ane reads fanfics

One Condition(m)

Summary: You and Jimin have a perfectly-normal-good sex life, so you can’t really understand his need to explore further….whatever, two can play at that game. Looks like there won’t be much sleeping going on tonight.

Genre: A lil fluff/ lotta smut/ and hopefully I can make u giggle

Word count: 3,038

Warnings: Face sitting/ Breathplay (~light~Choking)…sorry mom

A/n: This is the FIRST EVER fic I felt comfortable releasing! I’m so super excited to share this w/ you guys and I hope u enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed making it:’’) . ps. this one for my chubby hoes or for my cuties w a lil more meat on ur thighs. jimin luvs u n so do i 💖💖💖

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sabraeal  asked:


Part one   (actually part two, but you’ll get it).

With his eyes closed, Izana revels in the strong wind blowing the raindrops, the remnants of the storm, into his face from the open window. He really should indulge himself and enjoy such smaller pleasures in life more often.

He’d known Zen resented him for accompanying him to Laxdo on their bi-monthly check up, probably thinking he was there to make a point about leadership and authority, but little did he know he was the last person wishing to be there. He lets out a sigh, wishing the cold rain to wash the stifling boredom off his soul.

The rattling of the glass nearly drowns out a shriek in the distance, but the sound is so familiar he opens his eyes, squinting at the blue silhouette soaring a little over him, with its feathers flapping at a hysterical pace.

The messenger bird notices him immediately, and after letting out another shriek, makes a sharp turn in the air, before descending firmly towards him. He almost feels bad for the poor creature, fighting against the strong wind.

His shoulders tense. The message must be important if the bird was sent to him here, in this godforsaken place. It might be about his on-going cold war with the duke of Heghendorp. Or about the sheep, he thinks with a rising sense of dread, his mood darkening.

When the messenger finally lands on his arm, the moisture from the bird’s feathers seeps through his thick sleeve immediately. Tiny sharp eyes scan around the room furtively and when he inadvertently squeezes its leg a bit too hard while unclasping the container on his leg, its sharp beak snaps angrily at his fingers too close for comfort. Startled blue eyes narrow. The bird must be the only creature in Clarines so completely unfazed by him.

His eyebrow twitches as soon as his gaze lands on the unscrolled letter.

“Dear Obi”, a slanted, sentimental handwriting reads, “I hope Laxdo is treating you well.”

“Oh, for god’s sake,” he whispers, shaking his head. He tears his eyes off the paper, but not before he catches a glimpse of ‘I miss you’ scribbled shyly at the beginning of the following paragraph.

The bird squeaks inquisitively, waiting for a treat in exchange of its labor. Still grasping the letter between his two fingers, Izana runs his thumb over its drenched back, smoothening down the ruffled feathers.

“You’re so lucky Viscount Blaker is out of the picture,” he murmurs, appreciative eyes appraising the blue feathers.

With a resigned sigh, he rolls up the letter -  slightly dampened by the droplets that made it through the open window - before slipping it back into the container.

“I’m afraid,“  he adds with a smirk, “you’ve delivered this to the wrong Wisteria brother.” And releases the reluctant messenger into the wind.