#fortune's drabbles

[fortune-maiden]

FX Week Day 6: Temple

Day 6 of @fxweek :D

This is actually the very last drabble I wrote chronologically (assuming I don't write any more lol)

In Feng Xin’s humble opinion, it wasn’t fair that the things he should have been smug about were the things he hated the most. “Thank goodness for the Ju Yang temple. There’s always one of those around when we need ‘em,” Mu Qing cackled, leading them to their lodgings for the night. Of course he had a temple in this area – why wouldn’t there be a temple to the fucking fertility god in the middle of someone else’s fucking territory and – “Wait.” Feng Xin suddenly realized something. “Why do you always know where my temples are?” Mu Qing went silent.

[gingervitus]

Best Left Unsaid: a Rookanis Drabble

Inspired by @mythals-whore's post today about Rook overcooking pasta and getting banished.

I'm not good at writing generic Rook because I love my dingus LoF Rook Ella too much but I couldn't get this out of my head, so here have this thing I did.

Rook is desperate for… something.

Anything really.

It really isn't until after she and Taash have one too many drinks with Isabela down at the Hilt. Her head has been swimming with good Rivaini rum. Top shelf shit. Forehead pressed against the bar, she listened to her boss berate her choice in romantic interest. “C’mon, Rook! With an ass like that, you could be doing leagues better.” All she could do was groan. Her feet were multiplying as she stares down at them. “How bout that tasty warden? The one with his tits out all the time!” While she wasn't watching, she could just picture Isabela with a drink in one hand while she pushed her chest up with the other. “I mean, don't get me wrong. The guy's fucking loaded, but is that really worth all the headache... and the fucking old bat on top of that?”

Of course it was. He was. He still is. She's completely hopeless when it comes to him, and Isabela honed in on that. A shark in bloody waters. “Damn it, Rook!” She couldn't lift her head to look at Isabela. In part because she was very drunk, but also there was a shame in the revelation they both seemed to be having at a fucking bar “What did I tell you about keeping your nose clean with this one? But here we are.” Her face had never burned so hot before. She wasn't sure if she was going to cry or laugh or vomit. Maybe all three. “A fucking murderer for hire? Really?” Assassin, she had corrected when she finally found her voice, because as she had learned murderers were hobbyists. “Fucking Crow is what he is, and you're bloody in love with him. Unbelievable.”

And now she stands hauntingly sober over a simmering pot of water cooking delicately handmade pasta because she's a fool who fell in love with the human equivalent of an affectionate street cat. A broken little bird who just so happens to be very invested in a sauce, but she can't be sure exactly what type of sauce it is. She really isn't able to even recall what he chopped up ingredients wise to put in it. Just that she had been mesmerized by his forearms as he worked. And that she commented about the hair he pulled back away from his face. And that he smiled when she approached, having been able to tell that the steps belonged to her. “Are you watching the pasta?” he asks without looking up at her, stirring his sauce dutifully.

Her eyes snap back down to the pot in front of her. “Of course,” she reassures him with a wave of her hand. “Don’t you worry.”

“That's good because I could have sworn you were not watching the pot at all,” he counters. The corners of his eyes crease with the smirk that crosses his face. “It seemed that you were only looking at me."

“What an odd thing to say because I am nothing if not giving my full attention to this wonderful pasta,” she replies quickly, but her face has to be betraying her. Maybe she can play off that the flush is from the steam of the water. “How very dare you accuse me of neglecting my culinary duties.”

This time a real smile touches his lips. Not anything crazy. No teeth involved. But it's an honest little grin no less. For her. “You think I do not notice,” he adds as he rests the wooden spoon along the rim of the pan. His eyes shift toward her, and her heart hammers inside her chest. “But I do.” Is he… flirting with her? A breath catches in her throat. Their eyes hold a mutual gaze that crackles with a feeling she can't quite name. Maker help her, she wants nothing more than to… “Rook, how long has the pasta been floating that way?”

She glances down at the pot of rolling water. “Oh… I don't know,” she admits. It's the truth. Really, she hadn't wanted to help with dinner. That was the excuse to spend the extra time with him. As of late, she's wanted nothing more than to simply be near him. “A while?”

Nostrils flare. The corners of his lips fall from the glorious little grin she's been gifted. “Mierda,” he mutters, snatching up the spoon. He attempts to lift one noodle from the water, but the long strand easily fell apart and back into the water. Mush.

They stand in silence for a moment. He doesn't move, simply stands with the spoon over the pot of still hot water. “Lucanis, I am so sorry,” she sputters. “I didn't realize–”

“Rook.”

“I should have–”

Suddenly, there is a hand on either side of her face, which stops any coherent thought from entering her brain. He stares at her hard, brows furrowed. There are hairline scars there she's never noticed because she's never been this still and close to him: one on the edge of his left eyebrow and one over his lips. She finds herself wondering about the stories behind them. Hearing more tales of his adventures. Pressing her lips against them.

When their stance finally hits him, his eyes twitch as if they want to go as wide as hers are, but instead, they slide shut as he inhales deeply through his nose. “It is… okay,” he says. She doesn't believe him. “But you should get out of my kitchen.”

“I… uh…” Her brain is a puddle. His hands are warm against her burning face. She would be content to melt into the floor if it meant they could stay like this. “Okay.”

“Thank you.”

His hands fall from her face, and as she leaves the dining hall, she touches where his hands had been, still in disbelief.

That night, she will find a steaming cup of tea in front of her seat at the table. 

A new blend that's picked up from the markets in Treviso. 

One that he thinks she will like. 

One that is purchased without her presence but because he thinks of her often. 

“You are wonderful at many things, pasta is not one of them.”

She loves the tea, and they both smile, most things remaining unsaid for the time being.

[v3lv3tsin]

at this point, i think i can read the future when it comes to enha:

i started writing this fanfic about 2 weeks ago (it's from a series i'm working on)

and literally today enha decides drop an aniversary dance practic link here where jakes is a chef, like that's just future telling atp

also: if i were to do a community would anyone be interested to join (it would mainly focus on speak peeks, updates on the fics, any new fanfic ideas you would want me to write about)

[daedalusdavinci]

7 w/ solkat?

7. Unflinchingly settling your head into your lover’s lap while they watch television/are reading a book/doing their favorite hobby. Then asking your lover to explain what’s going on/what they’re doing. i wrote this stream of consciousness and i dont feel like editing it so you get what you get

The nice thing about Karkat is that he's always good for background noise. Whenever you need something else to drown out the voices, he's always there, ranting and raving about some inane bullshit you couldn't care less about, but enjoy hearing regardless. It's an odd day when you can't hear him puttering around the house and mumbling under his breath, cursing out a chair you didn't push in that he tripped over or the food that isn't cooking fast enough. The cat Dave convinced you (convinced Karkat, just by virtue of forcing Karkat to hold it for more than five minutes until all the ice around Karkat's heart melted) to take in is just as loud as he is, and at all hours of the day, you can hear them talking to each other, Karkat's grumble interspersed with the cat's loud meows.

He's quiet today, though. Rose left him with a new book the other day, and apparently today is the day he has the attention span to devour it. You're treated to an uncharacteristic silence as you work, and for a while, it's sort of nice. Until it isn't.

You give up on coding when it feels like there are bugs crawling under your skin, irritation at a boiling point. The code isn't making sense, you can't concentrate, and the screams of the imminently doomed are no longer background, piercing howls destroying any coherent thought you might have left. Your wrists are sore, your neck hurts, your head is throbbing, you're stiff and your eyes are dry and you can't remember the last time you ate. You're done.

Sparks jump from your fingertips as you shove your chair back and ditch your computer. There's a buzzing in your ears that's probably you, but you're too irritable to care as you stalk down the hall to the kitchen. Nothing sounds good, but you know you need to eat if you want to push through this, so you tug open cupboards and force yourself to consider the food anyway.

The cat (Dave wanted to name it Carcinisation; you wanted to name it Hexadecimal. In the end, you compromised on Hexbug, because Karkat said there was no way Dave was naming it after him, Rose liked the nickname Hex, and Dave liked the callback to a human toy you've never heard of) starts meowing at you immediately, trailing a few paces behind you like a starving stray, when you're 100% sure Karkat has been feeding him all his little heart desires. He's as obnoxious and needy as the human who brought him here, and you ignore him, because he's being dramatic and you're so charged up you think you'd shock him if you even tried to pet him. (You do drop him a few treats, because you feel bad.)

In the end, you heat up leftovers. The smell of warm orange chicken makes your stomach perk up a little, and as you eat a few pieces on the way to the couch, you feel a little less like blowing your apartment off the map.

Karkat, predictably, has tucked himself into his favorite corner of the couch with a blanket and the new book. Hex runs past you to jump up on the arm of the couch and complain about your abuse, and without looking up, Karkat lifts a hand to scratch Hex's little, whining head. Because you are the superior lifeform, you flop down on Karkat's other side and bravely resist the urge to complain about Hex framing you.

Karkat looks up for you, though. He blinks the way he does when he's been reading too long, like his eyes are refocusing like a camera lens, and he can't quite see what's in front of him right away. "You look like shit," is the first thing he says.

"Wow, thanks." Despite yourself, you feel your grouchiness crack a little. It probably helps that you're eating now, but there's just something about Karkat, too.

His fingers brush through your hair, like swiping away the static. "You're sparking."

"You don't say."

"Sometimes you don't notice." He's right. He stretches his legs out, unfurling, and his knee pushes into yours. "How's your head?"

"Hurting."

He hums. You don't give him much to work with, and he watches you for a while, thinking. His fingers fiddle absently with the hair at the nape of your neck, arm propped against the back of the couch. His presence makes you feel a little bit more grounded, and so you eat and try to focus on that. Eventually, his eyes drift back to his book.

By the time you finish eating, it stops feeling like enough. You feel less shaky and irritable, but your head is pounding with the force of screams, and you need something else. You push your empty bowl back on the coffee table and twist, dropping sideways across the couch with your head in Karkat's lap. He has to lift his book to accommodate you, but he doesn't protest for a second, seemingly expecting it. His nails drag soothingly along your scalp, and your eyes shut instantly, a wave of relief rolling over you. This is what you needed. Definitely.

Hexbug weaves between you like an asshole, determined to fit himself in the middle of the action. He plops down in the middle of your chest like a big, furry sack of shit, squirming into you to get comfortable until you start petting him. He goes loose instantly, purring quietly at first, and then loudly, the vibration of it rattling your very bones. It feels like it shakes the pain out of you, some inexplicable healing power stored in the rumble of your adorabeast. "He's louder than you," you tell Karkat.

"Tell me something new," Karkat mutters, absentminded.

"What are you reading?"

"Are you asking because you care, or because you want to rag on my taste?"

"Legally, I'm obligated to say the latter, but you know it's both."

Karkat sighs. And then, he talks. And he keeps talking. And the voices fade a little further into the back of your mind, and you relax.

[desiderium-eden]

Mikhail would rather have joined the festivities outside. As much as he prided himself in his abilities to navigate polite society in the way deemed appropriate by most of the realm at large, he was still Navkan at heart. And greeting guests was getting tiring. At the very least, he was bored. Retreating back to his seat by the throne for a short rest. Well, as much of a rest as he could get while maintaining his posture and appearing enthralled by his "harem".

His mind had just begun to drift elsewhere when an announcement was made. A late arrival? That was unexpected.

The members of the harem move before he could even lift his eyes. Draping themselves over him in an almost obnoxious manner. May in his lap. Amara across the back of his chair. Caius kneeling at his side. With Airee and Aelin standing a step, maybe a step and a half, in front of him. The protective barrier of bodies putting him on edge as his gaze connected with the latest delegation...

The color drained from his face. His hands balled into fists, trembling as May took one of them into her own. More to monitor his quickening pulse than to calm him as he stared at the Ahreum princess. Or rather, past her. To the man immediately behind her. His eyes locked on Mikhail's as the ahniri offered him a sickeningly sweet smile.

[tigorrrr]

Kiss, kiss, breathe me in with every thousand, every thousand

My magic wand is in your hands

We won't play a game of "Cat and Mouse"

Your hands have already gone too far

This is just a happier end version of this drabble that I finally finished, although this drawing is not connected to the canon-ish drabble I would so love if they'd danced their arguments away ppffff

[quinttyz]

i’d like to think that as their relationship progresses more and more,,,aloth becomes more assertive in intimate stuff??

for awhile it was mostly tempest initiating stuff :0 like actually holding hands (cough cough *KNUCKLES CLOSE ENOUGH TO BRUSH AGAINST YOURS HMP*), kissing, and almost breaching the territory of physical intimacy ,,

Tempest would notice Aloth’s kisses becoming more desperate, more yearning for her. Aloth wouldn’t notice how needy he was for his lover’s lips until Tempest felt the wall behind her. He was pushing her up against it, one hand cupping her face and the other enclosing her between him and the wall.

“Aloth-ah..please I need to breathe,” she exhales, gently pulling his lips away from her. Aloth’s eyes suddenly widen, realizing his actions.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t realize,” he starts, the tips of his ears already becoming redder and redder. He looks away from her, embarrassed, but he couldn’t help but stare.

Her face is flushed and her hair was all tousled up because of his fingers. She was breathing heavily, her chest rising up and down in a rhythmic pattern, hypnotizing him-

“You really like seeing me all hot and bothered for you, huh?” Tempest suddenly teases, eyeing him. She was expecting him to shy away from her flirtatious comment and vehemently deny where his eyes wandered at but, he did not back off this time;

“I do, and darling, if you would have me for tonight I would love to see more…”

[frankmillerturnonyourlocation]

Drabblecember 9: A Walk Outside

Word count: 300

Universe: Snicketverse

The air was cold on Lemony's neck– this jacket had no hood, and the zipper clicked against the buttons of his sweater as he walked in a way that reminded him of the ticking of a wristwatch, or maybe an uncommonly polite cuckoo clock. It was a good coat, other than those two things, but those two things were particularly galling in this moment, a word which here means "absolutely terrible for what Lemony needed to do, which was to use this walk to organize the twisted mire of thoughts currently plaguing him." Again, other than that, the walk was going well.

The house behind him was well-lit, and if you hadn't been inside, you could easily make the mistake of assuming it was full of warmth and kindness, as well-lit houses in early winter look like they should be. The kind of house that could offer refuge from the cold, a safe place to flee to–– that's what it looked like, from this distance. Lemony trudged on.

"Lemony! Wait up!"

And yet, tonight, it seemed it was the kind of house people would be more likely to flee from.

Lemony did not slow, but Emerson soon fell into step alongside him. At his asking expression, they shrugged and said, under their scarf, "Figured you could use the company. Or something like that."

Lemony considered that. A certain type of company could help Lemony organize his thoughts. Another kind could bring the gears of his mind to a total standstill, like pouring molasses over the gears of a cuckoo clock, or possibly a largeish wristwatch.

He looked at the person settling in to his left, the kind of company who could clear the entire tangle of fragmentary plans from his mind. "Something like that," he agreed, and they continued on.

[ivefallenforyouandicantgetup]

It’s so wonderful that specific songs can just bring such happy and peaceful and comfortable feelings to you :)

[fortune-maiden]

Feveruary Day 4: Herbal Remedy

Day 4! :D

I imagine this one to be set in the same verse as Day 1

“Old witch! You really are a nasty old witch!” “Cheng Xiaoshi! You think I’ll go easy on you just cause you’re sick? Drink!” “You’re trying to poison me!” “What poison! It’s an herbal remedy passed down through generations. You’ll feel better.” “It’s a shady recipe you found on a shady website – Stay away! No!” A piercing scream, then silence. In the next room, Lu Guang sat very still. In his heart, he recited a small prayer of gratitude for Cheng Xiaoshi’s fearless spirit. And then another for his own stuffed nose, unaware of the horrors wafting out from the kitchen.

[wedontdeservethestars]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Uncharted (Video Games) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Nathan Drake/Harry Flynn Characters: Nathan Drake, Harry Flynn Additional Tags: Drinking, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Depression, Mental Health Issues, Suicidal Thoughts, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Harry and Nate are both bi sorry I don't make the rules, First Meetings Summary:

In the midst of a depressive episode/drinking binge at a bar, Nate meets an angel. Takes place after Uncharted 1 and before Uncharted 2. If it wasn't clear, I was heavily inspired by the vibes of "Elevator to Heaven" by Chris Bell.

[moderatelyquicksilversposts]

Master Feiyu scolded his pupil, Qiang, for consulting the I Ching by tossing coins instead of using the meditative yarrow stalks.

Mortified, Qiang, who’d been deriving great benefit from the oracle, set about manipulating the sticks. He asked if he’d been wrong in using coins. He got Hexagram 7, The Army. Not understanding the answer, he abandoned the divination.

Later he asked again, but tossed his coins instead. Again he got Hexagram 7, which he still didn’t understand. What Qiang did understand was that there was nothing wrong in his choice of method, but plenty in his choice of master.

[tempi-fantrolls]

"Ey Laxi-taxi!"

Ailaxi froze at the sound of that voice (that stupid, annoying voice) and slowly turned around to face the owner.

Fortun was leaning on Ailaxi's fucking desk like the stupid fish owned the damn place, a shit eating grin on his face.

Ailaxi wanted to punch him.

"Your moirail isn't here." He said instead, tone curt but somehow only slightly angry.

The dumbass just hummed in contemplation.

"Musd be meand ta see you den."

Ailaxi glared at him. "Must be meant to see you." He repeated without the stupid vocal tick. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

Fortun shrugged, seemingly unbothered by Ailaxi's barely hidden rage.

"Luck bullshid." He stated like that made any fucking sense. "Y'know."

Ailaxi pinched the bridge of his nose. "Right. Okay." He decided to agree. "Why would 'luck bullshit' mean I have to see you?"

Fortun shrugged again. "Dunno. Jusd god a feelin' I should be here so here I am!"

"Oh, great." Ailaxi said with all the sarcasm he could muster. "Well I've got work to do so," He let the sentence trail off as he turned away from the conversation to ruffle uselessly through some files, hoping the stupid fish would get the hint.

As usual, he didn't.

"Maybe I'm supposed ta help ya. Nah, dat doesn' feel righd."

Ailaxi took a deep breath to calm himself as Fortun continued to rattle off possible reasons he could be here. It wasn't a secret that he felt black for Fortun. It was actually pretty obvious. Well, to everyone except Fortun, at least. Ailaxi was pretty sure that the oblivious idiot had no idea. Which was only one of the many reasons he couldn't act on said black feelings.

Ailaxi rubbed at his eyes. "Fortun," He interjected, causing the fish to pause. "I really don't have time for this. Could you maybe, I don't know, figure it out somewhere that isn't my office?"

There wasn't any sound of movement so Ailaxi lifted his head to stare down the seadweller. Fortun's brows rose above his shades.

"Holy shid!" He exclaimed. "Ya god contacts!"

It felt like a rock sunk to the bottom of Ailaxi's stomach. "Fuck." The gray colored contacts must have shifted when he rubbed his eyes.

Ailaxi lifted his hand to correct them but Fortun got there first, pushing said hand aside, and holding Ailaxi's chin so he could look closer at his irises.

Ailaxi growled at him. This was a gross invasion of his personal space and he wasn't about to-

"Where'd ya ged dem?" Fortun asked earnestly before Ailaxi could voice anything.

"I," Ailaxi had been prepared to defend his choice to go grey, to fight even. He had not been expecting... that. "What?"

"Where did ya ged dem?" Fortun repeated slower. "I need some an', well, id's hard ta find anybody ta make em." Something dawned on his face as he finally let go of Ailaxi's. "Ohhhh. Dat's why I'm here."

Ailaxi rubbed his chin (stupid fuck has a hard grip) and glared at him. "Why the fuck would you need contacts? And don't tell me they're for someone else. I know you don't have any friends, dipshit."

Fortun stared at him for a moment before reaching up to remove his shades.

It was the first time Ailaxi had ever seen his eyes. Fortun never took off his violet tinted glasses. He looked almost naked without them. But, more importantly, he looked distinctly less violet.

"Holy shit you're royal." Ailaxi got out, staring uncomprehendingly at Fortun's fuchsia irises.

Fortun shrugged. "Blood fa blood er somedin'." He said simply before putting his shades back on. "Don' tell nobody? Uh 'Ray knows but, y'know."

"Uh," Ailaxi felt a bit dizzy. "Same."

Fortun hummed and nodded.

Then he clapped his hands together, making a noise loud enough for Ailaxi to flinch and rub at his sensitive ears.

"So," Fortun said, ignoring or not noticing Ailaxi's discomfort. "Contacts."

[purgatoryandme]

i miss your cbt fic series

I miss it, too! I've been making more time to write again these past two years, but it's still a bit of a struggle to try and produce creative writing when I write scientifically for a living. My pace is definitely a lot slower and I've been doing more short projects or spontaneous updates from notes I've had for 2+ years to get back into the groove.

TLDR is it's not abandoned, though my update schedule will probably stay slow af for quite some time ;_;

[gojoest]

URGES — gojo satoru

MDNI, pregnancy freak!satoru, f!reader, established relationship (married), reader is pregnant, public sex (in the train, but it’s just the tip), reader is going through hormonal changes that cause a very high sex drive + wears a dress, unprotected sex, pet names (sweetness), wc: 1.3k, dividers by @/cafekitsune

a/n: i implemented the ideas suggested by @/tapiocakisses & @/cherriel0v3r into this drabble, big thank you <3

Satoru adores every bit about your pregnancy.

Certainly, his favorite thing about it is the baby bump that had slowly started forming — all because it is the most unambiguous sign that you belong to someone.

Surely, he also likes to put his hands on your belly. He places them on top when you sit together, rubs it softly, or gently shields it with his palm as you walk down the street while his other hand firmly sits at the small of your back — after all, this is the most unambiguous sign that you belonged to him, because not just any man would walk around touching a pregnant woman like that.

Not just any man, but the father himself.

But recently, there is another aspect of your pregnancy that he had grown extremely fond of — almost addicted, in fact, to the point he thinks he won’t be able to live any other way once this “side effect” subsides.

High sex drive…

…which comes as a result of increased hormonal shifts in your body, causing an abysmal spike in your libido. Thus meaning, you keep him quite busy.

These arousal outbursts occur at random times of the day, and Satoru is always ready to deliver — even if it means making regular stops at home during work hours (a few times a day) or ending a mission in an abrupt and brutal manner (unnecessary hollow purpling curses left and right that otherwise could’ve been handled with less effort).

It is all for a good cause — he needs to take care of his pregnant wife.

Sometimes you’d wake him up in the middle of the night, pawing at his cock, sweetly and innocently asking him to fuck you.

The blood has never rushed faster to his groin before. In all honesty, those are the times he struggles with his self-restraint because you drive him absolutely nuts with a single word, and the fact that you need him this bad, so bad that you’re already wet down there between your legs — and he can smell it, so bad that you wake him up rubbing your thighs together asking for his cock because your fingers aren’t good enough to reach certain spots… messes with his head oh so terribly. If you weren’t in this fragile, pregnant state, he’d pin you down nasty and fuck the living hell out of you until you pass out.

He thinks to himself, that once the child is born the first thing he’ll do is fuck your brains out in the most obscene of positions that weren’t suitable during the pregnancy and take his pent-up frustration from holding back his stroke game out on that pretty cunt of yours. Well, until he knocks you up all over again.

…because he wants to keep you pregnant and needy for him, all the time.

Until then, he’ll fuck you tenderly. Sometimes with just the tip…

…as you so happen to be in public — in the train, on your way to visit the zoo during one of his rarely free days, when your urges just so happened to kick in. Again.

Even though, he fucked you good before leaving the house. Pretty sure his cum is still staining the inner of your panties even — the panties that are now slid to the side as you’re backed against one of the corners of the train where it’s relatively secluded, with your husband standing before you holding the hem of your dress up and high enough to access what’s underneath. His pants undone but still intact around his legs, it’s just the zipper that is down for his cock to be out and the tip prodding in your cunt.

It’s a good thing that he’s a big man and that his frame can cover the entirety of you once he is in front of you, so that people entering or leaving the wagon wouldn’t witness the obscenity beyond him. Fortunately, all they see is the huge, broad back of a tall, well-built man. And, well, a pair of smaller feet that could be spotted through his spread lower limbs, that is, if you looked down.

“Shh—“, cupping your cheek with his free hand Satoru quietly hushes you, tracing his index finger over your lips as you squeeze your eyes shut, moving your hips slightly to swallow more of him inside you, and not just the tip. “I don’t want other people to hear the sweet noises you make, they’re for my ears only, okay?”

His finger moves away from your mouth, giving way for his lips to seal them instead. Because he knows that you won’t listen to him. You never do. And he really can’t make peace with the possibility of someone catching on to your voice. Not because you’d be busted fucking in broad daylight, inside of a train of all places. But because, that voice you make when his cock is inside you? It’s really just for him to hear and keep.

“Please, sweetness— just whisper your moans to me, in my ear only”, he mumbles against your lips, just barely breaking the kiss so he could beg for you to keep it down. Growing concerned on what he could possibly do if someone were to actually hear you.

“Nghh—”, you pant into him, incoherent. Easier said than done, you think but the words don’t make it out. All that is in your mind is how bad you want his cock inside you, all of it. The tip only is doing more damage than any good, teasing you further.

“Fuck me for real, ‘Toru”, you hiss at him, grabbing a chunk of his hair before dragging your nails down his undercut, then down his back, and then lower, and lower, and lower — until you reach his ass. Your hand kneading on it, sneakily luring his hips into you.

He wavers, he really does.

Beads of sweat sliding down his forehead, his bangs damp and sticking on his skin. His cheeks flushed while he breathes in heavy stutters as tremors run up and down his body, causing him to buck himself forward just a tiny bit before he stops himself. Terrified of losing his mind if he goes an inch deeper in you, because then — people would know and unfortunately see you in a state that only he is allowed to see.

His extreme possessiveness of you being the only voice of reason in him right now, no matter how contradicting the present situation is. He wants people to know that he fucks you, but he does not want them to witness it. His wish to be the only one you give yourself to is followed by the desire to be the only witness to how you do it.

“Yeah?”, he scoffs, his head falling back for a second then shifting to its previous position. Shortly after his neck cranes down and he nestles his forehead on the nook of your shoulder.

“Do you know what it costs me to stop myself from going all the way in? Do you have any idea how fucking good you feel?”, he laughs in a daze. “Pretty sure I just lost about 10 years of my life holding back, so please — please, don’t let anyone get to that sweet voice”, he pleads through a heavy breath. His voice is really desperate. Like he really is fighting for his life there, trying to keep your voice pristine to his ears only.

“There’s a café three stops away”, he continues after he peels his head away from your shoulder and looks at you through half-lidded eyes. “I can give you the rest there — can you be a good girl for me till then?”

You nod.

The zoo visit was clearly off the table now. But in a few more minutes you would be on the bathroom counter — legs spread and a cockful of your husband inside you — getting what you deserve.

[rosiereveries]

Part two of the secret Santa with CEO!JohnPrice drabble that I wrote Part one CW: smut, rough sex, unprotected sex, doggy style, little power imbalance, reader is a female

You carefully knock on his office door hoping that he has already left. The whole secret Santa was a stupid idea that your colleagues came up with, and everyone got mediocre gifts except you. Your boss John Price bought you some expensive perfume, you didn’t even know the brand, but you could tell that it cost a fortune, and a pearl necklace that was beautiful. You know that keeping these gifts is not right, he must have bought them for someone else and he had to accidentally change the presents. You were sure he had some socks and coffee mug prepared for you.

Even though you could see how satisfied he was when you open your gift. And the fact that he called you his good girl in front the whole office made your stomach turn. It’s been so long since someone made you blush that much. That is why you went to his office in the first place, to make sure you return the gift.

When you hear quiet “come in” you know that you must face him. You slowly open the door and find him sitting behind his table with a surprised face. He didn’t expect you to come. “Something wrong with your present doll?” he asks, and you start to explain that you can’t keep the gift, that you are sure it was not meant for you. He simply asks if you had a chance to try on the necklace. You shake your head no and he walks behind you taking the necklace from your shaking hands.

It’s been a while since someone touched you so gently and there is something so intimate about the way he gathers your hair and pushes them away, so he has unlimited access to your neck. You can feel his breath next to your ear and you realize he stands too close to you. He turns both of you, so you stand next to the mirror he has in his office, and you see the hunger in his eyes.

One second, he is looking at you and the next he is lightly kissing your neck. “Tell me to stop now or I won’t” he says, and you just nod for approval. “Words honey, I need you to tell me that you want this as much as I.”

“Please Mr. Price” you whimper. That is all he needs to hear. John’s hands are everywhere. He pulls the top of your dress lower so he can touch you breasts while he starts to rub his hard dick in your ass. He sucks at your neck, and you know that you will have hickeys, and you will have to wear a turtleneck tomorrow.

When he is done with your neck, he turns your head, and he kisses you. It is wild, his tongue is immediately in your mouth, and he doesn’t let you have breaks for breaths. John pulls your skirt up pushing his hand in your stockings and he touches you through your panties.

“You’re so wet for me darling, and I barely even touch you” You can hear the ripping of your stockings and suddenly he pushes you onto his desk pushing your legs apart so he can have access to your pussy. He pulls your panties to your knees, and you blush when you remember what pair you put on in the morning. A pink cotton panties with a little bow, you didn’t expect anyone to see them tonight.

“So pretty and just for me,” he says, and you can feel his breath at your clit, “but unfortunately I don’t have time to eat you out, but don’t worry we will make time the next time you see me.” By this point you are needy mess who just want him to fuck you.

You can hear him unzipping his pants and then you finally feel his dick at your opening. He starts to push in slowly, groaning and moaning into your ear. He is thick and long, and you feel so full. You didn’t have a partner for some time now and he fills you up so nicely.

“You’re doing great love, just keep taking me in” he says and when he finally pushes his whole dick inside you, you feel so full. It is so overwhelming and he’s not even moving yet. He sets up a harsh and rough tempo fucking into you with his hips and the whole desk starts to shake.

John is practically laying on you, he has you pinned on the desk, and you can feel his full weight on yourself. “Fuck I am going to cum, be a good girl and let me come inside” You don’t even know if you could tell him no, you are so close chasing your own release.

When his fingers lightly rub your clit, you break. It is one of the most powerful orgasms you have had. You can feel him cumming inside of your pussy and you’re grateful that you are on the pill.

After some time when he just lays on you, he gently pulls out of you and helps you to clean. “Such a good girl for me isn’t you” John makes sure that you look decent before he walks out of the office with you. He helps you to his car and drives your home. He walks you to your door and says, “Just don’t tell HR and we can keep up with the fun.”

The next morning when you walk to your desk you find a small package there. When you open it there are earrings, matching pair to the necklace you got yesterday. There is also a note that says: Be a good girl and come up to my office during my lunch break.

Part three Masterlist