confessionbrain-writings - Tumblr blog

confessionbrain-writings · 14 days ago

Text

The Ransom Part 2

Label Mature 18+

Summary After your ransom is paid in full to the handsome contract killer, you are moved to Monaco out of precaution from being targeted again. You begin to settle into your new life thinking the ordeal is over…until he comes back with a vengeance determined to mark you as his forever. 🔗 The Ransom

🚨 Depraved Smut 🚨 contract killer x you • captor x captive • dub con • non/con elements • dark romance • post-trauma arousal •obsessive male behavior • emotional manipulation • forced proximity • predator/prey kink • edging with a gun • bondage/restraint • glove kink• clit play •fingering • overstimulation • spankings • humiliation kink •degradation kink• praise kink •trauma bonding • knife play • size kink • p in v suspended •choking kink •forced orgasms• forbidden romance 🔗 Masterlist

📖 Proof Readers 🏆 @purejasmine @butdaddyilovehim99 @shockercoco ✨ Inspiration @rsocco @saturnsdaughtr @thecatempire @wanderingdreamer6 @laurenmcquilty +asks +comments +DMs +reblogs 🔥 thank you so much 💕

The Ransom Part 2

You thought you were safe.

It has been months since your father’s fortune secured your release, the ransom paid in full to the handsome and cruel contract killer who haunts your dreams.

You fled Chicago, leaving behind the penthouse where the way he kidnapped you is burned into your memory.

Your father relocated you to Monaco, France, a city of cobblestone streets and pastel buildings, far from the warehouse’s shadows.

New security. New routine. New life.

You told yourself the nightmare was over, that his stormy blue eyes and leather-gloved hands were just ghosts.

But ghosts don’t fade they haunt.

In Monaco, you see him everywhere. A sharp jawline in a crowded café, a glimpse of blue eyes meeting yours in the city square, the flash of leather gloves as a person gets on a vespa.

The trauma grips you like a vice, panic attacks in the middle of the night, your heart racing as you get up to check the locks on your bedroom doors.

You flinch at sudden noises, your body braced for his touch, that velvety purr whispering princess.

Time helps, but the memories of his dominance, his ropes, his gloves, the way he made you beg, linger, tangling with shame, and a dark undeniable longing.

You hate him, fear him, but your body permanently remembers the pleasure, and that betrayal reaches deepest.

Tonight, you lock your bedroom doors, the sea breeze drifting in through the open windows.

You have a glass of wine, a recent habit to try and calm the nerves that never leave.

Your new security team patrols down the hill at the gate, their presence a steady comfort.

You’re safe, you tell yourself, slipping into a silk nightie.

The sea waves hush against the shore as you finish your wine, and for the first time in weeks, you feel a sedated calm, believing this pillar of your new life is unshakable.

Suddenly your vision blurs as the wine glass slips from your fingers, shattering sharply against the tiles, and the room tilts as you begin to lose balance.

You lurch toward the bed, catching the edge with your hip before collapsing onto the mattress.

Your body is sluggish, uncoordinated and you roll onto your back, staring at the ceiling, willing yourself to move.

But you can’t.

Your heart pounds in fear, from what you know now was in your glass….it’s too strong and your limbs twitch uselessly as your breaths become shallow.

Panic claws up your throat as the realization dawns, the ceiling warping as your vision blurs… and just before everything fades to black, the truth pierces like a knife.

You were never safe.

He was always coming back for you.

You awaken lying on damp grass, your heart thudding before your mind catches up.

You’re still in your nightie, the air cool, almost sharp, and the field around you glows silver beneath the moonlight.

You sit up on instinct, head spinning, limbs heavy and sluggish disoriented….and then you see him.

He’s standing a few feet in front of you, gun in hand.

Your breath catches with a choked off cry as you begin crawling back on your elbows, your legs fumbling beneath you.

The more you panic the sharper he comes into focus, his handsome face content having reclaimed you.

He’s tall, lean, and terrifyingly composed. His gray suit is unbuttoned, the white shirt beneath open at the collar, tailored immaculately…dressed to kill, and his stormy blue eyes are locked on you.

His stride is smooth, deliberate, as if time itself bends to his will, and you tremble uncontrollably as he closes the distance, kneeling before you with an effortless grace that makes your heart race.

“Where do you think you’re going, princess?” he grins, his voice a low, teasing lilt, and you feel the cold muzzle of the gun press beneath your chin, forcing your head back.

You squeeze your eyes shut with fear until the barrel begins to slide downward… slowly over the thin silk clinging to your chest.

He stops at your nipple, circling it through the fabric and your eyes snap open to see him smiling, watching you with unnerving focus.

“I haven’t explained the rules to you yet,” he says, his tone soft, playful.

The barrel continues its descent, slipping past your navel. He presses it between your thighs, the metal cool against your heat.

Your body tenses, the pressure maddening as he glides it back and forth, smooth and steady.

“If you can run past that tree line before I catch you,” he says, gesturing over his shoulder, the gun still sliding between your legs, slow and taunting, “I’ll let you go.” he reveals.

You whimper a soft, involuntary sound that escapes your lips before you can stop it, and his dark smile deepens as he watches the way your hips twitch against the steel.

He leans closer, his mouth grazing the shell of your ear. “But if I catch you after I give you a head start,” he whispers, the barrel pressing harder against your clit.

“You’re mine, princess.”

Your eyes lock with his, fear and desire warring as he shifts the gun, dragging it upward with new intent over your clit, your body reacting with a rush of arousal you can’t suppress.

His grin is a masterpiece of cruelty and pleasure, then without a word, he rises to his full height, fluid and effortless, stepping aside to reveal the distant line of trees lit faintly by moonlight.

“Now,” he says, his voice calm, casual.

“Run.”

You scramble to your feet.

You don’t even think — you just sprint through the grass, the wind rushing past your ears, your breaths frantic and uneven.

The tree line grows closer, the freedom from his intentions only meters away….

…until you hear him gaining, chasing you relentlessly, closing in faster than you ever thought possible.

Tears blur your vision as you realize the inevitable.

Your heart hammers.

You push harder.

Your gasping, your legs trembling with exhaustion, the trees so close you can almost touch them.

But you never make it.

A sudden impact cuts through your stride, his arm hooking around your waist in a swift, practiced move, taking you down firmly, pinning you on your back in the grass.

The air rushes from your lungs as you scream, “Please!” Your voice echoing through the night, raw and desperate.

He straddles you, thighs bracing yours, his hand pinning your wrists above your head.

He leans down, his face inches from yours, maddeningly beautiful, dangerously unreadable, his eyes glinting as he grins.

“You really thought I’d let you go?” he says, breathless, his voice laced with amusement.

You thrash beneath him, legs kicking, wrists twisting, but he’s too strong.

His free hand pulls a cloth from his pocket, the familiar, chemical scent of chloroform hitting you as he presses it over your mouth.

You turn your face but he presses harder, holding firm, almost suffocatingly.

“Shh, princess,” he soothes, his tone soft, almost tender. “Time to sleep.”

Your struggles weaken, vision blurring as the moonlight fades, his voice the last thing you hear as darkness claims you.

Your eyes flutter open, as you awaken into a nightmare. You lie helpless on a table, wrists bound together in leather cuffs above your head, secured to a metal hook.

The air is heavy with the scent of aged leather and dust, the remains of an abandoned leather factory, its cavernous space filled with looming machinery and shadowed corners.

A table beside you holds tools that make your stomach churn: a glinting scalpel, a roll of duct tape, a syringe, and other menacing instruments.

“Miss me, princess?” He asks, his voice a low, velvety purr sending a shiver through you.

He’s dressed in a crisp white button-up, the collar undone just enough to reveal the smooth line of his throat. His brown hair is tousled in that maddeningly effortless way, and his full lips curl into a slow, knowing smile as his fingers idly adjust the wrist of his leather gloves.

He steps closer, and you flinch, the leather cuffs rattling. “You thought you could hide from me,” he coos, his gloved hand cupping your chin, tilting your face up.

The leather is cool, smooth, and your body betrays you, a flush spreading across your chest as he looks into your eyes. “I always find what’s mine.” he says.

You tug at the cuffs, the leather biting into your wrists. “Please… I can’t do this again,” you whimper, voice trembling.

He grins, low and dark, his gloved hand trailing down your arm. “Oh, princess,” he says, his voice dripping with mock sympathy, “you already are.”

He leans closer, and your body tenses, remembering the ropes, the warehouse, the silk nightie barely covering you now.

“Let’s see if you’ll beg even harder this time,” he says, his eyes glinting with wicked intent.

You close your eyes, trying to breathe, but his gloved hands grip your thighs, spreading your legs slightly. You whimper, your body reacting despite your terror, feeling a pulse of heat between your thighs.

He chuckles, the sound low and dangerous as he slides his gloved fingers higher, grazing the edge of your panties. “You already know what’s coming don’t you…” he teases, his tone admiring. “And you can’t even help yourself, can you?”

You shake your head, tears pricking your eyes, but your hips twitch involuntarily as his fingers press against your clit though the thin fabric.

The leather is smooth, thick, amplifying every touch, and he circles slowly, the pressure maddening as your breath hitches, a soft moan escaping despite your resistance.

“Don’t fight it,” he orders, leaning down until his lips graze your ear. “You want this…” He confirms, and his fingers push your panties aside, gliding over your bare folds, slick with arousal.

The leather teases your entrance, dipping just inside, and you gasp, your body arching against the table.

“No,” you choke out, voice weak, but your pussy throbs, betraying you. “Please… we can’t… not like this.” you beg.

He pauses, his fingers still inside you, his blue eyes locking onto yours. “Not like this?” he repeats, his voice soft but edged with mock concern. “You think you’d want me under other circumstances?” He asks, leaning closer, his breath warm against your cheek. “You’re lying to yourself, princess. You’re mine because of how I take you.”

Your heart plummets, torn between shame and the truth in his words. If you meet him at a gala, all charm and mystery, you’d fall for him. But this, the way he breaks you, the way he claims you… it’s wrong, and yet your body screams for more.

“Maybe…” you whisper, voice breaking, “maybe in another way… but we can never be together. Not after what you’ve done.”

He stares at you, a small smile forming on his lips, as if your confession amuses him.

He leans forward, his other gloved hand sliding up to your throat, fingers curling just enough to make your breath hitch.

His lips hover inches from yours as the he fills your senses. “Do you think there’s any other way I would want to claim you?” he asks, his voice a velvet taunt.

His thumb grazes your lower lip, a deliberate tease, and your body trembles, caught between fear and a burning need to close the distance.

His touch lingers, the leather cool against your flushed skin, and his blue eyes gaze into yours, stripping you bare as his fingers tighten slightly on your throat. “You can dream of another way,” he teases, his lips brushing the side of your mouth, a cruel almost-kiss that makes your pussy clench, “but this is what we are.” he whispers.

Your wrists strain against the leather cuffs, the hook creaking above your head, and you whimper, your body arching despite yourself, craving the contact he withholds.

The tension is unbearable, his presence a cage and a caress, his words echoing your mind in a dark promise. Your breaths become shallow, your lips parting from the nearness of his, and the war inside you of hate, fear, and desire, snaps like a thread.

You can’t stop yourself as you surge forward, kissing him with a ferocity that borders on desperation. Your lips crash against his, your chin nudging his with the force of it.

It’s not just a kiss, it’s a confession, a breaking point of every ounce of your longing poured into him, and he hums, a low, approving sound, his lips pressing harder, deeper, claiming every inch of your surrender.

His tongue sweeps into your mouth, possessive and demanding, and you melt, your bound wrists straining against the leather.

He pulls back, his eyes dark with triumph. “Say it,” he orders, his gloved hand gripping your jaw. “Say you’re mine.”

You whimper as his fingers resume their torment, sliding deeper, curling against that spot that makes your vision blur, and you fight to yourself to deny it.

He pulls out abruptly, and before you can process the loss, his gloved hand spanks your pussy rapidly, each sharp slap making you tense, your hips jerking involuntarily.

The leather stings against your slick folds, the sensation a mix of pain and pleasure that sends jolts through your core.

He pauses, his fingers hovering just above your throbbing clit, teasing without touching, letting the anticipation build until you’re trembling, your breaths ragged.

Your pussy clenches, desperate, and he grins, slow and dark as he presses his fingers against your clit, holding them there, unmoving, forcing you to grind against him for any relief.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he whispers again, his breath warm against your cheek. “or I’ll keep you like this…aching, and empty, forever.”

Your body betrays you, a sob breaking free as you writhe, the leather cuffs biting your wrists, your thighs trembling with need.

“I… I’m yours,” you gasp, the words spilling out as your body shudders.

“Again” He says, his fingers pressing hard on your clit, the leather slick with your wetness.

“I’m yours!” you cry, your voice raw, desperate and slowly he pulls his hands back, peeling off his gloves with deliberate ease.

He slides two fingers into you deep, your pussy clenching around them as he moves them with quick and firm precision. The sensation is overwhelming, perfect, and the pleasure builds fast, spiraling you to a breaking point.

“Good girl,” he purrs, his other hand sliding to your breasts, pinching your nipples through the silk.

“Time to call Daddy.”

You shake your head, panic rising. “N-no, please—”

He grins, undeterred, pulling a phone from his pocket.

“Let’s tell him what you’ve decided” he says, his voice dripping with sadistic amusement.

He dials, holding the phone to your ear as his fingers thrust deeper—relentless, unforgiving. You’re panting, breathless, your thoughts unraveling with every motion.

The line picks up and your father’s voice cuts through, furious with barely contained rage.

“Where is she? If you’ve touched her—”

You try to speak, but his fingers curl, hitting that spot, that makes a moan tear from your throat, loud and desperate.

You try to resist but your body convulses, an orgasm crashing through you, your screams echoing as you come, soaking his fingers, your thighs trembling.

“You monster!” your father shouts, his voice breaking with horror, thinking you’re being tortured.

He laughs, hanging up the call. “If Daddy only knew,” he grins, his voice a dark taunt.

He sets the phone aside, his other hand returning to your pussy, his thumb rubbing your oversensitive clit as he fingers you. “He’ll never understand how much you love this.”

You sob, gasping, your body shaking as he pushes you toward another climax. His fingers merciless, thrusting deep, his thumb circling your clit with a new brutal precision.

Your pussy throbs, slick dripping down your thighs, and you moan, tears streaming as the pleasure overwhelms you. Your rational mind is gone, your eyes glassy, consumed by him as you begin to come a second time, your cries loud and broken echoing the abandoned factory.

As your orgasm fades your body sinks obediently against the table, limp and exposed. He withdraws his fingers slowly, savoring the moment, then wipes them clean on a cloth beside him.

Then without a word, he reaches for the scalpel.

He hooks a finger into the waistband of your panties and slices through them with care, slow and sharp. The fabric falls away, severed cleanly, leaving you bare beneath him.

“Now that you’re mine,” he says, turning the blade in his hand until it catches the dim light with a cold flash.

“I’m going to mark you,” he says, low, possessive, certain.

Your heart hammers, fear spiking as he teases the knife along your inner thigh. Your pussy clenches in spasms you can’t control, arousal mingling with dread.

He presses the flat of the blade against your navel, then up to your neck, the cold metal sending shivers through you as he decides where to leave his mark.

You’re covered in a light sheen of sweat, your body trembling by the time he settles on your hip.

The blade bites into your skin, a sharp sting that makes you gasp, your feet sliding against the table in reflex.

“Don’t move,” he warns, his hand steadying your thigh. “I want to make it pretty.”

He presses harder on your thigh, holding you still as the blade touches your skin. “Be good,” he says as he focuses, his voice almost tender.

He cuts a shallow, precise, small mark that burns as he finishes. He rubs his thumb over it, admiring his work and his blue eyes glint with satisfaction.

You whimper, your body spent, your mind fractured as he gently pets your face.

“Time to fuck you now,” he says, the words final, intimate.

He unhooks the leather cuffs from the table, sitting you up. Your legs are unsteady as he guides you to a beam, reattaching the cuffs to a hook dangling from a pulley, the remnants of the factory’s leather production.

You hang there, wrists aching, your silk nightie riding up, exposing you completely.

He unbuttons his pants, his cock sliding free, thick and hard as he strokes himself slowly, his eyes raking over you with precision.

He steps closer, gripping your thighs with his hands, lifting your legs one at a time to hook around his waist, guiding your body exactly where he wants it.

The leather cuffs above keep you suspended, helpless, exposed, and you feel him press against your entrance, his cock sliding through your slick folds, teasing you with every pass.

“The final claim,” he breathes, pushing in slowly, stretching you around his cock. He’s big, filling you completely, the sensation overwhelming as he bottoms out, and you moan helplessly, as he begins to thrust in to you.

He cups your jaw, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Look at me,” he orders, his voice rough. His thrusts are deep, relentless, each one rocking your body, your wrists straining against the leather…and you want it…every brutal inch of him.

He spanks your ass, the sharp sting making your pussy clench tighter around his cock.

“You love this, don’t you?” he breathes, his fingers digging into your hip, anchoring you to him. “Love how I fuck you, how I control you.”

“Yes,” you sob, your voice breaking as the pleasure consumes you, your body trembling, listless under his relentless thrusts.

“I love it…” you cry, as your mind surrenders, thoughts scattering, reduced to the overwhelming sensation of him driving into you, each thrust making you see stars.

He grins, his thrusts growing harder, faster, the beam creaking with every punishing stroke. “Beg for it,” he says, his hand sliding to your throat, squeezing just enough to make your vision blur. “Beg to come on my cock, princess.”

You whimper, your body limp yet quivering, fucked into a haze where words barely form. “Please… ,” you whisper, tears streaming down your face, your pussy throbbing, leaking all over him. “I need it… I need you…”

His lips hover over yours, and he kisses you, slow and punishing, claiming your mouth in the same way he’s claiming your body.

His grip tightens on your throat as he fucks you harder, his cock hitting that spot that makes stars burst behind your eyes. Your body jolts, the beam creaking, your wrists burning from the pressure of his grip.

You gasp, his hold restricting your breaths until the pleasure becomes so intense it pushes you over the edge.

You come with a devastating moan, your pussy pulsing around his cock, slick covering your thighs. You’re shaking, sobbing, as the orgasm tears through you, deep and relentless, and he groans, his thrusts erratic, his eyes locked on yours, watching you break.

“Fuck, you’re so good,” he rasps, releasing your throat. You gasp for air, whimpering, your body still spasming as he chases his own release. He spanks your ass again, the sharp sting overwhelming your senses.

He pulls you to him with each brutal thrust, his hands gripping your hips, dragging you along his cock. The beam creaks with every motion, your legs wrapped around his waist, trembling as he fucks you deeper faster, his strength controlling your every movement.

Your pussy clenches around him, slick and throbbing, each pull forcing you to take him all the way in, and your mind is lost in a haze of submission.

He begins to come with a guttural groan, his cock pulsing inside you, filling you with heat, his eyes never leaving yours, the intensity of his gaze searing into you as he claims you completely.

You hang there, throbbing, leaking, shivering unable to recover from his ability to torment and pleasure you until you’re nothing but his.

He pulls out, his cock glistening with your combined release and he tucks himself away, stepping back and leaving you dangling.

He moves to the table behind you looking over his array of tools, and you try to piece yourself together, breath by breath, until you realize:

You are what he wants, and now that he has you, he has branded your mind and body forever, and he’ll never let you go.

He returns from the table, leaning in close, his lips brushing yours with taunting intimacy.

“You’re mine now, princess,” he whispers, his voice a dark promise that echoes in your mind, and he kisses you slow and passionate, his hand sliding up to cup your jaw, holding you firmly in place.

He brings a syringe to your neck, the tiny needle making a delicate prick as he injects you, sending a numbing rush flooding through your veins.

You whimper, too weak to struggle, your vision blurring, your body still quivering from his touch as he pulls back.

“Sleep now,” he whispers, his fingers trailing your face with deceptive tenderness. “We have forever to play.”

Darkness swallows you whole, his words resonating in your mind, sealing your fate.

You awaken slowly, eyes opening to blinding white lights. You’re disoriented until you realize you’re in a hospital, the sterile scent of antiseptic sharp as a team of officers and nurses talk in hushed tones around your bed, their faces blurred by the haze of your grogginess.

Your father holds your hand, his grip tight, his eyes red-rimmed with worry. You’re confused your body heavy, your mind sluggish, as if wading through a fog.

You try to speak, but your throat is raw. “What… happened?” you manage, your voice a hoarse whisper. “Where is he…?”

Your father’s face softens, though his jaw clenches with lingering tension. “You’re safe now, sweetheart,” he says, his voice heavy with stress.

“They found you in an abandoned car in a field on the outskirts of Monaco….” He hesitates. “There were bullet holes through the windshield, straight into the driver’s seat. No body was found, but the blood… the signs…” he sighs, his shoulders slumping with weary relief. “He’s dead. It’s over.”

You let out a sound, a choked, trembling noise you’re not sure is heartbreak or salvation.

Whatever the feeling, it’s devastating, a tangled knot of loss and relief that twists in your chest. His stormy blue eyes flash in your mind, and a part of you aches, a traitor’s longing for the man who broke you.

Your father strokes your hand, mistaking your reaction for trauma. “It’s over,” he repeats, his tone firm, convinced. “He can’t hurt you anymore.”

You exhale with tears stinging your eyes. “Okay,” you whisper, agreeing because it’s what he needs to hear, what you need to believe. But deep down, you feel the weight of his absence, a void that both terrifies and haunts you.

You return to the villa, walking slowly, your body sore and unsteady. Your thighs ache with every step, your core throbbing and tender from the way he took you.

The marks on your wrists still linger from where the leather cuffs held you in place, and you head straight for the shower.

The marble room fills with steam as the water heats and rushes over your skin. You tilt your head back beneath the spray, trying to breathe, trying to rinse away the tension in your body … the ache lodged in your chest.

But then, through the fogged glass, you see it.

Written with a touch that has traced every part of you.

Always Mine Princess

A shiver runs through you seeing his words, and you press a hand to the marble wall to steady yourself as you breathe faster.

He’s gone…

What could have been…

Where he was planning to take you…

Your hand drifts to your hip as you glance down at the mark he left, your fingers tracing it slowly… the permanent reminder of his claim.

You don’t know if you want to scream or you want to cry.

Because part of you misses him.

And worse, part of you wants him back.

With the threat of danger gone you move back to Chicago, the city’s neon skyline a familiar embrace.

The weight of your ordeal slowly lifts over time, and you slip back into your old self…or at least a version of it.

Your social calendar fills again with galas and parties, and your father’s crypto empire expands into new ventures.

You begin to smile again, though only hesitantly, your body never fully restored…because in the quiet moments when you’re alone, your mind still drifts to him.

You wonder what happened to your handsome contract killer, and whenever he crosses your mind, it saddens you…a dull ache that lingers like a bruise.

You tell yourself it’s trauma, that you’re mourning the piece of yourself he stole.

But late at night, when you dream of him, his voice whispering you’re mine, you awaken breathless.

The shame burns, but the longing consumes you and your fingers always trace the faint remnant of his scar on your hip to soothe yourself.

Tonight, you attend a rooftop gala, the Chicago wind cool against your bare shoulders in a sleek dress and YSL heels. The event celebrates your father’s latest crypto venture, a blockchain platform poised to revolutionize finance.

You sip champagne, the bubbles sharp on your tongue, half-listening to your father charm investors with talk of decentralized ledgers.

The city sparkles below, a glittering reminder of the life you’ve reclaimed.

Then a voice reaches your ears…a low, familiar velvety purr that slices through the chatter like a blade.

Your breath catches, fear gripping you like a vice. Your father’s hand touches your arm, his smile warm as he says, “Sweetheart I’d like to introduce you to someone.”

You turn, and there he is, in full force.

Him. The contract killer. Alive.

His dark gray suit is tailored to perfection, his white shirt open at the collar, his stormy blue eyes locking onto yours as his full lips curve into a slow, deliberate smile that makes your knees buckle.

Your champagne glass slips from your fingers, shattering against the rooftop floor, and you sway, nearly falling, but your father steadies you.

“Sweetheart, are you alright?” he asks, concern rising in his voice.

Your heart beats faster as the room spins, your pulse a frantic drum in your ears. You can’t look away from him, his gaze pins you, just as it did when he bound you, broke you, claimed you.

“Have you met before?” your father asks, glancing between you, oblivious to the storm raging in your chest.

“Yes,” you manage, barely, piecing together how he’s infiltrated your world… how he’s found a way to never let you go.

His smile widens, a glint of amusement in his blue eyes, like he already knows you’re beginning to understand.

He steps closer, his voice a low caress.

“We have met before …though under very different circumstances,” he admits, his voice inflecting on every word as his eyes lock with yours.

And in that moment, you know.

You are always his.

END 🪢

🏷️ Always Tag Me

@purejasmine @burnthheparaphilia @butdaddyilovehim99 @austinbutlerfly @mani-pedro @lindszeppelin @abswifey @aust-een @umika @feralgodmothers @megangovier @magicovento @obsessedvibee @soft-mama-reads @austiebuttbutt @faegoddessog @unicoo @dunevitani @shockercoco @slowsweetlove @thejoywillburnoutthepain @psycheetamore @jessica987 @ughdontbeboring @hardcoredisneynerd @finley-08 @thegabbyh @thefallofthedamned @buckysteveloki-me @bucking-mustangs-with-wings @shegatsby @darlingisntit @lovereadingfanfic @denised916 @minispice-1 @i5uckersblog @meetmeatyourworst @avidreader73 @xxmandaveexx @mamawiggers1980 @imjustheretoreadsmuthaha @gravesdiggergirl @nostalgichoya @stars-remain2 @skulliecadaver-blog @jjubilee-fluff @laurenmcquilty @louisejoy86 @butlerrizz @pillowprincess-things @pookie3bear3000

136 notes · View notes