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shokocide · 3 months ago

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HIS TO RUIN - RYOMEN SUKUNA

summary. Ryomen Sukuna is revered across the lands for being the most dangerous tyrant. Nothing gets in his way when he wants something. Or someone.

word count. 13k (oops)

content. mdni fem! reader, modern day! sukuna, arranged marriage, sukuna's highkey toxic but we get character development, angst, talks of violence, pet names, teasing, fluff towards the end, smut, oral (fem rec.), p in v, loss of virginity (reader), breeding, creampies, missionary (lemme know if i missed something!)

author's note. this was supposed to be a short drabble idk how this happened-

"Ride to the North. Deliver my words exactly as I speak them.” Ryomen Sukuna’s loud booming voice echoes through the room and the messenger falls to his knees before the King, bowing his head out of reverent fear.

“The King of the North will surrender his daughter to me. She will be bathed, adorned, and presented in the finest silks befitting a queen—my queen. She will be ready when I arrive. There will be no hesitation, no protest, no delay.

If they value their kingdom, they will obey. If they hesitate, remind them of what I do to those who defy me.

This is not a request. This is a command. And a command is not given twice."

The doors to the great hall burst open, the gust of winter air doing little to cool the fear that grips the court. The royal guards stiffen as a lone rider steps forward—cloaked in black, his presence as foreboding as the letter he carries.

He does not bow. He does not kneel.

He merely lifts a scroll, and steps toward the throne.

"From the Honored King of the South, Lord Sukuna." The messenger’s voice is steady, but his hands betray him, shaking ever so slightly as he extends the letter.

A long silence follows. No one moves. No one breathes.

The king’s face is pale as he takes the scroll, his fingers hesitant, as if touching it alone might bring ruin. He knows—they all know—that whatever is written inside is not a request.

It is an order.

The king’s hands tremble as he unrolls the scroll. The seal is unmistakable—deep crimson wax, pressed with the mark of a ruler who does not ask, only takes. The grand hall is silent, every noble, every guard holding their breath as he reads.

His blood runs cold.

His worst fear has come to pass. Ryomen Sukuna has set his sights on the North—and worse, on his daughter.

His fingers tighten around the parchment, but it is useless to fight the inevitable. The ink on the page might as well be written in blood. There is no choice, no negotiation. Only surrender.

He lifts his gaze to his council, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Prepare the princess."

Sukuna hoards the world's most precious things. He has it all for nothing intoxicates him more than possessing what others can only dream of touching.

So when he hears of you—the fabled Princess of the North, revered for her ethereal beauty—something dark and insatiable awakens within him.

Sukuna has leveled kingdoms for lesser desires and turned cities to ash for trinkets that caught his eye. This is no different. The Princess of the North is the rarest of all treasures, and if the world must burn for her to be his, then so be it.

With an unshakable desire burning in his chest, Sukuna sets forth to the North. The cold, the distance, the blood it may take—none of it matters. He has decided. The princess will be his.

You, on the other hand, have heard many legends of the whispers of Sukuna—the name that freezes even the bravest in fear, the name no one dares to utter above a whisper as if speaking it aloud might summon the monster himself. They say he is no mere man but a creature of nightmares with four arms and two faces. His empire was built on blood, his throne carved from the bones of those who stood in his way.

The kingdom is on high alert. Every hall is scrubbed spotless, every banner hung with precision, every offering laid out with trembling hands. Servants and nobles alike move with hushed urgency because they all know—this is not a mere guest they are preparing for. And if something isn't to his liking, he is not hesitant to paint the kingdom red.

Your father bows to every command. He knows resistance is futile—knows the ruins of fallen kingdoms serve as warnings, knows that a single misstep could mean the end of everything he holds dear. And so, with a trembling hand and a voice that barely holds steady, he seals his daughter’s fate. The princess is promised to Sukuna. A gift, an offering, a desperate attempt to keep his kingdom standing.

Betrayal tastes bitter on your tongue. You stand in the grand hall, the very place where you were once cherished, now nothing more than a pawn to be bartered away. Your father’s words echo in your mind—calm, calculated, but spoken with much hesitation. Promised to Sukuna.

The weight of it crashes down on your chest, stealing the breath from your lungs. Was this always your fate? You want to scream, to run, to fight—but what good would it do when your opponent is a man who bends nations to his will? The halls you once walked freely now feel suffocating, the crown on your head heavier than ever.

And somewhere beyond these walls, he is coming for you.

Ryomen Sukuna doesn’t march—he descends. His arrival is not a mere procession but a declaration of power.

His army moves like a shadow stretching across the land, thousands of soldiers clad in blackened steel, their banners rippling against the icy winds.

And at the head of it all, Sukuna rides. A vision of ruthless grandeur—draped in rich silks. He does not rush. He does not need to. The North knows he is coming. The North knows there is no stopping him.

By the time his forces reach the gates, the air is thick with the smoke of torches, the ground trembling beneath the weight of conquest. And as he halts before the castle, his crimson gaze lifts toward the highest tower—where he knows she waits. His princess.

"Come, princess," he murmurs, a wicked smirk curling at his lips. "Let me see what they’ve promised me."

The halls are silent, suffocating under the weight of unspoken fear. Every servant, every noble—everyone—has seen the torches in the distance, the black tide of an army moving like a storm upon the land. No one speaks his name, but they all know.

Ryomen Sukuna is here.

From the highest tower, you watch as the darkness swallows your kingdom. The slow, unyielding march of his army shakes the very foundation of the castle, each beat rattling through your bones.

And then you see him.

At the head of it all, he sits atop a monstrous steed, his armor gleaming like blood-soaked silver. Even from here, you can feel his presence, suffocating and inescapable. His gaze lifts—deliberately—straight towards your tower.

Towards you.

You stumble back, breath catching in your throat.

A slow, cruel smirk curves his lips as if he already knows—you will be his, whether you want it or not.

Your hands curl into fists, your pulse hammering against your ribs. This is no fairy tale, no love story whispered in the gardens of the palace.

This is your ruin.

The castle doors are flung open with a force that rattles the very foundation of the palace. A cold wind rushes in, but it is nothing compared to the presence that follows.

Sukuna enters like a god among men.

He does not wait to be announced. He does not pause to acknowledge the bowing nobles, their heads lowered in terror. Instead, he strides forward with the slow, deliberate confidence of a man who owns everything he lays his eyes upon. His gaze sweeps across the grand hall—bored, amused, hungry.

The king stands from his throne, his face pale, hands gripping the arms of his seat as if it is the only thing keeping him upright.

"Lord Sukuna, we—"

A single glance from Sukuna silences him.

The air is suffocating. No one dares to move, not even the guards lining the walls. They all know—steel and numbers mean nothing to the monster before them.

And then, he sees you.

The princess.

You’re standing beside the queen, wrapped in silks finer than any he has seen, yet you look as though you would rather be draped in chains. Your hands tremble at your sides, but you lift your chin, defiance warring with the fear in your eyes.

Sukuna smirks.

“So this is what the North has offered me.”

His voice is smooth, rich, laced with amusement—but underneath, there is something far more dangerous.

He takes a step closer, his towering form casting a shadow over you.

“Tell me, princess.” He tilts your chin up with a single finger, forcing you to meet his eyes. Eyes that have seen kingdoms fall, men beg, and empires burn.

But you refuse to tremble.

“Are you as fragile as you look?”

The entire hall holds its breath.

You meet his gaze head-on, your pulse racing but voice steady. "I am not fragile."

A slow, amused smirk curls on Sukuna’s lips. The tension in the room thickens as he watches you, studying the fire in your eyes, the defiance laced within your words. He had expected fear, expected you to shrink beneath his touch—expected you to be like everyone else.

But this?

This is entertaining.

"Oh?" His thumb brushes against your jaw, his tone laced with mockery. "Then tell me, princess… should I test that claim?"

The nobles shift uncomfortably. The king swallows hard. The queen grips your arm, silently begging you to lower your gaze, to not anger the monster before them.

But you do not yield.

"If you must." Your voice is firm, each word was a blade sharpened with resolve.

A beat of silence.

And then—Sukuna laughs.

It is low, rich, and dangerous. The kind of laugh that promises both destruction and amusement.

His grip lingers a second longer before he finally lets you go. His grin widens, something dark and hungry flashing in his eyes.

"This might be fun after all."

Sukuna watches you, his smirk deepening as the silence stretches. You do not cower, do not drop your gaze, do not even flinch.

He tilts his head slightly, his amusement growing. “Interesting...”

Then, with the ease of a man choosing a fine piece of treasure, he turns to the king and declares, “I’ll take this one.”

A fog of complete grief descends upon the court. Your mother stiffens beside you, the nobles look down in sorrow, and your father—who had spent his life bending to power—looks like he might collapse where he stands. They all saw it coming but it seemed like they held some hope—hope that he would have mercy. But, of course, what do they expect from Ryomen Sukuna?

You do not move. Do not falter. Do not beg.

Sukuna expected resistance, tears, and a desperate plea. Instead, you meet his words with silence, your face unreadable, your spine straight.

He raises a brow. No fear. No pleading. Nothing.

The lack of reaction sends a slow thrill down his spine.

He steps even closer, invading your space, towering over you like a shadow of doom. “Nothing to say, princess?” His voice is almost mocking, expecting the first crack in your armor.

But you only lift your chin, your voice smooth as silk.

"You have already decided, haven't you?"

Sukuna chuckles, dark and low. Oh, he likes this one.

He leans in, his breath warm against your ear as he murmurs, “You’ll make this far more entertaining than I thought.”

The court watches in stunned horror as he turns, striding back toward the entrance like he has already won.

"Prepare her," he orders, barely sparing the king a glance. "We leave at dawn."

Then, just before he disappears past the castle doors, his crimson eyes flick back to you one last time.

Yes... this one’s going to be fun to break.

The palace is silent.

In the lavish chambers prepared for him, Sukuna lounges with the ease of a man who has already won. The finest silks drape over the bed, golden goblets filled with the richest wine sit untouched, and yet—he is not asleep.

He smirks to himself, fingers idly tapping against the armrest of his chair. His mind lingers on the princess, on the way she stood her ground when others would have crumbled. Strong, but for how long?

Meanwhile, high in the tower, you gaze out over the land you have cherished since childhood. The snow-covered rooftops, the lantern-lit streets, the distant hills that stretch far beyond the horizon—it is all yours. Was yours.

Tomorrow, you will be taken from it all.

A lone tear slips down your cheek, but you wipe it away before it can fall past your chin.

You clench your fists, your breath steadying. No more tears. No more weakness.

You will not break.

The door creaks. But you don't move.

You know who it is before you even turn your head—the soft, hesitant footsteps, the gentle rustling of fabric. Your handmaiden, the woman who has cared for you since you were a child.

"Princess..." The voice is quiet, almost unsure, as if afraid of disturbing the fragile moment.

You don’t answer. You keep your gaze on the kingdom beyond your window, your arms wrapped around yourself. The silence stretches, heavy and thick.

The handmaiden steps closer, eyes softening at the sight of you. Her brave, strong princess, standing alone against a fate she never chose.

"It is late," the handmaiden murmurs. "You should rest."

A bitter smile ghosts your lips. Rest? How can you rest when tomorrow, you will leave behind everything you have ever known?

Seeing the sorrow you try to hide, the handmaiden’s heart aches. Gently, she reaches for your hair, smoothing it back like she used to when you were just a girl.

"You have always been strong," she whispers. "But you do not have to be strong alone."

You close your eyes at the familiar comfort, throat tightening.

"I will not cry," you say, more to yourself than anyone else.

The handmaiden smiles sadly. "Then I will cry for you."

The words break something inside you. You exhale shakily, leaning ever so slightly into the warmth of the only person who has ever felt like a second mother.

No sobs, no trembling—just a single tear, slipping down your cheek.

The handmaiden wipes it away with a soft touch, just as you had done moments ago.

"No matter where you go, you will always be our princess," she murmurs. "And you will never be alone."

For the first time that night, you allow yourself to believe it.

The first light of dawn spills through the high windows, bathing your chambers in a cold, golden glow.

You stand motionless as your maids work around you, their hands careful yet trembling as they fasten the intricate layers of silk and fur around you. They do not speak. No one speaks.

The room is heavy with unspoken grief.

Your gown is the finest you have ever worn—rich, embroidered fabric, delicate gold accents, the kind of attire fit for a queen. But to you, it feels like a funeral shroud.

Your hair brushed to a glossy sheen, is pinned back with delicate golden clasps. Your crown—a smaller, more elegant piece than your father’s—rests lightly atop your head. You are dressed not as a prisoner, not as a bride, but as a prize.

And you hate it.

The doors open. A court official steps inside, his face pale, his voice tight.

"Lord Sukuna awaits."

The room stills.

You exhale slowly. This is it.

Your handmaiden gently reaches for your hand. For a moment, neither of you speak. Then, in a voice only you can hear, she whispers:

"Do not let them see your fear, my lady."

You tighten your grip for a brief second before letting go.

You lift your chin, steel your heart, and without another word, step forward.

The halls are lined with nobles, servants, guards—all watching in suffocating silence as you descend toward the grand entrance of the palace. Some avert their eyes. Others look at you with pity.

You keep walking.

And then—you see him.

Standing at the foot of the great staircase, Sukuna waits. Clad in dark robes of crimson and black, his presence is an open declaration of power. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes—those deep, red eyes—flicker with something you cannot place.

The moment you reach the last step, Sukuna’s gaze drags over you, slow and deliberate.

"Hmph." A single, amused exhale. "At least they dressed you properly."

You say nothing. You meet his gaze without flinching, without bowing.

Sukuna smirks. So the fire in you hasn’t burned out yet? Good.

Without waiting for permission, he steps forward, reaching out—and in front of the entire court, before your father, before your people—he grips your chin between his fingers, tilting your face up to him.

"I hope you understand, princess." His voice is low, and dangerous. "You belong to me now."

The court watches, horrified, breathless.

You, however, do not break.

Instead, you lift a single brow. "Do I?"

For the first time that morning, Sukuna laughs.

The journey begins at dawn.

You are seated inside a grand carriage, its interior lined with the finest silks, yet it feels like a gilded cage. Outside, Sukuna’s army moves like a living beast—rows upon rows of soldiers marching in perfect sync, banners bearing his sigil rippling in the wind. There is no celebration, no fanfare. Only the crushing weight of reality settling in your chest.

You’re leaving home.

Across from you, Sukuna lounges in his seat, one arm draped over the cushioned backrest, his gaze heavy on you.

"You’re quiet," he muses. "Already mourning your kingdom, princess?"

You don’t answer. Your fingers tighten around the folds of your silk gown.

He chuckles, the deep, rich sound filling the enclosed space. "Good. You should."

Your jaw clenches, but you refuse to give him the reaction he wants.

The carriage rocks over uneven terrain, jolting you forward. Before you can stop yourself, you stumble—only to be caught by a firm, unyielding grip.

Sukuna’s hand clamps around your wrist, steadying you with effortless strength. The heat of his skin seeps through the thin fabric of your sleeve, and when you look up, you find his red eyes glinting with amusement.

"Hmph. Clumsy," he murmurs, but he doesn’t let go immediately. Instead, his grip lingers, his thumb tracing the delicate skin of your wrist in slow, deliberate circles.

You yank your arm back. "I don’t need your help."

His smirk widens. "Oh? And yet, here you are, tumbling right into my hands."

You glare at him, but he only chuckles, leaning back into his seat with a satisfied hum.

"Tell me, princess," he drawls, watching you with a look that makes your skin prickle, "how does it feel to know that everything you once loved is behind you… and everything ahead belongs to me?"

You refuse to answer.

But the silence only makes his smirk grow.

"Oh," he says, his voice a purr of satisfaction, "I think I’m going to enjoy this."

You finally stop to rest, but instead of a lavish chamber, you’re given a tent—one meant for nobility, but a tent nonetheless. You don’t complain. You won’t give him the satisfaction.

Sukuna watches. He expects anger, desperation, maybe even tears. But instead, you quietly settle in, shoulders squared, face unreadable.

And that? That annoys him.

Because why aren’t you breaking? Why aren’t you begging like every other royal before you?

He expects resistance, expects defiance. But what he doesn’t expect is dignity.

And that’s when it starts.

That first, tiny fracture in his perception of you.

The fire outside crackles softly, casting flickering shadows against the fabric of your tent. Sleep evades you—of course it does. How could you possibly rest when you know that with each passing mile, you are leaving behind everything you’ve ever known?

The entrance rustles. Instinctively, you stiffen. And then—

He enters.

Sukuna doesn’t ask for permission. He never does. He steps inside like he owns the space—because he does. His robe hangs loosely over his shoulders, revealing ink-stained skin and muscle carved like stone. He should be terrifying. He is terrifying.

And yet, as he settles on the floor beside the low table, there is something… oddly human about him.

You glare. “Shouldn’t you be off basking in your victory?”

His lips curl into something between a smirk and a scoff. “And leave my bride all alone?” He leans his chin on his palm, watching you with those unreadable garnet eyes. “That would be unkind.”

You don’t respond.

A beat of silence. Then—

Sukuna notices the untouched plate of food by your bedside. He clicks his tongue. “You haven’t eaten.”

“I’m not hungry.”

He exhales sharply through his nose. “Starving yourself won’t change anything.”

Still, you don’t move.

He watches you for a long moment before, to your shock, he reaches for the plate himself. With little care for dignity, he plucks a piece of fruit and takes a slow bite. The action is simple, thoughtless even, but it’s… strangely ordinary.

Domestic.

When he speaks again, his voice lacks its usual razor-sharp edge. “Eat. I need you alive, not wasting away before we even reach my kingdom.”

For a second—a fleeting, impossible second—you could almost believe this was something normal. That he was just a man, and you were just a woman, sharing a quiet meal under the same roof.

A what-if, slipping through your fingers like grains of sand.

And then his eyes meet yours again, and the illusion shatters.

Sukuna watches you, expecting something. A reaction, a glare, an outburst. Anything.

But you just sit there, unmoving. The firelight flickers against your skin, casting soft shadows across your features. You look… tired. Not weak, not defeated, but like someone carrying the weight of a thousand burdens.

And then—just as he’s about to scoff, about to say something snide—

You finally speak.

"You don’t have to pretend to care."

It’s soft. Not bitter, not sharp—just factual. A quiet, simple truth that hangs in the air between you.

And for the first time in a long, long time—

Sukuna doesn’t know what to say.

Because was he pretending?

The thought annoys him. Irritates him. Grates at him in ways he refuses to examine.

So, instead, he scoffs. Rolls his eyes. Throws the half-eaten fruit back onto the plate like he never wanted it in the first place.

He stands, looming over you like a shadow. “Believe what you want, princess.”

And then, without another word, he leaves.

But long after he’s gone—after the fire dims and silence settles over the camp—

You wonder…

Why didn’t he deny it?

Dawn breaks over the horizon, streaking the sky in gold and coral, but the air remains crisp with the lingering chill of the night. The camp is already stirring—soldiers dousing the last embers of the fires, banners rippling in the wind, the sound of hooves crunching against the dirt as preparations to depart near completion.

You step out of your tent, the heavy cloak draped over your shoulders doing little against the morning cold. Sleep had been fleeting, your mind restless with the weight of what awaited you. Today, you would arrive at his domain.

And there he is.

Sukuna lounges against the door of his grand, black carved carriage, one arm resting lazily on his knee, his red eyes half-lidded as they sweep over the waking camp—until they land on you. He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, but there’s something about the way he watches that makes your stomach knot.

"Took your time," he muses when you finally approach, his voice deep, edged with something that almost sounds amused.

You meet his gaze, unyielding. "I wasn’t aware I was on your schedule."

A slow smirk curves his lips, his fangs flashing ever so slightly. He doesn’t bother responding—he doesn’t need to. Instead, he gestures toward the waiting carriages with a flick of his fingers.

"Let’s not keep your new home waiting, princess."

And just like that, the journey begins.

The carriage rocks gently as the convoy moves forward, the rhythmic sound of hooves against the dirt road filling the silence. Inside, the space is lavish—dark silks and embroidered cushions, the scent of incense lingering in the air. But no amount of opulence could make this feel less like a cage.

You sit across from Sukuna, your posture rigid, hands folded tightly in your lap. He, on the other hand, looks completely at ease, one arm slung over the back of the seat, legs stretched out just enough that his knee nearly—nearly—brushes against yours.

A gust of wind slips through the carriage window, making you shiver under your cloak. Before you can steel yourself against it, something shifts.

Warmth.

Sukuna, without a word, tugs at the fur-lined cloak draped over his own shoulders and tosses it over your lap, the gesture so absentminded, so casual, it nearly startles you more than the cold had.

You blink at him, uncertain.

"Can’t have you freezing to death before we even arrive," he says, red eyes watching your reaction closely. There’s no teasing lilt to his voice this time, no smirk—just a simple statement, as if the act means nothing.

But it does.

You should push it off, return it, refuse to take anything from him. And yet… your fingers curl into the fur, just slightly.

He notices.

He says nothing.

The journey is long, stretching through dense forests and winding mountain paths, but as the convoy crests the final hill, the castle comes into view.

It looms in the distance, a dark, sprawling fortress carved into the very bones of the mountain. Towering spires claw at the sky, their obsidian surfaces gleaming under the dying light of the sun. Crimson banners ripple in the cold wind, each emblazoned with the sigil of the man who now owns your fate.

Your breath catches.

The air grows heavier as the convoy nears the gates, the atmosphere thick with something unspoken. Soldiers line the entrance in perfect formation, their armor gleaming, their expressions unreadable. At the castle’s grand doors, figures await—advisors, servants, warriors, all standing in disciplined silence.

Sukuna watches you. He has been watching you ever since the castle came into view.

A slow smirk plays on his lips. “Welcome home, princess.”

The towering gates of Sukuna’s fortress groan open, revealing a palace unlike anything you’ve ever seen. It is both magnificent and monstrous—carved from dark stone, adorned with golden accents that gleam like fire under the setting sun. Statues of beasts, their eyes gleaming like cursed jewels, guard the entrance, their snarling faces frozen in eternal warning.

You should be afraid. And you are. But beneath that fear is something else. Something undeniable. Awe. It’s beautiful. It’s terrifying.

Sukuna, walking a few paces ahead, catches it. He sees the way your gaze lingers on the towering spires, the intricate carvings woven with both beauty and horror. He sees the flicker of wonder in your eyes before you can school your expression into something unreadable.

A slow smirk curves his lips.

"Humbled by my domain, princess?"

Your stomach knots. You turn away too quickly, feigning disinterest. "Hardly."

A deep chuckle rumbles from him. Amusement. Satisfaction. He doesn't need you to say it.

He knows the truth.

The castle doors part with a deep, echoing groan, revealing a grand, cavernous hall bathed in the glow of towering braziers. Shadows flicker along the obsidian walls, stretching and twisting with every step as you cross the threshold. The air is thick—heavy with incense, the faintest trace of something metallic lingering beneath.

Your footsteps barely make a sound against the polished stone, but the hush that falls over the gathered figures amplifies every movement. Rows of warriors stand at attention along the hall, their expressions unreadable, their eyes tracking your every step. Servants bow their heads, stealing quick, wary glances before averting their gazes.

Sukuna walks beside you, unhurried, completely at ease in his domain. His presence fills the space, effortlessly commanding the attention of all within it. He does not guide you—he does not need to. You are already walking where he intends you to go.

At the far end of the hall, the throne room doors loom ahead, carved with intricate depictions of conquest, of gods and monsters intertwined in eternal battle. The weight of what awaits beyond them presses down on you.

Sukuna glances at you, his smirk returning. “You’re awfully quiet, princess.”

You don’t answer.

The doors swing open and you step inside.

The throne room is vast, designed to make anyone who enters feel small. The ceiling stretches impossibly high, supported by towering pillars carved with depictions of battles long won. Braziers cast a golden glow across the dark stone, illuminating the crimson banners draped along the walls—each marked with the sigil of the man who is to be sat at the far end of the room.

Sukuna’s throne is massive, made from the same dark stone as the castle itself, inlaid with veins of deep, gleaming gold. It is not just a seat of power—it is a symbol of dominion.

The moment you step inside, every pair of eyes in the room turns to you. Advisors, high-ranking officers, and attendants stand in quiet formation along the sides, watching as you make your way forward. The air is thick with anticipation, laced with something colder—fear, reverence, inevitability.

Sukuna does not rush. He walks at a leisurely pace, his hands resting at his sides, utterly unbothered. This is his kingdom, his palace, his rules. And you—his soon-to-be queen—are walking straight into his world.

He arrives at his throne and takes his seat.

As you near the steps leading to the throne, he speaks.

“Kneel.”

Gasps rippled through the chamber.

The words hang in the air, heavy, absolute. Your heart pounds and your hands clench at your sides. You can feel the weight of every gaze, waiting, expecting.

You do not kneel.

The silence stretches.

Sukuna watches you, something dark and amused flickering in his eyes. He tilts his head, studying you, and for the first time since you arrived…

He smiles.

The silence in the throne room is suffocating. Eyes dart between you and Sukuna, waiting, anticipating. No one has ever defied him and walked away unscathed.

But you don’t kneel.

You lift your chin, steady, unwavering. “I kneel for no man.”

A sharp inhale echoes from somewhere in the hall. The tension coils tighter, suffocating. Even the guards, trained to be expressionless, flicker with shock.

Atop his throne, Sukuna stares at you. And then—he laughs.

It’s low at first, just a chuckle. Then it grows—rich, full-bodied, amused beyond measure. The sound sends a chill down your spine. It’s not the laugh of a man who has been insulted. It’s the laugh of a man who has just been thoroughly entertained.

“Oh?” His voice drips with intrigue as he leans forward, elbows resting on the arms of his throne, fingers steepled beneath his chin. “No man?” His crimson gaze gleams. “Then tell me, princess… what do you think I am?”

You meet his gaze, refusing to waver. The air in the room is thick and heavy with expectation.

"You?" You tilt your head ever so slightly, eyes gleaming with quiet defiance. "A man wouldn’t need to demand kneeling to prove his power."

The court freezes.

The amusement in Sukuna’s expression flickers—just for a fraction of a second. Then, something slow and dangerous stretches across his face.

The silence is unbearable. No one dares to breathe.

Then—

His grin widens.

The sharp glint in his crimson eyes is unmistakable. Oh, he likes this. He likes you.

And that is far more terrifying than his anger.

Sukuna doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he watches you—studies you. His gaze drags over your face, searching, calculating.

Then, in one fluid motion, he rises from his throne.

The room tenses. No one moves. No one speaks.

And then—he starts walking.

His boots echo against the marble floor as he descends the steps, slow, deliberate. The closer he gets, the more the air shifts—thick with something you refuse to name.

And then—he’s in front of you.

Too close.

You can smell him now—spiced incense and something dark, something sharp. The sheer size of him makes you feel smaller than you’d like, his presence overwhelming.

A clawed finger tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. His hands are warm—uncomfortably so.

"You have a sharp tongue," he murmurs, voice low. His breath ghosts over your lips. "But tell me, princess…" His thumb grazes your jaw, almost thoughtfully. Too gentle for a man like him.

"Will it serve you well… or get you into trouble?"

His lips curl, a smirk playing at the corner. He’s entertained. Intrigued.

And then—just as quick as he touched you, he’s gone.

He turns, voice echoing through the hall as he walks back to his throne.

"Very well… let’s see how long you last."

You stand your ground, refusing to move, refusing to let him see how his touch lingers like a phantom against your skin.

But your body betrays you.

Your heart stumbles—just for a beat, just for a second. A warmth blooms beneath your skin, creeping up your neck, pooling at your cheeks.

You force yourself to breathe. To look unaffected. But you know—oh, you know—he sees it.

Because as he settles back onto his throne, Sukuna’s smirk deepens. His eyes flicker, pleased. Amused.

He says nothing more. He doesn’t have to.

He already knows.

The castle is alive with movement. Servants rush through the halls, arms full of silks and gold-threaded fabrics, their whispers trailing behind them. The scent of incense and fresh flowers lingers in the air, heavy and suffocating.

It’s happening.

Your wedding to the King is being prepared in full force.

Jewels, silks, golden embroidery—everything is perfect. Everything is grand. But not once did anyone ask what you wanted.

Because it doesn’t matter.

It never did.

You sit before the grand mirror in your chamber, a seamstress adjusting the fabric of your ceremonial robes. The weight of the moment presses on you like iron shackles.

Married.

To him.

Your hands curl into fists against your lap. How did it come to this?

A knock at the door. Your handmaiden enters, hesitant. "My lady… the King wishes to see you."

Your breath stills.

"My lady…" she says, voice low, hesitant. "The King—" she pauses, correcting herself, "Sukuna—has summoned you."

Your breath stills.

"Summoned?" you repeat, as if the word alone leaves a bitter taste on your tongue.

She nods. "To the gardens."

Not the throne room. Not his chambers.

To the gardens.

That alone unsettles you.

"Did he say why?"

Your handmaiden swallows. She’s afraid. That much is clear in the way she grips the fabric of her sleeve and the way she hesitates before answering.

"No," she admits. "Only that you are to come. At once."

A demand. Not a request.

Like everything else he does.

Your fingers twitch against the folds of your dress. You should have expected this. Of course, he would summon you like a thing to be retrieved.

And yet—you hesitate.

Your heart pounds against your ribs, your mind racing with possibilities. What could he possibly want? Why here, why now?

And more importantly…

What would happen if you refused?

The silence stretches.

Your handmaiden fidgets under your stare, waiting for you to move. To answer. To do anything but stand there, expression unreadable.

"Shall I prepare your cloak, my lady?" she asks carefully.

You exhale slowly, gaze flickering toward the window. The gardens are bathed in silver moonlight, awaiting you. But you?

You are in no rush.

"No," you say at last, turning away. "Let him wait."

The words are soft, but they hold weight.

Your handmaiden stiffens. "My lady, he—"

"He will not kill me over this," you murmur, fingers brushing over the smooth fabric of your gown.

You tell yourself it’s not a game—you are not playing with fire. You are simply reminding him that you are not a woman who bends so easily.

"Stay with me a while," you say instead, settling back into your chair.

Your handmaiden hesitates, then bows. "As you wish."

But she is tense. She knows what you are doing.

And when you finally rise, when you finally allow yourself to be led into the night, you wonder if you have made a mistake.

Because Sukuna is not a man who enjoys waiting.

And you are about to find out exactly how much patience he has left.

The palace gardens should not exist.

Not in a place like this. Not within the walls of a kingdom ruled by a monster.

And yet, as you step past the towering arches, you are breathless.

Moonlight spills over an expanse of shimmering ponds, ivory statues, and trees heavy with blossoms. Soft petals dance in the air, caught in the cool night breeze. The scent of wisteria, jasmine, and something undeniably rich fills your lungs. The lantern-lit paths curve between marble fountains, their waters singing a song too gentle for a place so cruel.

It’s beautiful. Devastatingly, unfairly beautiful.

And then, you see him.

Sukuna stands near the largest pond, his back to you. A striking silhouette against the lantern glow, his robe open just enough to reveal the dark markings tracing his skin. His hands are clasped loosely behind him—a king at ease in his kingdom, knowing he owns everything within it.

Including you.

"You kept me waiting."

His voice is smooth, deep, and edged with amusement. He knows you hesitated.

Of course he does.

You inhale sharply, lifting your chin as you take another step forward, feet crunching softly over the white pebbled path. You will not cower.

"You did not say it was urgent."

Sukuna chuckles, finally turning to face you. Red eyes gleam in the lantern light, flickering with something unreadable.

"No," he muses, tilting his head. "I suppose I didn’t."

"Why am I here?" you ask plainly.

Sukuna hums, watching you carefully. Too carefully.

Then—he reaches.

The movement is slow, deliberate. Not a threat, not a demand. His fingers brush just beneath your chin—not gripping, not forcing—just touching. A reminder of who stands before you.

"Must there always be a reason?"

His voice is quieter now, lower—like a secret meant only for you. His fingers, calloused and warm, brush against your jaw before retreating, leaving behind the ghost of a touch.

Your breath catches, just for a second.

The night air feels heavier, thick with something unspoken. The scent of blooming jasmine wraps around you both, the silence stretching—not tense, not hostile—but charged.

You meet his gaze, refusing to look away.

"You summoned me." Your voice is steady, but softer now. "So there must be one."

Sukuna studies you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, he moves.

Not sudden, not aggressive—slow. Measured. He steps closer, and though every instinct tells you to retreat, you hold your ground.

The space between you shrinks. It is barely a breath now.

"You intrigue me." His words are almost thoughtful, but there is something else beneath them—something dangerous. "Your fearlessness."

A pause.

Then, softer—more deliberate.

"Your fire."

The warmth of his breath ghosts over your skin, closer than you should allow. Your pulse quickens, but you do not step back.

You will not.

Instead, you tilt your head ever so slightly, meeting his crimson eyes with a quiet defiance.

"And what is it you plan to do with this… intrigue?"

Sukuna’s smirk curves into something deeper—something unreadable.

His fingers brush over your wrist now, barely there, like a whisper of a promise yet to be spoken.

"Oh, princess," he murmurs, his voice rich with amusement—and something else. "That depends entirely on you."

The space between you is almost nonexistent now.

Your breath is unsteady, heart hammering far too loudly. Sukuna is close—closer than he should be. His presence wraps around you, commanding, unyielding.

You tell yourself it’s the heat of the evening, the way the lanterns cast a golden glow over his features—too sharp, too beautiful.

But then his gaze drops.

To your lips.

And your breath catches.

His fingers, barely there, brush against your wrist again—lingering this time. His touch is a question, a challenge, a taunt.

"Tell me, princess," he murmurs, his voice lower now, something undeniably indulgent in his tone. "Are you afraid of what this might mean?"

You should pull away.

But you don’t.

Instead, you tilt your chin up—defiant, stubborn—but you don’t break the moment. His smirk falters just slightly at that.

Not in disappointment.

In intrigue.

Your breath mingles with his now, the world around you shrinking to this—to him.

His eyes darken.

And then—

A noise.

A branch snapping in the distance, a gust of wind rattling the trees. It shatters the moment, just barely, just enough.

You step back.

A breath.

Then another.

Sukuna watches you, unreadable, and for once—he does not push.

Instead, he lets the silence settle. His smirk returns, slower this time—but you know, now, that he is watching.

Waiting.

"Careful, princess," he drawls, stepping back at last, giving you space that feels far too vast now. Far too empty. "Play with fire, and you just might burn."

His words should unnerve you.

They don’t.

Instead, your lips curl—just slightly.

"Then let it burn."

The tension is suffocating.

Sukuna watches you—intensely, unblinking, unrelenting. The smirk is gone now, replaced by something deeper, something unreadable.

Your pulse thrums in your ears.

You should step away.

You don’t.

He lifts a hand, slowly, deliberately, as if waiting to see if you’ll pull back. His fingers brush against your jaw, featherlight, the touch barely there—but it sears.

A test. A game.

But you don’t move.

His thumb traces the curve of your cheek, his touch too gentle, too intimate, too dangerous. He leans in just a fraction, just enough that you feel his breath ghost over your lips.

"Say it, princess," he murmurs. "Say you don’t want this, and I’ll stop."

You open your mouth— to say what, you don’t know.

But you never get the chance.

Because he kisses you.

It’s not rough, not bruising, not like the tyrant he is supposed to be. It’s slow, controlled, deliberate—like he’s savoring the moment. Like he’s savoring you.

And for a second—just a second—you let him.

Your hands clutch the fabric of his robe, not pushing away, not pulling closer—just holding on. The warmth of him, the press of his lips, the way his hand slides to cup the back of your neck—it’s overwhelming.

Your breath is stolen, your mind blank, lost in something you never thought you would crave.

He pulls away first—barely, just enough to let you breathe. But he doesn’t let go.

His forehead rests against yours, his voice lower now, rougher.

"Still think you can fight me, princess?"

Your lashes flutter, breath uneven, but your eyes find his.

"I think..." you whisper, voice steady despite the chaos inside you, "...you have no idea what you’ve just started."

Sukuna exhales a short laugh, his grip tightening just slightly.

"Good."

The moment stretches, the air between you crackling like a fire starved for oxygen.

And then—he moves.

You barely register the way his hand slides to the small of your back, pulling you in, chest to chest, breath to breath. The way his other hand cups your jaw, fingers pressing just enough to tip your face up—just enough to make escape impossible.

But you don’t even think about escaping.

Because when his lips finally crash into yours, it’s not soft, not gentle—it's a claiming.

The world tilts.

Your fingers—traitorous things—grip at his robe, twisting in the fabric as he deepens the kiss, as his teeth graze your lower lip before his tongue slides against yours, demanding, unrelenting.

You hate how easily you match his intensity.

Hate how your body presses into his, meeting him step for step, fire for fire.

You should be resisting.

But instead, you’re burning.

The kiss is a battle, a push and pull, neither of you yielding, neither willing to lose. Your breath hitches as his hand tangles in your hair, tilting your head back, exposing you further—taking, taking, taking.

And you—you give.

A sharp exhale leaves him, like he wasn’t expecting you to kiss him back like this. Like he wasn’t expecting you to be just as relentless.

By the time you both pull back, you’re breathless.

Your chest heaves.

His grip on you hasn’t loosened, his lips still hovering dangerously close, as if he might go back for more.

Your pulse thrums wildly, your lips swollen, heat pooling in your gut at the sheer intensity of it all.

His forehead brushes against yours, his breath ragged, uneven. His fingers at your waist flex slightly, like he’s restraining himself, like he’s memorizing the feel of you against him.

Your lips still tingle.

Your breath is still ragged.

And yet, something inside you snaps—a cruel reminder of the reality you had let yourself forget.

You rip yourself away from him, the loss of warmth almost painful, but you force yourself to step back, hand trembling as you press your fingers to your lips.

"This is wrong."

Your voice is barely above a whisper, but in the heavy silence between you, it cuts like a blade.

Sukuna's eyes flicker, unreadable, his breath still uneven. His hands, still curled from where they had gripped your waist, slowly lower.

And then, his expression shifts.

His jaw tightens. His brows draw together.

"What?" His voice is sharp, edged with something you can’t quite place—disbelief? Anger? Something deeper?

But you can’t let yourself linger on it.

You force yourself to look up at him, even as tears burn in your eyes.

"This was a mistake. One I was foolish enough to commit."

He takes a step forward, like he’s going to reach for you again.

"What are you talking about?"

Your breath shudders. You shake your head, stepping back again—away from the temptation of him, away from the warmth that could consume you if you let it.

"I can't do this," you whisper. Your voice shakes, but your resolve does not. "I have agreed to be your bride, but I won’t fall victim to your hedonistic desires."

Silence.

Sukuna just stares at you. And for the first time since you’ve met him—he looks stunned.

He blinks once, lips parting slightly, as if he genuinely hadn’t expected you to say that.

Then, slowly, something dark, something unreadable slithers across his expression.

His eyes lower, flickering over your face—your tear-bright eyes, your trembling lips, the way your hands clench at your sides as if to hold yourself together.

He inhales slowly.

"You think that’s what this is?"

His voice is softer than before, but there’s something dangerous beneath it.

Your throat tightens. "Isn’t it?" you whisper.

He exhales sharply through his nose, a sound almost like a bitter laugh.

Then, he takes another step forward—and this time, you don’t move away.

Because you can’t.

His fingers lift, brushing against your chin—so gentle, so unlike the tyrant he is. His thumb traces the edge of your jaw, the touch featherlight, fleeting.

"You have no idea what you’ve done to me, princess."

His voice is low, almost—pained.

And that terrifies you more than anything else.

Because if you’re not careful—you might ruin him.

Just as he might ruin you.

You force yourself to turn away.

Your legs feel heavy, your heart a war drum in your chest, but you don’t stop.

Not even when you feel the heat of his gaze burning into your back. Not even when the silence stretches too long, too unbearable.

And then—

"Go, then."

His voice is quiet. Too quiet.

But it’s not resignation.

It’s something else. Something that lingers in the air like a storm yet to break.

You don’t dare look back.

Because you know if you do—if you meet those ruby eyes, if you see whatever unreadable thing is brewing behind them—you might not be able to walk away.

So you don’t.

You keep moving.

Even when the ache in your chest becomes unbearable.

Even when you hear him exhale sharply, like he’s stopping himself from saying something else.

And he lets you go.

For now.

But deep down, you both know—this isn’t over. Not even close.

Sukuna leans against the stone railing of his balcony, staring out at the dark horizon. The wind is cool, the scent of rain lingering in the air. He exhales slowly, fingers drumming against the marble.

You sit by your window, staring at the same sky. The city below glows in the dim torchlight, yet it feels impossibly far away. Your hands rest in your lap, twisting the fabric of your nightgown between your fingers.

Neither of you sleep.

His mind replays the kiss, the way your lips parted so easily for him, the warmth of your body so close to his. He scoffs, jaw tightening. And yet, you pulled away.

Your mind replays the same moment, the way he kissed you with such certainty, as if you belonged to him. The way you almost—almost—let yourself believe it.

He clenches his fists. You wanted it. He knows you did. The way you leaned into him, breath hitching, fingers trembling against his chest—he felt it all. Yet, you turned away. Why?

You close your eyes, guilt twisting in your stomach. You wanted it. You can’t deny that. But that doesn’t make it right. He is still the man who tore you from your home, the tyrant who leveled kingdoms without hesitation.

Sukuna exhales sharply. This shouldn’t bother him. He shouldn’t care. But he does. And that infuriates him more than anything.

You inhale deeply. This shouldn’t affect you. You shouldn’t feel this way. But you do. And that terrifies you more than anything.

The wind howls, the night stretches on, and neither of you move.

Both lost in the same moment.

Both refusing to admit what it meant.

The next day, you do everything in your power to avoid Sukuna. You keep to the quieter halls, taking longer routes just to ensure you don’t run into him. If your handmaiden notices, she says nothing. But the tension in the air is undeniable.

Sukuna, on the other hand, does nothing to seek you out. He acts as if nothing happened, as if you never left him standing in the garden with your lips swollen from his kiss and your eyes shining with unshed tears. But everyone around him treads more carefully. His patience is razor-thin.

Then, it happens.

A sudden storm rolls in, the winds howling through the corridors like restless spirits. You’re in one of the castle’s many libraries, a place you assumed was far from Sukuna’s reach. You were wrong.

A heavy door slams shut behind you just as the first crack of thunder shakes the castle. You whirl around—and there he is.

Sukuna stands in front of the only exit, arms crossed, expression unreadable. The storm rages outside, but it’s nothing compared to the storm in his gaze.

Your heart pounds. Trapped. With him.

“Move,” you say, voice steadier than you feel.

He doesn’t.

“I didn’t summon the storm, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he says lazily. "Though I can’t say I mind the inconvenience."

You swallow. “You think this is funny?”

“Not at all.” His gaze darkens, sharp as a blade. “I think it’s convenient.”

You take a step back. He takes a step forward.

The tension is unbearable. The storm grows louder, shaking the very walls of the castle, but all you can focus on is him—his scent, his heat, the way he watches you like he’s trying to figure you out.

The kiss lingers between you, unspoken yet suffocating.

Sukuna tilts his head. "You’ve been avoiding me."

"You noticed?"

He chuckles, but there’s no real humor in it—just something sharp and knowing. “You kissed me like you meant it,” he murmurs, taking another step closer. "And then ran like a coward."

You stiffen. “I didn’t run—”

He cuts you off. “You did.” His voice is low, rough. “You can lie to yourself all you want, but don’t lie to me.”

Your throat goes dry. The heat of him is suffocating, his presence overwhelming. The storm rages outside, the flickering candlelight casting jagged shadows across his sharp features.

You force yourself to stand your ground. “I told you, this was a mistake.”

His eyes gleam, something dangerous curling at the edges of his smirk. “A mistake?”

Then, faster than you can react, he moves—closing the distance in a single stride, his hand bracing against the shelf behind you. Not touching, not forcing, but caging you in.

Your breath catches. He leans in, his voice a whisper against your ear.

“Then tell me…why do you look like you want to make it again?”

Your eyes flash with defiance, your chin lifting despite the rapid beat of your heart.

"And why do you look like you can't stand not having everything handed to you?"

Sukuna’s smirk doesn’t falter, but there’s a flicker in his red eyes—something between intrigue and challenge. His hand stays where it is, caging you without touching, testing the boundaries you refuse to let him cross.

"Careful," he murmurs, voice like silk wrapped around a blade. "That mouth of yours might get you in trouble."

You glare up at him, unyielding. "Then do your worst."

For a long moment, he simply watches you, his smirk widening. Amused. Pleased.

He leans in, just a fraction closer. Too close.

"Oh, I intend to, princess."

The palace buzzes with restless energy as the wedding looms closer. Servants scurry through the halls, carrying silks, gold-threaded robes, and delicate jewels fit for a queen. The entire kingdom is preparing for a spectacle—a union between beauty and terror, between the feared King of Curses and the Princess of the North.

Yet behind closed doors, the air is thick with unspoken words and lingering glances.

You and Sukuna haven’t spoken about that night in the gardens. Haven’t addressed the kiss, the way your heart pounded against his chest before you fled. But it lingers in the way his gaze sears into you during royal gatherings, in the way he looms just a bit too close whenever your paths cross.

And you? You hold your head high, but your fingers tremble when your handmaidens fasten the bridal jewelry around your neck.

It’s happening.

No matter how much you fight, no matter how much your heart wars against itself, soon, you will be his.

The grand hall is drenched in gold and crimson, lit by a thousand flickering lanterns. The scent of incense coils through the air, rich and heavy. Nobles and warriors alike hold their breath, waiting for the moment when the tyrant takes his bride.

You stand at the end of the aisle, wrapped in silks so fine they feel like whispers against your skin. Jewels glitter in your hair, but they feel no heavier than the weight pressing down on your heart. You’re walking toward a man feared across the world, a man who has claimed you as his.

And yet—when you reach him, he does not touch you like a conqueror.

Sukuna’s hands, tattooed and powerful, settle on yours with a gentleness that no one expects. His thumb skims over your wrist, a silent, almost reverent touch. His red eyes, so used to burning with cruelty, soften just for a second.

For a moment, there is no war. No kingdoms. No chains.

Just him and you.

The officiary looks at the both of you in quiet wonder before he speaks- “Dear beloved, we are gathered here today to join this man and this bride in holy matrimony-” he gestures to Sukuna, “You may begin.”

Sukuna does not hesitate. His voice is deep, rich, unchallenged.

"I vow to take you as my wife, to protect what is mine, to keep you in wealth, in power, and in blood. Let the gods bear witness to this union, for I claim you, now and forever."

A shiver runs through you. His hand is warm where it clasps yours. Too warm. Too steady.

You are meant to answer. To seal this union. To give him what he wants.

Your throat tightens.

Your mind screams—no, no, no.

Your lips part, but the words don’t come. Not yet.

Sukuna’s grip on your hand tightens—just slightly. Not in warning. Not in threat. Almost as if he is waiting.

And in his eyes, in the way they search yours—there is something else. Something like… patience.

For a single breath, the world slows.

You think of your people. Your kingdom. The life you once had—the life you could have had. And then, you think of the man before you. Of what he could become.

So you inhale. You lift your chin. And with a final, quiet surrender—

“I believe in you, the person you will grow to be and the couple we will be together.

With my whole heart, I take you as my husband, acknowledging and accepting your faults and strengths, as you do mine.”

The hall exhales. A murmur ripples through the gathered court.

Sukuna lets out a breath, so subtle you almost miss it.

He smiles—but it's not his usual smirk. Not mocking, not cruel. It's something quieter. Softer.

The officiary speaks the final words. And when Sukuna lifts your veil, when he leans in and tilts your chin up with the faintest touch—the grand hall watches in stunned silence.

Because Ryomen Sukuna, the man known as the King of Curses—

is looking at his bride like he would burn the world down for her.

The kiss is not rough, not bruising. It is slow. Intense. Claiming. And when he pulls back, his forehead lingers against yours for half a second too long.

"Mine," he murmurs against your lips.

And for the first time, you wonder—are you truly lost, or have you simply been found?

Sukuna doesn’t go looking for you.

He doesn’t have to.

The heavy silence in your chambers is unnatural, suffocating in a way that unsettles him—not because he cares, but because he expects defiance, not absence.

His feet carry him forward before he even registers the thought. Past the sprawling corridors of his castle, past the ever-watchful eyes of servants too afraid to meet his gaze.

He finds you where the candlelight barely reaches, sitting by the window, your silk sleeves clutched in trembling fists, your shoulders drawn tight.

At first, he thinks you’re merely lost in thought.

Then, he hears it. The shallow, uneven hitch of your breath.

He’s heard every sound a person can make. Pain, terror, rage. But this—this quiet, fragile grief—is something else entirely.

For a moment, he simply watches. He should leave you to it.

But something about the way your fingers dig into your arms, as if holding yourself together, makes him speak.

"You mourn them."

The words break the silence like a blade through cloth.

You freeze, but you do not turn to face him. You don’t deny it either.

Sukuna should be pleased. You are finally bending under the weight of your circumstances, realizing the futility of resistance.

But the sight of you like this—spilling over with grief, silent and unguarded—unnerves him.

It irritates him.

He should leave. He should turn his back and let you drown in it.

Instead, he steps closer.

And before he can stop himself, his fingers brush against yours.

"You still have yourself," he murmurs, the words slow, deliberate. "That is more than most who cross my path."

Your breath catches.

Sukuna doesn’t know why he says it. Doesn’t know why he’s still standing here. But when you finally turn to face him, eyes rimmed red, pain etched into every delicate feature—he hates it.

Hates that he has to look at it. Hates that, for some reason, he cannot look away.

His hand is still there, hovering near yours. A mistake. He should pull away. Mock you. Walk out.

Instead, he does something even more foolish.

He moves closer.

You’re still staring at him, eyes glassy with unshed tears, lips slightly parted as if caught between words and silence. Sukuna doesn’t know which he despises more.

Your grief is suffocating, filling the air like incense—cloying, inescapable. It reminds him of things long buried. Things he does not care to remember.

And yet.

"Come here," he mutters, barely above a breath.

He expects resistance. A flinch. Maybe even a trembling whisper of defiance. You always fight him. Always.

But this time, you don't.

This time, you let him pull you in.

His touch is careful, almost hesitant, as if testing the weight of this unfamiliar act. But once you’re close—once your forehead rests against his chest, your fingers curling into the fabric of his robes—he doesn’t let go.

He can feel it then. The slight shake of your shoulders, the way your breath hitches against him. He has felt people tremble before—but never like this.

Never against him.

A sigh leaves him, low and tired. "You grieve for them, yet they still breathe," he murmurs, his lips close to your hair. "You act as if I have burned your home to the ground."

You swallow hard. "I might as well be dead to them."

Sukuna stiffens.

The weight of your words settles over him, unfamiliar and heavy. He has taken many things from many people—lives, kingdoms, freedom.

But this? The ache in your voice, the unspoken sorrow of being cast aside by those you loved most?

It is not something he has stolen.

It is something they have given.

For a long moment, he says nothing. And then—because he cannot offer you lies, nor promises of comfort—he does the only thing he can.

He holds you closer.

His grip is firm but not harsh, solid in a way that dares the world to challenge it. Let them call him a monster. A tyrant. Let them cower at his name.

None of it matters.

Because right now, you are in his arms, and he is the only one here.

And he will not let you break.

His thumb brushes idly over your shoulder, absentminded, like he's forgotten it's you he's holding. You, who have done nothing but push him away, spit fire at him when others cower.

And yet here you are, clutching onto him like he’s the last solid thing in a crumbling world.

He exhales through his nose, a quiet huff of amusement. "Tch. I didn’t know you had it in you to be so… delicate."

You stiffen, but he tightens his hold before you can pull away.

"Don’t," he murmurs, voice dropping into something dangerously soft. "Don’t start building your walls again."

His fingers find your chin, tilting your face up—just enough for your eyes to meet his. They’re still damp, shimmering like fractured starlight. And Sukuna?

Sukuna hates it.

Not because you’re crying. No, he's seen bloodied men and weeping queens before.

It’s because—against all logic, against every instinct that tells him to be cruel—he wants to take that pain away.

"You’re insufferable," he mutters, thumb brushing the curve of your cheekbone. "Sulking over people who abandoned you the second they found it convenient."

You swallow, a glare forming. "That’s my family you’re talking about."

"Exactly."

Your lips part, an argument forming, but you don't pull away. You stay.

He lets you.

"You have a home here," he says at last, almost begrudgingly. "Whether you like it or not."

You blink, surprised.

Sukuna tuts, shaking his head. "Don’t look so stunned, my queen. I’m not that heartless."

He leans in then, his breath warm against your temple, his voice a low murmur.

"But if you tell anyone I said that, I’ll have to kill them."

It’s a joke. Mostly.

You let out something caught between a scoff and a laugh, burying your face against his chest. And he lets you do that too.

For a while, neither of you speak. You just breathe. Just exist in each other’s presence.

And for the first time since this wretched arrangement began—since you were forced to leave the lands you loved—you don’t feel quite so alone.

Silence stretches between you. The warmth of Sukuna’s hands lingers against your skin, his grip no longer possessive, no longer a claim—just there. He watches you, the weight of his gaze heavy, unreadable.

Your chest rises and falls in uneven breaths. You should pull away. You should say something. But you can’t. You don’t want to.

Sukuna exhales sharply, a huff of amusement laced with something softer. "You're staring... Do I have something on my face?" he murmurs, his thumb ghosting over your knuckles.

You swallow hard, your pulse hammering in your throat. The space between you is fragile, delicate—something you’ve never had with him before.

“Shut up,” you whisper, voice trembling.

He smirks, tilting his head. “Make me.”

It’s the last push you need.

You close the distance, pressing your lips against his. It’s desperate, feverish, final—a clash of everything unspoken, of battle and surrender, of all the walls you swore you’d never let crumble. His hands slide up to cup your face, pulling you deeper, letting you take as much as you give.

You lose yourself in him. In the fire, in the softness hidden beneath it. And for the first time since he took you away, you don’t feel like you’re drowning.

The world fades. The war between you quiets. There is only this.

The kiss leaves you breathless.

You’re still reeling, lips tingling, your heart pounding against your ribs like a war drum when Sukuna’s hand finds your waist. With a low grunt, he pulls you into his lap as though it’s the most natural thing in the world. You gasp, startled, your hands pressed against his chest for balance, but he only smirks—lazily, like he’s been waiting for this moment all along.

“Well,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough near your ear, “didn’t think you’d be the one to lose control first.”

Your breath hitches. “I didn’t—”

“Didn’t what?” His lips brush along your jaw. “Didn’t mean to kiss me? Or didn’t mean to want it so badly?”

You try to look away, but his fingers curl gently around your chin, guiding your gaze back to his. His red eyes—dangerous, hungry—search yours, but there’s a flicker of something softer beneath the fire. A pause. A check.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, “and I will.”

You don’t.

Instead, your fingers twist in the fabric of his robe as if anchoring yourself—and that’s all the permission he needs.

His mouth finds yours again, rougher this time. Hungrier. His hands trace your sides, down your waist, learning the shape of you with reverent ease. The kiss deepens, tongues tangling, heat building fast and thick between your bodies. You can feel him, hard beneath you, but it doesn’t scare you—it sends a jolt of heat straight through your core.

And Sukuna notices.

“Fuck,” he growls, breaking the kiss for a heartbeat. “You’re killin’ me, princess.”

And when he kisses you again, it’s different. Slower. Devouring. One hand cradles the back of your head while the other trails lower, slipping beneath layers of silk to touch skin—bare, warm, sensitive. His calloused fingers drag a line along your thigh, and you gasp into his mouth, every nerve alight.

“You’re shaking,” he murmurs with a dark, amused smile. “That nervous?”

You manage a weak, “A little.”

“Good.” He nips at your lower lip. “Means you feel it.”

You’re straddling him now, nestled snug against his lap, your skirts bunched up between you. The soft silk does little to hide the growing friction, and you can feel the shift in him—his control thinning, his need sharpening.

His lips trail down your throat, warm breath skimming your skin, tongue flicking teasingly at your pulse.

“You’re trembling,” he mutters, voice thick with lust. “Is that fear, or anticipation?”

Your fingers fist into his robe. “I don’t know.”

He chuckles darkly, and the sound vibrates against your neck. “You will.”

A single hand smooths up your thigh beneath your nightgown, calloused fingertips dragging slow, deliberate paths along your bare skin. When he grazes the edge of your undergarments, you tense—but you don’t stop him. You can’t.

“Soft,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “So soft.”

Your breath hitches when his fingers press lightly against the heat between your legs, and his smirk deepens.

“Already warm for me.” His voice is velvet and gravel, a dangerous purr. “Do you even know how badly I’ve wanted this?”

“Sukuna…”

Your voice breaks, barely more than a whisper—but it’s enough.

That single plea undoes him.

And then he lifts you—just like that, effortlessly, like you weigh nothing—and carries you to the bed. His mouth trails kisses along your throat as he lays you down, his body sliding over yours. You arch into him instinctively, desperate for friction, and he chuckles against your skin. He helps undress you, eyes burning into each inch of newly exposed skin.

“Look at you,” he growls, voice thick with desire. “So pliant already. Didn’t even have to do anything.”

You squirm, heat pooling between your thighs. “Shut up.”

He grins at your flustered expression, and then—without warning—he disappears between your legs. You gasp, trying to sit up, but he drags your hips down, strong hands pinning you in place.

“Stay still,” he mutters, “and let me taste you.”

A cry rips from your throat the moment his tongue finds your sensitive clit and sucks. He devours you like a man starved, groaning against your core as your fingers twist in the sheets.

“S-Sukuna—”

Your thighs tremble, your back arches. It’s too much. Too good. He’s biting, kissing, licking and it’s so many sensations it makes you drip in copious amounts.

His hands part your folds, fingers prodding at your entrance before pushing in. Tears brim at your waterline and you’re sobbing. “S-Sukuna, it’s too much! I can't-”

“You can and you will. Now, spread those legs wider for me—that’s it—good.” He buries his face deeper, his nose nudging your swollen bud. His fingers continue their relentless pace and when he finds that spongy spot inside you, he pushes against it hard. And when he sucks gently, you come undone—your first orgasm crashing over you like a wave, leaving you gasping, flushed, boneless.

He rises slowly, licking his lips, eyes dark with satisfaction. “Didn’t even have to fuck you yet.”

You barely have time to catch your breath before Sukuna rises above you, crimson gaze smoldering as he watches you unravel beneath him. He strips off the last of his clothing, and your gaze drops instinctively, your lips parting.

He's big. Of course he is. Long, thick and veiny at all the right places

You squirm, suddenly unsure, but his hand cradles your jaw, tilting your gaze back to his.

“You're alright,” he murmurs, surprisingly gentle. “I won’t hurt you."

You feel the heat rush to your cheeks. “I’ve never…”

“I know,” he cuts in softly, kissing your cheek. “I'll go slow.”

But “slow” is a lie. A tease. Because the way he slides the tip against your entrance—just barely pushing in, then pulling away—has you trembling, desperate, needy.

“Sukuna,” you whimper, clutching his arms.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he growls, easing in with slow, maddening precision. “Like your body was made to take me.”

You moan—loud, helpless, clinging to him as he finally thrusts in fully. You’re stretched wide, full, overwhelmed in the best possible way. He’s panting above you, struggling to hold himself back.

“You’re gonna ruin me,” he mutters against your neck.

And then he moves—rolling his hips deep, smooth, precise. Every drag of his cock sends sparks ricocheting through your nerves. He sets a rhythm, slow but firm, his control ironclad, his dominance clear.

Each moan, each gasp, each broken plea earns a smirk.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, brushing hair off your flushed face. “Fucked dumb already and I’ve barely started.”

You gasp as he thrusts deeper, one hand on your thigh to spread you wider. Your head falls back, mouth open, and he dips down to kiss you—deep, possessive, filled with heat.

You don’t know how long you’re lost in it—all you know is him. His voice in your ear, his body owning yours, his whispered praises and filthy promises.

You’re close again—so close you’re trembling—and then—

Knock-knock.

“Your Highness?” your handmaiden calls softly through the door. “I was wondering if you’d like me to draw a bath before bed.”

You freeze.

Sukuna stills inside you, chest heaving, a wicked glint in his eye.

“I-I’m fine!” you call out, voice breathless and a little too high.

A pause. “Are you alright, my lady? You sound… unwell.”

“I’m alright! J-just a headache- d-don’t wo-”

Before you can say another word, Sukuna presses a hand to your mouth, muffling your response. He leans in toward the door and, in that infuriatingly calm drawl of his, says “She’s fine. I’ve got it under control. I’ll take real good care of my queen tonight.”

Then he rolls his hips—slow, deep, deliberate.

You moan against his palm, loud enough that it echoes in the chamber.

A beat of silence.

"Apologies, Your Majesty,” your handmaiden says hastily. “I’ll leave you to it.”

As her footsteps fade, Sukuna lowers his hand and looks down at you smugly. “Oops.”

“She definitely heard that,” you hiss, mortified.

He chuckles darkly. “Should’ve kept your voice down, sweetheart.”

And then he drives into you again, hard, relentless—until you can’t think, can’t speak, can’t breathe without him.

Your nails dig into his back as Sukuna picks up the pace, relentless now, pounding into you with a rhythm that’s pure sin. He’s feral—yet still somehow completely in control, watching every reaction, every shudder, every sweet sound that escapes you.

“You feel that?” he growls, breath ragged against your ear. “You’re taking me so well.”

You whimper, clinging to him as your body tightens again—hot, electric, right there.

“‘Kuna-”

His entire body stills and for a heartbeat, he doesn’t move. Then—then—he’s on you again, lips crashing against yours like he’s lost his mind. Like that one nickname was all it took to break whatever leash he had on himself.

“Say that again,” he begs, voice rough and cracking at the edges. “Say it again, please.”

You whimper, eyes wide, breath stolen. “’Kuna.”

He snaps his hips forward, hard, claiming every inch of you all over again. “You’re mine, princess,” he hisses. “Tell me you’re mine.”

“Yours,” you gasp, clinging to him like he’s the only solid thing in the world. “Yours, ‘Kuna.”

“That’s fucking right,” he groans, head dropping to your shoulder, voice ragged and trembling. “My queen. My wife. Mine.”

Each word is a brand, hot and absolute.

Mine, mine, mine.

“I—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can.” His voice is low, commanding, but there’s a strange softness underneath. “Give it to me. Let go.”

You do.

You cry out, back arching as the orgasm crashes through you—white-hot and shattering, stealing every breath from your lungs. Sukuna groans, hips stuttering, and then he's spilling inside you with a deep, guttural snarl, his entire body tensing as he rides it out, buried to the hilt.

For a long moment, there’s only silence.

Heavy breaths. Sticky skin. A faint tremble in your thighs.

And then Sukuna collapses beside you, pulling you close, one tattooed arm slung around your waist. He nuzzles into your hair, still catching his breath, and for a moment… he doesn’t say anything cruel or cocky.

Just holds you.

“You okay?” he murmurs at last, quieter than you’ve ever heard him.

You nod, cheeks flushed, heart still pounding. “Y-Yeah…”

A pause.

“That was your first?” His tone is unreadable.

You glance away, shy. “...Yes.”

Sukuna hums, fingers brushing over your arm in slow, absent strokes. “Could’ve fooled me.”

You laugh weakly. “Shut up.”

He chuckles, the sound low and rumbling. “You were perfect.”

You blink, startled.

Sukuna rarely says anything without an edge. But this... this feels real.

You don’t reply—just nestle closer to him, your head resting on his chest as his hand lazily trails patterns on your back.

“I scared you,” he mutters after a beat. “At the beginning.”

You nod slowly. “You still do.”

He snorts. “Good. Wouldn’t want you getting too comfortable.”

But his hold tightens, and you feel his lips brush your temple—so soft, so fleeting, it’s almost like he didn’t mean for you to notice.

You smile faintly.

Outside, the castle sleeps. The halls are silent, the air cool. But here—in this bed, tangled in sheets and limbs and breaths—you’re warm.

You close your eyes. And for the first time since being torn from your home, you feel… safe.

You’re still catching your breath, limbs tangled with his as the heat between your bodies begins to settle. The room is quiet save for your soft, uneven inhales and the rhythmic thud of your heart, still racing. Sukuna’s hand lazily traces your spine, his other arm wrapped under your head, holding you close as if you might disappear.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice low, satisfied. “This suits you, princess.”

You nudge him with a scoff, cheeks warm. “You’re insufferable.”

He chuckles darkly, eyes gleaming as he shifts to hover over you once more. “Mm. And yet here you are…” He presses a kiss to your throat. “Pliant. Breathless.” Another kiss, lower. “Mine.”

Your breath hitches, fingers curling into his shoulders. “We just—”

“I know,” he whispers against your skin, voice thick with want. “But I’m not done with you yet.”

Your eyes widen. “'Kuna-”

His lips brush against yours, soft but burning. “Say yes.”

Oh, boy.

author's note : honestly wasnt planning on this being so long. also my first time writing a long fic so feedback is much appreciated <33 leave a like/reblog if you enjoyed!

please do not steal, modify, or translate my work.

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madamechrissy · 2 months ago

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Pornstar! Suguru

pairings - Pornstar! Suguru x Camgirl! Reader

warnings - oral (m and f receiving) fingering, p in v sex, Suguru is whipped, so is reader, mentions of masturbation, backshots, creampie, light smacking, choking, Suguru has piercingsss

I've gotten a lot of requests for Pornstar! Suguru from Baby you're a Star, so here's a drabble for him!

Pornstar! Suguru who is just a little nervous when he gets asked to join your OF stream, you are so pretty and you've only done solo, so he knows it's a big deal. You're giggling when he walks into your place, starstruck by him, he was one of the most popular stars there were of course! His violet eyes darken when the two of you are in your cute little room, a bed full of plushies and lit up with pink string lights, silky pink blankets and pillows. 'Girly, huh?' he teases, as if he didn't already know exactly what your room looked like, watching as the ringlight illuminates your pretty body as you strip slowly. 'I do love pink, it's true' you murmur, almost a little shy as his eyes devour you - and why? Thousands of people see you, but it's him.

Pornstar! Suguru has done countless shoots, on and off professional sets, but the way you look right now in the warm glow of the light makes him falter for a moment, before collecting himself, seeing your nerves. 'So pretty, shit I'm sorry...' he trails off, making you instantly relax, taking his hand then and looking under your lashes. 'You're a little more experienced at couples' shoots, can you guide me a bit, Geto?' He nods then, turning you and making you gasp out, then bending you over, beginning the stream. You feel such a thrill as sure hands guide up your thighs, and his big hand smacking your ass and making your tummy clench in desire then at the sting.

Pornstar! Suguru displays you like a fucking prize, as the stream goes insane with comments and tips. You whine out when his long slender fingers find your slit, thighs trembling already, slick making the perfect clicking noise just for both of your fans. 'Fuck, this wet already?' He taunts softly, you just whine out, arching your pretty ass up for more. Suguru sinks two fingers in to the knuckle then, groaning as he feels that grip, curling them up, your head falling back as you cry out in pleasure, as his fingers press that spot in your walls that makes you blinded. He has the audacity to slip his other hand up your spine, leaving goosebumps everywhere, lips against your ear - 'bet I make you feel so much better than that dildo you fuck this pretty pussy with'

Pornstar! Suguru thrives off any of his co stars pleasure. But he is dying to bury his throbbing cock inside you then. You may not know, but he's jerked it to your videos countless times, your pussy was so perfect on camera. But in person? - 'Ngh!' - You're crying out now, he feels your muscles clench, when he slips his fingers out, sucking your sweetness off them. That's when Suguru loses it, your taste fucks him up, before you can process he's on his knees, cool metal of his tongue ring flicking your clit. 'Oh my god I- ah!' You're trembling as his tongue devours you, the moans are not for show. Fuck you've never felt this good, back arching to fuck his handsome face. You pause, whispering - 't-too much, I'm so sorry-' only for him to slip his tongue in and out of your cunt in the most delicious tongue fuck.

Pornstar! Suguru chuckles a bit, leaning up as you look back at him. Your hands are gripping your soft pink blankets as his silken black hair falls against your thighs. 'Keep fucking my face, Princess, s'okay' he starts fucking you with that long pink tongue again, slurping you up so obscene to the thrill of your viewers but it's hard to remember they're there when he curls up in your gummy walls and you're gushing down his face. Pressure hitting your tummy making you scream out, head thrown back, shaking. 'Suguru! I'm cumming!' He chuckles, acting like he's not leaking pre against his pants right now, murmuring - 'cum all over m'face, hmm?'

Pornstar! Suguru you've certainly heard of numerous times from friends, but you did not know how talented he was, when you're cumming so hard and he's drinking it all up, tongue ring clicking right on that little clit while he spreads you wide for the camera. He has to remember to get all your good angles, it's what a costar does. Costars don't bury their face like he's dying to again, and costars certainly don't whimper and touch themselves, but Suguru is too lost in that flavor circling his taste buds, licking your juices off his lips when he stands, smacking your cunt with a sharp tap. He takes your hair in his hands, pulling at it - you agreed to it a little rough before hand - but he still whispers in your ear 'this all okay, love?' and you nod weakly as he pulls you to your knees. 'Yes, I'm good, promise.'

Pornstar! Suguru is of course notorious for being caring and thoughtful, but he's usually not rough on set - it was a bit of a special request, since you so frequently find yourself masturbating to his videos - not that you'd say so! - But of course he was your first and only choice for a partner on cam, you were all too shocked when he said yes. He gently smacks your cheeks each, while you suck him, only serving to make you wetter, but something about your eyes darting up and gazing at his perfect, chiseled body so slow makes his cock even more sensitive, you grind against the bed for friction while he fucks your throat. You study the piercings on his flat brown nipples, thumb brushing over the one on his belly button, but your favorite is the one on his cock, the one you're strategically massaging your tongue on, watching his adam's apple bob as his head falls back.

Pornstar! Suguru always uses protection, but he may or may not have ignored the condoms laying there, and you may or may not have said a thing, just eagerly begging him to fuck you - 'now, please, mnh!' with your ass in the air. He grabs your hips tightly with his huge hands, gentle at first, but then he loses his mind inside your hot, soaking wet cunt, his silken locks falling against your back as he bends over you, cock shoved balls deep. You're stuffed so full you scream out, as his hand grips one of your pretty tits, squishing them and twisting your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Your head falls back against him when he just rolls those hips - saying the most filthy things in varying tones. 'Tight little cunt, it's a big stretch isn't it?' he says loud for the cam, but then in your other ear, just a murmur - 'Feel so fuckin' perfect wrapped around me, Princess' the contradictions so sweet and perfect you're shattering in front of him.

Pornstar! Suguru is lost in your scent, your moans, how good you fucking feel, he can't pay attention to the absorbent amount of tips or comments, if he did he may get mad, he doesn't think he'd like to read how badly men wanna fuck you. To know he's your first for a shoot like this gets him feral, possessive, one hand around your throat and squeezing now. 'Cum f'me, huh, lemme feel her grip me so good - hah- there it is' you can't tell what's for show anymore, not when he squeezes under your jaw while he slams his cock in, not when you're cumming and gushing arousal all down his veiny length. Not when you're trembling, and begging - 'cum in me, Suguru please!' like a whole fucking idiot, and not when he does just that, giving you both your first creampies on set.

Pornstar! Suguru gets the perfect shot of that cum oozing out of your pretty, abused little hole, the bright pink of your cunt such a stark contrast to the white ropes pouring. He scowls when he reads the comments, jaw clenched- he doesn't know why but he gets furious, shutting off the camera now and flipping you on your back. You giggle, so breathless, hands brushing his locks as his violet eyes go almost black. 'Done with the shoot?' you ask softly, he nods just a bit, before fingering the cum drooling down your inner thigh, shoving it back in, watching your soppy little hole swallow it. 'Not done with you yet, princess' he murmurs, sucking the mix of you off his fingers, cheeks hollowing before he is right back to fucking you, this time kissing you on your lips- and it's off camera.

Pornstar! Suguru has no issue coming back the next morning with a plan B and breakfast, he'd buy stock in them if he could bust inside you five times in one night again. You're all flustered, somehow you have on his dress shirt, messy hair as you take it with your coffee, and he has the faintest blush on his cheeks. The two of you did so well, a whole fucking sensation. So Suguru has to of course bring you to his house next time, to do another stream the next week, and the two of you can't help each other from doing shoots together constantly. Rumors surround the two of you - are you a couple!? - but both of you never answer them, you both assume the mating presses and desperate kisses behind Suguru's curtain of hair speak for themselves.

Sugu needs more lovvve !!

perm tags- @alt--er--love @nanasukii28 @cuntphoric @loafteaw @n1vi @indiewritesxoxo @miizuzu @beachaddict48 @honeybunnnnie @re-tired-succubus @gojosukuna2268 @waterfal-ling @1brii @wise-fangirl @moncher-ire @orikixx @uhnosav @baepsays @designerpvssy @orixxxana @airandyeah @nina-from-317 @evelynxxo @naammiii @soyokosuguru @espresso1patronum @tomboy-disaster @iam-souless @lanii-i @cristy-101 @doeeyestoji @cvixmei @mutsu422 @ivyvenus333 @g00seg1rl @suki91 @satoao-main @fairygardenprincesss @theonlyjuggernaut @huntyhuntycunty @lovelockdownff @ibreathesmut @s777athv @twinklywinkly @akiii143 @squeezyvalkyrie @cookielovesbook-akie @oinksa @grignardsreagent @shokosbunny

#suguru x reader #suguru geto smut #suguru geto x you #suguru geto x reader #geto smut #suguru smut #jjk smut #jjk x reader #suguru x female reader #geto suguru x you #suguru x you #geto #jjk geto #suguru headcanons #suguru geto #divider by anitalenia

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mudskip-drabbles · 1 year ago

Note

FOAMING AT THE MOUTH I never see anything related to giorick THANK YOU <3 canialsorequestmoregayshitlikedragondidorcaninotdothat

jsdhfjs i knowwwww its so sad how short their tag is but i will fill that thing myself So Help Me lmao and yes you 100% can request more Gay Shit!! is there anything specific you want or just Whatever?

#pls request All the gay shit i wanna write these idiots So Bad lmao #the epithet erased rp community is next to Nothing #p sure only dragon our other buddy nickel and i are the only ones in it lmao #not a drabble

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fushitoru · 7 months ago

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the adventures of spider-man! a spiderman!gojo collection

pairing ⸺ spiderman!gojo x f!reader

summary ⸺ you have always existed in gojo satoru’s shadow. he is a physics prodigy, a person that everyone endlessly admires for his intelligence and charisma, and you hate him for taking the spotlight that you deserve to share with him. but it all changes one day at 5:07AM at your starbucks job when gojo barges in, ordering ridiculously sweet drinks and posing existential questions. is there more to gojo that meets the eye, and is it linked to the vigilante swinging around New York City?

warnings ⸺ college au, academic rivals to lovers, smut, tooth rotting fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, attempt at SA on reader, injury and mentions of blood, mentions of gun, inappropriate use of webs LOL, fingering, oral, p in v sex, reader has a vagina, fem reader implied

playlist ⸺ quantum rizzics

a/n AHHH spiderman!gojo m list is here!!! THANK YOU for 10k+ notes on the first oneshot as well as 5k followers :') requests are open for drabbles and suggestions for the next oneshot are also welcome!! comment down below if you'd like to be tagged :)

long fics

01 ⸺ infect me with your love

02 ⸺ meet me at our spot (soon!)

oneshots

i don't wanna lose this with you

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httpsserene · 1 year ago

Text

mama y papa — 𝐥𝐧. 𝟒 & 𝐨𝐩. 𝟖𝟏 lando norris x baker/pastry chef! fem!black!reader & platonic oscar piastri drabbles & smau. fluff & humor. reader owns & works ather bakery in monaco.

synopsis: you and lando are blessed with a beautiful baby boy.

༊࿐ ⊹ ˚. i took it too far this time. it's long aslllll. but it might be the best thing i've ever offered to f1 tumblr in my entire career. grab a snack, drink, and tuck yourself into a comfortable position xxx

⌕ join taglist | requests & feedback | upcoming chapters | table of contents ↻

imessage • preseason 2023

That’s how you find yourself outside of the MTC in the mid-morning two days later. You’re mildly…exhausted, after commandeering the kitchen in Lando’s Silverstone flat to make a sickening amount of banana bread to feed all of McLaren. After tipping your Uber to the MTC double what the ride costs (for allowing you to stuff his car with a hundred pounds of your decadent treat and helping you unload them into the lobby), you’re greeted with warm welcomes and hungry eyes from the staff. Eager to eat, they’re quick to find you a couple of carts to help you move all the banana bread to the communal area. You’re walking backward to make sure none of your sliced loaves fall, smiling with all the workers as they follow you through the building. Setting up shop, you hand out your sliced banana bread, chatting and catching up with everyone as they sing praises over your sweet treat. Word travels around the MTC quickly when it comes to you bringing baked goods and it comes as no surprise to you when you see a perplexed and overwhelmed Oscar Piastri join the line. You’re bursting with excitement and anticipation by the time he’s picking up his slice.

“Thank you for the banana bread,” Oscar expresses softly, his smile boxy.

“Oh, of course,” you dismiss his gratitude lightly, struggling to keep your cuteness aggression at bay, “I’ve been doing this for the factory since Lando joined–and I figured it would be a good welcoming gift for you!”

“Wait–are you Lando’s girlfriend?” Oscar chokes on his bite of bread.

You rush forward to pat his back, ordering for someone to get him a glass of water; you would hate to be responsible for the death of Mclaren’s rookie driver. When his airways are cleared, you exchange proper greetings and you are quick to make sure Lando has been treating him well.

“Honestly, I should’ve known it was you” Oscar chuckles, “Lando cannot stop talking about you. Zak had to establish a rule that only allowed him to mention you two times an hour.”

“That must have been rough for him,” you snort dryly, “the rule was five times an hour last year. Anyways, Oscar–who do you main on Mario Kart? This could make or break our friendship.”

You find yourself enamored with Oscar as the conversation goes on. He stands and keeps you company as you continue to hand out banana bread. It’s mostly you doing the talking; Oscar’s quiet, a man of few words but he listens well. He has a sarcastic sense of humor that is similar to Lando’s yet completely different: Lando’s jokes are loud, Oscar’s are hushed. He’s humble, shy even, flustering when you lightly tease him. You’re well past having Oscar as your friend—you’re convinced that he’s achieved little brother or son status.

“Banana Bread!” Zak shouts as he walks up to the two of you, Lando at his side, “Please tell me this is your homemade version?”

“I would never settle for store-bought banana bread,” you gasp dramatically, “It’s homemade as always, Zak. This time I did my grandmother’s recipe instead of my own.”

The CEO practically jumps with glee and rushes to grab a couple of slices–he’s only had this version of the dessert once, and swore it changed his life. Lando walks to you, pressing a kiss to your temple before nodding at Oscar.

“What do you think, love, “Lando hums to you softly, “Did he pass the test?”

You blink up at him and whisper, “I invited him over for dinner tonight—do you think we can use one of the printers here to print out adoption forms?”

bahrain • 2023

After qualifying, it felt like you and Zak were the only people in the garage who remained optimistic for race day. Lando was less than pleased with placing 11th; he parroted words of positivity and hope for improvement but in the privacy of your hotel room he crumbled. He buried his face in your neck muffling just how low his expectations for this season are. You tried to convince him it was too early in the season—the first race weekend—to make that decision but, he was too in his feelings to see reason.

Oscar was disappointed in himself for placing 18th. When he took off his helmet after returning to the garage, you could see the doubt in his skills lingering through his eyes. You pulled him to sit with you as you continued to wait for the second session to begin and gently reassured him that this wasn’t an accurate representation of his skills; Formula One is a massive change from Formula Two. Oscar nodded at your reassurance but you could tell he was still freshly in shock at his “terrible” performance so your logical advice wasn’t believed.

On race day, however, you found your positivity dip as well. Oscar DNF’d on lap 13 and rage filled the spot that optimism used to inhabit. The Australian was handling his retirement better than you were; he brushed off everybody’s apologies and went straight to reviewing his data and watching Lando’s race—you, however, wanted to snap at any of his mechanics that walked by. It wasn’t like Lando’s race was any better if you could call what he was doing a race. Slow pit stops, six pit stops at that, the fast lap gamble failure, finishing last, and being two laps down from the race leader…Zak took one glance at you and quickly made himself scarce.

You rode back with both of the boys to the hotel and nearly cried for them with how down the mood was. On the walk to your rooms, Oscar attempted to exchange goodbyes with you and Lando before you cut him off.

“Uh-uh, nope,” you shook your head, “I pre-ordered dinner for us. Come eat?”

Oscar stuttered, “O-oh? I don’t want to intrude–”

“Oscar Jack Piastri,” both he and Lando winced at the sound of his full name, “I’m not going to let either one of you go to bed on an empty stomach. You’re going to eat dinner with me and Lan and you’re going to drink several glasses of water so I can make sure you’re properly rehydrated. Understood?”

“I would love to have dinner with you guys,” Oscar blinked at you in fear, “Also, how do you know my middle name?”

You laughed as you unlocked the door, holding it open for both of the boys as you walked in, “I had a wonderful conversation with your mother, of course.”

“When did you meet my mom?!”

australia • 2023

You were on the edge of losing your voice as you screamed and cheered with Nicole Piastri and Adam Norris for both of the McLaren boys and their double points finishes. The two drivers finishing in the midfield felt like the team had figured something out for Oscar’s home race (if you ignored how almost half of the drivers retired their cars). The Piastri’s invited everyone to a local restaurant to celebrate Oscar’s first points in Formula One, but before you and Lando headed out, the two of you nearly lost your minds.

The two of you forced him to pose with his car and take several pictures with it, strongly suggesting that he smiles big and wide for the camera. Fernando and Lewis walked by and burst into laughter, claiming that you and Lando were treating Oscar like a child. So, obviously, the two of you committed to the bit. You guys cooed and called Oscar’s name, clapping and jumping to pretend like he was a toddler whose attention needed to be grabbed to have him look at the camera. The rookie cringed in embarrassment, cheeks burning red as he tried to convince you guys to stop making a fuss over him.

Lando gasped, sickened at Oscar’s words, “Oscar! How could you say such a thing to your mother and me? We only want to celebrate our boy!”

You nodded furiously in agreement, nearly breaking character at the dumbfounded look that rose to the Australian’s face.

“What the fuck,” Oscar blurted out, yet he continued to smile for your camera.

“Oh my god!” You said appalled, “Lando did you teach our son that foul language?! I told you not to curse in front of the baby!”

instagram • bakewithyn • april 6th • melbourne ⚑

liked by, oscarpiastri, landonorris, mclaren, markwebber, and 413,257 others

bakewithyn: happy birthday oscar 🥳 there’s no birthday gift like scoring your FIRST EVER POINTS in f1 at your HOME race but !!! i’m super happyyy you enjoyed the 🐨 cookies i made for you (lando helped ig 😐) 🤗🤗🤗

tagged oscarpiastri

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📌 yninstagram ps! these are limited edition cookies at my bakery for oscar piastri day!!! first come first serve until sell out! all proceeds go to the australian koala foundation as it was oscar’s personal request 😇

➥ user charitable king shit fr 👑

➥ user FUCK i wish i was rich enough to visit/live in monaco

➥ user don't worry, they're nearly sold out already and the bakery opened three hours ago !!!!

nicolepiastri these were so tasty! i wish i had your baking skills

➥ yninstagram tysm mama piastri !!! i'm blushing

➥ user mama piastri???? im crying

user the koala photo with the bow 😩

➥user what r u talking about?? i only see a picture of oscar with a bow?

➥ user fr i only see oscar 😵‍💫

user "lando helped ig" what did he do? look pretty the entire time you baked LMAO

➥ landonorris actually i was allowed to put the ingredients in the bowls AND preheat the oven too 😤

➥ landonorris and i always look pretty wtf

➥ user omg...yn gave him the toddler tasks 💀💀💀

oscarpiastri the cookies were so good! they nearly tasted better than my first points felt

➥ yninstagram omg high praise from the man himself 🤯

➥ oscarpiastri had to fight my sisters to make sure they didn't only leave me with crumbs

➥ user oh i understand that eldest sibling battle

➥ user my little sisters bite i think they have rabies

➥ user oh what a shame. euthanasia is an option 🤗

miami • 2023

The energy after Miami was rightfully terrible. The car is shit; Lando lost a position from where he qualified to make him P17 and Oscar maintained his P19. It’s hot, and humid, and everyone in the garage is miserable. McLaren is a family. When the boys don’t do good, everybody understands and feels their pain. Nobody likes seeing the boys with frowns on their lips and sadness in their eyes, but it’s becoming a usual appearance during this season. So to turn those frowns upside down, you went on a hunt for some cold treats. You got Lando a frozen lemonade and Oscar an ice cream sandwich—it’s a safe choice, you hadn’t necessarily thought about asking him what kind of ice cream he prefers.

You found Oscar staring at the wall, eyes focused forward but his mind somewhere else. You tapped him gently on the shoulder, offering him a small smile when he looked at you. He tried to offer you a smile of his own but couldn’t manage to hold it for more than a couple seconds. You presented the ice cream sandwich to him and he looked at you in surprise, as if he couldn’t believe you would give it to him.

“F-for,” his voice cracks awkwardly, “For me?”

You hummed, ruffling his hair and taking a seat on the couch next to him, “No, for the King of England. Yes–for you Oscar.”

He thanked you shyly and quickly began to unwrap the packaging, munching away happily. You took a second to text Lando your location and inform him of the frozen lemonade waiting for him, and when you turned to look back at Oscar—the kid was a mess. He wasn’t even a quarter of the way through the dessert sandwich and you’re convinced he managed to spill more of it than he ingested. The ice cream was painted across the lower half of his face and dripping down his hands–you caught a drop of it with a napkin before it fell and stained his shirt.

“Jesus, Oscar!” you scolded him, “I look away for two seconds and you make a mess!”

Oscar shrugged at you, feigning innocence, but you saw the staple redness of embarrassment begin to tint his chubby cheeks. You snapped your fingers in remembrance before you moved to rifle through your purse, Oscar staring at you with wide eyes as he continued to snack away. You exclaimed in delight, showing off a pair of wet wipes you remembered to bring with you. Oscar accepted the offered wipes and you watched carefully to make sure he removed all the smudges of ice cream from his hands and face.

“Hi, lovely girl,” Lando approached you, throwing himself onto the sofa next to you. He gave you a soft kiss on the lips and temple before grabbing his now lemonade slushy and taking a look at Oscar.

“Woah, mate,” Lando teased, “Did you lose in a fight against the ice cream sandwich?”

Oscar rolled his eyes and ignored Lando as he finished cleaning up. Once he was done, you gathered all of the dirty wipes on the table to be thrown away. You and Lando both watched Oscar as he ate the rest of his snack in fear of another mess occurring—and, then you had a bright idea. Leaning forward, you took a dry napkin and tucked it into the collar of his McLaren polo, creating a makeshift bib.

“Lando, remind me to get our son ice cream in a cup from now on!”

twitter • may 14th

instagram • landonorris • may 23rd • monte carlo ⚑

liked by, bakewithyn, charlesleclerc, fernandoalonso, and 502,113 others

landonorris: does it still count as a date night if your boy and his best friend are building legos in the next room🤨

tagged bakewithyn, oscarpiastri, logansargeant

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user "your boy" WTF DOES THAT MEAN ‼️‼️‼️

user they're building legos before the race weekend starts 🤧

user has oscar been staying with lando since last week?

➥ user i thought he was just sleeping over for one night 🧐

adamnorris does this make me a grandfather?

➥ user what the hell is happening

➥ landonorris um? surprise haha 😀

bakewithyn it's a great date night! it's comforting knowing ozzy's in the next room over

➥ bakewithyn i have separation anxiety :)

➥ landonorris me too omg this was my best idea ever

➥ user this is like a reverse 13th reason- it's like my 1st reason i'm glad to be alive

➥ user ozzy 🫠

landonorris logan and osc just went silent. chat, should i be worried?

➥ user i'll bet my life savings that one of them has a lego shoved up their nose 😬

➥ user when kids go quiet it's never good !!!!

qatar • 2023

You cried an embarrassing amount of times this weekend. Your son won his first sprint race in his Formula One career, and his father—your boyfriend—was up there on the podium with him to celebrate. It seems like you have to make another special dessert for your bakery to celebrate both of your boys, but you can worry about brainstorming ideas when you stop crying into Andrea Stella’s shoulder in the middle of the pit lane. You’re sure that your face will be posted all over Twitter in a couple of hours.

A part of you wished that Lando had won the sprint race, just as he probably wanted the same thing. But, as both of you made eye contact with each other over Oscar’s head, the Australian rambling endlessly as he hugged his trophy on your hotel room floor, both of you knew that there was no better outcome this weekend than Oscar getting a taste of victory. Lando’s win will come in due time. A P2, P3 finish on Sunday was just the proof everyone needed of McLaren’s improvement and the threat they may pose to Red Bull next year.

são paulo • 2023

You had the Grand Prix playing on your phone as you did some prep work for the bakery. The race ended and you couldn’t help but feel happy, yet relieved for the race to be over for different reasons. Lando had a wonderful drive today, and Oscar had the opposite; you were just glad it wasn’t a DNF for him.

You had only just begun wiping down the counters when the sound of the post-race show is interrupted by the ringtone you have set for Oscar. You paused quickly, scooping your phone up to answer.

“Hi, Ozzy,” you cooed gently, “How are you feeling? Sorry about your race buddy, that was unfortunate.”

“It happens, I guess. I feel like shit, mostly. Like I let the team down.”

“No way, Oscar! You’re not letting anybody down. Your race result today wasn’t the result of your skills, it was the result of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. It was a racing incident. If anybody tells you differently, let me know. I’ll rip their vocal cords out.”

Oscar’s laugh crackled through the receiver. “Yes, mum. I’ll let you know. I really want some of your chocolate chip cookies, they’re the perfect bad race remedy.”

“Well, I’m flying out in a few hours to meet you guys in Brazil so I can celebrate Lando’s—sorry, excuse me—your father’s birthday with him. I think there may be some time for me in my schedule to make some cookies with you.”

“Really? We should make some for Lando too! Wait, before you leave, I left his birthday gift—”

“—In our apartment, I remember! I already packed it in my luggage, I wouldn’t forget.”

“You’re the best, seriously.”

“Mhm, I know. Also, we should share some of these cookies with Charles too, his radio message made me cry.”

“Okay, he can have one cookie.”

“Oscar Jack,” you said dryly.

“Yes, sharing is caring or whatever. He can have like...two.”

instagram • bakewithyn • november 13th • las vegas ⚑

liked by, mclaren, landonorris, f1, oscarpiastri and 353,764 others

bakewithyn: happy birthday to lando norris. he's a pretty cool guy, a great dad, and the perfect boyfriend. love you lots, baby, and i'll love you forever xxx

tagged landonorris

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user wait is this a pregnancy announcement 😨

user this is giving engagement reveal

charlesleclerc bro. if i didn't know you guys i would think your caption was serious 😣

➥ bakewithyn get pranked LOL XD

➥ user oh i feel like i just got catfished

➥ user wait so lando didn't propose nor did he put a baby in her 😒

➥ user I WANTED A BABY NORRIS

➥ user oscar exists? he's literally their child

oscarpiastri no fr i thought i was about to learn i had a sibling otw from this post

➥ bakewithyn ozzy we would've told you???

➥ landonorris you literally bought the card for me

➥ oscarpiastri a boy can hope for a younger sibling can he not :(

➥ bakewithyn so close 😚 no you can't! hope that helps xo

➥ landonorris sorry osc, it's your mum's decision 🤷‍♂️

➥ user does this mean lando wants an actual kid

mclaren admin was terrified ngl 😅

➥ mclaren i thought you really posted an engagement and pregnancy reveal without letting me know 😭

➥ landonorris sorry admin, i'll keep you in the loop in the future

➥ user landoyn engagement soon??????

twitter • november 18th • las vegas ⚑

twitter • preseason 2024

miami • 2024

Lando had you pinned to the wall in his driver's room, with his hands tangled in your curls and his mouth devouring yours. Your moans are muffled into his lips as you grind against his thigh. You tried to multitask, struggling to pull his driver’s suit down. Lando lifted you slightly, encouraging you to wrap your legs around his waist and neither of you cared to pull away at the sound of your foot hitting his P1 trophy and knocking it over. One of his hands fell from your hair to grasp at the smooth brown skin of your neck, his palm acting as a warm weighted choker on your throat and you broke away from the kiss to moan.

“Fuck, Lando—get naked,” you whined desperately, “we don’t have much time for you to tease me right now!”

Lando laughed as he moved to press kisses along your jawline and behind your ear. You felt his lips part on your skin, his breath ghosting over you causing goosebumps to rise, but it’s not his voice you hear.

“Lando, they need us for pictures—OH MY GOD WHAT THE FUCK,” yelped Oscar, the sound of his hand smacking over his eyes reverberating around the room.

You shrieked in surprise, pushing your boyfriend away from you as you speedily readjusted your clothes. Lando positioned himself in front of you, his back facing you allowing you a little more privacy as he speedily fixed his suit around his waist.

“Learn how to knock, kid,” Lando huffed, no shame found in his words, “You interrupted my winning celebration.”

You screamed in dismay, slapping the back of Lando’s head and Oscar began to stumble out of the room, bumping into the doorframe as he still covered his eyes.

“Yeah, knock in the future, I understand,” Oscar sounds like he’s about to cry, “I feel like I just saw my mum and dad having sex!”

instagram • bakewithyn • may 12th • mama's house ⚑

liked by oscarpiastri, alexandrasaintmleux, landonorris, and 551,012 others

bakewithyn: LOOK AT MY SON 🥺🥺 PRIDE IS NOT THE WORD IM LOOKING FOR 🗣️🗣️🔊🔊 (happy mother's day to all the beautiful mamas x)

tagged oscarpiastri

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oscarpiastri did dad get you anything 🙃

➥ user 👀👀👀

➥ landonorris well i would've if SOMEBODY told me we were celebrating this year 🤬🤬🤬🤬

➥ oscarpiastri i didn't know i *had* to tell you

➥ user wowwwww lando

➥ user shameful honestly 😕

markwebber happy milf day

➥ markwebber *mother's day sorry typo

➥ bakewithyn what the fuck ☠️☠️☠️

➥ user that was not a typo mark

➥ user sir u are not slick LMAO

➥ bakewithyn i mean...oscar wouldn't mind a step dad, his fatther didn't get me anything today :(

➥ landonorris AYO BABY PLEASE 🧎‍♂️

oscarpiastri you know what would be an even better mother's day gift? getting a puppy 🤭

➥ bakewithyn we are not getting a puppy ozzy.

➥ landonorris should've clued me in osc i might've convinced her for you

➥ oscarpiastri :[

monaco • 2024

You’re about to crash THE FUCK out. At first, it was a little half-joke. Oscar’s home race in Australia, his 1/16th home race in China, and his 3/16th home race in Italy. You originally thought his tweet about “searching for his Monegasque roots” was cute, but you didn’t expect Charles Marc Herve Perceval (Demon Spawn) Leclerc to step into your playing field.

Who the hell does he think he is? Offering to adopt your son? And, Oscar is going along with it? And, the Miami Grand Prix account making a “Certificate of Adoption?” You started to like Miami after Lando won there; and now they’ve betrayed you. Every fan jumped on the bandwagon, thinking that this was the most adorable thing to happen. Like Oscar hasn’t been your child the minute he stepped foot into the MTC in Silverstone. Like he didn’t give you a Mother’s Day present? The Monegasques have some nerve; you were close with Charles and Alex but, now they’ve encroached on your and Lando’s territory. You’re committing several murders today.

You laughed hysterically when Oscar joined Lando and you for lunch, mentioning that Charles and Alex invited him to eat with the rest of the Leclercs at family dinner after qualifying. You agreed to let him but not without making sure Charles and Alex are qualified for the job. Lando also cornered you in the kitchen and persuaded you to allow Oscar to go; swaying you with the idea of a real date night. You never realized just how much time you guys spend with your son. When’s the last time you guys had a break from being “mum and dad?" It was an appealing offer, but you were serious about clarifying expectations to the thieving couple.

twitter • may 25th • monaco

instagram • bakewithyn • may 25th • date night ⚑

liked by charlesleclerc, landonorris, nicolepiastri and 236,978 others

bakewithyn: a little night off from parenting was needed x

tagged landonorris

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user okay mamiiiii

user all parents deserve to relax !!!

oscarpiastri do you even miss me ☹️

➥ user damn he goin through it

➥ charlesleclerc i literally just got him to smile and now he's crying again 😒

➥ landonorris your mum and i love you lots osc

➥ oscarpiastri :]

alexandrasaintmleux take full advantage of having no children in the house 😈😈😈

➥ charlesleclerc leo will keep him distracted for as longggg as possible 😏

➥ user lando only needs about three minutes 🥱

➥ user wow that's a really long time fr

oscarpiastri mama y papa

➥ user mama y papa

instagram • landonorris • june 16th • daddy's home ⚑

liked by oscarpiastri, angryginge, bakewithyn and 436,812 others

landonorris: father's day done right. my child and his mother made a cake for me, family photo slide two, and my son slide three. what more can a man want.

tagged bakewithyn and oscarpiastri

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user this man never misses a chance to call himself daddy

user too fucking funny 🤸🏾‍♀️🤸🏾‍♀️

bakewithyn happy father's day, daddy xxx

➥ user OHMYGOD 😖🤢🤮

➥ user on my internet⁉️⁉️⁉️

➥ landonorris even happier now x

user this new wave of parents concerns me...

oscarpiastri the cake was good wasn't it???

➥ landonorris it was perfect, seriously

➥ oscarpiastri i know you both said there's no way we'd get a puppy but hear me out i've thought of something better

➥ oscarpiastri working on giving me a younger sibling :]

➥ user YES BABY NORRIS ‼️‼️‼️

➥ landonorris @/bakewithyn ?

➥ bakewithyn ask me again in a couple of years

#f1 x reader #f1 smut #f1 smau #lando norris x reader #oscar piastri x reader #lando norris x black!reader #oscar piastri x black!reader #f1 x black!reader #lando norris fanfic #lando norris smut #lando norris fluff #oscar piastri fanfic #charles leclerc fic #oscar piastri fluff #♡ ༘*.ﾟ love interest: ln.#♡ ༘*.ﾟ love interest: op.#serene's chapters.#serene’s fave.

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awrkive · 6 months ago

Note

For the milestone bash

No. 23 from the smut list with any of your jks please and thankyou ☺️

23. "I saw on your Amazon wishlist you wanted a dildo. You know I got a dick, right?"

note: last drabble im posting for awhile and also the reqs are closed!! thank u sm for participating in the follower milestone game and im sorry if i wasnt able to write the req that you sent in 😔! dw im still going to go over them once in a while, one of these days.

wc: 1.3k

warning/s: p in v s*x, himbo!jk (hes so stupid i have a crush on him)

Jungkook can be infuriating sometimes. Your friends assume that the reason you dislike him is because he’s a big himbo who can’t even say the word misogyny right and has a GPA lower than a minor earthquake magnitude, but you find that’s the least of your concern when the man has a problem with privacy.

He doesn’t know it. He absolutely has no concept of it and you thought – upon the first month of being roommates with him – that he’s just the typical fratboy who likes flaunting his body to any audience because he knows he looks good, but he genuinely just doesn’t like hanging around with clothes on and would always forget that you exist and he can’t just parade around with nothing but his tight boxers on during the weekends.

Jungkook’s the type to not lock his bedroom. He’s the type to not knock when entering the bathroom, the type to not shy away when he sees your underwear in the laundry room. He doesn’t have shame – and it’s exactly why he sticks his nose into your phone charging at the outlet by the island counter with the Amazon app opened while you go and take out the trash real quick.

In his defense, he didn’t mean to. He just walked past it when he was making his toast – but a very neon picture on your lit up screen caught his attention and when he squinted his eyes, he almost couldn’t believe it.

A dildo. There’s a pink dildo in your Amazon wishlist, sandwiched by a list of otherwise beige-colored stationery items that included a lot of… notebooks.

And you definitely could not miss it. Not when it’s neon! And not when… what? Eight inches?

Jungkook scoffs.

That's exactly his size!

He couldn’t believe his eyes. You… a dildo in your Amazon wishlist? Hah. Jungkook didn’t expect that. He’s always seen you as this… prude, somewhat innocent librarian. And you are actually a part-time librarian at school. And you kind of act sort of prude-ish, and there’s nothing wrong with it – not really, Jungkook thinks. You’re still hot and sexy to him – although, he tries to not think of you that way because you’re really nice to him even though he knows he can be a bit too much sometimes and he knows he isn’t exactly the type of person you keep in your circle.

He kept a rowdy set of friends (except Yoongi) while you go out with your intellectual friend group who are all members of an intelligent club at uni. You know, debate club, the school paper, maths and sciences… Jungkook’s just shocked you even entertain him because boy, do your friends kind of hate him.

Anyway. The dildo. Oh wow. This definitely changes things – but Jungkook doesn’t know what exactly. He never thought about whether you’re still a virgin or not, but finding out about the dildo in your Amazon wishlist is definitely making him think things.

Can you even handle the eight inches anyway? You’re kind of small. The girls he’s been with had always commented on how big he is but he’s very efficient with it and he knows well enough to make the girl cum twice before putting it in so the stretch doesn’t hurt. Would you use lube if you used that plastic dick? You must, you should… but like, Jungkook is also really good at cunnilingus because no one loves pussy as much as him so maybe, you’d need someone’s help to prep you and—

“Jungkook?”

Jungkook feels every hair on his body standing up when he hears your voice behind him. In quick succession, he manages to make it seem like he’s checking out the chip on the edge of the counter instead of your phone.

“Hey!” he greets you with a smile.

His heart skips a beat when your eyebrows furrow, eyes landing from his face to your phone. None of you say anything until you walk further into the kitchen. Then, you grab your phone and turn it off.

“I’ll head out in fifteen minutes. I’m sleeping over at Yena’s for a group study. Can you lock the door later?” You ask him.

It’s weird because it isn’t the first time you went around in a tank top and a pair of short shorts inside the apartment, but right now all Jungkook can think of is how tight your shorts are. And also how smooth your skin is – and how nice your chest looks.

“Jungkook?” You call again, and Jungkook snaps out of his trance.

“Uh… yeah, sure.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

It’s the last thing you said before you take out your charger and go straight to your bedroom.

Jungkook stands there in the kitchen wide-eyed, a bit stunned at the turn of events.

———

You knew Jungkook saw that. And you ranted about it to Yena – how embarrassed you were for having him see the damn dildo in your wishlist. You weren’t embarrassed about wishlisting a dildo – you’re just embarrassed that Jungkook has seen it out of all people.

Ever since that day, you’ve been trying to avoid him. Not that it’s hard because your schedules don’t align most of the time but Sundays are always free and you have no choice but to face him over dinners.

What you’ve noticed, though, is that… Jungkook is being a little different, too. He usually has that suave, easy-going vibe to him, and it’s fine if his approach to other people has changed as well but you realized it’s only you he’s being weird to.

So you decide to confront him.

And it ends up this way.

“Oh my god–” You gasp audibly when Jungkook inserts the first inch of his cock in your pussy, mouth agape as you stare into his eyes while he continues to get in deeper.

“Jesus fuck.” Jungkook moans, tightening his hold around your waist. “Tightest pussy I’ve– ah, shit, stop clenching, pretty.”

You look absolutely delicious with your mouth hanging open, pleasure written all over your face. Jungkook would lie if he says that he hasn’t thought about how you’d look like during sex – especially over the past few weeks but for some reason, the universe has pull its strings for you two to end up this way and the Academy really ought to give him an award for not nutting just right after putting his dick in you because phew, you’re more than what he imagined.

“Oh, that– that feels good,” you pant, hands reaching out for his biceps. “Harder, Jungkook.”

And he does go harder, pulling out for a moment and slamming right back into your tight pussy which welcomes and grips him like a vice he swears he’s popping veins over how much he has to constraint himself from going crazy.

But maybe he’s giving himself too much credit because one second you’re moaning and it sounds like music to his ears but then the next he’s saying something stupid like, “I–shiiit– I saw on your Amazon wishlist you wanted a dildo. You know I got a dick, right?”

Jungkook’s got to stop running his mouth. Namjoon tells him he’s way too chattery sometimes and he’s right but he can’t help that he has a lot of thoughts in his head! So what if he thinks that he can outdo a dildo in any way? From the looks of your face right now, it seems like he can!

But you have a deadpan look on your face, a contrast to how you looked just seconds ago.

He’s prepared himself for something that would ruin this moment, but you only stare at him and say, “Yeah. So put it to good use and shut up.”

Jungkook thinks he’d cum in the next ten seconds.

“Yes, ma’am.” He grunts as he slides in and out, picking up his pace, sweat forming in his temples. He greedily lets his hand wander over your breasts and squeeze one, making you moan.

“Good.”

You don’t know where you began and ended, all you know now is that as much as Jungkook can be infuriating sometimes, at least he can make you cum.

And oh, he was definitely way better than the dildo Amazon had just dropped into your door three days ago.

#jungkook smut #p; drabbles #p; drabble requests

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dilf-docs · 6 months ago

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Le Pedí Al Mar Y Al Sol Que Te Trajera

pedro pascal x younger fem!reader

summary: vacations are supposed to be fun! and with a hot older famous boyfriend? now we're really talking.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap (yum), pwp, p. in v., fingering, pussy spanking (ooc i'm sorry i just want a man to do this to me), creampie, virgin!reader (sorry if this is kinda unrealistic for a first as i too i'm a virgin; in the curb we all fam), aftercare, spanglish ofc!!!

word count: 2,865 words

side note: so, i modified the request a bit bc idk pedro's friends like that (i just know omar apollo can tower over me wait what). check the og request here. reqs still open as we enter 2025! happy new year, dilf town citizens: pushed this drabble last minute as a lil' gift for you before the year ends! :) thank u sm for being part of it, my journey on tumblr is just getting started!!!!!!!!!!

Hace tiempo que quería yo sentir esto que siento.

They say dating a star and having to share him with everybody else is the hardest part, but to you, it's having both of your vacations occur simultaneously.

Finally, after months of shooting so many projects for the next year, your boyfriend is free.

Vacations are fun! They're supposed to be relaxing, especially after leading such a busy life as yours: juggling between work, studies and a relationship with world-renowned actor, Pedro Pascal. Yet, you can't help but feel nervous, fiddling with the loose strands of your skirt.

Pedro wants you to go alone, which means just the both of you: a little escape before Christmas Eve, as he and his friends have already planned their holiday together.

Doesn't matter how many times you tried to excuse yourself, he was determined to make you go with him. Besides, let's get real: it's not like you can say no to him. So now here he is, both of your passports in hand as you both are ready to board your plane to Mexico, where the rest of his friends will meet you a week later. Yes, more nerves to add on the schedule.

"If you don't quit that shaking of yours, I'll extend our vacation two more weeks" Pedro threatens once you're seated, but it's devoid of any malice. He's a bit far from you (he also insisted on the VIP flying part; you're just fine flying tourist, but can understand why he isn't), so you can't count on his touch to comfort you. "Didn't know you were afraid of planes"

You sigh, "I'm not"

"Ay, cariño. Are you afraid of me then?"

"No" you laugh nervously. You are, but not for the reasons he thinks.

It's the very first time the two of you will be fully alone. For obvious reasons, a whole week at the beach is much more intimate than just the dates you've been in. But here you are, already seeing the sand and water beneath you.

"Like what you see?" he jokes.

"Yeah" you look back at him, sincerity washing over the expression on your face. "I do"

If there is one thing you're sure of, is your love for Pedro. You'll just have to wait and see how this goes.

As of now, everything has gone well: sun, water, diving and lots of new photos and videos on your camera roll. You've gone swimming and danced on the bar of the hotel you're staying, some extra drinks on your system. You've also sunbathed under the same sun you've watched go down, in the most beautiful sunsets you've ever seen in your life.

But here comes the hardest part: the night. Sharing a bed isn't hard: it's something that's happened before, one time even staying in his house for two days, all because he insisted.

This time is different: the way his gaze lingers over your bare legs, the same way he's looked at them when the droplets of water slide down them. The way he licks his lips, like he's starving and the most deliciously tempting meal stands before him. Mantaining eye contact like it's some kind of dare, just as he's done since you've landed, using it to disarm you little by little.

You don't think you can't take it anymore.

You lay down on the bed, and he leaves the book he's reading on the night table next to him, all his attention directed towards you. Yeah, you're afraid, he can sense, but apparently not that afraid to wear a dainty nightwear that gives a delicious peek of your breasts.

"Something you want to say?" you ask, almost daringly so.

"Say no" voice low, barely a whisper that could come across a breeze of wind entering through the open window as it stirs the courtains. "Want, yes"

You gulp. "What do you want, then?"

Shouldn't taken the bait.

"You" comes quick, like it's the easiest answer there ever is.

The rest of his answer comes in the form of hungry lips capturing yours, devouring them in a clash of desire against your own, even struggling to breath due to the animalistic borderline savage way Pedro's eating you out, his tongue battling inside your mouth while trying to explore every corner just to taste all of you on his palate.

"Pedro" you moan his name out when he bites your lip with a bit too much force, metallic filling your taste buds. It's all so hot, and you're too turned on to think.

His roaming hands itch to touch every available spot of soft skin your body offers, tracing first through your collarbones, and then leaving the task for his lips to complete. There goes a trail of kisses that go down your neck, teeth nibbling the sensitive skin until it turns red. You whine against his hold, big hands keeping you under him, back pushed against the soft mattress and silk sheets.

You gasp for air, lost in the fire, when suddenly his forgotten hands touch you down there.

"Wait!" you shout, mentally slapping yourself.

"¿Qué pasó?" he exclaims, scared. "Did I hurt you?"

"N-no" you're quick to deny, voice wavering as you seat up on the bed. Your cheeks soon flush, as there's regret when you say. "I'm sorry"

"Sorry for what?" he tenderly cups your cheek. "Just tell me what happened"

"What happened is, I fucked up the vibe. I'm sorry, P. Didn't mean to stop you like that"

"¿No te estaba gustando, cariño?" he's questioning again.

"No" your answer is more firmly this time. His face morphs into a bit of hurt, and then you think your answer a bit more. "Ah, no. I mean, yes! I was liking it. I meant no as in no, it's not that why I stopped you"

"Then, why is it?" he grows a little impatient, but shows no such thing, rather focused on helping you out. "You know you can trust me, right?"

"I know" you smile sadly, insecurities washing over you like cold water.

"Then, tell me" he scoots closer, his perfume getting in your nostrils. Had he wore it again for this? God, what an evil little horny creature.

"I'm scared" you confess finally, the warmth of his receptiveness giving you a sense of security. His brown eyes soften, and you feel tears brim in the corner of your eyes.

"I know" he repeats your words, kissing you softheartedly, nothing compared to as before.

"No" you look directly at him, ready to take in every reaction his face will have. "I don't think you do"

"Amor, por favor-"

"I'm a virgin" you cut him off, panic rushing your answer.

"You are?" almost immediatly, giving no opportunity for silence to settle in.

You nod, slowly.

He sighs, sounding relieved. "And here I thought you didn't love me. Que te daba asco acostarte con un viejo como yo"

"No!" you deny hastily, then laugh. "Of course I love you, P. On the contrary, I was the one scared. Don't want to fuck it up on my first"

The energy changes again, as a flame sparks within your orbs. He looks surprised.

"Just because I said-" he cuts himself off. "Look, y/n, mi vida. I don't want to force you, yeah? I didn't know you hadn't- Listen, if you aren't ready, I'll understand"

"I am ready" clear and convinced, without a doubt.

His eyes circle between lust and love, "You want me to be your first, mmh baby?"

You nod, and he's back at the kissing and nibbling on your neck and collarbones.

"Please say it"

"I want you, Pedro. Quiero que seas mi primera vez"

Those sweet words of yours, an invitation not even the strongest man could deny.

"Let's start slow, yeah?" his fingers travel down to your panties under the nightwear, removing them and tossing them out of the bed, even with your pout. He kisses it off, wasting no time after to see your clit exposed. "Looking so sweet, angel. And needy" he gets closer, taking a better look at the wet mess that coats in between your thighs. He takes a whiff, intoxicated with the smell of your arousal dripping in waiting need. "Tell me if this is okay, yeah? I'll stop if it hurts"

Your breath hitches the moment his middle finger touches your puffy clit. Pedro runs his finger up and down, not adding much pressure to let you get used to it (kissing and eating each other out was all you had ever done). You whimper at the feeling as he repeats his action a few more times.

"Please, keep going" you plead, barely managing to not squirm at the overwhelming new sensations that shoot right through your cunt.

He begins to rub slow circles, making sure to add the right pressure onto your clit, then circling it, all while keeping eye contact, adoring the new expressions and sounds he's getting from you. You realize and shy away, embarrassed all of the sudden at the way he looks at you.

"Don't" he holds you by your chin with his free hand, "I want to know how you look when I please you"

You whimper, letting him do his own thing. He starts leaving sweet little kisses around your quivering pussy, enjoying the sight of your hole clenching at nothing.

"Think you can take more?" he asks, "want more?"

Two of his fingers dive straight in between your folds, coating them with your juices.

"Good girl" he praises when you only yelp, savouring the new feel of his digits inside of you. Then, he drags his fingers back to his mouth, tongue licking them clean. "Taste so sweet too"

"N-need more" you whine, desperate beneath him.

"Yeah?" This your first and you're already this greedy? I think I can get used to it" he laughs in adoration. "Let's try something better, yeah?"

Your body suddenly jolts, his big palm flat against your pussy. Pedro circles his whole palm across your cunt, middle finger pressing tightly onto it. You moan, back arching at the overstimulation.

He feels a little pervy, enjoying the way your tiny young body squirms beneath his caging body for of him. Nonetheless, he continues to rub you while you release more dirty sounds cascading out fo your filthy greedy lips. Your arousal keeps dripping like a broken pipeline, now smeared all over Pedro's palm, filling the room with slippery sounds.

"Mhm" you can't even speak, the exquisite combination of pain and pleasure reducing you to a moaning mess.

Pedro slaps your pussy twice, wet smacks bouncing off the walls.

"That's my girl" he then gently blows on your swollen bud, pressing a light kiss on it after. "Ready for it?"

It meaning his hard tent hidden under his underwear. You gulp, afraid you might not take it. He sees the hesitation in your eyes, but you're quick to dissmiss it.

"Are you sure you are ready?"

"Just do it" you demand, without knowing the consequences of your words, or the effect you have on him. Overall.

With needy fingers, you're fast to strip him out of it, admiring the size as much as you admire his now sculpted body. Jesus, you could build a cult out of it.

"Now" he cups your cheeks, fingers digging onto the skin, "I want you to look at me when I fuck you, yes? Don't dare to look away"

Pedro positions himself between your legs, aligning himself with your entrance. Then, he thrust inside you, filling you completely. You cry, trying to adjust to his size while your nails dig on his broad back, as he claims you, makes you his. Only his. Pedro'hi's hips snap forward with precision: every thrust is deliberate, each movement calculated to make your first as pleasurable as he can, despite the pain that's shown in your tears or the little drops of blood that fall onto the sheets.

"Shit" he pants, "tendremos que pagar por eso"

He grips your thighs, holding you steady as he pounds into you.

"Fuck, you feel so good" he moans, your tight untouched walls now stretching to adapt to his girth, "like you were made for me"

You cling to him, legs wrapping around his waist as he firmly holds you. Your vision goes foggy, mind numb at the burning and pleasing sensations. Despite that and lack of experience, you meet his every thrust, your bodies moving as one.

Your core contracts around him with every motion. "You fuck me so good" you mewl, music to his ears.

"I know, baby" he chuckles, "sólo lo mejor para mi princesa"

Fingers dig into your skin as he guides you with precision, right as he wants you to be. You feel the intensity of his deep inside of you with every movement, his hot laboured breath against your ear.

"Doing it so good" his voice is low, almost a growl, sending shivers down your spine. "Just for me"

"Just for you" you mindlessly pant out, the sensation of having all of him inside you, nothing separating the skin from skin, igniting a fire that spreads through your core. Your breasts bounce with each motion, Pedro's eyes never leaving yours, dark orbs locked onto your gaze as you urge him to go faster, drawing in a sharp breath as your body adjusts to the new rhythm he's providing, rapidly obeying.

The room is quiet except for the sound of your bodies clashing onto one another, flesh against flesh echoing softly.

"Your body is perfect, so wet, so tight for me" His words send a wave of pleasure crashing over you, making you moan loudly, your head falling back, "me tienes loco"

Pedro's weight grounds you as he begins to thrust deeply, each movement deliberate and unrelenting.

"Tell me you want this, us" the words catch you off guard. "Will you take all of me?"

"Yes" without a thought or doubt, answering as you whine and clutch at his shoulders with his more urgent thrusts. "All of you, always"

You notice his hips snapping forward, more energy as he pounts into you. "Good girl" praising you again, voice thick in arousal and rough, "so good for me"

Despite being your first, you can feel what would be your orgasm building, closer and closer until there is no holding it back.

"Pedro!" you scream his name, body collapsing around him as you come, stars reaching your closed eyelids.

His movements become more intense and sloppier, breathing ragged as he chases his own release.

"Espérame. Stay there for me"

You cling to him, legs wrapping tighter as he continues to pound into you. "Ya casi" his thrusts become erratic as he nears his climax, "almost there, baby"

You feel his body tensing as he comes inside you with a deep groan, seed spilling into you without wasting a drop.

"That's right" whispers against your sweet neck roughly, voice breaking as he collapses over you, trying to level his breathing. "Eres mía, only mine"

You're whimpering, body exhausted from the whole session you had.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Just tired" you sigh, "but I don't think I can walk"

"We'll get you a wheelchair someway" he jokes.

"You think is funny? Ruining my holidays?"

He leans down to press a sweet kiss on your forehead. "Come on, we'll get you cleaned up" you mumble out a tired no, but Pedro's picking you up with his strong arms, taking your body to the bathroom. You wrap your legs instinctively around his waist, face hidden in the crook of his neck.

"You know what? Your fans were right: you do have a slutty little waist" you mock.

"Right" he blushes, embarrased as he takes you inside the bathroom, then placing you on top of the toilet. "Open up, baby" he grabs some tissues, trying to clean up the mess you've made between your legs. "Así, justo así, bebé" he parts your hair to the side lovingly, fixing it for you before pressing a kiss on the crown of your head. "Done, my pretty baby, look at you"

You hum, eyes threatening to close.

"I see you're not an after-sex talker. Come on, I'll take you back to bed" he picks you up again, your head leaning against Pedro's V line as he caresses your head. "Hope you don't mind the smell"

"I love how you smell" you mumble out in a drunk like state.

"Okay then" he chuckles, "let's go back to bed" taking you out of the room, gently placing you the mattress. He then pulls a pair of fresh panties from your suitcase, dressing you in them. He coos at the sight of you, sleeping peacefully despite what you did before.

He finally lays next to you, lovingly lifting up your arm to put it around his waist. He pulls the sheets over your bodies to keep you both warm, in the chilly room thanks to the beach's air.

He feels you move, snuggling closer to his chest to seek warmth.

"I love you" whispered, not expecting you to answer or hear it.

When you snuggle closer, he's sure you do.

cr: divider @kodaswrld / gif @a7estrellas

#dilfistquickwrites #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x you #pedro x reader #pedro pascal fluff #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pedropascal #pedro fluff #pedro smut #pwp #pedro pascal pwp #pedro pascal fandom

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unearthlyeclipse · 2 months ago

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JOEL MILLER P! LINKS // NSFW/SMUT︎

A/N: A little something since the new season is here!! There are no spoilers here, so there is nothing to be afraid of when reading!! I'm getting off my period, and I think my hormones have been through the roof, a victim of the beautiful man, Pedro Pascal himself. He's genuinely one of the most amazing men out there. His personality and how genuine a person he is makes my heart melt like BE MINEEE, my beautiful wife... PLEASE REMEMBER REQUESTS FOR LINKS, FANFICS/DRABBLES ARE OPEN!! PLEASE CHECK OUT MY MASTERLIST!!

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, smut, teasing, age gap (not specified), sex toy, brief anal, fingering, breeding kink, creampies, deep throating, cunnilingus, overstimulation, choking, dirty talk, occasional size kink.

(IMG) Joel teasing you and your want for him despite being an old man.

Joel rutting into you after you pulled a teasing stunt on him in public.

You begged Joel to not let go. He immediately listened, clutching you closely as he fucked you.

Joel surprised you in your college dorm, finger fucking you to oblivion.

Joel and your dildo Joel wound up finding one of your sex toys and decided to give it a shot on you. Lets say he’d like to use it again soon. Using the dildo on you again!! And again, this time with your arms tied with his belt!!

Joel trying to get you stimulated after you just rode off your high.

You had begged Joel to cum inside of you, he did many times.

(Top left) You were teasing Joel at work with only your favorite panties beneath your dress. It didn’t take him long you place you on his desk and devour you.

Joel stretching you out after a long day of work.

Letting Joel fuck out some stress with your throat.

While Joel was out on patrol, you couldn’t help but have your own fun on his bed.

Joel matepressing you.

Joel letting you control him beneath you.

Joel holding and fucking you, letting your clit grind against his belly.

Being overstimulated by Joel to hell and back.

Joel fucking you rough and spouting dirty talk into your ear.

Joel cumming inside of you. He loves watching you leak.

Joel like to take his time worshipping your cunt.

#joel miller x reader #pedro pascal x reader #tlou #tlou2 #tlou hbo #p links #twt links #p!links #writers on tumblr #writeblr

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toorusluvr · 8 months ago

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just thinking about sylus… being lovey dovey with mc

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace smut #lads x reader #lads smut #love and deepspace sylus #lnds smut #lnds x reader #lads sylus #lnds sylus #sylus x reader #sylus smut

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asiatic-apple · 8 days ago

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hii! can you please do Smut prompt 17 with Syius and Caleb with a fem! reader? thank you :p

Thanks for the request, nonnie! I had someone else also request 17 with sylus. So I’ll be posting the sylus drabble with their ask next. Be on the lookout for it! For now, here’s caleb :)

Reminder: requests are closed

Sign of devotion

Caleb x female reader

Prompt: seeing the love marks they left on their partner later and getting turned on all over again remembering how it got there in the first place

Content: possessive caleb, fingering

The morning sun catches on the faint bruises and bite marks along your neck and collarbone.

Caleb hadn’t meant to leave so many. He was only trying to mouth sweet kisses along your skin, like he always does when you’ve just come apart beneath him.

But then your fingers had tangled in his hair and you sighed his name in that wrecked, breathless voice—and something in him had just snapped. His mouth had latched on without thinking, desperate to taste the way your pulse skipped under his tongue.

And now there they are, stamped on your skin: beautiful marks only he left behind.

He shouldn’t want you again. Not so soon. But desire hits him with humiliating ease, flooding low in his gut as his eyes trace over your body.

You don’t even notice at first, still yawning and rummaging through the dresser for shorts to match the comfy T-shirt you’re wearing. When you catch him watching you in the mirror, gaze locked onto your neck, you finally pause.

Your fingers rise to touch one of the darker hickeys. “I look like I was attacked by a feral animal,” you murmur with an embarrassed chuckle. “Does it look really bad?”

Caleb swallows. His voice is rough when he replies, “It’s perfect.”

Your expression shifts with a flicker of recognition that makes his cock twitch beneath the blanket.

He’s half-hard already from remembering the events that led to so many harsh kisses. The way you begged him not to stop. How you came twice before he even got his pants off. The heat of your thighs around his waist, your voice and body shaking from how good he felt inside you.

Slowly, deliberately, you glide your hand up your torso as you hold his gaze through the mirror. You let your fingers catch the hem of your shirt before dragging it up higher and exposing your soft belly. Caleb’s eyes widen when he sees more bruises, marks, and faint indents from his teeth littered all over your gorgeous curves.

You’re showing him what he did to you. Inviting him to admire it. Begging him to do it again.

His cock throbs painfully in his boxers, and he can’t help but buck his hips up into nothing—as if it could alleviate the ache you make him feel.

“Fuck. Come here, baby,” he whines, not bothering to hide how much you’ve turned him on with something so simple.

You don’t hesitate. You climb back into bed, throwing the blanket to the side and quickly straddling him so you can feel that sexy bulge that’s tempting you from beneath his underwear.

And while you’re busy running your hands along his chest and waist, his mouth returns to that dark mark on your neck. The one on your sensitive spot, where Caleb loves leaving open-mouthed kisses.

“I love seein’ you like this,” he breathes against your skin. “God, you don’t know what it does to me, pips.”

You gasp as his fingers trail between your thighs, making a determined path to your clothed cunt. Even through the cotton of your panties, he can feel how wet you already are.

A low groan catches in his throat. “You like it too,” he whispers. It’s not a question—just a fact—you both know it. “You like when I mark you up all over…when I remind you that you’re mine.”

You nod, whimpering softly as he pulls your underwear to the side and slides two fingers along your entrance before gently pushing inside. The glide is made easy by your slick, and Caleb curls his fingers against that spongy spot inside you with practiced precision. Your body rolls into the touch, helpless to stop yourself from chasing more.

“You’re gonna make me want to leave more of them,” he threatens with a growl. “I want you to feel and see me long after I’m done with you.”

The words make you clench around him, and he chuckles with satisfaction at the feeling. Your body betrays you even if you try to tell him otherwise. And his body does the same, his cock pressing eagerly against your thigh.

He doesn’t rush, no matter how much you claw at him or try to rock your hips at a faster pace. He just watches you, the way your lashes flutter and your body trembles with need.

His own pleasure is irrelevant right now. To Caleb, you’re the only thing in the world worth worshiping. And if he has his way, he’ll spend every day leaving physical reminders of his devotion to you.

Want to be added to my tag list?

💕 tag list: @heartyluv @doeeyes515 @lethalasylum @starryeyed-apple @starlitfics @craeatio @rafayelslittlestar @ruralamours @alyssac9 @blushofeve @alastor-simp @nezuswritingdesk @yoonights @ashirelle @jamfingers @decadentwastelandpoetry @yrdarlingpup @asiaticapple @spidermanlaalalalala @partycityyyyyyy @raendarkfaerie @sweetcalebb @mikenotmic @jenvhae @kaeyasfuturewife @purpleamethyst25 @grapeees16

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divider by meee (please do not repost) mdni banner by @/cafekitsune

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nymphoniah · 9 months ago

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my masterlist (๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵)♡

• last updated 1/3/25 — fics in order from newest to oldest

• 🍒 = nsfw | ❤️‍🩹 = suggestive/mature content

• this blog contains sensitive themes, mostly including: ddlg/cgl dynamics and age gaps. if you are uncomfortable with the content i am sharing/writing, please do not interact!

• commissions/asks/requests are currently: OPEN! ♡

logan howlett p links:

part one ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

part two ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

part three °ᡣ𐭩 . ° .

part four ⋆. 𐙚˚

logan howlett drabbles/fics:

trash magic 🍒 (pornstar!old man!logan x pornstar!afab!reader): the two of you are perfect in front of the camera <3

you know i'm no good 🍒 (old man!logan x younger!reader): teasing logan ends up with him putting you in your place.

lazy mornings ❤️‍🩹 (origins!logan x afab!reader): cuddling with logan and he doesn’t wanna let you go

freudian slip ❤️‍🩹 (old man!logan x younger!reader): the first time you called logan that word.

holding his hand 🍒 (old man!logan x younger!reader): it’s two sides of the same coin

logan talking you through it 🍒 (old man!logan x crybaby!reader): ddlg vibes with size kink!

his little girl 🍒 (pervy!logan x afab!reader): you’re drunk and logan can’t help but feel you up! ddlg vibes :3

dad bod!logan 🍒 (old man!logan x afab!reader): short drabble about being w/ old man!logan who has a dad bod now!

logan and his glasses ❤️‍🩹 (old man!logan x afab!reader): playfully snatching away logan’s glasses but he doesn’t take it too lightly

steal away ❤️‍🩹 (origins!logan x afab!reader): shotgunning logan’s cigar while you grind on his lap after a long day at work.

white lie 🍒 (old man!logan x afab!reader): you forget to tell logan when your period was over, and he makes you regret it.

pretty when you cry 🍒 (old man!logan x crybaby!reader): logan pushes you for one last orgasm, and who are you to say no?

wonderful tonight ❤️‍🩹 (old man!logan x younger!reader): short drabble about cozy evenings with logan.

come undone 🍒 (old man!logan x younger!reader): you’re super needy, but logan’s feelin a bit tired so you end up riding his thigh!

mercy, mercy me ❤️‍🩹 (old man!logan x younger!reader): logan thinks he doesn’t deserve a girl like you, and you want to change his mind.

one of these nights 🍒 (old man!logan x afab reader): a quick drabble about lazy mornings with old man!logan and how badly he wants to rough you up.

indulgent desires 🍒 (boyfriend!logan x afab!reader): logan works out with reader, and eventually he gets riled up by how good you look stretching. how could he ignore a sweet thing like you?

million dollar man 🍒 (old man!logan x afab!reader): shameless daddy kink with old man!logan, with a sprinkle of dom and sub themes.

lessons learned 🍒 (mean!logan x afab!reader): rough sex with logan—him fucking you from behind while he keeps you in a headlock!

smoking out the window 🍒 (old man!logan x afab!reader): logan teases you for smoking cigarettes but not cigars, and so you prove to him that there's nothing that you can't handle.

needy little thing 🍒 (dom!logan x afab!reader): logan is an absolute munch, and he'll do anything to get a taste of you!

sitting in his lap ❤️‍🩹 (old man!logan x afab!reader): short drabble about old man!logan babying you while you rest in his lap.

logan comforting you ❤️‍🩹 (old man!logan x afab!reader): short drabble about old man!logan making sure that his doll is okay.

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breakmeoff · 12 days ago

Text

goddess of the desert

featuring: bang chan x fem!reader warnings: swearing, SMUT: unprotected p in v, creampie. MDNI, 18+ only* word count: 2.1k (i swear one of these days i'll learn how to write an actual drabble lol) synopsis: you come out to the states to surprise chan with a short three day vacation to a remote airbnb in the secluded beauty of joshua tree. the stunning desert landscape relaxes you both enough to enjoy the great outdoors, and each other. note: this is part of the Larie's Libations 200 Followers Celebration. this was a request by my lovely anon reader🙈, whose selection is listed below. for story telling purposes we're going to pretend this was set in the spring and the weather wasn't blazing hot. thank you for reading!

LARIE'S LIBATIONS - Bourbon Orange Crush [Wine] — Bang Chan [Cranberry Juice] — Vacation [Citrus Rind] — Kinks (creampie)

Masterlist

Orchestrating this little surprise trip for Chan had been difficult. That man was always in control and strict to his schedules, so when his manager told him not to schedule anything for three days between tour stops in L.A. and Arlington, Chan began asking questions. And per your explicit instruction, his manager told him nothing.

Finally, when you showed up to the second show in L.A., things started to make sense and he stopped fighting it. The day after the concert, you picked up your rental vehicle and drove the three and a half hours to Joshua Tree where you had rented a secluded airbnb in the desert, just for the two of you.

Admittedly, Chan was awful about taking time for himself and forcing himself to relax. Once you had assured him you’d get him back to civilization and the tour within three days before the next show in Texas, he finally relented and exhaled a deep sigh of relief.

After arriving at the private home down the long dirt drive, the two of you unpacked your groceries and belongings, and Chan went to take a much needed nap. You on the other hand had eyed the above ground hot tub just outside with an uninterrupted view of the desert.

About two hours later, Chan awoke alone sprawled out on the king sized bed, peering out the floor to ceiling windows which faced the back. He pushed himself up sleepily and yawned, watching you climb out of the hot tub and dry yourself off with a large serape patterned towel.

Lord, he’d never get tired of seeing you in a bikini and unaware of how stunning you were.

With a tired smile, he shifted to push himself off of the bed and in a standing position when he caught you out of the corner of his eye walking towards the outdoor shower just down the path. It wasn’t just your walking that made him pause - it was the way you removed your string bikini, draping them over the makeshift wooden ‘privacy’ fence along with the towel.

Walking over towards the window, he was transfixed, unable to take his eyes off of the scene - the goddess-like creature, baring it all under the rainfall showerhead, immersed in the beauty of the barren landscape surrounding them. His cock twitched the longer he watched you, swelling under the confines of his sweatpants.

Slipping on a pair of slides, Chan made his way outside quietly and down the path towards the shower. His movements were methodical and slow, like a bobcat hunting its prey. Finally approaching the pathetic excuse for a wall, he reached for your towel just as you turned the faucet off and turned around to see him.

Jumping in surprise, you laughed, pressing your hand to your chest. “God, you scared me…”

“Sorry Baby.” Holding the towel open for you, he tilted his head towards it, inviting you into the warmth of the fabric. “You looked like you might need a hand,” he teased suggestively, obviously dragging his eyes up and down your naked body.

Smirking at him, you took the few extra steps towards him and let him wrap the towel around your damp, nude frame. “Oh, just being a sweetheart and wanting to help me out of the goodness of your heart?”

“Sure… something like that,” he whispered near your ear, kissing your temple as he wrapped his arms tightly around you, ignoring the way your wet hair was now saturating his shirt. “Let’s go dry you off on the chaise over there,” Chan said, nodding over towards the teak, cushioned lounge chairs just on the other side of the yard, facing out towards the desert.

The heat of the day had finally dissipated and the sun was starting to sink beyond the horizon, swathing the cacti and wild bushes in dark silhouettes. Letting Chan lead the way, you walked towards the outdoor furniture and after he seated himself first, he pulled you into his lap, right between his legs and with your back against him.

“Thank you for this,” he whispered against your ear, placing a series of soft kisses against the side of your neck once you were settled against him - arms still wrapped around you and the plush towel protecting you from the elements. “It’s nice to be somewhere quiet, alone. With just you.”

Placing your hands on his arms, you began rubbing your palms up and down the expanse of them as you smiled. “I figured you could use a little break. And maybe some TLC.”

“TLC huh,” he mused, pulling back a little so he could look down to your face.

Tipping your head back slightly, you turned to make eye contact with him. “If you’re lucky.”

Huffing a laugh, he gently tugged the top of your towel down, pretending as if he was going to expose one of your breasts. “Bold of you to tease wearing nothing but a flimsy towel…”

Sitting up straighter, you held onto the towel tighter before you shifted your position, perching yourself fully upon his lap and now facing him. With your legs straddling either side of him, and your arms draped lazily around his shoulders, you gave your hips a slow roll over the front of his sweatpants. “Guess I should just stop teasing then…” you mumbled, leaning down to press your soft lips against his, melting against him in a gentle, though heated, open mouthed kiss.

Chan groaned against your lips, one of his hands finding the back of your head, cradling it as he tilted his face to further deepen your liplock as the other met your hip, gripping through the fabric of the towel as he guided your exposed core to the soft cotton of his clothed cock below.

“Careful…” he mumbled against your mouth, “we are outside afterall. Someone might see.”

You laughed gently, pressing your hips harder against him. “Who is gonna see us? The javelina?” With that, you let the towel fall from your body, exposing yourself fully to him and the elements.

Chris’ hooded eyes raked over your figure once before he cursed lowly under his breath, and snaked a hand between your bodies to brush his fingers against your soaked entrance. “Fuck… already ready for me, Baby?”

Whimpering softly at his gentle touch, you nodded your head and breathed a reply. “Always…”

Dropping your hand to his waist, you lifted yourself high enough to tug his sweatpants and boxers down low enough for his thick, veiny cock to spring free. Your lithe fingertips gripped the base of him, eliciting a low moan from Chris’ lips as he watched you pump your hand up and down his length a few times. “I need you…” he murmured, nearly desperately.

Guiding the velvety head of his length towards your entrance, you finally lowered yourself back down onto his lap, savoring the intense sensation of him filling you so entirely. Both of your lips parted in an exhale once he was bottomed out inside of you, and your hands moved back to his shoulders, giving yourself the leverage to slowly move up and down his hardened arousal.

“Shit…” Chris whispered, watching you maneuver your body above him, a hand gripping one of your breasts as the other fell back to your hip, gripping his digits into your flesh.

Leaning forward, he wrapped his lips around your pert nipple of your other breast, sucking softly against your heated flesh. Humming a sigh, you slowly began to increase your motions on top of him, tipping your head back and relishing in the feeling of his mouth against your skin.

Chan flicked the tip of his tongue against your sensitive bud before gently nipping at it and tugging the pebbled flesh between his teeth, causing a low moan to come from you. Chris squinted his eyes closed as you tightened your walls around him, panting against your skin and digging his fingertips further into the flesh of your hip.

Dropping his hand from your other breast, his lips dotted a line of small kisses against your sternum until they wrapped around your opposite nipple, giving it the same worshipping attention as the other.

“Fuck, babygirl… you feel so fucking good,” he moaned, pressing his face against the curve of your breast as he pulled you tighter against himself. Your speed started to increase, and switched from an up and down motion to swirling your hips in a figure eight.

“Oh my God,” you whispered, arm wrapped tightly around him as you felt yourself clench around him buried deep inside of you. “I’m close, so close.”

With both hands tightly gripping your waist, Chan anchored his feet on either side of the chair and slipped down just enough to give himself leverage to start fucking up into you from below. “Give it to me,” he grunted, fingers digging in tight enough to leave bruises. “Cum for me, all over me baby…”

Your breathing was becoming more erratic, and you tipped your head forward, locking your eyes onto his as your moans became louder. “More Channie, more, please…” you begged, breathily, eyebrows knit together as you felt your body start to tense up in his grasp.

“Take it, take it all,” he growled, slamming his hips up into you, mesmerized by the beauty of your blissful facial expression and the way your tits moved above his face. “Let go, let go now.”

A silent moan slipped from your lips as the tension inside you finally snapped, and your entire body tightened with your release. Toes curling, fingers digging into the fabric of his tshirt, and eyes hazily focused on his, Chris stuttered his hips with the feeling of you clench so tightly around him and the visual of you falling apart above him.

“F-fuuuuuuck,” he groaned through gritted teeth, keeping your hips grounded down on top of him as he spilled himself inside of your warmth. “Can’t… can’t stop…” he growled, pressing his forehead against your chest as spurt after spurt erupted inside of you, his hips sporadically bucking underneath you.

Finally, both of your bodies stilled and you collapsed against him. Shifting his hands from your hips, one hand returning to the back of your head and the other splaying fully against your back, he rubbed your skin soothingly as you both tried to calm your heavy breathing.

With a small laugh, you murmured “I think we made a mess… I can feel it. Everywhere.” With a low, appreciative growl, Chan sat up with you still around him and shifted to lay you back against the chaise cushion at the foot of the lounge in front of him.

Now with you laying back in front of him, he looked down to where your bodies met, a thick, creamy white ring encasing his cock as he pulled out of your pussy. “Look at that…” he cooed, one hand gripping the base of himself, the tip of him still resting just inside your flushed walls. “Fuck, look at you… all covered in me.”

Bringing a hand to your face with a small blush, Chan reached up to pull your hand away with a devilish grin, and with his hand wrapped around your wrist, he brought your fingers down to the mess between you. “Feel it, look what you made me do baby…”

Leaning up a little, you glanced down to where he had led your hand, your fingertips now coated in the stickiness that was coming out of you.

Finally pulling himself out of you completely, he smirked as his own fingers reached down to your pussy and gently pushed some of his seed back into your still twitching inner walls. “Can’t let any of that go to waste,” he mumbled, still mesmerized by the work of art he’d created between your legs.

Reaching for the towel with a cheeky smile on your face, you took note of the way he looked at you in awe.

Just then, you both froze at the eerie, unmistakable howl of a coyote not too far off in the distance. Chan lifted his eyes to yours and he paused for a second. “...maybe we should go inside and clean up,” a look of concern now spreading over his features.

“Might be a good idea,” you agreed, shifting to sit up as he tucked himself back into his pants. With a renewed sense of urgency, Chan grabbed the towel from you, and quickly swept you up in his arms, carrying you bridal style swiftly into the house as you giggled, relaxed and happy in his protective embrace.

my tags: @angel-writes-here @idkimobsessed @queenofdumbfuckery @mfcherry @downingmorphine @pixie-felix @d3kstar @lveegsoi @ebnabi @nebugalaxy @babystay724 @mmarusa @imagine-all-the-imagines @erisuna @beabidoobee @hanniesbubuwife @bbykaixx @riri53 @jinniesgirl @alx-wyjsr @skzswife @hwangjoanna @stephanieeeyang @minnysproutgriffinteddy @jqtsblyth @magicshuhua @loveesiren @szonyix6277 @seungttttop @moontabi

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strwbyoons · 3 months ago

Note

idk if you take request but if you do maybe a drabble of dumb baby where jk ends up eating her p ssy and she rides her nose ?

ps : your spidey fic was so well written and i loved their dynamic 💕

STARRING ... J. JUNGKOOK X BIMBO!READER

A/N ... thank you sooo much for liking heartweave!! <3 apologies for how long it took me to get to this, but as per your request, here's a smutty lil drabble

NOTES/WARNINGS ... smut (18+/MDNI), munch!kook, porn without plot, face sitting, orgasm denial, jungkook does not play about making his girl feel good, after care. if i forgot anything let me know.

...

your focus is elsewhere, eyes glued to your phone, mindlessly scrolling as you rest comfortably on jungkook’s lap. his hands are on your waist, warm and familiar, thumbs rubbing slow circles against your skin where your shirt has ridden up.

he’s been quiet for a few minutes now, but you don’t think much of it. not until his grip tightens just slightly, fingers flexing like he’s holding himself back.

“wanna try something,” he says suddenly, voice low.

you hum absentmindedly, still scrolling. “mm? like what?”

his fingers slip lower, squeezing at your hips, a slow smirk creeping onto his lips. “wanna have you sit on my face.”

your fingers freeze mid-scroll. your phone slips from your grasp, landing somewhere on the bed, suddenly forgotten as your stomach does a little flip. blinking, you look down at him, finding those dark, expectant eyes staring up at you, his expression nothing short of mischievous.

“what?” you squeak, heat rushing straight to your cheeks.

he grins, tilting his head. “you heard me, baby.”

your lips part, but no words come out, your mind struggling to keep up with the sudden shift in atmosphere. jungkook just watches you, clearly enjoying your reaction, his hands kneading at your waist, pulling you just a little closer.

“c’mon,” he murmurs, voice dropping, all smooth and coaxing. “let me take care of you.”

your breath catches, fingers tightening around the hem of your shirt. “koo—”

he hums, leaning up, lips brushing against your jaw, your cheek, whispering against your skin. “be good for me, yeah?”

your breath is shaky, your fingers curling into the sheets as jungkook watches you, his eyes dark, unwavering.

his hands slide up, fingertips dragging along your sides, slow and deliberate. “you think i don’t want it?” he murmurs, tilting his head, gaze locked onto yours. “think i don’t wanna have you above me, making a mess all over my face?”

your stomach flips, warmth pooling between your thighs at the way he says it, like he’s already imagining how you’ll fall apart above him.

you press your lips together, nervous, hesitant, but jungkook sees right through you. his hands squeeze your hips, grounding, reassuring.

“jump off,” he says, voice smooth, calm, but there’s an edge to it, something commanding beneath the sweetness.

you hesitate for half a second, and then you move, shifting off of him so he can lay down properly, arms stretching above his head before settling comfortably against the pillows. he looks up at you, smirking just a little, his hands reaching for you instantly, urging you forward.

your heart is pounding, a mix of excitement and uncertainty swirling inside you, but jungkook is patient, his grip firm but gentle as he tugs you closer, guiding you over him.

his fingers hook into your underwear, sliding the fabric down your thighs, slow, deliberate, teasing. you shiver, watching as he helps you out of them completely, tossing them somewhere onto the bed like they don’t even matter.

you swallow hard, kneeling beside him, your body heating under his gaze.

“come here,” he murmurs, voice rough, hands wrapping around your thighs, tugging you forward.

you hesitate again, just for a second, but he soothes you with a slow stroke of his thumbs.

“trust me, baby,” he whispers, eyes half-lidded, lips slightly parted as he waits, patient and wanting. “lemme make you feel good.”

your breath hitches, your fingers digging into the sheets. then, slowly, you let him guide you up, positioning yourself above his face, thighs trembling just slightly as his grip tightens, holding you in place.

and the second you settle, his eyes flicker up, dark and full of something dangerous. “good girl,” he breathes, lips brushing against the heat of your skin, his grip firm on your thighs as he keeps you in place, hovering just above his mouth.

his breath is warm, teasing, the anticipation making your whole body shudder. you barely have a second to process before his tongue flicks out, pressing against your clit and dragging a long stripe up through your folds.

your whole body jolts, a shaky gasp tumbling from your lips, fingers instantly gripping the headboard for support.

“fuck—” your voice is barely above a whisper, thighs twitching as jungkook hums beneath you, pleased.

his tongue moves again, licking up through your slickness, savoring the taste of you like he has all the time in the world. your breath catches, a high-pitched whimper escaping as you tremble above him, your hips twitching forward before you can stop yourself.

jungkook groans, low and deep, the vibration shooting straight through you, making your whole body tingle. his hands flex on your thighs, pulling you closer, encouraging you to move, to grind down against his mouth.

“that’s it,” he murmurs against you, his voice muffled, lost in the mess he’s already making of you. “use me, baby.” his tongue plunges lower, hot and wet, licking into your cunt, the sensation making you jolt.

“oh—oh my god,” you gasp, fingers tightening in his hair now, holding onto him for dear life.

he growls, his grip tightening, keeping you pressed down as his tongue delves deeper, licking into you with messy, sloppy strokes, his face completely buried between your thighs.

your whole body trembles as he moves, flicking, and thrusting his tongue in and out of you, wet sounds filling the air as he works you open greedily, his hands gripping your thighs so tight you know you’ll feel it tomorrow.

you’re losing yourself, completely. your thighs are trembling, your hips rolling forward without even thinking, chasing every flick, every movement of his tongue.

“so messy, baby,” jungkook groans against you, his voice husky, drenched in arousal. “so fucking sweet.”

your breath is ragged, sharp little cries slipping from your lips, your mind hazy, floating. your stomach tightening, coiling, ready to snap.

jungkook knows it, too. he feels the way your thighs start to tremble, the way your hips stutter, struggling to keep up with the desperate rhythm you’ve set against his mouth.

he pulls away.

your entire body jerks, the loss of contact so sudden that your breath catches in your throat, a desperate whimper breaking free.

“w-wait—” your voice is barely there, weak and broken, hands flying to his hair, trying to push yourself back onto his mouth. but jungkook’s grip on your thighs is firm, unyielding, holding you in place just far enough that his lips hover over you, but not touching.

“nah, baby,” he breathes, voice dark, dripping with amusement, his fingers stroking up and down your skin in slow, soothing patterns, like he isn’t being absolutely cruel. “not yet.”

your head falls back, frustration bubbling in your chest, tears pricking at your eyes.

“koo—” you whine, voice high, breathless, your entire body aching, throbbing from how close you’d been. he smirks, watching the way you squirm, how your fingers tremble in his hair as you try to urge him closer.

“you were gonna cum, weren’t you?” he muses, tilting his head, his breath still hot against your soaked skin, sending little shocks through your oversensitive nerves.

you nod frantically, your hips jerking slightly, your desperation obvious. “yes, yes, i was—”

“too bad.”

his grip tightens, nails pressing just slightly into the soft flesh of your thighs as he drags his tongue along you, slow and lazy, teasing, but not giving you enough, not enough to build it back up, not enough to push you over the edge.

your stomach tenses, frustration bubbling higher, making you gasp as he continues. light licks, soft kisses, nothing close to what you need.

“please,” you sob, hands fisting in his hair, begging.

and jungkook—cruel, teasing, relentless jungkook—finally decides to give you what you want.

his grip on your thighs tightens, holding you in place as he leans in again, tongue eagerly lapping greedily at your dripping cunt.

you jolt, a sharp gasp escaping, your body immediately reacting to the sudden return of sensation.

he doesn’t start slow this time. no more teasing, no more light flick. he sucks you into his mouth, tongue circling your clit in quick, deliberate motions.

your back arches, a strangled moan slipping from your lips as the pleasure slams into you all at once. “f-fuck, jungkook—”

he moans in response, the sound sending vibrations straight through you, making your legs shake. his hand slides down, fingers trailing between your folds, slick and soaked from how long he’s been working you up, how much he’s denied you.

then he pushes in. one finger, then another, stretching you, filling you up slow, and deep, curling just right to kiss against that special spot inside of you.

your breath stutters, hands shaking, nails digging into his scalp as you cling to him, helpless against the pleasure that slams through you.

“oh my god—” you cry, hips bucking against his face, and jungkook growls, gripping your thighs tighter, keeping you still as he fucks you open with his fingers, matching the pace of his tongue.

his fingers press deeper, curling up, rubbing against that spot over and over. his tongue is unrelenting against you, flicking, sucking, messy and desperate.

your thighs are trembling, stomach coiling tight, pleasure building too fast, too hard, too overwhelming. you’re gonna break.

“that’s it,” jungkook groans against you, voice dark and full of hunger, fingers thrusting deep, tongue working you over with fast, filthy strokes. “gimme one, baby. wanna feel you cum on my tongue.”

and the second he crooks his fingers just right, mouth closing around your clit with one last hot, messy suck, you snap.

the pleasure crashes into you like a tidal wave, hot and overwhelming, your entire body locking up before unravelling all at once. a choked sob rips from your throat, sharp and broken, turning into a high-pitched moan that sounds downright obscene.

your hips jerk, grinding against jungkook’s face, chasing every last aftershock of pleasure, unable to stop yourself from riding it out.

he groans beneath you, voice low and wrecked, encouraging, letting you take what you need. his hands hold you tight, fingers digging into the plush of your thighs, keeping you right where he wants you as you move, letting him lick up everything you give him.

“oh fuck...” you gasp, body shuddering, vision going hazy from how hard you’re cumming, the pleasure so intense it borders on too much.

jungkook doesn’t stop. doesn’t even slow down.

his tongue is still lapping at you, messy, sloppy, dragging out every little pulse, every last tremor of your high, addicted to the way you taste.

your thighs twitch, your hands shaking as you try to push him away, whimpering from the overstimulation, but he just groans, mouth still locked onto you, still devouring you like he hasn’t had enough.

“too much, koo—” you sob, legs trembling, but he only tightens his grip, moaning into you, his tongue flicking over your oversensitive pussy, making you cry out again.

he doesn’t care. doesn’t care that you’re twitching, that your body is going limp, that you’re whimpering, sobbing, struggling to breathe. he just keeps going, working you through it, chasing another one.

his nose brushes against your clit, pressing just right, and your breath stutters, your whole body locking up for a second before instinct kicks in. you start to move again, grinding down, rolling your hips in slow, shaky circles.

jungkook groans, low and guttural. his fingers flex against your thighs, helping you move, guiding your rhythm, his tongue still flicking up against your entrance, letting you use him exactly how you need.

you’re whimpering now, high-pitched, desperate, the pleasure overwhelming, too much and not enough all at once.

his nose presses against you with every roll of your hips, the pressure perfect, sharp little bursts of pleasure making your stomach coil tight again, building too fast.

“fuck—koo, i—” you gasp, nails digging into his scalp, your whole body tense, right on the edge again.

he knows. he feels it. the way your thighs are quivering, the way your moans get higher, the way your movements start to stutter. with one last sharp roll of your hips, one last stroke of his tongue, you shatter.

your vision whites out, your whole body locking up before shaking violently as your second ogasm rips through you, stronger than the first.

a loud, broken moan tears from your throat, your thighs squeezing around his head as you grind against his face, drawing out every last wave of pleasure until you can’t take anymore.

your limbs go weak, completely spent, trembling, your body sagging forward as the aftershocks pulse through you. jungkook is still licking at you, slower now, not wanting to let you go just yet.

“koo, stop,” you sob, barely able to form words, your whole body shaking as you try to pull away, too sensitive, too much.

he groans in protest, but finally lets you go.

his grip on your thighs loosens, and you all but collapse, sliding off him and onto the bed, your body boneless, completely spent. your breathing is ragged, your chest rising and falling rapidly, your thighs still trembling.

jungkook licks his lips, smirking, looking at you through heavy-lidded eyes. his face is a mess, completely soaked in you.

“so fucking pretty when you fall apart for me,” he murmurs, voice thick and lazy, his fingers still stroking slow circles against your shaking thighs.

you can’t even respond, can’t even think. just lay there, panting, completely and utterly ruined.

his hands move before he even thinks about it. gentle now, sliding up to your waist as he tugs you closer, shifting you onto him. “c’mere, baby,” he murmurs, voice soft.

you barely register the movement, letting him pull you into his chest, your body molding into his like it’s second nature.

his arms wrap around you, firm but tender, hands rubbing slow, lazy circles against your back. he kisses the top of your head, soft and lingering. “did so good for me,” he whispers against your hair, voice thick with something warm, something adoring.

you make a small noise, barely more than a hum, nuzzling into his chest, your fingers weakly gripping at the fabric of his hoodie like you need to hold onto something.

jungkook chuckles, low and affectionate, his hand smoothing over your back before moving up to cradle the back of your head, tucking you in even closer. “s’that all i get?” he teases lightly, fingers playing with the ends of your hair. “no words, baby?”

you pout against his chest, but it’s weak, sleepy. “too tired,” you mumble.

he grins, shifting just enough to press another kiss against your temple, long and lingering, like he can’t help himself. “yeah? wore you out that bad?”

you nod, letting yourself melt into his warmth. your body already starts to relax, the last bits of tension ebbing away under his touch.

he holds you like that for a while, just rubbing circles into your back, pressing little kisses to your hair, letting you come down at your own pace.

“let’s get you cleaned up,” he murmurs after a moment, his lips brushing your forehead. “then we can nap, yeah?”

you hum, nodding against his chest, but make no move to get up, completely content to stay wrapped up in him for a little longer.

he laughs softly, squeezing you one last time before finally shifting, his hands never leaving your skin. “i love you, baby.”

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