#flicker’s drabbles

[oh-shtars]

❄️ “The Gift of Giving” 🎁

(A horribly late RFTS! Holiday and New Years Special)

[1/3]

………….

The Kingdom of Rosas has always offered shelter to many with nowhere else to go. This has been ever since their very first ruler.

For nearly a century, generation after generation of benevolent sorcerers studied and used magic to rule, to protect, and to maintain peace and order. But most importantly of all?

To serve.

The latter rang true the loudest during King Kristopher II’s reign. A king well-known in Rosas’ history for being incredibly close to his kingdom. He would dress as any ordinary citizen and interact amongst them despite all expectations for royalty.

He would talk about the weather with them. Give generous gifts to them. Laugh with them. Listen to stories with them. And in return, the people loved him dearly. Kristopher wasn’t just their king, but a friend. His very reign inspired those next in line for the throne to more personally engage with Rosas.

But while time is a gift to be treasured, it’s also a fleeting one.

Despite the graveness of it all, Kristopher only had one last wish on his deathbed. For the people not to mourn him, but to carry on gifting and laughing with each other as if he was still there. Many tears were shed on the day he passed away peacefully in his sleep. But his memory was honoured through one very special day each year.

“Krisdando”

A day of good spirit and merrymaking in Rosas. Marked by many families and friends coming together to laugh and exchange gifts. What makes this a unique holiday is that it’s the only one not to take place in the castle’s Great Hall, but instead in Alegre Square. The old king had dedicated his final months into leaving a permanent gift there for the people, wanting both royalty and their subjects to continue celebrating it together for as long as forever. And so, this tradition stayed in honour of his dying wish.

Decades later, this year was no exception. People of different backgrounds had plans to go witness the special event in Alegre Square that night. Kitchens were busy. Food baskets were being packed. Last-minute shopping of gifts are taken care of. Everyone is looking forward to the holiday’s evening!

Well… Mostly everyone…

………….

“Please your Highness? I sort of promised my family I’d come to Alegre Plaza with them this year…”

The royal assistant of Rosas tried her best to peek beyond the stack of books she was holding while simultaneously, making sure none of them fell off. King Magnifico sat from across her in the seat of his study’s cluttered work table. His brow furrowed as he read through a paper in hand, mumbling to himself.

“Ugh, what do you mean I have to-“

“…Sir?”

He massaged his temples, clearly irritated. “What is it now, Asha?”

The king’s voice raised like a wave and drummed against her ears. Asha flinched. Magnifico’s temper had the potential to be a beast of its own. It was already common sense in the castle not to get on his bad side, especially today of all days when he already had plenty on his plate for the holiday. She shrunk behind the books she carried, not sure if she should risk it.

“Mi Rey, take it easy on the poor girl. She only has the innocent wish to celebrate Krisdando like everyone else.”

Queen Amaya lightly scolded from one of the many mirrors that adorn the royal study. The moment she finished laying on the last sparkly touches for her Krisdando hair-do, she quickly dismissed her own reflection in the same manner someone would swat a fly. (She honestly didn’t understand the appeal her husband found in having this many mirrors in one room. Personally, she couldn’t stand it.)

As her Majesty approached, Asha felt like she can breathe again. A convenient little air bubble in the depths that pushed her under. The solid island to Magnifico’s sea. It wasn’t much to Asha, but at least she can feel a little more at ease with the queen nearby.

Almost instantly, the king softened upon meeting his wife’s firm eyes. “Right. Ahem, Excuse me.”

Straightening up, Magnifico folded his needed letters semi-neatly into his royal robe before glancing up at the two in his presence. His assistant knew, however, that the half-apology wasn’t intended for her.

Why would it be?

Magnifico got up from his seat and went around the table, casting the bare minimum of a glance at Asha in acknowledgment.

“Forgive me. I still have yet to discuss and clear up matters with the castle kitchen staff for the holiday event tonight.”

Absentmindedly, Magnifico flicked a finger and his precious star-studded staff glided into his hand, wedding ring glinting from its glow. Besides the staff, a book from the tower she was holding flew over to the king’s other empty hand. She luckily managed to use her quick reflexes to maintain the tower’s balance when it wobbled.

Heavens above, he only needed one this whole time?

“As for your leave, Asha. I trust that my lovely wife,” He gave a quick peck on Amaya’s cheek, who smiled lovingly in return, “-will make the final decision for that matter.”

As Magnifico left and effortlessly opened his book on the holiday’s history, a glimmer of hope rose in Asha’s chest. While the queen wasn’t perfect, Amaya at least treated the girl like she was more than just her job. Maybe….Just maybe…. she would take pity on her?

“It would really mean plenty for my Ima and Saba if I could join them in celebrating.” Asha placed the books down onto the desk with a faint thud, relieving some tension from her tired shoulders.

“…Would….would that be okay?” She asked, unconsciously gripping onto her sleeves. While she’s gotten more comfortable now, she still watched her tone when testing the waters. Amaya is still royalty after all…

The queen’s green eyes studied the assistant’s face, holding the smooth tension of the air like a delicate wine glass. There was a sort of desperation in the girl’s demeanour.

Was she really still that willing to go outside? Amaya wrote down a mental note. Hmm… Looks like that area could need some more work.

“Oh dearest, you know I would be delighted to have you join us tonight,” She began. Asha held on to every word, as eager as a small puppy. It was almost adorable. Amaya had to resist a grin. “However, what I believe Magnifico was trying to say earlier is that….it all just feels so overwhelming.”

That little light in Asha’s eyes fizzled. “….Oh?”

Amaya feigned a look of sympathy at the king behind her, whose attention had already shifted from his book to do something else more important. Apparently, that “something else” involved smoothing down and fixing his cloak in a mirror.

Asha followed her gaze with an incredulous look. She quickly hid it when Amaya gestured to follow her, on which she obliged.

The queen opened the balcony doors of the study room wide, allowing rays of the late noon to enter and spread along the floor. The orange warmth settled along nicely along the interior’s cool blues and whites as a faint breeze tickled the girl’s face. Beyond the castle gates and courtyard was the marketplace. It appeared that the rush hour from the morning had long since calmed down, with only a few people left buying their much needed supplies.

Asha exhaled. Has it really been that long since she last went out? How busy had she been the past week?

Amaya’s voice paused her thoughts before she could question any further.

“As rulers of Rosas, it is our duty to make sure everything is as it should be in the palace before commencing the celebration in the square right on time.” She nodded her head to the right in the direction of Alegre Square. Despite the distance, the decorations for the Krisdando event can still be seen. It’s hard not to when the plaza looked like an intricate spiral of cool, lively colours in the wide stretch of a blank canvas that was their kingdom.

Everyone had plans to be there…

Amaya rested a hand on Asha’s shoulder. “You understand, don’t you? I’m sorry, but I’m sure the king would need you in here the most.”

(Tiny Flicker sidenote buuuut this was honestly what I initially thought the canon!movie was going to take their relationship into. Oh well-)

“No. No, not really.” Magnifico muttered offhandedly from inside, fixing his hair. Amaya’s frustration cracked through her mask and disappeared as quickly as it appeared. This man-

“But with all due respect Ma’am.” Asha practically begged. “It’s just that I made a promise. And I really wish to-“

“I know, I know. I understand it’s difficult.” Amaya interrupted once more. “But we all need to make sacrifices sometimes, don’t we? As queen, I know the feeling very personally. Especially when it comes to dedicating all my time and effort for my kingdom.”

Asha fiddled with her bracelet nervously. For Rosas��

Isn’t this one of the main reasons she’s working closely with the king and queen? To make a difference in people’s happiness so that they don’t have to undergo what she had years ago?

That was why she’s here. To lessen the load however she can. It’s just another sacrifice. It’s not like this was the first time anyway. Besides, while the main event was tonight, celebrations will still continue for about a week. Her and her family’s going to have to settle for that instead.

In finality, even with the guilt panging within, Asha nodded. Disappointment weighing down any actual words from escaping. I’m sorry, Ima. I’m sorry, Sabino. Looks like I’ll be missing the Krisdando bloom this year too…

The girl’s face was gently lifted up to look back into Amaya’s gentle, motherly gaze. The woman used a hand to push a stray curl behind her ear to comfort her but Asha only shivered uncomfortably, biting back a grimace.

Amaya led her back inside the study, only turning to close the balcony doors and shut out the outside. The warmth and colours faded away, going back to the stagnant air of the indoors. Asha gulped down the lump in her throat.

“How about this?” Amaya seemingly noticed, smiling brightly, “Once you clean this whole study up and bring Espino to sleep, then you can come along.”

As if on cue, Asha felt a sharp stare pierce right behind her. When she turned, a blue feline eye narrowed from on top of the stack of books she had just placed. The striped black and grey tail of the royal sphinx cat swished side-to-side, further disturbing the already tense waters of the room.

(Not a perfect reference for Espino but this is close enough since I don’t have his design just yet.)

“We would take him with us but, you know how much he hates the cold nights outside.”

Asha watched silently as Espino gracefully dropped down from his little podium. Smug as ever. Ready to be pampered.

Oh.

Oh stars, this is going to be a handful…..

Despite having one eye clawed and blind, what Espino lacks in vision, he makes up for his extraordinary skills in sneaking into spaces, both high and low, with minimal effort. Paired with his spoiled and stubborn attitude, once he’s settled somewhere where he’s unreachable, one might as well just forget it.

Though, maybe it’s not hopeless just yet. The cat isn’t fully unreasonable. One right deal and he’d be all down for it. The main problem here would be finding one….

At least the queen was kind enough to not completely forbid her from going tonight, right? Asha shouldn’t be too ungrateful. They’re all trying their very best.

While Asha considered her options, bickering whispers arose between the royal couple a short distance away.

“You seriously cannot be thinking of leaving that nuisance here in my study!-” The king differed.

“Please, overreacting doesn’t do well for your image, Mi Rey. Asha is harmless.”

“The girl is just above tolerable. You know I’m referring to the cat.”

Actually, having both in his study sounded worse than just having one of them. While things may not look very tidy, Magnifico had his own system of organising stuff. It’s frustrating when his things just aren’t left where he wanted them to. Asha already almost never gets it right. But Espino? That damn cat might as well just own the place.

“You’ve already banned him from our sleeping chambers, Magnifico. One night here won’t kill you.” Amaya rolled her eyes.

He scoffed. “Can you blame me? He’s lucky you won’t let me get him declawed.”

An angry hiss shot at the king from the obvious source.

“Brats.“ Magnifico swore. Luckily for the feline, one simple touch on the arm from Amaya was all he needed for him to regain his composure. With a dramatic swish of his cape, Magnifico left the room like a soured peacock. The queen sighed as she watched her spouse leave. He’s lucky he’s not banned from their chambers alongside Espino already.

Before Amaya went to join her husband outside, she turned to lock eyes with her beloved pet. The sphinx cat received the message and grinned. With a haughty huff, Espino stood up and “accidentally” used his hind leg to send the book tower down to the floor with a

Thud.

Thud!

THUD!!

“Wha-?! Oh nooo-“ Asha groaned, instantly kneeling down to smoothen the creases on the pages.

“Mroow…” Espino purred innocently as he peered over the edge. Amaya took one step towards her to “help” before Asha stopped her.

“No, no, no. It’s okay, Queen Amaya, I can take care of it. You and the king can finish and look over the rest of the preparations for Krisdando.”

Amaya rested a hand on the study’s door and tilted her head. “Will you be alright darling? Again, I apologise. If you want a tip from me, Espino gets calmer when it’s warm so try to keep the fireplace going.”

Asha politely looked up from the books and smiled reassuringly, pressing at least 2 of them to her chest. “I’ve got it under control.”

The queen warmly returned the smile, one that gave Asha just a tiny bit of comfort. “Your father would be so proud to see you in his footsteps. I truly hope we see you there too tonight.”

Unbeknownst to the girl, a shadow fell upon the queen’s face the moment she turned her back to leave the study. Dangling hope just above the poor thing by a string?

Aww, How amusing…

………….

Author’s Notes:

✨✨ Happy belated Holidays and New Year!! 🎉🥳🎉

YEAHH! First Post of 2025!!! :DD

If you haven’t noticed already, do not fret because this is only 1 out of 3 written parts for this special! ;)

(Ignore the fact I spent late nights trying to write this in time for Christmas and failing SOOO hard anyway. Which is why I decided to write this as both a New Year and Christmas gift to the RFTS!fandom :3)

I’m so glad I managed to get Part 1 done because while it’s fun to write this all out, it’s been a pain to find time doing it with me being out travelling. I really wanted to finish this as a gift for all the lovely people in this fandom to enjoy. And I hope you all do! 💖

While Part 1 is written for Asha’s dynamic with the king and queen, I’ve planned out Part 2 to introduce Flazino himself, so you can look forward to that!

I have you all to thank so much for being the highlight of my first half of 2024. This Wish AU fandom is one of the most wholesome I’ve ever been in. 😭😭

January is going to be quite eventful for me. Once I’m done with the remaining parts for this, I’ll be getting back to solidifying character reference sheets and the story. Plus, maybe some doodles. (Most if not all of them are now digital art from me~ Surprise!!)

And Guess what? It’s going to be the RFTS! one year anniversary on the 23rd!! 👀✨✨. And I’m completing another orbit around the Sun in this month too on the 14th :,). Sooo yippee?

I’m honestly so touched that people are still around to look forward for the future of this story. I fear daily that I’ve killed people with waiting. Thank you so much!!! You’ve all been quite the motivator when the writing process gets difficult. Enough words can’t express this enough. Love y’all! 😭💖💖

(Lastly, lol sorry not sorry for leaving you all with an evil cliffhanger)

See you at the next part! Best Wishes from yours truly, Flicker! <33

@thesafireartist @ficsinhistory @annymation @uva124 @tumblingdownthefoxden @cocoapowderpictures @chillwildwave @rascalentertainments @spectator-zee @snackara @your-ne1ghbor + More!

[starsaught]

Boredly, the Princess busied her hands shuffling. The deck in her palms worn, ripped in some edges but held strong, although ready to retire. Octavia hadn't been paying attention to the cards, her thoughts elsewhere.

A card fell out, landing upright, if not a little crocked, due to the unmade blankets that was her bed. Ceasing the shuffle, she reached down to examine the card ; The Emperor, funny, she always saw that card as her..

Her fingers tightened around the deck, feeling them nearly cave in her grip as the Emperor was set carefully back down, her attention fully captured.

❝ Okay, I hear you. Tell me about this Emperor. ❞

Shuffling the deck, the question spoken with every careful pass of the cards, a near beg to the untold story to finally come to light.

Finishing her shuffle, Octavia was hesitant in flipping the card from the top of the deck. The cards beckoned to be read, she couldn't ignore the story they wished to tell ; but it left her feeling fear - for even they knew they had a story to tell. & she needed to merely listen.

Slowly & with careful precision, she flipped the card & placed it next to the Emperor. The Tower. Well, that much she already knew ; it wasn't new information of the events that unraveled. Even she knew each card's meaning changed depending on what sat besides it.

A sudden change in authority, the need to maintain control amongst the chaos. Adapt & change.

Returning to the deck, deciding to pull from the bottom. If there's a meaning behind these cards, then surely it needs to follow the story. The next card to enter the scene, The Five of Cups. Being left out ; abandonment.

Tapping blackened talons against the remaining cards, Octavia sat silently. These cards could have helped prior to the shift ; but nothing could have prepared her for this.

❝ One more. Tie this reading together for me. ❞ Another shuffle, a mantra on repeat to make sense of the events transpired. An answer ; that's all she wants.

Seven of Swords.

Something did feel off about the ordeal. Her Uncle's almost too enthusiastic attitude about moving in, her mother's lack of care for her father's banishment. It made sense.

Still, the question remains. What can she do now?

[clochanamarc]

consider tho, on the night aisling put moira into the void between dimensions: the idea of moira trying her hardest to manipulate aisling into exploding with emotion, and aisling just remaining quiet, in control, a deadly peace in her eyes as she just moves and fights and attacks with eoin's engagement ring still on her finger? the CCTV footage, the shaky iphone footage, all showing aisling crackling with this lethal power, but she never once loses control. she has a singular goal in mind. many things will happen that night, but one thing is absolutely inarguable. moira will not spend another waking moment on this earth. and aisling's dedication and commitment to that goal, combined with her bottled up agony and grief, leads to her physically ripping a hole in the fabric of reality in order to imprison moira.

[talesxfelysium]

Citrine was humming softly to themself as they iced the latest batch of cookies they had baked. Their most recent meeting with some of the noble families in the area… hadn’t gone as planned. So they were letting off some steam! Pointed ears twitched as they heard the tell-tale sound of hooves tapping against the ground. In a fashion they knew well as one of their children trying to be sneaky.

For now, they pretended to not notice. It was amusing to see what antics the ‘conjoined’ blob they called their children got up to.

“Wyn-wyn! You’re walking too loud!” There was one, being carried by two.

“Lili~ They can’t help it! If only I was full grown, we’d be able to sneak everywhere!” There was three.

Citrine tried not to smile as they heard two different giggles, assuming their quiet eldest had butted into the teasing.

“Okay Wyn-wyn, I’ll be quiet!” Said not quietly at all. “Ber-ber! Shhhhhhh!!!” Still not at all quiet.

“You’re the one that needs to shhhhh!!” More giggles, followed by the ‘sneaky’ sound of hoof-steps getting faster.

Pat. Pat pat pat pat. The sound of a little hand feeling around for the tray of cooled cookies.

“Ber-ber, am I close yet??”

“Not yet! A little that way- nonono other way- no you went past it-” Squeak. The sound of the tray being scooted along the counter. “Right here! Right where I’m talking!”

“I’ve got them!” Someone forgot they were supposed to be ‘quiet’. “Wyn-wyn, charge!!!”

Citrine was biting their lip now, holding back their own laughter until they heard the gaggle of giggling children get out of earshot.

[for-ests]

When I talked to the moon last night, I told her about you.

husband!gojo x reader drabble. he loves his wife SO much. just little romantic rituals.

∘∙∘☾𖤓∘∙∘

Shirtless, leaning against the railing of his balcony, Gojo exhaled blissfully. The curtains from inside flapped against the wind, reminding him that he hadn’t slid the doors shut. But he didn’t mind, as he was able to view your half-covered body tangled in his sheets, chest rising and falling in slow, peaceful breaths. A smile on your face despite the deep slumber he lulled you into. 

Satoru did promise that you would never fall asleep without a smile on your face if you married him. 

And he was proud to keep it. 

You were everything to him, and he found a routine to follow after making love to you—wandering out to his balcony to thank the moon, the stars, or whatever was shining down on him from above. Like he often did as a child, gazing up at the moon as if it contained all of life’s answers, as if its wisdom whispered the key to your happiness. 

Satoru found solace in the moon. And when the moon told him about the sun, he told the moon about you. The brightest, most important star in his universe. Nothing would ever outshine you in his mind. 

He was so lucky to have you, and a day never passed without him acknowledging it. 

Overcome with emotion, Satoru’s fingers tightened around the metal railing, slumping over it, as if he was afraid to keep gazing at the moon and its brilliance. The same overwhelming understanding washed over him. Gazing up at the moon was the equivalent of looking into your eyes. 

Such beauty. An indescribable force. You. His Goddess. How lucky he was to have you by his side, in his bed, in his life. 

The brightness from outside shined so perfectly into your eyes, that they flickered open. As you sat up, the first thing you saw was your husband on the balcony, deep in thought. 

The muscles of his back seemed to contort under the moonlight. Your husband was so melodramatic. 

“Is it a full moon tonight?” You whispered groggily from behind, not giving him a moment to reply before embracing him and resting your head against his back. 

He didn’t need to ask why you joined him, as the first few times he asked, you always mumbled a cute and tired, “Toru, you know I can’t sleep without you.” 

Chuckling softly, Gojo turned around to face you and pulled you into his chest. “Look for yourself, my love,” he whispered, pressing a light, gentle kiss on your forehead. 

Exhaling, your nose scrunched, a playful glint in your eyes as you glanced up at him. Every time he held you so tightly, so carefully and protectively, you felt like you were falling in love with him all over again. 

The brightness of the moon was clear, and it seemed to light up the entire sky, casting shadows along the drifting clouds, and highlighting Gojo’s features. Sometimes, it was hard to believe he was your husband. How lucky you were. 

“What is the moon saying tonight?” you teased with a lighthearted tone. 

Satoru claimed that the moon told him to marry you, after all. You are my sun, Y/N. He whispered every time he had to depart from you. 

Without the sun, the moon would know nothing but darkness. And every morning, the light and joy you greeted him with was an everlasting reminder that he found his other half. 

Glancing back to the stars dotting the sky, hardly visible from the moon’s brilliance, Gojo’s eyes twinkled. “The moon congratulated me.” 

Arms slipping around his waist, you questioned in a curious murmur. “For what?” 

His head tilted back to gain a better look at you. “Somehow convincing you to marry me.” He smiled sleepily, leaning down to capture your lips again. Kissing you would never grow tiresome, it was the action he looked forward to most every morning and every night. It was like he would die without it. 

“Well the sun knows it didn’t take much convincing.” You took both of his hands in yours and tugged him back to the door’s entrance. “But maybe I can ask it again in the morning.” 

“Just to make sure?” He smiled. 

Falling back into the king-sized bed, you sighed innocently, beckoning Gojo to follow you. Once he did, you cuddled up next to him. One hand on his cheek, you pressed your lips against his. 

“The sun makes no mistakes, my love,” you mumbled against his lips. 

[magicdustsworld]

𝐀 𝐁𝐄𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: A guide on how to properly date your tattooed, big, bad boyfriend.

𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐒: Established relationship, slice of life

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: some profanity, biting(non sexual), fluff, no curse AU, usage of nicknames, no mentions of y/n. (Would be just a short series of drabbles)

𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐃𝐄 𝟏 : 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐇𝐈𝐌 𝐓𝐎 𝐂𝐔𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐘𝐎𝐔

Divider credits: @cafekitsune

"I love you."

"What?"

"I love you." You say with a sheepish grin playing on your lips as you get on your knees, crawling over to him. The silk sheets crease under your deliberate yet rhythmic movements – something which he doesn't even seem to notice. For the felicity in your eyes and the ardor clouding your visage is a expression to great to ignore and even though it's Sukuna, he can't ignore you.

You reach his side, resting your arm on the bedframe, looking up at him with a expression akin to a child looking at something it holds dear. "You know I love you so much, right?"

He blinks, clearly baffled with your sudden proclamation of love. Raking his brain over everything he did today – nothing out of the ordinary except being a asshole to that one salesman who wouldn't take his leave until selling his– whatever it was. But for Sukuna that's ordinary cause he's a jerk at heart.

He tilts his head, "What do you want?"

"Your arm." You are quick to reply, voice carrying an ardor which is too loud to miss. "Give me your arm."

His eye twitches, shooting you a – are you serious – look. You reply with a nod, stretching your hand, asking to get served. A disinterested scowl graces his lips, sparing you a glance, he turns to the opposite side.

This time, your eye twitches. He did not just reject your advances. You huff, inching closer to him as you place your hand over his bicep, "Baby... look at me."

He does. You jut out lower lip, eyebrows furrowing and tipping your head up at him. He can't help but consider how much you ressemble a cat with that expression. He pinches his lips, "If you think that's going to convince me otherwise then you're wrong— ow!"

In no time, you have sunk your teeth on his bicep, the canines puncturing the flesh, incisors holding the skin in place as you glare up at him.

Sukuna winces in sheer pain, trying to pull his arm off of your hold but you remain adamant on not letting him go. "Owh— what the actual fuck woman? Let go of me!"

You do let go, retracting your mouth but do not let go of his arm. You pout at him and Sukuna looks down at the attacked area. A circle of crescent moon shapes has forned on the part of the skin – it hurts like a bitch.

He turns to face you fully, crimson eyes blazing with a rage as he looks down on you. "What the hell was that for?"

You pout, narrowing your eyes, "Cuddle with me."

"After that stunt you pulled? Absolutely not."

"Absolutely yes."

He glares at you and you glare back; the silence turning into a staring match.

Sukuna scans your face, the crease on your forehead to the way you've twisted your lips and finally the flicker of vexation in your eyes.

Definitely a cat.

He sighs, threading his fingers through his hair before stretching out his arm. "Come here."

In an instant the irkness vanishes and you jump into his arms, eyes gleaming with delight and mouth stretched into a triumph grin. You giggle, "I knew you'd come along." You say, nuzzling your face in the crook of his neck as Sukuna loops his arm around your waist, shifting you to a closer and better position.

He sighs, "Whatever, brat. Just don't bite me again."

You pursue your lips, gazing at him with a guilt. Leaning up, you press your lips against his cheeks in a chaste kiss, "Mhm, sorry."

Heat rushes up Sukuna's face, spreading from his ears to his neck; he looks away from you.

"Aw, are you blushing?"

"Shut up."

"You are blushing."

He merely responds with placing his hand on the back of your head and pushing your face down on his chest. "Shut up."

You giggle, mumbling something incoherent before snuggling closer to him. "I love you."

This time, Sukuna doesn't suppress the idiotic grin which spreads on his lips. With your face pressed against his chest, he strokes your hair, placing a soft kiss on top of your head.

"I know, brat."

𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐃𝐄 𝟐

[fushiguho]

Curiosity & the Poor, Unfortunate Cat ⭑.ᐟ

ᯓ★ Synopsis Toji Fushiguho — an absent father, a college dropout, and a panhandling loiterer who just so happens to be your father’s best friend. Obviously you have to fuck him... out of pity, of course.

Wordcount 4k

Warnings fem!reader, age gap, toji is kind of disrespectful but so are you, so much teasing it’s insane, toji has a filthy mouth (duh), rough sex, unprotected, spanking, abrupt ending, brat taming??

Author's Notes this was inspired by an anon request for toji as your father’s best friend which was so freaking fun to write (everyone say thank yew anonnnn) and this was supposed to be a drabble but i know no limits... i was also channeling a lot of my own desires here #needthat p.s. this blog is under construction, i’m in the midst of transferring my work from my previous account which was marked as explicit boooo :/

Your sheets ruffle as you discontentedly toss in bed, the silken fabric bunching haphazardly while you writhe, empty stomach caving in a ravenous hunger. Internally, you curse yourself, wishing you had eaten the dinner your father prepared earlier, but now, it’s definitely too late. You’re sure Toji has already scarfed whatever was left of it down into that perpetually endless gut of his. You’ve never stood a chance. Alas, you must eat, so with a groan of annoyance, you roll out of bed, padding to the kitchen on the hunt for satiation.

It’s the dead of night. The sacred time of day when nothing is expected of you. When everyone you have ever known is fast asleep and you’re all that remains. Darkness consumes the lifeless house as you shuffle across the carpeted floor. A night light that’s tucked at the end of the long hall flickers like a dwindling torch in the depths of a dark, endless forest. As you creep down the steep staircase, you sigh, taking notice of overhead microwave light already casting a soft, amber glow — there is someone else that too remains.

Toji.

“You can’t keep eating all of our food.” You huff, abruptly announcing your presence as you near the final step, observing the burly, sable haired man that raids your barren fridge. “I don’t even know why my father puts up with you.”

He smells your sweet, gourmand perfume before he even registers your voice. It’s utterly embarrassing how painfully his cock aches from a mere whiff of you, the sound of you. Unabashed, Toji shrugs, stuffing three, large strawberries into his greedy mouth, eyes narrowing on your pretty frame. “Your father loves me, sweetheart… couldn’t have raised your bratty ass without me.” His ravenous gaze lingers far too long, sharp eyes shamelessly flitting across your soft, exposed skin, sizing you up. “And hello to you too. What’s wrong with you young people? Does no one respect their elders anymore?”

“Oh, brother, here we go.” You grumble, bracing yourself for yet another fruitless lecture, arms crossing over your chest as you sit into your right hip. His keen eyes follow your subtle shift in stance. “And your son? Where is he?”

He scoffs. “With his mother, thank you.” Toji rolls his eyes, reaching for another strawberry. “You sure you don’t have homework to do or something? Always pesterin’ me. I’m old, damnit!”

“I graduated three years ago, thank you… though you can’t say the same,” you snide, rudely pushing past him to peer into the refrigerator, “and you're like forty-five… you should've gotten your shit together yesterday.” You add, growing progressively annoyed with his lingering presence. “Did you drink all of the milk again?”

“Heh, oh yeah. Whoops,” he goads, popping the p, “and I’m not that old, you brat.” He mumbles, esteem crumbling at your assumption.

He’s grown accustomed to your biting criticism, though in the beginning, he would almost always quarrel back, which inevitably led to the two of you in a needlessly heated and borderline flirtatious feud. Now, he’s learned to actively ignore your insults but god, he would only be lying if he said your petty, condescending remarks didn’t rewire the chemistry of his brain.

Alas, all he offers is another irritatingly indifferent shrug, a sly smile tugging at the corners of his scarred lips — his own twisted version of remittance. Toji doesn’t give a fuck, not one. He knows your father will replace it by the end of the week like he always does, so why should he?

It has been nearly a decade since your father has all too graciously granted Toji loitering rights to your childhood home. Never has he paid for groceries, for bills, for anything. He is penniless, indolent, and baselessly forthright, but god, is he the finest man you have ever known.

After both your father and Toji’s untimely and coincidentally synchronized divorces, the two have been inseparable ever since, wallowing in their shared pity together. During his unnecessarily messy divorce, Toji lost the house and your father was gracious enough to offer him a place to stay until he secures a stable job.

That was nine years ago.

Weirdly enough, Toji has known you the entirety of your existence, but not you his. From as early as you can remember, he was always just… there, but as time passed and you grew older, things changed; the way you thought about him changed. Before, you thought of him as just one of your father’s degenerate friends from undergrad who fell through the cracks. Today, that notion still holds, but now you want to fuck him, bad.

For years, you’ve imagined what Toji is like behind closed doors, what he would feel like, what he would fuck like. If he’s the type of man that plays with his food before eating it, if he even likes to eat his prey anyway. Maybe he’s the type of predator that prefers stringing his meals along, toying with and teasing them like some cruel, one-sided game and he’s got the unfair advantage. Either way, you don’t think you’d mind.

Countless nights you’ve found yourself sprawled apart with his name on the tip of your tongue. Bare, perspiring body bowing as you brainlessly fuck yourself against one of his sweatshirts that you snagged from the laundry he doesn’t do. There is no doubt that Toji has heard the desperate cries of his name that pour from beneath your paper thin door, your pretty whimpers so incredibly loud and slutty and all for him.

If he wanted, you’d let him have in the worst possible way. You would let him pry you apart and gut you out completely, leaving you nothing but a shell of your former self — drooling, stuffed, and defiled. The utter heinous things you’d commit for a mere taste of his skin is a direct contradiction of who you are and everything your father believes he’s raised you to be. You’re no angel.

Defeated, you close the refrigerator, a deep, irritated sigh dragging from your lips. This man is useless, you think. If not for his maddeningly beautiful face, you’d sock him in it, sending him tumbling to the floor so that you can finally mount him and —

“Do you wanna fuck? Is that it?”

A long, deafening beat passes. You swallow thickly. “… what?”

“You heard me. I asked if you want to fuck.” He reiterates, voice eerily calm as if he couldn’t care less about the proposition at hand. “You’re always so pissed with me, thinkin’ that’s maybe what you need... a good fuck, heh.”

His blatantly unprovoked inquiry is jostling you back into reality, because what? What the hell is wrong with him? Why did the question roll off of his tongue so quickly? So smoothly? As if it’s no big deal, as if this is just another one of his usual, overly prying questions. Is he serious?

“Toji, wha—”

“You don’t think I’m stupid, do you?” His head is falling to the right, a sleazy grin marring his slick lips. “You don’t think I see the way you look at me, sweetheart? Not a very discreet girl, I’ll tell you that…” a dark, gut wrenching chuckle rumbles from the depths of his chest, “maybe a noisy one though, hm?” He hums, quirking an omniscient brow.

Guiltily, your gaze is falling to the tiled floor, thighs pressing together as you mumble. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” Sure.

He laughs again. “You’re not a good liar either,” he’s creeping closer, the warmth of his breath like kindle to a rampant flame, “but you’re a pretty little thing… you know that already though, huh?” A curious hand is creeping around your waist, slyly reeling you in, the redolence of his cheap, inebriating cologne permeating the sinisterly thick air.

You expel an audible breath, taking a cautious step backward, yet he follows, taking a larger step forward, a step closer. Your skin burns, cheeks warming with crimson. He’s too fucking close and he knows it. What if someone sees? You don’t think you can bear the consequences that’d unfold if your father were to ever find the two of you like this. He would kill Toji, then you, and finally himself for good measure.

But god, do you want to find out. When it comes to human nature, curiosity always seems to prevail and fuck, are you one curious cat. There is something innately deep and pressing within your soul that craves satiation. It yearns to be known, to be explored. A deep, perpetually endless hole that aches — it longs to be filled, to be stuffed. None of your peers can do that for you, you’re convinced.

Your dark, repressed desires are only concerning your stance on feminism, but you don’t care, that’s the very thing. You want to find out. You need that, undoubtedly. Is what they say about older men true? The thought lingers as you contemplate the looming proposition. Yes, he’s your father’s closest friend. Yes, he’s far older than you with a child of his own. And yes, your perpetual obsession is only growing increasingly worrisome by the ticking clock, but truly, who can blame you? Look at him.

“C’monnn, you won’t even look at me, doll?” He frowns, a big hand cupping your chin, pulling your gaze upward. “Thought your father and I taught you better than that, no?”

Another loud, incredulous breath escapes your parted lips. “I’m sorry.” You whisper, cunt drooling.

Just the sweet, innocent quaver of your voice alone makes his cock twitch. His plaid pajama bottoms growing near uncomfortable as the fat, mushroom head leaks against the dampening fabric. What’s left of his dwindling resolve is slipping from his fingertips when you’re finally peering up at him, the coy bat of your lashes so perfectly slutty. Pretty, pleading eyes all wide and glossed over with your evident lust. God, he knows you need it.

Toji groans, conflicted for half a beat before growling a strangled and defeated, ‘fuck it’ then, his lips are slotting against yours in a delirious, haphazard kiss. Large hands blindly creep around your waist, dragging you impossibly closer. “This… this is your fucking fault.” He grouses, warm tongue delving so shamelessly inside of your honeyed mouth, greedily licking his way to the source.

“Fuck me then,” you’re pulling away just barely and he can’t help but to follow, subconsciously chasing your fleeting lips, “make me sorry.” It’s quiet, breathless, your pretty lips ghosting his.

And maybe you shouldn’t have said that, but it’s still not too late to end this — to push him away and say no, this isn’t right. It’s not too late to head to bed and forget any of this ever happened, but the way he’s twirling you around to push you over the marble countertop might be a step too far and damn sure too late.

“Sweetheart, you’ll be so fucking sorry,” a singular hand is peeling your lounge shorts down, down, down your plush thighs until there’s nothing but a pool of silky fabric surrounding your ankles, baring your syrupy folds, “spread those fuckin’ legs for me like a good, obedient girl. Let me see how wet that sloppy pussy is.”

With your face snug against the marble, all you can manage is a weak, fruitless gasp of his name, the warmth of your frantic breaths condensing the frigid countertop. You’re craning your head to the side, rising to the palms of your hands to observe the burly man that looms behind you. Fuck, he’s going to kill you.

He simpers, trailing several, curious fingers from your swollen clit allll the way down to your visibly tightening hole which drools endlessly. Pearlescent gossamers of arousal cling to the pads of his fat digits, kissing his skin in a beautiful sheen of your bountiful essence. The warm, abrupt stretch of his careless fingers as they sink deeeeep inside of your slobbering hole is peerless, prying your jaw open in a pretty, guttural moan — so raw and primal and all for him.

“Thaaat’s it, let me hear you, girl… sound even prettier up close,” he’s leaning down to better observe your desperate wails of rapture, pressing his clothed cock against the rear of your bare ass in the process, “got me fucking my hand like an idiot to the sound of you. How rude is that?” His breath hot and laden with lust against the crook of your neck.

Another wanton moan is belting from your gaped mouth at his confession. You can hardly help the pathetic buck of your hips, weakly fucking yourself against the stocky hand that cups your pretty pussy. The gnawing stretch of his fingers set your skin ablaze and yet, it’s not enough. You need more.

“Just f-fuck me… please? Before he gets home.” God, you are so fucking cute, bottom lip quivering in… fear? Anticipation?

Toji frowns feigndly. “Oh, don’t tell me you’re scared now, sweet girl?” A warm, calloused palm is splaying across the thick of your hip, pulling you closer to the edge of the marble. “Sure doesn’t feel like it…” he taunts, dragging his fingers out of you to smear your prolific arousal between your swollen lips and the slit of your ass, soon bringing them up to your stupidly gaped mouth, “doesn’t taste like it either, huh?” He prompts you to taste yourself, his long, drooling digits hanging before your subconsciously parting lips.

And god, you could fucking cum right there, cunt throbbing embarrassingly around nothing but the fleeting memory of his fingers. You hardly have the time to loll out your tongue before he’s rudely stuffing his fingers into your warm, obedient mouth. A synchronous, drawn out moan echoing from both of your slacked jaws, yours muffled by his fat digits and his so careless and plainly conquered by his ineffable lust.

You hum contentedly around his thick fingers, cleaning your own arousal from them like the good whore he always knew you’d be. Drool spills from the corners of your lips and down his burly knuckles, coating his hand in an obscene mess of your sweet saliva. His fingers are deliberately creeping farther down your slutty little throat, forcing a proper gag from the pit of your core, more of your saliva consequently cascading down his palm.

Like the nasty slut he is, he’s pulling them out of your mouth, only to plop them inside of his own, sucking and drooling down those very digits, his cruel gaze holding yours. A guttural groan belts from the depths of his chest, sable eyes fluttering shut as he hums in satisfaction. Your mouth falls wide, jaw slacked as pretty little pants of incredulity pour from it, poor cunt aching in your ever growing arousal. What. The. Fuck.

“What? Nothing else to fuckin’ say, huh?” Those same fingers are running along your cunt once more, messily smearing the sinful amalgamation of married saliva. They’re sweeping across your swollen clit before slowly sinking back inside of you, preparing you. “Always talkin’ so much shit to me. Gonna shut you up real soon, sweetheart… swear to god.”

A stupid gasp parts your lips, stomach caving in arousal at the sound of him hastily slipping out of his plaid bottoms. A greedy hand is latching to the back of your right knee, pulling your leg up to pin it against the cool marble. The sight of your pretty pussy in all of her sloppy glory makes his cock twitch, the head dripping in sinful rivulets of pearlescent arousal.

You can barely stand the way he takes his cock into his fist, idly pumping his pretty erection, a slutty grin spreading across his scarred lips. From his girthy base allll the way to the fat, leaking head, he strokes himself, but not before swiping the pad of his thumb across the drooling opening, spreading his arousal down the expanse of his monstrous length. You fucked up. Royally.

“God,” you mumble, turning back around to stuff your face into the crook of your arm in utter horror, “god, I am s…so sorry.”

And he fucking laughs. Laughs at your apology; it’s loud and obnoxious and so clearly intended to piss you off because you’re not sorry, you’re scared and he knows it. He can see the way your body trembles atop the counter, drooling cunt shamelessly exposed with your leg hiked up so rudely. The way your big, pleading eyes widen in fear as he creeps closer. Even your futile attempt to scoot away when he begins to drag the head of his cock between both of your slutty holes, almost as if he can’t decide which to ruin first.

“Nuh uh… c’mere,” he nearly growls, impertinently pulling you back before him by the flimsy fabric of your night shirt, a disapproving grunt ensuing, “tryna run away from me, huh?” Two, large hands are groping the fat of your ass, brazenly spreading you apart. “Oughta’ teach you some fuckin’ manners… such a mean little thing. Hell’s wrong with you?”

The head of his cock rests so heavily against your sloppy hole, hot precum oozing against the mess of slick that adorns your pretty pussy. Toji slaps the dense head against your lips once. A droning, helpless mewl pours from your gaped mouth, only for him to do it again, and again, and again. A lewd and deafening plap! plap! plap! reverberates throughout the dimly lit kitchen, sticky gossamers of married arousal tethering you as one.

“Knew you’d have a pretty cunt,” he admits, briefly dipping the head of his cock inside of you, dragging a wanton whimper from your lips, “such a shame y’er so mean to me… would’ve had you like this years ago if not for that nasty little mouth of yours.” He’s sinking inside of you yet again, but only to pull out when he’s gone too deep.

If your father were to walk into this kitchen at this very moment, he’d be utterly appalled. Horrified. You’re writhing beneath him, hips bucking so sluttily against his teasing cock. God, you have never craved something so horribly in your life; you could just die from the sheer deprivation and it’s hilarious to him. He’s taunting you like it’s some cruel fucking game and he’s got the upper hand.

Again, he laughs. “Oh, you want it bad, huh?”

“Yes, fuck.” You growl, evidently frustrated.

“Awwww you mad, sweetheart?” He irritatingly coos, leaning down to press a wet, openmouthed kiss to the nape of your neck. “Is that poor pussy frustrated huh?” Another sloppy kiss between the valley of your shoulder blades, the head of his cock gliding between your glossy lips, spreading you apart. “Heh, she’s cryin’ for it, such a messy girl… drooling all over my cock like that.”

“Please,” it’s a broken, shameless plea as you crane your head, beautiful tears of desperation pricking your eyes, your pride somewhere so far gone, “pleasepleaseplease.”

A dark, breathy chuckle parts his lips, aching cock jerking against your awaiting hole. For years, he’s imagined you just like this — begging and crying for his cock like some insatiable whore. If anything, he’s denying himself; though, what’s left of his restraint quickly perishes at the sight of your sobbing hole tightening around nothing, kissing his shaft in a gleaming, warm mess.

He almost can’t help but to sink inside of you again, instead this time, he’s giving you everything, all of his twitching cock. The abrupt intrusion forces an incredulous gasp past your lips, a low, throaty groan dragging from his slack jaw in tandem. And just as he thought, your greedy pussy is swallowing his fat cock to the base effortlessly, almost as if it was hand tailored for you.

You’re fighting the gnawing urge to run — to clamber across the countertop and cower in fear, but you can’t fucking move. He’s got you pinned to the marble, a heavy hand at the rear of your neck, the other splayed across the thick of your hip, pulling you back onto his cock. It aches. The delirious stretch of his cock and how it steals your breath away, your mouth sagged, yet nothing is uttered. For once in your life, you’re speechless.

“Is this really all it takes, huh?” His hips are reeling back, the shiny essence of your arousal sheathing the entirety of his cock. “God, is this all it fucking takes to shut you up? A cock in this slutty little pussy, huhhh?” The bruising snap of his hips as he pummels forward nearly has you gushing down the length of him all too soon. “Answer me… and use your big girl words, c’mon sweetheart.” 

A loud, desperate gasp of air is all you can manage, bottom lip trembling as you attempt to say something, anything. The hand that holds your neck is threading throughout your mussed hair, forcing your gaze onto his and he can’t help but to laugh at your stupid expression — drool spilling from the corners of your mouth, thick brows knitted so tightly as your pretty eyes threaten to cross. Of course you can’t fucking speak, you’re drunk.

“My goodness, I wish you could see yourself… you’re so stupid on it,” he admires almost endearingly, a warm, mindless thumb grazing your bottom lip, “that perfect fucking face, god. You are so pretty taking it, such a goooood pretty slut for that cock, fuck.” The near possessive growl that belts from the depths of his lungs is like nothing you have ever heard — so filthy and shameless and ridden with his unbearable lust.

Toji is completely losing himself in the wet, endless abyss of pleasure that is you. Babbling nothing but loud, reckless praises, your pretty name spilling so willfully from his slutty tongue. He can hardly help the way he’s subconsciously jerking you back onto his cock. His big, greedy hands tighten so possessively around your pretty waist, meeting himself halfway. The obscene plap! of his achingly full balls beating up your quivering clit with each ensuing thrust.

“Thaaat’s it, you’re so good, that pussy is so fucking good… takin’ it soo deep for me.” He mindlessly blabbers, a large hand creeping beneath the thin fabric of your shirt, the calloused pads of his fingers sweeping across your soft, perspiring skin.

Every coherent thought you have ever had is long forgotten, poor mind completely barren. He’s the only thing you can hear, think, feel — the greedy hands that wordlessly command you, the warm stretch of his drooling cock as it wholly splits you apart. Even the fat, curious thumb that’s sinking inside of that other poor, neglected hole of yours is prying your lips open in a helpless mewl of pleasure.

“It’s sooo good… sooofuckingooood, oh my god.” You snarl, teeth bared and his jaw nearly unhinges — you sound so fucking pretty. “I love it, I love it, I loveee your c-cock.”

“Yeaaah, sweetheart?” He coos, heavy head deliriously falling back to dangle between his broad shoulders. “God, you needed this, didn’t you? Look at your hips buck like such a nasty slut.” A loud, ear splitting smack! lands against the fat of your ass. “Do you dream about it after you fuck yourself and cum all over my clothes, huh?” Another smack! to the other cheek, your poor cunt consequently squeezing down the base of his cock. “No fucking shame either.”

You possess half the brain to respond, not sure whether to shake your head or nod, too far gone to even make sense of anything anymore. Moan after unrestrained moan spill from both of your raptured tongues, the two of you sharing a few synchronous gasps of air or delirious cries of overwhelming pleasure. It’s the most debauched, yet utterly erotic thing you have ever experienced, but then, there’s a loud, roaring voice that’s stilling Toji’s hips.

“What the fuck is going on here?!”

Fuck.

© fushiguho.

[misswynters]

Scientific purposes

drabble

featuring. viktor x reader

warnings. suggestive, kissing in the council room

requested. @pinklunarprincess

In council chambers which were dimly lit, the last vestiges of daylight filtering through the tall, arched windows. The air carried the faint scent of ink and parchment, mingling with the lingering tension of earlier debates. You remained seated at the head of the long mahogany table, meticulously reviewing the day’s proposals when Viktor entered. He moved quietly, his mechanical brace clicking softly against the polished floor. His golden eyes lingered on you longer than necessary, an unreadable expression flickering across his face. This wasn’t his first visit today. He had come by twice already under the guise of needing your counsel. But this time, his intent seemed different, and the way he locked the door behind him sent a spark of anticipation down your spine.

“I see you’ve returned,” you remarked without looking up, your tone laced with playful exasperation. “What pressing matter is it this time, Viktor?”

He hesitated, his hands clasped behind his back. “There are… complexities in the hextech approval process. I thought it best to speak with you directly.” His voice was calm, measured, but the slight tremor betrayed him.

You tilted your head, finally meeting his gaze. The intensity in his eyes was undeniable, and it ignited something within you. “Complexities, hmm? Are you sure this couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”

“Not with you here,” he replied softly, his honesty catching you off guard.

Rising from your seat, you took a slow step toward him, watching as his confidence wavered under your scrutiny. “You seem rather insistent tonight,” you mused, the faintest of smirks tugging at your lips. “Tell me, are these complexities truly about hextech? Or is there something else on your mind?”

His breath hitched as you closed the distance between you. “I—” he began, but the words seemed to catch in his throat. His gaze flickered to your lips, and he took a small step back, his resolve clearly wavering. “It would be improper…”

“Improper?” you echoed, arching an eyebrow. “Since when has that stopped you from seeking what you want?”

Your words left him momentarily speechless, and you could see the war playing out behind his golden eyes. Finally, he drew in a sharp breath, his voice barely above a whisper. “You.”

You closed the remaining distance, your hands finding the lapels of his coat as you pulled him toward the chair at the center of the room. “Sit,” you commanded softly, your tone leaving no room for argument. He obeyed, his movements almost mechanical as he lowered himself into the chair.

Hovering above him, you placed one knee between his legs, your weight barely pressing against him. The intimacy of the position made him tense, his hands gripping the armrests tightly as if anchoring himself. Leaning forward, your lips ghosted over his, your breath mingling with his as you spoke. “You could’ve just said you wanted my attention, Viktor. All this talk of ‘complexities’ wasn’t necessary.”

“I…” He swallowed hard, his hands twitching as though resisting the urge to touch you. “I did not want to—overstep.”

A soft chuckle escaped you as your fingers trailed up his jaw, tilting his face to meet yours. “And yet here we are," you murmured, brushing your lips against his in the faintest of touches.

The kiss deepened quickly, his restraint crumbling as his hands finally moved to rest on your hips. The heat between you was palpable, your bodies pressing closer as the tension that had been building for weeks finally erupted. Viktor's lips were fervent against yours, his usual precision and control giving way to raw need.

You pulled back just enough to catch your breath, your lips brushing against his ear. "You've been driving yourself mad over this, haven't you?"

"Yes," he admitted hoarsely, his voice heavy with desperation. "You... sure are intoxicating."

Your teeth grazed the shell of his ear, drawing a shiver from him as you whispered, "Then let me consume you."

His response was immediate, his hands tightening on your waist as though afraid you might disappear. You could feel his pulse racing beneath your fingertips as you cupped his face, your thumb brushing over his cheekbone. There was something beautiful about seeing him like this. Unguarded, vulnerable, and utterly at your mercy.

"You're trembling," you noted, your tone soft but teasing. "Are you nervous, Viktor?"

He managed a faint chuckle, though his voice betrayed him. "You have a way of... unbalancing me."

You smiled, your lips hovering just above his. "Good."

taglist. @xxblairslairxx @diffusebread @ekkosh @ash-84321 @luneariaa @minagrayson @aliives @mammonsleftring @gxrextxgaidk @anna1-1 @bl-0-ndi-3

banner. @anitalenia

[pseudowho]

Stoic

When Gojo assumes Nanami Kento's lack of PDA for the reader shows a lack of desire for her, a tipsy Kento is quick to correct him.

Warnings: 18+ drabble, Kento goes on a smutty rant

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'A quick drink' after work had soon turned into two, three, four. Shoko took full advantage of the rooftop bar's balcony, smoking and idly chatting; Higuruma and Atsuya gossipped and quipped, snorting into their drinks; Satoru observed Kento and you keenly behind his dark lens; you stood, excusing yourself to the bathroom as Kento gave you a gentle smile.

"I'm sorry," Satoru interrupted loudly when you were gone, his pot boiling over, "I just-- I just don't get it, Nanami." All eyes were on Satoru and Kento now-- Kento, with one thin eyebrow raised in quiet disdain at Satoru, and Satoru, with his elbows planted forward on his knees in challenge.

A few moments of silence. Kento huffed, "Should I be apologising for someth--"

"--you've been together for years," Satoru interrupted, "and I'm just not convinced. She could be-- she could be a coat rack for all the affection you show her, you're supposed to not be able to keep your hands off her--"

"--you want me to grope my fiancée in public, am I correct--"

"--well maybe, anything to show that you love her--"

Kento laughed out loud, deep and humourless, continuing to chuckle into his glass, scoffing to himself; "Love her," he rumbled, swirling his whiskey, amber eyes flickering and carnal in the firelight.

Shoko had turned, smirking, to watch the scene. Atsuya leaned back, scowling, chewing on a toothpick with crossed arms. Hiromi leaned, glimmer-eyed, into the drama, one hand cupping his jaw and the other clasping his wineglass. He picked up the bottle, slowly beginning to pour another glass.

"I don't love her," Kento spat, downing his glass of whiskey in one smooth swallow, hissing and slamming the glass down on the table, "I worship her. I'm obsessed with her."

Satoru was silent, mulish, as Kento continued.

"I would walk through rains of bullets for her," he mused aloud, "I would cut off fingers with blunt knives--"

"Nanami, alright, I'm sorry--"

"Any second I'm not with her," Kento continued, his voice quieter, darker, the group leaning into him, "is a second wasted. I don't know what point there was in the years I spent without her-- probably just there to build me into even a semblance of the man she deserves--"

"--why are we doing this--"

"-- and when I'm not thinking about talking to her, watching her, being near her, holding her, or-- fuck, just having her look at me goes bone-deep...I spend at least eighty-percent of my time thinking about different ways to make her cum--"

Satoru was blushing now, his face in his hands, while the others leaned into Kento's mild breakdown with awe, "--fucking hell Nanami, I didn't mean--"

"I almost died last week, at work," Kento mused, as a laughing Hiromi slid the glass of wine down the table to Kento, which he caught seamlessly, "because I was too busy thinking about how her mouth had felt around my cock the night before, because I was pondering the many applications for my tie, because I was thinking about how incredible she felt underneath me--"

Atsuya and Shoko whispered together, Hiromi now giggling to himself unashamedly; "Oh he's really going for it--" "I know I know, shhh, let him finish--"

"--and I've been sat here with her all evening, resisting the urge to strip her, tie her wrists together and have her ride me until I go fucking blind, all because of social-fucking-propriety, just for some long streak of jizz like you to say I clearly don't love her--"

Satoru had shrunk in on himself now, his soul quietly leaving his body, mortified and put to rights as Kento tsked, swirling his wine before downing that, too. He accepted the bottle Hiromi slid towards him in approval.

"...it really just is rather rude and presumptuous of you, isn't it, Gojo?"

The group sat in stunned silence as you returned, sitting beside Kento and laying a hand on his crossed knees. You felt the bizarre tension; Hiromi unable to conceal a blush as he looked at you, Shoko giving you a knowing smile around her cigarette, Atsuya unable to make eye contact. You smiled uncertainly.

"...what did I miss?"

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Still waters run deep 💀💀💀

[diamonddaze01]

baby, darling, light of my entire life

pairing: csc x fem!reader genre: tooth-rotting fluff, established relationship, slice of life | wc: 2.4k au: married au! warning: alcohol consumption (by the reader) | rating: e for everyone

summary: it's laughable how much you forget when you drink.

a/n: one day when i say i’m writing a drabble i will actually write a drabble. one day. that day is not today. // the cheol angst is taking forever so here have some fluff as a precursor // flashbacks in italics!

“WOW,” you shout (very loudly, he thinks) in Seungcheol’s ear. “YOU’RE LIKE, REALLY PRETTY!” 

Seungcheol flinches, rubbing his ear as your voice cuts through the pounding bass of the club. The flashing lights reflect off the crowd around you, turning everything into a blur of motion, but all Seungcheol can focus on is you—his overly drunk wife—looking up at him with wide, dazzled eyes like he’s some stranger you’ve just met.

He had known this would happen. Letting you go out with Jeonghan, Joshua, and their girlfriends without him was practically inviting chaos into the night. He would’ve joined you if work hadn’t held him back, and guilt had gnawed at him all evening for canceling plans yet again (was it guilt, or fear of retribution from Jeonghan? He’d never tell). He’d figured he could catch up with you at the club before things got too crazy.

Clearly, he’d been wrong.

When Seungcheol finally arrives, the table your group has reserved is a mess of empty glasses, and the dance floor is packed with bodies swaying to the beat. It isn’t hard to spot Jeonghan trying to keep you out of trouble—tall and exasperated, attempting to pull you away from a guy you seem hellbent on kicking in the balls.

“I’LL LET YOU KNOW THAT I HAVE A BOYFRIEND,” you screech, words slurring together and voice so loud Seungcheol can hear it on the other side of the dance floor. “AND HE’S THE BESTESTEST - LET GO OF ME!”

Jeonghan, bless his soul, is no match for your drunken ferocity, and lets out a startled yelp as you yank your hands free from his grip and stalk away in a huff. Seungcheol watches with growing amusement as you stumble toward where he stands on the dance floor, eyes lighting up the second you spot him.

“WOW,” you repeat, stopping just inches from him, blinking up at him with childlike awe. “YOU’RE LIKE, REALLY PRETTY.”

Seungcheol can’t help but chuckle under his breath. Your wobbling stance, the way your gaze fixes on him with the same starry-eyed amazement as if you’re seeing him for the first time—it’s all too familiar. He leans in slightly, humoring you.

“Oh really?” he teases, though his lips twitch with amusement. You’re giving him the same starry-eyed look you gave him when you first confessed—though, admittedly, you’re significantly less intoxicated now. Well… maybe not that much less. “You think so?”

You’d had one too many drinks, laughing hysterically with Jeonghan and Joshua about something stupid—something Seungcheol couldn't even remember now. All he could remember was the way your eyes had kept flickering to him, playful but shy, as if you had something on your mind but weren’t quite sure how to say it. He’d leaned in close, pretending to listen to Jeonghan’s nonsense, but really, he was trying to get closer to you.

“Hey, Cheol,” you slurred that night, your voice softer than the buzz of the club, but enough to catch his attention. Your cheeks were flushed from the alcohol, your hair falling messily into your eyes, but there was a different look behind them this time—something more serious.

“Yeah?” Seungcheol had leaned in, smiling softly. You were always cute when you were drunk, but tonight, something felt... different. You weren’t just tipsy; you were nervous.

“I have a secret,” you whispered, as if you were sharing the world’s biggest conspiracy.

Seungcheol blinked, amused. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

You took a deep breath, looking around as if you were checking for eavesdroppers before meeting his gaze again. “I...I think you’re really pretty - like. REALLY PRETTY,” you blurted out, your eyes wide with sincerity. “And I think I really, really like you.”

The words hung in the air between you, and Seungcheol remembered feeling his heart skip a beat. He’d liked you for months at that point—he was pretty sure the whole group knew it—but you’d never given him any real sign that you felt the same way. Until now.

“You like me, huh?” Seungcheol had teased, leaning closer, his lips inches from yours. “Or are you just saying that because you’re drunk?”

You had frowned, swaying slightly, but your hands had reached for him, gripping his shirt tightly as if he might disappear. “No, I mean it. I like you,” you had insisted, your eyes growing glassy, a little too honest for your own good. “I don’t wanna be just friends anymore. I want you to be mine.”

Seungcheol’s chest had swelled with affection. “Well,” he had whispered back, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face, “I think I’ve been yours for a long time, baby.”

You had blinked at him, confusion flickering in your eyes before a slow, wide smile spread across your lips. “Wait, really?” you asked, the disbelief clear in your voice.

Seungcheol had chuckled, pulling you into his arms then, your confession making his heart race. “Yeah, really,” he whispered before finally closing the distance, pressing his lips against yours.

Seungcheol’s heart swells as he looks at you, those same glassy, honest eyes reflecting an undeniable truth. In this moment, even if you don’t fully recognize him, he can feel it—the love you hold for him is woven into every glance, every flicker of emotion. It’s a warmth that wraps around him, grounding him despite the chaos.

“Yeah,” you breathe, nodding vigorously as if this is the most important fact you’ve ever shared. “But I can’t talk to you,” you add in a whisper, glancing around as if someone might overhear. “I have a boyfriend.”

Seungcheol raises an eyebrow, his lips twitching at your secrecy. “A boyfriend, huh?”

You nod, taking a wobbly step closer. Your hand lands on his arm, fingers curling around the fabric of his jacket like it’s the only thing keeping you from falling over. “Mhm. He’s got these big, strong arms… like yours,” you muse, eyes drifting over his frame with an approving once-over. “And the cutest smile ever. And—wait, are you his twin?” you ask, your voice suddenly full of suspicion.

Seungcheol barely manages to contain his laughter. “No, baby, I’m not his twin.”

Your face brightens again. “Good, because I’m not allowed to flirt with anyone who’s not him,” you declare, though the way you’re still clutching his arm suggests otherwise. “But you’re really pretty, so don’t get any ideas.”

You turn to walk away and suddenly whip back around, pointing an accusing finger in his face. He almost falls over. “And DON’T call me baby! Only my boyfriend can call me that.”

Seungcheol lets out a long, suffering sigh, rubbing a hand over his face to hide his grin. “Baby…”

“HEY! NO!”

He steals a glance at Jeonghan, who has now joined Joshua and their girlfriends at the edge of the dance floor, clearly done with playing babysitter. Jeonghan gives him a knowing smirk, mouthing good luck before turning away. Seungcheol’s patience wears thin, but he can’t help the fond smile tugging at his lips as he looks at you, swaying slightly under the flashing lights of the club. You’re an adorable mess: cheeks flushed from alcohol, eyes wide and glassy as they struggle to focus on him. Every time the music pulses, your body sways, and Seungcheol instinctively tightens his grip on your waist to keep you steady.

“Baby. Darling. Light of my entire life.” His hands slide from your waist to your shoulders, squeezing gently, trying to ground you in the midst of your drunken haze. He crouches slightly, so he’s at eye level with you, his dark eyes locking onto yours with a tenderness that makes your heart skip. You blink up at him, clearly confused, your brows knitting together as if trying to figure out a puzzle too complicated for your current state.

“I. Am. Your. Husband,” he says, his words slow and deliberate, almost as though speaking to a child.

Your eyes widen dramatically, hands flying to your chest as if struck by some earth-shattering revelation. “No way!” you gasp, your voice filled with pure astonishment. Your gaze roams over him as if you’re seeing him for the very first time. The lights of the club flicker against his face, casting shadows over his sharp features, and for a second, even in your drunken state, you marvel at just how beautiful he is. “Are you serious?!” you whisper, your tone full of awe.

Seungcheol closes his eyes for a brief moment, fighting back the laughter bubbling in his chest. He leans in, closer this time, until his lips brush against your ear. The familiar warmth of his breath sends a shiver down your spine. “Yes, I am very serious,” he murmurs, the teasing lilt in his voice sending butterflies into your already churning stomach.

You blink up at him again, head tilting slightly as if processing this newfound information is a monumental task. The room seems to spin a little, and you reach out instinctively, clutching at his arms to steady yourself. “But…” you start, your voice trailing off as you bite your lip, your brows furrowing in deep confusion. “Why didn’t anyone tell me I’m married?”

Seungcheol groans softly, though a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. He pulls you in by the waist, his strong arms wrapping around you like a protective barrier from the chaos around you. “You were at the wedding, baby,” he says, exasperation dripping from every word, though his tone is laced with affection. “You were the bride.”

Your eyes flutter as you stare up at him, still trying to wrap your mind around this incredible information. The flickering lights above, the faint scent of alcohol and sweat from the club, the warmth of Seungcheol’s arms around you—it all feels dreamlike. “Wait, so… you’re my boyfriend and my husband?” you ask, your voice rising in a mix of disbelief and wonder.

“Yup,” he says with a soft chuckle, his dimpled smile deepening as he looks down at you. That smile, the way his eyes crinkle at the corners, sends a rush of warmth through your already tipsy mind. Even in your inebriated state, the sight of it makes your heart race. “You really hit the jackpot, huh?”

“NO. WAY,” you repeat, this time louder, your voice filled with awe as you step back slightly, your eyes scanning him again as if to check if this is all real. The music pounds in your ears, but you can barely hear it now over the sound of your own giddiness. “And… do we live together? Like, in a house?”

Seungcheol lets out another soft laugh, his hand coming up to brush a strand of hair out of your face. His fingers linger for a moment, tracing the curve of your cheek before resting gently on your shoulder. “Yes, baby, we do. You even picked out the curtains.”

The memory of your shared home floods your mind—each detail a testament to your love. Sunlight pours through the cheerful curtains you’ve chosen, illuminating the cozy living room where laughter echoes like music. The kitchen, with its warm scents of your culinary experiments and his late-night snacks, feels alive with the essence of you. Every nook and cranny speaks of the warmth you’ve woven into his life, transforming a mere house into a home, brimming with love and memories.

Your eyes widen in recognition, and you gasp, your hands clapping over your mouth. “And they’re so nice!” you exclaim, shaking your head in disbelief. “I have great taste.” You pause, narrowing your eyes at him as another thought pops into your alcohol-clouded brain. “Does my boyfriend—uh, husband,” you correct yourself with a dramatic flair, pointing a finger at him as if delivering an important verdict, “does he know how lucky he is?”

Seungcheol can’t hold back his laughter this time. It’s rich and warm, rumbling from his chest as he pulls you closer, his arms snug around your waist. “Oh, trust me, he knows,” he replies, his voice softening as he presses a tender kiss to your temple.

Even when you can’t remember him, Seungcheol feels a swell of gratitude for your love—for the quiet mornings entangled in the sheets, for spontaneous late-night adventures, for the way your laughter brightens his day.

You sigh in contentment, leaning into his chest, the weight of your body completely sinking into his warmth. The booming bass of the club seems to fade into the background as you melt against him, finding solace in his steady heartbeat and familiar scent. “He’s so lucky,” you mumble, your voice barely audible against the fabric of his shirt, but Seungcheol hears it loud and clear.

He smiles, brushing his lips across the top of your head. “He really is.”

For a moment, the world around you both seems to pause. The chaotic energy of the club, the distant chatter, and the bright lights all fade as you stand wrapped in each other’s arms, content in this little bubble of warmth. But then, just as quickly, you pull back, your brows furrowed in concentration. You blink up at him, still slightly suspicious. “Wait… does this mean I have to go home with you?”

Seungcheol’s deep chuckle reverberates through his chest as he gently brushes a stray hair from your face, his thumb lingering against your cheek. “Yeah, baby, that’s usually how marriage works,” he replies, his voice dripping with amusement.

You frown, trying to piece everything together in your hazy mind. "But I don’t want to leave the club yet… we’re having fun, right?” you ask, your tone almost pleading, as though the thought of leaving this electric energy behind is too much to bear.

At that, Seungcheol’s gaze hardens a little as he leans down, glinting with unspoken promises. He presses a kiss under your ear, relishing in the way you shiver and press against him (he can’t help himself— the dress you’re wearing right now is sin incarnate). His lips linger against your skin for a moment longer, feeling your heart rate speed up at his antics. “We’ll have even more fun at home,” he murmurs, his voice deep and sultry; he smirks when you stumble a little in his grip, knees growing weak.

But of course, he’s not getting lucky tonight—you pull back just as quickly as you melted in his arms. You squint at him, narrowing your eyes as suspicion creeps in, your drunken mind still struggling to grasp the concept. “You’re not just saying that because you’re so pretty, right?”

He raises an eyebrow, leaning in until his face is mere inches from yours, his breath warm against your lips. His dark eyes sparkle with mischief as his voice drops to a low, teasing whisper. “You’ll just have to trust me on this one.”

For a long moment, you stare at him, your heart pounding in your chest, your mind trying to decide whether or not to kiss him right then and there. The world seems to slow around you, the only thing you can focus on is him—the way his lips hover so close to yours, the way his arms wrap securely around you, and the soft, affectionate look in his eyes. Finally, you let out a dramatic sigh, rolling your eyes playfully.

“Fine,” you say, leaning in slightly, your lips brushing his with the faintest touch. “But only because you’re so pretty.”

[tbaluver]

his treasure- sylus x reader

pairing: dragon!sylus x fem!reader cw/tags: MDNI, monster fucking-ish(?), size diference, p in v, sucking breasts genre: smut + drabble a/n: this is just inspo from his new myth that's coming out and omgee im so excited ٩(^ᗜ^)و i hope everyone that wants his memory gets it! enjoy reading! (ෆ˙ᵕ˙ෆ)♡

no one dared to enter the dragon’s cave. the tales of hidden riches of gold, jewels, and treasures beyond anyone’s dreams laid all out by a fearsome dragon who kept it all to himself.

groups and groups of townspeople have set out on the journey to see if the stories were true but have never returned to tell the horrible tale of what they have witnessed.

as they stepped into the cave, piles of gold in every corner of the room, mixed in with a pile of jewels and treasures they’ve heard from the tales. but as they stepped further in they witnessed the beast itself.

there he was, on top of a girl, marks littered all over her body as she whimpered in ‘pain’. his wings shielded over his and her body and the possible true horrors of what he’s done to her.

they had dug their own graves, foolishly shouting at the beast and raising their weapons as if it were to intimate him. the dragon- sylus, lifts his head from your neck. his growl menacing and filled with annoyance.

the torches that lined along the walls extinguished in an instant, the dragon striking each and every man that had decided to trespass his lair that day.

each time the townspeople refused to learn from the past group, stubbornly believing they would succeed with the dragon slain with hoards of golds and jewels in tow.

as weeks and months passed by, the townspeople's expeditions dwindled until no one dared to try again anymore.

at last, he has you all to himself. no more foolish humans to bother and no distractions. just him and you.

-

he laid you down onto the plush carpet, better than the rough surface he calls his throne. around you flickered the glow of candles, leaving a warm glow around both of your bodies.

sylus leans forward, placing a kiss on your nipple before looking up at you. his tongue slowly rolls around your bud, sucking it gently after. he found himself groaning, nuzzling against the valley of your breasts.

biting your lip, you watch as sucks the other, his eyes never leaving yours as his tongue continues to tease you. his warm mouth surrounds your nipple as his fangs barely graze your soft skin.

with a quiet pop, he pulls off your breasts, a string of saliva keeping him and your breasts connected. he sits up, his crimson eyes traced the delicate curves of your body. 

his tail coiled around you, wrapping you to keep you in place. the scales brushed against your skin, prickling you and leaving small marks. he made sure to lick each and every mark he had left, his tongue gliding across your skin making the lingering sting begin to fade.

sylus was always tender at times like this, treating you like find gold- not counting what he’s like during his heat.

you gasp, your eyes fluttering shut as you continue to rock yourself below him.

he was big, almost too big for your liking. it took some time getting used too and no matter how many times you both fucked, your pussy was always so tight around him, the stretch burning you so deliciously.

his hard cock too thick and long to fit inside of you as he ruts between your thighs, shaking your whole entire body. its rough edges massaged your walls good that your drools pooled down to your neck.

your body twitched and trembled as he continued to plow into you and you knew he was getting closer. your walls were squeezing him and had him near the edge, ready to spill his load deep inside of you. 

his eyes fluttered shut, tilting his head back. groans escaping his lips as his hips picked up the pace. your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you felt a slight burn on the lower half of your body.

his knot stretched into you wider, his bulge in your lower abdomen growing as hot loads painted your walls creamy white.

he growls, careful not to place his claws on you. you were so tight, so warm, so perfect. his mind was spinning as his heart raced.

even with all this fine gold and jewels in this cave nothing can compare to the treasure he has cradled in his arms.

[toorusluvr]

just thinking about sylus… being lovey dovey with mc

CHARACTERS: sylus x f!reader (reader is the mc!)

CONTENT WARNINGS: unprotected sex + penetration sex + p in v + sylus calling the reader 'princess' 'baby' 'good girl' like once

NOTES FROM NIS: hi!! it's me again this time with another drabble written for sylus!! pls enjoy my thirst drabble for him sigh he's such a good husband material... reblogs, likes are very much appreciated!! anyway, if you're interested, please check out my haikyuu fic featuring iwaizumi hajime <333 u can check the fic out in my pinned post (for some reason, i can't paste the url here good lord why!!)

his larger frame hovering above you. both of you panting and moaning in sync, your lewd noises, mixed with the sound of his heavy balls slamming against your flesh filling the four walls of his spacious and luxurious bedroom.

sylus’s much larger hands pining your hands above of your hand, binding them with a tight grip. his expression showed that he was on edge of coming, not with your cunt squeezing his cock like a vice grip. fuck your pussy is driving him insane.

the 6’5 foot man inhaled the sight in front of him. your naked body on display, tits bouncing to each thrust he was giving you. your eyes shut closed, cute moans and whimpers spilling out of your lips every second of his cock fucking your insides. “what a fucking treat, sylus murmured under his breath. “such a beautiful girl for me, princess.”

slowly, he leaned down, minty breath fanning over your luscious lips. “open your eyes, princess. look at how tight your pussy is squeezing my cock, hm?” he removed one of his hands from binding your hand and down to squeeze your cheeks using his hand.

when you didn’t comply the first time, sylus again squeezed your cheeks harder this time. you knew better than to ignore him and his commands. slowly, you opened your eyes and saw his crazy gorgeous and sculpted face — a pair of crimson red eyes staring straight into your eyes. in a flicker of second, you saw his gaze softened when both of you locked eyes.

sylus’s grunt broke the momentary silence. the butterflies swirled in your tummy every time you have heard his sexy grunts. “fuck. you’re so fucking beautiful, baby,” he whispered against your lips before he inched closer to kiss you on the lips.

your back arched when his cock nudged into your sensitive spot, and you accidentally moaned into his mouth. the current position — your tits pressed against his front, his cock nestled deeper into your pussy, seemed so intimate. sylus wanted to be as close as he could to you.

“mhm, sylus, keep going, please,” you whined when he slowed down his pace as he whispered sweet nothings into your ears.

sylus groaned into your mouth, leaving one more deep kiss before he got up. the warmth of having his chest pressed close to you dissipated.

spreading your legs using his knees wider, sylus rammed his cock inside you. this time, faster and harder. your breath couldn’t keep up anymore so screams started taking over your moans.

sylus is such an attentive lover he would never say no to you. only if under some circumstances. other than that, he’s obliging whatever your request is.

his groans lulled your ears each time his cock hit your g-spot. you exchanged looks with him before glancing over where your bodies were connected. creamy white liquid coating his cock and onto your pussy. shit. you were so close to an overwhelming orgasm.

“fuck, sylus make me come please!” your voice a pitch higher before a cry followed afterwards.

sylus again leaned down and took a nipple in his mouth, biting on it before swirling it as if he was savouring the sweet taste. his cock still mercilessly ramming into you. his eyebrows twitched as your pussy squeezed him tighter. he was so close and so did you.

you felt that one tight knot swirling inside you, each second closer to an orgasm. it crashed hard and fast, just like how sylus was giving it to you. your breath stuttered, and you got instant chills from how hard and shattering the orgasm was.

sylus’s cum filling your insides, some of it seeping out. he was breathing heavily as he stared at you. “fuck, you’re so fucking beautiful that it hurts,” he whispered again before kissing you sweetly. his fingers caressing your face lovingly. you whined when his skin lightly brushed against your clit. it was so fucking sensitive.

“and you are so fucking handsome that it kills me to get jealous every time girls stare at you,” you muttered while giggling against his lips.

“i only have my eyes on you, sweetheart. no one else,” sylus’s loving gaze locked with yours as he made this promise with you for the nth time. he then placed your palm against his chest, squeezing it with his fingers.

you smiled lovingly and sylus fell in love with you all over again. he’s smitten and crazy in love with you but he doesn’t give a flying fuck over how cringe he sounds. he’s in love with you and he fucking loves you. he’d do everything for you and you only.

[wchswift]

Jealous Logan ༉‧₊˚

Pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader Summary: Logan has a jealous episode during the holiday party at the X-Mansion, finally confessing his love for you. Warnings: none, but minors do not interact, please!! Word count: 1757 a/n: I was in the shower and I had this thought about Logan and Reader at a Christmas party at the X-mansion and Logan just going crazy with jealousy seeing Reader interact with anyone but him. This idea didn't leave my mind so I had to write it... This was supposed to be a drabble, but it ended up being a bit long and I don't know if I liked it :/

mdni 𖤐 18+

The X-mansion was bustling with mutants celebrating the Christmas season. Logan stood off to the side, nursing a beer as he observed the festive scene. His eyes, however, frequently darted to you as you laughed and chatted with Scott and some other mutants. A pang of jealousy flickered in his eyes each time Scott made you laugh or touched your arm. Logan tried to play it cool, but the irritation was becoming harder to hide. Despite his efforts to appear nonchalant, his clenched jaw and narrowed eyes betrayed his feelings.

By the time the night wore on, Logan’s patience was wearing thin. Each time Scott leaned in too close, it felt like a personal provocation. He drained his beer, hoping to douse the fire in his chest, but the ache only grew. He couldn’t shake the thought: it should be him making you laugh, standing at your side.

“Careful,” came Storm’s voice from behind, pulling him from his brooding thoughts. “If you keep glaring like that, people might think you’ve got something to say.”

Logan didn’t even look at her, his gaze still locked on you across the room. “What are you talking about?”

Storm followed his gaze, amused. “Oh, nothing. Just that you’ve been staring at her all night and look like you’re about to burst a vein. Got something on your mind?”

Logan scowled, still refusing to engage. His silence spoke volumes.

Storm’s tone softened, her playful edge giving way to sincerity. “You know, you could just tell her how you feel. She’s been glancing your way all night. But keep sulking, and you might regret it.”

Logan’s jaw clenched again at the thought, but he didn’t say anything. He muttered a curse under his breath and moved deeper into the party, his eyes scanning the crowd for you.

He pushed past a few groups of mutants, the noise and chatter growing louder as he tried to focus. The lively conversations, clinking glasses, and the upbeat Christmas music filled the air. He was aware of the conversations happening nearby, but none of them mattered. All he could think about was you. He had to find you.

Through the crowd, Logan finally caught sight of you. You were alone in a quiet corner of the room, standing before the large Christmas tree. The twinkling lights reflected in your eyes as you sipped your drink, lost in thought, your back turned to the noise of the party.

He slowly made his way through the crowd, his steps deliberate but uncertain. For a moment, he hesitated. There was something so peaceful about you standing there, almost as if you belonged in that quiet corner, untouched by the noise and chaos of the celebration. Logan took a step closer, and you sensed his presence behind you. You didn’t turn, but a smile spread across your face.

"Hi, Logan. “Didn’t think I’d see you tonight,” you greet with a gentle voice, watching the lights on the Christmas tree twinkle.

Logan cleared his throat, the gruffness in his voice betraying his nerves. “Can we talk for a minute?”

You turned, curious about his tone. “Sure, what’s up?”

He stepped closer, his hands slipping into his pockets as he gathers his thoughts. His voice was hesitant but firm. “I noticed you’ve been... getting pretty close to Scott tonight.”

You raised an eyebrow, the sudden change in his tone catching you off guard. “Oh, well yeah... you know how Scott is,” you said, giggling. “He likes to crack jokes even when no one finds them funny. He’s lucky my laugh comes easy.”

Logan gave you a tight smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He nodded, trying to suppress the tightening feeling in his chest. “Right. You two seem to get along pretty well lately. Are you...?”

He stop, the question unfinished, but you could hear the uncertainty in his voice. His usual confidence wavered slightly, and it made you pause, confused by his sudden discomfort. You raise an eyebrow at his intense gaze, curious about his sudden upset. For a moment, your smile falters as you grasp the question Logan is hinting at. You tilted your head, sensing something deeper in his question. "Scott and I..." you trailed off, noticing his tense expression. “We’re friends, Logan. Why do you ask?”

"Just making sure.." He murmurs, his eyes fixed on your face, scanning your expression. He tries to hide it, but there's a hint of vulnerability in his usually stoic demeanor. His voice was quieter now, and as he stood a bit closer, you could feel the tension radiating off him. The space between you felt charged, like something unspoken was hanging in the air. You could see through him—his rough exterior couldn’t hide the vulnerability beneath.

Realization flickered across your face, and you tilted your head, studying him. “Logan, are you jealous?” you asked, half-teasing, half-genuine.

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, he looked as though he might deny it. Instead, he let out a heavy breath. “Maybe. Hell, probably.”

Your smile softened, and you took a small step toward him. “Scott’s my friend. That’s all. You don’t need to worry about him.”

The tension in Logan’s shoulders eased, but his gaze stayed locked on you. He hesitated again as if weighing his next words. When he spoke, his voice was quieter, almost vulnerable. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to say. Something I should’ve said a long time ago...” He falters, gathering his thoughts, but before he can continue, you can’t help but jump in.

You raised an eyebrow, teasing him, a smile dancing across your lips as realization dawns on you. "Oh my god, Logan! Are you trying to tell me you're in love with me, you big silly man?" You lean in closer, eyes sparkling with mischief, enjoying the sight of his awkward demeanor and surprised expression.

Logan's eyes widened at your words. He hadn't expected you to address his struggle to find the right words so bluntly. A mix of embarrassment and relief washed over his face as he looked at you. He sputtered, his usually confident demeanor faltering in the face of your teasing. "What?! I'm not—" His denial was half-hearted, his face betraying his true feelings.

You raised an eyebrow, feigning confusion as a playful smile tugged at the corners of your lips. "You're not what? Not in love with me?" you asked innocently, tilting your head to one side in a teasing manner. The amusement in your voice danced through the air, and you relished the effect your words had on him. You could see the cracks beginning to form in his typically tough exterior, and it thrilled you. Biting your bottom lip, you felt a rush of excitement and nervousness, your heart pounding wildly in your chest as you eagerly awaited his response.

He opens his mouth to protest further, but the denial dies on his tongue as he looks at you. The sight of your playful expression, coupled with the knowledge that you've seen through his attempt to hide his feelings leaves him uncharacteristically flustered.

His eyes search yours, his usual guarded expression broken down. He struggles for words, his gruff exterior giving way to a vulnerability he rarely shows.

Logan clenched his jaw, trying to regain some control over the situation. But your teasing words and the amusement in your eyes made it difficult to suppress his feelings.

He let out a sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly in defeat. "All right, damnit. You got me. Yes, I…" He looked directly into your eyes, his voice dropping to almost a whisper. "I'm in love with you. Have been for a while, if I'm being honest. I just couldn't figure out how to tell you."

Your eyes soften at his admission, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. You step closer to him, eliminating the small distance between you. "Damn, Logan. It took you long enough to admit it. I was starting to think you had a thing for Scott instead of me." you teased, your tone affectionate.

Logan rolled his eyes in mock annoyance, but a small smirk tugged at his mouth. "Shut up," he mutters, his hands instinctively resting on your waist. "Don't even joke about that." His increasingly serious eyes roamed over your face, taking in every feature, as if committing them to memory.

You laughed, stepping closer, until there was barely any space between you. “For the record,” you said softly, “you’re the one I want. Not Scott, not anyone else.”

Relief washed over Logan’s face, softening his usual gruffness. “Yeah?” he murmured, his hands hesitating before resting on your waist.

“Yeah.” Your voice was steady, your gaze unwavering. “Just you.”

Logan's expression relaxed at your words, his forehead gently resting against yours. The proximity made your breathing hitch and your heart skip a beat. You leaned a little closer, your faces mere inches apart. The air was electric between you, filled with tension and desire. Logan's eyes flickered down to your lips, the craving for you visible in his gaze. He closed the distance between you, his lips capturing yours in a kiss. It was at the same time tender and intense, his passion for you finally spilling over.

The kiss deepened as your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer. The world around you faded away for a moment, leaving just the two of you. When the kiss ended, he rested his forehead against yours, both of you panting slightly, Logan’s eyes searched your face as if he were afraid this was all just a dream. He let out a shaky exhale, his breath warm against your skin.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that," he murmured, his voice filled with both relief and awe.

You smiled, your fingers tracing the edge of his jaw, your touch tender and loving. “I think I’ve got an idea,” you replied, tilting your head to look up at him. Logan wrapped his arms around your waist, holding you a little closer. He buried his face in your hair, inhaling your scent and holding you tightly. The tension of the night finally melted away. The distant hum of the party faded into the background as the two of you stood together, wrapped in each other’s warmth.

𖤐 reblogs and feedback are appreciated! requests are also welcome, ty!

[furuu]

꒰ ♡ ꒱ continuation of this drabble!

∘ ◟♡ ˒ ʾʾ Sukuna's tiny blob form trembled slightly as he tested the new mouth he'd formed, frustrated that even this minor accomplishment felt like a monumental task in his current state. His jagged little mouth opened and closed a few times, as if trying to get used to the sensation. He could barely manage coherent speech, let alone a proper threat, and your oblivious, adoring expression didn’t make it any easier.

"I… I'll destroy you," he croaked again, though the words came out more like a tired sigh than a warning. His once menacing tone, feared by even the most powerful sorcerers, had been reduced to something far too soft, far too… pet-like.

You were still crouched next to him, your face hovering inches away from his small, squishy body. Instead of recoiling in fear or even acknowledging his so-called threat, you simply giggled, reaching out to stroke his markings with a tenderness that made Sukuna’s single eye twitch.

"You're doing so well!" you said with an amused smile. "Look at you, forming a mouth and everything! Such a big step for a little blob!"

If Sukuna could’ve scowled, he would’ve. He wasn't some infant learning how to speak; he was the King of Curses! And yet, here you were, treating him like a child taking their first steps. It was maddening. He opened his mouth to issue another threat, but the words caught in his throat as you gently cupped him in your hands, lifting him as if he were made of delicate glass.

He braced himself for the worst. Surely, he should have loathed this—being handled like a plush toy, pressed against your soft palms. But instead, a warmth spread through his small, cursed body, and for a fleeting moment, Sukuna felt something disturbingly close to comfort. He tried to shake it off, tried to remind himself that this was beneath him, but the softness of your hands made it difficult to focus on anything other than how… pleasant it felt.

You noticed his faint twitching and smiled down at him with that familiar, adoring look. "Poor thing, you're all squirmy now. Do you want to rest? Maybe you're still growing into your new form?"

Sukuna's pride bristled at your words, but he couldn't deny that he was feeling a strange sort of exhaustion. As much as he hated to admit it, regaining his cursed energy—even in small amounts—was taking a toll on him. He wasn’t used to being so… vulnerable. It was humiliating, but for the time being, he had no choice but to allow you to continue your unrelenting doting.

"I don’t… need your help," Sukuna muttered, his voice low and raspy. It wasn’t the mighty growl he wanted, but rather a tired grumble.

You gently placed him back onto the soft blanket you’d laid out for him earlier. He sank into the fabric, his tiny form almost disappearing into the folds. "Of course you don’t," you cooed, brushing your fingers lightly over his surface. "But I’m going to help anyway. You're just too cute."

"Cute…?" Sukuna repeated, as though the word had physically hurt him. "I’m… not… cute…"

You laughed again, a sweet sound that filled the room. "You are, though. Look at you. All tiny and grumpy." You leaned down to rest your chin on your hands, looking at him with a soft smile. "And you’re mine. So, I’m going to take care of you whether you like it or not."

Sukuna's singular red eye flickered with a flash of indignation. "I am not… yours. I am Ryomen Sukuna. The King of Curses!" he growled, though the effect was ruined by how much effort it took to speak. His tiny mouth barely moved, and instead of sounding intimidating, he came off more like a petulant child throwing a tantrum.

You tilted your head, clearly amused. "Ryomen, huh? Well, it looks like you need some rest. And maybe a snack. You didn’t eat much today."

"I don’t need food!" Sukuna snapped, or rather, squeaked. The tiny, high-pitched sound that came out of his mouth was anything but intimidating.

"Sure you don’t," you said with a grin, placing a small bowl of fruit beside him. "But just in case you change your mind, it’s here."

Sukuna huffed, turning his eye away from you in a weak attempt to regain some semblance of his former dignity. But you weren’t deterred. You sat back on the bed, watching him with that same affectionate look that had begun to chip away at the iron walls he had once built around his heart.

For a moment, there was silence. Sukuna closed his eye, trying to block out the warmth and comfort that your presence brought. He shouldn’t be feeling this way. He shouldn’t be letting you take care of him, not when he was supposed to be ruling over everything. Yet, despite his inner turmoil, the softness of the blanket, the gentle rise and fall of your breathing, and the warmth that surrounded him—it was hard to fight it all.

He peeked his eye open, watching you as you hummed a little tune to yourself, seemingly content just to be near him. It was strange. For so long, Sukuna had been feared, hated, and worshiped, but never… never had anyone cared for him like this. Not in a way that felt so genuine, so gentle.

He didn’t want to admit it, but a small part of him—one he would deny to his last breath—was growing attached to you. The way you handled him with such care, the way you spoke to him like he was a friend, not a monster. It was disarming, and Sukuna hated it… or at least, he wanted to hate it.

"You… are an idiot," Sukuna mumbled, his voice losing its edge, barely audible.

You blinked, surprised by the quietness in his tone. "What was that?"

He hesitated, then sighed, letting himself sink a little deeper into the blanket. "You’re… an idiot," he repeated, softer this time. "Caring for something that would destroy you without a second thought. Foolish human…"

You paused for a moment, looking at him with a gentle, knowing expression. Then, with a soft smile, you brushed your hand over his small form again. "Maybe I am," you said quietly, your voice filled with warmth. "But I think you’ve already had plenty of chances to destroy me. And yet, here we are."

Sukuna's lone eye flickered, narrowing slightly. "I’m just biding my time," he grumbled, though the threat lacked conviction. "When I regain my power…"

You laughed softly, cutting him off in the most disarming way. "Sure, sure. You’ll regain your power, and then what? Tear me apart? Somehow, I don’t think that’s going to happen."

"Don’t get cocky," Sukuna growled, trying to muster more force behind the words. But even he could hear how weak the threat sounded. His voice had lost the venom it once carried, softened by the strange, inexplicable comfort of your presence.

You tilted your head, smiling softly down at him. "Maybe it’s foolish of me, but I don’t think you’re as heartless as you want me to believe. If you were, you wouldn’t be letting me do this." Your fingers gently stroked his smooth surface, tracing the black markings that had once inspired fear in so many.

Sukuna twitched, both annoyed and begrudgingly soothed by the touch. "I could destroy you in an instant if I wanted to," he muttered, though he wasn’t even sure he believed it anymore.

You leaned closer, your expression warm and soft. "I know," you said, your voice gentle but firm. "But you won’t."

Sukuna fell silent, his single red eye watching you, as though searching for something—maybe a reason, maybe a flaw in your belief. But there was nothing. You were unwavering, and for the first time in his long, cursed existence, Sukuna found himself wondering if perhaps you were right.

Perhaps… just maybe… he wouldn’t.・₊﹆ɞ‧₊

taglist: @laraackerman @xyinparadise @katsukis-s @himboelover @lemonlimecrystal-blog

[talesxfelysium]

tag dump for future organization <3

[wintaerbaer]

bottle up old love (jjk) (m)

summary: Jungkook may have broken up with you a year ago, but that's not going to stop him from coming to your rescue when he sees you being cornered by a creep.

pairing: Jungkook x Reader

rating: 18+ (MINORS DNI)

genre: exes to lovers, the holy trinity of angst/smut/fluff

word count: 4.6k (this was supposed to be a drabble 💀)

prompt: JK + exes to lovers + "I'm sorry" + "I hate you" + "Don't fucking touch me" + "Leave" (for @btsborahaee <3)

warnings: language, a short harassment scene at the beginning (nothing too intense), explicit content including: unprotected sex (DO NOT), fingering, praise kink, biting, marking, spanking, cum eating (sort of?), big cawk soft dom jk, cowgirl (yeehaw), creampie, cockwarming, i think that's all but this also wasn't supposed to be too smutty so clearly idk what's going on lol

MASTERLIST

“Don’t fucking touch me!”

You spit the words at the man in front of you, pushing him back as he tries to make another grab at your arm.

“Why do you gotta be like that?” Seungcheol whines. “I thought we were having fun.”

“You and I have very different ideas of fun.” You take a step backwards towards your building. Somewhere down the sidewalk, footsteps clatter against the pavement.

“C’mon.” He matches your movement, reaches for you again. “Invite me up. You enjoyed the last time, didn’t you? I told you that was just a warm-up.”

The building’s brick wall is closer than you thought, and you bang your shoulder against it as you try to sidestep him. “Last time you didn’t follow me to a bar I didn’t even invite you to. How did you know where I was anyway?”

“Let me come up, and I’ll tell you,” he rumbles with a flicker of his eyebrows. He has you fully backed up against the wall now, and you press against the muscle of his chest to no avail.

“Stop!” you shout before he’s ripped away from you so suddenly that you’re left blinking in confusion, huddled against the brick.

There’s a thud–the sound of a fist hitting flesh–and a yelp before Seungcheol is reeling back with his hands clutching his nose. Blood seeps out from beneath his fingers, black even under the glow of the streetlamps.

“What the fuck?” he shrieks, and it’s only then that you take a proper look at your savior, looking every bit like he’s stepped straight out of the shadows with his dark hair, ebony clothes, and deep brown eyes.

And a lead weight drops into your stomach as you recognize him.

Jungkook sets himself between you and Seungcheol, looming over the latter as he continues to cover his face, whining. “I’m giving you ten seconds to get out of here.”

“Who the fuck are you?!”

“Ten,” Jungkook growls, taking a step in Seungcheol’s direction. “Nine.”

Seungcheol straightens–clearly a last-ditch attempt to look intimidating. Spitting blood onto the concrete, he peers at you over Jungkook’s shoulder. “This isn’t over, bitch.”

Then he spins and takes off running down the street.

Your hands grip your elbows. It may be a balmy summer night, but you’re shivering where you stand, unsure whether you’re more affected by Seungcheol’s behavior or the ghost who’s unexpectedly in front of you.

“Are you okay?” he quietly asks, gaze fixed on your face. You stare at your shoes and give him a brisk nod as a response before turning away, punching in your building code, and walking through the front door.

He follows closely, slipping in behind you and trailing a few feet. You let him for a little while, guiding him through the modest lobby and up the first flight of stairs. But when you’re halfway up the second stairwell–almost to your floor–you pause on the landing, spinning his way.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

His eyes are gentle, sincere. “Making sure you get in safely.”

“There’s no need for that,” you assert. “I’m already in my building. There’s a keypad. I’m good.”

“The keypad does almost nothing. I followed you in no problem.”

“So I should be worried about you then?”

He flushes, the tips of his ears going pink. “Please just let me see you inside.”

You want to argue back, want to shout at him and make a scene, but you know it’s no use. Know that he’s stubborn as a bull and will get what he wants one way or another.

It’s how he broke up with you after all.

You say nothing, only hustle up the last set of steps and down the dimly-lit hallway until you’re in front of your door, Jungkook tailing you the whole time with his hands in his pockets. You practically fumble your key in your haste to get it into the lock, letting out a satisfied sigh as the latch finally clicks open.

“There. I’m in,” you say as you step over the threshold, waving a dismissive hand at your unwanted companion. “Leave.”

But he hesitates just outside the doorway, teeth chewing at the corner of his lip. “What are you going to do if he comes back?”

“That’s my problem, isn’t it? I stopped being your concern when you dropped me out of nowhere a year ago.”

Your eyes sting at the memory, tears threatening to spill over. You don’t want him here. Don’t want to see him or have him anywhere in your vicinity. Not when it still hurts like this.

Though, truth be told, you don’t expect to ever be fully over him.

“We’re done, Jungkook,” you murmur. “You made sure of that.”

And you close the door in his face.

The distress subsides quickly once he’s out of sight–like he was never there to begin with–and you don’t linger, dropping your bag on the sofa and heading straight for the bathroom. This is how you’ve made it a year without him; it was weeks of crying before you realized that wallowing was doing you no good, only fueling your misery instead of providing any kind of catharsis. So you’ve done your best to simply push past it and cast away the anguish that bubbles up every time you think of him. Not allow it to linger like the shadows at the edges of the room.

You shed your clothes and turn the shower to a temperature that you’ll probably regret later. But for now, you savor the way the water sears your skin as you wash away the day with all of its unpleasant surprises. Taking your time, you scrub every inch of your body and carefully shampoo your hair (trying not to fall back into the fantasy that’s plagued you on occasion where it’s his hands and not yours spreading the bubbles over your form).

The self-care continues as you step out of the shower and leisurely work through your skin care routine, even taking the time to blow dry your hair. By the time you exit the bathroom, the fog on the mirror has dissipated, and you’ve once again successfully tamped down the memory of Jungkook and his hands and eyes and everything you ever felt for him.

Or so you think.

After popping into your bedroom to pull on some pajamas, you pad back into the living room for a glass of water, and your eyes are immediately drawn to the front door. Regret attempts to push its way into your consciousness against your better judgment. The man broke your heart, yes. But you do feel a little guilty slamming the door in his face after he just fought off a creep for you.

And speaking of Seungcheol, what if he does come back? You’re pretty sure he saw you punch in the building code the night you brought him home with you, and given his behavior, you wouldn’t be surprised if he filed it away in his head.

Anxiety winning out, you creep to the door and peer through the peephole. The hallway looks empty, drab beige walls taking up most of your field of view, but you jump as you spot a hulking shadow to the right. Your heartbeat races then slows, a closer look revealing hunched, unmoving shoulders wrapped in a familiar black t-shirt.

Jungkook swings his head to look at you as you open the door and glare down at him. His legs are pulled up, arms resting on his knees, and it might be endearing if not for the fact that he absolutely, positively should not be here.

“What are you doing?” you ask him for the second time tonight.

“He might come back.”

“And you’re going to what? Fight him?”

He shrugs. “If I have to.”

“Yeah?” You raise an eyebrow, challenging. “You’re going to sit out here all night?”

He shifts where he sits, wiggling his hips like he’s firmly planting his butt into his chosen spot. “Yes.”

You roll your eyes at him but don’t doubt that he would. Again, if there is anything you know this man to be, it’s stubborn. “You’re going to scare the neighbors.”

“Who, Mrs. Kwon?” A tiny smile plays on his lips as he glances in the direction of your elderly neighbor’s apartment. “I think she’d be delighted to see me.”

If you’re being honest, she probably would be. She’s always adored Jungkook and praised him as the “kind, handsome young man” who helped her put away groceries and fixed her leaky faucet one time. In the months following your breakup, she’d asked about him once or twice, patting your arm reassuringly when you awkwardly told her she wouldn’t be seeing him anymore.

“Don’t worry, dear,” she said. “He’ll come around.”

Well she’s turned out to be right in that he’s certainly back here again, still watching you from his spot on the floor. And you don’t know whether it’s his big doe eyes or the fact that he really would guard your apartment all night if you let him or the genuine fear that one of the other neighbors will make a fuss at his presence, but you feel yourself softening.

Turning abruptly, you stride into the kitchen for your glass of water, walking out of sight of the door, which is still wide open.

“You coming?” you call, pulling two glasses down from the cupboard.

There’s a rustle as Jungkook stands and shuffles into your apartment, closing the door behind him with a soft thud. For someone who was so determined to defend you tonight, he seems uncertain now that he’s actually inside. His hands are once again stuffed in his pockets, and his eyes flicker around like he hasn’t been here a thousand times. Hasn’t cooked you breakfast in this kitchen in nothing but his boxers. Hasn’t watched The Notebook with you on this TV and held you as you both cried.

Hasn’t made love to you on the couch.

You slide a water his way, and he murmurs his thanks, sipping at it lightly. It’s strange–seeing him here again–and you can’t help but think about the last time he stood in this room. It’d been a maelstrom of accusations and hurt feelings that culminated in him storming out, the slam of the door echoing in your ears.

“You never cleaned that?” He gestures at the rug that covers most of the sitting area in your living room, eyes on the dark purple stain roughly the size of your hand.

You gulp down your water and try not to follow his line of sight. Try not to remember how you’d knocked over a glass of wine in your haste to get his clothes off during another movie night less than a month before your breakup.

“I kind of forgot about it,” you say. “Stopped noticing it after a while.” 

It’s a lie. There was never a time when you didn’t notice it, the memory of him haunting you every time you sit down on the couch and stare at the garish stain. And still, you haven’t been able to bring yourself to try and erase it.

Silence worms its way between you again. With only the soft light from the tabletop lamp glowing next to the couch, Jungkook’s face is cloaked in shadow. And so you barely see his lips move when he speaks. Barely hear it with how quietly his whisper slips into the room.

“I’m sorry.”

Your glass almost drops from your fingers, droplets splashing across your knuckles as you catch it at the last moment and steady it on the countertop. Turning to face him, you find his gaze already on you, melancholy tinting his expression.

“What?”

He tongues his lip ring, shoulders dropping a fraction. “For how things ended. I’m sorry.”

You can see the sincerity in his posture, can see the sadness in his form. And yet, his words only fill you with a hot anger that bubbles out of you before you can swallow it down.

“I don’t know why you would be,” you challenge, “being that you didn’t even respect me enough to give me a proper reason.”

Jungkook huffs at that; you think he’s resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “Did it really matter?”

“Yes.”

He gnaws at his lip again, no longer looking at you, and his lack of an answer only riles you up further.

“Was there someone else?” you demand, causing him to flinch. It was the same thing you asked him when he told you he thought you should break up, standing in almost this exact same spot.

“No,” he murmurs after a moment. “There wasn’t anyone else.” He pushes a hand through his dark, silky hair. “There hasn’t been anyone else since either.”

This surprises you. Jungkook is, in your eyes, the handsomest man you have ever come face-to-face with, but even from an objective standpoint, he is exceedingly attractive. There is no doubt in your mind that he would easily be able to land a woman if he so desired.

“So then why?”

He sets his jaw, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows and fixes his stare out the window. And it’s this final refusal, this steadfast dedication to not explaining himself, that finally has tears tracking down your cheeks.

The sight of you crying has his attention snapping back your way, hands reaching out as if to hold you.

“Don’t touch me,” you gasp, recoiling until you’re out of reach. “I…I hate you.”

It almost seems as if your voice lands physically, and Jungkook staggers back like you’ve slapped him, remorse immediately wiggling its way between your ribs. You know you don’t mean the words even as they fall from your mouth, but it feels pointless to take them back now, the sentiment already thrown out there and hovering in the hollow space between you.

Jungkook muddles towards the couch–more of a defeated slump dragging his steps than anger–and you think he’s going to sit down before he whirls back towards you at the last second.

“The gala,” he mutters. “That’s when I decided.”

You know which one he’s talking about. Hosted by your medical school to celebrate the end of the academic year, it had been a night of food, dancing, and socializing. You had, of course, brought him as your date and introduced him to your friends and classmates, excited to finally allow him to put faces to names. As you comb through your memories of the night, you can’t pinpoint any warning signs, only remembering the way he’d smiled at you throughout. The way he’d pulled you close and danced you around the room.

“I don’t…I don’t understand.”

He rakes his fingers through his hair again, tossing strands of night over his forehead. A sad chuckle looses itself into the thick air of the room, and the final dregs of his resolve flicker away. “I realized that I didn’t deserve to stand next to you. That you could do much better than me.”

Whatever you thought his reason had been–whatever theories or thoughts had kept you up night after night for the past year–this is not even close to what you expected. And while you always thought finally receiving an answer would be freeing, would offer you some semblance of understanding, you’re surprised at the rage that boils in the pit of your stomach, bile rising in your throat.

“Are you fucking serious right now?” you growl, taking an angered step towards him. “You were feeling insecure, and you made the decision to break up with me without even thinking to, I don’t know, discuss it with me first?”

His hand goes to the back of his neck now, embarrassment showing its face as he peers at you from under his lashes. “I was stupid–”

“No, shit.”

“But can you blame me?” he presses. “There we were: you, about to be this incredible doctor with all of your doctor friends…” His voice falters, sorrow lacing his tone. “And I’m just a tattoo artist.”

The defeatist way he says it helps to dampen your ire some, even if a heap of frustration remains–the sad shape of his doe eyes softening your edges.

“Just a tattoo artist,” you repeat. “Jungkook, I have always been so, so proud of you. I was never anything but proud to have you as my partner. You must’ve known that.”

His teeth worry his lip, and though he nods, he doesn’t seem fully convinced.

So you continue on, closing the distance between you a fraction more. “You started your own business from nothing. And I saw how hard you worked: to get the building, to hire other artists, train your apprentices.” You shake your head–half in irritation, half in awe. “And look at you now! You’re thriving. The last I heard, if you want an appointment at Golden Tattoo, you need to book months in advance.”

His eyes are alight now, some hidden emotion glimmering under the surface, but he stays quiet as he soaks in your words.

“So how can you possibly act like you weren’t enough?” you push. “You are amazing, Jungkook. And I never gave a shit about any job comparisons people may have made.” One more step, and suddenly you’re almost chest-to-chest. As always, you’re unable to resist the pull of his gravity. Yanked right back into his orbit. “I only wanted you. I’ve only ever wanted y–”

He cuts you off with his mouth, strong hands snagging your hips to pull you against him, and your own fingers reflexively tangle in his black hoodie as your subconscious gives itself over to him. Like it’s been waiting for this.

“I’m not. Not thriving,” he mumbles against your lips. “Not without you. Been miserable without you.”

And in spite of your anger, in spite of the fact that you were ready to kick him out a mere hour ago, you find yourself kissing him back, relishing the slick glide of his tongue as he licks into your mouth.

You startle as the backs of your knees suddenly bump against the couch, and then Jungkook is spinning as he settles onto the plush seat, pulling you along to straddle him. He sucks at your neck until you can feel the blood blooming under your skin, painting you like the pretty ink on his arm.

Speaking of.

The fabric of his hoodie whispers as you pull it up and over his back and head, tossing it over his shoulder and into a corner. His arms now bare to you, you gloss over his tattoos with your eyes and fingers until you find the one you’d picked out for him; the lovely orange of the flower petals seem to glow even in the dim light of the room.

“Beautiful,” you whisper.

“Just like you.”

You look at him then, the twinkle of tiny galaxies in his eyes betraying his hope. And before you can go any further, you need confirmation.

“You left.”

“I did.” Fingertips press lightly against your waist like he’s afraid you might be the one to disappear now. “I’m sorry.”

“Jungkook, if…” You lick your lips. Can almost taste his regret. “If we do this and you leave again–”

“If we do this, I'm not going anywhere,” he insists, tugging your hips down to grind against him and ghosting a kiss at your jaw. “Just wanna be here with you. Just want you.”

And it’s all you need to hear.

You shed the cotton shirt you had thrown on after your shower and move to yank his own off, tossing it in the same corner as his hoodie. The muscles of his pecs and abs shift under your hands, burning hot where your fingers trace the contours of his torso. 

“God, I missed this,” he groans as he buries his face between your breasts, nipping at the skin there before laving the spot with his tongue.

You’d agree–echo the sentiment that your body has been aching for this–if not for the fact that you’re too busy trying to get the two of you naked, thumbs hooking into the waistband of your shorts.

But a tattooed hand covers yours, eases it away to take its place. “No,” he rumbles. “Let me.”

Wide palms and long fingers span your hips and thighs, grasping as much skin as possible even as he drags your shorts and panties down your legs and helps to steady you as you kick them off. They join the tangle of his own clothes

“Fucking gorgeous,” he growls at the sight of you finally naked in front of him. And with such speed that it almost seems like it’s involuntary, an impulse outside of his control, he’s immediately stroking at the apex of your thighs.

“Baby, this wet for me already?” A breathy sigh passes from his mouth to yours, almost laughing at the ease with which he glides through your folds. “Hell, I could just–”

A finger slips in and you gasp, Jungkook smiling wickedly at you as he quickly adds a second and curls them against your walls. You force your eyes closed as they roll back in your head, and you keel forward, babbling incoherently against the line of his collarbone.

“Use your words, love; you can do it.” He says it as if his fingers aren’t currently buried in you down to the knuckle. As if he’s not making you see stars behind your eyelids right now.

You choke down a breath, desperate for the oxygen. “Insane,” you pant. “I said you’re fucking insane.”

“Only for you,” he says before sliding his digits out of you and dipping them into his mouth. He moans at the taste, and even with his lips closed tightly, you can see the way he’s working his tongue around each finger, unwilling to waste a single drop of your essence.

Like you said. Insane.

He gives you a moment to catch your breath until you’re the one who’s getting impatient, hastily undoing his belt and tearing it from his pants with a hiss. But as you shift off of him so he can slither out of his pants and boxers–his length springing free to slap against his smooth stomach–you’re hit with an untimely realization.

“Jungkook, I don’t have condoms.”

He freezes, the color draining from his face (though admittedly, that may be because all of his blood has clearly gone south). The two of you stare at each other for a long second before he suddenly leans over, rummaging back through his pants pockets. He pulls out his wallet, rifles through it, then tosses it across the room in frustration, head tilting back against the couch as he groans at the ceiling.

“Fuck, me neither.”

You chew at your lip, a loaded quiet settling over the room as Jungkook wipes a hand over his face.

“I’m still on birth control,” you whisper, and Jungkook whips his head around, eyes wide and questioning like he’s not sure he heard you right. But you don’t repeat yourself, only hold his stare until he’s tentatively reaching out to graze his fingertips along your thigh.

“I told you. There’s been no one else.” His expression is earnest, eager. You trust that he’s telling the truth, and yet you also know that if you refused him, if you said you weren’t comfortable, he wouldn’t push.

So you swing a leg back over his lap, drag your wet folds against his cock. He moans, gripping your thighs hard, but he leans in to bite at your lower lip with a growl before pulling back to search your face.

“You?”

It hurts that he even feels the need to ask. Because how could you even want someone else? Who could possibly measure up?

You brush a reassuring, barely-there kiss against his already swollen lips. “No one else for me either.”

This seems to please him, but you still see hesitation behind his eyes as he asks, “What about the guy downstairs?”

A drunken mistake was what that was. All sloppy lips and fumbling hands that had left you feeling more empty than anything, and which resulted in you sending Cheol away before he had even gotten a peek at your bedroom.

“We made out once,” you admit, hating that you’re even having to think about another man when Jungkook is here in front of you. “But nothing else happened.”

“Good,” he grunts, but his fingers dig into your backside like he’s trying to reclaim you. And just a fraction of a second later, he’s devilishly tonguing his lip ring as he winds his palm back to bring it down harshly against the meat of your ass, the smack echoing between the walls almost endlessly.

“Ride me, baby.”

You’re quick to line him up–desperate, at this point, to have him inside of you–and begin to ease yourself down slowly, trying to give your body the space and time to adjust to the burning stretch of his girth. He’s always filled you to your absolute limit, tested the furthest boundaries of how much your body can take with his size.

“Yesss,” he hisses, nipping at your neck once again. “You’re doing great, love. Always take me so fucking well.”

You gasp as he bottoms out, struggling to catch your breath with the relentless push of him. If you were a betting woman, you’d put money on your intestines being somewhere in the area of your throat right now.

He wraps his inked arm around your waist, continuing to whisper his praises against the shell of your ear as he starts to guide your body up and down. Intoxicated by the smooth slide of his length, you soon find your pace, and your shared moans fill the room–the whole city probably able to hear you right now.

You move that way until the pressure building becomes too much and your legs start to tremble, quivering against Jungkook’s own muscled thighs.

“It’s okay; I’ve got you.” He bands his arms around you and presses you to his chest, holding you in place so he can thrust upwards.

Hard.

You’re practically screaming now, burying your teeth into his shoulder so as to muffle your sounds and not scare the neighbors. It’s all you can do to hold on for dear life as he rapidly pistons his cock inside of you, the slap of your hips like a metronome.

It builds and builds until it breaks and you’re falling apart in his arms, the spasms of your inner walls pulling him over the edge with you as he empties his seed deep inside.

The silence that follows in unlike the others you previously shared this evening–tension traded for serenity as you sit on the couch holding each other, you still contentedly stuffed full of him. He traces the ridges of your spine in a soothing pattern that has your eyelids drooping, your cheek resting against the warm skin of his neck.

“I missed this,” you whisper once your brain has finally remembered how to construct human speech.

“I missed you.”

You pull back so you can rest your forehead against his and gently run a finger over the lines of his face. “Where do we go from here?”

He hums. Tucks a stray hair behind your ear. “Take it day by day?” he suggests. “We don’t need to rush into anything if you don’t want to.”

“Mm, that does seem like a problem for tomorrow.”

A dark eyebrow quirks, teasing. “And what about right now?”

“Now?” you ask. “Do you remember the way to the bedroom? Or…” You shift your hips, already feeling him twitching inside of you.

“Or.” He jolts forward to capture your mouth in a hot kiss, and you smile into it, whole again. “Or sounds good.”

a/n: pls like, reblog, reply, and/or send an ask if you enjoyed! <3