#He is a persimmon tree

[crepes-suzette-373]

(read the comic left to right for once)

More random chill/fun AU.

I'm not entirely sure what I was gonna do with this, honestly... I was reading a typical isekai manga with nature spirits, and I randomly thought of this. Japanese folklore does have tree spirits too.

Some artistic liberties taken, obviously, so some of the stuff I say here has nothing to do with folklore.

The tree spirits can wander around freely, they're not attached to the physical tree. They just prefer having the tree nearby because if anything happens to it, they lose their human manifestation. They can get it back by finding a new host tree, but it's not that easy to do.

Those with strong enough spiritual power can pull out the tree and move it around freely too.

The more I drew the more I regretted making all those flowers and leaves on their heads. It was a super cool design, but a pain to draw like 10 times over.

Ichiji and Niji are wearing leaf masks, they don't grow leaves on their faces.

Also random flower trivia (nothing to do with the characters, honestly).

Tree/plants assignment for the other characters pending (especially because I don't know what to do with this AU yet). Nami is easy because she's obviously a mikan tree.

#one piece #my art #vinsmoke family #vinsmoke brothers #vinsmoke #vinsmoke siblings #ichiji #niji #yonji #vinsmoke ichiji #vinsmoke niji #vinsmoke yonji #germa 66 #reiju #vinsmoke reiju #sanji #vinsmoke sanji #black leg sanji #tree au #nami #cat burglar nami #I vaguely imagine the running tree to be Judge #Sort of #He is a persimmon tree #But it doesn't really matter here #I don't really like to think about it

[blackestnight]

4: line and sinker

Day 4: Off the hook

Word count: 416

Obligatory Haruki fishing fill. As always, A’dewah is @fistsoflightning‘s problem, I just get to torment him on occasion.

It was the sort of lazy summer day where A’dewah felt like his bones were melting, but in a pleasant way, like the heat was softening him from the inside out and chasing the perennial chill from his fingertips. Maybe if he sat still long enough, he’d ooze into a puddle and take a nap.

Being a nap-puddle would make it hard to hold his book, though. Or his fishing rod.

He had his trousers rolled up to his knees so he could swish his feet in the water; the fishing rod was held in its mostly-secure place between his knees with one hand while he turned pages with the other. The dock was empty aside from him, but Haruki was out there somewhere, armed with a spear and Seiryu’s divine blessing; A’dewah didn’t mind that their river fishing trips meant so much time in technical solitude, because the sound of the current and the cicadas was soothing, and Haruki’s spirited retellings of his adventures to the riverbed were delights on their own.

Granted the serenity was disrupted slightly when a tug on the line meant he had to scramble for the rod before it fell in the river, but—well, he was probably overdue for a sudden spike in his heart rate anyway.

The reel clicked gently as he cranked the handle, and whatever it was, his catch couldn’t have been that big, because the line was coming in without a struggle, but A’dewah’s eyes widened as a massive pale shape emerged from the shadowy deep—

Haruki surfaced with a grin and a hearty flick of his hair that scattered water droplets all over A’dewah’s front. “Hey there, sunshine!” he said, delighted, and gripped the edge of the dock with one hand. The other, A’dewah noted, was pinching the fishing hook, which seemed to have been deliberately snagged on Haruki’s armband. “Come here often?”

A’dewah couldn’t contain his amusement completely, but he did manage to stifle it to what he was sure was a goofy smile, rather than a full-blown laugh. “You are the strangest fish I have ever seen,” he said. “Probably not good eating—I’ll need to throw you back.”

“Aww,” Haruki said, with a pout so over-acted he submerged up to his nose before kicking back up. “I thought I was a reel catch. Get it?”

A’dewah covered his face with a hand, looked to the sky to hide his chuckle, then planted his bare foot on Haruki’s forehead and forced him back underwater.

#ffxivwrite 2023 #final fantasy xiv #writing - mine #oc: haruki hagane #a'dewah #haruki is at his most powerful when he is making awful fishing puns #s: persimmon trees

[khaoray]

if you wish upon me really said here’s our main male lead, his name is yoon kyeo re, he’s incredibly emotionally damaged and he doesn’t trust basic human kindness because he thinks people always want something in return, but he has a dog that he named sonny to try and build a family for himself and he has an emotional breakdown when a sick old man is nice to him

and i, being the clown that i am, said ‘thank you this is exactly what i wanted’

#vic.txt #if you wish upon me #and THEN he spends the entire night painting origami persimmons to hang in the old man's tree to make him happy #two episodes in and the emotional damage i have taken...

[pinejay]

finished tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. i guess i'm most irritated by marx's [redacted] throwing a wrench into the plot bc sam and sadie were just not gonna develop the ability to communicate. it felt cheap. like i already hate to be invested in this kind of emotional immaturity, and now you're not even writing it all the way through?? ok. i mean i don't even care abt character arcs being perfectly rounded out, or the perfect hero's journey, etc. but this was just like, u make me suffer their obnoxious college age/young adult interpersonal conflicts, and then u [redacted] this guy, and then they're older so they're wiser, and then it's over? why did i waste my time reading that shit. i guess it's more a story about aging being the primary vehicle of attaining maturity and perspective. which is fine, true even. just boring. the part that made me feel the most was when dong hyun [redacted] near the end.

#positive(?) notes: easy to read and keep reading. mostly interesting game ideas. excellent vocabulary #a lot of the book was already ''boohoo i'm a poor wasian boy at harvard :( boohoo i'm a white girl in tech :('' and that is SO. ANNOYING #but i soldiered on thru the surface level discussion of identity as it pertains to your life experiences #oh another positive characteristic of the book: i like how facts are presented simply at first but then revealed to have stories later on #the recontextualizing of details u thought u already knew... the power of hindsight. it was very evocative of the same experience irl #like when u find out your friend has a sister who's going to the same school as u guys and you're like oh cool i'd love to meet her #but then u learn more abt the sister's role in your friend's life and development and the complex relationship they have you're like woah #tatat #oh and the one other part of the book i liked was when sadie was saying marx prob didn't even have a fav fruit until that moment #that he discovered there was a persimmon tree in their house. that was very beautiful and sweet and kind

[fistsoflightning]

auraugust day 10 - date night. get urself a man whose wardrobe hurts your eyes to look at & has a fishing buddy

thank you @blackestnight for letting me steal your lizards & also inserting this idea right into my brain

#ffxiv #final fantasy xiv #haruki #c: a'dewah tia #munehise #...sort of. he's also tall which is weird #auraugust 2022 #tales from the blue #s: sunlight through persimmon trees #elie scrnshts

[honey-gaze]

there's a persimmon tree at the park behind my grandparents' house that my brother and I have been gathering fruit from since we were kids, and he told me today they're ripe! psyched for the single time per year that I can use my grandma's persimmon cookie recipe ✨️

#fall fruits #persimmons #nostalgic! #my bro goes nuts for this tree he always knows right when they start falling #samgaze #nature

[queerpyracy]

turkey got on the roof and evidently?? ran over the top of it??? it still sounds like there's a whole person up there

#babbles #i thought he was using it to roost in the persimmon tree why did he. run over the roof

[19burstraat]

Random SOC Trivia I Gathered On My Reread

I'll be using this for fics, but it's fun just to read!

Jesper does not hold alcohol well (though this is according to Kaz, who is not exactly impartial)

Wijnstraat, Nemstraat, Havenstraat, Ammberstraat are all street names if you want em

Van Eck has been involved in trying to clean up the Barrel; pious. (Allegedly pious, I doubt he really is)

1/5 Van Eck (or general Kerch trading?) vessels are lost at sea

Kaz arrested three times at ten, twice at eleven, once at fourteen. Does stints in jail but it does not say prison (ppl assume he's been to Hellgate / another prison but I don't think so. He'd never have shut the fuck up about it if he had; I assume the Stadhall Jail)

Kaz's cane is lead-lined. I wasn't sure if this was canon or fanon

Kaz runs book on prize fights, horses, and chance games. Floor boss at crow club since fifteen-ish. Youngest to run a betting shop and has doubled the profits.

Gambling halls: Treasure Chest, Golden Bend, Weddell's Riverboat, Silver Garter

West Stave brothels: The Blue Iris, The Forge, The Obscura, the Willow Switch, the House of Snow

Van Aakster is the widow mercher who sees Nina to ease his grief

Inej likes orange cakes in white paper

Black Tips tattoo is a hand with first and second fingers cut at the knuckle, Razorgulls is 5 birds in wedge formation

Nina Jesper and Kaz definitely all have the crow and cup; the others don't

Jordie seems to like books

ridderspel and spijker are arcade games

Bilge, clams, and wet stone smell in the Barrel (per Retvenko)

Kaz definitely is partial to dogs; Smeet's hounds and the grey dog the Hertzoon household had, the windup dogs, the metaphors. He loves a dog metaphor sorry ur not real babycakes you'd have loved thematic web weaving posts

Geldspin is the cotton mill in Zierfoort, Firma Allerbest is a cannery. Both in Alys' name

Wylan was 8 when Marya 'died'

the black veil tomb is carved like an ancient cargo ship

3 flying fish on a grave: government. Palm trees and snakes: spices.

Inej's mother braids her hair with orange ribbons (colour of persimmons)

University a series of buildings built around the Boekcanal and joined by Speaker's Bridge (where people debate and/or drink). Boeksplein four libraries built around a central courtyard and the Scholar's Fountain

Shipping container at third harbour is a Liddie hideout; Jam Tart House is an old hotel near the slat that the Razorgulls use

Long scar across Kaz's right knuckle

Violating contracts and interfering with the market can get you hanged in Kerch; same sentences as for murder (this is. Insane)

Haskell holds court with his mates at the Fair Weather Inn every week

Belendt is the second oldest Kerch city and sits on the Droombeld River

Jesper was 7 when Aditi died

Inej has an uncle (who seems to have some sort of ringmaster role) and cousins; Hanzi and Asha

Kaz convinced a locksmith in Klokstraat that he was the son of a wealthy merchant who highly valued his collection of priceless snuffboxes, and that's how he knows what locks the rich are using

Hubrecht Mohren, Master Thief of Pijl, who Kaz doesn't appear to think much of; one of Haskell's old cronies

Martin Van Eck, Wylan's great great grandfather, was a ship's captain, brought back a big shipment of spices from Eames Chin and started the Van Eck fortune

Kaz and Jesper (+ other Dregs boys) taught Inej to fight

Kaz and Jordie are from a town near Lij, as per the 'Johannus Rietveld' exposition, but Lij is seemingly the closest major city/county so it's easier to just say they're from Lij lol

The last time the Council of Tides appeared in public was 25 years prior to CK

Kaz found Filip running a monte game on Kelstraat; he also got the clerks who turned over fake info, the fake attorney, the man who gave them free hot chocolate

The spelling of Zentzbridge lapses to Zentsbridge, not sure which is right or if they're actually separate bridges or if there's a lot of wrong quotes floating around lol

Dryden house symbol is the golden wheat sheaf bound with a blue ribbon; Van Eck is the red laurel but we knew that

Kaz taught himself finance and gambling hall rules

Church of Barter roof is copper and long has turned green

Church of Barter built around the First Forge / The Mortar, which is a flat lump of rock that's supposedly Ghezen's altar

Ghezendaal Hospital is. Idk. a hospital. Just thought ppl might want the name

#six of crows #crooked kingdom #grishaverse #soc duology #shadow and bone #my post

[lovequartz]

to feel the same.

❁ pairing: town doctor!wonwoo x fiancee!reader

❁ genre: fluff

❁ warnings: mention of blood + injury

❁ word count: 1.3k

❁ winter passed and spring came, you're a flower with green leaves and raindrops

❁ notes: this is dedicated to the lovely @jenowithjaem who gave me the inspo behind this piece, thank you <3

you are fixing your hair when you hear your mother call your name. her voice traveling from the front of the house through the open door of your bedroom. you quickly pin a few front pieces and smooth your skirt down before hurrying off to your mother’s side.

she’s standing with the entry door open, and beams when she sees you, “wonwoo is here!” she practically giggles.

in the time wonwoo has been taking to court you, he's been coming by your house more and more often lately. the two of you have been taking walks in the early evening, which was the reason you were fixing yourself earlier. 

“you don’t have to announce his presence every time,” you whine softly as you grab her arm. turning to peek out the door, you smile as wonwoo’s eyes meet yours. he looks handsome as always, but today his glasses are tucked into the breast pocket of his lovely navy blue shirt. 

“good evening,” he says, grinning when he hears you return his greeting in a much more quiet tone, “are you ready? or should i wait a bit longer?” 

you give him an apologetic look, “give me just one minute? i’ll grab my shoes.”

he nods in understanding before you mother gets his attention once more.

“are you sure you don’t want to come in? you know our home is your home after all,” you hear your mother say as you scurry off to find your footwear.

a little later you and wonwoo wave to your mother as she slides the door shut, your arm tucked safely into the crook of his elbow as the two of you make your way down the road. the temperature is lovely and there’s a warm breeze rustling through the trees and their leaves. you wonder if someone like you is allowed to feel this giddy, to be able to bask in the sun’s glow and wonwoo’s simple presence beside you. 

soon all your strolling takes the two of you to the small creek nestled just behind the persimmon orchard, the current a touch fast due to the heavy rain last night. wonwoo grips your hand in his as the two of you meander down the creekbank. a quick movement catches your eye and you spot a small frog near the water’s edge. you gasp before pointing it out to the man next to you.

“wonwoo look! it's a frog,” you say, letting go of his hand to see if you can catch the small friend. it does a tentative hop but surprisingly allows you to scoop it up into your hand, your palm underneath it. 

its little head peeks out from under the arch of your thumb, and you cradle it gently before lifting it to your beau’s eye level. 

wonwoo has a small smile on his face as he brings his own hands to hover just under yours, in case the frog decides to make a leap for it. “indeed it is.”

the two of you coddle the small creature for a few moments more before you eventually set him back on the ground. your hands are muddy so you swish them around in the water of the creek before brushing away an itch at your cheek and standing. 

when you turn to wonwoo he has a look in his eye you can’t quite place, and a smirk tugging at his lips. 

confusion paints your features as you say; “what?”

the man chuckles lightly before stepping closer to you and rubbing his thumb across your cheek, the finger brushing the very bottom of your scar. “i think you managed to get some dirt on your face while you were cleaning your hands.” 

a small twinge of embarrassment flushes through you but you can only continue to stare at wonwoo and mumble a small “oh.”

he hums, looking rather pleased as he continues to touch your face. thumb gently running the line of your scar. part of you wants to flinch away but the other part of you wants to indulge in wonwoo’s attention and affections. so stay still you do.

“you never told me,” his soft voice breaks the silence between the two of you, “how you got it.”

you breathe out a sigh, fingers coming up to curl around the hand that touches your face. “let’s keep walking, i’ll tell you as we do.”

winter age 8 

the winter’s chill bites at your bare fingers, not as cold as it was the previous day but still brisk. your sister had run up ahead of you, her boot marks disturbing the freshly fallen snow as she traverses through the neat rows of persimmon trees. your parents had allowed both of you to meander around outside until dinner was ready, your mother had just begun feeding the stove wood when you’d left. so you and your sister decided that it would be the perfect time to play with the kite your uncle had gifted the two of you a few weeks ago.

“not so far!” you shout to your sister as she continues to trek forward, the kite still sailing high in the wind above your heads. 

“it keeps falling!” she shouts back, “i’m trying to get it to stay up!” 

as her pace slows the both of you watch the kite circle around from a particularly strong gust before it starts descending quickly. 

“see, it's coming down!” the frustration is clear in her voice. 

eventually, the kite lands between the branches of one of the persimmon trees, and your sister tries tugging it free to no avail. 

“you’re gonna rip it! one of us is gonna have to climb to get it,” you say when you finally catch up to her. 

“its gonna have to be you,” she says immediately.

you turn to look at her, protests already ready on your tongue. 

“i’m wearing my new skirt, mother will have my HEAD if i tear it. besides, you’re wearing trousers and you’re smaller so it’ll be easier for you to get up there.” she says before you can get a word in edgewise. 

you sigh heavily, accepting your already decided fate, “fine.”

it doesn’t take you long before you’re able to reach the branches where the kite is wedged. however, due to their height you have to stand up on the branch you’re perched on. carefully, you make your way to your feet, heart pounding as you reach above you. your fingers brush against the fabric of the kite’s side and you lift just a bit onto your toes for a little extra reach. the next thing you know you feel your left foot slip, and all you can hear is your own scream followed by your sister’s.

a dull pain starts to radiate from your back, and you realize you’re on the ground. the left side of your face feels cold, and you wipe at it, thinking you must have snow stuck there from the fall, but when you pull your hand away it is covered in blood. you stare at it blankly before your eyes meet your sister’s who stands over you unmoving, a look of pure horror twisting her features. 

her face is the last thing you remember before everything went black. 

“she said she thought i died,” you say with a chuckle, “she ran screaming to get my parents, and everyone was pretty shook up before they were told i was going to be fine.” your fingers brush against the skin of your cheek.

“i got treated like a princess for the whole week after. my sister was beside herself with guilt, but she knows it wasn’t really her fault. it was a series of unfortunate accidents that ended with my face being the poor victim of a sharp branch.” 

wonwoo looks pensive, his fingers squeezing yours. “poor girl, it must’ve hurt at the time.” 

you immediately feel flustered at his words, stunned into silence as the two of you look at each other. 

“well, just a bit,” you reply, “it was worse when it was healing, it took everything in little eight year old me not to pick at the scab.”

wonwoo hums, lifting the hand in his to press his lips against the back of it. 

“thank you for sharing with me, i’m happy i get to know more about you.” 

❁ notes: thank you always for reading! all these recent works from me have been an honor to write so thank you once again love u all

#wonwoo x reader #jeon wonwoo x reader #wonwoo #jeon wonwoo #seventeen x reader #seventeen scenarios #bee.pollen #fic.

[hoseoksluna]

STORY | knj

pairing: soft dom!namjoon x reader

genre: smut

word count: 7.8k

summary: yours and namjoon’s story is a bit more perverted than traditional.

warnings: serious big dick namjoon, rough touches, hair pulling, use of pet names and titles, dom/sub dynamics, horny namjoon can't help but palm himself:(, desperation, masturbation, spanking, praising, tit slapping, nipple play, teasing, oc and namjoon not being comfortable with certain practices, playful orgasm denial, oral sex (m. and f. receiving), rimming && ass play :3, cum eating yum yum, tit fucking, orgasm countdown fuck

note: smut is so fucking difficult to write but i loved every second of it. i love writing about namjoon, he just makes me feel so safe. this is purely my fantasy with him and i'll probably dream about this for a long, long time. please, take your time reading this as it's pretty long. i hope you enjoy it and that it makes you dream like it made me dream. as always, let me know what you think in the comments, like the post and if you want to—reblog, but i won't pressure you angels <3. love you guys so much, thank you for all the love. kisses!

side note: i miss namjoon and i wish he were here. all i can do is watch his lives and pretend he never left for the military.

Namjoon makes himself comfortable on the wooden chair before you.

The scene is set. Like a mermaid bathing in the sun, you rest your elbows on the cold rim of the ivory bathtub. Small surges of violet-tinted water, perfumed with your scent, blanket your body in a thin layer of glittery sheen. They kiss the tiger stripes along the curve of your bottom as it rolls over, passing by the dip in the small of your waist, breathing in your patchouli fragrance in greeting. The bath bomb, cornered by your knees, sizzles and spins, the width of the tub allowing your form to float like a little fish in the open sea as copiously as you please.

A gift from your loving boyfriend. Both the clawfoot, and the bath bomb.

The scene expands. Your Eric slouches in his seat, balancing his greatest and most stellar possession on top of his lap with one hand while he runs the other through his silver mane. He fits perfectly in the picturesqueness of the background. Soft orange and chocolate tiles zig zag behind his back, transposing him momentarily into a sunlit illustration, where he rests in the shade of a palm tree on a faraway beach. Reads the book to pass the time as he waits for you to emerge from the waters. Sets it down on his lap as soon as his gaze catches yours. Periwinkle clams for a bra, panties thin and translucent from the oncoming waves, you rest your front on the sand. He smiles down at you and you know for a fact you won’t be able to get on your feet. Might have to learn how to walk, too.

You keep this picture in your heart. Mentally, you rip out the page. Fold it and tuck it somewhere within you to keep it safe.

Legs outstretched by the sides of the tub, clad in slacks in the muted color of a persimmon, it’s almost as though you’re propped on his lap. Sporting a simple white button-down, sleeves rolled, you’re close enough to touch the material if you so much as wished so. From his angle, Namjoon sees nothing but the roundness of your eyes through the brownish rims of his glasses, hair unkempt in their dampness as the short paper thin layers frame your flushed face in such a celestial way. If he were to lean over, it’d be a different kind of book.

The one in the clasp of his hand isn’t a tale as old as time.

It’s one of your favorites. An existential story that ridicules the traditional. A transfusion of liveness to a certain forgotten room of your heart. The unlit one while the others brim with sunlight, with the golden sepia projection of the contents of the fairytales you love so much made into stop motion. A coloring book of some sort, hues fitting into the lines by your helping hand—the attention of your eyes. 

Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka. The book that sweeps away all those cobwebs in that chamber. Makes it less lonely.

It’s all you had talked about on your dates when you and Namjoon first started dating, having been reading it at the time. You had confided in him that the writer was the only person who understood you without ever learning your name, without familiarizing himself with the subtleties of your calamitous life.

No one has ever shared something so vulnerable with him, especially not on the first date. Not that he’d gone on many, but the few that fell into his grasp were hell to get through. Insufferable, to say the least. Absolutely superficial.

He went home in the rain thinking of you. Not for boyish reasons. But for reasons of literary character, of melancholy nature that squeezed his long-unexpressed heart in perpetuating intervals too consistent for his liking. Filled it with a nectar bubbling with a newly blooming love for books, with a sudden longing to be found within the words. His body decided for him that it was yours. Yours to teach again how to read between the lines.

The scene breaks out of the margins on the page.

“Is the water warm enough?”

The idea constructed by his own geniality, it’s by his will that you’re basking in your bare femininity before his eyes. Idleness lingered in the living room between the pair of you, the flimsy curtain by your balcony lifting and falling in a little dance as the cold air perfused the place with the drowsiness of winter. Pulling his eyes away from the TV to sink a soft kiss into your hair, Namjoon muttered into your ear: “How about I draw you a bath and read to you for a little bit?”

You said nothing. The click of your phone turning off and your hasty movements to untangle yourself from the warmth of his limbs answered him for you. Leaving your clothes as a trail for him to follow, you gave him a glimpse of your ass, arched and pointed in the draft before you ran away. Before he scolded you with his index finger like a father, raising to his feet to close the balcony door.

In two seconds he joined you in the bathroom. Leaned against the doorframe as you circled a pink roll-on lip oil you’ve been obsessed with lately around the perimeters of your lips. The one that makes them look bigger, juicier. That makes them more fun to kiss and toy with. The one that leaves his length sticky once playtime is over. You seem to cast aside little trinkets of yourself for him to collect everywhere you go.

Tits pushed towards each other while you slightly bent over the vanity sink, tapping the excess into the fullness of your mouth, Namjoon palmed himself. The tiredness from work earlier weakened his self-control to the point of unrestrained indulgence. And the plumpness of your ass just encouraged it.

You fluffed your hair and Namjoon ran the bath. Disappeared into the kitchen for a moment to retrieve the purple bath bomb from the plastic bag on the counter, one that he got from the convenience store for you. Dragon fruit and hibiscus. Thought of the twinkle that would sparkle beneath your lashes upon seeing it. Wasn’t disappointed when you exceeded his expectations.

Having seen it in the mirror, almost microscopic and round in his big palm, you turned on your heel and burst into giddiness as he took off the plastic packaging with his teeth. You pouted in gratefulness when he showed it to you. 

“You planned this, didn’t you?”

You hugged him, locking your hands behind the nape of his neck. Maybe he did, maybe he didn’t, and he told you so. A bit hoarsely, though.

Namjoon struggled not to moan. Groaned a little when he felt the curvature of your belly against his hardness and the pointed nubs of your tits beneath his pecs. Managed to conceal it, thankfully, by clearing his throat and by allowing an authentic grin to bloom on his dimpled face at your joy. Thanked the heavens for all the bath bombs in the world.

He placed it in your much smaller palm for you to plop it into the increasing water. Watched your eyes widen at the gilded glitter spreading around. Spurred you to get in. Held your hand as you lifted one limb, then the other. Knelt by you as you engulfed yourself in the violet tinge, your hair swirling around you, silky and ethereal, coming to a stop at the top of your head to fix a splendid crown for such a princess like yourself.

Namjoon turned off the tap while you rested your back against the curved wall of the tub. You swooshed your hands around, gathering the glitter into the fine lines of your palms. Looked up at him in elation, the twinkle doing its thing in the glossiness of your eyes, and smiled. Namjoon smiled back at you. His hand reached out to your chest in a fervent need to touch you. The glitter adorned your chest with its perfect speckles and they resurfaced when you arched your back in response. Clung to his palm in the middle of your tits, held on tighter as he took a detour to your chin by brushing across your sensitive nipple to hear your little mewls because if he made a sound, then you must, too. Because if he was horny, he must get you on the same page as well. Fairness is very important to Namjoon.

He squeezed your breast hard. Pinched your nipple between his thumb and the knuckle of his index finger in broken intervals, similar to little dashed lines of Morse code. You imagined he was telling you something through that secret language as you closed your eyes during an intense wave of pleasure coursing down your body, and perhaps he truly did because he pulled your legs apart harshly when you pressed them together. Punished you by lightly slapping your tit—the same one he abused with those firm touches—the force splashing you in the face with violet pearls. All as if you disobeyed the command he transmitted wordlessly.

The command possibly being: Only I will give you the release you need when I decide it’s time.

You bit your bottom lip to suppress the neediness erupting in you. Namjoon wrapped his hand around your throat and you dragged his rolled sleeve further up his arm, so it wouldn’t have gotten soaked in the water. He smeared your lip oil just because he wanted—just because he could, scattering the rosy tint around your mouth messily. He took advantage of the aftermath of his punishment and collected those tender beads, now translucent upon your carmine skin. Not with the thumb as you expected him to, but using the pillows of his lips, he kissed the round bulb on your cheek. It melted on the puffy surface when he withdrew. He looked you in the eye for a mere beat of time before he lowered to your other cheek to collect another trinket. None of the corners of your mouth were overlooked, not even the button of your nose. He peppered those kisses to erase the harshness of his selfishness, supporting your lifted chin with his long thumb beneath it, still sticky from the consistency of the lip oil, apologizing, smoothing down his sternness until you giggled.

Once he cleaned you, Namjoon returned the digit to your smudged mouth, delicious in his sight due to the essence of sloppiness that gets his length even harder in his pants. He presses the pad against it, already craving your tongue. You kissed it, a thank you for his softness, before you granted him the access. Tongue toying with the tip, you said hello in the mother language of the love stored in your bodies for each other. Wrapped both of your hands around his wrist. Didn’t break eye contact. Smiled, teeth showing happily, when he bit his lip, but soon got distracted by a small movement on his groin area out of your view.

You peeled your back off of the tub to curiously take a peek, but Namjoon pushed you back to your place. All while his thumb remained sucked by your mouth. You frowned at him, dismayed by his recurring roughness that you weren’t used to.

Namjoon tapped your cheek twice with his fingers to let you know it was enough and rose to his feet.

“Joon, what’s going on? Why are you so rough with me?” you asked, voice tender, the question shooting arrows into the wideness of his back.

Stopping in the doorway, he hung his head, fingers coming to intertwine with the short hair above his neck. “I’m sorry, baby. Let me get the book.”

A moment later, he returned with the stellar possession in one hand and a wooden chair in the other. He slumped against it, fingers finding the first chapter unwittingly.

You swam forward as if to the shore, propping your elbows on the rim to be closer to him.

“Is the water warm enough?”

You nod, your teeth picking at the excess skin on your lips. Namjoon notices and, as if registering the reason why you put on the lip oil in the first place, he leans towards you and rubs away the smudginess he caused. As if the walk into your dining room sobered him enough from the dark wine of his lust that he now regretted his actions.

“You really scared me when you were rough,” you said calmly, unafraid to uncover your feelings, knowing you’ll be caught now that you’ve jumped head-first into the hungry sea of honesty.

He apologizes again. Repeats it in the aphonic form of a deep chaste kiss.

“Won’t do it again,” he promises. “Unless you ask me to.”

Your lips form a smile, but it quivers into a straight line just as quickly as it appeared. The yet unknown cause behind his untypical behavior troubles you.

“Did something happen today at work?”

Namjoon sighs. “No, I’m just tired.”

“Just tired or tired of your job?” you try, tilting your head to the side, remembering this isn’t the first time quiet broodiness clutched his figure when the clock struck five.

“Both.” He kneads the heel of his palm against his eye. 

Not expecting his honesty, your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. It propels you to investigate further. Gives you the green light. Namjoon usually keeps to himself when it comes to work-related storms, holding respect that reaches the bottom of his heart for those above him and for his peers as well.

“Did someone make you upset?” you ask, paving your way in this inquiry to the realm of understanding so you can help him. At least in a small way.

He drops his hand, gazes up the ceiling to stare at a fixed point. Perhaps he’s looking for words, perhaps he’s avoiding the question altogether. The regret of your prying swallows you. You’re afraid you’ve overstepped a boundary. 

You reach out your arm, wrapping wet fingers around his wrist on his lap. The gesture says, ‘you don’t have to tell me but I’m here,’ and you squeeze the limb to emphasize that. As if he heard you, he looks down at you. His eyes that are usually narrowed into slits now round in tenderness. The swallowing lets go, the lump that threatened to obstruct your throat disappears.

“It’s Friday, Joonie, and you can forget about your job for a little while. It’ll get better,” you say, caressing his soft skin.

To your another surprise, Namjoon nods. Slips his fingers into the hollowness between yours, squeezing back, saying, ‘I hear you.’ Your heart jumps with gladness that you haven’t made a mistake, that instead your reassurement made a difference.

To lighten up the atmosphere, you begin to joke around.

“Should I beat them up?” You raise your brow in mischief, a goofy smile coating your face in lightheartedness.

A grin cracks on his face. “Don’t get your hands dirty for me, baby.”

You scoff, half-seriously and half-unseriously shaking your head at his eagerness to please but never letting himself be pleased. “But I want to. I’ll do it for you.”

Namjoon shakes his head as well. Leans over to you. Cradles your head in his hands and kisses you. Picks the hair plastered on your face and puts it away. You forget all of your jokes for a moment, breathless. Your neediness nudges you in your sensitive parts, reminding you of its lingering presence. 

“Come on, Joonie,” you coo, prolonging the vowels, the best you could come up with considering his allure, “I’ll fight them,” you start to construct your imaginary plan, the dimples adorning his face making it a bit harder for you to get the words out, “then, they’ll be scared of me and they won’t bother you again. Because if they do, I’ll smash their fucking teeth in. And then… then, you’ll get your peace for good. Easy.”

Namjoon listens with his features bathed in enamoredness, seemingly lost in a deep thought. A twinkle, a twin to yours, glistens in his eyes. Dimples out provoking you, he softly smiles at you. Coyly. He’s unaccustomed to being the one fought for. He’s always been the one who fights. The one who settles, resolves, makes things right. He’s never been the person these things are done for by another person. It makes his heart pulsate in a strange new rhythm. 

He stretches out his hands and runs his fingers through your hair. Begins to plait an intricate braid down your back, keeping you caged in the confines of his arms. Safe. Protected. His warrior princess.

“There’s something else you can do for me,” he mumbles, finished with your braid. Now your hair is away from your face, just like he needs it for what he’s about to do.

“Oh?” You raise an eyebrow in question, your smirk growing on the side of your face. “Like what?”

“I’m so hard for you, baby,” he whispers into your ear, shoulders hunched, lips tracing the edge of your earlobe. A secret just between the two of you. “My body’s confused. I need a release.”

Even though you saw it coming, even though you saw it a hundred times before, you can’t help but gasp at his desperation, bare and open before you. It’s a new experience each time. Thrilling and titillating, the vividness and ferocity of his sexuality. It causes a flock of playful butterflies to buzz you with electricity in your tummy and a shiver to run down your spine. You feel your own neediness making itself known again and you squeeze your thighs together. 

This is the Namjoon you know. Strong in his softness. Mellow. Intense. The Namjoon who showed you plain roughness was a stranger to you, one you could take the time to get to know, because now you understand that the incentive to act like he did was his frustration from work. You can’t really blame the natural inclination of his body—his body that is yours to love in all shapes or forms.

You perceive he needs to let out some steam—he said so himself. Proud of him for voicing it out, a decision to be his helper already makes a way to your heart. You no longer feel slivers of consternation slithering in your veins. Knowing the cause, knowing it’s still your Namjoon helps you submit to the call of his needs. If a dab of roughness is what entails the sand-speckled footpath to the seaside of his well-being, you’ll take it. Welcome it, even. Within the realm of your established boundaries, that is. 

“Can I see?”

The book falls to the floor with a thud. Namjoon stands up. 

Ever so eager. Responding to his body language out of pure instinct, you hum and lift yourself to your knees. The outline of his engorged length, tight in his pants, greets you and you will your brain not to tell your fingers to rub your swollen clit. To busy your hands, you grip the rim until white brushes along your knuckles.

Emerging from the water, it left you smothered in a luster of wet silkiness. Namjoon’s eyes rake over your bare femininity. Heavenly, pure, seraphic. Groans a little loud. Doesn’t know whether to touch you first or his painfully hard and heavy member. You move your body to the side wall of the tub and he follows you, hand opting for his girth to relieve himself a little bit. 

You sit prettily on your folded legs and lean over, pulling his wrist away. You plant a dewy kiss to the middle of his clothed length and look up at him, just at the right time to catch him whimpering. Your clit pulses again and you feel like crying, needing release as much as he does. He doesn’t make it easy for you, making sounds like that.

“What does my baby girl need me to do?” you ask, stroking his member while stifling your giggles at the title that fits him so well. 

“Baby girl?” He frowns down at you. 

It’s usually what he calls you, hence why his confusion. And you call him by an entirely different title, too.

A giggle does escape your mouth after all. You squeeze at his tip, drawing those delicious whimpers out of him again.

“Only needy little baby girls make sounds like that. You are needy, aren’t you?” You lick that sensitive part, palming his balls. 

Namjoon whines. 

The shift of dynamics, the change of titles ever so dizzying to the mind. He doesn’t even have the strength to correct you. 

He grips the back of your head and moves you away from his cock. Then the realization he’s being rough again wafts over him and he softens his hold, fallen stray hairs coming to rest at your temples. Namjoon tucks them behind your ear. Taps you on the cheek once.

“Get to sucking off your baby girl,” he rasps. 

You smile. Find it immensely attractive that he’s embracing the pet name while still being dominant. A masculinity in its true form.

“You can be rough with me if you want to,” you say, wanting to make that clear. “I think I can handle it.”

Namjoon traces the shell of your ear with his thumb, pondering.

“Just don’t hit me, okay?” 

He says your name sternly, as if you offended him. “I would never deliberately hurt you. How can you think that?” 

“No, I meant—” You lick your lips. “Don’t slap my boobs or anything. You can spank me, I like that. But don’t be as rough with me as you were. Can we take it slow? Is that okay?”

He stares at you for a moment.  

“Do you trust me?”

You nod, turning your head to press a kiss into his palm. “Yes, I trust you.”

“I’ll teach you, then. We’ll take it slow,” he says, fingers stroking the side of your cheek, where a small amount of fluff creates a path for him to lay down his silent love on. “It was a mistake on my part for not preparing you for it, and for that I’m sorry. But I’ll teach you. Show you how good it is.” He pauses. “Until you beg me for it.”

Your throat dries up. The pulsing in your cunt unbearable. 

“Fuck, Namjoon. Save the talk or I’ll come on the spot.” 

“The talk is important,” he reprimands you. “Whether you come or not without my permission is your problem.” 

“Shit,” you whimper, gripping his hand on your cheek. You tighten your hold as if to brattily change his mind on having this kind of control over your orgasm because you need to come as soon as possible. And not just once. You’re sure your dewiness is leaking into the water. 

“No bad words or I’ll fuck your filthy mouth.” 

You gasp. So unused to this side of him. But it turns you on, now that you feel safe. Turns you unstable.

“Say you’re sorry.”

You’re tumbling out the words before he’s even finished with his sentence. “I’m so sorry.”

He beams at your immediate submission, purring at the quintessence of your compliance. Wants more. “Who are you apologizing to?” 

You pause. His usual title almost slips off of your tongue. But since this is new and you’re both experiencing a new dynamic that causes you to feel so playful, that guides you ever so gently and carefully into the kingdom of subspace, you opt for the pet name that suits him well. “To my baby girl,” you say, laughing softly. “I’m so sorry, baby girl.” 

He laughs as well, the sound a deep rumble in his chest. You’re giddy that you’re allowed to be wild, your inner child healing and quivering within you. You overflow with the desire to kiss him.

“What for?”

He wants you to say the full sentence. You take a deep breath. 

“Baby girl, I’m so sorry for having a filthy mouth and saying bad words.”

“Hm, do you regret it?” 

You almost curse again. “Yes, I do. I’m sorry for being bad.”

“Good. Get to work, then,” he says. “Make that mouth useful.”

Fuck.

“Kiss me first, please. Make it better,” you beg, fluttering your eyelashes at him. 

Namjoon moans and you bite your lip. Bends and sucks it between his, deepening the kiss as he opens your jaw and slips his tongue inside. Massages the muscle against yours. Makes those sounds again. Palms his cock. Withdraws with a pop. 

You mewl in satisfaction. That kiss alone ruined you. 

“Good girls get kisses.” Hand under your chin, he squishes your cheeks. “You’ve been exceptionally good. I’m gonna destroy you.” 

He kisses you again with the same intensity but briefly, inhaling your skin. No tongue this time. 

Cheeks awash with rosiness, you hastily unbuckle his belt. Not to cut time and get to his promise faster—on the contrary, you’re dying to pleasure him. He doesn’t help you like he normally does; he merely watches you as you pull down the cotton material of his slacks along with his boxers down his muscular thighs. Only when you wrap your lips around his cock from the side does he throw his head back. Thrusts his hips. 

He’s rock hard. The weight of him makes you absolutely fucked out.

Namjoon likes you there so he keeps you still—there in the middle of his girth. You moan, producing as much saliva as you can to gratify him while he uses your mouth, alternating between keeping those pillows firm and soft. When he gets you to his tip, he expects you to swallow him, but you merely move your head from side to side rapidly, flicking your tongue. Namjoon groans lowly, a string of curse words spilling from his throat. His precum drops onto your chin and you suck in a breath, horny beyond your mind.

You swipe your index finger to collect it. Check if he’s watching before you plunge the digit into your mouth. Roll your eyes back as the tanginess overwhelms your senses. Namjoon hisses. Grabs your braid as if it were a ponytail. Kisses you, aching to be one with you. You feel the vibrations of his fervid mania in unity with him like this and it echoes down your body once he pulls away. 

“Take it in your mouth.” 

Namjoon holds it at the base for you and you find the long vein that you favor so much. Pepper kisses along the length of it, feeling it throb in tandem with your clit. Straightening your spine, you bite your lip. Give him an utter look of adoration before you swipe your tongue along the slit. Humming in delight, you slip him into your mouth. Your cheeks hollow and you begin to bob your head, fingers following your movement, bumping into his fist. Tears pool in your eyes when you dare to inch closer to his hand and even though you gag, you try your hardest to keep him nice and tucked in your warm throat. You sputter and cough, swallowing around him, because you deem he deserves it, knowing how much he loves it when your flesh contracts around him like that, and Namjoon groans deeply. It fills you with a dose of satisfaction almost akin to an orgasm, the lack of oxygen in your brain heightening the experience so much that your head spins. 

“Such a good girl,” he whispers. “Breathe, baby.”

He slips out of your mouth. Pats you on your head before he sinks his fingers into your hair, gripping at the roots. Ascertains you pay attention to him. 

“Don’t do that again,” he says, softly. “You need to breathe. Take a deep breath with me.”

You’re still on your knees and he’s merely looking down at you. You fold your hands on your lap. Your mind is so empty that you’re not sure how you feel right now, having been entirely focused on his pleasure. 

Namjoon inhales deeply with his nose and you do the same.

Inhale, exhale. 

Fondly, he caresses you on your cheek.

“I just wanted to make you feel good,” you explain yourself, thinking that you should.

“I know, baby, and you did. It’s okay, I’m not mad at you.” He smiles at you. “You hear me? I’m not mad at you.”

You nod your head yes. Pout. 

“You feeling okay? Take a deep breath for me again.” 

You do as he says, your senses returning to you like a warm spring wind. 

“Better now?”

You nod again.

“Words.”

You wet your lips with your tongue. “Yes, I feel better now.”

“Good. Do you still wanna continue?”

“Yes, Namjoon. I wanna make you come.” 

Almost like you flipped a switch, his eyes darken. 

“Hands behind your back,” he rasps. 

You oblige, crisscrossing your wrists below the dimples on your lower back.

“‘Atta girl. Back to work, come on.” 

It’s much harder to do so without your hands, especially in the position you’re in. You hesitate.

“I don’t know if I can,” you admit. 

He tuts in pity. “Should I use you then?”

You roll your eyes back, the idea intoxicating your body. You feel woozy. 

“Yes, please.” 

“Focus on your breathing, okay?” 

“Yes, Namjoon.”

Humming, Namjoon grabs your hair gently and sinks your mouth down on his cock, moves you up and down slowly. You focus on not just sucking in your cheeks but also on breathing through your nose like he told you, although you can’t help but moan around him. It turns you on how he manhandles you to his liking so delicately. You swirl your tongue around his tip once he wants you there and you let out a series of whines and whimpers. He keeps you there for a little longer, moaning after you, the sounds creating a paradisiacal symphony. You twist your head in half circles as you continue sucking him, slobbering all over him, using your tongue to flick beneath the mushroom. 

“So good, baby. Yes, fuck.” Namjoon squeezes his eyes shut. “You’re gonna make me come.” 

You pull away, but a string of saliva still connects you to him. 

He blinks at you. “You want a spanking?” 

You run the tip of your tongue along the top of your lip, giving him the eyes. Cock your eyebrow at him. Namjoon draws a sharp breath in. 

He leans over. One hand tugs at your braid firmly to arch your back over the edge of the tub. The other smacks you sharply on your ass cheek, smoothing over the sting. You moan, nipples rubbing over the cold surface, curse words dying on your tongue. Namjoon grips the flesh, spanks you again. Skims his fingers over your exposed heat. Repeats it on the other cheek, twice in a row. You wiggle your hips, needing to feel more, needing him to touch you right there between your legs. You cry out into his ear.

Letting go of your braid, Namjoon kisses you beneath your jaw. Slides his tongue along the sensitive spot, sucking it between his lips. A secret message that he hears you, that he’ll fuck your needy cunt soon.

“Think you’ll be a good girl for now?” 

Furrowing your eyebrows, you nod a few times. Not a single rational thought passes through your brain. 

Namjoon straightens. Pulls down his foreskin for you. “Spit on it.” 

You watch as your liquid love trickles down and lands on his tip. He hums and surprises you by wrapping your hands around his girth, spreading down the lubrication with you. You feel the ridges and the thick vein in a new, vehement way and even though you’re not the one pleasured, you moan. The simple up and down movement grows in rapidness that your body follows, emulating the effort, making it seem like you’re bouncing on a dick. Your ass splashes the water around, creating tender waves full of love, inherited from your still leaking dewiness. 

His hands are so warm enclasped around yours, pressed tight. Not once unclenching.

You start blabbering. 

“You’re so big. I can’t even wrap my hand around you.” You make sure to look him in the eyes as you say it. “So big in my mouth, too. Could barely fit you.” 

Your words set those twilit embers in his eyes on fire. His breathing quickens. He’s close again and you’re stunned, once more, by the vividness of his sexuality. Your hands go limp in his grasp.

“Nuh-uh, keep up the pace,” he husks. “Thought I was your little baby girl?” 

You shake your head, willing your hands to gain strength again, but it has no source to draw from. “Not anymore.”

Namjoon chuckles, darkly. Notices your movements fluctuating, arms shaking. “Tired?”

You nod and he unclasps his hands. You twist your wrists in circles to alleviate them from a cramp. 

Then, you get an idea.

Sitting back on your heels, you arch your back. Tip your chin down and spit on your chest, the essence flowing down the pathway between your breasts. You do it again, though this time you spread it on your skin. 

“Fuck, baby,” Namjoon mumbles. Unbuttons his shirt. You squeeze your nipples with both hands as your eyes flick to his, then down to his exposed chest. “How are you gonna address me, huh? What’s my name?”

He forcefully tugs the fabric off of his arms, tossing it on the floor. His body—with its vulgar beauty, broadness and definition—takes your breath away. You don’t let it show, or perhaps you pretend that you don’t because you allow your hand to travel down your stomach. Namjoon imitates you, running his fingers down the chiseled muscles that make you drool. He stops at the hair adorning his pelvis. You don’t.

You rub circles on your clit instead.

“Daddy,” you cry out in pleasure, announcing his title—his rightful, most fitting title. Face contorting at the brisk, blooming flashes of sensuality rising up your form.

His body tenses. It’s like he’s stopping himself from reaching for you, pulling you out of the bathtub and spanking you until your bottom resembles the water. Or tugging at his length until he paints you white with his cum. 

You make it easy for him. 

Lifting your body, you step over the edge of the bathtub. Kneel at his feet on the fluffy black mat. Far enough for him to see purple liquid pearls make their way down to your cunt. Far enough for him to see how you resume those circles on your bundle of nerves, fingers reaching to your hole for lubrication. You roll your hips into your hand, arm propped behind you.

“What’s this show?” Namjoon rasps, his cock twitching. “I don’t remember giving you permission to touch yourself. You wanna end up with zero orgasms?”

You pause. 

“That’s what I thought,” he says. “I believe you have unfinished work to do.” 

You smile mischievously. “You want it bad, don’t you?” 

Namjoon nods. Holds out his hand. “Come to Daddy.”

Exuberantly, you leap into his arms. Namjoon throws you over his shoulder like you weigh nothing and walks into your shared bedroom. Sets you down on your bed, spreading your legs, and he crouches between them, reaching into his bedside table for the tool that he wants. 

The aroma of strawberries lovingly boops you on the nose. Namjoon squirts a good amount of lubrication on your chest, paying special attention to the pathway in the middle of your breasts. He massages it in, incorporates your sensitive nipples in the preparation, coaxing whimper after whimper out of you by squeezing them and rolling them between his long fingers.

“I’m gonna make a mess,” you say, grinding your hips against nothing.

Namjoon clicks his tongue. “Already?” 

Your dewiness oozes out of you onto the bedding. To prove your point, you lean back on your elbows and lift your knees, revealing your dripping hole and the shine of your soaked folds. Namjoon stares at your cunt but doesn’t touch, doesn’t blink. He bites his lip. Flicks his eyes to yours. 

He kisses the middle of your tummy. Moves over to your heat. Licks a tiny stripe on your clit.

You cry out.

“Namjoon!”

Hands on either side of your waist, crawling up to you, he growls. “Good girls are patient, aren’t they?” 

He doesn’t wait for your response. 

“They take what is given to them and they finish what they started,” he continues. “Don’t they?”

You nod.

“And you are a good girl, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I’m a good girl.” 

“Then thank your Daddy for what he gave you.” 

Your walls squeeze around nothing when you hear him utter his title. It refreshes your body with energy. 

“Thank you, Daddy.” You smile. 

Namjoon kisses you, rewarding you.

“Sit up.”

Changing the layout, it’s Namjoon who reclines halfway on the bed while you sit perched on your knees between his legs, cock in your face. He spurts the lube on his length and jerks himself off, his skin shining in the abrupt spillage of burnt-orange sunlight from the window. Watches your eyes round in astonishment similarly to the way they did earlier when you had gazed upon the glitter swarming around you. 

He nods at you, giving you the green light, and you sheathe his girth into the tightness of your squished tits. You may start a face pace from the get go, fucking him into oblivion, but all Namjoon sees is the whites of your eyes, the glimmer, the pure enjoyment of what you’re doing while the rest of you is immersed in subdued late afternoon shadows. Sweat glistens on the planes of his face, dribbling down to the strained column of his neck.

It’s intense. So intense that he can’t vocally react. 

Precum appears once more on his mushroom, displaying his arousal, and you slurp it up, the braid coming undone—your hair falling around you like a curtain. 

It’s brutal. It’s wet. 

Namjoon gathers your hair to the side in a makeshift ponytail and leans over to be closer to you. Needs you like this. Feels his relief catching up to him the more effort you put in, the more you stick out your tongue to flick at that sensitive part of him whenever you can. 

“Want your come. So bad. Want it all over me,” you whisper, and that’s it for him. 

“Say please,” he murmurs, and it’s barely a sound, but you hear him. 

“Please, Daddy, come for me.” 

Pulling your hands away, Namjoon takes charge. Fucks your tits in frenzy, your hair, now half dry, tickling your skin. With his thumbs, he stimulates your nipples to coax those little sounds of yours and—

“Play with your pussy,” he commands. “But don’t come. Tease yourself like you teased Daddy.”

The relief on your face inches him closer to his. He hears the wetness as you dip a finger in, your walls sucking it in. He hears your breath get stuck in your throat. The slow crescendo of your moans. Suddenly, he hears himself too. 

Whiny, desperate, so unlike himself.

It’s a fortress of safety, his forehead on top of yours. His nose bumping against yours. Open mouth ghosting over the sounds of your well-deserved pleasure. It’s a safe place for him to come in.  

And he does. 

Ropes upon ropes of come color you ivory white, color you clean. The reversal of a coloring book—changing the lines, changing the scheme, changing your life. 

You milk him dry, your pussy long forgotten. Milk him until he pushes you away, chest heaving, unable to catch his breath. You just watch him, his seed hot on your chest. Glittery. And not just there. On your neck, on your chin, in the wavy strands of your hair. 

You’re in awe of him. You can see the pressure leaving him like a ghost slinking out of the window. 

Namjoon takes off his glasses. With two fingers, he collects as much of his essence as he can and plunges them into your mouth. The other hand rests on the crook of your neck, thumb protectively over your throat. “Swallow.”

Not for long. Namjoon throws you on the bed. Doesn’t waste time.

He laps up your pussy, clit to hole, sucking your labia into his mouth. He does it again, but this time he travels a bit further. Clit, hole, ass. Tongue flat. Your screams are muffled by the rumpled bedsheet you grip.

Going back to your leaking hole, he circles the flesh before he dips the tongue in. Wraps his arms around your ass to control your squirming, feeling the dip of your spine as the sunlight kisses it. Dust particles spiral in the air—Namjoon sees it. The dark grey curtain keeping half of the world shrouded in dimness while the other illuminated, a picture cut in a heart shape due to the deliciousness of your ass. 

Fuck, Namjoon longs to play with it again. 

He spits on it, rubbing the saliva around it before he slides his tongue back into your wet hole. Says hello to it—long time no see—teases it, before he dips his thumb in. You arch your back even more, welcoming the intrusion, and Namjoon kisses your pussy lips as a thank you. He quivers with the craving to fuck you right there in your ass, but knows better than to do it. You’re not ready for it. 

Spreading you more open, while keeping his thumb there in that sweet place, he begins to focus on your poor little clit. Swirls his tongue around it firmly, sucking it until your back trembles—goes up and down like a seesaw. The kisses he leaves there are obscene, loud, full of thankfulness that he gets to play with you. Full of love for you that he burns bright with—that propels him to flick his tongue harder. And full of joy that his stress is gone. Joy that you’ve been the helper unscrewing the steel body of heaviness off of his because, as of now, his bones feel lighter.

“You’re so good for me.” He smacks his lips against your cunt. “Fucking Daddy like that when he needed you.” 

Vigorously, he rubs his face against you, shaking his head from side to side. You stretch your fingers behind you and helplessly grip the back of your thighs. Namjoon catches one of your hands, holds it with his free four fingers, sucking your clit. 

“Thank you, baby,” he whispers, withdrawing to pay attention to your other hole, missing it. Abuses it once he spits on it, eating it, dipping his tongue in with ease since he stretched you. Fucks you there in the only way he can. 

“Wanna come?” he asks and as he waits for your answer, he goes lower to drink your freshness, not letting a drop go to waste. 

You’ve lost your voice screaming. “Yes, Daddy, please. I can’t hold it in anymore. Please, let me come,” you croak. 

Namjoon makes a sound of appreciation, proud of you for holding out for so long without saying anything.

“I think you can,” he says. Stuffs a finger into your dripping hole and lets you adjust for a moment. Adds another. “I think you can hold it while I count to ten.” 

His digits pump into you slowly. Kneeling by your side, he turns your head so you can see him, twisting your body into the position he wants. The curve of your back is so beautiful in his sight that he can’t help but run his free hand over the route that your spine has become. The route he wants to plant kisses on like flowers of various colors, adding to the coloring book, erasing the old. 

And he does. Begins at the nape of your neck. Picks up the speed.

“One.” 

You cry out. First before your tears rush out, pooling in your waterline. You clench your whole body in naive hope it would stall the orgasm, but it quickens it, squeezing his fingers in, so you relax your muscles. 

“Two.” 

A kiss to the first round protrusion of your spine. Shifting your weight to your shoulder, you take his cock into your hand. 

“Three.”

The middle of your shoulder blades. You hear your wetness oozing out of you, the relief prowling closer. You whine and Namjoon understands.

“Hold it or I’ll stop,” he whispers. “I can feel your pussy squeezing around my fingers. Relax.” 

You match your pace with his. Namjoon begins to pant. You feel his hot, heavy breath beneath your shoulder blades. 

“Six.” 

Ass shaking from the force, he jackhammers into you. Pulls out for a moment to spank you, a merciful gesture, before he’s back in. Leaves a wet fingerprint on your skin.

“Eight.”

The last protrusion of your spine. You silence your moans by pressing your hand against your mouth because they bring you closer to your orgasm, however Namjoon yanks your arm away. 

“Make those pretty sounds for me, come on,” he huffs, kissing both of those dimples on your back. “Ten. Come. Come for Daddy. Come all over his hand.”

And you do.

It’s a paradise, the heat closing in on you. The loss of hearing, the muted ringing, resembling the flap of a bird’s wing. The loss of surroundings as you’re momentarily transported somewhere entirely else. A gilded illustration, perhaps a lively projection. Something, somewhere, where all is good. The orgasm rips through you and the repetitive echo of his name leaving your mouth is what brings you back. Away from the storybook into a brand new coloring book.

Namjoon strokes your hair. 

He holds you in his arms, but something sticks you uncomfortably together. You peel yourself off of him and cringe. Strings upon strings of his come, gleaming with speckles of glitter, do not want you to leave. You sit on his thighs, resting your palms on his chest. 

He kisses you. “Are you okay?”

You nod with droopy eyelids. 

He carries you into the shower and makes a way for all colors of the rainbow to perfuse your body. To create a new storyline for the day, for the week, for the month. Reds and pinks show their faces first in the steam, and even though Namjoon is glad to see them, he looks forward to meeting the rest. To learning their objectives so he can fulfill them. 

Grabbing the yellow book on the way back to the bedroom, Namjoon makes himself comfortable beside you. Is careful not to touch your face out of habit because you have a face mask on; careful not to bump into you either because you have a plate of mozzarella and sliced tomatoes on your lap. He kisses your hair, though. Doesn’t have the strength to fight internally—grabs your jawline and ever so slowly and heedfully, he kisses you, fingers finding the first chapter unwittingly. 

“When Gregor Samsa awoke one morning from troubled dreams, he found himself changed into a monstrous cockroach in his bed.” 

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

BACK to masterlist

#btscreatorscorner #namjoon smut #namjoon x reader #namjoon x you #namjoon x oc #namjoon imagine #bts smut #bts imagine #bts scenarios #bts fic #kpop smut #namjoon scenarios #bangtanwritershq #btswritersclub #btswriterscollective #btswritingcafe #bangtanwriters net #knj x reader #knj smut #knj

[cryptotheism]

The Martyrdom of St. Anuncido by Coño Culo (1511) in which Anuncido di Andalusia is cruelly transformed into a persimmon tree before he can commit suicide by cop.

[blackestnight]

haruki hagane: professional hype guy—whether you like it or not (ft @fistsoflightning)

#sorry i keep doing this to the lilycat #but also: he did kinda choose this #oc: haruki hagane #final fantasy xiv #a'dewah #s: persimmon trees #screenshots - mine

[trashmouth-richie]

Alright, babe. Let's do Angsty, and your words are: crunch and parking lot

xo -Amanda

@curiositydooropened you asked for angst and bby i’m delivering hot and ready in 30 minutes or less, like surfer boys pizza or a real horny boyfriend. 🍆💦

18+ HEAVY ANGST, upside down themes, s1 canon events with reader thrown into the mix. you’re dating eddie! yay!

<650 words

send me a prompt! from this post :)

A strong western wind bristled the leaves.

Wrestling colors of burnt persimmon and chestnut hues around in a whimsical swirl of a colorful tornado. Some stuck to the inky wet of the grass from the early morning rain. Others found their way like Magellan to a faraway land (a nearby leaf pile) or maybe into the yard of a lucky kid able to rake enough of them up to earn a few dimes in the pockets of their Levi’s. 

It was chilly for the unusual Indian Summer Hawkins was experiencing this fall. As if winter broke through the endless seams of  the late humid summer, demanding to be felt, to be seen.

Could you do that? Be seen? 

You heard the screech of the ailing boy nights before. The squeal of tires from the police station. His mother—you presumed, frantically called his name into the town, like a lone wolf howling into the harvest moon hung sky. 

Yet, the boy remained missing. 

Would you be missed…like the Byers’ boy? Who would call for you? Would he?

Flyers went up, crunching beneath the metallic thump of a steel staple. Into telephone posts, poked through cork boards around the school with colorful tacs. Taped to pay phones and called across radio stations. 

Eddie had assured you that he had probably run away, typical for kids that age who didn’t get what they wanted. But you felt something. Heard things in the night while curled into his chest. It spoke to you. Begged you to look for It.. 

Barbara Holland went missing. Last seen at a party of Harrington’s that you heard him loudly strutting around the hallways about to impress the quiet, pretty freshman girl. 

Again, you told your boyfriend of your worries. Cried to him about the lack of sleep you’d been getting, the nightmarish creatures you’d seen when your eyes were closed. He pulled you into him, forefinger hooked under your jaw, and like a fish on a line, you succumbed to him. It was hard not to when somebody loved you the way Eddie did. 

Had it been days? You couldn’t be sure. 

Street lights flickered. They always did at Eddie’s— it was normal. But maybe you should have been more self-aware. Maybe you would have noticed It. 

Long spindly arms clawed at your coat as you ran, bony fingers hooked into the belt around your waist, pulling you back, further and further towards the opening at the base of a tree. 

You fought, clawed at dirt and muck and shit to escape its clutches. Badly bleeding, injured, breaths away from death— until you weren’t. Until you were somehow nestled beneath foliage— safe, hiding, alone. 

The treeline behind the trailer park was where you laid. Unable to make a sound, caked with dried blood, colored dark on your body, the sharp stink of infection and decay permeated the chilly air, and you knew it was from you. 

Would he know how much you loved him? How proud of him you were for sticking up for kids who needed it?

You’d miss his smile, his dimples, that giddy dorky laugh he couldn’t hide when you tickled his sides. The way butterflies swarmed in your stomach when he kissed you.

Would he miss you…cry for you?

You lie in wait watching the leaves scatter across the dirt parking lot. Body cold and broken, blood trickling to the earth. Time ticking down to what could possibly be your inevitable end. 

#eddie munson #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson blurb #eddie blurb #eddie drabble #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things

[a-pastel-edgelord]

Yanki!Sukuna starts showing up outside your house to walk to school.

"I didn't tell you where I live."

"S'not like it was hard to figure out. Only one house has a persimmon tree in the yard and you always have one in your lunch." He nods to tree in question, heavy with fruit. You pluck one off without breaking stride, half hoping he'll leave when you turn your back on him.

He doesn't. Sukuna matches your pace and stares straight ahead at the road.

You change tact. "Why are you here, anyway?" Sukuna doesn't say anything walking beside you—he's not looking you in the eye. You catch him by the arm, swinging him around to face you properly. "Answer me."

He bristles and you let him break out of your grip. "It wasn't my idea, alright?! That stupid old bastard—he wouldn't stop griping at me until I left!"

"What's your grandpa got to do with it?"

"He said if I was a gentleman, then I would walk you to school! Fucking pain in the ass."

Sukuna Itadori? A gentleman? You were never one for absurdist comedy and he has yet to explain that it's a joke. It's the boyish pissed off pout on his face that cracks you up anyway.

You let an uneven grin stretch across your face before starting your heckling. "What, he didn't say anything about holding my hand too?" You twirl it in the air dramatically in front of his face. "I'm waiting~!"

He snatches it up, interlocking his large fingers with yours before you can retreat. "Happy now?!"

"Uh, y-yeah this is fine..." You turn away, biting into your persimmon and willing the heat in your face to disappear.

Sure enough, he's there the next morning and the one after that too. And every time he clasps your hand into his, he zips your fingers together—as if he's afraid of what'll happen if he manages to slip out of your grasp.

#jjk sukuna #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #jjk x reader #jjk crack #jjk fic #jjk au #jjk x you #yanki!sukuna #yankii #sukeban!reader #reader insert #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu sukuna #kinda obsessed #ngl #hes just so #*clenches fist* #fucking awkward

[vennilavee]

vi. sword & shield

blood&pearls mlist

wc: 4.1k

summary: you are a curious creature, trying to explore the depths below and the lands above. your curiosity may get you in trouble with a world that you do not understand.

warnings: monsterfucking, blood play, demon sex, mermaid sex, mentions of violence and drowning

a/n: omg it has been almost 2 months since i updated...please accept 4.1k of word during this sukuna-less time...pls rb/comment if you enjoyed!

Despite Sukuna’s protections and charms over this domain, it does not stop others from visiting your lake. Word has spread to the tiny villages on the outskirts of the forest that there was a magical pond where the water was always sparkling and the sun always shone on it.

It’s become something of legend, like the elusive fountain of youth. All you have to do is offer a curl of your lips and a coy look over your shoulder for curious townspeople to come visit you bearing gifts.

You’ve received foreign fruits flowing out of gold encrusted plates- cherries, persimmon, and sweet peaches. Enough for you and enough for the fairies several times over. They come with shining jewels and glittering gems just for one look at you. 

It means nothing to you but nevertheless, you smile sweetly with your fangs bared.

You toss the jewels in the sea, only for them to sink to the bottom where only dead sailors would ever cross paths with the hidden treasures.

The white-haired man comes in the summertime. His hands are empty but bright blue eyes burn into you even as you hide under the surface of the lake. Something about him has you hesitant in your own home, but you’re no coward.

You know he can see you with those striking eyes. Sukuna has told you very little about the jujutsu world, but you know enough now to know what those awful eyes mean for you.

Perhaps you should have taken him up on his offer to stay in the shrine. Instead of being “stubborn” and “bull-headed”, as he had so kindly said to you several evenings ago-

“If you spent more than a second doing anything other than laying bare in the sun, you would understand the dangers of-”

“I do not simply fill my time by laying bare in the sun! I am a thing of many distinct interests.”

“I do not care, girl. You will stay in the shrine until I sort these fools out.”

“I will stay in the water for as long as I wish.”

Trying to busy yourself with lining the shoreline of the sea with your shiny shells, you ignore the gaze of the man you do not know. He watches with several others near the trees, far enough away from you. You hear their whispers, their desire to understand and harness the powers of the sea in their own self-made crusade. The fairies stay hidden as well but you can hear them buzzing softly in the trees, shielding themselves from the sudden influx of strange energy over the course of many moons.

Hues of bright, celestial blue haunt you even as you lurk in the comfort of the murky depths.

Your heartbeat is jarring in your ears as his tongue parts your wanting lips while the air in between you and Sukuna ignites. There is no space between you, not where his chest meets yours or his hand cradles your cheek to face him. There is no space between you, and the rhythm of your breaths nearly makes you combust.

You claw at him with razor sharp nails that manifest from nothing, rivulets of blood running down his back. 

All you listen to is the fervent racing of your heart, the way it sings and roars with each pass of Sukuna’s touch on your glistening skin. You chase the roaring in your ears with more, more, more- arms twisting to reach for him, lips panting for him, body bending to him…

Until he squeezes your throat and murmurs for you to stop.

Smaller hands push against his solid, marked chest to no avail. You try to intertwine your tongue with his and coil yourself around him, desperate for Sukuna to just look your way, give you an inkling of attention.

But he holds you still with a firm hand squeezing your cheeks tightly.

“Stop,” Sukuna says quietly but roughly.

“Why?” you mumble petulantly into his mouth. Your eyes flash red for just a second, the same shade of red as his own eyes.

Sukuna raises an eyebrow and holds you at arm’s length as if he is committing you to memory. Something trickles from his shoulder down his back and to his surprise, he finds blood dotted on his fingers when he reaches behind.

You gasp, lurching forward to reach for him, just to gasp again when you glance at your hands.

“What,” you mutter, “What is this?”

Your nails are long, the same length as Sukuna’s. Painted the same color as Sukuna’s nails as well.

“What magic is this?” you ask again with wide, frantic eyes, “There is this inferno inside me-I need-”

The erratic beating of your heart pierces your ears, leveling your head with a rough buzzing noise. You wonder if Sukuna can hear it. Hear how desperately your heart beats just for a wayward glance, a stray touch of his. Your sharpened nails claw at his skin, bright red blooms emerging with your touch. He barely flinches as rivulets of blood stream down his chest.

His lips are rough against yours as he harshly tries to quell your rising restlessness. Sukuna brings you to his bed, laying you upon it with an unceremonious thump. You reach for him when he pulls away for half a second.

“What have you done to me?” you whisper. It is not an accusation, but merely a curiosity. No man has ever made you feel as if you were the embodiment of a hurricane, raging and unleashing anger and impatience at the rest of the world. He is the eye of the storm, the only burning balm that can simmer you down at this moment.

But Ryomen Sukuna is no common man, as you have come to learn.

Many nights have been spent in this very bed, where he’s bent you over with the strength of ten seas in one hand. You have felt this burning before, the yearning before it takes over your soul completely. When his cocks are slick with your wetness, when all of his eyes are trained on you. 

You had never felt as bare as you did when Sukuna watched cocks sink into your warmth, or when he watched his own cum drip out of you and onto his silk sheets.

Sometimes your magic leaks out and converges with his, twisting and tangling together. Scarlet and midnight meld together as his name escapes your lips in soft, breathy whines.

This time, it’s his back against the cool sheets and your nails digging into Sukuna’s chest as you throw your head back and moan freely into the air. Sukuna holds your hips loosely with his bottom pair of hands. The top pair rises to twist your hardened peaks. It’s as if you feel nothing and everything- his touch is blazing, small flecks of fire lighting up your shimmering skin.

You breathe him in and out. Sukuna is decadent in a way that is comparable to sin, something spicy and delicious sitting right under the artery that slithers up his neck. 

You give Sukuna no opportunity to take control from you- placing his hands exactly where you want them and lacing your fingers through his as you rock your hips against his hardened cocks. You tease yourself, uncaring that you are teasing him as well. 

Sukuna does not miss how your eyes flash red when he attempts to ease his cocks into you. You wish to take your time. To indulge, as he’s taught you to many times in this very bed.

Your teeth bite into his neck with a sigh as you sink onto him as you take a moment to adjust. It is only a moment, just to relish the feeling of being completely, utterly full. A shiver rushes down your spine, your chest heaving as you keep him nestled with your warmth.

The moon shines on your face, making your eyes look iridescent. As if you’ve been possessed by an angel. Or a demon, the one lying beneath you, in surrender to your touch.

You sink your teeth into his chest and sharp fangs pierce skin unforgivingly. You can feel his gaze on you as blood drips down your lips and onto your neck. Tilting your head, you press a hand to his left side, where his heart should be. You apply pressure as your nails, an extension of him, shred the skin there as well.

But you stop and lick your fingers, Sukuna’s blood fresh and ripe on your tongue. 

“Take it,” he rasps, holding onto your wrist tightly. The King of Curses never begs, but for you, it’s nearly on his tongue.

You consider it, allowing your fingers to ghost over the silence of his heart before squeezing down once more. Sukuna groans loudly before repeating the command to you again.

“No,” you reply easily, “Maybe next time.”

Instead, you sink your teeth into his neck once more and the fruit of death is ripe on your tongue. You pull one of his thick digits into your mouth, coating specks of his own blood on his finger with your lips. The vibrations of your hum resonate through him and his hot, sticky cum shoots inside of you.

A moonlit halo covers your head, as if you are a goddess looking down upon him and he is at your altar on his knees.

Sukuna comes to you hours past midnight, when he knows you will be awake and moonbathing on your precious rock. He knows you will be waiting for him with open arms and glistening eyes that contain the depths of the ocean that you come from.

But this time, you’re nowhere to be seen. He can sense your energy, but he just can’t see it.

He rolls his eyes and scoffs. How juvenile, playing games and hiding from him when you know that it is futile.

 A gentle laugh and buzzing breaks the silence of the night. It must be those pesky fairies flying around and planting silly ideas in your head.

“Something must be disrupting your thoughts,” comes your voice from far away, but he hears it echo, “It has been some time since the king graced me with his presence, after all.”

“Not long enough, I suppose,” he replies, wading into the water to meet your outstretched arms. 

Sukuna barely takes several strides before you part the water for him to join your embrace. It must be a whirlpool, the way the water spins and suctions you both down deep into the dark abyss.

He blinks to adjust to the sudden darkness but you illuminate the seafloor with your glowing, honeyed eyes and bright green-blue scales. Sukuna has never seen you in your true domain but when you smile at him with sharp fangs and wrap your tail around him, he wonders why you willingly gave up this power.

Only a simple flick of your fingers pulls him closer to you with an unseen force. He understands now. Your heartbeat is one with the heartbeat of the sea.

Not only have you made a home out of the meadow surrounding the water, but you’ve made a home out of the water itself. It is silent here, as if every hidden creature waits for your command. In spite of the darkness, tiny shining corals and flowers live and thrive near the cave at the bottom of the ocean floor that you frequent.

You smile at him with warm cheeks and eager hands before swimming away and letting your tail nearly whip him in the face.

“Don’t get lost, darling. You’re in my domain now.”

Your sweet voice is loud in his head. Sukuna rolls his eyes but follows you towards the cave, nevertheless.

Inside your cave, the air is warm and completely dry. The water does not touch this patch of underwater land, somehow. Perhaps Sukuna does not know as much of your powers as he presumed.

You beckon him forward and gesture for him to sit on the ground, where shells and rocks line the entrance of the cave.

“I am a god,” Sukuna hisses, his eyes flashing, “You demand a god to kneel before you?”

“You have kneeled before me many times before,” you reply easily, “Don’t hesitate just because you exist in my domain. I do not demand you to do anything that you do not already want to do, dear.”

It suffices and he sits beside you as your magic flows and presses against Sukuna’s cursed energy. Dark blue swirls poke and Sukuna’s feet, surging around his broad shoulders and caressing the lines on his face.

You laugh when his own energy wraps and curls around you far more roughly than your magic.

“Come. I wish to show you around my home.”

*****

Time does not pass normally underwater as it passes on land. There must be something cosmic about the tinkering of time here, because Sukuna has certainly made a home in between your legs for the better part of the night. Surely, the sun must be rising in the east by now. But it does not matter, because the only radiance he needs is right here.

His tongue is shiny with your desire, pearls dotted on your lips as a gift to him. The seam of the mouth on his stomach splits open in a menacing smirk to lick your heated skin.

Quiet whines echo off of the walls of the cave, reverberating into the water in waves. Sukuna braces his lower arms against your impatient hips as a furrow forms over your eyebrows.

The image of the dark, thick lines on his face reflects in your opaque, half-lidded eyes. His thumb is warm against your cheek as he drinks you in. Your eyes are different than they are above water- still dark and deep, but sheer. And your pupils have shrunk, barely visible to his gaze. All he can see is a sea of darkness illuminating your eyes.

Sukuna is once again reminded that you are not a fragile human. His fingers are firm on your throat and you tilt your head to the side for him to press down harder.

“You may take me,” you murmur serenely, your smile a song, “I wish to show you something.”

In the caves, your lips and your words are coy and fleeting, much like how you behave when you remain perched up on jagged rocks in the ocean without a care in the world. Waiting for an untoward sailor claiming innocence to come your way.

But you have brought him into the sea, where you glow like the seashells and coral delicately placed at the bottom of the seafloor. With bright eyes and shimmering skin, you do a dance with him. Your tail wraps around, closing around him as golden warmth spreads-

Air does not escape his chest and water does not enter it. Something breathes for him, though he is not sure what.

“Come, follow me,” you say. Except your voice is not spoken, it is in his head. It is… jarring,  as if you have access to the fabric of his brain matter.

Your tail whips around him, parting the water with a force equivalent to a domain expansion. The only thing he can see in the murky waters is the light of your sharp fangs as you beckon him to follow you.

Moonlight glistens on your tail as rays from above pierce through the water. The darkness is illuminated with the blessing of the moon. And in the middle of it all, there you are. Floating, with your eyes fixated on him. Nothing moves here and yet everything moves. In the place where life bloomed at the bottom of the ocean floor all those millenia ago.

Even as you both float downward towards the blue ocean floor, the light shines on you. Making you a beacon in the abyss.

The water wraps around him warmly like a cocoon when you press yourself closer to him. You cup his face with your hands and he is curious when he sees that the skin connecting your fingers is webbed.

Is this the true version of you, with your endless tail? Or is it the version of you on land, with your endless legs? Perhaps it does not matter.

Sukuna hears you in his head. Closer… just a little bit closer…

His lips are on yours in half a breath that he does not need to take, hands dipping down to feel the shape of your tail in his palms. His upper pair of arms wraps around your waist as a hand circles your neck to hold you closer. As you wish.

The breath from his lungs is stolen by you as your fingers brush against his neck, where his skin pulses suddenly. 

“What have you done to me?” Sukuna asks, though no words come out of his lips.

You only smile at him and reply in his mind, “You are able to breathe in the water now.”

The slits on his neck are foreign, but Sukuna pays it no mind. Instead, he chooses to focus on you and presses his tongue to your neck. 

You shiver, a whine escaping your lips. But he hears it.

“This is sensitive for you,” he states, his lip curling into a sneer.

“If you need to ask, then perhaps you should continue.”

Sukuna rolls his eyes and runs his fingers over the slits on your neck. You let out a little moan and he smirks, clearly satisfied. Replacing his lithe fingers with his lips, he grins wolfishly when you press yourself against him immediately.

It’s a rare smile from him, one more animalistic than anything else.

Your tail wraps around him, the tender parts of your fins tickling his thighs and his abdomen. Sukuna does not know where to look- at the slits on your neck, or the larger slits on your torso that are glistening with your wetness, or the way your scales shimmer and move. As if wanting to part for something hidden in the crevices of your body.

Instead, he allows for you to wrap your fins around his cocks and lazily move up and down, up and down, until he is fully erect. You don’t break eye contact but if he was a lesser god, he may shirk at the sheer lust blown in your eyes.

“Does this feel nice for you, Sukuna?”

Sukuna does not have to answer for you to already know the answer, and you both know it. He feels weightless, stood still by the power of time as you stroke his cocks languidly. You pull him in closer to press kisses to the slits on his neck and his hips abruptly buck into yours.

“I do not like surprises,” Sukuna mutters.

He surrenders control to you, surrendering to the foreign feeling that bursts in his chest. He groans in your ear, cocks moving of their own accord. 

“You were made for me,” you murmur, “Are you going to cum for me, darling?” 

He shakes his head, wanting to savor the moment and eyeing the slits on your torso. You seem to understand and shoot him a smug grin. Unraveling your tail from around him, you press yourself closer so that his cocks rub against the silvery slits molded into your skin. You’re unable to stop a sharp moan from leaving your throat as he ruts against you.

The watery friction is nothing that he has ever felt before, and yet it reminds him of the warmth of you when you are laid on his bed and he enters your cunt mercilessly. You are everywhere all at once.

Sukuna impatiently swallows your moans with his tongue and feels his fangs pierce your lips. The drops of your blood are honeyed and savory while his fingers toy with the slits on your neck.

Your eyes are hooded and you pulse with the heartbeat found at the bottom of the sea.

“More, Sukuna,” you mumble, “Faster, want you to cum for me like this, want to see you cum all over me-”

With a sharp gasp, you cum harshly and Sukuna greedily licks your wetness before his own cum lands at the slits of your torso. You look at him curiously, offering him a disarming smile and infinite eyes.

“As I said. You may take me.”

The hidden moon is in the company of a thundering downpour on the night that they come. You are quietly arranging your rocks and your seashells when your ears perk up. Multiple voices and sets of footsteps echo as the sounds carry through the trees. It is jarring in the stillness of the night, and something dark washes over you. 

The fairies look at you urgently, then at each other before immediately skittering away. They tell you to leave, that they have weapons and great powers, greater than you’ve ever seen. But they do not know the ruler of the sea.

And where will you go? This is your home now.

You stay hidden below the lake with your teeth bared, waiting for piercing blue eyes to find you just below the surface where your world splits open.

When you were a child, your mother told you that your magic was divine, given to you by Ryuujin himself. Perhaps her intent was for this knowledge to humble you. Instead, it made you wish for more than just a life in the sea. You wonder if she regrets instilling the belief that you are touched by Ryuujin.

The legends say that every millenia, there is a chosen creature of the sea. One who can unite the warring land and sea, or one who can destroy both.

If Ryuujin chose you for something greater than yourself, something meant to end the maelstrom that contains humans and curses, you cannot bring yourself to care. All you care about is protecting the lands in which you live so that you may continue to live there.

But your protective wards cannot stay up forever, even with Sukuna’s cursed energy to enhance yours.

Perhaps if you were less stubborn, less foolish, you may have seeked refuge in Sukuna’s shrine. Nonetheless, when they come, they come in a blinding blaze of glory in hues of reds and blues and purples. Trying and failing to break down your protective wards.

The power of the white haired clan’s energy nearly surpasses Sukuna’s own energy. You shiver.

Perhaps you will simply drown them instead.

“You should have listened to me, but instead you choose to remain insolent,” the great demon king of these lands says. You expect that anyone else would be fearful to be in his throne room while he speaks to you with death on his tongue and vexation in his eyes. But not you.

“I will not live in fear-”

“You are tempting fate each time a Gojo sorcerer comes your way,” Sukuna seethes, his face only inches from yours, “Do you think that drowning them will be the last of it?”  But you do not back down, sending him a poisonous glare of your own.

“Are you not the king of curses? Won’t you do anything about them?” you taunt him with a smirk.

“They will not rest until they have you,” he hisses, “Them and every other clan-”

“Human matters are of no concern to me! Why should I hide when I have every right to be here as much as them? As much as you?”

“You will get yourself killed for your arrogance.”

You scoff. “You lecture me about arrogance?”

Sukuna forces you to look at him, taking your chin in his large hand.

“You are not safe here. Why do you continue to disobey and stay here?”

“If you have not figured it out by now, then you are just as foolish as the humans you claim to reign over.”

His eyes flash and he drops his hand as if you’ve burned him. His energy angrily rises, swirling around you and prodding your skin.

“If you refuse to accept my protection here, I cannot help you. You are a girl in a world of gods and monsters. Go home, girl. Go back to the sea. ”

There is none of the wordless affection in his eyes that you are accustomed to, only cold distaste and fury. His words are poisonous and you have only heard this level of vitriol pointed at others. Never at you. You pull away from him immediately, feeling your hardening heart sinking to the ground.

You are certain your heartbreak is written all over your face. After all, it is not the first time that you have been devastated by a man.

“You are afraid,” you say softly, “You are afraid that you are not the god you think yourself to be. And you are afraid of me.”

You turn your back on him before Sukuna has the chance to drive the bloody knife further into your spine.

tags: @kentobean @misslovingpearl @aeanya @threadbaresweater @aboveasphodel

#sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x you #jjk x reader

[hedgehog-moss]

Some small things that happened recently, other than the llamas’ shearing:

1. I traded a bottle of my freshly-made elderflower syrup (and some plum chutney from last summer) for a jar of wild peach jam and some homemade pâté, and the chickens went WILD over the latter. I gave them a tiny bit for a taste and then had to retreat to the kitchen to eat the rest because they kept jumping up and down trying to steal it

2. I told the librarian a while ago that I was hoping to rehabilitate the former little pond in my pasture and she came over with her husband and daughter to give me a pond liner they had in their garage (they wanted to create a pond in their garden and procrastinated for 15 years basically.) A very nice gift!! But the highlight of their visit was when we went to the pasture to say hello to the baby llamas, and Pampelune fell in love with the librarian’s daughter. I’d never seen her like this! she just kept staring adoringly and asking for neck scritches and whispering sweet llama things in her ear.

I replied to an ask the other day saying llamas aren’t really animals that enjoy being cuddled, but I guess I’d just never seen a llama with a crush.

3. My little vegetable patch is happy with this warm spring; the 2-year-old strawberry plants are going strong, and I’ve also got tomato flowers and male & female courgette flowers, so all is going according to plan.

My one young raspberry plant valiantly produced two raspberries, which reminded me that I meant to plant more of them. I went to the agricultural store, and told them in passing that the persimmon sapling I bought from them last autumn is looking rather dead, and they gave me a few apology raspberry plants for free. I went home and discovered that the persimmon is actually making one very tiny bud! Now I feel like a con artist :( But look at this shy little thing (on the right), it’s so discreet...

(left: girl courgette blossoms)

4. At the agri store I was invited to enter a raffle to win a 100-year-old olive tree. After filling up the little form with my name and phone number I was granted permission to take a second slip of paper and enter Pandolf’s name and phone number (I buy his kibble there so he is a valued customer). I hope he wins.

5. The sheep that are supposed to trim the grass around the store were napping in the shade, not a single one of them was working. I did not report them, because a sheep union representative came to touch my hand with its nose softly.

6. I also bought (half of) a former wine barrel to use it as an additional trough for the animals—I wanted one near my house so I wouldn’t have to trek across half the pasture on winter mornings to go break the ice, and there are two rivulets there that made the ground muddy, so it was better to dig some channels and add some pipes and have them flow into something. Digging a hole for the barrel was as exhausting a task as ever (so many huge rocks!), I’m glad I’m done with the New Trough project. I also had to rinse the barrel and air it out for a few days because it very much smelled of bordeaux wine, but here it is now, using its transferrable skills to start a second career:

I love hearing this new & very soft trickling water noise when I sit outside my house!

7. Pandolf, on our way home from the agri store, enjoyed the wind in his mane. (That’s it that the last piece of news.)

#crawling along #also! an electrician came to prepare the electric installation for my future greenhouse #progress progress #i haven't planted many things in my garden this year (5 tomato plants 1 aubergine 2 courgettes and some arugula) so i can focus on #getting my greenhouse started once it's built #and now that the new fence is almost done i need to ask the llamas & donkey if they like the taste of raspberry leaves #if not i might be able to plant some climbing rasperries along the fence #but that's a big if