#the rarest treasure

[thanatologie]

holds my rarepairs so close.

[yogoblog]

fucking sacrilegious

[mrshiraethsworld]

CURSE OF THE RUBY ━ james norrington ⎈

you are cursed lass

THE RAREST TREASURE TALE read here: wattpad

tag family: @arrthurpendragon, @eddysocs, @darth-caillic, @dancingsunflowers-ocs, @kmc1989, @ocappreciation, @ocs-supporting-ocs if you want to be added to my family, all you have to do is ask!

[shokocide]

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.

[sy1vs-3]

Ahhh, thank you so much for supporting me—I seriously didn’t expect so much attention on something I wrote for the first time in four years.

˚ This little piece with Dragon Sylus is especially dedicated to: @chocochip-gaia, @snowflake-seal and to everyone who supported me through reblogs and wrote those sweet comments — thank you for the encouragement!! 😭🙏🏻

please enjoy... ♡

part 1 🌸

I’m almost certain Sylus would think it’s silly that he feels the need for you to be in the nest—and that the nest should smell like both of you. He doesn’t even know how he came to that conclusion, but somehow, your clothes weren’t enough anymore. So, he added a few of his own things too.

And yes—he’ll 100% grumble if anyone moves or removes anything. He remembers EVERY single item he put in the nest.

If you ever said that something about it bothered you, he’d definitely feel upset, even if he didn’t show it. He did all of this for you. What do you mean it's uncomfortable to sit next to a pile of pearls in the chair corner?? Those are the rarest pearls in the world!!

Once you leave, he’ll grumble to himself for a bit… and then quietly move them somewhere else. He wants you to be comfortable. Even if in your eyes, he’s the one acting weird.

And oh—he would absolutely want to show you all his vinyl records. His entire weapon collection. His gemstones. All of it. It’s instinct. He doesn’t care if it’s not your thing. He wants to share his world with you. To let you in where no one else is allowed. You're the only one who gets to touch his treasures. He wants you to be proud of how much he has.

I also think… when you’re not around, he still curls up in the nest. Just because he loves the way you smell. It calms him down. Grounds him. And no one—I repeat—no one is allowed to wake him up. Dragons don’t need much sleep, but if it means he gets to be wrapped up in your scent just a little longer? He’ll stay asleep for as long as it takes.

part 3 🌸

I really haven’t written anything in a long time because I was afraid I wouldn’t capture the character properly, but for some reason, with Sylus, it just comes so naturally... I love him too much 🙂‍↕️🩷

[nekonaps0]

Octavinelle x chubby reader

Soft and cute

✦ characters: Azul, Jade, Floyd

✦ gn!reader

✦chubby!reader

✦okay! Straight forward, I didn’t get too much information so I used my ✨writer freedom✨ hope you guys like it

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul has always been insecure about his past, his appearance, his worth. So when he falls for you, someone with a smile that could bring the ocean to its knees, he understands what it means to carry self-doubt.

At first, he’s awkward about it. Not because he’s uncomfortable with your body, quite the opposite, but because he knows how cruel people can be. He’s heard it before, the way some whisper behind their hands. And he hates the idea of you ever hearing it too.

So one day, while you're lying together on the Mostro Lounge VIP couch after hours, your head on his shoulder, he whispers:

“You’re… exquisite. You know that, right?”

You blink up at him, surprised. “I mean… I try.”

His hand finds yours. “No. I mean it. You’re stunning. Your softness… it’s comforting. Warm. You walk into a room and I forget every contract I’ve ever written.”

You giggle. “Azul, are you flirting with me or rewriting my biography?”

He turns red. “The first one….”

And later, when you hesitate over a dress or grumble about your curves, he’s the first to pull you into his arms, hands resting on your hips like they belong there.

“Don’t you dare hide,” he says softly, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “You’re not meant to hidden. You were made to be admired.”

Jade Leech

Jade is an observer. Nothing escapes him, your nervous glances when you think a piece of clothing doesn’t flatter you, the way you touch your stomach self-consciously, the way your smile falters just a second too soon when someone talks about “ideal body types.”

But Jade doesn’t love you in spite of your body. He adores you because you’re you. Full-bodied. Soft. Stunning.

Once, while you were hiking together (he insisted it would be “a relaxing little adventure��… (LIES)), you paused for a breather, hand on your hip, cheeks flushed. You muttered something under your breath about slowing him down. He turned, slowly.

“My Dear,” he said, voice low and velvety, “you are the highlight of this entire trip.”

You blinked at him. “I’m sweaty and wheezing.”

He tilted your chin up with a gloved finger. “And still more stunning than any wildflower we’ve passed.”

Later, he’d take your hand, guiding it to the curve of your waist with his own resting just beneath. He’d murmur:

“Beauty comes in many forms, but yours? Yours is the kind I’d catalog and treasure.”

Jade doesn’t just love you, he reveres you. He whispers poetry against your skin. He makes you feel like you were carved by ocean gods.

And the way he looks at you? Like a collector who’s found the rarest, most precious specimen in the world.

Floyd Leech

Floyd doesn’t care about rules. Or expectations. Or body standards.

All he knows is that you’re his, and he loves how you feel under his arms when he wraps you in a bone crushing hug.

He lives to squish your cheeks and grab your hips and throw you over his shoulder like a prize, no matter how heavy you think you are.

He adores your softness.

When you try to pull away or joke about being “too heavy,” he narrows his eyes, scoops you up like it’s nothing, and growls

“Too heavy? Nah. You’re just right.”

One time, you asked, “Floyd, don’t you think I’d look better if I lost a few kg/pounds?”

He stared at you for a second, expression darkening, not with anger at you, but at the thought.

“Nope. I like my shrimpy exactly like this. Don’t change. You’re soft in all the best places.”

Kiss attacks. And a tackle-hug. Floyd is all physical affection and zero patience for insecurity. He doesn’t tolerate you saying anything mean about yourself. Not on his watch. Or if you do, be ready being covered with bite marks.

He loves showing you off, especially when people stare, because it means he gets to sling an arm around your waist and smirk like he’s won the jackpot.

“Jealous, huh? Can’t blame ya. My shrimpy’s gorgeous.”

..............................................................................................................................

Okey! Listen! I love Jade… but his hiking?!? Hell nah! 🧍‍♀️ I would support him from home. Deam… my stamina is at Idia level…

[lamb-teaa]

` last of his kind, or not

` C.1 - dragons, flowers and what?

—⁠ tags: AU for Sylus's myth. canon divergence. Sylus x fem!reader. human-dragon hybrids. comedy/crack me thinks.

—⁠ teaa’s note: short scenario. possible future fic. or not lol. cliffhanger am sorry (ᵕ—ᴗ—)

—⁠ edited: caved in and wrote C.2 ooft. happy reading!

—⁠ ` C.2 - first impression failed successfully

Sylus believed he was the last of his kind. Doomed to a life of solitude as an extinct race and condemned by the humans as an abomination.

Yet he persevered, survived and lived out of spite against those foolish humans - creating havoc everywhere he goes, stealing treasures for his trove of collections, and when he's feeling mischievous, he'd toy around with humans that dared to even dream to cross him.

Or stupid enough to try to kill him.

Sylus wouldn't even grant them an instant death, no no, that'd be too boring. He'd let them live for a short while, torture them as he deemed fit and watched in amusement as they begged for mercy. Truly, these humans are much more entraining alive than dead.

That is until he gets bored of them and stabs them straight in the throat with his sharp tail.

Just another normal day for the last dragon of Philos.

Only the rarest day when Sylus isn't being a menace is when he took himself to the skies to observe the lands below, especially towards a certain flower field that gave him even just the tiniest taste of tranquility.

His large wings flutter behind his back, his eyes gazing down at the field of red daturas coming into view. The sight of the flower field that brought solace to his empty heart.

Until he saw something that made him freeze mid-air.

He saw you.

You were crouching down slightly amidst the vast field, picking the flowers into your arms to make a lovely bouquet, your dress fluttering as you moved around, your light blue tail swaying calmly behind you, your moonlight horns shone slightly by the evening sunset - completely oblivious to the dumbfounded dragon watching you from above the sky.

Sylus thought he might have lost it. That the centuries of isolation and loneliness finally caught up to him that he hallucinated the existence of another dragon like himself.

A trick of the light. An illusion. It can't be rea-

But the moment you stood up with an armful of daturas, your eyes flickered up towards the sky, locking gaze with Sylus - he felt time stilled around him.

The confused tilt in your head, the wondering gaze in your eyes and the slightest of movement as you took a step back while still maintaining eye contact with him.

His eyes widened at the sight of you, his heart raced both in anticipation and trepidation, his fist clenched so hard that his claws stung his palm.

You looked alive.

You weren't an illusion.

You are real.

You -

His body reacted in an instant, his wings flapped strongly behind him and before Sylus knew it, he was flying fast towards the alarmed humanoid female dragon.

He didn't even think, subconsciously causing the speed of his flight to increase. In his mind, he'd already be thinking of landing calmly and gracefully in front of you.

Unfortunately for him, his lost control of his own speed caused him to crash unceremoniously into you, sending both of you tumbling across the flower field until he ended up hovering above you.

His breath hitched as stared down at you sprawled on the ground, jaw slightly agape as he took in your similar draconic scales like his, only yours shone in light blue unlike his dark red ones.

Sylus opened his mouth to speak but no words came out, too stunned at the prospect of finding another dragon like him in this lonesome world.

But he should say something, anything, just speak damnit-

Sylus snapped out of his reverie when he felt a strong smack of the flowers against his cheek, causing him to freeze up for the umpteenth time that day. His gaze flickered between your bewildered eyes to the flowers in your hand - he could only continue to stare at you in utter silence, flabbergasted.

You had just slapped him with the daturas.

[ask-scribner]

If you're that curious, perhaps I might make an exception and allow you a glimpse into my private collection, Mr. Sallow. Perhaps you'll find those missing volumes among them.

But be warned, dear, there are texts there that would make even the boldest blush and are best experienced under close guidance—and I do so enjoy a captivated audience.

Dear Sebastianus, Volume 7? Pray tell, what happened to the other 6?

Curiously, they went missing long ago. I have suspicions they may have wound up in the private collection of a certain librarian with a fetish for...rare texts.

[stellaspectral]

Can I request a rottmnt Raph x Female-Reader? I was thinking about a first encounter were Raph falls in love with the Reader at first sight (I’m picturing a very adorable/shy and girly reader who likes pink and cute stuff because I am like this, but you can make it more vague so that more people can insert themselves in her if you want) but he’s very insecure about it because 1) it’s the first time that he has a crush 2) he is a mutant turtle while she’s human 3) he told her that he was wearing a costume so she doesn’t know that he is not human. I don’t know if it’s enough for a request, I hope it’s okay! Thank you, have a good day! <3

A/N: Hey, anon! No worries, this is definitely enough for a request. I really enjoyed the idea of Raph falling head-over-heels at first sight, and writing the insecurities that come with that. Especially given the whole ‘mutant turtle’ situation. I also tried not to make it too angsty and attempted to stick to a mix of shyness/sweetness and a bit of awkwardness in their initial encounter.

I hope you enjoy! ☺️

This Fluttery, Warm Thing (fluff/mild angst)

❤️ ROTTMNT Raphael/Female Reader ❤️

CWs: Fluff, meet cute, awkward banter, mild angst, hopeful ending. All characters are aged-up.

The late afternoon sun casts an orange and gold glow on the sidewalks of New York. You’re walking home, humming a little tune, clutching your favorite tote bag that has embroidered flowers and a stitched patch featuring a cute cartoon mascot. It’s been a good day, filled with the satisfaction that comes from a successful treasure hunt.

Inside the tote, nestled amongst your usual essentials, is the prize: a small, perfectly square box. It’s the reason for the extra spring in your step, the silly grin on your face. You’d been searching for this specific blind box series—the limited-edition Cozy Cumulus Pals—for weeks. They’d vanished from online stores almost instantly.

According to rumors, only a few brick-and-mortar shops had received any stock. You’d almost given up hope after striking out at two different hobby stores last weekend. But today, on a whim, you’d ducked into that tiny import shop tucked away on a side street. And there it was: only one box left. You’d snatched it immediately, the cheerful, pastel packaging feeling like a tiny victory in your hands.

Your heart had given a little leap as the cashier scanned your purchase. She hadn’t batted an eye at you as you practically vibrated with excitement. But to you, your acquisition felt momentous. And now, walking home, you resist the constant urge to check if the box is still safely inside your tote.

You can almost feel its light weight, imagine the crinkle of the plastic wrap. Which character would it be? Pillow Puff? Naptime Nimbus? Or the rarest, the rainbow variant of Sleepy Stratus? The anticipation is a delicious little hum beneath your skin.

A cab honks impatiently, pulling you back to the bustling street for a moment. You sidestep a hurried commuter, tightening your grip on the tote’s strap. Just a few more blocks. Then, home, a cup of tea, and the delightful little ritual of unboxing your long-awaited, incredibly cute find.

Yes, it’s definitely been a good day.

Suddenly, your foot catches on an uneven crack in the pavement you didn’t notice. Gravity takes over and you stumble, a gasp escaping you as the contents of your bag—carelessly left unzipped in your happy distraction—spill onto the sidewalk. Papers flutter, your wallet skids a few feet away, a tube of lip balm rolls out of sight.

And the thing that makes your heart plummet the most is your treasured keychain, the one with the charm shaped like a fluffy alpaca with rosy cheeks, bouncing precariously close to the gaping maw of a storm drain grate.

“No, no, no!” The words burst out, laced with genuine distress. You scramble to gather your belongings, dropping to your knees, ignoring the scrape of the ground.

You reach for the keychain, your heart sinking as you see it teetering on the edge of the grate—and you know you won’t be able to grab it in time.

Before panic can truly set in, a huge shadow falls over you. You freeze, mid-reach, and slowly look up. Standing there, blocking the sun, is the largest person you have ever seen. He’s incredibly broad-shouldered and … green? He wears some kind of red bandana mask over his eyes, along with wraps. Or whatever they are.

But before you can process the sheer strangeness of his appearance, his massive, three-fingered hand darts down with surprising speed. He deftly scoops up the tiny keychain, rescuing it nanoseconds before it’s about to tumble into the depths of the drain.

He straightens up, holding the delicate charm carefully between his thick thumb and forefinger, and looks down at you. Behind the mask, you see his eyes—surprisingly expressive dark pools—widen slightly. There’s a flicker of something you can’t quite place. Surprise? Alarm? You tilt your head.

He seems almost … flustered.

He holds out his hand, offering the keychain back. His movements are careful, hesitant, as if he’s worried a sudden move might make you bolt. “Uh,” he starts, his voice a deep rumble, but much softer than you’d expect from someone his size. “This … this yours?”

You’re still a bit stunned by the near loss of your keychain and the presence of the guy who saved it. Finally, you find your voice, albeit shaky. “Y-yes! Oh my gosh!” you say, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment. As you take back the keychain, your fingers brush against his, feeling the cool, slightly rough texture.

He helps you collect the rest of your things, and you stuff them back into your bag—making sure to zip it up properly this time.

“Thank you so much!” you say. “I thought it was gone for sure.”

“Yeah. No problem,” he rumbles again, his voice still low and gravelly, but definitely tinged with … discomfort? He takes a half-step back, clearly signaling his intention to leave.

“Wait!” you blurt out, feeling a sudden need to acknowledge the sheer oddity and kindness of the moment. “That was… really amazing. How you caught it. I mean—” You gesture vaguely with the hand holding the alpaca keychain. “—you’re incredibly fast.”

Now that the immediate crisis is over, you take in his appearance again. The green isn’t paint; it looks … real. And you felt the almost scaly texture of it. And the shell—wait, is that a shell strapped to his back?! It looks ridiculously heavy, yet he moved with an agility that defies his bulk just moments ago.

He shifts his weight, his gaze flicking down the street, then back to you, the awkwardness radiating off him in waves. He seems less like a menacing figure and more like someone caught doing something they weren’t supposed to, despite having just performed a random act of kindness.

The question escapes before you can stop it, fueled by unfiltered curiosity. “Um … sorry, this is maybe a weird question, but … what are you?”

You see him physically recoil, just slightly, his posture stiffening as he blushes. He looks away sharply, down the street—anywhere but at you for a few beats. Then his gaze snaps back, masked eyes wide.

“Oh! Uh, yeah—costume!” He coughs, forcing the word out. It sounds unnatural, like he’s tasted something bad. “Big … comic fan convention nearby! Ya know, sci-fi stuff.” He gestures vaguely down the street, though you don’t recall seeing any signs for a con.

But hey, it’s New York. Stranger things happen before breakfast. “Wow,” you say, in a sort of bewildered admiration. “It’s incredible. Seriously, the detail is amazing! The skin texture looks—and feels—so real.”

Again, he blushes. “Uh, yeah,” he says, rubbing the nape of his neck. “Thank you.”

You realize you’re still holding the keychain. “But thank you again. Really. You saved my favorite little alpaca.” You hold up the fluffy charm again.

He looks at it, then back at your face. He seems to be studying you, taking in your eyes, the way you tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. The nervousness is back, rolling off him in waves. He looks profoundly uncomfortable, yet unable to look away. It’s surprisingly sweet.

In a giant-green-man-in-a-costume kind of way.

Because who did he think he was fooling?

“N-no problem,” he finally stammers. “Just … uh … watch where you’re goin’, okay? Sidewalks are … rough.”

“I definitely will now,” you promise, offering a small, shy smile. “Thanks again, um …” You trail off, realizing you don’t know his name.

“Raph,” he blurts out, before looking startled, as if the word escaped without permission. “Name’s Raph.”

You tell him your name. “It was nice meeting you, Raph.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs. He then repeats your name softly under his breath, as if testing the sound of it. “Nice … nice meeting you, too.” From behind the mask, his intense and strangely vulnerable eyes still lock on yours.

Then, an awkward silence stretches between you. You clutch your bag, suddenly very aware of the surrounding city sounds returning to focus. He opens his mouth slightly as if to speak, then closes it again. Almost as if he wants to say something more, but has no idea what.

“Well,” you say finally, breaking the spell, “I should probably get home. Dinner and all that.” You tilt your head toward where you were originally going. “But thank you, Raph. You’re a lifesaver.”

“Sure. Yeah. No problem,” he says, taking a half-step back, as if forcing himself to give you space. “Get home safe.”

You nod, offer one last quick smile, then turn and start walking away. Curiosity compels you to glance back over your shoulder after a few paces. Raph is still standing exactly where you left him, a giant green statue silhouetted against the setting sun, watching you go. He looks strangely … lonely.

You feel a pang of sympathy.

But what you don’t feel—or see—is the internal chaos erupting within Raph as your figure recedes down the street. You don’t feel the thunderous, frantic thump-thump-thump of his heart against his plastron, a feeling entirely new and almost terrifyingly strong. He just met you, just saw your shy smile, the way your eyes lit up when he rescued your keychain.

You don’t see how his entire world has tilted on its axis.

And detonated.

Wow, he thinks. She’s … she’s … wow.

Then the crushing weight of reality slams back down on him.

Costume? COSTUME?! The word screeches in his head, mocking his panicked lie. Smooth move, Raph. Real smooth.

But what else could he have possibly said? ‘Hey, thanks. But I’m actually a giant talking turtle mutated by alien ooze. Nice to meet you?’ Yeah, right. You’d have run screaming.

She’s human, the thought follows, cold and heavy. Beautiful, gentle. Human. And he’s … this. Green, hard-shelled, different. A monster in the eyes of the world.

He clenches his fists. This feeling—this fluttery, warm feeling in his chest—is completely foreign. Because a crush? On a human, who thinks he’s just some guy in a costume?

He lets out a long, shaky breath, his shoulders slumping. Confusion and a strange, aching sweetness war within him, making him feel dizzy. He stares down at his own large, green, three-fingered hands, then back up at the now-empty stretch of sidewalk where you stood just moments ago.

“What is Raph supposed to do now?” he murmurs.

He replays the encounter in his mind. You hadn’t recoiled in horror. You looked surprised, maybe a bit flustered. But not terrified.

And most importantly, you didn’t run.

He looks down at his hands again, the hands that saved your keychain, the hands you’d briefly touched without flinching. A new thought, small but persistent, flickers to life within him. Maybe being different didn’t have to mean being alone. And he doesn’t know how.

But he knows you’ll find each other again.

[guiltyandashamed]

hi! can i req the brothers with a gift giver mc? like really thoughtful, crafty handmade gifts. love your writing btw ^_^

headcannons: hand-crafted gifts from MC

Lucifer

At first, Lucifer is mildly surprised when you hand him a sleek, hand-cut card with gold ink, congratulating him on another successful quarter at RAD. He accepts it with a raised brow but keeps it. Then comes a small box with individually labeled tea sachets, each one with a handwritten tag “For when the paperwork’s unbearable” or “Take a break, you deserve it.”

It starts to accumulate. Quietly. In his desk drawer is a little section now, a handful of thoughtful things from you. One day, he finds a ceramic paperweight shaped like a wing with a note: “So you don’t have to carry everything at once.” He doesn’t show much emotion, but that stays right on his desk. Every time he sees it, he sighs a little less.

Mammon

You made Mammon a little keychain, a chibi version of him, colored and sealed in a handmade resin charm. You give it to him with a little note “To protect your keys like you protect me.” He turns red, says you didn't have to, but he keeps it attached to his D.D.D. at all times.

Thing is, you do this often. A tiny scratch-off card with “Best Demon Ever” under the heart. A little origami crow taped to his mirror. A duct tape coin pouch you stitched on a whim. Mammon doesn’t just keep them, he brags about them. He’s made a box for your stuff and adds to it religiously, even if he pretends he’s “just organizing.” When he’s alone, he takes it out and goes through each piece like it’s treasure.

Leviathan

You drew him a birthday card styled like the cover of his favorite anime, logo mimicked, your characters stylized like the cast. Inside was a friendship meter like a dating sim, maxed out with his name. Levi short-circuits. You handed it to him shyly, and now he’s pink to his ears, holding it like it’s a sacred collector’s item.

He tries to play it cool, but your habit of crafting him things,bookmarks with tiny tentacle tassels, quote cards from anime you watch together, stickers of you as an in-game character, completely ruins him. He has an entire display shelf just for your creations, right next to his rarest figures. He calls it his MC Loot.

Satan

Satan is given a recycled book spine bookmark with etched cat ears at the top and your initials burned into the back. “So you don’t lose your place,” you wrote. Satan accepts it like someone receiving a priceless relic. His fingers trace every imperfection like it’s proof of sincerity.

He keeps every card you make: a thank-you card with tiny paw prints, a birthday note referencing his favorite literary quotes, a hand-bound pocket notebook. One day, you hand him a small canvas with a painted library cat in Devildom green, and he actually stops mid-sentence. “You remembered I mentioned that… months ago.” He’s not just collecting them, he’s preserving them, cataloging them in a little drawer beside his best books.

Asmodeus

You made Asmo a hand mirror, glittering frame, embedded with tiny stones, and a message in your scrawl on the handle: “You're already perfect.” He gasps like you handed him a crown. “This is the sweetest thing I’ve ever been given!”

It’s not a one-time thing. You gift him bath salts you mixed yourself, sachets with stitched heart tags, little “confidence cards�� with compliments for him to pull on bad days. He lines them up along his vanity, perfectly arranged, and even rotates them by mood. “I don’t care what anyone says, darling,” he hums, “nothing looks better on me than something you made.”

Beelzebub

You hand Beel a stitched snack pouch made from durable RAD uniform scraps, reinforced with little patches that resemble food logos. “To keep your snacks safe,” you say. He beams and hugs you carefully, because he doesn’t want to crush you or the pouch.

You’re always slipping him handmade granola bars with heart-shaped notes, or tiny hand-painted boxes filled with his favorite flavors. He keeps every wrapper that has your handwriting on it. One time, you gave him a crude crocheted plush of a hamburger. Surprisingly, he's never tried to eat it because the idea of losing something you made frightens him. It never fails to make him smile to be reminded that you make things for him.

Belphegor

You make Belphie a handmade constellation map, sewn with gold thread, into a soft pillow cover. “I charted stars of the night you first took me to the planetarium” you say. He tucks it under his arm immediately. “This is… seriously amazing.”

He acts nonchalant, but his room is full of your things. A dream journal you hand-bound and scrawled sleepy messages in. A cloud-shaped stress ball he squeezes when he can’t drift off. You keep making things for him, and without ever asking, he starts making space on his bed just for your gifts.

[justdiptych]

Two of the rarest and most inaccessible treasures of Fallen London are a firkin of cider and a wheel of cheese, which suggests that Fallen Bath would be a city of such plenty and excess as to put El Dorado to shame.

[mrshiraethsworld]

CURSE OF THE RUBY ━ james norrington ⎈

Felicity Smith's life in Port Royal had been less than adequate, as both women and men looked at her disdainfully. Gentlemen did not court a woman with nothing to her name, much less marry her with no prospects on the horizon. Ladies didn't want to be associated with her for fear that she would taint their good name. She was a mystery that people would rather leave unsolved, except for Governor Swann and his daughter Elizabeth. Felicity would do or be anything they needed to repay their kindness, including standing aside and watching the man she loved marry another. James Norrington couldn't remember when Felicity was not part of his life. His daily routine of sleeping, working, and dining revolved around her and what her day consisted of. He always looked forward to seeing her when he was off duty after long hours in the sun. Expeditions seemed an eternity away from his home, but he would only think of her to pass the time. James had thought he would marry the kind red jewel one day but worried about what society would think. So instead, he settled on her companion, Elizabeth, who was a much more suitable match for a gentleman of his standing. When a certain Captain comes to town and sets off a chain of unpredictable events, Felicity gets a taste of the other side of the law, and James' true feelings are tested. Together the couple is thrust into a journey where true loyalties are tested, and their love for one another is put on the line. Felicity doesn't want to get in the way of James' happiness, but what if his happiness is her?

THE RAREST TREASURE TALE read here: wattpad

tag family: @arrthurpendragon, @eddysocs, @darth-caillic, @dancingsunflowers-ocs, @kmc1989, @ocappreciation, @ocs-supporting-ocs if you want to be added to my family, all you have to do is ask!

[the-flaneur]

love you fairy much (lh44)

pairing: dark fairy hunter!lewis hamilton x fairy!reader

summary: what does lewis love more than the chase for treasured fairy wings...

warnings: strangers to lovers and 18+, MDNI, NSFW -> smut ft. rough sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), possessive!lewis, breeding kink, innocence kink, reader doesn't know anything about sex, corruption kink

wc: 5077

[masterlist] [requests]

you flitted through the sun-dappled forest on iridescent wings, your gossamer gown fluttering and shimmering with each graceful movement. as a curious fairy, you delighted in teasing the humans who dared to venture into your woodland realm. most were kind travellers, eager to learn more about the fairy realm, whilst others were strange merchants, looking to sell you bubbling potions and wicked spells - most of which you simply casted back their way, leaving them with spikes in their eyes or tendrils of vines wrapped tightly around their throats. just all fun things :)

today, you had donned an especially adorable outfit - a scrap of sheer fabric barely concealing your breasts and hugging your curves. the other fairies favoured similar styles, so you happily followed suit, wanting to blend in with your peers. with a tinkling laugh, you darted between the ancient trees, leaving shimmering trails of pixie dust in your wake.

your destination for the day was a secluded glade renowned for its vibrant wildflowers. legend whispered that these blossoms held mystical properties, granting the gatherer immense beauty and allure. with an air of mischief, you intended to collect an assortment of the rarest hues to adorn your fairy home and perhaps entice a handsome suitor or two. as you happened upon a gnarled root, you paused to admire the ethereal beauty surrounding you - lush ferns unfurled like emerald fans, while dainty wild orchids bloomed in pastel shades.

suddenly, the sound of crunching leaves and snapping twigs echoed through the glade. your heart raced with trepidation as you sensed a powerful presence drawing near. as the sounds grow louder, you hide behind a wide oak tree, peeking out curiously. into view strode a tall, muscular man; he moved with the grace of a predator, his movements fluid and purposeful. 

his muscular frame was clad in tight leather armour that accentuated every sculpted curve. in his hand, he gripped a wicked-looking silver dagger, its blade glinting menacingly in the dappled light. his upper face was shielded by a skull mask and when he turned to look in your direction, you gasped silently at the dark brown pits of his eyes. the stranger paused in the centre of the glade, surveying his surroundings with a keen gaze. his eyes fell upon the vibrant wildflowers and he smiled, a flash of white teeth against his dark skin. he knelt down to examine a particularly beautiful blossom, his large hand gently cupping the delicate petals.

you watched as he tugged some flowers from the ground, before bundling them up into a bouquet - a gorgeous artistic masterpiece, if you said so yourself. you poked your head out more, wanting to take a closer look at the flowers he had gathered, but as you leaned forward, your wings brushed against the oak leaves above you. 

the man’s head snapped up, those intense brown eyes scanning the area until they locked onto your hiding spot. the man's deep voice rang out, echoing through the glade. "i know you're there, little one. come out and show yourself."

your heart skipped a beat as you realised the situation you were now in; lewis hamilton, the infamous fairy hunter, stood before you. his reputation most definitely preceded him - tales spoke of his unparalleled hunting skills and the countless fairy lives he'd claimed. and now here he was, mere feet away, those piercing brown eyes boring into you.

"well, well," he drawled, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "aren't you a pretty little thing? i've been searching for quite some time to find a specimen as... delectable as yourself." he took a step closer, his boots crunching against the forest floor, his hand spinning the dagger mockingly, while the other reached out towards you invitingly. 

your wings began to flutter rapidly as you decided to put some distance between yourself and the approaching hunter. with a burst of speed, you darted through the air, weaving between the trees in a dizzying dance. behind you, the sound of pursuit began - heavy footfalls crushing undergrowth, laboured breathing, the occasional curse muttered under lewis’ breath as he gave chase.

your heart pounded in your chest, adrenaline surging through your veins. part of you knew you should keep flying until you reached the safety of the deepest parts of the forest or your home, but another part, a traitorously dark voice in the back of your mind, whispered that getting caught might not be so bad. especially if it meant ending up in the arms of such a man.

just as you rounded a tree in the forest, a strong arm suddenly snaked out and wrapped around your waist, yanking you off course. you let out a startled yelp as you found yourself pressed against a solid wall of muscle, lewis’ body pinning you to a broad tree trunk. his free hand came up to wrap firmly around your throat, tilting your chin up to force you to meet his intense gaze.

"gotcha," he growled, a triumphant smirk playing across his lips. "i've been chasing you little minx for a while now. did you really think you could outfly me?" his thumb brushed along your neck as he leaned in closer, his warm breath ghosting over the shell of your ear. "now, what shall i do with my pretty little prize?"

“please don't eat me, i know you disgusting humans do that,” you whined, trying to wriggle out of his hold against the tree, but your wings were being scratched up, so you stopped. lewis threw his head back and laughed, a rich, deep sound that sent shivers down your spine. "eat you? oh no, sweet thing. i have much more...appetising plans for a delectable morsel like you." his grip on your throat tightened slightly as his other hand slid down to grab a handful of your plush rear, squeezing the supple flesh possessively.

“owww!” you yelped, trying to crane your neck to see what he was doing, “wait what? you won't eat me...can i go then?”

lewis’ eyes gleamed with mischief and barely restrained hunger as he drank in the sight of your trembling form pinned beneath him. "go? oh, i don't think so, my little fairy. now that i have you right where i want you..." his tongue flicked out to trace the delicate shell of your ear before he nipped at the lobe, sending jolts of sensation straight to your core. "i'm going to take my time exploring every inch of this exquisite body."

with his hand tracing down your collarbone, he ripped open the front of your gossamer gown, exposing your pert breasts to the cool forest air. the other released your rear to slide up your side, calloused fingers skimming over the swell of your breast through the thin fabric of your gown. he cupped the soft mound, thumbing the pebbled peak of your nipple until it strained against the gauzy material. "mmmm, so responsive. i bet you're aching for my touch, aren't you?"

blushing wildly, you watched with awe as lewis cupped your breasts, rubbing them together, “nobody had ever touched me...what does that mean? do humans like to touch other humans?”

lewis's grin turned predatory as he drank in the sight of your trembling form, so innocent yet ripe for corruption. his corruption. "oh, my sweet little lamb," he purred, voice dripping with dark promise. his large, work-roughened hands began their sinister exploration, calloused palms dragging along the silken expanse of your thighs. they crept higher and higher, pushing the fabric of your gown up inch by tantalizing inch until cool air kissed the heated skin of your most intimate areas.

"you have no idea what delights await you, do you?" lewis growled, hot breath ghosting over the shell of your ear. one hand slid between your legs, cupping your mound possessively while the other wrapped around your throat, applying just enough pressure to make your pulse jump.

he captured your lips in a searing kiss, plundering your mouth with his tongue as he backed you further against the tree. his knee nudged insistently between your legs, applying delicious pressure to your most sensitive areas. breaking the kiss, he trailed his lips down the column of your throat, sucking and nibbling at the delicate flesh. "i'm going to ruin you for anyone else," he growled against your skin.

"what are you doing to me?" you whimpered breathlessly, slender fingers tangling in lewis' dark hair. despite your words of protest, you found yourself unconsciously grinding your hips against his, craving more of the friction he was giving you.

lewis' fingers delved deeper down your body, stroking along your slick folds with maddeningly light touches. he circled your clit with the pad of his thumb, the bundle of nerves throbbing under his ministrations. "that's it, sweetheart. don't fight it. let the pleasure consume you." 

leaning down, he drew one rosy peak into his hot mouth, suckling greedily as his tongue swirled around the sensitive bud. his fingers never ceased their relentless assault on your aching sex, pumping two digits knuckle-deep into your tight channel while his thumb continued its merciless circling of your clit.

his mouth left a trail of open-mouthed kisses and love bites across your collarbone and down to your other breast, giving it equal attention. all the while, his thumb maintained its torturous pace on your clit, alternating between firm circles and quick flicks. the obscene sounds of your arousal filled the air - the slick glide of his fingers in your soaked folds, your breathy moans and whimpers of overwhelmed bliss.

you trembled and writhed against the tree, your untouched body overwhelmed by the intense sensations. your hips buck erratically, trying to take lewis' invading fingers deeper. "ah! ah! l-lewisss...too much...i c-can't..."

but even as you protest, your inner walls flutter and clench around the digits stretching you open, drawing them in further. the coil of tension winds tighter and tighter, threatening to snap at any moment. tears of overwhelming pleasure prick as you look up at lewis, completely lost to the ecstasy he's inflicting upon your body.

lewis drinks in the debauched sight of you - flushed cheeks, glazed eyes, full lips parted in silent cries of rapture. your response inflamed his desire to new heights. "shh, that's it baby. let go. i've got you," he crooned, voice rough with barely restrained lust. he redoubled his efforts, fingers pumping faster, harder, curling just right to hit that magic spot inside you with every thrust. his thumb pressed down hard on your clit, rubbing tight circles around the swollen nub.

sensing you were teetering on the edge, lewis sealed his lips over yours in a filthy kiss, swallowing your keening cries as he pushed you over the edge. his tongue plundered your mouth, mimicking the rhythm of his fingers fucking your spasming cunt.

lewis held you close as the waves of your first orgasm crashed over you, your untouched body convulsing in ecstasy. he gentled his touch, letting you ride out each aftershock, fingers still buried deep inside your fluttering sheath. as the last tremors faded, he slowly withdrew, bringing his glistening digits to his mouth to lick them clean with a low moan of appreciation.

"exquisite," he rumbled, dark eyes heavy-lidded with satisfaction and renewed hunger. "the taste of your innocence is ambrosial." in one swift motion, he hoisted you up again, encouraging you to wrap your legs around his waist as he pinned you more firmly against the tree.

mumbling, you ask lewis about the pressure out your core, leaving you to dig your hands into his shoulders. lewis chuckled lowly, grinding his hips against yours in a slow, deliberate roll. the rigid heat of his cock nestled perfectly against your sensitive folds, stoking the embers of your spent arousal back to life. "this, my sweet fairy, is what happens when a man wants a woman as badly as i want you." he punctuated his words with another purposeful thrust against your folds, letting you feel every thick inch of him.

large hands slid down to cup your ass, kneading the supple flesh as he supported your weight effortlessly. leaning in, he nipped at your earlobe before whispering hotly, "it's called an erection, darling. when a man is so aroused, his cock fills with blood and stiffens, ready to claim his lover."

“claim?” you mumble surprised, your eyes wandering to the thick muscle jutting out from his hips. the thick, veiny member stood proudly erect, pulsating with an insatiable hunger. the bulbous head was a deep, rich purple, oozing with precum that glistened in the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees.

the sight of lewis's imposing member took your breath away, its sheer size both intimidating and exhilarating. you could feel the heat radiating from his flesh, the musky scent of his arousal filling your nostrils and making your head spin with wanton desire.

lewis' eyes flashed with primal hunger at your innocent question. "yes, little one. to claim you, to make you mine in the most intimate way possible." he rolled his hips again, letting you feel the heavy throb of his desire. 

"i'm going to fill this tight little pussy with my cock," he growled against your racing pulse. "stretch you wide and deep until you're screaming my name. pump you full of my seed until it takes root in your womb." his free hand delved between your bodies to rub the broad head of his shaft through your slick folds, coating himself in your essence.

you shivered and gasped as lewis marked your tender skin, leaving a trail of reddening hickeys. thighs quivering around his waist - holding on very tightly you were - as jolts of electricity seem to shoot straight to your core from his teasing touches. "i-i don't understand..." you whimpered confusedly, even as you arched into his possessive hold. "what do you mean, 'until it takes root'?"

despite your innocence, lewis’ words ignites something deep within you, a yearning you don’t fully comprehend but desperately crave. your hips writhe instinctively, trying to draw him closer, to ease the ache building once more in your neglected sex. lewis groaned as your hips rolled against his, the friction delicious torture. he could feel your confusion warring with awakening need, your body responding to instincts older than time itself. "shh, don't think, just feel," he coaxed, voice a dark rumble. "when i say it will take root, i mean i'm going to fill this sweet cunt with so much cum, it might quicken in your belly."

he notched the broad crown of his cock against your entrance, letting you feel how he would split you open on his thick length. "breed you, make you swell with my child. claim you so thoroughly, everyone will know who you belong to." with a flex of his hips, he breached you shallowly, just the tip sinking into your scorching heat.

your high-pitched keen echoed through the forest as lewis' thick tip stretched your virgin entrance. muscles fluttered and clenched around the intrusion, trying to draw him deeper despite the initial burn of the stretch. tears of overwhelmed sensation pricked at the corners of your eyes but were quickly replaced by hazy bliss as you adjusted to the foreign feeling of fullness.

"fuck, so tight," lewis grunted, jaw clenched with the effort of holding back. he savored the exquisite squeeze of your silken walls for a long moment before slowly withdrawing until just the tip remained inside, then pushing forward again with a bit more force. each shallow thrust worked him deeper, your copious arousal easing the way as he claimed your innocence inch by excruciating inch.

he set a steady rhythm, working his thick shaft deeper into your clutching heat with each roll of his hips. the wet squelch of your sex filled the air, punctuated by your breathy moans and his guttural groans. he angled his thrusts to hit that spot inside you with every pass, determined to wring every drop of pleasure from your responsive body.

one large hand slid under your thigh to hitch your leg higher on his hip, opening you wider for his possession. the new angle allowed him to sink impossibly deeper, the coarse hairs at the base of his cock tickling your sensitive folds. "that's it, take it all like a good fairy," he praised huskily, sweat beading on his brow from the strain of holding back his release.

lewis' gaze flicked to your wings, now fluttering wildly with the intensity of your shared passion. the delicate membranes seemed to pulse in time with your racing heartbeat, a visible manifestation of your growing pleasure. "your wings are so responsive, little fairy," he murmured appreciatively, reaching out to trace a finger along the leading edge. "they quiver like the rest of you, just desperate for more."

emboldened by your reaction, he captured one wing in his large hand, stroking and caressing the sensitive material. his touch sent sparks of electricity dancing across your nerves, adding a new dimension to the overwhelming sensations consuming you. at the same time, he increased the pace of his thrusts, driving into you with deep, powerful strokes that had your back arching off the tree trunk.

lewis groaned deeply, feeling you grip him like a vice as he drove his cock deeper into your willing body. your desperate pleas for more only spurred him on, his hips snapping forward with increased ferocity. "yes, take it all, little fairy," he rasped, one hand reaching up to roughly palm your bouncing breast. he pinched and rolled your nipple between his fingers, the added stimulation causing you to keen loudly.

lewis leaned in, capturing your mouth in another searing kiss as he continued to pound into you, his thick shaft stroking your cervix with each powerful thrust. lewis growled into the kiss, the taste of your submission fueling his desire. his tongue plundered your mouth, dominating and claiming every inch. the wet sounds of flesh slapping against flesh echoed in the forest as he continued his relentless assault on your senses.

"yes, scream for me, you filthy girl," he grunted, angling his hips to hit that special spot inside you with every deep stroke. his hand on your breast pinched harder, sending jolts of pleasure-pain straight to your core. "this greedy cunt was made for my cock, wasn't it? made to be stretched and used for my pleasure." lewis broke the kiss to trail his lips down your neck, biting and sucking dark marks into your skin. he wanted everyone to see, to know that you belonged to him now - his personal fairy to ruin as he saw fit.

lost in a haze of lust, you could only moan brokenly as lewis took you with animalistic fervour. each powerful thrust sent shockwaves of ecstasy through your trembling body, stoking the inferno building in your core.

"yes, yes, yes! don't stop!" you wailed, fingernails raking down his back hard enough to leave red welts. your hips bucked wildly to meet his, taking him impossibly deeper. the coil of tension wound tighter and tighter, threatening to snap at any moment.

"i'm... i'm going to..." you panted desperately, inner muscles starting to convulse around his pistoning shaft. tears of overwhelming sensation leaked from the corners of your eyes as you teetered on the knife's edge of release, "please, lewis! use me, ruin me, i'm yours!"

"come for me, now!" lewis barked, his voice a dark, commanding growl. he punctuated his demand with a particularly brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt inside your spasming heat. his fingers dug into the meat of your hips hard enough to bruise as he held you in place, using your body like his personal cock sleeve. lewis' own release approached rapidly, balls drawing up tight as your velvety walls rippled along his length.

"that's it, milk my cock like the desperate cumslut you are!" he snarled through gritted teeth, hips snapping erratically as he chased his high. "scream my name as i fill this needy cunt with my seed!"

"lewis!" you screamed, back arching sharply as your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave. your vision whited out, every nerve ending igniting with mind-numbing pleasure. your pussy clamped down hard on his pistoning cock, rhythmically squeezing and massaging his shaft as if trying to wring out every last drop of his cum.

lewis let out a feral roar as your pussy vise-gripped his cock, the rhythmic squeezing and gushing flood triggering his own explosive climax. with a final, brutal thrust, he buried himself to the hilt inside your spasming channel. his heavy balls drew up tight and then pulsed as he began to paint your insides white with his seed.

"fuck yes! take it all you perfect little fairy slut!" he bellowed, hips jerking erratically as spurt after spurt of hot, virile cum pumped directly into your unprotected womb. the sheer volume was staggering - it seemed like he would never stop coming, filling you to overflowing with his potent essence. 

even as the last weak spurts dribbled out, lewis kept you pinned, ensuring not a single drop escaped your stuffed hole.

as the final tremors of your shared climax faded, lewis slumped against you, pinning you to the tree with his larger frame. both of you were panting heavily, chests heaving as you struggled to catch your breath. a fine sheen of sweat coated your skin, making it glisten in the dappled forest light.

slowly, almost reluctantly, he pulled out of your abused hole with a wet squelch. a river of pearly white semen immediately began to leak out, dripping obscenely down your thighs. he watched in satisfaction as your gaping, twitching cunt tried valiantly to close around nothing, still fluttering like your wings, weakly from the aftershocks.

"there we go," he rumbled, voice rough with spent passion. "marked you inside and out now. everyone will smell my claim on you."

boneless and sated, your legs wobbled precariously as you slumped against the rough bark of the tree trunk, barely able to hold yourself upright. every movement sent pleasant aftershocks zinging through your nerve endings, a delicious ache settling deep in your core - a physical reminder of the thorough claiming you had just endured.

your chest heaved with ragged breaths, sweat-dampened skin glistening in the dappled sunlight filtering through the canopy above. your wings hung limply at your sides, the delicate membranes twitching occasionally.

lewis's words finally penetrated the haze of post-coital bliss, causing a pretty flush to bloom across your cheeks. you ducked your head shyly, suddenly acutely aware of your nakedness and vulnerability. the way he said 'claim', so possessively and definitively, sent a shiver down your spine.

"i... i mean, we can't just..." you started to protest weakly, but your voice trailed off uncertainly. 

lewis chuckled lowly, a deep, rumbling sound of masculine satisfaction. his eyes glittered with amusement and undisguised desire as he drank in the sight of you - flushed, dishevelled, and marked with the evidence of your coupling. finding your sudden coyness utterly endearing after the shameless way you'd begged for his cock mere moments before, he reached out to gently but firmly tilt your chin up with the tip of his finger.

"oh but we can, little fairy," he purred, his voice a low, seductive rasp dripping with smug male pride. "and we did. your sweet, needy little cunt is absolutely drenched in my seed right now. there's no use denying the truth - your body knows who it belongs to." tracing his fingers through the mess leaking from your slit, he gathered a generous amount of your combined cum, bringing the slick digits to your face, pressing them against your closed lips. a breathy whimper escaped you, the intimate taste of your combined juices sending a shockwave of renewed desire straight to your core. your tongue darted out instinctively, lapping at the offered digits with kittenish licks. the heady, musky flavour burst across your taste buds - an erotic cocktail of your most intimate essences mingling together.

"mmmm, that's it baby girl," lewis groaned appreciatively, his half-lidded eyes dark with lust as he watched you, "taste how perfectly we are together. how your greedy little holes were made to milk my cock."

he pushed his fingers deeper past your lips, coating your tongue thoroughly before withdrawing with a wet pop. a string of saliva connected his fingertips to your bottom lip briefly before breaking.

you hums around his fingers, eyes fluttering shut, savouring the taste. when you open them again, they're hazy with rekindling desire, pupils blown wide and dark with need. slowly, almost hypnotically, you begin to suckle his fingers clean, hollowing cheeks and swirling your tongue around each digit. lewis groans, eyes darkening once again as he watches you clean his fingers. the sight of your pink little tongue lapping at his digits, coupled with the lewd sounds you make, has his spent cock already starting to stir with interest once more.

"that's it, good girl," he praises huskily, pressing his fingers deeper into the warm cavern of your mouth. "such an eager little thing, aren't you? already ready for more." his other hand slides down to palm your ass possessively, kneading the soft globe and pulling you flush against him. you can feel the growing bulge of his reawakening erection nudging insistently against your belly.

“i think this greedy body of yours needs another thorough claiming,” lewis rumbles, voice thick with renewed desire.

“wait...do i need to tell the fairy elders about this?” you gasp, placing a hand against his thick biceps.

lewis paused, a flicker of surprise crossing his handsome features at your question before it was quickly replaced by a wicked, devilish grin. he leaned in close, his lips brushing maddeningly against the delicate shell of your ear as he spoke in a low, conspiratorial murmur.

"tell the elders? oh darling, where would be the fun in that?" he purred, his hot breath fanning across your sensitive skin and eliciting a full-body shudder from you. "no, i think what transpired between us here should remain our own special secret, don't you agree?"

as if to punctuate his words, lewis’ large hand slid from the plush curve of your ass, tangling his fingers in the strands of your hair.

lewis’ lips curved into a wicked smirk against your skin as he continued his sensual assault, punctuating each word with a nip or kiss. "besides," he purred, voice muffled and low, "i have a feeling you rather enjoyed our little rendezvous. the way you mewled so sweetly, begged so prettily to be stuffed full..."

his wandering hand drifted higher, fingertips ghosting feather-light over the swell of your breast, teasing the sensitive skin. lewis pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes blazing with mischief and barely contained hunger. they raked over your face hungrily, taking in every detail of your debauched expression.

"i bet a naughty part of you wants to keep this our deliciously dirty secret too," he rumbled, voice dropping to a seductive growl.

“to sneak away and let me ravish you whenever the urge strikes us both,”

“yes lewis...when can i see you again then?” you gasp, grinding against this thigh once more

lewis groaned deeply, a guttural sound of pure masculine need, as you breathed his name like a prayer. your obvious desperation only stoked the flames of his own raging desire. he bucked his hips forward, grinding the thick, rigid line of his erection against your quivering stomach. even through the thin barrier of his trousers, you could feel the scorching heat of him, the impressive girth straining against the confines of the fabric.

"soon, my insatiable little minx," he promised darkly, his voice a low, rough rasp edged with barely restrained hunger. "very, very soon." lewis’ grip on your hair tightened possessively as he held your gaze with smouldering intensity. "meet me at the western border of the woods tomorrow night."

lewis captured your lips in a searing, dominating kiss, his tongue plunging deep to claim every inch of your mouth. he poured all his ravenous hunger and dark promises into the passionate embrace, kissing you until your knees went weak and your head spun with dizzying desire. when he finally released you, you were left panting and aching, your lips swollen and tingling from the intensity of his kiss.

"until then," lewis murmured huskily against your kiss-bruised lips, giving your plump bottom lip a sharp, teasing nip. his eyes glinted with mischief and wicked intent. "try not to slip your hand between your thighs too many times while imagining it's me touching you. i know how badly this needy little body craves my attention."

you tilt your head, batting your lashes up at him with wide-eyed innocence even as a faint blush colours your cheeks, “touching myself? what's that, lewis?” your voice coming out breathy and uncertain, belying the molten heat pooling low in your belly at lewis’ heated words and bold touches.

he chuckles darkly at your innocence, shaking his head in amused disbelief. he leans in close, voice lowering to a sinful whisper, “oh you sweet, naive little thing. touching yourself means playing with this pretty pink pussy,” he purrs, cupping your mound possessively, “...and rubbing these soft petals until you're writhing and moaning, begging for release,”

lewis grinds the heel of his palm against your clothed sex, applying delicious pressure, “i know you'll be tempted to do just that, imagining it's my hands on you instead. my fingers filling you, stretching you…”

but he dips his head to nip at your earlobe, tugging it gently with his teeth, “but you'd better not, understand? this greedy cunt belongs to me now,”

you nod eagerly, watching as lewis’ pupils blow out once against with darkened lust. he smirks at your breathy agreement, pleased by your submission. he rewards you with a firm grind of his palm against your core, relishing the needy whimper it elicits.

“until tomorrow night then, my insatiable little fairy,” he growls, voice dripping with dark promise, “dream of me...and try to behave until i can get my hands on you again,”

lewis turns to leave, pausing to look back over his shoulder with a roguish wink, “don't keep me waiting too long, sweetheart. you know how impatient i get...and how thoroughly i punish naughty girls who make me wait,”

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@fadingcloudballoon @princessminjikwon

© the-flanuer || do not copy, rewrite or translate any of my work on any platform.

[fanged-fanfics]

You wrote a pure vanilla, hollyberry, dark Cacao and white Lily dating scenario... BUT WHERE IS MY QUEEN ??? I need golden cheese cookie x reader scenario please !!

☆ Dearest Treasure — Golden Cheese x Reader HCs ☆

Genre: Fluff || they/them pronouns for reader || No warnings needed

──────.𖥔 ݁ ˖˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ──────

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Your relationship is well known across the kingdom, gaining the enthusiastic support of all members. Golden Cheese likes to make sure everyone knows who you're with

ᯓᡣ𐭩 She encourages you to be self-indulgent. You want a banquet? You got it. New outfit? She's got five she thinks will fit you wonderfully. She wants you to feel proud when spoiling yourself

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Even if you're hesitant to pamper yourself, Golden Cheese absolutely does it for you. You're her best treasure, she'll give you all the gifts and attention you desire. Everyone else is an afterthought when you're around

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Her absolute favorite way to spend time together is to have you sit on her lap while she's on her throne. It shows you off as not only hers, but as a key shining light among her glittering kingdom

ᯓᡣ𐭩 She loves wrapping you up in her wings. Sometimes it's to surprise you, other times as gesture of protection, or even just to cradle you close. She always gives you a little kiss on the head to accompany it

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Anyone who dares to show disrespect to you is going to be shamed immediately. Oh they're trying to talk about her treasure? Her beloved partner? The warmth to her souljam? She'll very openly cut them down to size

ᯓᡣ𐭩 "I did say all the world's treasures belong to me," she once said, placing a kiss to your temple as you sat with her "And I think I've found the rarest of them all"

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Admittedly very protective of you, bordering on posessive. She closely watches whoever interacts with you, and gets antsy if you've been out for too long. It never reaches a bad point, but you do have to communicate with her about it a few times

[sonofcelluloid]

DANIEL. DARLING, WAKE UP. HE HAS US. BingusofBongus! You remember BingusofBongus, my Fortnite nemesis whom I’ve been hacking for many weeks now. We’ve discussed this! No matter, my fun has been thwarted. Bingus has informed me he is having me banned. Don’t laugh, Daniel! This is serious! He knew our address! He told me his father works for Epic Games, Daniel! I’m going to lose it all. My rarest of loots. All of my v-bucks. My treasured Sasuke Uchiha skin. ALL GONE, DANIEL! Well, yes, he did sound quite young, but I’m choosing not to factor that into his threat level. You’ve no idea the horrors of which I was capable at that age. We have to kill him.

[goblinkook]

i will forever be reminded of how even though thorin was struck under the dragon sickness or in his madness, he still did not even come to doubt of bilbo, gave him one of the rarest treasures he had, and you know what? he was doing it all because bilbo meant more to thorin than any riches.