#dribble because its too long to drabble | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sunshiline-writes · 4 days

Text

A ROSE AMIDST THORNS DRABBLE #1: EYE FOR AN EYE

Hello friends. This is a drabble I wrote because I wanted some good gore. Everyone thank Ev for this idea!! haha. This takes place around 15 or so years before the main plot! So its a bit of a prologue of sorts. __

CW: graphic descriptions of injury, blood, broken bones, restrained, sadistic whumper, GORE GORE GORE, eye whump, torture, Xaviers FUCKED Up thinking process, umm.. implied character death but left up to interpretation??

word count: 1.3k

“Bernard? Do you know what I do to traitors?” Xavier asked, laughing slightly at how pathetic the man looked down on the floor. Hogtied, face half pressed into the dirt by his boot. The man had stolen from him.Tried to take some of the jewelry from his house. The man went into his house. His house, the place where his sister slept.

Xavier released his boot from the man's head, Bernard winced as he looked up at Xavier. Shaking his head slowly.

“Use your fucking words Bernard.”

“No sir. No sir, I don’t know-”

Xavier cut him off with a swift kick to the teeth. He could hear the man choke and spit on blood. It made him smile. He crouched down and grabbed the man by the hair, lifting his head to look him in the eye. Bernard had blood dribbling down his chin.

“I didn’ want that many words.”

A whimper came from the man and Xavier couldn’t help but laugh. Letting go of Bernard's yellow hair and the man’s head fell against the dirt floor. Breathing labored as he spit out more blood. He looked so pathetic there lying on the ground. Hard to believe that the man had almost successfully stolen from him. Stuck into his house in the middle of the night, stole his sister's jewelry while she was sleeping. Was lucky Abraham was there, caught him in the act before he could even leave the room. But Abraham was weak. He wanted to let Bernard go. Take all of his things and turn him loose into the world.

Why let him go? Why would he ever do that when there was a chance of him coming back? Xavier couldn’t have that. Bernard needed to know that he had done wrong. Xavier needed to make sure he never came back. Never could come back.

“Bernard? Are you ‘fraid of the dark?” Xavier asked, kicking the worm onto its back. It squirmed like one, hands and legs pressed against the ground, making its back arch painfully.

It groaned and shook its head. Tear streaks made down its face, showing the light skin beneath grime and blood. Strange wasn’t it? The way blood washed away so easily when people cried.

“Words Bernard,” he chided, pressing a boot to the things stomach, forcing his back straight. His spur dug into the shirt.

“N-No,” Bernard answered with a sharp gasp. Sucking in air through his teeth.

“Then this shouldn’t bother you too much.

Xavier’s boot removed itself from Bernard's stomach. He took a step back, then circled the man for a second. Watching the way he squirmed and fought to try and make a more comfortable position. The way his face was contorted between pain and panic as he stopped above him. His boots on either side of the man's head. He looked even smaller from this position.

He lifted a boot and Bernard started a garbled attempt at pleas.

“Please, please.. PLEASE. Don’t do this, don’t. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, please don’t. I won’ steal another thing long as I live please.”

There was something about that pleading that made Xavier shiver with excitement. Wanted to hear more. The heel of his boot connected with Bernard's nose with a crack. Blood flowing from it, onto his lips, over his chin, down his neck. There was a feeling of fascination there as Xavier’s boot connected. He ground it into the bones on Bernard's face, hearing as the bones and cartilage ground against each other. The man beneath him was screeching, but Xavier could barely hear him over the sound of his own blood roaring. Adrenaline fueling him. Fascination with the way the bones sounded, the way the blood flowed.

He tilted his head and grinned down at Bernard.

“Try to take a deep breath for this one Bernard.”

He tilted his boot slightly, spur hovering over the man’s left eye.

“No! No, no, no no nononono PLEASE!” Bernard screamed, nasally and half choking on his own blood. “Deep breath,” Xavier said slowly, before the spur on his boot dug itself firmly into Bernard's eye. The resistance was there, but all it took was a little extra force before it went through the layer of skin that was the eyelid, and sunk into the eyeball beneath. The scream Bernard let out was satisfying in itself. The way Xavier twisted his spur into the soft tissue of the eyeball, was even more satisfying. He could hear the way it squelched and moved as he twisted it left and right. A trail of bloody tears came from the eye. Adding to the already copious amounts of blood on his face. Who knew he could make someone bleed that much just from the face?

Lovely really.

Xavier lifted his boot with a slick popping noise that made him laugh over Bernard's screams. He dragged the flesh that had come up with the spur on the dirt above Bernard’s head. Humming thoughtfully as Bernard’s screams died to choked off sobs and groans.

“Did you know that eyeballs were that soft?” Xavier asked with a small satisfied smile. “I didn’t. Learn something new everyday ey?”

Bernard did not respond with anything intelligible. Not that Xavier expected him too. He’d just destroyed the man's eye after all. Xavier lifted his boot again, angling the spur that lightly pressed into the man's right eye.

“Again.. Really hope you’re not afraid of the dark Bernard. You’ll have to get past that fear real fast if you hope to survive this,” he said. There was only a garbled groan in response before Xavier dug his spur into the man's eye. This time, his eye was fully open, there was less resistance. It sunk into the soft tissue and he looked at it with a sense of fascination. The spur disappeared fully into the eyeball. Blood blossomed outward, covering the bright blue of the iris. He twisted his boot and the eye followed with it, shredding itself as he turned it the other way. Melting completely into the dull spur. More and more blood pouring from the eye. It was almost beautiful in a way. He pulled his boot, but this time, the eye came with it, stuck to the spur like a thorn.

It was the connection of the eye to the back of the socket that made him laugh harder. Bernard was no longer making noise. Passed out? Dead? Didn’t matter. He wouldn’t be bothering the Reede ranch anymore. He tugged the eye away, the connection making a snapping sound as he lifted the boot and grabbed the eye, pulling it off the spur himself. It was soft, surprisingly so, he lifted it up to examine it closer. Damn, he really did crush it. But it still held a bit of its form on the bottom. Circular. It looked as if it had been carved into. He squeezed it between his fingers. It folded in on itself and leaked blood and fluid over his hand. Dripping down on Bernards face.

He threw the deformed and destroyed eyeball onto the man’s still chest. Wiping his fingers on his shirt.

Xavier didn’t do well with traitors. Especially not ones that threaten his sister's life. What was that saying? Eye for an eye? He liked that one. Made sense.

He crouched down to Bernard, feeling for a pulse. Fluttery, rapid, but it was there. Xavier grinned. Standing up and making his way outside the barn, imagery of crushed and destroyed eyes following him as he did. He stopped at the man with braids who stood outside the barn, face utterly neutral.

“Don’t do anything. If he’s alive by tomorrow, fix him up and send him on his way. If not, there’s a shovel, give it to one if the ranch hands and they’ll know what to do. Understand Solomon?” The man nodded slowly, expression shifting to surprise. Xavier didn’t take it personally. Solomon was new after all. Had only been here a week. He’d come to learn. They all did.

“Eye for an eye Solomon. Eye for an eye.”

Xavier always liked that phrase. Now he knew why. __

Taglist:

@demondamage @burntcoffeewhump @angst-after-dark @just-a-silly-little-whumper @tictac-murder-spaghetti @crash-bump-bring-the-whump @whumpifi

@flowersarefreetherapy @badgerwhump @whumpbees @whumplr-reader @cyberwhumper

ask if you'd like to be added or removed!!

#whump #whumpblr #whump blog #sunshine writes whump #gore #eye gore #eye trauma #broken bones #sadistic whumper #a rose amidst thorns #ARAT #Xavier Reede

9 notes · View notes

becauseicantthinkwritings · 2 years

Text

His Best Kept Secret

A Billy Russo x Reader Drabble

Hey, @marvelmusing I haven't known peace since I met you.

Warnings: Smut (18+), major degradation kink, Billy talks down to her a lot, gentle face slapping, spitting, daddy kink, mild crying kink too.

A/N: alright i know how this looks, but reader could definitely be an independent woman.... if she wanted to be.

Anvil was mostly quiet at this time of night. Everything lay undisturbed, with the lights casting its white sheen on every surface.

The cleaners had already come and gone, leaving the company's CEO locked in his office, left to his own devices.

Except that now, things were different. Different and new for him, a man who had accepted some form of loneliness from an early age.

No one could pinpoint it, a difficult and barely recognisable change, made even more difficult and unrecognisable by the brooding man with an office at the top of the building.

The only way they'd really know, was if they were here now, working way too late to be normal and passing in front of his office at just the right time to hear the lamp sitting at his desk hit the ground with a muffled crash. It would make the person stop, lean an ear to the door, and they'd know.

They'd know Billy Russo's newest secret.

"There's nothing going on up there, hmm?" He hisses in your ear, his large hand covering your mouth, limiting the pitiful little sounds you're making, his eyes trained on the broken lamp beside his desk.

"You broke my lamp, you silly little girl. Do you know how much it cost?" He asks, with a restrained hiss of rage as if he cared for the lamp at all. His eyes burn into your frightened ones, your body shakes in fear and there's nothing that can make him harder in the moment.

"That's right. You don't. You have no fucking idea how much anything costs because Daddy buys you everything, right?"

He pulls his hand back to lay a gentle slap across your pretty cheek.

"Answer me. Does Daddy buy you everything?"

Your eyes well with little tears.

"Yes, daddy, you buy me everything. 'M sorry, I didn't mean to-" You're cut off by him burying two of his fingers into your mouth.

Your eyes squeeze shut, resisting the urge to gag because you know it's hard to stop once you start.

"I don't want to hear, another fucking word from your dumb girl mouth."

He feels the little whimper around his fingers.

"If you can break my things, then it's only fair that I can break your things. Yes?"

He doesn't have to wait long for your nod of consent.

It makes him want to burst.

It was one thing to look so demure while he berated you, it was another thing to want him to berate you. This pretty little creature being forcefully pinned to his desk, with his fingers in her mouth actually wanted this. Wanted him. Was probably ruining her cute underwear with thoughts of how he was going to degrade her.

"Well," he says, acting pleased in the moment, "Let's start breaking you."

Your cozy sweater is cut off your body in seconds, leaving him to tug the cups of your bra down so that he can pinch at your nipples.

Your sobs are mixed in with gasps of pleasure.

"I'm so sorry," you cry, and he laughs a little.

"What are you sorry for, hmm?"

"For- For-" you can't finish your sentence because each time you start, he gives a borderline painful pinch to your nipples.

"Dumb little girl can't even speak." He teases, unclasping your bra and pulling every shred of clothes off the top of your body. He pauses for a moment, framing your breasts in his hands, before leaning forward to dribble an ample amount of saliva onto each breast.

He hums with delight, circling your nipples and spreading his spit all over your breasts.

"Nice and wet for me," he gives another slippery pinch, "Are you my dumb little girl?"

"Yes, sir." You sigh.

"Yeah baby? Do you have a job?"

"No sir."

"No? I'm sure a pretty little girl like you could find a job doing something."

"No sir, 'm too dumb."

He smiles.

"Poor little thing. Doesn't work, doesn’t pay any taxes, needs daddy to buy her everything."

"Yes, and I'm so clumsy too, sir."

He huffs with delight.

"You have to have something good going for you." He muses.

"Yes, sir, I do."

He pauses his torment of her breasts to look up at her.

"Well? What is it?" He prompts when she doesn’t respond.

"My cunt, sir."

"Your cunt?"

"Mmhmmm, I have a cunt worth keeping around."

It was a miracle that she was his, and a miracle that he hadn't blown his load yet.

He pulls away and you whine in displeasure.

"Go on then, show daddy that dumb little cunt."

Biting your lip, you stand up to quickly push your skirt down, along with your soaked panties.

You climb back onto the desk, fully naked, spreading your legs to show him your most intimate parts, knocking a small cup of pens over in the process, the sound louder in the quiet room.

"Oops." You whisper, watching the way his eyes trace the dripping seam of your core.

Billy smiles.

"Well who needs braincells with a cunt that pretty?" He asks.

Certainly not you.

#billy russo #billy russo x reader #billy russo x female reader #the punisher #MUAHAHAHAHAAHAHHAHAHAHA #i am evil #a true menace

423 notes · View notes

star2fishmeg · 2 years

Text

ʀᴇғᴜɢᴇ

Pairing: Kantou!Manjiro "Mikey" Sano x f!reader

Summary: with nowhere else to go, the one thing that separated y/n and Manjiro reunited them again

Warnings: minor angst, fluff, kissing, mentions of blood and violence, kinda short (it's drabble-esque)

Authors Note: I had a dream Park Jimin was teaching me how to drive and told me he was gonna teach me how to park the Park way and made me reverse into a giant oven while Jungkook proceeded to tell me that he's making me sweat like that and that it was time for the break down

Request: my heart.

"I...I didn't know where else to go..." She mumbled, boring her bloodshot eyes into his. Mikey just stood there in a crumpled t-shirt and briefs, eyes slighly wide at the sight he never expected to see. Y/n, hair and clothes clinging to her body from the torrential rain and hands held weakly in front of her, stained in, now, watery blood. His gaze hopped from her hands to her face, her untainted features now corrupted with grazes and yellow bruises on her cheeks and bloody dribbling from her lip. She stood awfully frozen, no trembling, hell, not even an ounce of fear or remorse running through her veins. It was more or less just post-incident shock before she'd feel any sort of warmth or life in her limbs. Manjiro hastily, yet gently, took her hand and led her into his living room, setting her on his sofa - the fabric would dry on its own and he couldn't be upset, he'd soaked her furniture countless times before in his Toman days.

He wasn't even sure if he had a medical kit, he rarely needed such a thing anyway but he eventually found one after hurridly scavenging his bathroom. He knelt between her knees and wiped her hands with a wetwipe, "What did you do?" It hurt her to hear how monotonous his voice came out, but not surprising after everything he has endured. The pads on his fingers were rough, but comforting as all her repressed memories seemed to flood back at once. The many late night bike rides through Shibuya where her arms would belong firmly around his waist, everyday after school you'd walk to the corner shop for Doriyaki hand in hand, him letting you play with his hair for hours while watching TV or just chatting - they were the days she valued the most and equally pained her to remember. It pained him too, she gave him refuge from all the struggles his younger self had to hide, allowing him to live as an awkward fifteen year old like everyone else.

Releasing a shaky breath as Mikey pulled the cotton and rubbing alcohol from the box, she hesitated, "I...some guys in Kantou Manji were conspiring to...well, sabotage and well...you know, I couldn't let that happen," She flinched at the alcohol burning her cut before continuing. "I didn't mean to intervene, but I just went into autopilot and before I knew it they were on the ground around me. I didn't know I could do something like that, I know I can fight but...you tried so hard to keep me out of it and protect me and I fucked it up because of my stupid feelings. I'm so sorry, Jiro."

He stayed silent, placing the alcohol back into the box and returning it to the bathroom. Y/n, after finally regulating her breathing from confessing the weight on her chest, followed him. Everything she had admitted was true, and saying it aloud brought the realisation that they were never to be apart - something that had been obvious to an outsider. Mikey couldn't cope with the separation from his once angel, and Y/n couldn't find any other purpose for herself outside the gang culture. She tried studying, but with no real dream other than excelling in the illegal trade of drugs, it was a weak flame.

Wet clothes piled into his washing machine with an irritating slap. She didn't even care about being half naked in front of Mikey, they had know each other so long and knew so many details about the way they think, what they've done, she didn't mind. Perhaps it was because deep down she yearned for him, chasing a love that had the potential to always be one sided. It didn't matter in that moment, what did matter was him sliding one of his t-shirt over her head and drying her hair with a towel. Anyone who knew of Mikey would never know Manjiro Sano, the human side of him. The side that had no walls to him. Manjiro Sano smiled ever so slight when Y/n's cold, small finger tips grazed his cheek, thumb rubbing his cheekbone when her palm made contact. In his deprived state, he instantly melted into the lost feeling, sensing her soft gaze analyse his matured features.

"I'm proud of you," He mumbled suddenly. Surprised, she was surprised to hear such an almost empty man say such meaningful praises. "You found out who you are. I never wanted to keep you from doing that, but I didn't want to see you how you are now. I just wanted to protect you but all you've ever done is protect me. I'm pathetic."

"No." She took his face firmly in both her hands this time, forcing their eyes to meet, "We can't do this without each other, we've discovered that. I am always with you, I will protect you like you protected me, fight with you, fuck, this Kantou gang? Share out the responsibility, I'm not 'gonna lose you completely." For a while they remained in that silent stare, processing words and feelings. In fact, it was probably the moment y/n decided to completely abliderate all fear within her. He wasn't perfect, he had a lot of problems from the start and if anyone could see that it was her, but he needed to be loved too. She wasn't perfect either, she was crazy for loving a man such as him, she enjoyed fighting and all she wanted was to be loved.

Dropping the small towel he used to dry her hair, he took her by the hips, pulling her body closer to his, chest to chest. In a hoarse, gravelly whisper, he finally spoke, "I think I owe you something." And with that his lips softly met hers. Y/n's hands wrapped around his shoulders as he leant down, almost awkwardly but he didn't care. It was the most warmth she'd felt all day, his lips never changing; they were usually chapped and she didn't mind that anymore, just being able to submerge into his ocean was enough to feel content and whole again. They drew back slowly, eyes never leaving each other's but if you looked carefully, you could see the corners of Manjiro's lips slightly upturned. Feeling so gentle was almost foreign, feeling complete was so intoxicating. Hastily his hands gripped the underside of her thighs, hoisting her onto the counter before devouring her lips again, but rougher, more desperate this time. They were messier this time, tongues lapping and the quintessential sounds of longing when their mouths moved to the same rhythm.

Y/n's fingers raked gently through his blond hair, pushing his bangs over his forehead and tugging slightly at the roots, keeping him close to her. He kneaded her skin from the globes of her arse to holding firmly holding her waist. He loved everything about her, she was always perfect to him in every way possible. His favourite part to run his hands over was the particular curve in her back and how smooth it was just to run his fingers down it.

She pulled away first, a string of saliva connecting between their lips, her hands cupping his flushed cheeks, "Never leave me again, Jiro. Got it?"

"Yes ma'am." He mumbled, burying his face into her shoulder and embracing her figure tightly. Without her, he wouldn't know where else to go.

[Masterlist]

#kantou mikey x reader #mikey x reader #kanto!mikey #kantou manji gang #kantou mikey #manjiro sano x reader #sano manjiro x reader #manjiro sano #tokyo revengers #tokyo rev x reader #tokyo revengers x reader

192 notes · View notes

maggicktouched · 1 year

Text

Old Man, Little Fox

I’ve wanted to write a drabble like this for a long time. Because this is a very Beck thing to do---see a lonely, hopeless person and hang around them to befriend them but never reveal herself for her own safety. I’ve never had the right setting to write it though.

I also wanted to write something in Daniel’s point of view to maybe give people an idea of how I write him since I don’t have any active threads yet. The two ideas came together pretty well in my opinion. As always this might get tweaked. I haven’t even edited for spelling/grammar errors and I’m too tired to right now, to be honest. Yes this is probably cheesy. Yes I like it as it is. Enjoy the cheese. Cheese is delicious.

...

The park was empty.

Probably the cold. Daniel thought to himself. Aside from the stray, dedicated crazy person out for a morning run, he had the park to himself.

He crossed a frozen bridge, gripping the rail with trembling hands that had nothing to do with the cold. He was just as crazy to be out here. Especially after a snowstorm. A fall in his condition could break something if he was lucky, or very likely kill him if he wasn’t. But he had to come. He came every Sunday.

It’d started back in June when the weather was a lot more reasonable. His doctor had warned him if he didn’t get moving, he was going to go downhill fast. He needed to get out, to meet people, to challenge himself. He’d had enough of strangers for a lifetime, and he didn’t see much reason trying to preserve a dying body—but he did it for his girls. He hadn’t spoken to either of them since the Christmas before, and the conversation had been short—and forced. The hope that he could change that was all he really cared about. He hadn’t been looking to make friends… And yet he had.

He sat down with a groan on a snow-covered bench and watched the wind whip through the trees. When the gust caught up to him he couldn’t help but flinch from the slap of cold.

“Took you long enough.” He said as he opened his eyes. There, not twenty paces away, was a little orange fox. Its black-tipped ears were pointed forward, straight at him, as he reached into his inner coat pocket. His shaking fingers bit into the custard flesh of the persimmon without meaning to, and the juice dribbled out onto his fingers.

“Come on then.” His back popped as he leaned forward and extended the fruit. “We both know you aren’t shy.”

He’d never cared much for animals. He barely liked people. When he was younger he’d bought Steph a dog—more accurately he’d won it in a poker game drunk off his ass and didn’t know what to do with it the next morning. She’d named it Tucker. He’d called it Fucker, another thing for Alice to add to her endless list of things he did that she hated. Tucker had been some ungodly half-spotted mix between a collie and a demon. Alice gave him away to one of her cousins who had a farm out of state, and somehow that had been his fault too.

His doctor had suggested getting a dog multiple times to keep himself active. Even before the Parkinsons. He’d always laughed at the idea. If anyone had suggested he’d be walking half a mile twice a week to feed a wild animal in the park, he’d have laughed at them too.

But here he was.

The fox sniffed the air and stood. She trotted large, arching circles around the bench, getting closer each time. Her nervous amber eyes looked everywhere but him, until finally she was close enough to touch. Then she looked at him properly, fluffy tail wagging low and wild. He could almost swear that she was smiling when she opened her toothy mouth.

By now the cold was making his hands stiff, but he forced his fingers to rip off a piece of the persimmon and the fox eagerly snapped it up. The wet fruit smacked loudly in her mouth for a split second, and then it was gone, and she was pawing his wrist for more.

“You’re greedy, ya know that?” But he laughed. It was a rare thing to laugh anymore. Another bit of fruit, it was gone just as fast as the last. And another and another until it was gone. Daniel sat back against the cold metal. “Well, that’s that.”

He’d been feeding the fox every Sunday and Thursday for the past three months, ever since the weather had turned bitter cold in New England, but he’d known her for half of the year. She’d just—started following him one day. For weeks she sat at a distance, watching him, but always following him–always finding him–everywhere he went in the park. Then she’d started to sniff his shoes, paw at his pants. For lack of anyone else, he talked to her. Told her about the Parkinsons, about his girls, about the dreams that tormented him in the middle of the night. Awful vivid dreams that he forgot on waking and how they made him avoid sleep as much as possible.

He’d turned into one of those crazy people who talked to their dog. One of those sad idiots who thought things like “I don’t know where I’d be without her.” Something he never imagined saying about an animal. Something he’d never say out loud to anyone---not even the fox.

“Where’s your boyfriend? Huh?” He asked. The fox tilted her head right, then left, then put her two paws on his knees. He patted a thigh. “Come on.”

And she was up in his lap. He’d never known how big foxes were until her, or how they radiate warmth. The feeling started to return to his legs, and he pushed his cold fingers into her fur and scratched gently. Little high pitched grunts of happiness broke through the silent air.

“You’re not gonna be young forever, ya know. You oughtta find a nice boy. Have little—uh—baby foxes. Whatever they're called.” He reached up to rub her ears, noting the way that the trembling in his fingers had stopped. “You can’t waste all your time on an old man–Ow! Jesus!”

She bit him!

It hadn’t been enough to break his thinning skin, but still!

A cloud of silver mist left his mouth as his chest shook, and he began to laugh in earnest.

“You bitch.” But he patted the fox’s side all the same. Sometimes it felt like she understood him too well. Sometimes it didn’t feel natural. His mental state had to be deteriorating faster than he thought.

They sat in silence for a long time. It felt good to touch something. Even an animal. She was warm and soft, and she didn’t want anything from him but a bit of fruit or meat now and again.

He sighed, “Come on. We can’t just sit here all day.”

She jumped down to the ground, and he braced on the back of the bench and hoisted himself up. With her at his heel, they started down the hill and onto the wooded path where the trees were tall and old. It might have been enough to fool him into thinking he was miles away from the city if not for the distant sounds of cars and the occasional shriek of children from the far-off playground. It’d gotten warmer as the morning turned to afternoon, and they weren’t alone anymore in the open. The shade of the barren trees was enough to ward off most other park-goers and preserve their solitude.

His canine companion stopped for a moment and then darted ahead. She cleared a fallen log to the side of the trail and then halted on a dime. Her head twisted one way, then the other, and then she leaped straight up into the air and went face first into a pile of snow. Nothing but two wriggling back legs and a fluffy tail remained visible. A few seconds later she emerged. Empty handed.

“Good thing I bring you snacks. You’d probably starve.” He grumbled, grinning into his coat as the fox ran past. She paused, and again he got that eerie feeling she understood him. Her amber eyes locked in on his in a way that just wasn’t right—wasn’t natural, and then she dropped her front end to the ground, squealed with animalistic glee, and took off running again. She was always good for a free show.

“Had that dream again.” He said when she’d calmed down enough to walk beside him once more. This time when he sighed, it was pained and tired. “Doesn’t matter what they give me, it comes back. He’s so—real. I know everything about him. The way he walks. How he talks. I know what he likes. I know every inch of his body. It thrills me, terrifies me too, and then I’m awake and it’s gone. It’s like--- like being spied on in my dreams.”

He felt a brush of fur against his leg as her side pressed against him. It soothed a bit of the pain.

“They suggested hypno-therapy last time. ‘To discover repressed memories’. Bullshit. What hope do I got if a bunch of crackpots are giving me hairbrained advice like that?”

Daniel stopped, and the fox stopped with him. He stared down at her, his hands opening and closing helplessly.

“That’s the thing, isn’t it? There’s no hope for me. Doesn’t matter what I do. I could walk a hundred miles. Lift weights until I’m Chuck Norris. It isn’t gonna change anything.”

He watched her put her two paws on his knees again, and went to reach down to stroke the animal, but before he could bend properly, she’d vaulted herself up into the air. For a brief second they were nose-to-nose, her claws dully dug at his coat, and he closed his arms around her instinctually. His heart was hammering, like he’d bumped into a priceless vase at an art museum and just barely managed to catch it.

Frozen whiskers tickled his neck, and then a muzzle as soft as silk. The fox laid her head on his shoulder.

“You’re too clever for your own good.” He was still a little breathless, but he started walking again. “What is it? Is it a body language or like a scent thing? You just smell it when I’m being pathetic?”

His only answer was the gentle thump-thump-thump of her tail against the side of his coat, and he held her a little tighter. The gaping black hole of despair that threatened to swallow him up shrunk down and faded into the back of his mind.

At the entrance of the park, he knelt down to the icy path and reluctantly placed the fox down. His arms ached from carrying her, but it hurt worse to let her go again. She mouthed his watch as he stroked her head and whined. Did she know how much he didn’t want to leave her there?

“I won’t be back this Thursday, hear me?” He cleared his throat. He had to go to Dubai. He had to finish the interview. But what would he have when it was all said and done? His curiosity sated, and a decent inheritance for his girls. Nothing else. But strangely, that almost felt like enough.

“It feels like dying, ya know.” He confessed. “One last hurrah. The big number before the curtain falls.”

He grunted, and then smiled a little. “It’s kinda nice. In a way.”

The fox licked his hand as he stood to his feet, and then darted back a handful of paces. He wished he could stuff her in his coat. He’d sneak her on the plane, hide her in his hotel room. And she’d probably die too, from the stress of it all.

No. This was better.

She turned and ran toward the tall golden grass by the creek. It shivered, and then stilled, and she was gone.

“I don’t know where I’d be without you...” He said quietly. Daniel stuffed his hands in his pocket and turned back to the road.

He needed to pack.

It was near midnight when he slumped over in his armchair and when his alarm went off at nine the next morning he woke without startling. For the first time in weeks, he hadn’t dreamed.

#;;my drabbles

1 note · View note

deskofmaji · 2 years

Text

Death and all his friends...

I found this hiding on my Deviant page and figured eh... What the hell

Ok... I know it's been a while. A long while... But my brain is dribbling again... Drabbling in the direction that if there is an interest for it... I'm re-reading my work... Trying to remember my thought process and perhaps... Maybe... If there is a want for it... Finish my work and add a little something extra. Right now I'm working on Will to Live... This, would come in a story that is set after that. So yes, there is a little spoiler here. Don't read if you don't wanna know... But... This wouldn't get out of my head. Again, if there is an interest for it... I'm possibly reviving.

For those confused, this is set in the Cars universe. A bit of a spoiler alert here...

When it is said, Seth is Seth again, he is no longer the Seth that appears in Hardest Burden to Bear. He is The Angel of Death. Which is what makes this, all the more heart-wrenching.

xXx

"For what it's worth Seth... I'm sorry" Seth didn't even have a moment to consider the implications of what was happening, before that slender hand laid against his hood. The Mustang set back on his tires, a small jolt of surprise as he tried to pull back, only to find himself frozen in place as if he were parked in sludge. Everything came rushing back. Every memory they had taken away from him. The spiritual world. His place as Death. Everything.

From where he stood, Sheriff gave a little sound of protest, though Doc stopped him from moving forward as Seth gave a full, body shiver and blinked a few times as if uncertain as to what the hell had just happened. He seemed unharmed though as he glanced over to Sheriff, a look of confusion playing its way 'cross his dark features. Still, even without a word Sheriff felt as if his fuel pump had jolted to a stop. That innocent look that Seth held without his memories was gone. Those eyes were wise... He always was an old soul but now? This was someone who knew too much.

Seth blinked again, glancing back up to Death, a tilt of his frame given, frown playing its way 'cross his grill. "Why?" He questioned slowly, obviously having never expected to be there, in that place with Death again...

"It's happening." Death stated slowly, drawing another blink and for a moment a stunned and horrified look from Seth. "I wouldn't let you miss it. I would not do that to you, my child."

"But you'll take the memories from me again..." Seth said slowly, gaining a nod from Death.

"It is unfortunate... But yes. It must be done." Seth looked as if he wanted to argue, but something drew him in, the wolf giving a brief start as he glanced towards the house. Blaire's house...

"We will talk after." Death promised, a nod given. "Go... You have precious, few moments."

Seth didn't argue... He shot Sheriff, a rather helpless look and turned quickly, hurrying into the house and disappearing inside.

Sheriff gave a hard swallow, glance given towards the dark figure that now stood before them. Death slowly raised his hands, pulling back the hood that shrouded his face, distinctly canine features there instead of a human face as he pulled the hood back and regarded Sheriff and Doc for a moment.

"You have questions." He ventured, gaining a flat look from Sheriff.

"Ya think?" He questioned, a wince given as Doc gave him a firm nudge.

"We're only concerned for Seth." Doc reasoned, his even tones quiet and calming, which drew a smile to Death's face.

"I knew my child would be safe with you." Death mused softly, before a nod was given. "Seth... Has a soulmate. Every angel does. A soul that they are connected too. Are suppose to protect. Because he is Death, Seth's soulmate was never meant to be mortal but it is... Seth... Never handled this well. It is outside of the concern of mortals but he is being punished in a way. He is not permitted to see his soulmate, but for the time of his soulmate's birth and death. Souls may return to this world if they so choose and they lived a good life. If they have done their penance... Seth's soulmate returns as much as it can, for the hope of seeing Seth for those few moments. But when Seth fell... He can no longer guide his soulmate. Did not even remember his soulmate but... I would not take this from them. He has precious few moments as his soulmate leaves this world." Death explained, gaining a horrified look from Sheriff and Doc.

"There is someone that cares about him, unconditionally, and you won't let him see that person unless they're dying?" Sheriff questioned, gaining a soft chuckle from Death.

"I am afraid that you can not understand Sheriff. But yes. That is how it must be. Once every... Few decades or so, he is permitted a few moments."

Death lifted his hood again, and turned away from them, signaling the end of the conversation. Doc gave out an annoyed huff, but there was little they could do.

An hour slowly crawled by before Seth silently made his way out of the house, his expression one of pure agony as he stepped into the yard, eyes closing with a shutter. "Seth, are you alright?" Sheriff questioned quickly. Seth glanced up to the Sheriff and shook his grill, the car for a moment looking as if he wanted to just... Break....

Sheriff was quick to step forward and surprisingly... Seth came forward as well, burrowing his grill against the police car's side as if he would have any other time when upset... The difference was that he didn't have his memories then... But he did now... "She was so frail..." Seth muttered softly. It was... Strange and out of place. This was Seth... The Angel of Death... Not Seth his son, but he seemed so broken, still as Sheriff nuzzled against him, comfortingly, trying to simply understand. "She was human this time..." He muttered, gaining a startled look from Sheriff. "Elizabeth? The old human, woman?" He questioned, a glance given towards Blaire's cabin as Seth nodded. "She was right here... She was right here and I didn't even know." The Mustang muttered, his voice sounding, so wrecked... So frail and small...

"You couldn't have known, son." Sheriff offered softly, though that... Seemed to be the wrong thing to say as Seth entirely broke. The strong, Angel of Death, reminded so clearly of his mortality and impending loss of memory gave out a heart-wrenching sound of agony as Death stepped closer.

"I am sorry Seth." Death offered slowly, the reaction from Seth nearly instant.

"No!" The Mustang yelped, as he jumped back. Away from Sheriff. Away from Death... His, bright, amber eyes filled with the pain he felt. "You can't do this. Don't do this, take everything else, take the council and judgement and years of hunting rogue spirts but don't take this. Don't take her. Please... Grandfather, don't take this away from me." The Mustang pleaded.

Death stopped, for a long moment seeming to hesitate... Just a hair's breath from touching the Mustang and taking everything away once more. "Seth... You will feel better once this painful memory is gone."

"No!" Seth insisted again, pulling back and away. "It's painful, it hurts, it's... It's like someone is tearing my engine out and showing it to me. It's... It hurts. But it's the one thing... The only thing, that I know is real. That's mine. This pain hurts but it's real and it's my own experience. Not... Seth, the Angel of Death, or Deputy Seth, Sheriff Carson's son... It's mine."

Death paused for a moment, seeming to consider that. Seth, seeing perhaps a break in the otherwise stoic, celestial being plowed forward. "Please... You've given me... Two lives. I never felt a thing as Death and now... This life is raw and bare and it's bright and too sharp and none of it is real. These emotions that I have... I don't know what's real and what you've put in me. I don't know... If any of it is real. If I was still remembered as Death, would any of these people give a damn about what happened to me?" The Mustang questioned, causing Sheriff to give a pained flinch.

"But this is real. She cared. Even if she's never met me in this life, the moment she saw me it was honest and open because we knew each other. She was the only truth that I've ever known. Please... This one memory, don't take this from me..."

Death gave a long and thoughtful hum to that, the being bringing one hand up to his chin and for a moment seemed to consider the request. Seth never broke eye contact, those amber eyes pleading as he watched Death, the Mustang trembling where he stood and for a moment it was almost frightening... This Mustang, this Angel of Death. With all of his memories... Laid bare. Every emotion, raw and exposed.

"Very well." Death offered slowly. Sheriff let out the breath he had been holding, glancing over to Seth, though to his surprise, the Mustang looked no less tense.

"There is a condition." Ah well no wonder he was tense... Of course there were conditions.

"If you are to keep this one memory, you must prove yourself to be... Still angelic enough to uphold this bond, this memory... You must be cleansed..."

Oh that didn't sound good. Sheriff shot Seth a questioning look, though Seth only gave a hard swallow and nodded. "I'll do it." He answered quickly, though Death brought a hand up, waving it in a gesture that paused him for a moment.

"Not so fast, Seth. Your memories are... Fragmented. I need to know, that you understand what is about to happen. So..." Death paused, turning to where Sheriff and Doc stood, a nod given towards the pair. "Tell your friends... What is about to happen to you. So that I know... That you know... And understand, what will happen. Let them be privy to this. Let them... Talk you out of it, if they can because I can promise you Seth... This will not be easy."

Seth nodded, for a moment, eyes closing as if collecting himself a bit. Building up, whatever he needed to be able to actually do this... He glanced over to Sheriff and Doc, a pained smile given before he nodded slowly. "I must prove myself to be angelic. Which means understanding the pains of the world. So, during the cleansing process I will be showed... The pains of the world."

He offered softly, gaining a confused look from Sheriff and Doc. "The pains of the world?" Doc, questioned slowly, gaining another nod from Seth.

"The pains..." Seth paused, for a moment, glancing to Death before he went on. "There is nothing that a man, woman or child might be go through in this world... That they will not have me experience. I will understand and experience... Torture... Death.... Rape... Hunger... Starvation... Pain.... All of it. Time doesn't pass the same, over there as it does here. I will be gone for three days here. But there... It will take as long as it needs to take. It could be days. It could be weeks. It could be decades. If my body fails, they will revive me and start again. If my sanity breaks, they will continue to push forward until there is nothing left. If I survive... I will be considered, cleansed."

Doc and Sheriff were silent for a long moment, before Doc finally broke it, a shake of his grill given. "Can you even survive that?" He questioned slowly.

Seth gave a sad smile and shook his head. "No... I'll die many times. They will not let me cross over during a cleansing though. I will return after three days... I'm not sure how much of me will return but I will return." He offered softly, a glance then given to Death.

"This is my choice. I still want to do this." The Mustang insisted. Sheriff opened his mouth to protest, but Seth was quick to cut him off with a sharp look. "This is my choice. For once, I am going to make a choice that will effect my own life. This is my choice and I'm fighting to keep this." He stated firmly.

Death studied Seth for a few long moments, before a slow nod was given. "Very well Seth." He offered, a glance given to Doc and Sheriff. "I will return him to you in three days time." The ancient being informed them, one hand brought up and would snap his fingers. And with that simple gesture... Death and Seth... We're both gone.

"Dear... God..." Sheriff muttered softly, barely noticing as Doc laid a tire against his side in a comforting gesture.

"Seth is strong." Doc reminded Sheriff, gaining a slow nod from the patrol car. "I know but... God, what are they going to do to him?"

Doc gave a pained look, silently glancing up to the night sky and giving out a deep sigh. "From the sounds of it? Everything..."

#Cars

1 note · View note

theresthesnitch · 2 years

Text

Ping!

So @startanewdream dropped this as a prompt in Jily discord.

And I couldn't stop thinking about it. Here's a little dribble (with a much happier ending).

***

Online dating is the worst.

No, really, you can ask anyone in the history of, well, time, and they will tell you that online dating is the worst thing to have ever existed.

But also like… how else do you meet someone these days? It’s not like you can just go up to someone and like talk to them.

No one does that anymore. No, really, that’s so weird.

Anyway, so online dating is where it’s at, and there are so many platforms to pick from. Tinder, Hinge, Bumble, eharmony, Tumblr, Coffee Meets Bagel, Farmers Only, Grindr, Ashley Madison, OkCupid–really, you have to be on all of them, otherwise you might risk your soul mate being on the wrong app.

Oh, and SoulMates, the app. Can’t forget that one.

So, that’s why I, James F. Potter, have come up with the perfect question to weed out the losers.

Ping! Your SoulMate might be waiting!

Ah, see? I’ve got a new match on SoulMate. Let me show you how it works.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Message with Floradora

JimmyJams: What should we name our first child?

Floradora: Ohhh, what do you think of Saffron or Leaf?

JimmyJams: Maybe Basil Leaf and we’re halfway to a decent curry.

Floradora: I thought we were naming kids? And isn’t curry spicy? I don’t really do spicy well

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Right, so that’s not going to work out. But you see? Just a few message, and I can already tell that she and I are not soulmates. It’s foolproof.

Ping! Your SoulMate might be waiting!

Ah, how about another one? You know you want to see it in action.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Message with EvanRevan

JimmyJams: What should we name our first child?

EvanRevan has left the conversation

~~~~~~~~~~~~

You’d be surprised at how often that happens. Or maybe you wouldn’t be.

I get it, asking about future kids is something of a no-no for dating, but I need someone who can take it for the joke it is and run with it. If I get serious names, or someone who is serious about wacky names, I know that they’re too serious for me. If that makes them run, well that’s probably for the best too. I’m looking for someone who–

Ping! Your SoulMate might be waiting!

Ah-ha! Let’s try again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Message with Lilyfire

JimmyJams: What should we name our first child?

Lilyfire: oh, bad news there.

Lilyfire: I made a bet with my friend Marlene in second grade, and my first kid has to be named Elvendork. It’s unisex, you know.

JimmyJams: On the bright side, I already sold my first born to a dragon named Norbert, so little Elvendork is already a lost cause.

Lilyfire: Oh, well perfect. We’ll get the first one out of the way as a trial run, and the second kid will be the one we can rest all our hopes and dreams on.

JimmyJams: No pressure, though. I’d hate for little Luisa to feel pressure.

Lilyfire: Oh yeah. Probably should have a third kid just to be safe. Maybe Bruno?

JimmyJams: Oh, no. We don’t talk about Bruno.

Lilyfire: No, no, no.

JimmyJams: I’m James, by the way.

Lilyfire: Lily.

Lilyfire: It’s really nice to meet you, James.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yeah, uh. You sort of hope it works out something like that.

#jily #jple #james potter #lily evans #jily fic #dribble because its too long to drabble #snitchwrites

254 notes · View notes

taestefully-in-luv · 3 years

Text

Always You | JJK (Drabble#3)

Summary: You have yet to tell Jungkook your big news and he might not take it so well.

Pairing: Always You!Jungkook x female reader

Genre: Angst!!! Smut!!! And fluff too hehe

Word count: 7.3k (I am SO sorry)

Warnings: sad Jungkook, jealous oc, panic attack, oral (male and female receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, multiple positions, cum eating, scratching, marking, overstimulation, mentions of anal (sorry if I forgot any)

Notes: sorry this is long for a drabble! I actually managed to get it down to 7k wooo. Also pls don’t be that mad at oc:) hehe. Make sure to send an ask if you want to chat:) ily guys

Taglist: @seagulljk

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The record shop is busier than usual this evening…Yoongi has tried his best to stop by yours and Taehyung’s table to chat but another customer keeps walking in one after the other. You chuckle, waving him off, telling him to work.

“And Jungkook doesn’t know?” Taehyung frowns at you, “Like, this is huge y/n. And you haven’t told him?”

“Not yet, at least.” You admit, bringing your coffee mug to your lips. “I’m going to have to eventually though right…”

“Who else doesn’t know?”

“Everyone knows actually.”

“Oh girl, that’s not good.”

“What do you mean?” you bring the coffee mug back to the table, your fingers strumming the side of the mug.

“You’re telling me he is the last to know? That’s just…not going to sit right with him and you know that.”

Fuck, he’s right. Jungkook is your best friend, your boyfriend, the man you live with, the man you love…and he has no idea you’re about to move to another country. You got accepted to work in Japan for a year and you could not be more excited. But there’s this huge weight on your entire body, the weight equal to one man.

“I know, shit, but I just can’t. He’s going to act so supportive but I know how disappointed he will be. I mean, we just started living together recently you know? Our relationship is going so nicely and I don’t want to ruin that.” You rant, a frown pulling down your lips.

“I finally finished with my last customer.” You hear Yoongi walk up to your little corner of the record shop. “What are we talking about?” he pulls up his chair and sits down.

“y/n still hasn’t told Jungkook about Japan.”

“Still?” Yoongi looks disappointed to say the least. “y/n…”

“Guys, I know!” you throw your hands up, “I’m fucking up.”

“Wait, do the others know that Jungkook doesn’t know?”

“I didn’t necessarily announce that it’s a secret…” you bite your bottom lip, worry filling your body, “And he’s with Jin, Namjoon and Hobi tonight.”

“You should text them and tell them.”

“But it’s not the first time he’s hanging around them since I told them…so maybe I just don’t come up in conversation?” you respond hopefully.

“Yeah, not likely. Jungkook always finds a way to talk about you.” Tae grumbles. “Trust us, we would know.”

“Yeah, he’s right.” Yoongi agrees, “Listen, you need to tell him before he finds out from someone else.”

“I’ll tell him…” you pick up your mug and take a sip, “Tonight.”

~~~~~~

Your apartment is dark and there’s no sign of life—Jungkook must still be out with the guys. You sigh in relief because although you said you would tell him tonight you are already chickening out. You know, you know. A cowards move. But honestly, it’s hard!

Right as you think you’re in the clear, you hear the front door opening from behind you. Jungkook is whistling some tune as he walks in and he lights up when he sees you.

“Baby.” He sings out, walking closer to you. “Hi.” He says before leaning down and pecking your lips.

“Hi, how was your night?” you ask as you slip off your shoes and head towards the bedroom.

“It was nice.” Jungkook continues to whistle, “How was yours? How are Tae and Yoongi? Anything new?”

“No, just the usual.” You shimmy out of your pants and slip off your shirt, leaving you in some panties and a bralette. You walk out of your room and into the bathroom to turn on the shower. The water is cold but is quickly heating up as you turn the knob, you enjoy how hot it’s getting.

“Should I join you?” You hear Jungkook say from behind you. He snakes his arms around your waist and kisses your neck.

“If you want babe.”

“I want you to want me to.” He pouts, “So, I’ll ask again…should I join you?”

You can’t help but giggle, turning around in his grasp and pulling at his shirt.

“Yes, please.” You say as he lifts his arms up for you to lift his shirt off. You eye your boyfriend over, his muscles look so strong and honestly? Did they get bigger? He has been hitting the gym more. His tattoos cover one of his arms and it’s such a sexy sight. You trace your fingers over his body art and he smiles down at you.

“Like what you see?”

“You know I do.” You breathe out and he reaches behind you and unclasps your bra.

“I like what I see too.” He says as your breasts are freed. “God, I love your tits.”

“The water is probably ready.” You smirk, sliding your panties down. Jungkook’s eyes follow your movement, he watches as the panties get dragged down leg by leg.

“Then let’s get in.” He’s taking off his own pants and boxers in one go, leaving him completely naked for you.

The two of you step in the shower, letting the hot water wash over your entire bodies. He lets you go under first as he squirts some shampoo in his palm.

“C’mere.” He commands. You step out from under the water and he massages the shampoo into your scalp, creating a bubbly mess. Then you go back under to rinse, this continues for the conditioner as well and then he’s soon washing your body with body wash, making sure he gets every corner and crevice of your body. Then you do the same for him, he loves when you wash his hair, your nails scratching at his scalp has him groaning.

“Missed you tonight.” He says quietly, “You missed me?”

“When am I not missing you?” you lean up to kiss him. He doesn’t let you lean away though as he leans in further to kiss you deeper. The water dribbles down your faces as you two have your lips moving quickly against one another. He nips at your bottom lip before his tongue tangles with yours, you moan into his mouth and he swallows it.

“Gonna fuck you?” he asks impatiently. His hard cock slipping between your folds as he grinds into you.

“Yes.” You respond breathlessly. “Yes.”

~~~~~~~

You slip on one of Jungkook’s t shirts and a fresh pair of panties and slide into bed. You find yourself in your boyfriends strong, warm arms. You lay your head down on his chest and listen to his heart beat. It’s racing. Why?

“Jungkook—”

“So anything new?” Jungkook cuts you off, his heart doing a million things.

You’re quiet for a few moments before you speak up again.

“Nope.”

You hear Jungkook sigh out heavily…then he’s moving from beneath you and getting up to turn on the lamp.

“You sure?”

“I’m sure?” You sit up on your elbows, confusion drawn on your face.

“y/n…” you hear him softly warn, “I’m giving you a chance to tell me.”

“Tell you what? I have nothing to tell you?”

That’s the moment you think you can physically see Jungkook’s heart break in his chest. His face falls dramatically as a frown takes over.

“Nothing at all?” he asks quietly and that’s when you know. He knows.

“What are you talking about, Jungkook?” you decide to say instead of the truth and his face twists into a look of disappointment.

“Were you ever going to tell me?” he looks down at his hands, “That you are apparently fucking moving? To japan?”

You feel yourself go pale.

“I—”

“I have known for a few weeks.” Jungkook admits, “I’ve been giving you time to tell me but it came up again tonight…and I just couldn’t wait anymore. But it seems like you were never going to tell me.” He grits out. “Were you?” His voice is pleading now. “y/n, were you just going to leave without saying anything?”

“What? No! Of course not!” you rush to say, “I just—”

“And you told literally everyone else except for me. Why am I the last to know? Shouldn’t I have been the first person you told? Didn’t you want to like, discuss it with me first? Or did you just make the decision immediately that you’re moving there without even considering me?” he sounds so pained, like speaking isn’t something he excels at.

“Jungkook, what do you mean discuss it with you? It’s my decision,”

He looks at you incredulously, his eyes wetting with tears.

“Of course its your decision at the end of the day but we should still have discussed it! We live together, we are planning a future together!” he cries out. “Or were you going to break up with me?”

“What?! Jungkook no—”

“Maybe that would be for the best, you can’t even tell me something like this—”

“Jungkook stop.” You feel your eyes gloss over, and a few tears slide down your face. “Don’t even talk about breaking up.”

“Why not?” He spits out, “You don’t even tell me shit or consider me in the big things in your life.”

“That’s not true…” you cry. “I was just scared. I thought you would be more supportive…”

“The problem isn’t Japan, y/n.” Jungkook states. “It’s the fact that you couldn’t even tell me about it or discuss it with me. We can make this work but you didn’t even give me a chance to try.” Tears prick his eyes as he speaks and you feel yourself go numb. You fucked up, you should have told him…but you don’t think either way would have been easy.

“I’m sleeping on the couch tonight.”

“Wait! No…” you grab for his hand and he exhales deeply.

“Let go of me, y/n.”

“No.” you say, your stubbornness taking over. “No.”

“Why not?” he asks, using his other hand to wipe at his face.

“I love you Jungkook, and I’m sorry.”

“I love you too, y/n. But I’m mad.” He says, tugging his hand away from you. “I need some space.”

~~~~~

“Space?” Jimin asks with a frown, “Don’t you leave in like a month? Isn’t space the last thing you guys should have?”

“You’d think so. But it’s been 5 days Jimin.” You take a swig of your beer and wince at the bitter flavor. “He’s pissed.”

“And he has every right to be, babe.” Jimin points out, “Full offense but you fucked up.”

“I know…” you tug on your hair, “Last time I gave him space he didn’t talk to me for three months…” you say, worry laced in your voice. “How do I know he won’t disappear on me again?” you choke out, “That would fucking crush me. I need to talk to him.”

“I know where he’s at tonight.” Jimin admits softly, “Should we go?”

You nod your head as Jimin stands up and grabs his keys, he walks towards the front door and glances over at you.

“Coming?”

“Yes.”

You and Jimin pull up to some bar downtown, it’s in a shadier part of town and you wonder how Jungkook ended up in a place like this. You guys get inside and see Jungkook and Taehyung sitting at the bar with 3 girls surrounding them. You can’t help the way your chest tightens at the sight. Jimin looks over at you and offers you a soft smile.

“They come here to talk to girls?” you bitterly question.

“Does it look like Jungkook is even sparing one of them a glance? He just came with Tae.” Jimin defends and you roll your eyes, you still can’t help but feel irritated.

Jungkook sits here at the bar with a whiskey, taking sip after sip. He looks tired to say the least, he looks plain tired. He doesn’t even notice you coming up to them, he just takes another sip of his drink.

“Why doesn’t your friend talk?” One of the girls slurs out, “I want to talk to him.”

“Oh him?” Taehyung points at Jungkook, “He has a….y/n.” his eyes widen when he spots you.

“A y/n?” the girl asks, clearly confused.

“Yes, a me.” You say harshly, “His girlfriend.”

Jungkook hears your voice and sighs out, setting his drink down. He slowly turns in his bar stool to face you, his tired face becoming even more tired.

“What are you doing here?” he slurs out. “I said I needed space.”

“So you two are broken up then?” the girl asks, “Don’t call yourself his girlfriend—”

“She is my girlfriend.” Jungkook rolls his eyes, “I just needed some time to think.”

“Oh? With all these girls around?” you spit out. “This what you do when you need space?” You place your hands on your hips. “Talk to other girls?”

Jungkook looks at you like you’ve lost your mind, he shakes his head with a frown,

“Does it look like I’m talking to them?” he asks you, incredulously.

“It’s been 5 days Jungkook, how much space do you need? Need another three months?” he hears your voice crack as you speak and he feels himself deflate.

“Baby, I wouldn’t—”

“You wouldn’t do that?” You ask, tears pricking the corners of your eyes, “You’ve done it before.”

Jungkook stands from his bar stool and walks towards you, grabs your hand and leads you outside.

“Let’s go home.” He says softly, “We can talk.”

Jungkook pulls out his phone and orders an uber. The ride gets here within 5 minutes…you two stay silent the whole ride over to your apartment.

Once the uber pulls up to your apartment, Jungkook takes your hand and interlocks your fingers as you two exit the vehicle.

The walk up to the apartment is only a couple minutes, those are silent as well. He keeps his tight grip on your hand though, never letting go.

“We’re home.” Jungkook whispers when you two get inside. “We should drink some water.”

You nod your head in agreeance, heading towards the kitchen. Jungkook follows behind you, he watches your figure as you stumble forward. He exhales a deep, deep breath and rolls his eyes. You’re a little more tipsy than he first thought and he thought he was sort of drunk.

“y/n…maybe we should just get some sleep…”

“No, you said we were going to talk!” You yell out over your shoulder as you reach for two glasses for water. You grab the pitcher from the fridge and pour you and Jungkook a glass. He comes up behind you, and takes a glass and begins drinking it back slowly.

“I still think we should sleep on it tonight—”

“Oh? You on the couch? And me alone in the room?” you spit out, “That’s how we’re going to ‘sleep’ on it?”

“Alright, you obviously want to talk—”

“Yeah, no fucking shit.”

“Hey…” Jungkook winces, “You don’t have to cuss at me.” He says softly, “Let’s just talk.”

“How long were you going to go without talking to me, hm?”

“Maybe as long as you didn’t tell me about Japan?” Jungkook snaps. He doesn’t mean to snap, of course. But he’s starting to become frustrated. You look at him with shocked eyes, feeling guilty all of the sudden. Maybe you deserved that.

“Jungkook I said I’m sorry—”

“Maybe sorry isn’t good enough.” He grits out, “You kept something so important from me, and didn’t even think it was something we should discuss together. As a couple…as a team.”

You breathe out, trying to calm yourself, the guilt beginning to eat you alive. As a team?

“I was serious…” he begins, his chest starting to heave. “We can make it work if you’re wanting to go abroad. But y/n you have to actually tell me so we can seriously discuss it.” His pained expression feels like a stab to the gut. “Because I won’t lie to you…this isn’t going to be easy for me. I’m so…” he chokes up, “I’m so attached to you.” He finishes with a hard gulp. His eyes stinging with tears, “I’m so in love with you that I don’t know how I can physically be without you.”

“Jungkook…” you stand here with your own tears threatening to fall. “You can be without—”

“No!” he cries out, “I don’t think so.”

“You’re stronger than you think, baby.” You walk closer to him and he falls forward into your arms, you catch him and try your best to hold him up as he starting sobbing into your neck.

“N-No.” he chokes on his sobs, “P-Please don’t-please don’t…don’t leave me.” He manages to cry out between harsh breaths. “I need you.”

Your heart cracks and breaks into maybe tens of millions of pieces, then those pieces manage to get even more crushed. So, this wasn’t just about you not telling him…this goes deeper than that.

“Baby, I’m not leaving you. I would never leave you. I’m yours forever.” You remind him softly, caressing his back as he continues to weep. “We would make plans to see each other every few months, remember?”

“You—you want to l-leave me.” He cries harder into your shoulder making you screw your eyes shut so your own tears don’t spill over.

“Baby that’s not—”

“Why am I never good enough to make the people I love stay?” he whispers, his quiet sobs taking a toll on his tired body. Your eyes go wide at his comment…this is much, much deeper than you thought.

“Jungkook…” you whisper his name over and over, trying to calm him. Your hand massages his scalp and he continues to cry.

You don’t know what to say at this point…you don’t think any words you can say will work…will comfort him. Only ‘okay I won’t go’ but you can’t…you can’t say that. Because it would be a lie. You’ve already made your decision and that’s that you are going. You’ve already accepted and made the arrangements to fly out, you’ve already been placed in an apartment, everything is already done. And yes, you feel bad. Awful actually but this is something you really want to do, for you. You want this, you need this. And you hope Jungkook will become more understanding. You know he will…he’s just drunk and emotional right now. But you can tell these are his real feelings.

“Do you still love me?” Jungkook chokes out and your face twists into a frown. This is it, you finally cry. His unsureness breaks you.

“What are you talking about?” you let a few tears stream down your face, “I love you more than anything, anyone.” You hug him tighter, your arms becoming sore from how hard you’re holding on to him.

“Then don’t leave.” He begs into your neck and you fall to your knees, bringing him down with you. You feel so fucking conflicted.

“Baby.” You cry out, “Please understand.”

Jungkook shakes as he cries, like he’s beginning to hyperventilate. He tries to speak but only harsh, quick breaths leave his open mouth. He brings his head back and he looks at you panicked, like he can’t breathe.

“Okay, calm down, calm down.” You whisper, rubbing his back. “Breathe, my love. Breathe.”

Jungkook shuts his eyes and shakes his head, he is struggling to find that breath. He continues to breathe out quickly, panic rising.

“In and out, in and out.” You continue to rub his back, “I’m here my love, I’m here.”

Jungkook tries his hardest to take a deep breath but it’s so hard, so fucking hard. He opens his eyes and they scream for you, they are wide and pleading and you feel so fucking heartbroken.

“Come on, in and out…that’s it Jungkook. In and out.” He follows your instructions, trying his best to breathe in and out as steadily as possible. He finally manages to calm down only for him to break down even more…he closes his eyes and starts crying harder this time.

“Jungkook.” Your voice cracks, “Please calm down.” You feel yourself becoming more and more anxious as well.

“I love you, I love you, I love you.” You whisper out over and over until he’s quieting down. You don’t stop though, you continue to repeat the words until his breathing sounds stable again. You don’t stop caressing his back either, you just continue to do what you can to comfort him.

“I know you do.” Jungkook finally whimpers out. “I know you do. I’m sorry.” He sniffles into your neck. “I’m sorry.” His voice breaks and you squeeze your eyes shut.

“Don’t be sorry baby, you have nothing to be sorry for.”

“No, I do.” He says a little more calmly. “I shouldn’t try to make you stay. If you want to go…then that’s what you want and I want to be nothing be supportive of what you want.”

“It’s not because I don’t want to be with you Jungkook. I wish you could just quit your job and come with me, to be honest. But I know I can’t ask you to do that.” You rub his back some more. Jungkook lifts himself off your shoulder and looks into your eyes.

“I know.” He sighs out, “I know. It’s just…it’s just for a year, right?” his big doe eyes bore into yours.

“Just a year babe.” You promise, “And I will see you every few months, and we will talk every day.”

Jungkook nods his head and tries to smile for you but it’s tense and strained and you frown again.

“It’ll be fun when you come to visit me…” you try to lighten the mood. “Imagine all the food we will try and all the sights we will see.”

“Yeah.” Jungkook tries smiling again, this time it’s a little more relaxed.

“And all the sex we will have in a different country?” you playfully wiggle your brows and Jungkook laughs while sniffling.

“I will kiss you in every famous spot in Japan.” Jungkook offers, “And we’re going to take a million pictures. And you will video chat with me every single day, right?”

“Every single day.” You repeat, “And you won’t be alone,” you remind him, “You have the guys, our friends. They’re just as much as family…”

“Yeah, I know.” He sniffles again, “I know.”

“I really am sorry for not telling you first…I was just so scared…I knew you would be disappointed…”

“Baby, I’m not like, entirely disappointed. I am also really happy for you. I’m just a bit sad for selfish reasons.” He admits. “I got so emotional…”

“You don’t think I would ever leave you, right? That you are 100% good enough. You are the love of my life, Jungkook.”

“I’m happy to hear you say that.” He sighs out. “I’m sorry for what I said…I was just…” he begins to get choked up again and you immediately caress his cheek.

“I know. You don’t have to explain…” you whisper. “We’re going to be okay.”

“More than okay.” He smiles at you with his brows pulled together. “Right?”

“Right.” You lean in and your lips meet his. You kiss him over a few times, and he lazily kisses you back.

“Let’s go to bed?” you begin to stand up, taking Jungkook’s heavy body with you.

“Okie.” He nods his head and follows you into the bedroom. “Take my clothes off for me.” He raises his arms above his head and waits patiently.

You chuckle at the sight but agree nonetheless. You walk to him and lift his shirt up, throwing it to the side. Then you are unbuckling his belt and unbuttoning his pants, dragging them down his legs. He lifts one leg at a time as you slip them off…you’re dropped to your knees as you take them off his body.

“While I’m down here…maybe I could…” you play with the elastic of his briefs and he can’t help but chuckle.

“We can just go to sleep…” he offers shyly but you can see the outline of his length begin to twitch.

“I just want you to feel good…” you begin pulling the briefs down slowly, his half hard cock making an appearance.

“You always make me feel good.” He admits between a rough breath.

“Good.”

You grab onto his thick thighs and he stumbles backward until he’s gripping the desk in your room, he braces himself, staring down at you with soft eyes.

“Wanna make my baby feel so good.” You say, inching your face closer to his growing member. You haven’t even touched him yet and his cock is twitching uncontrollably. You watch as it gets harder and harder.

“Then make me feel good.” He breathes out, the desperation in his voice doesn’t go unnoticed by you.

You finally walk your fingers up his thigh until you’re softly stroking his dick. Your fingers lightly gliding up his growing length. He softly moans out, but he isn’t really, truly whining until you grip his cock and squeeze his head lightly.

“Fuck.” He sighs out, his hands going to your hair. “Love your touch, baby.”

“How about my mouth? Do you love that too?” you ask, as your face gets closer and closer until he is feeling your warm breaths fan over his cock.

“Please.” He begs cutely, “Need you.”

You bring his cock to your lips, you circle his cock over your mouth, your chin, your nose, all over your face. He groans at the view you are giving him, his tip beginning to leak precum. You dart your tongue out to lick him clean and he throws his head back.

“Please.” He begs again and you chuckle darkly.

“So needy.” You say , “Baby so needy.” You finally take his cock in your mouth, you wrap your pretty lips over the head and lightly suck making his eyes roll to the back of his head. He grips your hair tighter as you take him further into your mouth. He’s losing it. Your mouth feels like heaven, the way you lightly suck, the way your tongue drags up and down his length and swirls around the head of his dick, the way you take him further, so deep that he’s hitting the back of your throat.

You begin to bob your head up and down as you start to allow him to access all his pleasure. He groans loudly as you pick up your pace, his hands falling back down to his sides as he finds the desk again and he holds on tightly.

You take him deeper, causing you to choke on his cock and he smirks down at you.

“Having trouble there?” he asks as you continue to gag on his throbbing length, you just moan in response, the vibrations causing him to screw his eyes shut and cry out in pleasure.

You continue to suck on him for who knows how long, your jaw starting to become sore but his whines are enough for you to keep going. Your eyes wet with tears and he is in awe of the sight you allow him.

“I want to come…” he pants out, “But inside you.” He admits between harsh breaths, “But I want to enjoy this for a few more minutes…please.” He begs and you nod your head, you take your mouth off his cock and use your hand to stroke him over and over. You look up at him with your big eyes and he melts. He wants to come so bad, just not like this.

You open your mouth wide and stick your tongue out, then you take his cock and slap it over the flat of your tongue and he basically fucking loses it. You then swallow him whole again, sucking on his dick so deliciously.

“Okay, okay…” Jungkook pants out, “Let me fuck you.” He’s lifting you up by the arms and spinning your body to be up against the desk. He shoves everything to the side and on to the floor as he goes in between your legs.

“Up.” He says, helping you sit on the edge of the desk. His hands scramble to your shorts, he’s quick to unbutton them and drag the zipper down, taking them off you. Leaving you in your shirt and panties. Then he’s ripping off your shirt and bra.

“Let’s see how wet you are first.” He snickers to himself with dark eyes. His fingers rub the outside of your panties and finds them to be very damp.

“Good girl.” He pushes your panties to the side and pushes two fingers inside you immediately causing you to gasp out.

“Let me stretch you a little first.” He moves his fingers inside you as you nod your head frantically in approval. “Good girl.” He repeats and you roll your eyes to the back of your head as he begins to scissor his fingers. You wish he would keep his fingers inside you but much to your dismay he’s pulling them out and licking them clean.

“Mm.” he sucks on his fingers and winks at you. “Love this taste. My favorite flavor.” He whispers to you and you blush.

“Gonna fuck you right here, okay?”

“Please Jungkook. Need your cock so bad.”

Jungkook smirks at you before his smile turns soft and he looks at you with eyes full of adoration.

“Need me?”

“Always need you.”

Jungkook nods his head slowly as he grabs a hold of his length, he gets closer to you, his cock brushing against your clit and you close your eyes in pleasure. He rubs his cock over your clit over and over until you’re a moaning mess. He smiles at you again before lining his cock up to your entrance and slowly, very slowly pushes in. Good lord, his cock is entering you so fucking beautifully, the way he brushes against every special spot inside your tight pussy has you arching your back in pleasure.

Jungkook releases a long, harsh breath as he bottoms out, he stays still for a few moments before he’s sliding in and out of you. His thrusts are intentional, every single one has a purpose. They’re hard, fast and rough. You claw at his back, leaving long lines of pink and red down his back which only encourages him to fuck you harder. One of your hands trail up his body until you’re in his hair, you pull on the strands as your wrap your legs around his tiny waist, your heels digging into his lower back.

Jungkook lifts you from the desk and lightly slams your bodies into the wall next to the door as he continues to fuck into you. You toss your head to the side, giving Jungkook access to your neck, which he gladly accepts the invitation. He kisses you throat, and sucks into your skin. You whine at how good everything feels. Your bodies roll over the wall until you’re at the entrance of the door and Jungkook carries you over to the hallway, fucking you up against that wall as well as you scream out his name.

“Gonna fuck you on every surface of this apartment.” Jungkook promises you. “So you have a memory of a new spot every time you think of this apartment you will be reminded of how I fucked you.” Your legs begin to sliding down over his ass, and he uses his strong arms to bump you up higher, his cock never leaving your pussy.

He walks you over to the couch and lays you down on it, you’re flat against the sofa as he stays standing, fucking into you faster and harder. His cock is throbbing and aching for release but he endures it, his moans filling the room.

You try your hardest to keep your orgasm at bay, but it’s becoming so difficult as his dick is reaching that spot deep within you that has your body going tense. You try so hard you really do but before you can even warn him you feel your body electrifying with intensity as your orgasm washes over you like a huge wave of warm water. You scream, you cry, you moan out in pleasure. But Jungkook doesn’t stop, he slows down though, giving you a moment to relax.

“This isn’t over.” He warns. “I still have to fuck you from behind, still need your fucking gorgeous ass.” He’s lifting your weak body up and momentarily taking his cock out of you to walk you to the kitchen, his hands make their way into your hair and he guides you to bend over the counter. It’s cold against your breasts and you shiver.

“Spread your cheeks for me baby, give me that view.”

You are still out of breath from your orgasm but you listen to him, you reach behind you and spread your ass apart to show him your used pussy.

“Fucking beautiful. So wet.” He groans. “One of these days you’re going to let me fuck this ass aren’t you?”

Your eyes widen but you nod your head frantically, already loving the idea.

“Words baby.”

“Yes.” You moan out as you feel his cock being shoved back inside you, you choke on air as you feel him start thrusting again. You really fucking gasp when you feel his hand come down on your ass hard.

“Love this ass. So fucking much.” He says, panting. “Can’t wait to stick my cock in it and fuck you.” His words go straight to your pussy. God, you don’t want to come again this quickly but his cock feels so god damn good.

“Tell me you want me to fuck this ass.” He grunts.

“I want you to fuck me in the ass.”

“Next time, baby.” He promises, his thrusts still fucking you with so much purpose. He pulls you by the hair causing you to arch your back even more and he falls in love with this view. He loves your boobs, but he’s definitely an ass man. He will argue he loves both but the way your ass is pushed into his crotch right now…he could honestly lose his mind.

He lifts you up again, by the hair—mostly gently. And he now has your body pushed up against the fridge, your face being smooshed into the cold silver box. Your fingers dragging leaving prints down the fridge as he lifts one of your legs to fuck you at a better angle. You cry out, he’s hitting that spot again and you feel yourself losing all composure.

“I’m gonna come again Jungkook.” You warn him this time between your rough breaths.

“I’ll come with you. But we aren’t done.” He starts thrusting faster, the sound of his skin slapping your skin is honestly pushing you further into your orgasm. You feel the warmth travel through your whole body and you feel the band fucking snap. God, you are coming so hard, creaming around his cock as he slows down his thrusts to come into you, his breathing is so heavy as he starts to come. When he stills his hips he’s releasing a loud, low, guttural moan and you could come again just from the sound.

Jungkook starts whining uncontrollably as he starts to move his hips again, slowly grinding into yours and you wince at the pain, the overstimulation. He cries out, it’s too much for him as well but he doesn’t stop.

“Wanna keep fucking you.” He screws his eyes shut, thrusting into you slowly and carefully. He brings your body closer to his, your back flush against his chest and he walks you over to the breakfast table. He leaves your body, quickly takes his cock out of you and sits down on the chair and orders you to sit in his lap. He gestures towards his cock and smirks.

“Sit.”

“Jungkook…” your eyes slightly wet, “I can’t”

“You can and you will.”

You crawl into his lap and hover over his aching cock, he looks up at you and whimpers.

“hurry.”

You slowly sink down onto his length, the feeling so fucking euphoric. He slams his eyes shut and nods his head.

“Ride me.” He softly commands. You lift yourself up and lower back down again, this angle has you seeing fucking stars. You start to ride his cock a little faster now, slamming down on his hips and he grips your hips helping you rise and sink down on his cock.

“Fuck I am gonna come again.” He says, meeting your thrusts half way. He lifts his hips and fucks you from beneath you. He’s going feral now, losing all control. His cock is so hard, so needy, aching so badly for you, for release. You lean down and start kissing him, nibbling on his lips, nibbling on his jaw, nibbling on his neck. He cries out and thrusts into you so harshly now, you feel your high building and building. You’re going to come soon, but then you’re completely overwhelmed when you feel Jungkook’s fingers on your sensitive bundle of nerves. You scream in pleasure, yelling out his name as he fucks you. The chair threatens to screech backwards as you two fuck so roughly on it.

“I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come.” He yells out, his hot seed shooting inside you as he halts his movements. His fingers still rub your clit quickly and you are pushed over the fucking edge—again. You cry as you come. You grit your teeth as this powerful orgasm hits you. You’re so overwhelmed as your whole body shakes.

“Oh fuuuuuuuck.” You yell out and Jungkook grins at the ceiling as he tries to catch his breath.

“Holy fuck.” You pant out, “Mother of god.”

“Good?” he breathes out heavily, stroking the skin on your cheek. “felt good?”

“It was so fucking good Jungkook.” You whine, your body going week as you collapse on top of him. He’s just as tired as you are but finds the strength to lift you up and carry you to the bedroom.

He gently lays you on the edge of the bed and spreads your legs apart. He watches with focused eyes as his cum and your cum spills out of your used hole. He licks his lips and buries his head between your legs, you immediately release a high pitched moan when you feel his tongue cleaning you up.

“Jungkook I can’t.”

He only grunts as he swallows down both of your cum, you roll your eyes so far back into your head that all that is seen is the whites of your eyes.

“So good.” He whispers, lifting himself up and crawling over your body, his lips finding yours in a slow, tender kiss. You open your mouth as you moan, and he takes advantage and slips his tongue in. You can taste yourself on his tongue and you moan in satisfaction.

“We really need to shower. We’re so sweaty.” You laugh, kissing his shoulder.

“Then let’s go.” He says in your ear and you groan, not able to move.

“I can’t. I’m so fucking tired. You exhausted me.”

Jungkook looks down at you with a cocky grin. He lifts the duvet up and helps you slide underneath, then he is joining you.

“We can shower in the morning, let’s sleep.” He offers you and you smile in approval.

“Even though we’re so gross?” you ask, yawning.

“I’ll love you no matter how gross you are.”

~~~~~~

Waking up to Jungkook’s head buried between your legs has got to be one of your very favorite things. He starts with kissing up your legs, he starts at your ankles, works his way up your calves then finally he’s at your inner thighs. Kissing, nibbling on the soft skin and you mewl at the contact.

“Jungkook…I’m so sore.” You admit shyly, and he looks up at you with big, doe eyes.

“Just my tongue then.” He assures you, as his lips grow closer and closer to your pussy. You throw your head back on the pillow and wait in agony for his tongue to finally find your clit. He takes his time though…he continues to kiss your inner thighs, and caress your skin lovingly.

“I love you.” He whispers.

“I love you t—”

His tongue licks a hard, long strip over your pussy…and when he finds your clit he’s lightly sucking on it causing you to moan out. He licks it over and over, his face getting so wet with your juices and his spit. He eats you out messily, his nose bumping your clit as he licks you, then he travels up until he’s flicking his tongue over your clit quickly. It doesn’t take much for you, you hate to admit, but you feel the rise of your high. The tension growing and growing until its fucking snapping. You come all over his tongue and he smiles into your pussy, letting you ride out your high. He squeezes your thighs with his hands and leans back and watches as you have your eyes closed, and your lips apart. You quietly cry out, your face twisted in pleasure.

“That was fast.” He teases you. “Might be the fastest you’ve ever came.”

“I think I’m still sensitive from last night…” you open your eyes and stare up at him, “You were so amazing.” You tell him breathlessly.

“Me? Baby you’re the one who did amazing. Such a good girl.” He cleans his face with the back of his hand and makes his way next to you on the bed.

“I’m sorry for last night.” He sighs out, “I was…”

“It’s okay baby.”

“It’s not okay. I’m not selfish, I promise. I want you to follow your dreams, and I want to be as supportive as I can be.”

“I know.” You say softly. “You did have me worried there for a moment though…” you admit, your eyes sliding to the side. “I don’t want you to feel like I’m abandoning you, Jungkook.”

“I know…Fuck, I’m so sorry. I don’t want you to feel responsible for me.” He curses under his breath, “I think this year will be good for both of us.” He tries admitting. “I clearly have abandonment issues.” He tries laughing and you frown. “I think…I have to learn to be my myself too.”

“But Jungkook you won’t be alone, you have our friends.”

“I just mean…be without you.”

“Oh.”

“But you’ll still talk to me every day.” You try to smile but tears fill up your eyes. “We’re going to be a successful long distance relationship story.”

“Yeah,” he smiles for you and you believe in it, “We will be.”

~~~~~~

“So fucking does solve all problems.” Jimin comments playfully, taking a sip of his wine. You hit his shoulder with your fist and smile slyly.

“Something like that.”

“I’m glad you guys worked it out though…” Jimin looks at you more seriously, “I hope you learned your lesson not to keep things from him again.”

“Yes dad.” You roll your eyes. “I learned, I learned.” You throw your hands up in defeat.

“Ew, save the daddy talk for Jungkook.”

You quirk a brow at him, “I don’t call Jungkook daddy.” You laugh. “But I might if he asked me to.”

Jimin’s face twists into a look of amusement. He doesn’t even look disgusted, just proud. Classic Jimin.

“So, are you all packed?”

“Getting there.”

“You guys will be fine, you know?” Jimin looks at you with a soft, assuring smile.

“Trust me, I know.”

#bts #bts fanfic #bts smut #bts angst #bts fluff #jeon jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook fic #jungkook smut #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook drabble #always you drabbles

424 notes · View notes

keilemlucent · 3 years

Text

prey and promises

(NSFW)

hawks | takami keigo x reader

word count: ~2.1k

keigo is a people pleaser at heart, and you’re his person. you want to try some new things in the bedroom. you do the math.

warnings: light restraints, light predator/prey (ish), praise kink, service dom keigo

a/n: people pleasing keigo is my kink, service dom keigo is my kink, here’s some pwp. this was originally my drabble for the exchange, but it got a wee bit long so it’s its own bastard now. enjoy some h word and happy valentine’s day loves!!!! 💗💗💗

“That too tight, dove?”

No, and honestly? Not tight enough.

The rope binding on your wrists was a bit too loose, a bit unpracticed, but a good effort despite all of that. Keigo really tried his best for you, and you could tell.

The bedroom was dim, for the sake of romance, suspense, or both. Only the flicker of a few perfectly placed jar and pillar candles lit the room, allowing Keigo’s wings to cast large, beautiful shadows across the room.

You watched, mesmerized by just his shadow.

That wasn’t mentioning the man who was straddling your hips, chest level with your face as he futzed with your bound wrists.

He worried to himself, nervously speaking just above breathing.

Who would’ve fucking thought, that number two, pro hero ‘Hawks’ was a goddamn sweetheart in bed?

He was a notorious playboy (wrong, but tabloids work harder than sinners on their knees), and unabashed flirt (true, but before you, he’d always been shit at the follow-through). Yet, he’d been worrying about the state of your bound arms for what had to be at least ten minutes.

As much as you appreciated the care, you were practically dripping onto the bed from all of the teasings he’d led up with (kissing, sucking, torturing your poor nipples until they were hard, flushed, and bitten.) It had been too long since you’d had the proper time to spoil each other, and Keigo was exploiting the opportunity for all it was worth.

Some time ago, he must’ve had the rope shipped to your shared apartment without you knowing. It wasn’t too thick, not too rough, just perfectly oiled and deep scarlet. It was worn by the time he’d brought it out to you that night, a surprise for you, but not him. He’d obviously been practicing knots in the little spare time he had.

It showed how much he cared, truly.

You’d mentioned, offhand, a month or two ago over a shared bottle of wine that you’d like to ‘spice things up’ in the bedroom when you had the chance to. Keigo had been intrigued, dug in a little more, and got you blushing and revealing a good handful of kinks.

And he delivered, the best he could anyway, with the experience and research he’d been able to put together.

“Not too tight at all,” You tug on the restraints, wiggling a bit below him, antsy and needy already. “Now get down here, or I’m gonna leave hickeys in some very visible places.”

Keigo ‘ooo’ed and flopped to rest his chest against yours, the chill of the barbels through his nipples making you shiver. He gives you a pleased smile, eyes sharp and half-lidded all at the same time, “Is that a threat or a promise?”

“Both, if you keep talking and not touching,” You really tried to keep your tone from getting whiney. Keigo was content, always content, to be a tease, and without your hands, it was even easier to fall to mush beneath him.

“Needy,” Keigo clicked his tongue, snapping the elastic of the garter over your thighs. With his weight over your hips, and your arms high and held to the headboard, there wasn’t much you could do other than writhe a bit and plead with your eyes.

“If you were in my position, you’d be the same way,” you hissed.

“Maybe,” He mussed, lips trailing over the skin of your throat.

Keigo stole any retort and the breath from your lungs as he chomped down on your neck (really, he bit down) and suck at the skin. The bruise he was leaving began to ache almost immediately, teeth kneading away even as you arched and gasped beneath him.

You bucked your hips, begging silently for just a bit more—

And Keigo growled against your pulse. His hands gripping the fat above your waist and pressing you into the mattress with his body weight.

His wings puffed up and outstretched before your eyes as your breaths became more labored with each moment.

He’s really fucking turned on.

Keigo pulled back to sit over your hips, pupils wide and having eaten the amber of his eyes long again.

You tried to grind up into him, desperate for just something—

And Keigo pressed you to the bed again, wings widening to cover the two of you as a low rumble broke from his throat. You swallowed dry and your lips fell open as you watched Keigo, somewhat in awe and very horny.

“Here’s how tonight’s gonna work,” Keigo sounded way too pleased that you’d finally stilled. “You’re gonna be the good girl I know you are and let me decide how and when you get to feel good. You can do that, can’t you?”

You didn’t have a lot of fight left in you, not with the way he was looking at you, not with the way his hands were stretching and squeezing over your curves.

The small part of your brain that was still functioning recalled your tipsy conversation from months before—

...

“I dunno,” You giggled, leaning on Keigo’s side. “I just think I’d be nice to feel a little bit smaller, and weaker. In like a hot way.”

“... Small and weak is hot to you?” Keigo’s word only slurred slightly.

“Nah, not like that!” You pushed against his shoulder, hiding your bashful grin in his bicep. “Like... Use me a bit, you know? However you want to fuck me up, fuck me up.”

...

Apparently, Keigo had taken your request to heart. Did some serious ruminating. And was planning on delivering.

“I said,” His wings half-flapped (oh, you were fucked)— “‘You can do that, can’t you?’”

He ran the tips of his nails (talons) over your ribs, the fucking bastard.

The nail in the coffin was the way how he dragged them up and up. Over the curves of your sides, your tits, heaving chest, and collar bones to plant either hand on the side of your head.

And Keigo leaned over you, naked and leaking, wings extended high with a fucking delicious and terrifying gleam filling his eye.

The sharp talon on his thumb ran over your cheek, and your stomach dropped. You felt your cunt clench around nothing as you pulled at the restraints.

“Yes, y-yes, yes!” You sputtered, lost in the pitch of Keigo’s pupils. “I can do that, it, whatever you want, please.”

Keigo visibly shuddered when you begged, but you hardly noticed. You were far more focused on how he shifted a knee between your parted legs, nudging his own flush with your bare cunt.

“Then fuck yourself on my thigh.”

Your hips moved without thought, the muscles and flesh on your tummy flexing to get just a morsel of him.

“Oh, I think I like this,” His breath felt so fucking hot against your ear, you swore you were scalded. “You’re just so fucking gorgeous when you doing just what I want you to.”

A strained, little sound dribbles from your lips as you nod, ‘yes, yes, I’m sure I look nice but I need more’, turning your head to drag your lips over his cheekbone.

His feathers ruffled, wings fluttering and flexing, the primaries scraping the ceiling but neither of you had a mind to care. Keigo had never really had this energy before, and you were a fucking glutton for it. You needed more, more of him and whatever he was willing to give.

You were begging for it without even thinking about it.

Keigo sat back on his heels, chest and cheeks flushed enough to match his wings.

He was so fucking pretty.

You took him all in, lips parting and just a bit of drool spilling from the corner of your mouth. Just a little bit.

All the while, you kept grinding on his thigh, soaking Keigo in slick that he oh so fucking sinfully gathered up on two fingers that he then sucked clean.

Bastard, bastard—

And impatient bastard.

“Such a good little dove,” Keigo purred, palming his cock with his saliva-soaked hand. “My good little dove. I’m sure you want something to fill you up, don’t you? Tell me. Use that mouth of yours.”

And you spewed.

You slurred about how hot Keigo was like this, how much you needed his cock, because, I don’t know, for fuck’s sake, without it you might as well die. You licked your chapped lips as he grinned above you, more smug than you’d ever seen him.

And thank fucking god, he threw your legs over his shoulders and fucked into you clean with one, single motion.

You shrieked, stretched and stuffed without a moment to adjust but you didn’t fucking care. The burn was grounding, the heat spreading from your cunt to the tips of your toes and fingers as you tugged at the restraints, begging for more until your voice went hoarse.

And, as... predatory as Keigo was presenting himself, large and sharp and intimidating, he was ultimately still your dutiful lover who wanted nothing more than to have you ruined for anyone else on his thick, pretty cock.

“FUCK!” Your voice broke high as you took Keigo’s cock, eyes rolling white as he moved, so fast— “K-Keigo!”

The tempo he set was something worse than brutal. It tore the breath from your lung with each slam of his hips. Each slap of skin on skin had a high moan ripping from your throat in time with the creek of the headboard. The way his cock hit everything so perfectly was overwhelming, but all the same you wanted to drown in it, take it between your ribs and absorb and it and be—

“Whose are you?”

His, Keigo’s, his, his, HIS—

“Y-Yours, yours, YOURS!”

Your vision sparked on the edges as you came, spin curling off the bed, back blown to high hell but you didn’t fucking care. All you could focus on was the pleasure of it all and the way Keigo didn’t slow—

The bastard sped up.

You sputtered something, a weak ‘too much!’, but with no safeword (no need to use it, you felt more alive on his cock than you had in a long time), Keigo kept up his pace, sweat pouring down his temples and feathers twitching blurrily in your vision.

A hand slipped between your bodies, “Y-You’re so perfect, baby, best f-fucking girl in the world for me.”

“Y-you’re best girl?” Your voice broke into a whine as pummeled that knot of nerves, your gut overheating in the best way—

“Yes, fuck, my best girl,” Keigo took only a moment of pause, catching his breath before continuing at a pace and depth you didn’t think you could take but you were— “My b-best, perfect, girl. You’re fucked for me, aren’t you?”

You nodded dumbly, watching Keigo’s bow forward with the curve of his spine.

“Good, good,” Keigo’s voice was just as rough as yours, weak for you and your spent, perfect body and self. “You take me so well, gonna take all of me so, so—”

The finger rolling your clit sped up, and heat shot through you, cunt clenching and sending the two of your tumbling with each other.

“GOOD!”

Keigo’s hips finally stuttered, slamming into yours once, twice, and third time before he spills into you, stuffing you so full you swear you can feel it in your tummy.

You were cresting at the same time, swimming in the sensation of him, slick soaking your thighs as Keigo gave a few shallow thrusts, stuffing you.

And you came down together.

You were only half lucid as Keigo pulled out, laying thick praise on you with words and little kisses to your undoubtedly sore legs. A feather or two loosened the ties around your wrists, so your arms could drop limply to your sides. The rope left the prettiest indentations that you made a not to ogle at when you were more present.

Keigo flopped beside you in the sheets, greedy hands pulling you close to mingle in sweat, sound and breath.

“So, how was I?” Keigo asked.

Someone less practiced in knowing him would assume his tone sounded over-confident, the lazy smirk he was wearing only adding to his incredible acting.

But you could tell from the tension still bound up in his wings, and the little crinkles between his brows, and the thick swallow he gives you, that he is indeed asking you, genuinely, ‘how did I do?’.

You replied with a deep breath, fumbling a bit to grab his hips, fingers dancing up his spin to rest the roots of his wings between your spread fingers.

“You did so good, Kei’, please fuck me like that again sometime—” It would probably be smart to let your very blown out back heal, but—

Keigo kissed you, hard and hot with a hand pulling your jaw just right.

“‘Sometime’?” Keigo murmured, nibbling your bottom lip, the fucking whore. “Why not now?”

You had no reason to refuse, so why not?

#salem writes #hawks x reader #hawks #takami keigo x reader #takami keigo #mha x reader #hawks smut #idk how to tag anymore #anyways enjoy uwu

940 notes · View notes

rebrandedbard · 3 years

Note

If you’re still doing the sentence prompts I’d love to see either 46 or 9 with geraskier

Ooo nice choices! Since there were two requests for number 9, I’ll answer it on this one so that anon and @itiswhatis-andwhatitisisgay both get the alert. Keep a sharp eye, anon! I’ll do 46 for you next!

9. “Don’t you ever do that again!”

WC: 1371

Jaskier’s Champion

Added a younger Ciri into the mix because my immediate thought was that the phrase sounded like an upset toddler crying. Decided Ciri was going to be Jaskier’s little bitty champion and come to defend him from her mean dad.

“It isn’t funny!” Ciri wailed, stomping her little foot in the snow. “It isn’t funny!” she repeated, pushing at Geralt’s legs as if her tiny arms had enough strength to move him. Her face was boiling red and streaked with tears, a bit of snot dribbling from her nose. Geralt tried to bend down to wipe it away, but she batted at his hands, crying out in rage, “No, no no!”

“But Ciri—”

“Go a-way!” she screeched. “It isn’t funny!”

When he tried reaching for her again, she picked up a handful of powdery snow and threw it at him. “Go! Right now!”

Jaskier put his hands on her shoulders. “Now, Ciri,” he entreated. “It was only a little prank, and Geralt apologized already. Nobody was hurt. It was only a bit of fun—nothing but a playful tease. Perfectly harmless.”

“No-o-o-o!” she cried once more, long and piercing. “We don’t want you!”

Geralt winced, looking at Jaskier with a desperate plea in his eyes.

Jaskier shrugged over the top of the hysteric tyke’s head. “She may be no more than a baby, but she has the sense of justice of a morally-staunch old woman.”

He sneezed, startling Ciri, who turned to Geralt with a glare of pure scorn.

“Bless him,” she demanded.

Geralt held his handkerchief out to Jaskier instead. “Bless you,” he sighed obediently.

Ciri reached up on her tip-toes and snatched the handkerchief away, tossing it back at him. She pulled a little hanky of her own from her cloak and handed it to Jaskier in its place. Then, with a sniff, she turned and started pushing Jaskier toward the stables. “Let’s go,” she said, picking up her little knapsack. She struggled, dragging Jaskier’s pack once more through the snow. She made it another two feet from the inn door before she had to stop and catch her breath.

“Cirilla, little cub, I really don’t think this is necessary for a simple—”

“It is nec-ess-ar-y!” she insisted. “He pushed you. He pushed you in and you got sick.”

They’d had a little play-fight in the snow four days ago, happy as a pack of puppies set loose to romp. Towards the end, Geralt had crept up behind Jaskier and pushed him into a snowbank, unaware of the duck pond that lay hidden beneath. Jaskier had come sputtering to the surface, soaked through, and it was a half hour’s walk back to the inn. He’d caught a chill before they could get him warmed up, and for three days after, he’d been resigned to his bed.

Ciri had been frightened, asking over and over if Jaskier was going to die—a question that, when first asked, had doubled Geralt over in laughter. Her little green eyes had been so huge and sincere. He just couldn’t help himself. Ciri hadn’t let him come near Jaskier since.

“It isn’t funny,” she mumbled again, as if she could see the memory playing over in Geralt’s mind. And perhaps she could. She had a touch of magic in her.

“It isn’t funny,” Geralt agreed. He knelt down to eye-level to speak with her. “And I’m sorry I laughed. I would be very sad if anything should happen to Jaskier.”

Jaskier smiled at that, slightly smug. Oh would you now? he seemed to say.

Geralt glanced up at him with a look that told him to behave, then reached out to pick up Jaskier’s wet bag. She grunted at him, but he ignored her, heading towards the stables. He began to strap on Roach’s saddle and tied Jaskier’s bag to the side, speaking slowly as he did.

“So you’ve decided to leave me behind. Where are you going?”

“Not your business,” Ciri huffed, refusing to look at him.

Geralt hummed. He caught an anxious look from Jaskier, but simply reached out and took his lute case, tying it to the saddle next. “Your uncles will be waiting for you at home; they promised you plenty of presents for Yule this year. But I’ll be there too. Perhaps you’d rather go to Oxenfurt with Jaskier. There would be lots of parties in store for you, and the groundskeeper’s dog will be having her litter soon. Maybe they’ll give you a pup.”

Ciri frowned as Geralt took her knapsack and tied it with the rest. She hesitated a moment, then held her head up and said, “Oxfurt.”

“Then you’ll need coin for your travels.” He pulled a pouch from his belt and put it in her hands. “Here. This ought to be enough to put you up in a cozy room on the way. Make sure you don’t walk too much. Jaskier still needs his rest. And feed him lots of soup, understand?”

Ciri looked between Geralt and the pouch. She turned to look up at Jaskier, too confused to remember her temper. When she turned back to Geralt, he had Roach’s reins in hand.

Geralt looked down at her and asked, “Can I come close enough to bid Jaskier goodbye?”

Ciri gripped the little purse tight in her hands. She looked between the two of them, the hint of a pout beginning to form on her lips. Her face was becoming red again as if she were trying very hard to hold something in.

So Geralt leaned over her head and gave Jaskier a kiss. Jaskier blinked in surprise as Geralt gave his face a cheeky pat, then Geralt was off, leaving Roach’s reins in his shocked hands. “Goodbye!” he called, pack slung over his shoulder. “Take good care of Jaskier for me, Ciri.”

Then Ciri was crying, chasing after him with a heartbroken wail.

“Don’t go!” she sobbed, latching onto his leg.

Geralt tried to suppress a smile, hiking up his burdened leg to take one last performative step. “You don’t want me,” he said.

“No!” she cried again, hugging his leg even tighter as the tears rolled down her face.

“You do want me?”

“No-o-o-o-ho-ho-o-oh!”

Despite her unintelligible responses, Geralt turned and dropped his bag, sitting on the frozen ground. The moment he was within reach, Ciri threw herself at him. She beat his chest with her tiny fists, then wrapped her arms around his neck, crying into his shoulder. He hugged her, wrapping her in his cloak to keep warm.

“Don’t you ever do that again!” she shouted.

Geralt nodded. He pet her hair, shushing her gently. “I promise.”

“No leaving! Ever!”

“What,” Jaskier asked, “was that all about?”

He stood towering over Geralt with his hands on his hips. His face was flushed, far too flushed to blame on the cold, and he was looking at Geralt with his sternest no-nonsense expression.

Geralt smiled innocently. “I was doing as I was told. Seemed to work out well.”

“Not that,” Jaskier said. “The whole—!” He gestured a circle around his face, then flicked his hands at Geralt, eyes landing on his lips. He cleared his throat and looked away, flapping his hand in an empty motion. “That.”

“The kiss?” Geralt asked.

Jaskier huffed. “Yes, that.”

“Hm.”

“Oh-ho-ho, no! Don’t you ‘hm’ me! We are talking about this one, Geralt.”

Geralt chuckled, offering Ciri his handkerchief. “Ciri doesn’t like when you’re sick,” he said.

“And?”

“And I don’t like seeing you sick either.”

“But what has that got to do with—”

Ciri wiped her eyes and tugged at Geralt’s cloak. “Did you kiss him better?” she asked.

“Yes, princess,” Geralt replied. “He’s all better now.”

“Then you can stay.”

Geralt picked Ciri up and put her in Roach’s saddle as the realization crept over Jaskier. He turned to take the reins back once more, winking at Jaskier. “Unless you think he needs another kiss, Ciri,” he added casually.

Jaskier scrambled after them, eyes lighting up with excitement. “I need a—!”

“I need a kiss better,” she said, holding out her hands.

Geralt craned up and kissed her cheek before instructing her to hold on tight to the saddle horn. They were only two days away from Kaer Morhen. There would be plenty of time to kiss it all better once Ciri was in the care of Uncle Eskel and Uncle Lambert. They had all winter.

Send me a drabble prompt!

#my fic #drabbles #witcher #the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #cirilla fiona elen riannon #young!ciri #jaskier's champion fic #angst and fluff and angst and fluff just back and forth #y'all know the drill by now #ask game

340 notes · View notes

pseudofaux · 3 years

Note

Oh boy. You’re writing for JJK? *cracks knuckles*. WELL! I would like to humbly request a dribble drabble of Sukuna aka Demon Daddy. I have a corruption kink need. Reader keeps pushing Itadori’s buttons to get Sukuna to come out. Sukuna can be nasty to me, it’s fine. Call me names. Idc, I would do so many things to get into his domain expansion and I’m not embarrassed to say so. Or maybe I am? Gambere gambere, Pseu.

YESSSSSSS!!!!!!!! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!! Thank you for this.

Definitely some nastiness and not-nice name calling ahead, readers. This got, uh, A LITTLE OUTTA HAND, and is fucky in some dark ways. Under the cut is a story that includes corruption kink, degradation, DVP (bless you, demonic peens), impreg kink (her), knotting (...!), and generally is violent (sought after, but undeniably violent), hey-I’m-pretty-sure-she’s-corrupted-too sex. There is no actual gore, but this is not a soft story. I tried to tightrope walk Sukuna being threatening and mean without actually biting her in half like he so easily could. Because this request asked for reader to be messing with Itadori to bring Sukuna out, that’s here, too, and she has a couple indirect but creepy thoughts about it. If any of that is not something you want to read, this is not for you, and that is a-okay. In that case, please protect yourself and do not read it. For everyone else, especially my fellow Sukuna lovers/worshippers... please buckle up for this 6k long dribble drabble.

Special thanks to @pickle-scribbles and her super brain for helping me shape this when I got stuck, and to my fellow sprinters in the Beni group for helping me get it done. THANK YOU!

(Requests are closed, readers, but there are a lot still to be filled in June! Feel free to follow along or just check in and enjoy as many as you like. A masterlist will go up when they are all completed.)

It was the bite that did it. You had teased, pinched, and tickled an increasingly nervous Itadori, but decided to skip any sort of kissing. You didn’t want to kiss him. So it was the (very gentle!) bite of the juncture of his neck and shoulder that brought Sukuna out, finally. You could feel the way the muscles bulged upwards into your bite, making your smile widen from the force of the change from vessel to curse-king. The room went dim before your eyes closed, and you could tell the exact moment when he smelled different, like the ugly, powerful afterscent of peppercorns vaporized by lightning. It was heaven to take in that first deep breath of him through your nostrils as you kissed the muscle below your mouth, already longing to be completely full of him.

“What,” Sukuna says flatly, a hand fisting the hair at the back of your head to pull you away like a kitten, “Do you think you are doing?”

“Bringing you out,” you admit easily. “I missed you.”

He holds you up effortlessly, chin on one hand and the others crossed lazily in his lap at the end of those powerful curse-marked arms. “I didn’t miss you,” he tells you, cruel and bored. “And you don’t have the power to bring me out.”

“Then I’m just happy to see you,” you confess. You are. You were getting awfully tired of Itadori.

“Don’t torment the kid again. He belongs to me and... houses me, for now. He’s not for your dirty hands to touch. Neither am I.”

You reach for him anyway, a sunflower drawn to the destructive fire of its star. He shakes you like a sock and glares, and both are hard enough that they should jar you into sense, but you don’t seem to have any left.

“Hey Itadori,” you whispered. “How’s it going?”

“Uh, good!” Yuuji was always cheerful, always sweet. Always a little squirmy around you. You couldn’t blame him; if anyone looked at you the way you looked at him, you’d get the mace out of your purse. But he didn’t care mace, and he was unfailingly polite. Bless his heart.

You didn’t want to hurt him. You had no real feeling or inclination toward Itadori whatsoever. But you badly wanted what lived inside him, growing more powerful every time he gulped down another finger or got too close to something he shouldn’t. You wanted all the eyes, the extra arms, the beautiful curse marks that made your tongue cold when you licked them.

That was what you wanted, not to hurt Itadori. He was a sweet, polite young man. But you would do worse than hurt him to get what you did want. Which was-- desperately-- to get to Sukuna, who was never sweet or polite, and who was always ageless in a way that placed him far enough beyond your ken that you knew he could sexually ruin you with a glance and a word.

Voice cold enough that you are warned and low enough that you are warmed, Sukuna asks, “Do you think a magicless whore like you has any say over me?” The sound of it makes you even more stupid with lust, so stupid all the emergency self-preservation in your brain just dries up and floats off, thin as grapeskin in a breeze.

You do, actually, have some sorcery, but it’s so insignificant compared to his that you say nothing.

He clucks his tongue. “Quiet now? Where’s the fiesty bitch who wanted me out so bad, huh?” One of his hands takes you by your jaw. The touch in unkind and you press right back into it, wanting every hurt he gives, because hurts are points of contact. “Put that mouth to good use or I’ll cut you in half and put you on a pile somewhere,” he rumbles. And then he drops you.

The water of his domain is like tar. You land on your knees where you belong, so it’s not so bad.

“Beg first,” he softly demands. “Or I’ll make it thirds, and it will be slow.”

Your tongue stumbles over assent and gratitude as you rise from your messy landing and reach for his lap. His hands bat you away, but it seems half-hearted (it would be if he had a heart) and you are used to him toying with you. So you try again. But he does it again. You try once more and he slaps your hand away, more insistently.

“I said BEG,” he booms, and the power of his echo rattles a skull and a few small bones off the roof of the shrine.

“Please,” you say immediately. Your voice is very small.

“Please what, slut?”

“Please-- let me,” you beg, reaching for him again. He slaps you away so hard it hurts your wrist. He’s playing keepaway with his body, and that hurts your heart even worse.

He shows you a grin that is not really a smile. The points of all his front teeth are so clean and so terribly, terribly sharp. There is nothing about this being that is not made to cut. “Let you...?”

Oh. Oh, you really are as stupid as he says you are. “Please let me use my mouth.”

He narrows several eyes. “To do what. Last chance,” he warns.

“Please let me suck you!” you sob, scrabbling to reach his knees while his hand on your shoulder keeps you right where you are in the chilly muck. The water here does not wash. It fouls things, makes them need cleansing. And you are in it up to the thighs you wish were wrapped around him instead. It’s thick and cold. You don’t want to think about what’s in there with you, you just want to get to him.

Sukuna releases your shoulder and waves the hand at your face. “Try and see,” he says, exactly like a schoolyard bully but so much more dangerous. There’s a chance he’ll cut your tongue-- or maybe your head-- in half just for fun. He sits himself back against a pillar made of leg bones and puts a pair of his hands behind his head like a beachgoer. Other hands point crudely at his groin. “Make it count or you’ll be dead before you can bruise.”

So you lunge as far forward as you can and lift away the loose kimono, kissing his thighs and trying not to drool on them. It’s difficult because they are the finest pair you’ve ever seen: thick, with deceptively soft curves of muscle. Those beautiful curse marks loop around him and you lick the front of one appreciatively, lingering over the frost of it as long as you dare. His skin burns on either side of the mark like a fierce, unending explosion. It makes each line feel like a brand under you tongue.

You want to worship them more, but only a handful of his threats are ever idle, so you go to his glory, touch it with gentle reverence, and put your tongue on the dick that has been haunting all your dreams for a week. He sighs in exaggerated boredom as you do your best to coat him in saliva-- you’ll want it there before long.

When you open wide to take him in, relief makes you smile. But as you move your lips down, there is pain in your face, that sweet kind of pull that is your body screaming that you are forcing your jaw and your your cheeks too far apart. But you don’t think you can get too far apart, and more importantly you want that cock in your mouth, so you keep going like the scream means nothing. Even when you think you feel individual sinews go threadbare, you stretch. You settle your hands gratefully on his hips and use them to ground yourself so you can take him down your throat as far as he will go.

And when you do, massive hands at the back of your head pull you down even farther. You’re already choking, and this little bit more makes you gurgle. Makes your body wriggle.

“All you’re good for,” he sighs, “And you’re not even good. Open.”

You try. You think you are open, it’s not a matter of you being closed, just that there is only so far into you he can go like this. But you wouldn’t say that even if the air for words could make it into your windpipe. Instead, you relish the coarse, beautiful hairs you can feel being shoved up your nostrils, the ones that make you want to sneeze. The ones your oxygen-deprived brain wants to snort like drugs right off his belly all the way down to the dick in your mouth. But there’s no place for air to move from your nose to your throat. He has blocked you from air itself.

“Swallow, then,” he growls. He’s not giving you cum, he wants the ripple of your throat moving around him. “Or I’ll squeeze that neck to nothing.”

You don’t have the control you would if your throat were not so full. But you try, and he sighs in a way you think is not entirely disgusted with you. He doesn’t crush your neck, at any rate (not from the outside in, at least). He does squeeze your skull with his fingertips wide around your head and push your face off him by the force of his thumbs above your eyebrows. You can feel when his cockhead slides from your throat because the crown of it flares out in the back of your mouth, no longer compressed.

He does it a few more times. Sukuna is lazy about it, and when you dare to look up at his face he is staring into some middle distance until one eye catches you. His face splits into a half dozen grins, a ghoul with too many teeth. He shoves you down again after that and doesn’t look at you any more. You get a none too gentle slap on the back of your head. He could easily slap you so hard your teeth went flying, so you are grateful as you gag.

“That’s enough,” he says after a few moments. He pushes you back by the shoulder. As you try to wipe your drool from his balls and keep your coughs quiet, he hums thoughtfully and looks into that middle distance again.

“D’ya wanna sit down?” Itadori chirped as you paced around him and the little table. “You can have the chair.”

You giggled at him and shook your head. “Not the chair,” you purred as you slipped your hands over his shoulders to rub them while you leaned down behind him to whisper in his hear. “Don’t want the chair. I want Sukuna.”

And then your hands slid further down to his ribs and tickled him, and you pressed your nails between his bones when he hooted uncomfortably. Sweet idiot probably thought you were making a bad joke. But not even that had brought Sukuna out. Not so much as an extra smirk, that you could see.

“Surprised?” you whispered sweetly. “Gotta be more on your guard, Itadooooori~”

Sukuna drawls “Surprised?” and you are, but you are also, idiotically, delighted. Before your eyes, he’s grown another cock, jutting out from that crown of hair that was in your nose not a moment ago. A twin to the first, just a rosy, thick, and mouthwatering. It came into being with an odd shhhhisss of gray, sulfur-smelling steam, and though he has neglected to give himself a second pair of balls, you have no doubt the new dick is capable of spewing more gooey, deeply damned cum than your body can hold.

“Get up,” he says, as though he isn’t tugging you by the arm. You can only go where he allows in this space, it’s part of the domain’s power. Your clothes cling to you until another of his hands rip them off. The back seams, especially the neckine of your blouse, dig in deep before they tear and run forward across your skin for him to toss into the fathomless black of the shrine.

You wonder if you’ll ever know the inside of it. You don’t have the shame to keep you from peeking as you stand there in the murky sludge. Without your clothes you realize it is oddly humid and cool at the same time here, like a stormy day’s dusk. Your breasts feel heavy in it.

He doesn’t do anything to them. His nails scrape your belly instead, and his thumb lodges itself right between your pussy lips, the useless armor of your underwear serving only to show what he’s going to tear next. Maybe. You spare a thought to not wearing any from now on so that whenever he next takes pity on you, he’ll see that you are always available and knows-- surely he already knows-- how willing you are. Maybe you can burn them all in some kind of offering to him. You wonder if there’s a phase of the moon he likes best, you could make your fire under it.

“This isn’t from the water,” he drawls. “And you’re too stupid to piss yourself in fear, huh?” His thumb curls back and forth against your clit like the rocker on a toy horse, and the point of his nail drags against the gusset of your panties. He could shred the fabric (and you) in an instant if he chose. You are so empty inside you nearly wish he would. You crave your own blood.

Sukuna rolls his eyes and mutters about how you only want one thing, and then, more carefully than you ever imagined, he uses that sharp nail to scratch a slit into the two layers of fabric. A big enough cut that you feel the obsidian smoothness of his thumbnail when it touches you where you are most weak, most stupid, most needy. You nearly drool again, and you do feel a small flow of saliva against the front of your mouth like a wave on the shore of a lake. When you swallow it back, it sounds like a gulp.

Of course that makes him laugh. “Don’t get the wrong idea,” he whispers, and shifts so when he presses the sharpness of the nail, it dents your wet lips. Your stupid brain thinks if he goes deeper and makes you bleed, he can use the smear of fluid to help him fuck you. There is no sense left in you to worry about being hurt.

But Sukuna doesn’t hurt you. Not like that, anyway. He does press, and he does move the tip of the nail down, like he is making a point about being in control. But he does not split your skin. When you whimper, he lets up on the pressure to grab your ruined panties and rip those from you, too, pulling a burn low on your back to match the one your shirt collar left behind your neck.

He sniffs gingerly at the ripped cloth in his hand and makes a face. “Nasty,” he says, tossing the fabric up and incinerating it in the air. “I have to breathe through my mouth with you. But you’re wet enough to use.” He doesn’t rise from his seat, but a few of his hands gather you by your waist and he uses the grip to raise you and aim your pussy at his body without bringing you close enough for contact. Sludge drips from your toes into the water and your hands dangle uselessly.

“Please.” The request is gurgled even though your airway is clear now. Your head bounces back from your neck like a yoyo as his arms jostle you into place. You don’t feel in any real danger of breaking-- to a sane person, this would be alarming, because you are not at all supported above your waist. The muscles of your back and neck stretch to let you look down your body so you can watch and wait for the moment when he breaches you, finally, and takes what you are offering.

He smiles. “Please what?” All the eyes on his face are little crescents and it’s beautiful, he’s beautiful. He doesn’t look like a curse or a king, to you Sukuna looks like a god. Even when he snaps his sharp teeth at your silence, his bite in everything you have ever wanted served to you with mint and honey instead of sulfur and stormwater filled with mosquito larvae.

“Please use me, please fuck me,” you beg. You want to ask loudly, respectfully, but the words come out as whispers. Your head feels cottony from the tension of your position.

He wrinkles his nose at you and you mourn the gleeful crescents. “Not for you,“ he warns. “I’m just bored.”

“That’s fine,” you croak gratefully, letting your head loll back in relief and sagging in his hold. You can feel the curve of the back of your head against the flesh of the back of your neck and wonder what the angle of your body looks like to allow that. “It’s an honor,” you add. Your tongue nearly falls back and chokes you. The angle must be bad.

Sukuna laughs without smiling and teases you with both cockheads. They slip through your untouched wetness thick and strong until he goes a little higher and the touch to your clit squeezes a squeak out of you. You sound like a rodent even to yourself.

He is so close and still not in you. He is a curse, he’s a hundred curses and a thousand nasty words and a million teases. You want him in a billion ways. He nudges you again and the moan that comes out of you is much lower than the squeak. It’s ghastly and impolite. He strokes one of your thighs for some reason.

You’re waiting for him to hurt you with that hand when he slips one cock in instead, and as you’re gasping he lifts your hips. Quickly, you realize he is using your body to catch the other head when he pops it inside. There’s no hesitation and of course there’s no cheerleading, he does as he pleases and you take it. When he brings you halfway down both lengths you already have drool on your cheeks, heading back to your ears, and you are making stupid guh... ah... sounds. You’re nothing but a sleeve, full at last, and you feel like an honored sacrifice. The relief makes you delirious, blissed out as he moves you. It is only the tight, cold burn of him forcing you wide open at the entrance to your pussy that makes you hiss from pain. But it is a pain you like and if he pulls out you think you’ll cry.

You should know you’ll cry anyway. He pulls you so smoothly over all the strong bumps and veins on him, and you feel every single one. If he does, they don’t give him any pause. An ugly sound flies out of you like songbirds and sunshine would move to flee the morbidity of this place. Sukuna may be a god in your addled mind, but your second moan is not a holy thing. It is not at all unhappy, either. His thickness births universes behind your eyelids.

“Thank me,” he says. You aren’t used to hearing him sound anything but lazy or cruel, but his instruction there sounded... tense.

You try, of course, but you choke, and the coughs from your belly to try to clear your airway mostly make your body grip him instead of helping you breathe. He groans and you feel like you’re being blessed even as you fight your own spit out of your throat. “Thank me,” he repeats, and squeezes your middle. The pads of his thumbs are so wide they feel like hands, like his hold is somehow backwards. You find yourself less confused when the points of his nails press into your belly and back and you warble out a shriek.

“I can just kill you if you don’t listen. It would be more fun,” Sukuna rumbles. “Your insides might be sexier than your outsides.”

You have no way of knowing, and still no way of talking, either. He keeps going as his pointed grip pulls you away, wrong, the wrong way, the slide making an awful shuccccck as your sex clings to its own destruction and you try to make the word no! at least five times before you just give up.

“Maybe that’s a better plan,” he murmurs. His voice has gone tight again, and you haven’t stopped coughing so you spare a dizzy hope that it is your body making him this way. “Maybe I’ll pierce you from the inside out and see what noise you make then.”

You keep choking, but you manage to get out an appreciative sound. Hot tears from the coughing and the pain of the sharp points of his nails stream down your temples, into your hair. You can tell those points are the scarcest pressure from splitting your skin, but they don’t. They press deep without cutting, like grass or rice under your knees during a childhood punishment. Your skin rebels only by focusing on the pain, because it can do nothing to fight it off. The feeling is like tingles, and every tingle has a knife.

“Jut be grateful and shut up then,” Sukuna grunts. “You don’t have to be in once piece for this.”

And then he sets about ripping your soul into halves and subdividing you every capacity for thought. His method of pulling and pushing you is unpredictable, but the filling is everything you wanted. He moves you and it scrapes your insides, not in a way that makes you bleed, not in a way that hurts you. Simply in a way that reflects that you bodies are not made for this and he’s inside you anyway, beyond the limitations your body cannot relax as easily as your brain let go of every safety measure. Your limits don’t matter. Maybe he’ll grow a finger on the tip of one cock and use it to tug your cervix out of the way.

You know that would hurt, but you just make a soft, dreamy noise.

He’s too big like this, and it still stings your overstretched entrance. One dick is formidable. Two should not even be possible, but there he is, the front of his hips flush with yours, that vivid pink hair (somehow as lovely as spring’s first, umblemished flower, despite the way you know it smells like man and dirt and sex) tangling with your own like a vine hellbent on choking out another. His balls are pressed against your ass, heavy and hot. He’s just so very big. That’s fine inside, but your skin feels so fragile where he goes in. The bulge of the twin root is straining you wider than birth, you imagine.

Oh god. If you were so lucky as to birth his child one day...

Bliss escapes you in shrill scream as he grinds you down on him, and he laughs, so beautiful you do it again. So does he.

“Let it hurt,” he whispers, using his grip to squeeze you again. He’s not fucking you, he is using your body to fuck himself, and he’s lazy about it, keeping that sting sharp and constant. But the feeling of him stretching your insides, battering you with size alone and then pulling you away to let your pathetic walls collapse back on themselves, then stretching you again is all so incredible it doesn’t matter. “I want this to be fucking you up, silly cunt,” he adds. The murmur sounds sweet despite the words. “A gaping hole is the only thing you want from me that I’ll ever give you.”

If you had any control over your body you’d have come from that gravelly insult alone. You don’t. He seems set on using you like a sleeve, something with no other purpose than to relieve his boredom.

How you wish that could be your life, to sheathe however many cocks he feels like having at a time and letting them split you wider than your body is meant to go. Your tears now are from satisfaction, and the fastest ones manage to slide down the sides of your face while the others are bounced off into the air while he moves you, less lazy now. Maybe he’s working on that gaping hole. The sting feels like lemon juice dripped into a cut so deep it can puddle on a bone. It radiates out into every nerve in the sticky skin that’s tight around him, and it doesn’t stop hurting. It does become warm.

Take his baby, you will your body with alarming clarity. As soon as he puts that scalding cum in you, use it to make a baby, even if it cauterizes you.

Sukuna pulls you flush again, then slides his second hands down to your ankles and tugs you down a little bit more. The tug pops your knees, and the additional depth he’s buried in you shoves the air out of your belly with such finality you swear some of it escapes around your eyeballs.

“This is mine,” he says. His laugh is as dark as the bottom edge of a grave.

You want to come from that, too, but pulled down as you are you are so full you cannot even clench, cannot even tense your muscles. Sukuna may have knocked something important out of its place in your spine. He has certainly stretched you beyond your own use. Even if you live and he sends you back out of the domain, what good will you be?

You can get out alive if you make me a promise, he murmurs in your head. His voice is so silk it feels like it is actually touching you, stroking the inside of your skull with twenty thick, delicate touches that know how to make you do anything they want. It kisses the underside of each eyelid with a forked tongue. He slows to a long, thick slide out of you, long enough that one cock pops out. It slips against your clit in a slow-motion slap. Maybe you’ll even be knocked up after all. A little curse to crawl out of your belly. Some kind of heat making you stupid for that?

Maybe he’s right.

Nah, he chuckles. You’re stupid all the time, aren’t you.

You definitely are where he’s concerned. How your body managed what he did to you, you don’t understand. How can you not be bleeding from it, how does it not hurt more? His cocks together are bigger than a man’s forearm. Maybe ther’s something keeping you safe in this place. Maybe Sukuna himself did something to keep you from tearing.

“Not a chance, slut, you’re just loose.” He laughs so cruelly you know he could never have kissed the inside of your eyelids. You keep right on loving him. “Couple screws loose, too. No wonder Itadori puts up with you. Even he pities you.”

The meaner he is, the more you adore him. He’s making you feel so good. Even though only one is inside, he’s fucking you with both cocks: one slaps against your clit each time the other bottoms out, as far inside as your body will let him go without punching a new hole in you. Even around only one of them, he keeps the lips of your sex stretched wide. Just beyond that stretch, you have a little control again. So you use it to make your dumb cunt milk him like you have any say over when he comes, and your stupid back helps your idiot hands fly up and clasp together around the back of his neck like you have any power over whether he embraces you. In your bones and your belly you crave him like an addict, the way nature makes invisible particles to seek out others that constantly repel them. Your need for him is molecular, undeniable.

“God, please come in me,” you beg.

The king of curses roars a derisive laugh and when you wince he manifests as black, grinning flames behind your tightly-shut eyes. “Am I your god?” he mocks between laughs. He pulls you down harder than before and grinds himself against your clit like he can juice it, and lets your long, long wail cut through the silence of his domain, usually such a silent place. “You’re no more than a hole, no one cares about your womb or what you want.”

You would not dare mention the baby, but you sob with relief when Sukuna begins to move his hips now, pushing in deeply each time he pulls you back down. It is like you are being pummeled inside and out, and your body aids the process by making meager but enthusiastic cream around him. How much of it is yours? How much might be his? Because he is so strong, you can feel the flare of his cockhead every time it pushes deep and every second it spends drawing back, pushing outward within your body like some kind of wicked umbrella. You become aware of his grunting and a rhythmic swelling and reducing inside you, a... pulsing. The thought his entire cock might be expanding makes you shout with joy, bearing down on him with all your walls as your body tenses and his does, too. You clutch at him with everything you are.

There is a definite expansion then-- two, actually. He becomes harder and thicker, bloated inside your body, and your arms fly away from him as your back bows and your lower belly domes outward from the hot streams of cum he is pouring into you in quick, inhuman gushes. You can feel a new stretch of your insides begin as your body jerks backwards, ecstatic. Your stomach continues to go up from the bend of the rest of you.

For a moment Sukuna is unmoving, pushed in so deep you feel more of him than you can understand. That sense of swelling obliterates your knowledge of your own physicality. It is like eating too much; your body should have stopped you but it didn’t, and now it hurts. It also means every involuntary squeeze of your muscles trying to change something about the situation feels incredible.

Then the moment passes and he pulls back. Or tries to. He doesn’t get far, he’s lodged in you and his pull makes you moan from how fucking good it is, how satisfied you are with all his cum packed wet and tight and deep, just beyond the seal of his thickness. The unrelenting fullness of it, the rightness of it, and the surprise of that swelling. As your body flexes around everything like an embrace, you see things behind your eyes and you don’t know if they are put there by Sukuna or not: a hornet emerging from a massive nest in bright, hot sun and screaming off into the air; Saturn turning silent and slow and cold; five grubs in a burrow in the earth, noisily destroying roots.

He tugs back again with a low “Fuck,” and then you moan because it doesn’t feel good, not even with his voice. He really did swell inside you somehow, and he’s too big to come out like that. It hurts when he tries and you can’t help whining at the way he’s putting pressure on space that is bruising from the attempt.

“Shut up,” he mutters, and you get the pinpoints of his nails around your full middle. You manage to whimper instead of weep when he tries again, nearly ripping himself out of you from the feel of it. But not quite. You like the way his balls slap you, but it’s not enough comfort-- this is not like the way it didn’t hurt when it was supposed to, this is hurting when it is not supposed to, and even though you remain willing for anything he’ll give you, the hurt is intense. It’s like he’s trying to yank out a branch speared through a tennis ball. Strange enough that he managed to get it into you in the first place.

Sukuna mutters something, ceases his pulling for two blessed seconds, and tries again, this time pulling you up in a terrible copy of the way he moved you before. It is enough force, because even though you don’t want to be, you are ripped off him and there’s a wet plop! and the spatter of his cum falling onto bones and water. You feel a croaky whine behind your teeth, and he slaps one of your breasts.

“I’ll let you sit on the next one if you hush,” he says again, and there’s a terrible sense of sliding between your legs, like he’s got fingers and tongues spreading the lips of your pussy open to find your hole. As though said abraded, overstretched, leaking hole doesn’t make itself obvious enough. You know he left you gaping, just like he said he would. The flow of his cum out of you is too wide.

You wonder about “the next one” until you remember he has two cocks but has only come once. Now that the first swelling is out of you, you’re desperate for another, and his offer to sit on it is golden to you since you are broody as a hen. You hope the next one is another... your brain, your partner in shamelessness until now, doesn’t even want to say the word.

Another knot. You need that, now to fill up the space he has stretched into you. Sukuna’s knot, as many of them as he’ll give you. That’s what you’ve been craving without knowing it, to be full of his cum in your womb and his cock in your pussy, full full full, all the space in you taken up by him. And though you didn’t even think of it until now, a knot to keep him there. You pray he really will let you sit on the next one. You try your best to hush, to squeeze and quiet even the slowing sound of drips onto the skulls below you.

“That’s right,” he says, the way you’d talk to an animal. “Don’t talk. you’re just a hole, and holes don’t have voices,” he reminds you. He grinds close with the unspent dick that’s already sporting a promising bulge near the base. The other, still half-hard, slides against the cleft of your ass. “An ugly little tub drain. Gonna plug you up and soak.”

You’re as frothy as a bubble bath from his cum oozing out of you and the way you’ve agitated it trying to keep it in. You hope when it shot into you it hit the back of your uterus and bounced into each Fallopian tube. That’s now how it’s supposed to work, but neither is Sukuna. You wish some kind of mark had appeared on your belly.

“Stay quiet and don’t interrupt this,” he whispers, and a tongue as wide as his stomach slips out and licks you from clit to navel. “Quiet as death, hmm?”

You nod as fast as you can and clamp your teeth down on both sides of your tongue.

He smacks your slit with the cock you are going to die without. “This one’s bigger!” he declares.

Lucky you.

“Yeah,” he purrs as the cock pushes down onto you, not into you but onto you, like a leg. “Lucky you, you crazy cunt. Don’t fuck up my son or I’ll turn you into a weathervane.”

And then he slides in easily, until he doesn’t. The bulge is frosty against you, just like the curse marks on his flesh, and it feels like an orange already. Sukuna uses a hand at your back to tip you forward until your knees touch the floor slats of the shrine. He grips you above each hip and by both shoulders.

“Quiet or I’ll rip you a third hole and no baby for you,” he says. You nod again and he laughs so low it registers in your blood like the deepest note of a cello. Then he starts to press. You thought he moved you because surely gravity would help you go down over the knot. It does not seem to help you at all.

“Spread your legs,” he says tersely, tugging one open. You slide-- you’re right on it-- oh, god, it’s like a grapefruit and it has no give, it feels wider than what you took earlier and that was already inside, there’s no way--

Sukuna yanks your other leg outward with a tsk and there’s a splash of blood in your mouth from the way you’ve mashed a hole into your tongue with your teeth. The knot is spreading you, opening you up, but it’s still too big. Still outside.

You see those grubs again in your mind’s eye, snuggled like grotesque puppies a few centimenters below the surface. They’re curled into tiny circles that grow bigger, until the dirt walls of their little burrow are force outward in every direction. Bigger, until they pop through the grass into the moonlight, their pale bodies soaking up the glow. Bigger, until waiting night birds grab them with their beaks and the earth seems to swallow you up again.

“Get out of your head,” Sukuna hisses, “Or I’ll put this so far up your body it’ll come out your mouth.”

You swallow the blood coating your teeth and try to order your pussy to relax, or at least give up. He moves his grip inwards from your shoulders to your throat, and laces his meaty fingers together at the back of your neck. His thumbs stroke the front.

“Don’t you want it enough?” he coos, mocking. His eyes are fixed on yours.

You remember you’re supposed to be quiet. I do, you insist into the emptiness of your skull, it just won’t fit. It’s too big. You’re mournful about it but he is unmoved.

If it’s too big, then it’s a good thing you’re so loose, he answers. And then he pushes and doesn’t stop pushing until your lips fold and finally slip around the knot, which gets bigger the moment it settles into the space your hipbones and organs allow.

‘Too big,’ he grunts in your head. Feels like it fits to me.

His smile is the jagged shadow of a rosebush, but as your eyelids come down heavy you think to yourself that his voice was very soothing just then, as lullaby soft as the rumble of a thunderstorm coming to a place where you are so safe you fear not a single cloud. You already love the worst thing in the world. What else can hurt you? The cum he spurts into you isn’t scalding at all, and when its warmth fades to an exhausted, contented, bubbly blackness, you let it take you under, his panting your realest, dearest lullaby.

When you blink back into consciousness, you are slumped over a still out, still seated Itadori. He’s snoring gently, relaxed. Nothing like Sukuna at all. Even in sleep he’s got a sweet, gentle smile. Such a good kid. You want to let him rest, and you want to get out of here and get some rest yourself.

Carefully, you slide a foot to the floor, then the other. Your legs straddle one of his and there’s a concerning stickiness where your crotch rests against his uniformed thigh. Sukuna saw fit to release you from his domain with your clothes back in place, aside from the panties. You wonder if there’s any trace of the ash of them on the floor of the shrine.

You manage to get your balance and move off Itadori’s leg. There’s a terribly wide, glossy spot on his trousers, and you gawk at it for a moment, wondering if there’s a way for you to clean it up. While you think, more cum rushes out of you, spattering against the white tile floors like the first load had spattered against bones.

Sleeping Beauty makes a noise and moves his head in a bleary way, and you decide to just beat it. You mouth a sincere “Sorry, Itadori,” and get the hell out of there, keeping your footfalls light around the tiny puddles you make as you run. Messier than you want to be but less so than you expected, Sukuna’s spend sluices down the insides of your legs, clinging. You press a hand against the front of your skirt and grind it against the ache between your legs, hoping the fabric will soak up any would-be trail that might follow you when you leave the building. And like that, you sneak, sore as hell, from corner to corner, all the way back to your room.

On the way there, you feel a wriggling in your belly that seems... exploratory. It moves like a fish in a new bowl, fluttering and bumping against its confines. Mischievous. It could be your body setting itself back in order after the time in Sukuna’s domain, or revolting from the way you were used. But as you take the last few steps to your door, cum sluggishly oozing out onto the lining of your skirt, you suspect it is something much more lasting and malevolent, something you’ll need to get used to.

You’re so excited you put a hand over your mouth as you sink the floor of your room.

#jjk fanfic #jjk fanfiction #jjk sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna ryoumen x reader #ryoumen sukuna #jimins-ass-eater #pseu slings

160 notes · View notes

littlepadika · 3 years

Note

Hiiii @littlepadika ❤️ I’m new on your blog! And I wanted to say I’ve been reading some of your work AND ITS JUST GOLD AND IMMEDIATELY LOVED IT😍😍😍 I might be be a little obsessed with your little!reader drables! Don’t know if your requests are still open but if they were, could you please write about daddy!maxie giving a bottle 🍼 to little!reader please??? 🥺And maybe some of his “special hug”?? 😏 Only if you want to write it! Thank you so much❤️❤️

Oh my goodness welcome my little darling 💕 Did you know I needed some daddy maxie today??? I had a hard time adulting today 😖

Warnings: DDLG, age regression, consensual 18+ age play, cock warming, reader is picked up

I discussed in an earlier drabble how Maxie likes to brush your hair. It was your nightly routine to sit on Maxie's lap and have your bottle while he brushed your hair. However, today you were just too fussy and tired. You just wanted to sleep and not do all these steps. Max already had to put you into your pink nightie because you wouldn't dress yourself after bath time.

"Kitten, here." Maxie patted his thigh trying to get you to come to him. "Daddy has to do your hair before bed."

You just shook your head, laying on your play-mat, content to sleep there.

"Kitten..." Max repeated with a bit more sternness. "Come over here right now." Still no reply. "Don't make me come over there. It's time for bottle."

"I too s'eepy." You finally spoke up, sniffling at his stern tone. "Daddy help." You lifted your arms up. Max's face softened. He couldn't stay mad at you. He knew you had a long day. He lifted you up off the floors into his arms.

"Oof." He exhaled on the up. You were like a rag doll. "Such a tired kitty, aren't you?" Max sat back down on your fluffy bed, turning you in his lap so your head was cradled against his shoulder. "Now can you hold your bottle while daddy brushes your hair?"

You shook your head, looking up at him expectantly.

"Okay kitten, i'll hold it for you." He smiled, kissing your nose. He lifted up the a bottle of warm milk with honey and jasmine letting you latch onto the tip before he tilted it slightly. His heart softened at the pretty sight and sound of you gulping down all the milk. "That's it let's just settle down for the night."

He loved that he was able to take care of you especially on your worst days. He could see your eyes drooping as you reached the end, some milk dribbling out the corner of your mouth. He pulled the bottle away. He rubbed your stomach soothingly. "Such a good girl. It's okay if you go to sleep. Daddy will brush your hair and tuck you in with your stuffies."

You were still feeling so sad and empty from the long day. You pawed at his pants, needing more comfort.

"Kitten... what are you doing? I thought you were sleepy?" Max tried to fight his body's response. He wanted to focus on you.

You just whined and tugged on his waistband.

"I need to hear you say exactly what you want, kitten."

You huffed giving him your best puppy dog eyes "special hug p'ease, daddy."

"Anything for you. Thank you for using your words." He kissed your forehead softly before pulling you against his chest. You were already wet. He could feel it as soon as he lifted your nightie skirt up. He took his own cock out as you were still too tired and needy to do anything. You sank down slowly, sighing in contentment as he stretched you out.

"There you go, kitten. Daddy always gives you everything you need." Maxie wrapped his arms around you, holding you close.

"thankie." You mumbled shutting your eyes and getting ready to sleep. You could feel his heart beating against yours, his steady breath in your ear. Max calmed himself so he wouldn't thrust against you. He wanted you to sleep and just enjoy the intimacy. As you drifted off he made good on his word and gently brushed your hair, despite not being able to see the back of your head fully.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My masterlist

#daddy!maxie #little!reader #thisisthewrongwayy #ask padika

141 notes · View notes

ahatintimepieces · 3 years

Text

Threading Moonlight

Here is the drabble I wrote for @smieska! It’s a prequel in which Luka makes a deal with a mysterious puppeteer in order to escape the frozen cellar his wife trapped him in, with the intent to freeze him solid, and to save their daughter from the encroaching cold. The puppeteer requires that Luka give up something important, but Luka is more than willing when that something seems broken beyond repair...

Content Warnings: Body horror, child neglect/abuse (check end of tags for more detail on both)

Total word count: 3,045

Something shifted inside the cardboard box and Luka jolted awake. The ice seeping into his wrists sharpened at his squirming and he let out a gasp that drifted from his lips in a frosted spiral. He settled back against the stone wall. He metered his breathing to keep it shallow and his movement scarce.

Glancing through the frosted tips of his chestnut curls, he peered up at his raised arms. If he tried to flex his fingers, they didn’t even twitch. But from what he could tell, they didn’t look frostbitten, but rather, it was like the chains of ice had melded with his wrists, turning flesh and bone into cold crystals. The edges of his palms seemed blue like lakes frozen from within as cold crept towards his pale fingers.

Vanessa had warned that she would make him stay. That she would keep him always. Was this how she would accomplish it, then? If he was a statue of snow and ice, would she be satisfied that he would never leave her?

Something wet dripped down his cheek and he flinched back, thinking there was a leak from the ceiling. But when he looked up, all he saw were dry stones and wooden beams. More droplets dripped down his chin and he glanced down as his breath hitched. Salt water pooled on the ground between his crossed legs.

He sniffed as the tears trickled. Each sudden gasp threatening to swell into sobs jostled his aching wrists. But the sharpness of the ice was minute compared to the heartbreak that cleaved through his chest.

How many more tears would he have to shed before he froze solid? How long until he was numb to even the feeling of his torn heart? He stared at the beam of pale moonlight that trailed through the window across from him in the cramped cellar, which was filled with storage boxes bulging with items he and Vanessa had collected over the years. Counting the particles of dust waltzing back and forth through the moonbeam, he nearly drifted back into his blank stupor when, again, something thumped inside the cardboard box.

Luka’s heart skipped a beat as his head snapped towards the box. With silent tears still streaming down his cheeks, he watched as the cardboard box tilted back and forth. The folded flaps suddenly burst open the same time that the box tilted too far and dropped to its side.

Hattie’s favorite toys—all the ones Luka had made for her—tumbled out in waves.

Pinning himself further against the wall, Luka eyed the mound of plushies and wooden figures with apprehension as he waited for a rat or something to appear. A bouncy ball shifted as a shadowy object emerged from within the cardboard. As the rubber ball plunked against the stone and skipped over before rolling against his shoe, the shadowy object stepped into the moonlight and waved its mitten hand.

Luka’s heart flew into his throat as he stared into the black button eyes of a doll that he had made to look like a prince in one of Hattie’s favorite picture books. The doll prince had hair made of chestnut colored yarn and wore a felt crown on his head. Two yarn strands stood out through the crown like a cowlick and his puffy striped sleeves and rounded purple boots added to his princely attire. His round nose and the rosy blush on his cheeks were his only other features, leaving him primarily expressionless as his head flopped down. His mitten hand kept waving.

While Luka stared at the prince plush, the air around it shimmered as spindly, blue fingers appeared around the doll, revealing the one making it stand tall and wave in the first place.

“Good morning, my weeping friend,” a hollow voice as faint as mist greeted from the forming apparition. “Or, good evening, I suppose. Whichever!” A crystalline giggle like the plinking of marbles came from behind a toothy grin painted onto a crescent mask.

Luka blinked through his tears, examining the floating creature who stretched out close to the ground, but hovered just inches above. He had no legs, but rather a ghostly tail the same color as the golden-orange harvest moon. It nearly looked like strings of the pale moonlight kept the humanoid creature suspended. When the creature shifted, the sound of clacking wood trickled through the cellar. His movements were rigid.

“What’s the matter?” he wondered, dropping the plush prince and letting it fall limp against the pile of toys before gliding over to Luka and causing him to jolt. “Your mouth isn’t frozen, is it?”

Stiff fingers pinched Luka’s cheeks and he winced back with a gasp. Fresh tears continued to spill out and dribbled onto the creature’s joints, which creaked.

“Wh-who are you?” Luka stuttered out as he shivered. His breath turned milky white, and the creature tilted his head back to watch the wisps trail upward.

“Call me Moonjumper.” The creature jumped away. His chest jerked back, and an arm folded in front of his chest while the other remained at his side. As he swayed, his jointed body, not unlike that of a puppet, clacked quietly. “And you, my weeping friend?” His voice was airy with laughter, though it was unnerving how the painted, patterned eyes and wide grin on his mask did not move with his bouncing cadence.

“Luka.” He leaned back against the stone with a sigh. A sharpness pressed deeper into his wrist and palm. The ice spread and his tears streamed down his cheeks, staining the collar of his pale dress shirt that was already soiled with sweat and dirt.

“You seem to be in quite the predicament, Luka friend,” Moonjumper made a sound similar to a tongue clicking against the roof of a mouth. “And that won’t do. I can’t play with you if you’re frozen. So, I’m here to make a deal.” He waved his hand and yellowed parchment appeared with a flash of moonlight.

Luka’s eyes narrowed at the parchment as it was flown over to him. He briefly scanned it but didn’t register anything beyond words and phrases about a kingdom and magic. Something about the horizon. And an invitation. While Moonjumper hovered over him, Luka vaguely wondered if he had finally perished in the cellar.

But he didn’t think ghosts could cry or see their breath.

“I’m sure you’d like to be released, would you not?” Moonjumper offered, tilting his head to the side. “Would like to walk free, unburdened by chains.”

If he wasn’t dead, perhaps he was hallucinating. Luka glanced away from Moonjumper and stared at the tumbled box of Hattie’s things. His chest tightened as he thought about Hattie. His breath hitched. He forgot himself for a moment and tried to bring his hand to his cheek to wipe at the swell of tears, but he only managed to cut the ice deeper into his skin. He winced with a gasp, but he did not take his eyes off of the box.

Moonjumper turned his head to follow Luka’s gaze. There was a pause before Moonjumper shifted stiffly between Luka and the box. He bent down, leaning his grinning mask towards Luka’s sniffling features. Luka edged back, avoiding the apparition’s gaze.

“Or perhaps you simply wish to be reunited with your daughter again?” Moonjumper asked.

Luka snapped his head up and looked into Moonjumper’s painted red eyes. A chuckle came from behind the mask as his whole body jostled as awkwardly as a puppet suspended from strings.

“There we go,” Moonjumper twittered before straightening and motioning the contract over. “Of course, when you’re free, you can rescue the little one and leave together. She cried you know, when you weren’t there to tuck her in.”

“Hattie.” Luka scrambled to shift his legs underneath himself. He ignored the burning in his wrists and pleaded as tears blurred his vision, “is she safe? Pl-please tell me she’s safe.” His voice cracked with desperation.

“Safer than you, at the moment,” Moonjumper shrugged his shoulders and caused his lithe arms to clack. “But if you make a deal with me, I can give you magic that can melt your chains and allow you and your little one to go free.”

“I’ll do anything,” Luka swore, leaning forward and towards the contract. Whether this creature was a hallucination or not, he’d make any bargain to ensure his daughter was safe.

“My price is steep, I’ll admit.” Moonjumper’s voice softened. “After ten years, I’ll come to collect you and so many of my toys forget that. Oh, and you’ll have to give up your heart.”

“Take it,” Luka said quickly as tears spilled out. He coughed out a ragged gasp before continuing in a voice as broken as his chest. “Take it, please. I don’t—” he sniffed as sobs structured his voice, “—I don’t want to feel like this anymore.”

“Really?” Moonjumper’s head tilted. “Usually that’s considered too high a price to pay.”

“Are you going to let me help Hattie or not?” Luka tried to scowl but his features crumbled as another sob bled from his chest. “Please,” he choked out. “Please take it away.”

“Very well!” Moonjumper said lightly as the contract drifted underneath Luka’s chin. Tears dribbled onto the dotted line and that must have been enough to count as his signature because shortly after, the contract glowed.

Strands of moonlight laced around the contract like chains and then disappeared in a curtain of light. Before Luka could react, Moonjumper tore through the curtain and pressed his hand against his chest.

Luka gasped, squeezing his eyes shut as he felt a pressure over his ribs. A brief flicker of regret caused him to press against the stone wall, to recoil from Moonjumper’s touch.

Was he truly alright with this? With losing his heart?

Fingers as stiff as wood sunk into his chest and wrapped around his splintered heart. A surge of the despair he’d been feeling since Vanessa first threw him into the wretched cellar drowned him and he whimpered as he struggled to breathe.

“Take it, please,” he begged. He felt a tug on his heartstrings and a whine pulled from his lips as a wave of tears pushed out.

“Almost done, Luka friend,” Moonjumper muttered. “Brace yourself.”

A snap resounded through the cellar and Luka slumped like a puppet with snipped strings. The pressure was extracted from his chest, and he exhaled as Moonjumper backed away.

Luka’s tears ceased.

A burning kindled in the cavity left behind in his ribs and he began to hyperventilate. Suddenly desperate for oxygen, the crackling flames pushed out and heat spread through his body with each gasped breath.

Water dripped from his frosted hair tips and his chestnut curls flared liquid hot until they grew. His locks faded into cinders with a dark violet sheen that spiked out below his shoulders. Heat licked his teeth and he hissed before opening his mouth as his top canines lengthened into sharp, polished points.

Squirming against his restraints, Luka panted as whistling steam emanated from his wrists. His previously unresponsive fingers twitched into elongated claws. He gritted his teeth, piercing his lip with his fangs as a final pulse of flame pushed to his palms. Blue embers burned in his hands and the ice clinging to his wrists shattered before evaporating into steam.

His hands dropped and the embers flickered out as Luka slouched against the wall. His chest rose and fell rapidly with the flame still crackling in his chest. His heated exhales no longer turned to mist.

“There you go!” Moonjumper twittered as he cupped a pulsing, torn lump in one hand and scooped down to retrieve the prince doll in the other.

“What happened to me?” Luka held out his trembling hands before himself, flexing pale fingers that ended in claws.

“You gave up your heart,” Moonjumper answered simply. While floating in the air, he drifted into a sitting position and set the prince doll into his lap. He unbuttoned the prince’s tunic and placed the torn lump onto the doll’s chest.

A strand of moonlight drifted over to Moonjumper’s fingers. He snapped the graceful thread and the cut end bled scarlet. The red crept across the length of the thread as Moonjumper summoned a sewing needle. The string thrust through its eye and the needle dove towards the lump.

Luka jolted when the needle pierced the lump and then the doll. His heart, severed into two, was methodically embroidered into the doll’s chest. Though the scarlet string strung the two pieces into one, the stitches holding the heart together only highlight how terribly broken it was.

Once Luka’s heart was embedded into the doll, Moonjumper knotted the ends of the thread and buttoned the tunic closed, concealing the heart. Without warning, he tossed the prince doll towards Luka, who fumbled to catch it.

“I thought you wanted to keep it.” Luka wrinkled his nose, holding out the toy like it was some mangled catch a cat brought in.

“I just said you had to live without it,” Moonjumper corrected. “What you do with it is up to you. I thought that would be an easy way to carry it.”

“Why would I carry around a doll?” Luka furrowed his brows.

“It’s your daughter’s favorite toy, yes?” Moonjumper tilted his head, his painted smile unwavering.

“Hattie!” Luka bolted to his feet. He clutched the doll in his hand. A faint pulse against his palm urged him forward.

“And with that, I’ll take my leave. But don’t forget, Luka friend,” Moonjumper chuckled as his form began to waver and fade into moonlight, “I’ll come back in ten years’ time to collect my toy!” His laughter drifted on the shimmer he left behind. Strands of gentle light flittered back to the beam streaming from the window.

Luka scowled at the moonlight. He didn’t understand what Moonjumper meant about collecting his toy ten years later, but he didn’t care.

He had to leave. He had to leave with Hattie and escape.

Luka flew towards the stairs leading out of the cellar, but his gangly legs tripped on the box of toys, and he skidded against the ground. Grunting, his hand clenched around the doll as he scrambled back to his feet.

The manor was silent with Vanessa in bed. He easily crept around the squeaky floorboards and hurried to the nursery.

The flame in his chest flared when he saw the icicles jutting around the door to the nursery, sealing it off while emitting a frosty mist. Blue embers flared from his palms and though they licked the doll and the heart trembled, it did not catch fire.

But the ice did hiss as it melted from Luka’s touch.

Forgetting to be quiet in his ire, Luka shoved open the door with a grunt before seeing that the room was ice free. But his misted breath told him how cold it was.

“Kid!” Luka hurried over to the crib.

Hattie lay inside, shivering under her blanket with flushed, chubby cheeks and eyelids puffy from crying. Her features were scrunched with discomfort in her sleep.

“No, no, no.” Luka reached into the crib.

His embers flickered softly. In her sleep, she leaned towards the source of heat, but when her eyes popped open, she shrunk back in fear. She let out an ear-piercing screech and Luka jolted.

“Hattie, Hattie, it’s me,” Luka whispered, leaning over. His violet-black hair slipped from his shoulder and caught his eye. He ran his tongue across his fangs and remembered how much he had changed. Immediately he held out the prince doll to Hattie and danced it around to distract her from her tears.

“Papa looks different, but it’s still me,” he promised urgently as he listened for any sign of Vanessa.

Hattie continued wailing until a shriek came from his and Vanessa’s bedroom.

“Shut up already!” Vanessa’s muffled voice screamed. Ice jutted from the underneath the door and a brisk puff of air pushed into the room. Luka froze as fear spiked with the doll trembling in his hand.

Hattie whimpered and snatched the prince doll from Luka, startling him out of his petrified state. She hugged the doll and buried her face into the plush, hiccupping as she hushed her crying.

“That’s better!” Vanessa snapped from the other side of the door.

Luka’s flames burned as he sneered at the fresh ice. But all manner of threats and ire he wanted to lob at her perished when he remembered just how powerful she was and how his priority was keeping Hattie safe.

“Hattie,” he whispered in an even quieter voice after a stretch of silence. “Please, kiddo, it’s me.”

He stifled the cerulean flames in his hands, but his palms still radiated heat as he reached for Hattie’s cheek. She peeked at him from behind the prince doll. While she initially recoiled from his clawed hands, he slowly pressed his soft palm to her cheek. She relaxed.

“P-papa?” Her lip trembled.

“That’s right,” Luka managed a smile for her, unintentionally baring his fangs. “Papa’s here.”

She sniffled and he shushed her as softly as he could.

“It’s okay,” he whispered as he scooped her up. “We have to be silent, okay?”

Pressing into his chest, her eyelids grew heavy as his warmth lulled her. She still clutched the prince doll in one tiny fist and her other grabbed onto a strand of his dark violet hair. He winced when she tugged on his scalp.

“There we go, see?” he muttered as he rocked her in his arms. “It’s just me.”

The prince doll pulsed between them, urging him to be warm with more than just the flame in his chest.

With Vanessa back asleep, Luka hurried to pack a bag with supplies and money while Hattie slept in his arms, toasty and safe as she held the prince doll. When everything was packed and Hattie was bundled up in an extra blanket, they fled the manor and Luka never looked back.

But the prince doll, while Hattie slept and Luka ran with his eyes forward, waved goodbye to the manor without the assistance of any apparition. The stitches in its chest tightened.

#a hat in time #ahit prince #ahit snatcher #ahit moonjumper #smieska #my writing #build-a-bear au #and that tag will continue to look not right with this content but don't worry about it #how many times can i write a) the prince escaping Vanessa with Hat Kid and b) this man crying?#the world may never know......#alright now i shall expand on content warnings #okay SO body horror warning is for slightly painful transformation and someone has his heart ripped out of his chest #child neglect/abuse/endangerment is for baby hat being locked in a cold room (getting colder) and getting screamed at for crying #nothing graphic and Luka gets her out of there quickly and while hat remains pretty frightened for the most part she is primarily safe #this is a bleaker start i usually do for them so fair warning #let me know if i need to touch on anything else?#anyway time to stop fussing with details #THANK YOU FOR READING!!!!!#let me know what you think and i hope you're having a good day!!!!

67 notes · View notes

lazywonderlvnd · 4 years

Note

you are so gd talented and I would love love love to see your take on a possessive draco (like Harry when he gets territorial over Theo in TCL)

you are so kind pls.....thank u so much 😩 here’s a drabble for you, angel, hope you enjoy and sorry it took a hot minute! ❤️

He’d never have let Draco do this normally — it’s hard for him, and not in that work-through-it-and-you’ll-be-better-for-it kind of hard, all it does is make him tense and angry — but he can see the slight mania in Draco’s eyes and the fear and desperation, and it’s all of that plus the hectic flush on his cheeks that convinces Harry not to fight it when Draco shoves him down onto the bed and points his wand and suddenly Harry’s wrists are bound to the headboard.

“Better?” says Harry drily. Draco’s jaw clenches and his eyes blaze. If he’d known how obvious he was, how clearly Harry could read all of his emotions on his face, maybe he would have gone to some trouble to take it down a notch. He tugs lightly at his bonds, testing them though he doesn’t plan to break them. He simply wants to determine whether he could if he wanted to. To his fascination, he’s not totally sure he could. They’re incredibly strong, which means there had been significant emotion behind the spell. “D’you feel like telling me what the fuck this is about yet?”

Draco doesn’t answer. He points his wand again, and then Harry’s clothes are gone. He can’t imagine a more vulnerable position to be in: tied up and naked. At one point in his life, the idea of Draco Malfoy seeing him this way would have been second only to Voldemort himself seeing him this way. Not anymore, of course.

Now all this does is make his cock twitch and start filling with blood.

“What’s with you?” he asks. Draco doesn’t answer again; he disrobes himself without magic, then slips off his shirt and trousers and climbs onto the bed, a knee on either side of one of Harry’s legs. He looks quite mad, and lucky for him he’s just fucking perfect enough that he makes madness into something ethereal. His hair is free from its usual product, tempting Harry’s bound hands with how soft it looks. The combination of helplessness and arousal makes his breathing shallow and loud, his chest rising and falling too obviously for his taste.

“Something wrong, Potter?” Draco purrs, fingers curling around the base of Harry’s cock, slick with magicked lube. He closes his eyes and focuses on breathing through his nose, but Draco only squeezes and he has to clench his jaw to keep in a noise. “You know, you couldn’t look more appealing if you were a six-course meal and I was starving.”

“Is that right?” Harry says. It’s strained slightly, and he lets out a hoarse laugh. He opens his eyes and meets Draco’s, doing everything in his power not to lift his hips into the constant, torturous slide of that perfect hand. “Keeping in mind, of course, that you’ve always been a bit of a slut for it I do have to say you look more ravenous than usual.”

Now Draco laughs, mockingly, and he speeds up his hand. He starts twisting his wrist at the top, palming over the sensitive, engorged head, and dipping his thumb into the slit like he’s trying to coax out more pre-come. He looks like he’s barely restraining himself from leaning over and using his mouth instead; he’s got a good and proper fetish for Harry’s cock, an obsession that rivals only his love of riling Harry up on purpose just to monopolise his attention. It only makes it more impressive that he hasn’t done it yet.

“Keep talking, Potter, I have all night. And I’ve always wondered how you’d look all worked up and edged past endurance.”

Something flutters in Harry’s stomach, a heady combination of shock and arousal and nerves. The look on Draco’s face, the implications of his words, they’re making Harry deeply uneasy as much as they’re turning him on.

“Is that your plan?” he asks, trying to keep his voice level. “You wanna watch me struggle?”

“Well that’s only part of it,” says Draco. He lets go of Harry’s cock, curved up against his stomach, thick and heavy with blood, and crawls up his body to press a series of kitten-soft kisses onto his neck. Harry closes his eyes again and breathes through his nose. There’s an instinct to resist that’s kicking in which he’s desperately fighting. He wants to know what the fuck is going on first before he decides to shut this down. Draco’s lips drag maddeningly up to his ear. “The other part is reminding you what you’re gonna spend the rest of your life missing if I ever catch you fucking around on me, Potter.”

Another pulse of shock rocks him. He stares up at Draco with his lips parted, confused at first until understanding catches up with him and his face flushes.

“I see you’ve figured it out,” Draco says silkily. His hand goes back to Harry’s cock, still hard and throbbing, and now he bends and puts his lips to the head. He sucks lightly at it like a particularly good lolly, making Harry’s toes curl, ripping a half-mad groan from his throat.

“I dunno what you thought you saw,” Harry bites out, tugging unconsciously at his ties, “but I wasn’t planning on fucking Jenkins. But it’s good to know you’re keeping a jealous eye on me at work, love.”

Draco sits up and swipes his thumb over the wet and sensitive glans again. Harry loses himself for a moment and bucks his hips.

“Maybe you weren’t planning on it,” says Draco mildly. He traces his fingertips along the underside of Harry’s straining prick, dancing along the nerves, every vein engorged with blood, leading him along a knife’s edge towards a feeling of frighteningly unfamiliar vulnerability and desperation. “But you were thinking about it,” he coos. “Did you picture it, Harry? Pushing him against the wall face-first and filling him up with your cock?”

Harry’s head falls back against a pillow and he lifts his hips again, searching for friction. He’s so hard it’s beginning to hurt now and he’s slightly lightheaded from the loss of blood to his brain.

Draco’s hot, wet mouth engulfs him then, taking him down to the root so he can feel the throbbing head press just slightly into the tight channel past his uvula. His mouth falls open and he lifts his arse off the bed, trying to fuck Draco’s perfect throat, but he makes it difficult by always pulling back just enough to make it impossible. He’s actually shaking, muscles straining, as Draco works him at his own deliberately slow pace.

“Draco,” he rasps. His fists clench in their bonds. He can come this way, it’s building with a terrible force in his stomach. But it’s building slowly, as if his body itself has allied itself with Draco in an effort to make him struggle and suffer, all for the harmless glances he’d been shooting Jenkins lately. “Fuck. I —”

“You what?” Draco goads him. He replaces his mouth with his hand again, sliding it leisurely through lube and his own spit and Harry’s pre-come, little spurts of it continuously dribbling down its turgid length. “Sounded suspiciously like you were about to say please …”

Harry grits his teeth and swallows back the begging noises threatening to burst out of him. More blood rushes to his prick, turning the head a worrying purple. He wonders in a slightly hysterical, half-insane way whether he could die from this. From needing to come this badly and not being allowed to. From refusing to beg for it, even when it hurts.

“Well,” says Draco as he releases him and climbs up to straddle his waist, positioning himself above Harry’s cock. It rubs against the cleft of Draco’s arse, teasing him with the possibility of all that tight, gripping heat, and Harry lets out a low moan just thinking about sinking inside of him, of all that friction that’s so close but so fucking far. “At least the Wizarding world can sleep soundly knowing their hero doesn’t easily give into torture.”

“Bully for them,” Harry says through gritted teeth. “Now sit on my fucking cock before I decide to hex you.”

Draco laughs. His pink lips part tantalisingly; the long line of his throat glimmers with sweat and drives Harry to the very brink of fucking madness.

“Are empty threats usually effective in your experience?” Draco asks. He grinds himself along the length of Harry’s prick and lets the head catch on his hole, which he can tell is only loosely stretched. Which also means Draco’d been fingering himself before.

Harry flicks his bound hand and Draco jumps, looking satisfyingly surprised for a moment. Even in spite of his predicament Harry manages a shit-eating grin. Hexes and jinxes are hardly effective done wandlessly but Harry’s rather adept at pulling off a decent Stinging Jinx.

“D’you think that’s a good idea?” Draco asks when he’s gathered himself. There’s a new flush on his cheeks, though, and it’s gorgeous. “Hexing me when I could easily leave you here hard and wanting?”

Harry opens his mouth to make another sarcastic remark (because he can’t fucking help it, even with his libido screaming out in agony for him to fucking leave it, just let Draco have this power trip) but before he can say anything Draco’s lining up and bares down until the head pushes through the ring of muscle — and he stops there. And Harry’s always been good at biting back vocalisations, an ability to stay quiet no matter what is a highly useful skill for an Auror, but when Draco stops and merely squeezes around the head of his cock he lets out an utterly tormented groan, bucking his hips only for Draco to lift up and away.

“Fuck you!” Harry yells, tugging again at his ties and shouting at the futility of it. Draco’s watching this with glazed eyes and wet lips. “Fucking just — god, just sit on my cock, you fucking inbred little cocksucker!”

And Draco laughs, loudly. He bends and touches his lips to Harry’s sweaty forehead, then to his mouth, then his damp and heaving chest and over his stomach and finally delivers a few more chaste kisses to the skin above his pubic hair. Harry’s cock bobs next to his face, pulsing and throbbing and aching. Draco drags his tongue up the side of it and then presses his lips to the head, suckling gently, torturing Harry on purpose. And Harry, he’s not actually sure how much more of this he can take. His arms are aching now. His cock feels too engorged with blood, tight and hard and painful. He physically can’t stop himself from bucking up against Draco’s mouth.

He groans in frustration when Draco pulls off again but then he’s sliding Harry’s cock back into his arse, and not just the head this time. He sinks all the way down, enveloping Harry in all that throbbing, gorgeous heat, and he squeezes so perfectly around him, and Harry cries out and lifts his hips and tries to fight his restraints.

“Not thinking about Jenkins, are you?” Draco says lightly. He rocks his hips a little and Harry whimpers. He can’t remember if he’s ever heard himself whimper like that before.

“Fuck no,” he gasps out. “Just you.”

“Just me,” Draco repeats. He lifts himself up, pauses, and then sinks back down. He hands go to Harry’s chest and he does it again, again, again, fucking himself properly now and Harry can see he’s beginning to lose himself to the sensations finally. That glazed look is back in his eyes and there’s sweat beading at his hairline. “Nobody else could do this to you, Potter.”

Harry would have agreed to anything at this point but he still means it when he nods frantically, beyond caring now that he’s at a major disadvantage, that Draco has successfully taken him apart the way he’s so used to doing.

He’s about to come when Draco stops moving again, seated fully on his lap. Harry lets out a string of curses and creates bruises on his wrists where he strains and wrenches madly against the silky material binding them.

“Draco, please,” he hears himself say. It hardly even sounds like him. “Please, fuck, please, I need — I need to come …”

“I know,” Draco coos. He bends forwards again and kisses him, soft and languid and a little mocking, and Harry’s cock twitches inside of him. “And I’ll let you. But you have to do the rest yourself.”

“What?” Harry asks deliriously. Draco lifts up until just the head is still being squeezed inside his tight heat, and Harry gets the message. “God,” he breathes, even as he bends his knees and plants his feet flat on the mattress, his hand trying of their own accord to reach for Draco’s hips, but they can’t. “You’re so fucking obnoxious.”

Draco laughs until Harry thrust brutally up into him, and then he’s moaning instead, fingers curling against Harry’s chest. Harry has no way of changing angles, of trying to hit Draco’s prostate or make him scream, so instead he focuses on his own pleasure, because really, at this point, it’s what he deserves. He slams up into him over and over, shaking the bed, making his thighs scream with the effort, and by the time he feels his orgasm approaching his dripping with sweat and his shoulders are killing him and he knows there must be terrible bruises on his wrists.

“That’s it,” Draco goads him. His own cock is bobbing precariously above Harry’s stomach, red and swollen and dribbling pre-come out of the slit. “Put your fucking back into it, Potter, fuck me like you mean it.”

Harry lets out a tortured moan and puts his fucking back into it. He feels Draco’s body tense up and clench around him and then release, nails digging into Harry’s skin, and come covers both their chests and hits Harry’s chin.

The soft, exquisite noises Draco makes push Harry past the edge himself and he comes inside of Draco with his veins thrumming; he fucks madly up into him until his come is leaking out around his cock and still he keeps going, sliding through all that slick, working himself until his shaking and weak and can hardly move. Draco takes over again, rocking on top of him, milking him of every last shudder and shiver and moan.

He lies there panting and limbless, and when Draco releases his bonds, his arms fall to his sides and he groans at the soreness of his muscles.

Draco’s kissing him then, drawing his lips apart and ravaging his mouth with his tongue. Eventually Harry lifts one of his aching arms and puts a hand on his cheek, thumb grazing smooth skin.

After a minute and then two and then three, Harry finally mutters, “You didn’t really think I’d sleep with Jenkins, did you?”

Draco draws back and pushes some of his hair out of his face, considering Harry from his place straddling his hips.

“I’m still figuring you out,” he says after some consideration. Harry lifts both eyebrows.

“We’ve been together two and a half years.”

“Yeah,” Draco says. He lifts up and off of Harry, making him hiss. “And I’m still figuring you out, Potter.”

“Right back at you,” Harry says drily. He loves the way it makes Draco grin.

#anna writes #drarry fic #power bottom draco said let me LIVE!!!!#Anonymous #drabble #answered

239 notes · View notes