#true drabble

[everydayfrimmel]

July 27, 2024

"Dream" True drabble, canon-compliant, angst

He dreamed of her again last night.

This time, they were walking together, and he did not know where. She would look at him when he spoke, and everything around them was green, and there was nobody there to hear her hesitant laughter but him. It was a nonsense dream, one with nothing to tell him except that he wants her.

But worst is the sound of it, a fabrication of a lonely, desperate mind - the heaviness of her voice with a fondness that Himmel never earned, nonsense conjured from nothing.

Far worse, though: he has never heard Frieren laugh.

[souridealist]

FFXIVwrite day 5: 'stamp'; true drabble

The wood of the carved stamp is cool under Tataru’s hand. Her papers have gotten muddled: there’s a letter from the Sultana, a bill for sixty ponzes of popotoes, a sheaf of letters from Yoshan, an accounts summary from Hancock, another bill from the laundress for all the bed linen…

What there isn’t is a reply to any of Krile’s desperate letters; those go straight to Krile. Tataru sometimes looks regardless, as if a way to wake their friends might fall like a miracle from between the accounts.

For now she stamps the Scions’ mark on another letter, and prays.

[v1x3n]

thinking about trueform sukuna who loves overstimulating you to the max. you're riding him - well, not really. your sat up on his cock but two of his hands are gripping your hips, bouncing you up and down furiously.

one of his cocks, the bigger one, stretching out your poor pussy. reaching so deep, your stomach bulges out, showing the shape of his mighty cock. his other cock wasn't as bulky or tall as the other one, but it was still bigger than any other mans. that one was stuffed tight into your puckered hole, filling you up nicely. you couldn't get away from the pleasure as sukuna forces you to swallow his length over and over again. taking him whole was a hard thing but with a bit of force, you could do it.

the tongue that slides out from his stomachs mouth, licks a wet glob of spit on your clit, lapping at the small bud.

you whine loudly, tears brought to your eyes. you squirm, trying to get away as your legs shake angrily. "what's the matter?" his soothing words would have been nice despite his mocking grin that plasters his sweaty face.

you mumble out slurred words, while his two free hands are attached to your boobs. grabbing, grasping and pinching the skin. your nipples already swollen from the clamps he had clasped to them earlier. slight red glows at your sensitive nipples. you mewl loudly, tears dripping down your chin as you moan repetitively. your legs shake with a violent pace.

cum lashing out from your pussy, dripping down his cock as you squirt all over him. the mouth on his stomach seems to groan at the taste, lapping it up. his hands bounce you angrier, desperate the take every drip from in you.

your messy hair wafts around, sticking to your skin slightly. sweat covers you as your body is worn out from the past hour. "su-hah!" you moan out loudly. eyebrows pinching together.

"take it." he groans out, head falling back in laughter and pleasure. a hand that grips your hip harshly moves up to your stomach, pressing down hard. you whine as spurt out more liquid. "fucken messy girl."

[anglbunny]

Safe word ♡ ryomen sukuna

cw: smut mdni, use of safe word, soft sukuna, based on this request

You’re not sure how long he’s been fucking you. Time’s gone blurry—melted into moans and muscle spasms, fingers digging into sheets, your body arching under his like instinct.

You're soaking wet. Wrung out. Shaking. And still, Sukuna doesn't stop.

"Look at you," he pants, watching the way your tits bounce with every brutal thrust. "All fucked dumb and you’re still takin' it like a good little slut."

Your mouth drops open—another moan spilling out, high and wrecked. Your thighs tremble on either side of his hips, limp now from being held up so long. You can barely move.

But you love it. Every second.

You were made to be spoiled like this. A princess, built to be touched, worshipped, ruined.

He presses his palm over your belly, smirking when he feels the outline of his cock moving inside.

“Such a perfect fucking body,” he growls. “Takes me so well. You were made for this, weren’t you? All mine.”

You nod. Nodding feels easier than speaking.

Your body jerks with the rhythm of his thrusts. Your wrists are pinned above your head. His other hand is tangled in your hair, tugging just enough to make your eyes water.

But suddenly—it’s too much.

The moment creeps up fast. You’ve come too many times. Your body can’t handle more.

Your lips move without thinking—

“Rose.”

Your safeword.

Sukuna freezes.

Immediately.

Silence.

His hands loosen. His hips pull back. The feral, dominant glint in his eyes is gone in an instant—replaced by something soft. Something vulnerable.

"Shit—hey, hey." His voice lowers, gentle. Concern slipping into every syllable. “You okay, sweetheart? Look at me.”

You blink up at him. Overwhelmed, but safe. Still gasping.

“I-I’m okay. Just… needed to stop.”

His hands are already moving. Untying your wrists. Stroking your cheeks. His lips kiss your forehead, then your shoulder, then your temple.

"Good girl,” he whispers. “You did so good telling me. So proud of you.”

He grabs a blanket, covers you up, and lies beside you—pulling you against his chest like you're made of glass.

His voice is softer than you’ve ever heard it.

“You were perfect. You’re always perfect. I got you now, yeah? Just breathe. I’m not going anywhere.”

You nod into his neck, tears slipping down your cheeks—not from pain, but from how held you feel.

Sukuna holds you tighter.

“Next time,” he says quietly, brushing your hair back, “we take it slow. I wanna hear those pretty sounds without hurting you. You’re too precious to me, baby.”

You manage a soft smile.

Because no matter how hard he goes—he always brings you back. Always holds you after.

TL: @samm1e13 @syleepy @werfiedeii @mikemsmm @yanderebluelockfan @cyberheartrebel @arwawawa2 @valexqpt @snowsilver2000 @mitsurisupporter @meikstv @ravenbc @mihyas-dieehefrau

A/N: bleh

ꨄ︎Anglbunny | Do not copy, steal or translate my work and pngs. you'll be blocked.

[Masterlist]

[all-with-angel]

Your boyfriend Sukuna and his evil little habit of making you ride his belly mouth whenever you're being a brat. His tastebuds are heightened down there, so its a perfect place to taste all of you. Its heaven to him, with your begging and whining as a well-appreciated bonus. To you? Torture.

In the best way possible, too.

His tongue felt so good, so thick and warm against your entrance, the pressure pushing at your clit juuuust right to have you twitching. The thing is, his stomach tongue barely fit inside you, the stretch rivaling that of Sukuna's actual cock as it wriggled and pushed against your walls.

Sukuna would touch you everywhere, hands wandering to your thighs and neck especially. Each bit of skin, marked by dark purple bruises and bite marks- courtesy of Sukuna's actual mouth. His large hands would grip your waist, making sure you keep moving back and forth on his stomach as you shiver from the overstimulation.

It felt good, so so good. But you wanted his dick. (Or both of them) You wanted him to fill you up already. And he knew that too. Which makes it all the worse, because he isn't giving them to you.

"Again."

"I said 'm sorryyy-" You choked, thighs shaking as you felt your cunt spasm around his tongue. "I won't, ah- I won't do it again, promise,"

You sniffed, tears still falling from frustration. You just wanted him to fill you you up already. Was that so much to ask?

Sukuna hummed, pretending to mull it over with a smirk playing at his lips. Wiping your tears away with a gentle hand, with the most condescending smile, he answered. "I don't believe in brats."

Thus the cycle continues, where Sukuna would fuck his tongue into you before stopping right before you came. He'd edge you for forever that despite not having orgasmed at all, you'd be so pathetically sensitive to every lick.

In all honesty, he could spend hours with you just perched on his belly, lapping up all of your leaking juices with increasing amounts of greed. No end in sight.

His cocks would twitch behind you, leaking so much pre that you'd think he came already. Any attempt made to touch them will only earn you a harsh smack to your ass and even more waiting.

Your saving grace usually came around when you'd start babbling nonsensically, spewing words of utmost devotion to Sukuna, of how much you love him and would do anything for him to be inside of you. That usually swayed him, a grin on his lips as he could already see how cockdrunk you were without even touching his cocks.

Finally, finally after hours upon hours of begging, he'd flip you over, your slick still glistening all over his stomach and its tongue, he'd actually let the tip of his dick prod against your hole. "Fine, then."

He licked his lips. "Since you claim to love me so much," Sukuna mimicked the high-pitch of your voice. "You'll take my cocks until sunrise, like the good whore you are, mhm?"

Hes so mean :((( I need him so bad

A.N. I wrote this in the middle of a fever haze, why was i horny while fighting for my life smh

[goyardgoyangi]

planting evidence in street racer! sukuna's car

Sukuna’s car has always been untouchable—immaculate, brutal, fast. The kind of machine that mirrors him: sharp edges, no softness, no room for anyone else.

Until you.

Now there’s lip gloss in the cupholder and a scrunchie looped around his gear shift like some kind of silk flag staked in his territory. You started leaving little things behind, quietly, like you were planting evidence. Gum wrappers, a clip from your hair, even your iced coffee straw one day—left right in the side door pocket.

You expected him to toss it all back at you. Maybe with a grunt. Maybe with an eye roll and a muttered “keep your shit out of my car.”

But he didn’t.

He kept them there. Because you and Sukuna… you weren’t dating. No one had asked. There was no talk, no label. Just a long night that turned into a few more, then a pattern.

You, on the other hand, are more strategic. Conniving, even.

You don’t ask to be his girl. You don’t cling. You just leave marks. Subtle things. Things a hookup wouldn’t ever have time to leave behind. So that maybe—just maybe—if someone else ever got in the passenger seat, they’d know instantly: they’re not the first, and they’re definitely not the only one who rides here.

But no one else has. Sukuna hasn’t touched another girl since the first night he had you spread out across his sheets—back arched, lips parted, absolutely wrecked from round four. You were limp and glowing in the aftermath, falling asleep on his chest like you belonged there. And maybe you did.

He hadn’t cared to look at anyone else since.

That car used to be built for speed, for control, for the kind of thrill that made his blood rush. It was never about comfort.

But now? It’s starting to literally feel like a second bedroom. Like an extension of you—your perfume clinging to the seatbelt, a receipt from your favorite café crumpled in the passenger door, your earrings slipped into the little tray under the dash.

The backseat holds the imprint of your body, the curve of your hips pressed into the leather, a reminder of all the times he’s fucked you in his car—your legs spread wide as he drove you to the edge with each brutal, deep thrust.

Even the front, where your hand wraps around his arm as his fingers make you come undone, hitting a spot that drives you wild in ways only he knows, still carries the unmistakable mark that this seat—this car—belongs to someone else.

So when Sukuna rolls into the garage late one night—hair still damp from a shower, muscles loose from hours tangled up inside you, still half hard just remembering how you moaned his name—his fellow mechanics clock it instantly.

“Yo,” Mahito says, glancing up from under the hood of a stripped RX-7. “You have a girlfriend or somethin’? Your car smells like vanilla.”

Sukuna just grunts, shoving his keys in his pocket.

He leans against the hood, chewing on the inside of his cheek like he’s not thinking about you sleeping in his bed right now, curled up under his sheets in that oversized tee you always steal from him.

They take his silence as confirmation.

“You hear that, Suguru?” Mahito continues to instigate, smirking. “Sukuna’s got gloss on the gearshift.”

Suguru raises a brow from where he’s cataloging parts. “Damn. Didn’t think anyone could turn Sukuna into a personal Uber.”

That earns a laugh from the group. Sukuna doesn’t say anything, just lazily flicks his middle finger their way. But he doesn't deny it either.

“No wonder you leave work early so often,” another mechanic mutters, elbowing Uraume. “He used to hang around, talk engines, grab beers.”

They shrug. “Guess he’s got better company these days.”

Sukuna barely hears his coworkers gossip over the echo of your moans still ringing in his head. Because they’re not wrong—he has been slipping out early, ditching post-race drinks just to pick you up from work. Just to get you back in his car, where your legs fold up sweet and tight in the passenger seat and your hand always finds his without a word.

It’s routine now—his hand on your thigh the second the engine starts. He doesn’t even think about it. Just needs it. Needs the feel of you under his fingers, to squeeze the thighs he’s bruised a dozen times with his mouth.

And when you finally fall asleep, innocent and warm, lips parted just slightly?

He drives slower than he ever has in his life. Because the longer he keeps you next to him like this, the longer he gets to pretend you’re already his girl.

And he knows—he knows—you’re testing him with the things you leave behind. Waiting to see if he’ll clean them out. Waiting to see if he’ll hand you your lip gloss and tell you to stop marking your territory.

But he won’t.

Not when the vanilla scent lingers in the air. Not when the other mechanics glance at the cupholder and trade knowing looks because even they can see it—

The car’s not just his anymore.

[ratherchili]

𖹭 cw: fluff, suggestive, mdni

Ryomen Sukuna looks down at you from beneath furrowed brows as you kiss the corner of his tummy mouth. Even those auxiliary lips are drawn tight in a scowl.

"You waste your kisses there? Of all the things you could do with your mouth, this is what you choose?"

"Does it not please you, my lord?" You ask, feining an innocence that does not quite match the mischievous gleam in your eyes.

He only huffs in response, watching with gaurded interest as you trace the seam of his second mouth with your tongue. The tip of the thick, pink muscle inside - which seems to have a mind of it's own, at times - protrudes, drawn out by your attentions.

"Enough," he growls when you latch onto it, hollowing your cheeks as you attempt to draw at least part of the oversized tongue between your lips. You laugh as he drags you up to face him.

"Strange creature," he says, his voice soft, although he still frowns. One pair of hands clutch at your waist while the other cradles the back of your head as the king of curses urges you forward, pressing your soft mouth against his, the correct one, this time.

[ao3commentoftheday]

it's important to pause and remember sometimes that the story is more important than the word count

don't let an arbitrary number get in the way of telling your story the way you want it told

[bluukive]

MDNI - Sukuna x Aphrodisiac

an - I lied im dropping it now

Insatiable!Sukuna, who summons you to your shared chambers one evening with a voice that's low and rasping. There's a heat in his tone that's enough to make your heart beat that little bit faster. But there’s something off in the way he speaks. It's slurred just slightly. Feral.

Insatiable!Sukuna, who’s half sprawled across the bed when you arrive, red eyes glowing dimly in the intimate lighting of the chambers. His muscular thighs are spread open, and you can see the clear bulge of his twin cọcks from beneath his robes. His skin is flushed, glistening with sweat. Droplets of the liquid create a clear path down the broad expanse of his plush pecs which his robes fail to cover.

Insatiable!Sukuna, who didn’t realise there was something in the drink until it was too late, until his cọcks were painfully hard and leaking, until there was only one thing on his pụssy-drunk mind. You.

“It refuses to go down,” his low hisses are all you can focus on whilst his eyes bore into yours. “Not unless you take it.”

Insatiable!Sukuna, whose hips twitch when your eyes flick down to his crotch. A guttural noise leaves his parted mouth when you do so, sounding inhuman (even for him). Eventually, he can't handle the way you're eyeing him in all of his glory, large fists twitching by his side until he finally gets up and stalks over to you. He's slightly hunched over, as if weighed down by the sheer need to breed you.

Insatiable!Sukuna, who's already dragged you onto the large bed you both have spent countless nights ruining. He's rutting against your thigh before he's even shed your robes.

“Too slow,” he practically snarls, tongue slithering out to accompany the sharp nips he leaves on the shell of your ear and throat.

Insatiable!Sukuna, who's made your knees buckle with the way he's manhandled you onto his lap. Crescent-shaped marks litter your hips the way he's pawing at you with such urgency, and his own hips roll up in response so that you can feel him smear his pre-cụm all over your inner thighs.

"Leaking. Like a fucking animal."

Insatiable!Sukuna, who lets out an obscene grunt when you wrap a hand around one of his cọcks. His head falls back, pink hair splayed out like some sort of corrupted halo. A broken hiss of your name spills out of his mouth as if even your touch is too much for him to handle.

“More,” he pants. “Do not tease, not now."

Insatiable!Sukuna, who licks and bites at your throat as he fụcks your hand, hips bucking with a desperation so filthy that it borders on utterly pathetic. His tongue dragging over your pulse, feeling it quicken under his reverent attention.

Insatiable!Sukuna, who's so terribly indecisive. Does he want to split you open or drag this on for longer? Eventually, he strokes one of his thickened cọcks with a purr. One of his hands fists in your hair, another holds his second length to rub obscenely between your sticky folds before he pushed into that palpable heat he's addicted to. His other two harms hold you in place, with such desperation that you'd think he'd die without you.

Insatiable!Sukuna, who loses whatever shred of miniscule restraint he had the moment he sinks in. His eyes roll back for an nth time before he fụcks up into you, almost using you like a sėx toy. Sukuna doesn't stop once he's inside you. He just doesn't know how to. The aphrodisiac is all that is running through his veins. He’s muttering complete filth under his breath, words almost lost between wet thrusts.

“Sh-shit...gonna fill you until you are leaking for days-"

Insatiable!Sukuna, who’s drooling down your neck as he fụcks you like he's moulding your pụssy once more to remember the shape of his cọck. His fingers dig into your waist, dragging you back to meet each nasty thrust with his hips slapping against the tender curve of your ąss.

Insatiable!Sukuna, who bites into the crook of your neck when the first orgąsm hits him. His first cọck twitches, throbbing as it spurts out thick wads of his cụm. But it’s not enough. He doesn’t soften, and nor does he stop. He's making sure you can take the other cọck after flipping you onto your stomach, large hands already spreading your ąss open.

Insatiable!Sukuna, who ruts into both holes once he deems you ready after thoroughly eating your ąss out relentlessly. As if he was starved. One cọck is still buried in your spent cụnt while he stretches your asshọle around the other, like you've done countless times before. He keeps on going whilst one trembling hand tweaks at your aching clit.

Insatiable!Sukuna doesn't stop, not until he's fụcked the aphrodisiac out of his system.

[brainstirfry]

REACTION SPEED [Heroic: failure] - a single ravioli, damp from the water, still pleasantly steaming, lands with a defeated slap, on the linoleum floor. You see it happen, watch it flip through the air, like an Olympic bronze off the high-dive, or a suicidal veteran of war. you feel yourself shout a "No!", but it is too late. there, the ravioli, impossibly, lays limp. FORSAKEN RAVIOLI - Why, it thinks, why me? For all the time I was grown and processed then crafted and for all the time I have waited for the only purpose which I was made for. To be cast so suddenly, so errantly, into the realm of the beyond? Beyond savior. DRAMA - And here you stand, clad like a captain with your wooden spoon, watching as an honorable soldier, nay, a man, lies without your hand to aid him, on the kitchen floor.

VOLITION - you must act, now! first it must be picked up, then its fate can be decided. COMPOSURE - Its fate is the trash. AUTHORITY - Its fate is the trash. YOU - You pick up the ravioli, it is hot, nearly still boiling, gushing steam and hot pasta blood down your hand. It hurts, but standing here, there is nowhere else for it. PERCEPTION - It looks fine... LOGIC - Don't do this. SHIVERS [Heroic: Success] - Somewhere southeast of here, perhaps hundreds of miles, grain sprouts in a field, rich wheat, and butternut squash, only an acre over. The wind whistles through the fields, running like gleeful children through the tiny, green plants. Some will be eaten by birds, worms, or moles, but some will reach high into the sky, where they will be plucked and ground into pasta dough. You have seen the birthplace of this soldier. It is humble, a beautiful childhood, and so, so long ago. An entire pasta-lifetime, now. FORSAKEN RAVIOLI - I thought I had finally made it. And with my brethren... YOU - You look at the bowl, the rest of the ravioli, steaming in mournful, pyrrhic celebration. My company... EMPATHY - This ravioli could be you. You can't give up on it now. Not because of your own mistake. AUTHORITY - This is not what a dignified man would do. send him off and mourn, perhaps, but do not spend one moment more considering his limp, cooling corpse. DRAMA - Where has your heart gone, O Honorable One? Authority - … EMPATHY - the greatest service you could do for this little soldier, and for all those beyond you that forged him, is to eat him. What else is rightfully to be done? VISUAL CALCULUS - It was on the floor for less than 4.7 whole seconds. ENCYLOPEDIA - most forms of bacterium are able to jump, especially to wet materials, in about 1.2- PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT - any residue on your kitchen floor may well be material which was once already in your stomach. CONCEPTUALIZATION - if you think about it, that means you've already kind of eaten the ravioli.

INLAND EMPIRE - From the Floor, Of the Floor, To the Floor. To be, or not to be, one with this eternal cycle? ENDURANCE - Anything the floor could not contain, you could digest. (with VOLITION) We are iron. HALF LIGHT - Bite into its soft, warm flesh. EMPATHY - Give it peace. ELECTROCHEMISTRY - Eat the floor-violi, pasta slut! YOU - weeping, bring the ravioli to your lips, and then, impossibly, with infinite mercy, love, bring it into you. It tastes fantastic. You would have never know it was on the floor at all. You can feel the hum of satisfaction, the glory of it in your lungs, swelling to fill you more than even a pasta-feast could. This is the mercy you wish your God could cast on you, when you fall. KIM KITSURAGI - "Harry,"

[everydayfrimmel]

May 27th, 2024

“Hope”

Post-canon, is yearning a genre?

[neoheros]

to this day, there are only three things in this world that kuroo tetsuro is deathly afraid of: big spiders, losing the winning point in a finals match, and worse of all, his mean and evil older sister (as he likes to call her).

now, normally, his sister doesn’t scare him at all.

normally, she’d just annoy him so much that he’d just rather pretend she doesn’t exist, and normally, seeing her at the family dinner tonight wouldn’t be so nerve wracking and horrific.

but normally, you wouldn’t have your arm in a bright pink cast, your left hand all the way up to your forearm covered in a hardened plaster.

and kuroo just knows — he knows so well — that it’ll take his sister one look at your injured hand and then he’d be a total goner.

talk about a dead man walking.

there’s a sound of a “clink” made as a plate is set in front of you.

your morning laziness as you lay contently on the couch interrupted as kuroo stands in front of the TV, arms at his hip and a wide, proud smile, donned on his face.

you blink, looking up at him and then down at the dish he set on the table.

you look warily at the plate of seemingly black and gray pancakes (?) in front of you. a small stack of the most ominous looking breakfast you’ve ever seen.

you glance up at kuroo again, still smiling proudly in front of you as he gestures to the dish.

“oh… uhm…” you feel the sweat forming on your temples, “thank you?”

were you supposed to eat this?

kuroo gives you a wider smile at your response, and he pushes the plate closer to you, prompting you to take a bite.

you can’t help the way he looks at you, all proud and happy at his accomplishment of making something that mildly resembles food, and you almost feel bad for feeling anything else but gratitude that he took the time to make you breakfast.

still though … are pancakes supposed to be gray? plus, you don’t really remember seeing any flour or baking powder in the kitchen the last time you checked… and would it really be a good idea to risk eating the world’s scariest pastry right now before the family dinner tonight?

… you pick up the fork slowly with your good hand, cursing under your breath as you recall the series of events that got you in this situation in the first place.

see, two days ago, you got into an unfortunate car accident with kuroo — something about a late night drive for ice cream and an unsuspecting duck who wasn’t taught to look both ways crossing the road.

lucky for all of you though, everyone made it out of the accident just fine — duck included — and the only real injuries sustained were a couple bruises and scratches here and there, save for the minor hairline fracture on your left arm, but it still isn’t anything too serious to fret about.

truthfully, it was the best outcome in a horrible situation, and if the worse thing you can get from an accident is a bright pink cast on for three weeks, then you’ll happily take it.

… but kuroo’s cooking?

“ehem.” he coughs, bringing you back to the predicament you find yourself in.

he’s still staring at you with that expectant smile of his, waiting for you to take a bite of his hard work.

hesitantly, you touch the fork to the pancake and you shudder as it bubbles slightly, a wheezing sound coming from it as you let the fork sink in.

no freaking way. you already almost broke your arm for pete’s sake, you’re not getting food poisoning too!

“it looks really good…” you look at him with a forced smile, “but you know the doctor said i can’t have any of … whatever this is…”

you try your best to sound as miserable as you intend to.

kuroo’s hand falls from his hip, “are you serious?”

your smile is more apologetic now, “such a shame…”

“i made this!” he exclaims, scoffing as he points to his mysterious plate of mystery, “with ingredients and shit! … for you!”

you shake your head at him wantonly, like it can’t be helped, and you thank the stars in the sky when he sighs and pushes the plate of doom away from you.

kuroo gives you a pouty look now, shoulders falling dramatically as he crashes on the empty spot on the couch, and with the TV still going on in the background, you happily welcome him in to your lazy posture, making space as he cozies up next to you.

once he settles, he turns to you, a lot less pouty now that you’re so close to him, and he says, “how’s the arm?”

“itchy.” you shrug, “but it doesn’t hurt anymore, so it’s okay.”

for a moment, there’s a flicker in the way kuroo looks that almost bothers you. eyebrows furrowed, lips pursed into a thin line, eyes sunken and worried.

its the exact same look you’ve woken up to in the past two days in the middle of the night. just suddenly jolting awake and seeing kuroo stare at you so intently. you ask him what he’s doing up and he says something about a nightmare and you kiss him goodnight and the two of you fall back asleep together with his hold on you just a little bit tighter than before.

you bump your shoulder with his, nudging him as you shake your head, “don’t look like that, i can’t have you crying on me again.”

and he scoffs, turning away, “i have never cried. i don’t cry at all. i deny all such accusations.”

(you know though that that’s a lie.

kuroo’s probably cried more in the past two days than he has all his life.

he was a teary mess as he rode with you on the ambulance to the hospital, a teary mess when the doctor said you had a fracture in your arm, and a teary mess this morning when he woke up to you in your cast).

to be honest, these past two days are probably the worst in his life. in such a short amount of time, he’s experienced such pits in his stomach that he didn’t know was possible to feel.

he still feels it sometimes when he closes his eyes, the fear and worry setting in his body as he waited in the hospital waiting room.

kuroo looks at you much softer now, gentler, and he puts his hand on your thigh, squeezing it lightly. “you sure you don’t need me to go with you today?”

“i’ll be fine on my own, i just need to grab a couple of things from campus,” you shake your head as you answer him, and you move in deeper to his side to bring you closer.

even the way he touches you now is lighter — like he’s deathly afraid to hurt you even more.

you turn to look at him, “but it might make me late to the dinner with your family later, maybe twenty or thirty minutes?”

“that’s okay,” he nods at you, and then he sighs again, as if suddenly remembering something important.

“well,” and there’s a helpless smile on his face, “it’ll give me more time to work on my “why you’re in a cast” story to my family.”

you grin, “yeah? what have you got so far?”

and he tells you, with a hint of a clipped laugh in his voice, “really big bees.”

…. “oh.”

“yeah.” kuroo grumbles, and he sinks deeper into the couch, “they’re gonna kill me.”

he turns slightly to face you, and he points, quite dramatically, “you’re gonna be a widow.”

you push him off, shaking your head in amusement as you watch his dramatization play out, “you’re such a drama queen.”

kuroo shakes his head incessantly, and he clutches his chest with both his hands, “oh, trust me, the first words my sister is gonna say to me when she sees you later in that cast is “how could you let this happen?!” followed by “waiter, may i please have a bigger knife – this one doesn’t seem to pierce my brother all the way.” and then i die.”

you look at him, incredulous, and you shove him away as you get off the couch to stride away from him.

you scoff, loudly, “has anyone ever told you that you talk too much?”

and kuroo nods his head, following you as he stands up too, “you did — in our vows.”

you laugh, and you push him away again when he tries to get closer to you, “so i got it right then.”

he’s less tense now, less pouty, and seemingly out of things to complain about, and in the morning silence, he pulls you in, the two of you standing in the middle of the living room floor.

kuroo touches your injured arm slightly. the tv forgotten behind him.

all his life, he’s only ever been afraid of three things: big spiders, losing the winning point in a finals match, and his evil, mean older sister yelling at him for allowing you to get hurt after she made him promise that he’d never let anything bad happen to you.

he knows now though that beyond those three, there’s something deeper in his bones that terrifies him deeply. something that scares him so much it wakes him up in the middle of the night in cold sweat. something that ruins his day and something that makes him call you out of nowhere when you’re away from him.

his biggest fear, bigger than spiders or losing matches or his mean sister, is … you.

he’s looking at you that same way again; eyes worried, lips pursed, eyebrows knit together, and you don’t miss the way his mouth trembles slightly as he stares.

“it isn’t your fault, and i dont blame you at all.” you say, and even now as he holds you, you still feel how scared he is to hurt you.

you squeeze his hand. “accidents happen.”

and you can say this all you want, but in his head, at the end of the day, he was still the one driving the car.

but he knows you, and he knows you won’t allow him to think that way, so instead, he just nods, short and clipped and he pulls you in as gentle as he can, embracing you tightly.

kuroo mutters against your neck, “my sister is still gonna kill me.”

you laugh, patting his back with your good arm, “oh, well, some things can’t be helped.”

lord help him for what you’ve done to his poor heart, for you’ve made him deathly afraid of the one thing he can’t control.

something so out of his hands that it sets deep within his bones, ruins his day, and wakes him up in cold sweat in the middle of the night, leaving him desperate and exhausted staring at you helplessly.

his worst fear that terrifies him daily … waking up without you.

[szarina]

sukuna is rather entertained. fascinated even.

how his two cocks buried inside you and rearranging your guts didn't even make a dent in your round stomach. he should be seeing the two of his cock head bulging in your belly but it wasn't. all he can do is press one of his palms to feel the ridge of his cock inside you.

the king of curses had been existing in a long time for fucking concubines and women who presented themselves. afraid of what he is capable of but they all end up the same. crushed by his raw strength and left bleeding for him to consume. he grew tired of those women. the same stature and build. where his nails can scrape the bones out of their flesh and his cocks can pierce their flat stomachs while he fucks them mercilessly. he should have fucked you sooner when you came in his temple with the concubines gathered for a drop of his attention.

sharp nails digging in your supple flesh. amused at the layered pouch of a belly you carry and it jiggles and rolls like waves while he roughly shoves his two inhumane cocks inside your sopping, fat pussy.

the loud squelch of your juices leaking in his cocks mixed with his own cum that he dumped inside your womb added the intensity of the carnal desire he have for you.

his soft, pliant, little concubine. of course, you would be little for him no matter how big you perceived yourself. as if sukuna would care for that. a hole is a hole no matter who owns it and simply you have the best pussy and the body for a king like him.

too fascinated and engrossed with his new discovery that he didn't give attention to what you look like. you would be a an another pretty face for him but only he look at your face when he hears the tiniest of moans being suppressed and did he was blessed with the most softer features a woman can have. your round cheeks stained by the stray tears rolling from your misty eyes and your lips forming into a pout.

“look me in the eyes, woman.” he orders and you were quick to follow him. afraid of the consequences and sukuna can see the tears clumping at your lashes and the desperate suppression of your moans wanting to spill at the rough thrusts of his heavy cocks inside you.

“s—sukuna-sama~” the words slips out of your mouth out of the blue and when you realized your mistake, you closed your eyes and braced yourself for the imminent death that is about to come to you.

the way his name careless flows out of your mouth and your tight cunt squeezing around his cocks spurred him to drill his cocks deeper inside to you. kissing your cervix deeply that it almost protrudes the opening of your womb that is about to take his load again.

there wasn't blood came bursting from your body and only the droplets of blood from his earlier assault had stayed and you were still intact. you almost sighed from relief if it wasn't the continuous movements of his hips and the heavy balls slapping your ass preventing you to feel an ounce of relief.

you almost squealed when his lower arms grabs the sides of your chest. hoisting you easily in a sitting position with his cocks still impaled to your abused cunt. one of his upper arms is used as resting place for his jaw. red eyes moving up and down. watching as his cum trickles in his cocks and your round belly coils like spring from him thrusting his hips up and down. the mouth in his stomach licks it lips before the mouth in his face had done the same thing. amused and his boredom quenched temporarily. you were afraid and never been this aroused when the words came from him.

“tell me, woman.” he began, almost smirking before it breaks out into a full one. “can my cocks be seen in this flesh of yours if i gave you my brat?”

[anglbunny]

pillow princess ♡ ryomen sukuna

cw: smut mdni, pillow princess gf, dirty talk

୨୧

You don’t even know when you started crying.

Somewhere between the second orgasm and the way he spat the words “You were made for this” against your cheek, your body just gave out. You’re trembling, brain foggy, limbs limp, everything soaked and sore and so damn sensitive you can barely breathe.

And Sukuna?

He’s smirking like the devil incarnate, palm spread low over your stomach, his hips still grinding slow and mean between your thighs. "Look at you," he laughs, eyes glowing with pride or maybe possession. "You’re not even fighting it anymore. You were made to be ruined."

Your lips part, but nothing comes out. Not even a plea. Not even a whimper.

He leans down, face close, his hand slipping up to your throat. not squeezing, just resting there, feeling your pulse stutter against his palm.

"You like it like this," he murmurs, voice low and dangerous. "Being nothing but my little pillow princess. My pretty little fuckdoll."

The words make your hips twitch. Pathetic.

His grin sharpens. He sees it. Feels it.

"So easy. So desperate. So perfectly mine." He spits the last word against your lips before dragging his tongue across your bottom one. You moan into it, broken and sweet, and he just groans, hips thrusting deeper with no mercy now. "You don’t even need to move. I’ll do it all. I want to do it all. Just lay there and take it."

You do.

You take everything he gives you — the stretch, the sting, the endless stream of filthy praise and cruel teasing — because he wants you like this. Boneless. Useless. Pretty. and he's loving the way your fingers are trembling on his skin, scratching down his back but barely having enough strength to hold on

"I’ll fuck the thoughts right outta your head, baby. You won’t even remember your name by the time I’m done. You’ll only know mine."

And god help you — you already do.

TL: @samm1e13 @syleepy @werfiedeii @mikemsmm @yanderebluelockfan @cyberheartrebel @arwawawa2 @valexqpt @snowsilver2000 @mitsurisupporter @meikstv @ravenbc @mihyas-dieehefrau

A/N: haven't posted for sukuna at all, also i fucking love the em dashes

ꨄ︎Anglbunny | Do not copy, steal or translate my work and pngs. you'll be blocked.

[Masterlist]

[all-with-angel]

❥ Flashing Sukuna during an argument goes exactly how you want it to..

His mouth, originally opened to bite back some sort of retort intricately mixed in with an insult, snaps shut. Sukuna's lips seal into a thin line, crimson eyes sharpening and staring right at you. A predator looking down on its prey; prey that just offered itself up on a silver platter.

There’s a full beat of silence before he rasps, voice rough and low, "Really? You're using your body against me?"

"Is it working?"

He growls, a sound to hide the answer you were looking for, maybe. His lips pull into a sneer as he stomped his way to you, body looming over yours as he placed large hands on your waist, another grabbing your jaw and lifting your face to look at him. "You're getting bold." There was a hint of amusement in his voice. “You really think flashing me in the middle of a fight is a smart idea?”

"Yes." Your voice came out slightly muffled, and you could feel Sukuna's fingers tighten even more around your jaw at your answer.

Sukuna exhaled hard through his nose, glaring, but the edge of his lips twitched—just barely. “You’re infuriating.”

“And you love it.”

He didn’t respond. Not with words, anyway. His gaze dropped again for a fraction of a second, betraying him before he caught himself. Then his smirk finally returned, slow and sharp.

“Do it again,” he murmured, low and amused, voice curling like smoke. “I dare you.”

You grinned, grabbing the hem of your shirt and pulling it up.

[goyardgoyangi]

being street racer! sukuna's passenger princess

It started as a post-sex thing.

He’d finish, you’d sprawl out like you were melting into the sheets, and he’d grumble something about needing to feed you so you don’t actually pass out like that.

Drag you to some hole-in-the-wall place with killer xiao long bao, toss his hoodie over your still-wobbly frame, and feed you until you were full and soft and pliant again.

Then you’d fall asleep in the car while he drove home—droopy-eyed, mouth parted, limbs heavy with the kind of sleep that only followed being fucked thoroughly and well-fed.

Now? It’s different.

Now he picks you up from work without being asked. Says shit like “I was in the area,” when he clearly wasn’t. His car smells faintly like your shampoo because he started keeping your scrunchies on the gear shift like a good luck charm.

One hand always on the wheel, the other already sliding up your thigh before you remember to buckle your seatbelt. Lazy squeezes, his pinky tucked under the hem of your skirt like it belongs there. You don’t even flinch anymore—you just hum tiredly, fingers curling around his forearm.

And he loves that.

Loves the way your arms wrap around his inked-up limb like it’s a body pillow, your cheek nestled into the crook of his elbow as if he was designed for this. For you.

You don’t say much. Just mumble a soft “You’re so warm, Kuna…” and go limp against him, breathing slow and even while he drives down the freeway with one arm occupied by your whole damn body weight.

And he drives smoother now—less like a street demon, more like a boyfriend who doesn’t want to wake the girl of his dreams dozing off on his arm.

Not because he’s gone totally soft, but because the thought of jolting you awake makes something twist in his chest. He eases up on the gas. Smooths out the turns. Treats the road like something sacred, because you’re in his passenger seat, falling asleep to the sound of his engine.

He doesn’t know when it stopped being about the sex.

Maybe it was the third time he picked you up after work without you asking. Maybe it was when you stopped checking the address of where he was taking you, trusting he’d bring you somewhere good. Or maybe it was the first time you fell asleep mid-drive, head against his bicep, trusting him with your body in a way that wasn’t about heat or urgency—just safety.

Now, it’s a ritual. Feeling the weight of your body slump against his. Letting your warmth bleed into him. You wrap around his arm like it’s yours, like he’s yours—and maybe he is.

This intimate, possessive need to be there. To get you fed, to take you home, to make sure you never had to call anyone else when you’re tired and worn down from the world. It's not just about taking care of you. It's about the way you let him.

And fuck, he likes it.

Almost as much as he likes the way your thigh flinches under his palm when he gives it a slow, deliberate squeeze at a red light. Just to see if you’re really asleep—or if you’re just pretending, so he’ll keep touching you like that.

Either way, he keeps his hand there.

Keeps driving.

Keeps being yours. Even if neither of you have said it yet.