[Drabble] Bittersweet
Title: Bittersweet
Author: Kagome
Rating: R
Warnings: Sexual content, dark, dub-con
Challenge: [212] Sweet things (for kh_drabble)
Wordcount: 536
Notes: I love writing these two so much it isn't funny.
She is cotton-candy sweet: thin pink lips (which she licks a lot-it’s a wonder they’re not chapped), wide blue eyes (constantly questioning the things that her pretty lips wouldn’t dare), golden hair (she’s no Rapunzel, though, and he’s made sure there’s no window in her room so she can’t let down her hair [nevermind that it’s not long enough to begin with]), and soft skin (so very soft under his fingers).
She is cotton-candy sweet, and he thinks this does not suit her at all.
He gains her trust (or something like it)-she is so innocent to the world, after all, and has so much to learn.
He teaches her.
He brings her gifts: Paper, crayons, markers, colored pencils. He watches her draw, watches her color, watches her place her finished products on the wall. He takes her into his garden-shows her all of his flowers, tells her their names and their origins and when she accidentally pricks her finger on a thorn (his roses are full of them), he kisses it better and she looks up at him with those blue eyes that speak of a total lack of understanding.
He calls her ‘precious’ and ‘beautiful’ and ‘dearest’ and his (because she is), and those blue eyes are bright with wonder and her lips are slightly parted-he knows there is an unasked question poised on her tongue, but perhaps she does not know how to ask it. She still doesn’t understand, after all.
Doesn’t understand that she’s slowly drowning.
And then one night he drags her under (it’ll be so pretty to watch her struggle): He takes her in his room, in his bed, the uncompleted Kingdom Hearts lending him light, letting him see all that she does not want him to see.
(Yes, it is a pretty sight, her useless struggles-and then her body gives in after a while, but there’s still fight left in the hollow of her blue eyes).
He drinks in her whimpers and moans and cries, savors the heat and the tightness of her (and while it’s almost painful for him, he knows that it is painful for her, though this doesn’t even remotely slow him down).
And when he has had his pleasure (enough for now), he looks down at her and smiles. He does not whisper words of love, because he knows nothing of love, just as she knows nothing of hate (nevermind that her eyes are giving him what might be a good imitation).
“Why?” she asks.
“I like sweet things,” he answers, knowing that his reply will not satisfy her.
She is… She is breathing heavily beneath him, thighs trembling, wet and sticky with semen and (just a little) blood, and there are rose petals in her hair, on her skin (they compliment the bruises and bite marks and scratches wonderfully); her lips are kiss-swollen (and she’s still licking at them, though he knows now that she can taste him there), and her eyes are filled with tears; when they spill over, he tastes the salt of them and thinks of the ocean that he knows she has never seen.
She is bittersweet.
And he thinks that this suits her perfectly.
Author: Kagome
Rating: R
Warnings: Sexual content, dark, dub-con
Challenge: [212] Sweet things (for kh_drabble)
Wordcount: 536
Notes: I love writing these two so much it isn't funny.
She is cotton-candy sweet: thin pink lips (which she licks a lot-it’s a wonder they’re not chapped), wide blue eyes (constantly questioning the things that her pretty lips wouldn’t dare), golden hair (she’s no Rapunzel, though, and he’s made sure there’s no window in her room so she can’t let down her hair [nevermind that it’s not long enough to begin with]), and soft skin (so very soft under his fingers).
She is cotton-candy sweet, and he thinks this does not suit her at all.
He gains her trust (or something like it)-she is so innocent to the world, after all, and has so much to learn.
He teaches her.
He brings her gifts: Paper, crayons, markers, colored pencils. He watches her draw, watches her color, watches her place her finished products on the wall. He takes her into his garden-shows her all of his flowers, tells her their names and their origins and when she accidentally pricks her finger on a thorn (his roses are full of them), he kisses it better and she looks up at him with those blue eyes that speak of a total lack of understanding.
He calls her ‘precious’ and ‘beautiful’ and ‘dearest’ and his (because she is), and those blue eyes are bright with wonder and her lips are slightly parted-he knows there is an unasked question poised on her tongue, but perhaps she does not know how to ask it. She still doesn’t understand, after all.
Doesn’t understand that she’s slowly drowning.
And then one night he drags her under (it’ll be so pretty to watch her struggle): He takes her in his room, in his bed, the uncompleted Kingdom Hearts lending him light, letting him see all that she does not want him to see.
(Yes, it is a pretty sight, her useless struggles-and then her body gives in after a while, but there’s still fight left in the hollow of her blue eyes).
He drinks in her whimpers and moans and cries, savors the heat and the tightness of her (and while it’s almost painful for him, he knows that it is painful for her, though this doesn’t even remotely slow him down).
And when he has had his pleasure (enough for now), he looks down at her and smiles. He does not whisper words of love, because he knows nothing of love, just as she knows nothing of hate (nevermind that her eyes are giving him what might be a good imitation).
“Why?” she asks.
“I like sweet things,” he answers, knowing that his reply will not satisfy her.
She is… She is breathing heavily beneath him, thighs trembling, wet and sticky with semen and (just a little) blood, and there are rose petals in her hair, on her skin (they compliment the bruises and bite marks and scratches wonderfully); her lips are kiss-swollen (and she’s still licking at them, though he knows now that she can taste him there), and her eyes are filled with tears; when they spill over, he tastes the salt of them and thinks of the ocean that he knows she has never seen.
She is bittersweet.
And he thinks that this suits her perfectly.