty, and full of people dancing is now half-full but still hot. 

You glance over your shoulder and see Remmick’s finger under her collar, pulling at it.

“You can take your shirt off if you’re hot. Nobody cares.”

She goes red and shakes her head.

“I-I’m not hot.”

You give her a glass of ice water and she drinks it down quickly.

“You seem pretty hot to me.”

“I-I don’t have a shirt on under this…”

“I brought a shirt for the bus, you wanna wear that?”

She nods at you, dumbfounded as she watches you walk to the backroom and return with an oversized black tee you use to cover up on your commute home.

She unbuttons her shirt and pulls yours on in a swift motion, so you only get to see a glimpse of her pale skin and a black sports bra. You also see the glint of a chain around her neck. 

“My shift is almost over,” you tell her softly, leaning over the bar. Her eyes are obviously on your tits.

“Oh.”

“You got somewhere to stumble home to, Remmick?” 

“I’ll figure it out,” she mumbles.

“Yeah. Or… you could come home with me?” you offer, smirking at her.

She’s wide eyed, slack jawed, and tomato red as she blinks at you.

“You… really?”

“Mhm. I gotta go clock out and wash up and then we can go, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Great.”

You clock out in the office, fixing your hair in the tiny mirror before exiting with your purse around your body.

“Bye, Colm, bye Lola!” you call, grabbing Remmick’s hand and tugging her with you.

“I-I thought you said-”

“You can come with me.”

Lola laughs.

“She’s gonna eat that wee thing alive.” 

You enter the washroom and tug Remmick in, setting your duffel bag on the baby changing station. 

“A-are you sure you want me in here?”

“Don’t you wanna be?” you tease. You unzip your skirt and slip it off, pulling on a pair of sweatpants.

Remmick stares at your ass, trying to keep herself from drooling. You hold your hand out.

“You can give me my shirt or yours, up to you.”

Remmick pulls off the shirt she tied at her waist, handing it over. You put it on, finding it’s big on you, too. She was really swimming in it.

“Whose clothes are these? Your dad’s?”

“Does it matter?” she jokes lightly. You giggle and back her up against the wall, making her squirm.

“You are so cute,” you tell her, leaning in to kiss her. 

She kisses back enthusiastically, her hands flat on the wall. You hold her hips and squeeze lightly.

“You can touch me, love,” you purr in her ear, nipping at the lobe. 

She shivers and two shaky hands reach up to hold your waist.

You’re so warm. She can feel your blood pumping and the heat pulsating off of your body is addictive.

“You’re cold,” you tease, your pinky finger hooked in her waistband. 

“I-I won’t be if you keep going,” she urges. 

You scoff at that, slotting your knee between her legs. She groans against your mouth, keening for friction.

“Does that feel good?”

“Yes,” she squeaks. “Yes, yes, fuck…” 

You giggle at her, twirling a bronze curl around your finger.

She kisses at your neck, her teeth scraping against your skin. She has to keep her fangs from sliding out, gripping your waist tightly.

You feel her nails dig into your skin, teeth not biting– just ghosting the skin, hardly pressing in.

“Are you trying to bite my neck, you little vampire?” 

She almost faints at that. Your hand curls in her hair and tugs it back, making her moan. She covers her mouth, her fangs having slid out. 

“You can be loud.” 

“Sh-shouldn’t we go?” she pants out from behind her hand.

“Aw, but I really want to make you cum in your trousers,” you tease, pushing your thigh against her.

She shivers as you kiss the shell of her ear.

“I can settle for watching you squirm on the bus.”

She whimpers and you grab her other hand, taking her out of the bar as you walk to the bus stop. She insists on carrying your duffel to be a gentleman.

“But gentlemen don’t eat pussy,” you tease.

“N-no, I can do that,” she affirms eagerly. 

“Haven you eaten?” you ask, changing the subject.

Remmick doesn’t figure that out, shaking her head feverishly.

“There was food at the bar, if you were that hungry.”

“We’re… not still talkin’ about pussy?” she squeaks out. 

You hyena-laugh, and see someone walking a dog look over at you from across the street. 

“You can do that. But I’ll make you some dinner first.” 

You sit next to Remmick on the bus. She remains standing, holding the bar next to your seat. You would love to tug her into your lap and make her squeak again, but there are too many people on this bus. You tug her into the seat next to you instead, grinning.

She’s stiff and nervous, clutching your bag like she’ll float away if she lets go. 

“This is us, c’mon.” Remmick follows you out, the cold air hits her face as she continues behind you. She’s like a lost dog following you home, and you hold her hand when you get closer to your flat. You step into the building.

Remmick waits outside, nervously tapping her hand on your bag.

“Won’t you come in?” you joke, waving her in.

She takes a step in and you drag her up the stairs, all the way to the third floor. You count the doors until you get to yours, fishing your keys out of your purse and unlocking it to push it open. 

“Welcome to my beautiful home,” you joke, showing off your shitty flat. “Please make yourself at home.” 

She pads in behind you and hands over your bag.

“Thank you,” you chirp, kissing her cheek.

She’s beetroot again, which has you giggling.

“You can sit down, I’m gonna put something more comfortable on.”

Remmick watches you go into the bathroom and sits on your cozy sofa. There’s a blanket draped over the back she can tell was handmade. Your home isn’t messy, but it is full of little things that tell you about her. Posters of films and bands. Tapestries and art prints and string lights of Polaroids you and friends have taken. She wants to flip through your records and look through your bookshelf, to know everything about you. 

You come back out in a faded and oversized t-shirt and sleep shorts, stretching your back. 

“I can lend you some shorts if you want to get out of those trousers. You’re drowning in them.”

She’s still wearing your shirt, she realises. She was just looking for someone to feed on in the alley and instead she got picked up by the scruff and taken home. She’s a ruthless predator and you’re treating her like a stray kitten. 

She blinks at you.

“Right. Erm… did you want to eat?”

“I-I’m not hungry,” she lies. 

Of course she is. She’s starving. 

“Are you sure?” you coo, putting a hand on her shoulder. 

Remmick winces.

“You can relax, I’m not gonna bite. Even though I know you want to bite me,” you tease her. 

“C-can we keep kissin’? Like in the washroom?” 

“Can we?”

She swallows as you lean down to hold her face in both hands.

“Yeah, this would make a pretty good seat,” you purr, tapping on the tip of her nose with your finger. 

In one swift motion, Remmick grabs your arm and tugs you down to the sofa, right on top of her. She kisses you again and you thread your fingers into her messy hair. You straddle her and her hands grip your hips, squeezing the soft flesh there.

“Let- let me… ngh, p-please-” 

She can hardly get her words out as you kiss her neck. She pushes at your hem too and you straighten your back, slowly pulling up the hem of your shirt.

“You wanna see ‘em?”

She nods wildly, like she might break her neck.

“Yeah?”

“Please, please… please, wanna k-kiss ‘em and squeeze ‘em, I-I’ll be so gentle, I promise,” she babbles as you drag the fabric up slowly and let your tits bounce into place.

She groans, hands sliding up your sides to squeeze at both of your breasts. 

“Y���so soft, love,” she murmurs against your skin. 

You hum, feeling her gentle touches become rougher when she pinches your nipple, making you jerk.

Your hand flies down and grabs that damn chain around her neck, yanking her upward. 

“Gentle,” you tut. 

She nods, swallowing as she does. 

“Please, c-can I… can I taste you, please?” 

“Beg a little more,” you command with a smirk, holding her chin. “It sounds so good.”

Remmick’s never had a girl like you. You’re cruel, but not overly. Still sweet and affectionate, and you clearly want her just as bad as she wants you. 

“Please, I-I’m dyin’ to taste you…”

She whimpers, pleading with her eyes. She cradles your hand, kissing your palm. 

“I’m so hungry,” she whines, kissing your fingertips and taking your thumb into her mouth. “I-I’ll make you cum, please, I’ll be so good…” 

You climb off of her and point to the carpeted floor, which she darts to, popping up on her knees. You settle on the edge of the sofa cushion and she quickly pulls down your shorts, leaving only your soaked panties. Remmick feels her own drool drip onto her knee and ignores it as she parts your thighs.

She makes something between a growl and a whine and lurches forward, licking you over the cotton on your cunt. She groans against you as she sucks on the gusset of your panties, her nails digging into the meat of your thighs.

You tug her back by the hair. She pants with her tongue still out like a dog. 

“I won’t tell you again to be gentle,” you say firmly. 

“Yes, love,” she agrees, wincing as she tries to move forward despite the tight grip on her hair. “Please- please, fuck, you taste so good!” 

You release her and in a blink she rips the black fabric down your legs with her teeth, spitting them out beside her.

She hooks your legs over her shoulders and kisses your hole, her nose brushing against your clit. She whines against you, the vibration making you jolt.

“Oh, fuck yes,” you sigh, back arching.

Remmick feels her fangs threatening to slide down and sucks on your clit, making you cry out. She pushes a finger inside of you, pumping it and moaning at how slick you are. She adds a second as her other hand goes to work undoing her belt and slipping into her trousers.

“Yeah… f-fuck… t-take my fingers so good,” she encourages weakly, rubbing over her own underwear.

Her tongue lavs at your clit as she pushes a finger inside of herself, making her puff out air. Her nose pushes against you and she licks noisily at the slick dripping down her fingers. Only it mixes with her drool and slowly slides down her wrist. 

“Fucking yourself while you eat my cunt, that’s class,” you tease her, giggling. “Taste that good?”

“So fuckin’ sweet,” she manages to say, lifting her head for a split second before returning to your cunt. 

“Fuck, Remmick,” you breathe. “D-don’t stop- fuck! Yes, yes, right there!”

You look down at her.

“Don’t you fuckin’ cum,” you threaten.

“Wh-why not?”

“You’re only cumming if I make you do it,” you tell her. 

She obediently pulls her hand away and you hold out a hand. She hesitates and gives you her hand. You take her two fingers in your mouth, licking between them to make her gasp and squirm. She keeps pumping her fingers in and out, and you match her pace, bobbing your head as you suck her fingers.

You inhale sharply and bite down on her fingers accidentally, making her yelp and pull her hand away. The mounting pressure in your abdomen bursts and you gush into Remmick’s waiting mouth. Her fangs are out but she doesn’t care, drinking up your nectar as she lazily pushes her fingers into you.

“So good,” she gurgles, slurping up your wetness. Her drool is part of the mess, and you’ve absolutely left a stain on the sofa. 

You tug her head back to get her off of your sensitive cunt and she quickly shuts her mouth, willing her fangs to slide back up.

“Wass’at good?” she asks, grinning at you.

“So good,” you praise her, stroking the side of her face. She pushes into your touch like a cat.

“Do you want more?” you offer.

“Please, I want you so bad,” she whines.

You lean forward and grab her face, squeezing her cheeks.

“Who’s on top?”

She makes a little noise and you give her a stern look.

“Remmick.” 

“Y-you,” she stammers out.

“I can’t hear you. Who’s on top?” 

“You, you,” she chants. “Fuck me, please, I’m beggin’ you…” 

You stand up on wobbly legs and lead her to your bedroom. 

“You should take your clothes off.”

She peels off your shirt, wet and sticky with drool and your juices, and tosses it behind her. Her sports bra follows and she shoves down her too-big-trousers.

You glance at her and laugh at her plain white men’s underwear.

“What?”

“Those too.” 

You dig in a box in your closet and produce your double strap, which is just an egg attached to a dildo that you hold in place with a harness. Remmick is intimidated by the size, shivering. You harness up and she drools at the sight of the black straps squeezing the soft skin of your ass and thighs. 

“You drool a lot,” you note as you shove her back onto the plush covers. 

“Fuck, how can I not?” she groans as you climb up and settle over her. 

You shove her legs apart and pin her down against the bed, grinding the strap against her. She squirms and huffs, trying to get more friction.

“Let me stretch you out, love,” you tell her, pushing in two fingers. She makes a choked noise as her head lolls to the side.

“That’s good, just breathe,” you encourage her softly. 

She needs you so bad, needs you inside of her. She needs your warm body over her so she can bite you already. 

“You ready for it, Remmick?”

She nods and pants, her arms covering her face as she tries not to bite her own arm.

“Fuck, please,” she cries, wrecked already.

You reach down and flick on the vibrations, shivering at the feeling. You slip into her and she moans, her voice cracking as she arches her back. 

“That’s it, fuck, look at you,” you praise her. She locks eyes with you, panting as you push in further. The two of you are skin to skin. Remmick’s leg hooks over your hip and you slide all the way in, your hips meeting hers. You stay like that, grinding your clit against the silicone. You tuck your face into her neck and she can’t take it anymore. 

She’s so hungry. 

Her lips brush your neck and her claws grow from her hands as she grabs the back of your hair and bites into your neck, snarling.

You gasp, thrashing to get away but she turns you over, rocking her hips as she drinks from your pulsing jugular. 

She pulls back, blood coating her mouth and chin, fangs pointed behind her lips. 

She whines, bringing herself up and down, bouncing on the strap as you feel your body tense up. It’s not another orgasm. You feel your teeth and your hands changing. It’s a painful, slow process, like growing pains in triple time. You cry out and Remmick puts a claw to her bloody lips.

“No, shh. Don’t cry,” she comforts you, still riding your strap. She takes your clawed hands and brings them to her waist.

“Ngh… y-you’ll be such a good bride. And I will too, I promise,” she says eagerly. She has a little lisp now with her fangs.

“Y-you’re all mine, please… I deserve this…”

She gasps as she grinds down, pushing the silicone against you. You twitch and she digs her claws into your shoulders. It hardly hurts though, but you can feel your own claws in her sides. In your sides. But they’re your claws.

She gasps and straightens up, twisting her body and whimpering.

You feel yourself right on the edge, but you’re already cumming, twitching and spasming around the egg inside of you. But you feel the strap. And you feel your own hands. 

“It’s s-so much to st-start,” Remmick tries to explain, trembling from her own orgasm. 

You easily lift her off of your strap and reach down to turn off the vibrations. You slip it out of you with a slick pop and Remmick curls up to your side, licking the wound on your neck.

“I-I’ve been watching you for weeks,” she admits. “You take girls home and they don’t say thank you or… or stay for breakfast. I wanted you to cook for me, but human food just… tastes so bland now. You’ll understand.”

She nuzzles into your neck, kissing your chin.

“I’ve wanted to be your bride for so long now,” she sighs.

You look at her. You feel her admiration for you, her lust and the way you make her giddy.

“See? Now you’re my bride… and we feel each other.”

She kisses you, smearing blood on your lips.

“Mo chroí… now we’re together forever.” 

[c0ffeejelly1]

I love the way your name sounds

Multiple character headcannon

Authors note: okay I won’t even lie I think I kinda liked this fic…ANWAYS here’s y’all’s warnings NSFW content! I put some of that Femdom shi, f!reader, m!receiving gawk gawk, dacryphilia…I guess, uhh just really cringe worth sentences... yall probably into that. (POST-TIMESKIP!!)

Summary: he likes to whine your name especially when he’s close

MEN who love to be buried between your thighs, though anytime you offer to reciprocate his good deed he insistently denies you, shying away from any form of contact. He initially claims it’s because he prioritises your pleasure over his and there is no need for you to sourer your lips. But would it be so bad if you just wanted to hear him whine in satisfaction?

That’s not to say there hasn’t been times where you have succeeded in changing his mind. However during those moments, the only sound you might catch is a faint hum, accompanied by him biting the inside of his cheek and knitting his brows in frustration, as if he’s forcing himself to keep quiet...

MEN who even when he has his cock between the folds of your heat, he keeps one hand pressed to his mouth or his face deep in the crook of your neck. He never lets you hear him, hear how good you also make him feel - and you had reached your limit. You just wanted to have a man moan, rather than it being a one-sided affair.

Did he not enjoy sex with you?

MEN who let out a small gasp of surprise when you suddenly approach him after a days of lounging. Your in that cute little apron he adores with your hands trailing up and down his chest through his worn clothes. He laughs nervously, gently taking a hold of your wrist, his eyes wide and confused, like a lost puppy trying to understand your sudden playful behavior.

But you don’t hold back, instead, you draw even closer, your hand pressing deeper into his chest causing him to back against the wall. Your breath fans over his neck and you catch the sound of him swallowing hard a slight gulp down his throat. His grip on your wrist wavers softly as a meek sound escapes his lips, “I…Is everything okay, baby?”

MEN who turn crimson at the feeling of your lips pressing into his, before trailing along from his jaw and down to his neck. Your sudden assertiveness was causing his mind to reel from the intensity of the situation. Before long, his shirt is tossed aside, forgotten on the floor, and he’s sprawled flat on the bed, his elbows propping him up, as he stares at you completely dazed and breathless, “hah…you’re really in the mood today, huh…”

You can only laugh at his admission. He had no idea what you had in store for him today. You were going to make him scream, so loud that he wouldn’t be able to speak the following day, so loud that the neighbors might just have to lodge a complaint against you, so loud that—

“A-ah…you…you can’t just…do things like that…”

MEN who feel a jolt of pleasure shoot through his body upon feeling your hand move inside the waistband of his underwear. A warning would’ve been nice, because now all he can do is have his breath hitch and back arch instinctively against your touch.

“Hand or mouth?”

Your question only turns his mind to mush, as he tries to make a coherent decision. Both options sound incredible, but he found himself succumbing to your hand. You knew he’d pick that. He doesn’t get as sensitive with your hand…which is why you decided to use your mouth, much to his dismay.

“W-why even bother ask— mhf…”

MEN who lose their words at the feeling of you tongue around his shaft. His hand immediately reaches up to his mouth, trying to stifle his shameful sounds, in which you quickly stop just before he could.

He lets out a small whine in protest, looking down at you between his legs with puppy eyes. Your intense gaze on him was only turning him on more and it was only a matter of time before he felt a familiar coil in his stomach begin to build up.

You had finally done it.

MEN who can’t help the babbles of “Ggh…you…you’re…so mean”, the whines of “d-dont tease the tip…” and the whimpers of “p-please faster…let me make a mess in your…in…in your mouth”, that escape him.

You couldn’t believe your ears of all the filth falling out of his lips. The way his eyebrows pinch up in that familiar look, his jaw slacked open, his eyes glued shut. You wanted him to look at you, see just who was making him fall apart like this, and so you tap on his thigh, prompting him to glance down at you, his eyes glistening as if he was on the verge of crying.

“F-fuck…m’so…so close…I’m so close, please…don’t l-look at me like that…”

You don’t stop. You don’t even allow him to bring his hands anywhere near his face.

“A-ah…baby— Y/N, please…I can’t. It’s too embarrassing Y/N…”

He was begging to cover his mouth, before the shameful chants of his high come to light. Begging you to at least slow down so he can catch his breath, begging you for some trace of pity on him in which you don’t grant, a coy smile forming on your lips.

There was nothing else he could do but to give in, to let go, to surrender completely to you, to be your “good boy”.

“M’gonna…o-oh Y/N, t-thank you…a-ahh…thank y-you so much, momm— Y/N, I—I’m c-cumming!…”

MEN who from that day on, never once hold back a single noise from you.

“You need to eat more fruit babe.”

“M’sorry…”

Characters: Reigen, SERIZAWA, GIYUU, Jean, ARMIN, REINER, KAGEYAMA, Hinata, Bokuto (I’m trying to convince myself but deep down I know this man is loud.), Osamu, CHOSO, MAMMON, Childe, THOMA, Rafayel, ACE, SANJI, Iruka

[maxxiemoa]

Erik Campbell x virgin reader

An: I LOVE WRITING FOR YALL! The response I’ve been getting on my posts, especially my Erik ones, has been so lovely. I can’t wait to write more for y’all. I hope you freaks like this one. It’s very long. Just like him. WHO SIAD THAT?!??!?

Summary: readers first time with Erik and first time in general. M4afab (no gender talk but afab anatomy)

Warnings: Nsfw, thigh riding, fingers in mouth, sex, lack of condom, virginity taking, piercings, talk of penis piercing (ps I’m imagining his is pierced with a bar right under his tip) , MINORS DNI

You and Erik have been friends since you started working at the shop. You love clocking into work. It’s like being payed to hang out with your best friend and bitch about your boss. You have recently been over to his house for bbq parties. His family is sweet. Bobby is so close with Erik so it’s no surprise you two became quick friends. Julia is so fun to gossip with. She tells you about what her weird neighbors have been getting up to late at night while the two of you watch terrible reality tv. You have come to learn that Charlie is basically the family’s adopted son. He’s sweet. He comes over after school and tells us all about his crappy teachers and girls he had a crush’s on.

Erik is sweet. He’s the perfect mix of stupid immature boy and a genuine friend. The two of you were up in his room working on your tattoo books. He was drawing some basic flower designs and I was working on some vine work.

I lean over to see how his work is coming along and one of the designs catches my eye. “Oh I like that one. I’d totally let you tattoo that one on my arm or something” he rolls up the sleeve of my jacket and points to where he thinks it would look best.

“Maybe one of these days after the shop closes I can do it. You want it in color?” He asks obviously knowing I don’t want it in color and that he is teasing me. “Yeah I want it in pink to match with my black wardrobe and other black ink tattoos. How did you know?” I shove him playfully and he exaggeratedly scoffs at me.

We start shoving each other and soon all of our drawing supplies is kicked off the bed. He picks up a pillow and swings it at my face. This means war. I pick up one of his pillows and start walking him with it unforgivingly. Somewhere in the fight he looses his pillow and wrestles me for mine. I put up a good fight but he eventually grabs the pillow from my hands and throws it away from me. He grabs pushes me down on the bed seeing that I was trying to make a grab for the pillows on the floor.

I am pined on the bed and trying to wiggle my way out. We are both laughing uncontrollably. “Not so strong are we now?” He taunts me as he pins my legs down with his.

“Ok, ok I give up. I surrender. You win. Now get off of me you are crushing me.” I look him in the eyes and realize just how close he is to me. His body is right on top of mine. His long hair is falling past his face and tickling mine. He has my wrists in his hands as he traps my legs between his. He is essentially straddling my body.

I suddenly became so aware of how immobilized I was. It made my body start to feel warm. Erik picked up on my sudden change in demeanor. “What You’ve never been pinned to a bed before?” He asks me raising an eyebrow at me. “N..no. I’ve never had anyone this close to me before” I can feel myself progressively getting more red. Sure I’ve noticed how attractive Erik is. Long brown hair, pretty blues eyes, and my god his pierced body. I haven’t seen all of his piercings but I know of them. What I wouldn’t do to see them. To feel them.

I am snapped out of my wander state of mind when I feel Erik pull me up and close to his body. “Are you telling me no boy has even taken you to his house and laid you on his bed and had his way with you? Really? A pretty thing like you?

At this point my heart is pounding in my chest. Being this close to him I can smell his faint cologne. He mostly smells of pen ink and sweat. He pulls me onto his lap and runs his fingers through my hair. “You seem shy babe. Now don’t tell me you are a virgin.” His questions pull me deeper into my venerability. He looks at me with a growing smirk on his face. “You are! I’m gonna have fun with you”

With his fingers tangled in my hair he pulls me close and our lips meet. It’s sweet and he tastes like mint gum. He starts off slow and lets me set the pace. Once he can tell I am getting the hang of it he pushes his tongue past my lips and rolls it around my mouth. The metal ball of my piercing is being pushed around as our tongues swirl into each others.

He parts his legs a bit and pats his thigh. “Swing your leg over and I’ll show you what to do” I do as he says and now I am straddling his right thigh. He gives me a look and I can tell what he is trying to tell me. I slowing start moving my hips back and forth on his leg. I start to feel the warmth grow in between my thighs. His hands are on my waist helping me along. One of his hands snakes up my back and sends shivers through my body.

He catches my lips with his and I increase my pace. With his hands guiding my hips I take the opportunity to explore his chest with my hands. I let my fingers run over his pierced nipples with caution. He lets out a breathy laugh.

“You like my piercings baby?” With one quick motion he pulls his shirt off his body and I am now face to face with his unclothed chest. The sight of his toned figure has me unconsciously whimpering. My hands ghost over his body and trace his tattoos. God I need him. I’ve never so much as kissed anyone before today and here I am whimpering and clinging to the little friction I am getting from grinding on his thigh.

I guess it’s quite obvious how desperate I am for more of him as he pulls me off of his leg and starts unbuckling his jeans. “We can start slow. I’ll show you what to do but you let me know if you want to stop at any point.” He tells me to kneel on the ground and I do as I’m told.

My head is now at the same level of his crotch. His bulge is very obvious through his black boxers. He is huge. Sure I have nothing to compare it too but I can’t help but notice it is above average. Before I can think about what he is going to have me do his boxers are now around his ankles and quickly kicked aside.

I had always thought he was joking when he said his cock was pierced. I thought he was just being funny and I never took the idea seriously. But here I am, face to dick with his pierced tip. The bar goes through the underneath of his pink tip. Thinking about the delicious pain he went through to get that piercing have my walls clenching around nothing.

“Fuck….” Is all I can manage to get out before he is sticking his fingers in my mouth. “Suck” he says is a subductivly demanding tone. He lets me swirl my tongue around his fingers curiously. He pulls them in and out of my mouth and with every thrust I can feel his fingers going deeper and deeper in my throat. Fuck it feels good.

He pulls his fingers out abruptly and I whine at the empty feeling I am left with. “I know baby I know” he coos at me brushing my hair sweetly. “Now I want you to be so good for me and take my cock in your mouth just like that baby. Do you think you can take it?” I nod eagerly and lick my lips in anticipation.

He lines his glistening tip up with my lips and I take his tip into my mouth. The taste of his pre cum is slightly salty and his metal tasting piercing have me wanting more. He grabs a fist full of my hair and slowly pushes more of his length into my throat. He painstakingly pulls in and out of my mouth and I moan around him.

Soon I am getting the hang of it and I am bobbing my head up and down his length. I get a little too ambitious and take more of him than I can handle and I gag hard around him. I pull off of him to catch my breath and he pulls away.

“You are doing such a good job for me baby. Come up on the bed now.” His voice is soft and makes me feel floaty. He guides me to lay down on the bed and he pulls my clothes off. I feel shy but safe with him. He once again sticks his fingers in my mouth. This time I don’t need to be told what to do and I suck on them moaning as they dip deeper into my throat. When he pulls his fingers out of my mouth they quickly disappear into me. The abruptness of his finger in my folds makes me squirm underneath him.

“So good and wet for me aren’t you. Do you think you can handle another finger?” He lays a few kisses on my thighs and I nod my head as I let my eyes close. Two of his long calloused fingers are thrusting in and out of my virgin cunt. Sure I’ve masterbated before but I’d really never fingered myself. But holy fuck does it feel good. It doesn’t take long before I become a complete mess moaning and buckling my hips into his touch.

He pulls his fingers out of out of me and uses one hand to pull my leg to the side and his other to line himself up with my hole. My own wetness makes it easy for him to teasingly slide his tip up and down my folds. God that piercing would feel so good inside me I just know it. And I don’t have to wonder for too long as he pushes the tip of him inside me. He takes my whimpering as a sign to push deeper into me. He stops moving and lightly dances his fingers up and down the inner of my thigh.

“Please…please more…please don’t stop Erik” I try and move my hips to continue the lovely feeling of him filling me up but he grabs my thighs and keeps me in place.

“Angel, I’m not even all the way in. It’s your first time, I want to take it slow and give you a chance to adjust.

I make eye contact with him and use my deer like eyes to plead with him. Whimpering and pouting my lips, he folds.

“You are so needy baby, do you really think you can take a few more inches?” He asks me and is suprised when I start frantically nodding.

After a a few more inches Erik bottoms out. His pelvis is flush with mine and it feels so good. He is not too big but just big enough to fill me up all the way. I will admit feeling him stretch me out I can’t help but wonder if it hurt because it is my first time or because of the girth of his boyfriend cock.

He holds my legs as he thrusts in and out of me. Slowly increasing the speed until we are both moaning and sloppily making out. His teeth nip at the soft flesh of my neck and it has me clenching around him. His pace starts to get sloppy and he starts to grab at my body. Pulling on my hair, nipping at my skin, clawing at my back. The sweet pain of his actions has him sending me other the edge. I grab onto the blankets on the bed and manage to mutter out “Erik….fuck..I’m gonna..”

He speeds up his pace and we both crash over the edge together. He pulls out of me but quickly fills me again with his fingers as he pumps his length. In a few moments he is cumming on my stomach and fingering me through my orgasm.

Erik and I are left trying to catch our breaths as we lay next to each other on the bed. After a few moments Erik gets up and pulls his boxers back on. He goes into the bathroom and come back with a warm wet towel and cleans my up. He throws the towel to the ground and pulls his shirt over my head. We lay together in his bed and drift off to sleep.

[quirkycritters]

Game Night: CHAIN ATTACK!!!

i am,,, withering away but ITS DONE ITS DONE IM FREE FROM THE CURSE (<<< still haunted by wips) clocking in at 32+ hours, this sucker has been getting pushed around for 10 months-

while theres some things i would have done differently if i could redo this from scratch, i still had a BLAST cramming in as much detail as i could tolerate >:) some highlights / cut ideas / ramblings are below the cut, but please zoom for details! (if tumblr doesnt shred it to bits)

gonna be real i locked so hard onto drawing ripped jeans that i forgot i could have just shoved legend into a skirt and called it a day

SOCKS. SOCKS. the amount of Joy anytime i figured out how to personalize them with game references: legend (hibiscus), twilight (ordon goats), and four (force gems)

i WAS going to put time in a turtleneck, but had an epiphany and started digging for the most obnoxious hawaiian shirts i could find,,, ft. a sea flower (wind waker) and a saturation boosted plumm (twilight princess)!

yeah so warriors got the sweater instead of the skintight shirt, sorry gang

speaking of if i ever say im going to draw a cableknit sweater again, somebody PLEASE shake some sense into me- warriors sweater was a NIGHTMARE since my art program has an astonishing lack of good brushes (and yet here i am still using it)

MOST of the text has been modified using the twilight princess cipher because yeah. i was procrastinating shading. also the other ciphers were in japanese- times shirt is cropped, but reads "its 5 oclock somewhere"

winds lobster shirt :) that is all i just think its neat

wilds jacket :) link w(ild) 2017, aka the release year of botw

jewelry! sky has the fireshield earrings, and wild has the amber earrings~ could barely squeeze the bombos and quake medallions onto legend, and wind got the joy pendant

hyrule :D embroidery on his sweatpants because i was struck by whimsy- also i 100% thought his shield was purple tinted for weeks while drawing this because the page i used as reference was set at night, and i was originally basing his sweater on his shield- scrapped the cross pattern after several failed attempts but kept the color ^^

the chips are bbq because im biased (reads "crisps" in twilight princess cipher for no real reason except whimsy)

bless my dearest homie for game reccs because the og plan was to have them all be loz games! titles include wii sports resort, elebits, super mario party, smash bros ultimate, just dance 2016 (its box art is colorful ok), and myth makers orbs of doom (I HATE THIS GAME WITH EVERY FIBER OF MY BEING, as i should, anyways i should play it again). four is suggesting orbs of doom, buddy aint even playing,,,

kinda was hoping to play around with hair colors and skin tones a bit more, but again, see the hour count- ill get em next time surely,,, also blue vs violet eyes for legend already had me in decision paralysis

the whole gang was gonna have friendship bracelets with color combos based on dynamics i found neat but oops! didnt finish the layer :')

thats a wrap! didnt yap about everything but im curious what yall catch onto- anyways surely ive learned something about biting off more than i can chew (<<< lying liar who lies)

[thelov3lybookworm]

Creep

Azriel x Reader

Summary: You'd think the Spymaster lost his child with the way his room looks. Turns out it was just the ridiculous dagger Y/n came to return.

•○●⛦●○•

Word Count: 2025 (i am actually cackling rn)

Warnings: kinda fluffy, the tiniest sprinkle of angst if you squint, maybe a lore drop soon omg??? but otherwise nothing serious <3

A/n: the third part in my maid!reader oneshot list YAYYY 🥳🥳🥳 i actually love this part so much omg, like the amount of details i put?? WHO IS SHE I LIKE HERRR🥹 i literally am in love omg and i hope yall like it too🥹

also yn is so funny lmaoo i love her 🥹😭

ANYWAYS, ENJOYYYY!!!🥳🥳🥳

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

Moonlight spilled in through the open spaces between the pillars like liquid silver, the sight ethereal as Y/n quietly made her way through the hallways, down, down into the servants quarters.

The hallways were deserted, not a single soul in sight, and involuntarily, she began humming. The sound echoed back to Y/n, lighter and lighter, merging in the cacophony of a haunting song that would have, any other day, creeped Y/n out. Chilled fingers raked their fingers down her spine, and she quickened her steps, wondering if someone was watching.

Wouldn’t be the first time, as some people did have an affinity for watching unassuming females.

Even as she finally turned into the hallway on the end of which was the stairway leading down towards her quarters, she considered sprinting, in case there was a spirit about to nab her. But before she could make good on that thought, a fae emerged from the stairway, and Y/n’s voice died down, the only sound now the echoes of the song.

Just as the last note reverberated against her skin, Olga paused in front of Y/n, offering her a stern look. Under the moonlight, her skin, as dark as night, shimmered like a million diamonds were embedded in her pores.

"This morning, when you went to clean the spymaster’s room. Did you take anything?"

Y/n’s brows furrowed. No greetings? "No, not as far as I remember."

"Remember now?" The head maid scoffed, shifting to reveal her hands from in between her robes. In them, she held a knife. It was bejewelled, a little too much to be a knife used for eating, in Y/n’s humble opinion.

Yet, she did recall seeing the knife, and putting it in the basket holding the dirty dishes.

"Oh… is that-"

"The spymaster’s personal dagger, yes."

Y/n peered up at Olga, drawing her lip between her teeth. Already, a flush of embarrassment was climbing up her neck, and the lump beginning to form in her throat under the glare that could bruise even a forest’s ego did nothing to help.

"Forgive me, I assumed it was a knife."

Olga’s white brows wrinkled. She had always been one of the more beautiful fae Y/n had ever encountered, albeit very short tempered. That didn’t stop Y/n from complimenting the older female every chance she got.

"How do you confuse a dagger with a knife? And even if you did, what fool would use this-" she lifted the dagger higher between the two, "-this thing to cut their steak?"

Y/n paused, her eyes wide. "...the fool who would put jewels on a dagger meant for combat?"

And- there. Barely visible, but a faint uptick in the corner of Olga’s mouth.

"You young kids will make me age quicker. Mother help me."

"But you will be a very beautiful old female, no? I’m sure the males would still line up!" Y/n giggled lightly, her eyes fixated on Olga’s face to catch every single change in her expression. The crinkling of the skin around her eyes brought Y/n immense joy. It made her feel like she was in the presence of her mother, making her laugh instead of this complete stranger who’d taken up the role of becoming a maternal figure after…

After.

"Go, give this back to him." Olga mumbled, offering her the hilt.

Y/n pouted, widening her eyes in hopes it would placate the female in front of her. Alas, there was barely anything that would distract Olga from work.

"Y/n, you made a mistake. Fix it." Despite the stern tone of voice, Olga’s grip was gentle as she grabbed Y/n’s hand, placing the dagger in the center of her palm.

"But I’m tired."

But Olga had already turned away, walking back towards the stairway she had come from like she had suddenly lost all hearing.

"At least will you oil my hair?!" Y/n called out, wishing she wouldn’t say no.

Olga paused, but didn’t turn. After a small moment, her shoulders lifted in a delicate shrug, and then she went on, without a word. Y/n huffed, looking down at the dagger that flashed back at her when she turned it just the right amount.

It’s your fault, you fuc- no cursing. Mama doesn’t like cursing.

Y/n sighed, then turned back the way she had come, preparing herself for the trek upstairs, her eyes fixated, once again, on the moonlight. Wading through it like water, Y/n paused just before she could take a step into the stairway.

She glanced out- over the moon drenched mountains, the glittering snow, the sparkling stars against the blanket of night- then around. Not even a dust particle in sight to witness her lone mission of returning the dagger.

It wouldn’t be too bad to let the glamour drop…

After a split moment of hesitation, Y/n turned on her heel, heading towards the marble banister under the open sky -making her way through tiny patches of grass on the smaller sitting area- protecting the fae from dropping into the open maw of the smaller mountains beneath. After another quick look around, she let her wings sprout from her back, catching a drift and letting it carry her.

As she beat the appendages, going higher and higher, feeling the wind tickle the dark, iridescent blue wings, she felt the tension release in her body. It had been so long since she had felt the breeze toying with the curved edges that curled in on themselves at the bottom. So long since she had even let the glamour hiding the wings from sight drop.

The wings unfurled after each stroke, and Y/n herself wanted to turn her head, to watch, enraptured, at the beauty of it all. She had always adored her wings, even on her darkest of days. The feeling of having the wind in your hair, the breeze playing with your clothes, the ability to feel things only a few others could enjoy had always fascinated Y/n, equally so as the whole experience of being airborne.

It gave her a high nothing else did, and so when she felt solid ground under her feet again, it was almost disappointing, considering she hadn’t even realised how quick the flight would be.

It almost made her want to beg the mother to give her a chance to fly for longer, but Y/n had long ago realised to be very, very mindful of what she asked for. She had quite an experience in the consequences of mindless prayers.

Once, she had asked for something. She had gotten it, but at the cost of losing her.

The hallway was deserted, just as it had been hours ago when Y/n had been preparing herself to face some elite fae. It was her luck that it turned out to be Azriel, and despite it being his own doing, Y/n didn’t hold the fact that it made her uncomfortable against him.

Quickly, Y/n walked over to the same door she had stared at before the same morning, and lifted her hand, landing three quick raps against the wood.

At first, the shuffling that seeped through the door stopped completely, the almost frantic shuffle of feet on the other side of the door giving way to silence so thick it was almost suffocating. And then the scuff of boots that got louder as the fae inside approached the door.

Y/n found herself staring into hazel eyes the moment the door cracked open, and she shifted, clearing her throat when he refused to say a word. He blinked, as if waking from a trance, and opened the barrier separating them wider, offering her a smile.

"Good evening."

Y/n glanced down at her hands, trying hard to ignore all the exposed amount of skin and muscle that were right in front of her. Azriel seemed to realise it too, hurriedly wrapping his bare arms across his shirtless torso, swallowing. "Good evening. Forgive me, I didn’t expect to see you here at this time."

She shook her head, meeting his gaze again, feeling blood climb up her neck at having all his attention on her. The previous times the two had been alone, Y/n had something else to focus on, something to latch onto to ignore the almost intimidating but also exhilarating feeling of being in the same space as the spymaster.

Now all that distracted her were her hands that clenched around a ridiculously jewelled dagger.

"It’s okay, I didn’t expect to be here either."

Azriel cocked his head, his eyes surveying her from head to toe and back. "What brings you here, then?"

Y/n’s eyes flicked behind him for a moment, taking in the state of the room. Saying it was messy would be an understatement. The bed was bare, covers thrown haphazardly to the ground, chairs and tables strewn about the room in a formation completely at odds with the way they had been just that morning, so neatly placed, with relatively clinical precision.

Her brows furrowed.

"Is everything okay?"

He glanced behind him, scratching the back of his neck. "I was just searching for something." He turned back around, a sheepish grin on his face. "My dagger. I accidentally left it in here this morning, and when I came back to retrieve it later, it was gone."

Y/n’s cheeks coloured as she pulled her hands in front of her body, splaying them wide to show him the weapon. "Was it this one?"

Surprise flickered in his eyes along with relief as he reached out to grab it from her grip. "Where did you find this?"

Y/n focused on his hands, unwilling to meet his eyes.

His ungloved hands.

The horror, the shock and surprising sorrow that took hold of Y/n like a hungry beast pushed the breath out of her lungs, but Y/n forced herself to recover quickly, instead deciding that looking into his eyes was better than unwittingly asking him questions he might not want to answer.

"I- uh- I unintentionally took it with me when I came in to clean this morning, thinking it was cutlery."

Bewilderment took over his expression, yet he said nothing that would have embarrassed her further. "Thank you for bringing it back. It is very precious to me."

Y/n nodded, her fingers twisting around themselves as silence settled once more. There wasn’t anything she wanted to say. And he seemed too busy fawning over his dagger to break the silence.

And anyways, she just wanted to leave and go back to sleep.

"Well, good night. I’ll get going."

She had only taken a few steps down the hallway when- "Are you going to come back?" he blurted out, making her freeze in her tracks.

"I’m not sure… Why do you ask?"

"So I can talk to the head maid, of course."

Her brows furrowed. She turned to look at him, on the other side of the threshold. "And what would be the purpose of it?"

He sighed, looking down at his boots. "Look, I… I think you’re very nice, and I would love to have you as a friend. If you want, that is."

She cocked her head. "You could’ve just said that without going to such lengths to get me in your room."

He shrugged. "I didn’t want to seem like a creep."

Her brows rose, incredulity dripping from her voice. "And yet, you’ve accomplished that goal very well."

A corner of his lips ticked up. "Forgive me?"

If Y/n were not a lowly maid, and were he not one of the High Lord’s closest warriors, Y/n would have clocked him over the head with a pan.

"Good night, Azriel."

Y/n turned, then walked away quickly, ignoring the quiet, amused smile on his face as he stepped deeper into his room and closed the door, just as she ignored the pang of confusing longing in her chest.

Just as she ignored the spark against her ribs.

Maybe I’ve got acidity.

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

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[ctrlhope]

Red Carnations (m)

synopsis: District 11-- your home. Your fields to run through. Your flowers. Your everything before your name was called on that fateful day. Before you were forced into the arena. Before you fought to save your life. Before you knew you were never going to see it again. Because even a victor is never truly free, are they? Even victors are forced to fall to the will of the capitol. And you-- you especially have no choice in the matter. Not when he has fallen for you. When you've become his petal in a much-too grey world. When you're already his everything. As long as you're with him, you're still in the games, aren't you?

p.jimin x f.reader (ft. implied m.yoongi x reader)

⚘ ࣪ ˖ ┊: wc: 9.5k

⚘ ࣪ ˖ ┊: genre: hunger games au, yandere, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort,

⚘ ࣪ ˖ ┊: content: capitol!jimin, victor!reader, yandere!jimin, obsession, kidnapping, toxic relationship, forced relationship, forced affection, manipulation, implied isolation, kisses mwah, reader has trauma, unreliable narrators, hunger games typical violence (though it's only at the beginning, fic begins after reader has won), jimin swears yall are soulmates frfr, future smut

⚘ ࣪ ˖ ┊: notes: HIII!!! surprise!!! this is my love letter to the hunger games lol <33 requests are coming soon I prommie!!! :33 they are in my drafts as we speak!! planning on this becoming a series too, so stay tuned if you guys are interested!!

18+ -> minors / blank blogs dni

The world is spinning– everything is shaking. Air is passing through your lungs, the sound panting through your teeth, yet you’re not entirely sure anything is happening at all. Not cognizant of anything around you, of yourself as you struggle. As you fight. As you move to grasp a single straw from the man pinning you to the ground, baring his teeth in your face. 

You remember his hand, the way it reaches down almost as if in slow motion. Coming closer. Ready to grab your forehead. Ready to raise it and bash it into the ground below. Over and over again until you’re no more. Until the crops drop and weep to a shade of grey. To finally kill you. To put you out of this misery. 

Allow you to leave painfully, yet with all the grace a man starved from another district could allow. Gracefully. Right. 

You knew you fought your hardest until the end. Really, you do.

You hope your parents will be proud of you when you arrive home in those little metal boxes filled with ash. Hope they know how hard you fought to come back to them– to be with them once again. Hopefully your big sister will remember all the ways you tried to fight flowers in her hair when you were meant to be working. Hope your mom and dad remember the way you made sure to dye all your white clothes bright with colours of nature. 

Maybe if you were more of a singer you’d comfort yourself with a tune, but you don’t know many songs. Your brother was always more creative. He made sure you knew it. You– you were just a girl of the buds. Nothing more, nothing less. Only glad to be the last child your family had of reaping age. At least they wouldn’t incur anymore loss, would they? 

They’ve already watched you go mad. Nothing can be worse than watching their own daughter do what she needs to survive. Only a pity it had to be the last drawing before she was safe, too. 

No, the fate before you is one that had been told too many times before. You were never a victor, you knew that. You were meant to be another pitying girl swept away by the slaughter. And that’s okay. You’re okay. 

So, the question remains. How did that knife end up in his neck?  

Did you do it? You don’t remember doing it. You don’t remember the movement your arm had to have made, or the way it must’ve felt to sink the knife in. You don’t remember much of anything to be honest but oh– oh, he’s fallen off of you. You can move. You can move!! 

The shock remains present within you, though. You barely haggard a quick shuffle back, a hand clutching the skin where your heart lies. Your eyes are jittering, frantic. Looking. Trying to see, to make sense of what is happening around you. 

Is anyone else coming? Wait– no, that wouldn’t make sense. No, it wouldn’t. You’re the last two alive. Alive? Are you? Wait, hold on. What is happening. What is happening. What is happening. You were going to die– he was going to kill you. But you moved, or maybe, you guess, he let up? But did you, did you really just stab him? Did you just–

There’s blood on your hand. 

Bang.

That's the sound. That’s the sound! 

You’re alive. You’re alive. You’re alive. 

You won. 

Trumpets are playing, maybe the capitol anthem. You can’t seem to hear it, not really at least. 

No, all you hear is your lungs finally filling with air for the first time in a long time. For the first time since your name was called at the reaping. For the first time since you turned 12.

The next thing you hear is the breeze. Maybe the whole arena is taking a breath since these games started, too. 

You look around, try to take in your surroundings. Feel the way the world inhales and exhales along with you. Make yourself finally feel one again after the days that all seem to morph together.

Huh. 

Strange shapes crest over the horizon, the ground underneath your scraped limbs feels foreign. The scents that travel are a mystery and the skyline is nothing you’ve ever seen before. You don’t recognise anything. Almost as if you haven’t been here the last 6 days. As if nothing is real. 

But it is. You know it is. The pain shooting through every inch of your being tells you as much– tells you everything of the stories you can’t seem to remember. Right along with the loudspeakers, the voice of Octavia Flickerman reigning supreme. 

“Everyone, please give a warm welcome to the winner of the One-Hundred Eleventh Hunger Games! (Y/n) (L/n) of District 11!” 

You won!! Oh!!! You won!!!! 

Jimin practically squeals, jumps from his seat as he watches the screen. His arms flying into the air, brain spinning as adrenaline from the entire event courses through him. Finally settles into a gentle lull as he knows for certain that you’re alive. 

He knew you would!! Of course he did! He would never want you to think otherwise, no. He knew from the second he saw your face projected into his apartment on reaping day that you would. Was sure of it when he sat front and centre at the parade, waving to you and only you. 

Knew for certain (as if he wasn’t before, duh!) during the interviews when he first heard you speak. The cadence of your voice as you spoke into the microphone– your quipped yet nervous replies as the latest Flickerman worked you into a more relaxed state. 

Your shy smiles, the flattery of your dress. Just!! Everything!!

Oh– how enchanting you were!! He knew the rest of the capitol thought so, too. He made sure of it. He knew to make you the star because of course you would be coming back alive.

He knew you would win. 

You would be a fool not to with all the gifts he sent you, silly!! They may have cost anyone else a small fortune, but it was nothing for him, so you shouldn’t worry! He’d be sure to remind you of that the next time you meet. He knows you’re kind. He knows you’d feel some sort of guilt.

Oh!! But that doesn’t matter! He much rather thinks about how cute you were on your first day in the arena. How confused and bewildered you looked when his gifts started floating down from the sky. You ran from the center right away, of course you would, because you’re just so smart! But that meant you had nothing. 

He didn’t want you to have nothing!!

Blah blah blah, your mentor wanted to wait a bit. Save any money pooled your way. But with Jimin funding everything, why did that even matter? 

Soon, you were caked in more weapons than you knew what to do with. It was just too. Fucking. Cute. 

You should only be covered in things from him from now on. He was sure of it when you stood there in the arena, trying to figure out how to tote around a spear, bow, sword, knife, club, and a pack full of food, and he’s even more sure of it now. You used his knife to win the games. 

His gift he watched you take care of, cherish over the last 6 days. 

It’s almost like he was right in there with you! Supporting you, helping you! He couldn’t even sleep the last days, knowing you were in there, scared. 

My, he understands now why the skies saved you for him. You two truly are a match made for everyone to bear witness to you. 

And now!! Now that you won he knows your fates were set out for in the stars. 

He’s just so proud!! So– so proud of you!! 

Soon!! Soon he can be with you! He promises, okay? 

He knows Namjoon and Taehyung– the former more than the latter, will make him wait a bit before he actually can have you. There are duties you have to attend to, after all! Responsibilities! And he knows you wouldn’t want to neglect those. You’re very accountable like that, he knows it. 

But that’s okay! He can be patient. He’s waited his whole life for you– 23 years to be exact! He can wait a little more. Wait for the right moment. 

He knows you’ll be hurting from having to wait, too. It’s been so long since you last spoke! You really should have kept up better with your letters, you know!! You’re lucky he even remembered your name!!

He’ll have to scold you for that later– his cheeks puffed out in that way he just knows you’ll find adorable~

Ah!! But he’ll get to see you at the capitol parties!! Won’t that be fun? He’s sure of it! You two will get to dance and fall in love all over again. Taehyung will swoon and wonder when it’ll be his chance at love while Namjoon– well, Namjoon will probably be doting after his latest project or networking with politicians. But he’ll definitely want to hear all about everything from Jimin later!

Oh, he knows you’ll just look so sweet then. 

Uhg. But now he just has to wait. 

Disgusting it is, being without you for even a second longer. 

Disgusting it is, that the eyes of the rest of the world get to bear witness to your beauty, as well. 

Fucking peasants. 

Namjoon should just let him have you. This whole thing is just ridiculous. Why should he have to wait when you’re soulmates? Why should you be kept from him? All of it is moronic and Namjoon wouldn’t understand the meaning of such love if it slapped him across the face.

Annoying. 

Whatever. 

…

Oh!! He can rewatch your pre-games interviews again!! Or your reaping– ooo.. He does love watching your reaping.

Or maybe!! Maybe the chariot ride when you wave at him– because he’s sure for a moment then you two locked eyes. And he knows you felt the spark then, too. 

Or maybe he should rewatch his favourite scenes from the last 6 days, no matter how fresh in his mind they are. Watch as you become the perfect victor.

Or maybe he should go to the salon again! Get his pink hair fluffed up to perfection! Maybe the shops to get more new clothes for you! Oh, you probably wouldn’t know the renaissance is back in fashion, would you? Hmm, do you know what the renaissance is? What do they teach you in district schools? 

Well!! It doesn’t matter! He can ask you soon, and he’s willing to teach you anything, regardless!!

Hmm hmm hmm…

Oh! Oh! Oh! Or maybe he should go around and clean his home again– make sure the apartment is just perfect for you! He knows you’ll love it already, but you know, it never hurts to do a little extra for the one you love! 

Oh! He’s so excited to have you home! So, so excited! He just can’t wait! He can’t!

Solid memories, you realise, are hard to come by these days. There are things you think you know, of course. But nothing you can really wire down. Firm up into reality that isn’t mistied by some hazy expanse in the distance. 

You remember the capitol– there were parties in your honor, an exit interview. You think you can see yourself rewatching a few clips of the games but… to be honest, it all feels as if you’re looking back in third person. The ghost of yourself watching a shell without a face. Maybe reacting, maybe sitting there in silence. You’re not really sure. 

Though, you know all of it happened regardless of what your brain may distance from you. You know it did. But again, memories are… tricky. To say the least. 

The next solid one you have after your games, you’re still at the capitol. Still at the world filled with glimmer and gleam. You remember sitting in the shower, water pounding against your skin as the world all to suddenly feels whole again. For the first time in weeks it feels as if you’re wearing your own skin, seeing things through your own eyes. 

You remember your eyes casting down upon your hands. Droplets congregate on your palms as you have your first conscious thought since the night those games ended. Since the world became a mist no one would be able to see through. 

You’re going home. 

The realization is awe-inspiring. Stuttering, really. You know, then, that soon– in just a few days– you’ll be returning to District 11. You’ll be with your flowers and your bees. You’ll be able to walk through the tall grasses that fill your heart. Be able to see the sunset against the horizon and pretend as if you’re a bird dancing among those clouds. 

You’ll be able to see your family again. To feel their hugs and listen to their stories. You’ll be their daughter again. Not a box of ash on the mantle, not a tale to avoid especially on the most harrowing nights. You’ll be free from the games. Your family will be free from the games. 

You’ll see him.

You’ll see Yoongi.

He gave you a book on the old language of flowers— one of the last few standing after the history of before was erased from the public's eye. The original meaning of petals bound in worn leather, pages dried with colours of pressed flowers in their wake. In their entire glory for only you and him to see. To have together. Antiquities of a time you’ve never known, would never know save for the stories that were hushed in whispers of your attic walls between your voices alone. 

The new language of flowers was something you didn’t like as much, not after learning the true words they spoke. Highly published novels depicting a different tale then the ones they murmured to you out in the fields. A language that was a lot more angry, spiteful. Filled with resentment of a darker time that bled into even the most beautiful, innocent things. 

The book he gave you now held more meaning than ever before. While you don’t know much, you know that for certain. 

You’ll have that book in your hands again soon. Him in your grasp again— soon. 

Tears are in your eyes faster than you can blink them away. Sobs of a simple babe leaving your mouth for no one in the capitol to see. Just for yourself. Just for you, in your shower. Pathetic hands moving to try and wipe them away, yet there really is no hope. Tears will continue to flow, just as the sun will rise. 

You needed this more than you could ever know. More than anyone would ever know. 

Because then the thought is in your head again– about what you had to do to live. To survive. And for some strange reason, when you pull your hands away from your eyes, they look like they’re covered in red again. That boy in the arenas’ red. Your allies’ red. Strangers you didn’t know in the slightest’ red. The pasts’ red. 

Tears continue to fall, but for a different reason now. 

You’re out of your body again, and you think you might just stay there for a while. Until all of it just stops. 

Fuck whatever the hell Namjoon says, actually. Jimin doesn’t give a shit anymore. Jimin doesn’t care about waiting for the “right time” or when you’re more “susceptible” (as if you even need to be!). You need to come home now. You have to. 

He can’t just– he can’t just watch you destroy yourself like this in isolation! Especially when you have a warm, loving home to come home to. When he can support you. 

Fuck that. He can’t watch this any longer. 

This is all his fault, for going out earlier that day. Arriving home later than normal– missing your dinner together entirely. Oh, you’re probably so lonely without knowing he’s watching through the security cameras. Oh-so lonely. 

That’s why you’re crying in the bathroom, that’s why you’re hurting inside. Because you’re so alone. Because you have no one when you need him. 

You haven’t cried this entire time! There’s no other explanation as to why you’d be breaking down now! On the one day he didn’t have time to spend watching the cameras every waking second! 

He always wakes up with you, falls asleep with you. Eats with you, showers with you. Does everything with you! Fuck! How could he be so stupid! How could he be so neglectful! He’s an awful boyfriend! Awful! Awful! Awful! 

He can’t just watch you like this anymore. He doesn’t care if you’re more distressed, distraught– whatever. He’ll deal with that then. But you’re crying and it hurts him just as harshly as it does you. 

He doesn’t even realise the tears that well in his own eyes. The stinging pain of his nails digging into his palm.

Fuck Namjoon. This is his fault! It is! He’s the one that kept you from him! He’s the one that’s been insisting on your isolation until the “right time”-- whatever the hell that is! 

This is all his fault! 

You’re so scared. So lonely. So heartbroken.

He’s going to save you. To help you. To bring you home. 

Namjoon and Taehyung– they’ll understand, right..? He’s sure they will. They would do the same thing for their soulmates. He knows they would. Taehyung would do it in a second for his fletchling that got away! He could never be mad at Jimin! Never ever! 

And Namjoon, Jimin knows that he was just doing what he thought was best– trying to help. But Jimin knows best when it comes to you. 

He knows it's time for you to come home, even if it is a little more difficult. He can take it, he knows he can. 

Jimin sniffles, wiping the underside of his nose as he mops up his lousy expression. Reminding himself that all of this is okay– at least it will be soon. When you’re with him. When you’re in his arms. Safe from the rest of the world. 

Safe because of him.

The scent of sweet linen fills your nostrils to the very brim. Gentle fabrics twist in your palms, head leavered to the side, shoving your face even deeper into the too-soft sheets. 

It smells almost like home. Like the fresh flowers you’d pick every morning to put on the table– the lilac, sweet pea, and babies breath mixture you made most often for the neighbours. 

Something… Something is off. Something… artificial. But you choose to ignore that fact for the simple instance of staying sane. For the ability to lull your mind into a simpler place– a simpler time. A place before the games. A place so wonderful you don’t even allow yourself to dream of it anymore. Home. 

Maybe that was your first mistake, thinking you might return to that place for even a moment. 

Maybe it was a lot of things. It could have been imagining you just missed the entire train ride home– that you didn’t fall asleep in your stupid capitol apartment last night. Maybe it was thinking your mom’s bed could even afford such soft cottons to warm the lonely nights. Maybe it was letting your guard down for even a second, missing the footsteps that travel through the door. 

Maybe it was missing a whole slew of other signs. 

You’re too tired to know. Too tired to care. 

Well, that is until a sing-song pitch feels like it breaks the sound barrier. Feels like it shatters your disillusioned peaceful world into a disarray of shards you can’t glue back together. Sends you tumbling from the bed, startling you. Making you remember exactly how you felt in those games all over again.

“Petal~ Are you awake yet, my love? Oh my–” He seems just as shaken as you as he watches you bolt from the bed. Startling back a few steps as you roll to the floor assuming a crouched, almost predatory position. Your hair messy, lips puffy from sleep. Eyes wide, almost unnerving as you try to take him in. 

“Ah~” He resumes his original state, the one he had before you spooked him. One more relaxed– more carefree than you would ever be able to hold. A tray of food in his grip, filled to the brim with foods that used to be your favourites. 

Food has tasted dull for awhile now. 

“My, I must’ve scared you. I’m sorry, little petal.” He hums quietly, ignoring your flighty state instead focusing his path to the end of the bed– a bed you don’t recognise in the slightest. You’re not in any home that you’ve ever known. “I know, it must be pretty startling, hmm? I wanted to wake up in bed with you, but I didn’t think that would be the best idea.” 

He lends a giggle to himself, though you can’t understand the humour in his words. Not when you’re reeling. Eyes darting around, taking in the scenery around you. The grandiose bedroom piled high with the most comfort the capitol can offer. A large bed in the center of the room– the bed you were just in. A large window taking space of the entire wall, giving view of the city down below.

How did you get here? What is going on? Who the actual fuck is this guy? How does he know you?

Well, the last question is easy enough to answer. How does anyone know you? The games of course. Your new victor status lends the title of celebrity. 

You miss the days you were no one now more than ever. You need to get out. 

Your eyes dart between his figure, now perched on the end of the bed next to the tray of food and the door. Could you make it past him? Beat him in a race? Sure, he looks taller than you. But from your position on the floor– practically in a runners start already, you’re sure you could beat anyone in the capitol who’s never had to work a day in their life. 

What would you do after you make it out that door? You’re not sure. But you need to put more distance between yourself and this– this psychopath.

“I wouldn’t recommend that if I were you, love.” His voice is light, airy. Your mother would say he sounds like a songbird, however, you know that isn’t true. Only the capitol-created mutts would observe you as he is now. Close, pointnet. “The doorway has a sensor. I go through it, I’m fine. You— bzzt!!” 

He grabs his collar, shaking a little to give off the appearance of being electrocuted, giving a light laugh at the end to show humour. What part of this is meant to be fucking funny?! You– you!! He kidnapped you!! What part of that is fucking funny!! 

You feel heat in your face, air exhaling a notch faster than before as anger rises higher in your being. Who the fuck does he think he is?! You would be a fool not to go for it anyway. An idiot to just trust this man's words without a second thought. 

“Not enough to kill you but–” You bolt for the doorway, running as fast and as hard as you can. Though, it doesn’t last long. The man did not lie, and you are frozen in place the second an inch of your frame has made it through the passage. A current shooting through your being, freezing you in place. Causing you to crumple to the floor without even a second's notice. 

The pain is burning, though not as strong as you expected such a force to be. You don’t understand capitol technology, and you don’t want to. You don’t want to know how it could hurt so bad yet not hurt at all at the same time. How it could completely immobilise you yet feel as though it didn’t do any real damage. 

A simple shock to your system, as he presumed this whole thing would be. 

He tuts out a soft sigh as he watches you fall, standing from his place on the bed and allowing his legs to carry him to your form. “I told you petal, I wouldn’t recommend trying. It’s okay though– I expected this.” 

He hums, easily scooping your body into his arms. And as much as you want to run, to push him away, to strangle him– you can’t move a muscle. Limp in his arms, useless to him moving you into bed, tucking you back under the sheets. All save for your face, and maybe your voice. Though, you haven’t tried to use that yet. 

“Oh– don’t look at me like that!” He giggles, placing your body upright in bed. Back against the headboard, blankets pulled to your hips. You think you hate the smell of them now more than anything else. “You’ll be able to move again soon, I promise. 10-15 minutes max? I’m not sure the details– Joon set it up for me. I didn’t want to!”

He looks at you seriously now, almost a complete change in his demeanour. His hands moving to clench your unmoving ones, his eyes staring straight into your own still set in a glare. “I knew you would love me right away, petal. I promise. I didn’t think you would run. But Joon said it would be better to be safe than sorry, you know? And I didn’t want you to get hurt with all the shock this change would be! You understand, right?”

You don’t know what the fuck a Joon is or the bullshit the man in front of you is spewing. You don’t even know why he’s spitting it!! You don’t even know him!! You’ve never seen him before in your life!!  A thousand words well up in your throat at once, yet you’re not sure which ones want to leave first. Hatred, as well as that puppy-dog look you already have come to despise forces your hand. You want him off of you– away from you. To give you a moment to think and to figure out all of his nonsense!! 

“Fuck you.” Is all you can manage between your teeth, though you want to will so much more. Want to let loose every stupid, horrible thing you’ve thought since you first arrived in the capitol. The words you wanted to say during all of your interviews– the words that wouldn’t gain you sponsors or support. 

Maybe you should have said them back then, maybe then you wouldn’t be in this position now. 

Oh, you hate that he only smiles at your words. Moves, instead, to grab the tray of food abandoned at the edge of the bed. “They’ll be plenty of time for that later, petal.” 

You know it’s meant to be a tease– the way he says it puts no real meaning behind his words. But their simple utterance leaves you wanting to spasm. To will your body to move– to make him not threaten you like that again. To yell, to scream, to throw fists his way. To throw him out that giant window. The one that taunts you of your freedom.

“No! No–! There won’t be!” You almost shout, attempting to force your body to move. To twist any part of it. To gain back any level of control. Slap that giggle that spills from his lips. “Who the– Who the fuck are you?!” 

Your voice is practically a growl, but he doesn’t seem to care in the slightest. In fact he's– he’s jovial? His shoulders shake with amusement while his eyes crest with joy. And you, you hate every second of it.

“Ah~ There’s the petal I know!” He hums, cutting away at the pancakes below. Plucking a few pieces onto a fork, bringing it closer to your lips, “Though, if I’m being honest, I’m a little hurt you don’t remember me, my love! We’ve had so much fun together!!” 

His expression softens now, almost appearing wounded. Like you had stabbed him somewhere you couldn’t even begin to explain. It only enrages you further, to be honest. Though, nothing to do about that now. You’ve already boiled over. 

“What the fuck are you talking about?! I don’t know you!! We’ve never–” He takes that moment to shove the fluffy bread between your lips, knowing otherwise he would not have the chance. He takes his other hand, placing it on your lower jaw before you have the chance to spit it out. You hate how he seems to know your actions before you know them yourself. You hate everything about him. 

“You need to eat.” His tone is harsh again. It switches so easily– everything about him does, honestly. It confuses you, but there isn’t much time to spend on that thought at the moment, is there? Not with a psycho in the room. Not with everything happening. 

You still don’t follow his direction. Instead just hold it between your lips, not chewing. It gives you some sense of control you otherwise lacked in every other way. Gives you an ounce of strength. 

“Chew. Or else you’ll be on a liquid diet. Neither of us want that.” The way he looks at you now sends a chill down your spine. Eyes half lidded, almost in a glare. Jaw set harshly in place, puffy lips pulled in slightly.

You feel like you’re in the arena again. 

Maybe you never left.

“Eat. And I’ll answer your questions.” Begrudgingly, you oblige. Though it doesn’t come without some force, humiliation burns through as you actually listen to what he tells you. As you follow his command. 

You want to die, maybe. 

Or that could just be the shame that runs through your veins. 

You’ve never been a strong person, you don’t think. And the thought feels even more apparent now. Your ally in the games– she would’ve never done what he said. You know that. She was strong. She always listened to her own conscience above all else. She would’ve never given in over a threat and a promise, while you, at least on the inside, feel as if that’s all it ever takes. 

A threat and a promise. 

You hate it. Even more so when his personality does a complete 180 once again. When he starts praising you. When he hops up next to you on the bed and nestles you into his side. Especially when he plants a kiss on the top of your head, telling you how good you are. How he just knew you wanted to please him and that there's no reason to pretend. 

“See, baby? I just knew you could do it. I knew our little rough patch wouldn’t last long, would it? See, you’re already so good for me. Just the perfect little thing like I knew you would be, yeah? Wow~” His lips against your head feel like the first soft thing you’ve felt in the last month. You hate it. “What a perfect little Victor for me baby, you know that? C’mon! Let's eat up lots! I hate how much weight you’ve been losing since you got here from the districts. It’s so sad.” 

You want to sob, actually. Burning humiliation feels unbridled in your core. You hate that you can’t push him away. That you can’t get away. Why does such a simple action of chewing food feel like so much more? Why does everything feel like so much more?

You want to go home. You want to be among your flowers and your best friend. 

The fork is in front of your mouth again. 

This time, you take it without a fight. Already knowing it will be going in your mouth, regardless. Especially in this new, feeble position. His arm around your shoulder, your legs soon tugged onto his lap the same. 

“Who are you.” You ask again, hatred in your tone. Though he ignores it completely, instead favouring to focus on the way you took his offering without much physical fight. He could tell the mental one was burdensome, though there will be time to deal with that later. 

He smiles at you, though you choose to focus on a spot through the window in the far distance. Hoping against all hope it is the glimmer of the sun rather than a hologram pasted on the glass.

“Jimin. My name is Jimin. Remember it this time, okay petal?” He says softly, as though it was just for you to hear. 

You wish it wasn’t. 

You wish it was at some sort of public hanging for the world to hear for kidnapping the Capitol’s much favoured victor. You wish he was being hung while you were in the arms of your best friend instead, far away from the entire mess. Far away from everything.

Why hasn’t your mind locked you away again? Made you incapacitated– a drop among the flowing river? Why did it have to make you so aware, now, when it was all you had ever hoped for before? Why couldn’t it lock away these memories like it did for those in the games?

The answer is obvious. 

You’re still in them. Maybe not physically, but mentally, now more than ever, you’re in those games. Except now, the only enemy is one and if you make it out, there would be no trumpets signalling your victory.

There is no victory in these games, is there?

“Hmm, you’ve had a hard morning, haven’t you?” He’s still being soft. Still slowly feeding you bites of food you want nothing to do with while his other hand gently traces circles on your ankle. At least you’re still wearing the clothes you fell asleep in. You have that to be thankful for. “I’m sorry for scaring you so badly, I hoped the scents would calm you down but I guess I was wrong.” 

You finally spare a glance his way, noticing his lips in a pout. He has nothing to be sad for, you know it to be true. So why is he acting like the burden of the world is on his shoulders? You have not a clue, nor a care. Though you keep yourself quiet all the same, knowing any words you say might set him off– especially the unkind ones you think.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll get used to it soon.” He smiles again, eyes cresting into half circles. His lips finding your hair once again, leaving a soft kiss in its wake. It makes you want to gag– want to cry in the way it mimics your mothers. But there's nothing you can do. Absolutely nothing for at least another 3 minutes. But where will you go– what will you do once that time does pass? You need to be smart about this. 

You can’t run. You can’t leave this room without being paralyzed. You could grab a fork, you could stab–

Your eyes automatically trail down to your hands, as if they expect the red to still be there. As if you didn’t scrub it away countless times, a new red in its place. Raw and irritated, painful. 

…

What will you do when the time passes?

The urge to scratch at your hands once again is insurmountable. An itch pulling behind your eyes as a meager way to force away the visions of that career in your face. Of his expression as blood dribbled from the side of his lips, eyes becoming hollow against the sandy ground.

You force your eyelids closed. Pressing them together. Willing away the picture of at least 12 other tributes– the slaughters you witnessed first hand. The colour draining from their skin from where you hid. The emptiness where there once held life. 

You watched them smiling in training. You ate with a few. They were real people with real lives and now they are dead and you’re alive. 

You want it to go away. You want it all to go away. 

…

You’re not sure what you can do once the time passes. The wails in your ears at the mere thought of stabbing him are evidence of that enough. 

You need more time to think. 

“Why?” The question hangs heavy in their air, almost so quietly you’re not sure it left your own lips. You don’t remember it leaving them, surely. Nevertheless, willing them to move– but the question found its way out on its own. 

You don’t know if you want an answer, but you can’t force it back in. 

“Why?” Jimin, your captor, hums. His thumb tapping gently against your ankle bone in a way that you assume is meant to soothe. He takes a moment– thinking, contemplating, before a smile so bright it could be the sun itself takes over his expression. One filled with care, with such soft admiration you’ve only ever seen on one person before. 

“Because I love you, of course. You love me too. You promised.”

The days– no, weeks, that follow are, disappointingly, similar to your first. An almost-routine forming between you and Jimin. Horrible, unnerving Jimin. Wake up every morning all-too aware, force yourself from his too-tight grip he’s managed to pull you into while you slept. Check the exits to see if they’re still locked or shocked. Eat breakfast with Jimin, deal with his mood-swings and tantrums. 

Eventually he leaves for work– not before he clings to you again, whining about how he doesn’t want to go. You lash out, yell at him to stop touching you– you hate when he touches you– after which he either cries or gets mad. Whimpers about how he doesn’t understand why you’re being so mean. Why you hate him. 

A little kid being refused their favourite toy, maybe. The same way your little brother might’ve done the same. 

He’s got some sort of twisted reality, that's all you know. Has convinced himself you’ve loved each other for years, that you two are meant to be some sort of fairytale. That it’s fate you were drawn that day– something about letters. You have no clue how he’s come to that conclusion, nor find yourself wanting to delve into it. All you do know is that it’s tiring, too tiring. 

To be honest, when he cries like that in the mornings, it almost makes you feel bad. Almost, because you’re not stupid. You know what’s real. You know that before he took you, you had never seen him in your life. You made no promises like he swears, you never showed him any sort of inclination otherwise.

On the other hand, it's clear he’s sick in the head. Clear that something in the capitol deluded him into believing whatever… this is. Maybe he’s never known what actual love is– you doubt the capitol knows anything about that. Maybe it was his friends you’ve been forced to hear about, maybe it’s just, everything else. 

Either way, you wouldn’t know. He doesn’t talk much about himself– nor his family. He doesn’t talk about visiting them or introducing them to you the same way he does his best friends.Two people you’ve never met yet already hate. An already-assumed air to the presidency and the head gamemaker– Taehyung, Namjoon. 

You really did get lucky with your captor, huh? Well, you knew he had to be in high places for the wealth he assumes. The wealth he practically forced on you in the arena. 

Oh, the realization he had been the one to dump food and weapons on you was a sobering one indeed. 

You often wonder where it comes from. What he had to do to become so rich when back home, all your family had to their name was a small two bedroom cottage in the far-reaches of town. When your father would become so skinny during the winter months that you found yourself sleeping next to his bed, afraid he might not wake up in the morning. 

It had been worse when your parents were little, or so you were told. The capitol used to be worse– more vicious. Something about an almost uprising. An agreement made when a mockingjay flew. You’re not sure, it sounded like some sort of strange symbolism when your teacher spoke the words. And back then, when you were young, you didn’t care about the symbolism of birds. Flowers were much more your heart. 

What did the capitol kids learn in school? Did they have it? Or were they already assumed geniuses. A silver spoon born into the mouths of the wealthy, their paths laid out by birthright alone. Never having to worry, never having to struggle. Jimin is most definitely the same, regardless. 

Spite is an emotion often had, along with too many others. 

You have too much time to think here. Too much time to reflect on your inability to act. Why you’re cursed with visions whenever you so much as have a passing thought about killing Jimin to get away. 

Though, maybe it’s a blessing, in a way. What would you do if you did manage such a feat? Run with his friends tailing behind you? Find some way out of the capitol? Risk the lives of everyone you love by somehow returning home with nothing to your name? How would you even leave the apartment? Sure, he normally turns the bedroom shocks off during the day so you can roam, but you know the same device stands at the front door. 

The windows are too tall to leap from, no fire escapes in sight. You would be stupid to not assume he already planned for you to try and kill him. Maybe if he dies the entire apartment explodes. Maybe he’s got some sort of medical implant that could patch all wounds instantly. You have no clue what kind of technology the capitol holds, much less one of its most important citizens. 

What you can assume? He dies, you die with him.

You’re not sure if you could kill him anyway. 

So there you are left, planning. Forced to listen to him. His day, his life. His friends. You. The people he deems actually important to his life, you presume. 

Then there are his plans– what he wants to do with you that day, dates he hopes to take you on after you finally accept him. Proposals. Marriage. All things that twist your stomach– make it ache. 

Of course, he asks questions, too. Makes it appear as though he actually wants to get to know you better. What a joke. This whole thing feels like one. Like some type of dream you won't be able to escape no matter how hard you thrash under the covers. 

Most of the time, you find it easier not to answer. If you say nothing, he can’t use it against you. Can’t turn it into a tantrum from a wrong answer or stare at you with those warm-brown eyes while you open your soul. Can’t take a mile when you only bare him an inch. 

You never can tell what he is thinking. 

What you do know? He looks so pathetic when he cries during those times you decide to let hate fill your heart. When the band inside finally snaps and you just can’t take anymore of this. The demon clawing out from your abdomen, spewing vile from your lips before you can even think of what you’re truly saying. 

Oh, how clings to your legs, looks up at you with tears streaming down his face. His perfectly styled pink hair a wreck, his puffy cheeks flushed red. Veins in his neck straining. Begging, pleading for you to just love him. For you to come to him like he does you, to crave him like he does you. For you to just say you didn’t mean it. To please, please just not hate him. He just can’t take it. You’re soulmates. You’re meant to be. You can’t hate him, you can’t.

Maybe sometimes you feel a small ounce of sympathy when he gets like that, knowing that you caused it. Humanity thriving within you when, at this point, in most it would be squandered away. 

You feel too much lately, to be honest. 

Though, that little bit of pity, small and waning, is wiped away all the same when he forces you to sit in bed with him at night. Most nights he’s able to hold you due to the same zap you receive every time you try to run out that door– still believing it would be stupid to not try. Others, it's because you’re simply too tired to fight him. Because it’s easier not to.  

Either way, the result of your compliance forced or not is the same. Your frame tucked into his side, legs across his lap. His arm pulling you close, tucking the top of your head into his neck. All the while he plays reruns of your games, your interviews, your reaping. 

He smiles watching them, eyes casting a fond glow on the projection of your nightmare. The things you wish you didn’t have to do. 

You hate that you can see the fondness in his expression, especially. Makes his words seem even more true, that he wholeheartedly believes them. Whenever you appear on screen, his expression lights. His lips quirking whenever he urges you to watch– that his favourite part is coming. 

He seems to have a lot of favourite parts. 

At least it fills in a lot of gaps in your memory– maybe that’s one good that comes of it. Or maybe it’s another negative. Something that should be forgotten for your own sanity. That’s what your brain thought at least but now… You’re not really sure anymore, to be honest. It’s hard to keep things straight when you’re stuck in this apartment. When everything else your head is doing to protect you is oh-so-tiring. 

You remember him showing you your reaping a month after arriving at his apartment– one of the projections you seem to have forgotten completely. A day entirely forgotten returned to you all-too quick. A shot straight to the heart. 

You were standing there in line, waiting to have your face and fingerprints scanned for attendance. Hair a little wild, dress bustling in the wind. You watched as you walked forward, as they took you into the system. Corralled you into the area reserved for the oldest age group. 

You feel like you look so young then, or at least felt a million years younger than you do now. So happy, so carefree. Waiting for the whole drawing to just be over so you could be free of it. Finally free of it. Of everything. 

Fuck, your final reaping, too. How pathetic.

“You looked so pretty for me then, petal. That’s when I recognised your name.” Jimin whispered to you, nuzzling his face in your hair. Yet you paid little mind– eyes glued to the screen as the scenes shifted, bringing you directly to the drawing.

Hearing your name called, your face displayed on the screen was entirely mind-altering, to say the least. The girl on the screen is no longer you– maybe a body double, maybe a secret twin. It doesn’t matter which, because that girl, no. She doesn’t feel like you in the slightest. You don’t remember any of it happening at all. 

Back then, you remember how your legs stumbled as they carried you. How they shook with terror. The world was ending, you were sure of it. You knew it was. But the girl on screen is confident. She’s bold. She bares an expression of neutrality– posture held high, chin up against the winds with a red carnation tucked behind her ear. 

He tucked that flower behind your ear that morning, you know that for sure. It was tradition that he would. Petals tucked in your tresses, the promise of researching their meaning when you two departed. 

Maybe you should have done so before the reaping that day– maybe that was another mistake. 

Either way, it doesn’t matter now. Now you’re tucked in the arm of a deluded capitol boy who bought you from the president, being forced to watch the screen as it changes to something you were never meant to witness. 

The camera cuts to a scene in the crowd. A group of 6 standing together, holding each other. Mother, Father, Sister, Brother-in-Law, Brother, Sister-in-Law-to-be all joined together to watch their last family members very last reaping. 

Your heart shatters as you hear the syllables of your name called once again. 

The shock, the horror. The terror. The tears. The realization that you were going into the games. You watched from your seat in the capitol as your mother crumpled in on herself– as your brother fell right alongside her. Trying to hold her, trying to console her while your father just stood in utter shock. Frozen in place from his daughter being taken from him. 

He always did say your family was too lucky, to prepare for the worst. When you were young, it was a joke. But on that day it wasn’t, no. It was every nightmare a reality. 

Your family’s realization they would never see you run amongst the fields again. Hope already mist in the wind. That’s what it was.

Then, then the weight of ten-thousand bodies feels as though it has fallen onto your shoulders.

The camera cut to him. Your best friend. Your Yoongi. The man who tucked the flower in your hair, who made you promise to come back to him. The man who said he would do anything for you facing the one thing he couldn’t do anything against.

You don’t even know how the cameramen knew to film him in that moment, but you wish they didn’t. You wish against all else that you would’ve never had to see his face like that. 

This is the worst thing you could have seen. That Jimin is making you see. Worse than making you rewatch your games with that sickening smile on his face. Worse than making you relive the other lives you had to take in that arena with the weapons Jimin provided through sponsorship. Worse than finding out he had been privy to all the cameras in your capitol apartment.

No, seeing Yoongi again was worse than anything else. Especially knowing you would never see him again. 

At least during the games you knew you had a chance. Now, it feels like you have none. 

He’s gone.

You can’t stop the tears, from forcing your gaze away from the screen and hiding your face in Jimin’s neck. From breaking down against him– your captor, yet at the same time your only source of comfort. 

Maybe that's what he wanted. Maybe that was the point of all of this. You don’t know anything other than the pounding of your head and the burn of your lungs as it tries to pull in air. The static that runs through the wires of your brain as it shuts down, succumbing to the pain. The hurt of just– everything.

“Hey, hey. Baby, it’s okay. It’s okay~” He tries to calm you, yet it does nothing. Your wails only grow louder. Nails scratching, grabbing for anything in their reach. Finding home in his loose linen shirt. 

If you were any more sane, maybe you would know he was panicked in that moment too. Scrambling with what to do, how to console you. Eyes darting as he manages your form, tries to discern what to do or say. “That’s enough for today, I think…” 

He turns off the tv, you know that. You thank the skies for it. You don’t think you could listen to your supposedly private goodbyes with your family and Yoongi at that moment. You think that might just break you entirely.  

The actions that follow are foreign. Too consumed in your grief, you’re not sure how you wound up on his lap. How your body found itself clinging to him entirely. You’re sure of the sound of his voice, though. The way it gently shushes your cries with a smooth hum. Trying to comfort, to soothe while he strokes the top of your head with one hand. The other rubbing circles into your hip as you cry. 

The terrible part? You let him.

You let him mumble into your hair. You let him be your support when he was the very thing keeping you away from them. The very being holding you hostage when you should be in the victory village with them. When you should be with Yoongi. 

It’s too bad, but you really can’t help it. Honestly. Everything inside of you that you’ve been holding onto for so very long is flushing from your system all at once. Waves of emotion from the reaping, the games, the kidnapping have overflowed, and without something solid, you might have drowned. May have been washed away in a haze of memories you’re unable to come back from.

Can you really be blamed for letting the fire of hatred be quelled for only a night when a tsunami is about to pull you under? 

“It’s okay petal, let it out. You needed all of this, hmm? I’m so sorry for upsetting you, baby. I had no clue it would, I swear. I’ll never do something like that again, okay? I don’t want you to hate me, baby, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know your heart was still all the way back there, okay?” 

During the entire time you’ve been in the capitol, not a sole has offered you a single ounce of comfort. Maybe that’s why it was so easy to just let him. To let him comfort you. To let him take care of you. No matter how humiliating or awful it will feel tomorrow, you’re too tired to care. 

You’re so tired of fighting. Why do you have to keep fighting? Why you? 

“Worked so hard on being so strong. I’m proud of you. I’ve got you now, petal.” He whispered into your hair so softly. As if he could break you, as if he ever even conserved doing such a thing. 

Maybe he could feel it then– the way you had given up. Even if it was just for the hour. Maybe he knew to use it to his advantage. That’s what you would have done in the arena. Or maybe he did actually care. Did actually want to be there. Wasn’t planning on using your vulnerability for his own gain.

You would never really know, would you? 

You’re just so tired. And the way he gently pulls your face from his neck, tucks your face into his palm sure makes it feel like he cares. You don’t know. You don’t want to care. You just want to be free from thinking for a little while. 

Maybe that’s why you don’t look away when his eyes search to find your own. To make a connection– to try and convey that he can be solid for you, despite how he acts most of the time. Maybe it’s the tears that fall onto his cheeks, fooling you into believing his pain is your own. Your head feels so screwy anyway– unable or unwilling to function any longer than it has to. 

Maybe that's why you don’t pull away when he glances towards your lips. When his tongue darts out to wet his pretty pink pair. When he leans closer, his lips pressing against your own in a way that is utterly consuming, yet so soft at the same time. Dual worlds colliding together. The very definition of who Jimin seems to be. 

The kiss is a short, gentle thing. Something meant to soothe, to help you relax more than anything else. One that you neither respond to, nor push away from. But the fact it happens remains. The fact you didn’t hate it remains a thing to ponder on another day. 

His thumbs move up to gently swipe at your cheeks, collecting the last of your tears on his fingertips. Your head choosing to ignore the way he pops the digits in his mouth, tasting the salty tang. 

You're too tired– too confused right now, to care anyway. 

“Let's go to bed now, okay? You must be tired, baby.” He lifts you, placing you on your side of his massive bed. Tucking your frame in, moving your hair to the side before placing a gentle kiss on your temple. 

That night, he doesn’t force you to cuddle him. He doesn’t touch you at all, something you’re grateful for. But it’s clear something– maybe everything has changed. The repercussions, unclear. 

Yet the next morning, when you’re shocked awake by a gentle kiss to the lips and the floppy, too-happy face of Jimin in the morning, the memories of the night prior return. Then and there, for the first time, you’re sure you’ve made a mistake. 

⋆𐙚 part ii -> coming soon to a theatre near you <33 and as always, feel free to ask hunger games!jimin anything you want along with all my other guys!! MWAH!! ily and i hope you enjoyed <33

© all rights reserved to ctrlhope 2019-2025 ; do not copy, plagiarise, or translate.

[rumisgf]

YOUR BEST EATER ! - JJK EDITION

summary: jjk characters i think can eat pussy the best and who i think would not. that’s really it, i’m telling yall who the munches are. enjoy some pussy eating headcanons :D !

warnings: explicit obviously, black!reader, discussing f!receiving oral, use of the title daddy (once), cursing, slight crack, slander but i’m kidding kinda

GOJO SATURO - 10/10

✧ he’s sick in the head.

✧ i hate him truly. he gives good head and he knows it.

✧ he loves making it messy, he wants your arousal all over his face

✧ he wants it on the sheets by the time he’s finished

✧ he also likes making you cum multiple times, so don’t expect mercy

✧ he gets a kick out of watching you squirm and writhe under his touch

✧ and not only is his tongue magical, but he knows all the methods to make you scream for him

✧ he uses fingers and all that

✧ he’s definitely made you squirt from head

✧ the type of head he gives will have you soaked before he even fucks you

✧ yk the song that’s like ‘i’m the type of guy that’s gon eat it ‘fore i put it in?”

✧ yeah, that’s gojo

“one more, princess? hm?”

“yesss- please ‘toru!”

“good girl.. want you to make a mess all over my tongue”

GETO SUGURU - 9/10

✧ he’s a good contender for sure

✧ he’ll act like he doesn’t want to at first but it’s all a facade

✧ he can’t let you know he’s a fiend too early of course

✧ but when he finally does, boy are you surprised

✧ toe curling. jaw dropping.

✧ he’ll have you creaming on his fingers while he sucks on your clit like a madman

✧ it hurts so good and you never want him to stop

✧ and he licks your clit so attentively, he looks at each facial expression you make

✧ he draws perfect circles with his tongue

✧ it’s definitely not his strong suit (but shit that’s saying something)

✧ i’ll give him his flowers though for sure

✧ he gives the type of head that has you aching for him to put his dick inside you already

“taste so fuckin’ good. love this pussy, baby- ‘s all mine.”

TOJI FUSHIGURO - 8/10

✧ he’s one of those guys who swears up and down he doesn’t eat pussy

✧ he does.

✧ first time he went between your thighs, you thought you saw god

✧ whenever your hips lift up and you start squirming from all the pleasure, he presses them back into the mattress

✧ and he edges you while giving you head

✧ he’ll have you screaming then stop just to hear you beg for him to let you cum

✧ he’s still a sadist at the end of the day, he can’t let you have too much fun

✧ either that, or he overstimulated you until there’s literal tears streaming down your cheeks

✧ he loves making you cry from head

✧ if he’s not having you gag on his dick as he throat fucks you, this is his other way to see tears stain your pretty face

✧ whenever you squirt from him giving you head, he feels very satisfied with himself

✧ he can never give head for too long tho because the sight of you dripping pussy right in front of his eyes makes him so hard it hurts

“stay fuckin’ still brat. let me taste this pussy.”

SUKUNA RYOMEN - 2/10

✧ he doesn’t eat pussy.

✧ yeah, sorry.

✧ he’s a literal demon idk what else was expected

✧ in all seriousness, he’s not too fond of giving head

✧ but, he does enjoy fingering you though

✧ his fingers are often plunged into your hole while make out sessions and it’s his go-to for foreplay

✧ he’ll have you on his lap and play with your cunt until you’re crying

✧ and if you have toys, he loves overstimulating you with him

✧ this is often how he punishes you (sometimes he just feels like it, though)

✧ but long story short, this man will NOT be your best eater

“ry- fuck! daddy please- can’t take it!”

“nuh uh, this is what you wanted doll. let me take care of ya.”

NANAMI KENTO - 10/10

✧ if gojo’s not your best eater, nanami’s definitely your best eater

✧ he’s got every tongue and finger combo down packed

✧ he gets down. he do NOT play.

✧ he’s definitely a pleasure dom at heart so he believes you deserve good head from him

✧ and he also doesn’t talk at all while giving you head

✧ it’s almost amazing how focused he gets

✧ his form of communication is looking up at your fucked out face, filling his ego

✧ he likes eating you at after he fucks you

✧ that way he can fuck his cum back into you with his tongue and taste your arousal at the same time

✧ it’s also a way to overstimulate you that he can be slick with

✧ whenever you’re in missionary, he always has your legs bent to your ears so he can pull out and lap at your pussy whenever he wants to

✧ it’s a rush getting fucked into oblivion then getting your soul snatched as he slurps up all your juices

✧ he also enjoys how wet he makes you, so you taste so good when he does

✧ he spits on it. that’s all i have to say.

“k-kento.. so good..”

CHOSO KAMO - 11/10

✧ OHHHH LET ME TELL YOU SOMETHING

✧ you thought i wouldn’t put him above gojo and nanami? you’re wrong.

✧ this man is a munch. he’s a fiend. it’s pathetic.

✧ he’ll eat pussy on his knees, matter of fact he loves it

✧ he loves when you trap your legs around like yes please don’t let him breathe he might nut right then and there

✧ he whimpers while eating you out.

✧ he won’t say it, but he likes spelling out words in your clit

✧ he mostly just spells his name

✧ and he loves how you taste, so he can eat you out forever

✧ you have to tap out for him to stop because he really has no self control when it comes to eating you out

✧ and please, sit on his face.

✧ and actually sit on it. this man doesn’t wanna be able to breathe

✧ he’ll leaves fingerprint marked bruises on your ass cheeks from gripping them as he works his tongue from under you

✧ him eating you out always has you squirting before he even fucked you yet

✧ he also enjoys tasting the mix of yours and his cum after he fucks you

✧ choso gives head so good you wanna have his kids

“babyyy- ‘m c-cumming!”

“f-fuck, taste so good baby. need you so bad.”

@ rumisgf

[silversinfinity]

BOY HOWDY DO I HAVE SOME LINKS FOR YOU!!!!!!!!

1 / 2 / 3

So like has anyone done anything with ten/na and the whole nose-flower thing yet or nah

[mmmilkweed]

I'm still here!

hi all, just wanted to update y'all on how I'm doing.

Thank you, sincerely, from the bottom of my heart, for the kind messages and anons. Every single one picked up a tiny piece of me and placed it back into its original place. I cannot thank you enough.

.. There's no easy way to say I'm still not doing good. BUT! I am doing *better.* Even if just a little, I consider it a win.

Mornings are a heavy issue. The past two, I've thrown up. Not today though, so that's a win right? Nightmares plague me - even today I caught myself dreaming that, once again, my words have been used against me and I was left alone, with only hatefull paragraphs to keep me company. Had I not realized I didn't have my phone in my hands when I woke up, I might have thought it was real. Man. Just another reason to have an aversion to my phone!!

I found a new.. Man, I never thought I'd use this word. I found a new trigger for my, what I can only assume, are panic attacks. Discord notifications. Just seeing the icon on the notification bar has my heart in my ears and I can't breathe. I still don't know how to efficiently calm myself down from these. While walking helps, I sit back down and it starts again. My job requires me to sit!! I've begun just brute forcing past it.

My appetite has completely vanished. I usually eat a decent amount through the day, but for the past 4 I've hardly been able to finish a single plate of food in a day. Yesterday I struggled with a can of monster. I LOVE MONSTERRR and yet I kept nursing it the WHOLE day. I was so mad... I'm going to go to my favorite restaurant soon, gonna work on getting my appetite back up.

On the way to my atelier, the song that inspired Timeless!AU came on: For Her by Jeremy Jordan. I adored this song. It meant everything to me, it's going to be on my Spotify wrapped from how much I listened to it. I.. Can't. Anymore. I put it on blast, I couldn't bring myself to skip it - and still, even when I was walking my heart beat faster than it should and I suddenly found myself out of breath. Negativity seeped into my favorite song. Figures

Still - it brought me some clarity. Past days I've really been feeling like a monster - but For Her made me remember that the AU really was always meant for this unrequited love, the whole thing somewhat inspired by the Great Gatsby and a dream that's just out of reach. How could I let myself be deluded so much? How did I let their words get to me so deeply that even I began questioning myself? ESPECIALLY since they don't me at ALL?! I saw someone say something so outrageous it become an inside joke with my friends! That really helped to disillusion me. I hope that with time, or with enough replays, I can find comfort in For Her again.. And I will. Jeremy Jordan is too good not to listen too

It's not all bad, though. I know I've been venting, yet I have to tell it at least to someone that's not my wife. Poor thing, I feel bad for her. She shouldn't be weighted my mistakes.

now let me tell you about the good too.

Oh there's so many amazing people in this community. Like each of you. Like my community on discord. Like my closer contemporaries. Discord notifications are not as scary when I see a certain groupchat or even server. Yes, while my heart skips a beat - I've laughed far more than cried. I can't thank them enough. I'll never bring it up to them, I don't need to drag down their mood, so I'm telling yall instead.

I've begun drawing again. I feel like I understand Shadow Milk Cookie on a very personal level now. If his demeanor changes going forward... I'm probably projecting.! Oh I've gotten to the point in rock bottom where I imagine PV helping me out with stuff. Man that's embarrassing to say. Akctually everything here is embarrassing to say - I still feel ashamed my body has such a visceral reaction to.. All of this! I digress. I began drawing again. I'm happy with what I have, can't wait to start showing yall.

I've begun scrolling Twitter too. In small doses. My modteam suggested it, and woah, it helped scrolling through the splatoon tag. I can't just up and leave it, as it's my current main source of income. I'm watching CRK tiktoks too! Slowly.

I'll try to be stead fast in my recovery - I've come to realize there are people who are dependant on me, they look to me to see how they should react. I did not see that before, and for that, I also apologize. Many have pointed out I'm new to this, and only now did I realize just how right you were. Especially as someone whos always kept to a side line - having a voice baffles me.

[sanjisblackasswife]

𝔹𝕒𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 ℝ𝕒𝕗𝕒𝕪𝕖𝕝

Bad Summary: I was playing RDR2 and while giving Arthur a bath I thought of this. Might draw it.

Black Fem

CW/// Bath sex, Mommy Kink Raf, he says it once dw, Raf is bigger than you regardless of your height and weight, Some fluff, Kissing, Kinda baby’ing Rafayel because he’s so friggin cute, I believe Raf is definitely a service dom idgaf what yall say however he’ll be a slight sub for this, more like giving into your touches and letting you do what you want

Bath time is one of Rafayel’s most important times of the day where he can really feel himself relax. He does some of his best thinking, and recovering when he does so, and now that you’re with him he is more than happy to share that time with you. However it’s usually spent with him bathing you with some taboo and sweet touches in between.

You lie your back on his chest, body completely submitted to his gentle, soft hands squeezing your breast occasionally and rubbing in your favorite body wash on your body.

The wind chimes blow through his giant window facing the ocean, the bath was filled with lavender and rose petals, some sticking to your skin and the rest floating around you, the scenery made you both feel at ease and more than contempt as the warm golden hour sun began to set and compliment your beautiful bronze skin, which Rafayel loves to see.

“One of these days I need to paint you. Just like this.” His true deep voice was close to your ear, speaking his thought out loud again, sending a shiver down your spine when his lips tugged at your earlobe, he grabbed your small limp hand to kiss the back of it, “You were made to be captured under the sun, it’s like your skin was kissed by it…so pretty.”

Rafayel had a habit of speaking his mind now matter how shameless it was, he continued, not really realizing he was mindlessly massaging your breasts under the water;

“I would first paint your legs….” His palms slither down to your tummy and land on your thighs to give them a squeeze, “The way the light bounces off your skin produces such gorgeous colors to capture.”

He continued, pointing out almost every inch of your body, words drooling with appreciation and lust you started to feel embarrassed with how much he noticed, from your stretch marks, to your beauty marks, down to some scars you forgot you had.

Rafayel never missed a detail about you, and it made you realize you never got to be able to express the same.

It was silent for a moment before you turn to face him, getting him out of his trance he looks down at you with boba filled eyes, a pout forming at his lips you stop it to kiss him, “Let me bathe you now.”

Your merman blinked, you never done this before, but he didn’t really want to question it due to curiosity seeing as you sit yourself up on the top of the tub and spread your legs to give him room to settle between.

His eyes flew to your pussy, force of habit, but he loves staring at that too, and not to mention your slight arousal was already plaguing his senses, his body already gravitating towards you, slotting himself between your legs like a puzzle piece he hands you a wash cloth that he put some of his own body wash on for you to start.

“Miss. Bodyguard….your hands are so….” He was practically purring, his body was trained to only react to your touch just the way you like, often he’s the type to have you wrapped around his finger, but for this evening you wanted to spoil him.

Warm breaths took place beside his ear, your hand caressing his shaft before taking a firm grip to stroke from the base, up to his slut to tease, almost in an instant pre-cum began to ooze its way down your knuckles back into the water.

“The water’s ganna get….dirty.” Rafayel spoke with worry, but his body betrayed him when he spread his legs further until they came to a stop at the rim of the tub, “Faster.”

The sounds of water splashing and hums of pleasure surrounded you as the sun went down, slowly the warm air turned cooler, but your merman’s body got hotter. He was so close.

“H-hey!” Breaking him out of his concentration he turns to face you, teary eye’d. You never edged him before so he was prepared to actually begin crying, that was until you backed him up to straddle his waist, “You—-“

Capturing his soft pillowy lips, he whimpers into your mouth, hips bucking against your slit, while his hands tightly gripped the bottom of your ass, he was trying to aim his dick to your entrance while you were distracted.

However he has played these games before and you’ve finally caught onto it, you grab his shaft from behind and align yourself, he looks up at you with pleading eyes, his chest and forehead covered in a mix of water and sweat while his cute swollen lips formed an O, feeling your warm, wet cunt welcoming him inside you. It always felt like the first time when he was between your thighs.

“Y/N…my bride…!”

You were forehead to forehead against Rafayel, you inhaled in each others breath giving open mouth kisses whenever your ass landed against his pelvis, his eyes were doe’d, filled with love as much as it was lust, he took hold of a breast and sucked on it tightly, giving it small nibbles before licking around it in circles.

The temperature of the room grew a mix of hot and cold, your orgasm sooon approaching your bouncing became sloppy and stuttered which your boyfriend soon took notice of and decided to help you out.

“You’re so cute….can we cum together ? Please?”

You couldn’t respond, you just kept moaning and crying his name with your head in his neck, so he took the opportunity to take advantage and go after your weakness.

His voice.

“Please…” Rafayel’s voice got higher, whining your name and begging in your ear just how you like, “Please mommy…”

Feeling your cunt twitch and spasm around, he smirked beside your ear, hearing your slutty harmonies out your mouth growing louder, he knew he had you, so he kept going,

“Please please please baby, cum with me , cum—-yes—just like that —!”

You held tight around his broad shoulders, crying out “Yes yes yes—Raf—!” Your nails made small deep crescents in his skin, not that he mind, he just knew that meant you were feeling as good as him.

When you finally let go your eyes were dazed, “Look at you…sleepy again…” He drowned your face with soft butterfly kisses, picking your up out the now cold and dirty bath water onto his bed to cuddle. Usually you’d protest about sleeping wet and naked, but you were already snugged comfortably under his sheets and his chest to argue. The last thing you remembered from that evening was a gentle kiss to the forehead.

[captainpriceslilwife]

nnnggghhhhhuuhhhhh tbi!Soap who gets a little weird after his injury. (CW: yall this is like DARK...idk where this came from, so uh, dark themes, gore description at the end, soap is a freak, he's literally obsessed with you, stalker vibes but he lives with you, dark smut made its way in there so 18+, soap is literally batshit crazy and he wants you to be like him) dead dove do not eat, probably

maybe you're his sweet girlfriend who he's been dating for almost a year already, but when he comes back from that life-changing mission, he fully expects you to break up with him. He's too different now - too high maintenance. He needs meds and physical therapy and counseling...not to mention he'd never be a soldier again. Plus, doctors said he'd never be the same.

But you love your Johnny so much. How could you not help him when he needs you the most?

So you're there at his side, every single day, to try to get a smile back on his face. Always at every one of his PT appointments - cheering and giving him a little applause for each milestone he reaches ('good job, baby!' 'see? I told you you'd heal quick since you're so strong! isn't he so strong, doc?'). You refill his pill box every week without fail, and you always add a little candy to each compartment to reward him for taking his meds. Sometimes he finds a little note on there with a heart or a smiley face on the days when you aren't home to remind him to take his medication - but it's always gone by the time you get back. You figure he's just throwing them away, and it stings a little, but you don't think twice about it.

You don't seem to think twice about your dwindling underwear drawer, either.

You cook for him. Clean for him. Help him walk around when he's having a particularly rough day. And he falls more in love with you every day because of it.

But there's something....off....about his new layer of admiration for you.

You brush it off as the 'personality changes' the doctors had warned you about. Of course had can't possibly be normal after what happened to him. I mean, who would be?

But sometimes he scares you when you blink your eyes open in the morning, only to see him already staring at you as if he had never slept to begin with. Or when you get up to pee in the middle of the night and he insists on standing silently in the doorway, refusing to go back to bed until you're done and can lie back down with him.

He always needs you in his line of sight. Always needs to be near you.

Even when you cook dinner and try to encourage him to rest on the couch, he just sits on the floor of the kitchen and disassembles and reassembles his gun - something the doctors encouraged you to let him do. 'It'll be good for him, to do things he used to do. Might help him get back to normal.'

It doesn't make it any less unnerving when he feels the need to stare at you while he does it.

As time goes on, he eventually finds himself drawing again - much to your relief. He's switched out the silver metal and bullets for his old charcoal and paper, and you finally find yourself breathing easier as you step over his legs to stir the pot on the stove.

You try not to notice that he only draws you.

You in bed, you in the shower, you cooking, you cleaning, you naked, you napping, you changing - just you.

If he's having a hard day - one where his scarred skin is throbbing and he struggles even to remember what had happened that morning - he'll just draw parts of you. Your hands holding his pills, your hair in a ponytail, your nose, your eyes-

Whatever he can remember.

Sometimes you try to encourage him to draw other things - showing him pictures of the trips you guys used to take together to get his memory flowing, but it always puts him in a mood. And you try your hardest to keep him happy, so you always drop the subject.

Unfortunately, the only way to get him out of those moods is to let him fuck you.

And you still love him, of course - still love to be wrapped up in his arms as he works himself inside of you.

But lately he's just more...rough.

He'd never hurt you. Not in a million years. Not even a bullet could take away his love for you.

But his hips slam hard and fast against you as he ruts inside of you, pushing you up the bed as you desperately try to hold onto him to ground yourself. And he always makes sure you're staring into his eyes when he cums, otherwise he'll keep you locked in his arms until he's ready to go again. It's a ritual for him - like he'll die if he doesn't get to have you like this.

And he's always been a munch, everyone knows it. But now? He tells you he can't sleep unless he eats you out before bed. And you just want him to be happy and healthy, right? So, you let him.

Except he doesn't stop unless he feels like it, or until your pushing his head away, crying and begging for a break. He eats like a man starved, not coming up to breath until he sees silver spots coloring the edges of his vision - and even then he'll just dive right back in. He's messy with it, too - slobbering like a dog and ruining the sheets as he creeps his tongue as far back as he can get before your squealing out a "Johnny, don't, that's gross!"

He's weird. And offputting. And sometimes he makes you nearly jump out of your skin.

But he's your Johnny. You love him to death. And he could never actually scare you.

Not until you end up deep cleaning your shared bedroom - finally convincing him to shower on his own so you can finally have a moment to yourself.

You're blindly sweeping underneath the bed when you hit something hard - and your brows furrow in confusion when you lean down to see an unfamiliar wooden box hidden beneath his side of the bed.

You cast a glance over your shoulder to make sure he's still occupied in the shower before you slide it out quietly. There's not a speck of dust on it, unlike everything else that's made its way beneath the bed, so clearly it was something he used. Something he cherished.

You push it open with a soft click, silently thanking whatever god was listening that he hadn't bothered to lock it shut with the padlock that dangled from the latch opening. But your gratitude was quickly swallowed up by something much darker when your eyes fell down to see what was in the box.

Your missing underwear is bunched in the corner, coated in his own spend that he had made sure to specifically aim at your already dirtied gussets. It strikes you with the realization of just how many times you've caught him digging in your laundry basket, claiming he's looking for something - or how many times you could've sworn he was smelling you when he stood too close.

When you finally manage to get over the initial shock of seeing such an obscene display of his obsession towards you, you're gaze trails down to the pile of papers tucked beneath your soiled panties. At first, they seem just like all the other drawings he's made of you, and you can't figure out why they're tucked away. But when you look a little harder, you see the small keloid that sneaks its way into every drawing - a scar on your temple to match the one that adorns him.

You flip through the drawings quickly, your movements growing more frantic as you realize each one of them features the same disfigurement in varying levels of detail. Some of them are just a dash of his charcoal against the paper, and some of them are so detailed that you could swear he had taken a picture of his own just to copy it onto the page.

By the time you get to the last drawing, tears are slipping down your cheeks and falling in fat drops into your lap. You choke out a silent sob when you see what artwork he felt the need to bury so deeply, and you aren't even sure what you could possibly be feeling as you pull out the paper with trembling hands.

It's the only picture that isn't just of you.

He drew himself too.

He's got your head in his lap as he brushes his fingers through your hair, and he drew himself leaned over like he was whispering something in your ear.

It would be a sweet drawing if it wasn't for the gun he was holding - the same gun he took apart and built again in the kitchen while you took care of him - or the fact that he drew you with a hole in your temple. He had drawn the blood that poured from your wound - drew it on his hands and on his lap, down onto the floor as the penciled version of you looked up at him with nothing but love and understanding.

You felt like you couldn't breathe.

Bile was rising quickly in your throat as you forced the drawings back into the box - crinkling the papers and shifting the other stuff around as you tried to hold back your sobs.

A glint of metal rolling around the wooden floor of the box catches your attention - especially when it disappears beneath his horde of obsession and clinks gently against something else.

You're entire body is trembling at this point, and your mind is screaming at you to get out. To leave him and go as far as you can.

But your hand seems to move on its own as you reach down into dark corners of the box, feeling around for the tiny object that was pulling at a curiosity that you should've just buried along with your love for Johnny.

Once you make it past the underwear, past the drawings, past the notes that you had left him that you thought he had thrown away - your fingers wrap around a tiny glass jar and something much smaller. Something cold and metallic.

You can barely bring yourself to look as you pull it out slowly, but the second your eyes land on it, you can't hold back the panicked sobs that escape your lips.

In the jar is the bullet they had removed from Johnny's brain during surgery - a trophy, the doctors had called it. It was marred and crumpled, but it still clinked around lightly as you stared down at it.

This tiny little thing is what took away your Johnny. Your Johnny. The sweet man who always had a smile on his face and more love to give than he knew what to do with.

This is the tiny little thing that led him to carve your name into the bullet that lies in your other hand - meticulously written and finished with a tiny heart at the bottom.

A matching set.

"Oh, fuck...oh my fucking god." You whisper under your breath as you choke out another sob, completely frozen in horror. "Jesus fucking-"

It isn't until you feel cool drops of water dripping down your back that you realize the shower has stopped.

You can't bring yourself to look up at him - as though you're willful ignorance of his presence will somehow make him disappear. But your trembling sobs give away just how scared you are as you try to curl away from him.

A frightened yelp tears from your throat as he sinks down onto the floor, wrapping his bare, dripping form around you and holding you tight to keep you locked in his embrace.

"Ah'd never hurt ye, hen. Ye know that, right? Ah'm only thinking about it." You can barely hear him over the pounding in your ears as you continue to sob loudly, but you can feel the way one of his hands travels up to run through your hair in what you can only assume is meant to be a soothing gesture. But you aren't sure how soothing it is when his thumb brushes over your temple, right where he always drew your scar. "Ah just...ah wish ye knew how it felt. Just so we can be closer."

"...Ah just want to be close to ye..."

[alanisstonedd]

MDNI

bum!ony that sees you walking your route to work when he starts crashing with his hb, always outside on the corner chopping it up when you stroll by minding your damn business. mad cute but wayyy outta his league. you got it all together, and he’s practically the opposite

bum!ony that swallows his pride to holla at your fine ass when you’re waiting to cross the street one day. you giggle at some one-liner he drops & he’s hooked.

bum!ony who forms a lil bond with you on the corner before it gets serious. it’s a lil routine — you giggle at him on the way to work and throw him a clever line on the way back home. he loves y’all’s lil game & is honestly happy with whatever attention you give him.

bum!ony who is so surprised when you ask him to lunch on your way home one day. he jumps at the opportunity not even tryna front like he’s not excited.

bum!ony who charms you on the date. you don’t even seem to care that he spends too much time on the corner to have a consistent job. that smile? the way he looks at you? that rough, slightly unreliable sex appeal he oozes? your guard is embarrassingly low. but what can you sayyy — he makes you feel a way. a way you’re not ready to let go of.

bum!ony who moves — in as a “friend” — when his hb gets booked. you figure, he’s not exactly a stranger & you can’t let him go homeless! he said it’d only be until he could get on his feet so it’s fine! you have the extra space, it’d be a waste basically.

bum!ony who gives you foot rubs in exchange for his laundry done - unspoken ritual of course. his hands do tend to wander tho… sneaking up to your thighs to sink his fingers in.. you just smile & do that cute snicker he likes, courtesy of the two blunts he rolled for you earlier. no clue how he’s getting all this loud since he still don’t got a J O B

bum!ony who leaves his socks in the floor just to see your pussy print when you bend over. matter fact, you catch him looking quite a lot. always “grabbing sum real quick” when you’re in the shower, “accidentally” peeking his head in your room while you’re changing for a quick question. but you appreciate how comfortable he is — taking it as a compliment to your hospitality.

bum!ony who starts rubbing on your booty whenever you bring up his unemployment. mumbling some excuse while he licks his lips at you. taking your accidental moan as the go ahead to start dragging you into him. you can never stay maddddd he’s like crack.

bum!ony who man-spreads on the couch with just his draws on. print fully out. he palms it when you walk by. dragging you into his lap for a “hug” because you look like you had a hard day apparently. he’s the best hugger tho so your happy self don’t mind. you feel a little guilty honestly - feeling like a slut for getting so wet when he was just trying to get comfy.

bum!ony who starts sleeping in your bed when the couch gets to “uncomfortable”. his big ass frame taking up half the bed. his half-chub somehow finding your booty in the middle of the night. he’s just so big, you might as well start cuddling. he’s even worse then… lowkey humping you “in his sleep”. yall end up tangled with his head smack on your tits, mouth open and snoring over your nipple.

bum!ony who gets so horny when you cook for him. which is every night bcs he doesn’t help you with shit. you end up laying on top of him making out, letting him push into you bcs you gave him blue-balls baby. duhh. he takes you back to your bed and fucks all the calories off, drilling you into the mattress like a rag doll.

bum!ony who teases you when you leave your laundry out in the living room — about your panties specifically. talking out his ass about the lil lacy thing to the point you put it on to show him how wrong he is about them. and oh is he wrong… makes you ride his face with them pulled to the side, all over the couch.

bum!ony who humps you while you wash the dishes. that’s it

bum!ony who tricks you into sex with his fine ass face after he misses another job interview. kissing all over you cuz he knows it distracts you. dicking you down sideways with a hand on your tit and more empty promises in your ear. but you don’t even hear none of it over the slapping of his hips and the squelch of your cream all over him.

bum!ony who loves when you have a bad day at work bcs you don’t ask him about a job and you fuck him like a toy. using him for that nut. your hand moves to his neck and you start fucking out the frustration you’ve built up at his bum ass. its animalistic.

bum!ony who randomly comes home with a BAG one day. like serious money. first thing he buys is some lingerie for you to model for him. might take some photos while you doing ya thang for posterity ofc.