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andypantsx3 · 1 year ago

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MR. TOKYO BEAT HOTTEST HERO : SHOUTO x READER

SUMMARY: Shouto finds out he’s hot. He swiftly uses this knowledge against you. CONTENT & WARNINGS: pro hero au, established relationship, afab reader (no pronouns used), shouto's general obliviousness, todoroki shouto is a little shit, fluff, aged-up characters, smut, nipple play, vaginal sex, emotional sex, 18+ minors please dni! (3.8k)

Pro Hero Shouto Voted Tokyo Beat’s Hottest Hero of the Year

It’s been almost six years since Todoroki Shouto swept onto the scene as pro hero Shouto, melting almost as many villains as he has hearts. Currently standing at number four in the hero rankings, he’s armed with a formidable ice-and-fire combination quirk nearly as devastating as his smile.

Shouto’s heartthrob status has created such a sensation that he’s papered the pages of our magazine hundreds of times since his UA days. Now he’s taking home the coveted Hottest Hero crown… [read more]

It was a frosty night in early December when Shouto returned from patrol, looking uncharacteristically ruffled.

To an outside observer, his expression probably looked as bland as ever. But years into your relationship, you knew how to read your boyfriend’s microexpressions—the tiniest furrowing of his brows, the softest downward hitch of that perfect, plush mouth. He looked troubled—more troubled than you’d seen him in a while.

You turned off the heat on the stove, abandoning the dinner you’d been preparing, and rushed over to him as he shed his boots at the door. He’d apparently already changed out of his hero uniform at the agency, dressed instead in the high-collared gray coat that always made him look like he’d wandered out of the pages of a J. Crew catalog. He shrugged his coat off in tandem with his backpack, the tiny frown still carving his lips.

“Shouto—what’s wrong? Are you alright?” you asked, immediately taking his face in your hands.

Shouto blinked down at you, twin points of blue and silver fixing on your face. To your satisfaction, his expression seemed to soften, a tiny smile pulling at the corner of his mouth instead, and he murmured your name in greeting, his tone low and soft.

“Did something bad happen on patrol?” you asked. “You look troubled.”

Two warm, big hands came up to encompass your own, his thumbs smoothing over the backs of your fingers. You let him pull your hands away from his face to hold in his own, and he pressed a kiss to the knuckles of one, his mouth sweet and hot on your skin.

You flushed. Despite the years you’d been together, you had never been able to establish any sort of immunity to Shouto. If anything, the crush you’d had on him before you’d gotten together had only grown more out of control the longer you were exposed to him—-you still got butterflies whenever he looked at you with a fraction more intensity than normal.

“Hello, love,” he said, his mouth lingering over your skin.

Your stomach swooped, and your face got hot. Damn him.

“Hi Sho,” you backtracked. “I’m happy you’re home. But seriously, did something happen?”

Shouto’s fingers tightened around yours, and a little wrinkle appeared between his brows. “Not on patrol. Something else… unexpected happened.”

You watched him, waiting for him to elaborate.

His eyes roved over you, as if searching for the appropriate words on your face, until he seemed to find the right question. “Am I… do people consider me handsome?”

There was a moment of stunned silence before an incredulous laugh burst out of you.

The most beautiful man on earth, the internet’s steadfast boyfriend—the literal stuff of wet dreams, lurid fantasies, and thousands of covert sessions with a vibrator—was asking if he was considered handsome.

You knew Shouto had never been interested in his own beauty, blinking at compliments as if unsure how to receive them, generally oblivious to anyone hitting on him as though he thought people were that friendly to everyone, never spending any significant time in front of the mirror unless it was to stare at you next to him in the reflection, undoing your hair or washing your face or brushing your teeth.

But to be so unaware of his own looks that he was asking you?

“Shouto, you know you’re handsome,” you said. “I tell you all the time.”

The wrinkle between Shouto’s brows deepened. “You think so because you love me. But—I meant… do other people who do not love me think so?”

Your eyebrows shot to your hairline, floored by this line of questioning. “Shouto—every single person on earth thinks you are like the hottest man alive. Are you for real?”

Shouto blinked, those gray and blue eyes growing a fraction wider. “They do?”

You nodded, surprise coloring your tone. “Yeah—you didn’t know? Sero calls you ‘pretty boy’ to tease you like all the time. You get hit on every time you leave the house. You have twitter accounts dedicated to you.”

A tiny pout crept onto Shouto’s mouth, and his eyelashes fluttered. “I thought he said it as a joke. And I thought those accounts were fans of my work. And I thought… you only thought so because you love me.”

You laughed. Shouto’s good looks were as serious as a heart attack. So serious they might just induce one, in fact. And you did love him, and would love him no matter what he looked like—his inside was just as beautiful as his outside, and would always make him attractive to you. He was so kind, so thoughtful, and so inherently bone-deep good in so many ways that made your heart swell just looking at him.

Truly he was love-you-even-if-you-were-a-worm material. But this was no laughing matter.

“What’s brought this question on now?” you asked.

Shouto blinked again, looking slightly startled, then turned to his backpack. He produced a glossy magazine with a sticky note stuck to it, covered in his manager’s handwriting that read: check out page 43 >:). Just over the sticky note, two very familiar heterochromatic eyes peered out intensely from the magazine’s cover.

You peeled away the note to see your boyfriend’s face in full—his expression handsome and solemn. The shot must have been taken sometime post-rescue as he had smudges of ash all along his high cheekbones, and his hair was windswept, and a little piecey, like he’d just finished using phosphor. A headline next to his ear proclaimed, Todoroki Shouto: Tokyo Beat’s Hottest Hero Alive!

You looked back up at Shouto to find both of his ears red, though his expression was determinedly blank-faced. A grin yanked at your mouth.

“Well someone who works there has eyeballs,” you said, laughing. “Congratulations, Shouto!”

The scarlet at the tips of Shouto’s ears deepened. “I do not… I did not expect…”

Your smile grew larger, fondness blooming in your chest. He was so good you wanted to bite him. Of course he never expected anything like this—his concerns were tied to his heroics—had he saved enough people, was he living up to the hero he wanted to be? Even when he’d finally broken the top five earlier last month, he was only pleased to be so recognized because he wanted many people to be reassured by him, not out of any sense of competitiveness with his fellow heroes.

He would never think of anything like this—he was so fucking good.

“I always thought—my scar,” Shouto said, touching his face.

Your heart squeezed and you wormed your fingers under his, placing your hand over the scar in question.

“Your scar is a part of your face and a part of your identity. But to be real with you, it only makes you look more interesting, Sho.” Your own ears heated. “To be completely honest it’s—well it’s one thing that makes you look human. You kind of look, um, unnaturally handsome otherwise, like some kind of vampire or angel or something. When I say things like you’re too handsome to be allowed I actually mean it, you know.”

Shouto paused, those heterochromatic eyes flickering back down to yours. A scarlet eyebrow quirked slightly. “Then you also think that I am handsome,” he said, though it was phrased more like a revelation to him than a question.

“Did you think I was lying?” you asked hotly.

Shouto shook his head minutely. “No—but I did not realize. You found me handsome before you loved me?”

You laughed. “I had eyeballs before I loved you, so yeah. And I wouldn’t be so effusive all the time if I didn’t mean it. You think when I tell you stuff like that that I’m just playing it up?”

Shouto’s expression went suddenly blank, like a marker board suddenly erased of nefarious plans. Instantly, your hackles raised, the smile falling off your mouth, your senses suddenly screaming danger. Shouto might be the most trustworthy, reassuring, and beautiful pro hero of all time, but beneath the surface lurked a youngest child and a major little shit. His expression only ever changed like this when he was about to get up to something.

“Then you think I am so handsome you cannot think,” Shouto said.

The magazine suddenly crackled in your fingers as you clutched it between you. “What.”

Shouto moved a step closer, gaze sharpening. “When you said I was so handsome you cannot think. You meant it.”

A sound like a nervous cow escaped you as you backed up a few steps. “Did I say that?”

A tiny smile pulled at Shouto’s mouth again, a cross between something sincerely pleased and sincerely shit-eating.

“When you said I am so handsome that sometimes your brain goes static,” he said, his tone dropping low, prowling closer. “You meant it.”

You flushed hot. Hearing your words repeated back to you like that was so embarrassing.

You flailed when your back hit the wall, and Shouto stretched out an arm, blocking you in. You couldn’t help the way your eyes flicked to his bicep for a split second, admiring the way it flexed slightly under the sleeve of his shirt as he pressed his hand to the wall, the way the kitchen light shadowed it lovingly.

Shouto’s ears were even redder when you looked back at him, but his gaze was hungrier. He’d definitely noticed your inspection, and his newfound realization about your level of appreciation was clearly both pleasing but embarrassing.

“You said your brain does not work right when I am close,” Shouto said, his face looming near. “Am I doing it right?”

He was doing it right—terribly, horribly, awfully right. Your breath caught in your lungs, lights in your brain winking out one by one as that soft, perfect mouth hovered just over yours. Shouto was so warm this close, and you could feel all the fibers in your body straining towards him like plants unfurling under the sun.

You rallied yourself one last time, throwing your hands up, defeated. “I live with a literal Greek sculpture of a boyfriend, am I not supposed to admire the artwork?”

Shouto didn’t respond. Instead, you saw the smile on his lips widen a fraction, just before his mouth captured yours.

In the space of a heartbeat he’d pressed himself against you, trapping you against the wall just as your knees went to pudding. You could feel every part of him against you and you couldn’t think, all your thoughts slipping away, dissolving like sugar in water. Shouto’s hands came up to support your waist, pinning you against the wall as he kissed you so sweetly and so very thoroughly.

“Is this it, love?” he asked when he pulled back, something both smug and wondering in his tone. “Am I doing it right?”

You scraped the bottom of your mind for any fragments of human language with which to respond. “You always do it right, you little shit.”

Shouto’s mouth quirked in a smile again, and he leaned in to press it to the side of your throat, lips moving softly. You shivered in his hands and felt the way his smile widened on your skin.

You could practically feel delight pouring off of him, this discovery of his new power—a power he’d always had but never understood in full.

It figured Shouto’s beauty would only interest him insofar as he could deploy it against you.

But that was Shouto. Everything he had was something he used in service to others.

Shouto’s mouth mapped a hot trail down your throat, and you clung to his shoulders as his lips dipped under the collar of your shirt and sucked, softly but insistently. One of his hands left its place at your hip to slide up your stomach and beneath the fabric of your shirt, cupping the side of your breast.

He wasn’t touching anything, but the feeling of his hand, warm and strong and so very large that it spanned over your chest and ribcage, sucked all the oxygen right out of the air. You bit back a noise as Shouto left another mark beneath your collar, his long eyelashes fluttering against the skin of your throat as he let out his own soft groan.

“I thought you were beautiful, too, before I loved you,” Shouto said as his fingers traced the outline of your bra, just barely skimming the skin underneath.

Your ears went hot, the way they always did when Shouto got sincere in place of dirty talk. It was even hotter than the filthiest thing he could have said to you, because you knew he meant every single word of it.

“But now I love you, you are even more beautiful to me,” he said. “Is it the same for you?”

You opened your mouth to reply, but cut off on a moan as Shouto’s fingers finally found their way beneath your bra, his thumb swiping over your nipple. Your head thunked back against the wall when he did it again, pinching gently as his other hand covered your other breast, mirroring the action.

Heat streaked through your veins, pooling in your core. You bit your lip as Shouto played with you, feeling those heterochromatic eyes hot on your face.

“Answer me, love,” he commanded gently.

You peeked open an eye, realizing you’d squeezed them shut, shuddering as Shouto’s thumbs swiped over your nipples again, the touch perfect and maddening. Shouto was watching you intently, as he always did, but there was an extra dimension of interest, as if he truly did not know, truly wanted to know what you would say.

“Yes,” you told him, your tone hitching higher as he gently rolled your nipples in his long, pretty fingers. “Yes I—oh!—only find you more incredibly handsome every day—ah! Shouto!”

Shouto looked pleased, leaning forward to layer a kiss over your mouth as he played with your nipples. You squirmed under his hands, panting into his mouth, the touches already overwhelming. After years together, he knew exactly how to work you.

A strong thigh slid in between your own as Shouto pressed himself closer to you. You kissed him fiercely, huffing tiny embarrassing noises into his mouth, grinding against his thigh.

“Fuck, love,” Shouto groaned as he grew hard against your hip. You felt like you were floating, thoughts distant, the only present idea the feeling of Shouto’s strong body over yours. He was all over you but you wanted more, wanted to climb inside him and make your home there, wanted him to press inside of you and fill you and claim you and keep you—

“Shouto, bed—please, please—” you managed, before Shouto was hefting you in his arms obligingly.

He dumped you on the bed with a little less finesse than usual, following you down hungrily, weighing you into the sheets.

He made short work of your clothes, and you were bare to him in what felt like seconds. Shouto’s mouth immediately sought your breast again, closing over your nipple as his fingers dipped inside of you. You writhed with the heat of him over you, the heat of his mouth on you, the gentle press of him inside of you.

His thumb brushed over your clit as his tongue did something mind-bending over your nipple, and a moan escaped you, high and shivery. Shouto’s huff across the skin of your chest told you that it had pleased him, and he sucked a little more firmly, a little more insistently.

“Shouto, Shouto, Shouto—” you babbled mindlessly, hands sliding all over him. You wanted to touch him but you couldn’t reach him in return, so you settled for sliding your fingers into his hair, clinging as he made stars fizzle under your skin.

“Shouto—I’m going to come—you have to stop if you want to—ah!” you squeaked, as Shouto rubbed you more purposefully, moving over your clit in the way he knew you liked. His fingers moved inside you unrelentingly as he licked and sucked you slowly, the contrast between his mouth and his fingers too much for you.

Your pleasure rolled over you like a wave, rushing through your veins, pooling in all your limbs. You seized up under Shouto, but his weight held you down, his mouth and fingers working you through it.

You were still whining with sensitivity when he worked his own clothes off and slid into you, filling you up with the familiar shape of him. Your whine trailed into another moan, the feeling of him so utterly perfect inside of you.

“I don’t need anyone to think I am handsome but you, love,” Shouto said, canting his hips up so that he slid in and out of you. “All I want is you.”

You shifted, wrapping your legs around his back, pulling him deeper inside of you. “I know—Shouto, you’re beautiful inside and out. I love everything about you. Your face, your voice, your kindness, your goodness,” you paused as he filled you again, grinning up at him. “Your di—”

A powerful thrust had you choking off into a squeak, and you clutched his bicep as Shouto smiled down at you, his own grin charming and mischievous. You thought he was especially handsome just like this—panting, flushed, grinning, glorious—the way no one else got to see him but you. Mr. Tokyo Beat Hottest Hero he may be, but people still would never know how truly beautiful he could be, grinning down over you.

That was all yours.

Shouto wormed an arm between your back and the mattress, catching your waist and pulling you into him. The new angle had him brushing against your clit as he slipped in and out of you, and your eyes nearly rolled back in your head when you caught sight of where you were joined together, Shouto’s abs flexing tightly as he moved back and forth within you.

Sounds of pleasure slipped out of you, and Shouto caught them in his mouth. You kissed him back, clinging to his shoulders, pulling him closer. You reveled in the feeling of his hot skin on yours, shivering in delight with the contrast of his heat and the cool room around you.

Shouto’s hips worked into you, chasing both of your pleasure, his strokes fluid and sure. Those long fingers slid down your body again to press ever-so-slightly over your clit, and you bucked into his hand, delirious with the feeling of him pressing against you from both the inside and out. With the heavy weight of him over you it was like he was all around you, all over you, in your mouth, in your sex, overwhelming you.

You writhed against him, babbling a string of nonsense when he let your mouth free. Praise about how beautiful he was, about how good he was, about how good he felt, about how much you loved him.

Shouto breathed his own praise into your ear, his mouth closing around the lobe. He told you how beautiful you were, how much he loved you, how even if everyone liked the way he looked it was “all for you, love—everything is for you.”

His fingers slid in soft circles around your clit as he ground into you, kissing his way up your throat. You panted into the dim of your bedroom, little stars sparking in the corner of your vision. It felt like someone had lit a sparkler beneath your skin, a thousand tiny points of fizzing, burning friction, and Shouto was touching every single one of them.

“Cum for me, love,” Shouto commanded, his tone soft and low, kissing the underside of your jaw.

You couldn’t speak, could only nod, nearly there. His fingers kept toying with you, expert and unrelenting, and in another few seconds the wave of your pleasure was mounting again. It swept over you like a tidal wave, smashing through you, sweeping through every limb, every nerve ending.

You cried out Shouto’s name, clenching around him, and then he was abandoning your clit to pull you up into him, grinding hard. His pace grew faster, more frantic, and he panted into your throat, until he was following you off the edge, pouring himself into you, filling you up from the inside.

You shivered and shook against him until finally the wave of your pleasure crested. Shouto relaxed over you as your limbs went slack too. He pressed a kiss to your mouth, slow and languid.

“Definitely Tokyo’s hottest hero,” you said muzzily, your words a little slurred. “The world’s hottest hero, even.”

Shouto huffed a tiny laugh. “I only need to be your hottest hero,” he told you, his heterochromatic eyes pinning you earnestly.

You smiled up at him, running a hand absently through his scarlet and white mop of hair, the silky strands slipping through your fingers.

“You always have been. Before I loved you, but especially now that I love you this much,” you told him.

Shouto smiled, then, a pleased, half-moon grin, so beautiful and so clever that it knocked the wind right back out of you again. You leaned up to kiss him again, soaking in his private beauty, pleased that you out of everyone got to have him like this. And you would make him feel it again—you wanted to show him again how much he meant to you.

He was Tokyo Beat’s Hottest Hero—but he was your most beautiful, beloved, cherished hero. And that was a thousand times better. So you’d show him a thousand times over.

You rolled over him, delighting in the slight widening of those beautiful eyes, the tiniest quirk of interest on that perfect mouth.

You’d show him—starting right now.

#shouto x reader #todoroki x reader #todoroki shouto x reader #shoto x reader #todoroki shoto smut

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monstersflashlight · 9 days ago

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Advent calendar: Day 17. Carrots

A/N: Kinda related, kinda not, but you should watch “Hot Frosty” on Netflix if you haven’t, totally recommend it (it’s very ridiculous in the best way possible). Sorry for all the awful dialogue you are about

Snowman x fem!reader || questionable use of vegetables, temperature play (kinda), mentioned overstimulation

When your witch friend asked you to build a snowman with her, you thought nothing of it. It would be fun, the snow was fresh and everyone seemed cheerful around you as you built his round body. Your friend, though… She made hers to look a bit more realistic, less round and more angular, in a way that was giving uncanny valley vibes. But you thought nothing of it, why would you?

When she asked if you liked him, you started to suspect there was something special about him, but again, you thought nothing of it. And when she used the carrot to make a dick instead of a nose, you almost peed yourself laughing. It was just so stupid looking, all white and round but with a big carrot dick… You should have known better.

And then he showed up, alive and walking, knocking on your door and staring up and down at you like he was about to fuck you right there. His carrot dick was erected and pointing straight at you. You gaped at him as he smiled, stroking his dick slowly. You gaped some more, your eyes accidentally traveling down. That was an amazing carrot…

No. Behave, you cannot fuck a snowman, you tried to remind myself.

“Wait here,” you told the snowman, who only nodded. You grabbed your phone and dialed your friend. “Why there’s a living snowman at my door, dude?!” You screamed at her as soon as she picked up. The poor dude was looking at you as if you were his dream come true.

“Calm down, you seemed very lonely and I had a bit of extra magic lately… So I gave you my Christmas gift early. Do you like him? Have you tried him yet?”

“Have I tri- What the fuck?!” You must be dreaming, there was no way that was happening to you. You pinched yourself and blinked, but the snowman was still in front of you and your friend was still talking.

“He’s ready for you, darling. He wants to treat you like the queen you deserve to be,” she explained, almost bored. You wanted to pull her hair until she was bald.

“You did not send me a sex snowman,” you repeated, trying to make sense of what you were seeing and hearing.

“I did. Now I have to go, have fun!” She said before hanging up on you.

“We are not fucking,” you told him, your frown so deep you could see your eyebrows.

“I’m going to feed my carrot to your hungry bunny,” he deadpanned, in a tone that you supposed was intended to sound sexy. It didn’t. You struggled not to laugh, but his face was so serious you couldn’t do that to him, he looked so hopeful.

You stared at him, his hand lazily stroking his carrot once again. You felt your face blushing. You really needed to get laid, your pussy was getting wet about a snowman and a carrot… But you had more pressing matters than your wet pussy.

“One: you can’t say things like that. And two: we aren’t going to fuck.” His face fell and he stopped moving his hand, making you almost sad. Dang.

“Why not? I can smell your juices.” He could what? “You are hot for me and I’m cold for you, we should do something about it.” How desperate were you that he sounded right? You did want to fuck a snowman… Fuck, there was something so, so wrong inside of you because you were considering taking him on the offer.

“I- We- You are a snowman,” you let out, not really having a point.

“And you are a human, but my carrot is very hard for you.” You chuckled, the absurdity of it all getting to you. But most of all, your strength to hold back disappeared with that affirmation. He was made for you, and you were very horny, and his carrot looked especially delicious right now…

“Okay,” you agreed, your pussy almost clapping with enthusiasm. It had been a long time since you were properly fucked and you were feeling the need for sure.

“Okay? Are you… are you sure?” He suddenly seemed very confused about your decision, as if all his bravado died the second you agreed to fuck him. You wanted to coo at him, but you decided there was a better choice.

You walked to him and kissed his half open mouth. He was cold, but at the same time his lips felt like velvet against yours as you devoured his mouth. He gave as much as received, deepening the kiss and circling your body with his arms. You were pressed firmly against his front and your nipples instantly hardened, he was so cold in such a pleasurable way… You didn’t even know you had something for temperature play but good snowman if your pussy wasn’t quivering thinking about his hard carrot pocking your stomach.

You parted, looking at him intently, but when you didn’t find any doubt in his eyes, your choice was already made. “Fuck me, my snowman,” you almost pleaded, your voice trembling as your pussy pulsated at the same rhythm as your heart.

“Your wish is my command.” He laid you on the floor, right in the middle of your living room. “Are you ready for my carrot?” He asked, as you tried not to giggle. You nodded, fearing if you opened your mouth you would laugh and he wouldn’t give you his dick. And you needed it. You needed it so, so bad.

He entered you in one long thrust and you cried out in ecstasy. The contrast between your warm body and his cold skin was exhilarating and arousing, sending you to the stratosphere of pleasure. You didn’t know what was about to happen, but the size and shape of his carrot ended up being fantastic. The almost pointy tip played with your cervix as the wide base made your pussy clench around it, rubbing against your G-spot in the most amazing way. It was the perfect sex toy, even better, he was like a breathing sex-toy and that made your brain turn a bit fuzzy at the edges, arousal so big it was maddening.

He started a punishing pace, his dick going in and out of you so fast and hard your whole body was moving across the floor. You had to hold onto the carpet (carpet burn be damned) to be still as he pounded into your welcoming heat. He kept moaning how warm and wet you were, how good your heat felt against his cold… And you could only chant “yes, yes, yes” as he kept going.

And when you came like a tidal wave, your whole body convulsing as he kept fucking you. He didn’t stop, he fucked you through it as he used his cold fingers to rub your clit, making you ascend in your pleasure even higher. You screamed his name, pulling at his ice hair and trying to hold for dear life as you kept coming and coming…

And he kept going.

He fucked you many more times that night, his stamina endless as he kept using his clever carrot to pound into your G-spot as his cold fingers pinched your clit until you couldn’t hold back orgasm after orgasm. It was the most intense pleasure you’d ever felt, and by the time you asked for a rest, he was smirking down at you, the smugness in his face making your overused pussy twitch in anticipation.

And then you remembered… You had to thank your friend. Damn it.

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dietcokegirly12 · 11 days ago

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“Seduction, Sin, and Snow ”

KINKMAS DECEMBER 12TH

synopsis: when satoru gojo wants to.. experiment with you in the snow, and test your sensitivity of course you say yes…

tags: edging, overstim, temperature play, use of snow, oral (fem!receiving), fingering, lots of kissing, tease!satoru

art credit: pinterest (tell me if u know artists! ;)

.˚₊‧ ─── ❅.⊹₊ ⋆❆‧ ─── ‧₊˚. ─── ❅.⊹₊ ⋆❆‧ ──

“toru s’too cold!” you whine, shivering as the frigid air from outside blows over you two.

satoru tsks, as his long, slender fingers expertly zip up your coat, gently running his hands down your sides in an effort to warm you up. “oh c’monnn, it’s the first snow of the year!”

you sigh as he turns to open the door wider, piles of glistening white heaps of snow awaiting you both.

instantly, ever the childish man he was, he leaps into a pile, giggling like an idiot, throwing snow up in the air around him. “come on, join in!”

you trudge over unhappily, plopping beside him, looking like a chubby marshmallow with how many layers satoru had insisted you put on, being overprotective and worried about your health as he always was.

he pokes your cheek with his glove, cheeks already dusted red from the bitter cold. “don’t be such a grinch, baby! it’s christmas!”

“oh, joy.” you grumble under your breath, your toes already numb and missing the warmth of your house.

before you can do anything else though, satoru quickly tackles you, pinning you to the ground in a heartbeat, his warm crushing weight resting above you.

“cheer. up.” he playfully tickles you, as you squeal and wriggle under him, trying to break free.

“toru! toru stop!” you struggle through giggles, kicking him away as he simply smiles, leaning down to pepper your frostbitten cheeks in soft pecks.

“look see? fun.” he rolls you both over further into the snow, you instinctively curling closer as you try to absorb his heat, teeth starting to chatter.

“n-not fun. cold.”

he pouts, pressing himself harder into you. “i’m trying to warm you up!”

you shudder softly, clinging to his broad frame above you. “really? s’not working then..”

he scoffs softly. “oh yeah? well i’ll show you cold.”

without warning, he scoops up a handful of snow before shoving it against your cheek, causing a shriek to leave you as you quickly squirm under him.

his mouth curves up, as he pushes your flailing arms away, rubbing the snow all over your face.

“toru! toru.. hnngh!” your protests quickly fade into a moan, once you feel the contrast of his hot, wet tongue gliding across your frozen face, the twitching wet muscle leaving stringy trails of saliva pooling on your cheeks, and ebbing into a pleasantly warm sting.

your entire body relaxes as a small sigh of pleasure leaves you, and you can feel the grin of his face against you at the confirmation you enjoyed it.

before you can speak, relaxation and numbness from the cold causing your muscles to go lax and pliant, he pulls down the collar of your coat, shoving more snow onto you, this time on your neck.

once again, you yelp with surprise before stilling once his expert tongue is laving across the expanse of your winter-bitten skin, mouthing small kisses down to your collarbone and sucking all the frosty droplets forming in crystalline precision.

you quickly begin to get used to it, sharp exhales from the feel of the ice touching you turning to soft hums as his lips work his way down, unzipping your jacket, and making sure to cover your body with his to keep you toasty.

you’ve just begun to calm when a sudden press of ice against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs jolts you upright.

“s’toru!” your words slur from the numbness beginning to settle across your body, trying to press your legs back together, but his head is already between your thighs, large palms holding you open. “w-what are you..?”

“this okay, baby?” he looks up at you with wide cerulean blue eyes, small huffs of breath forming white clouds, his nose and cheeks red from the cold. “wan’ taste you..”

“now?” your mouth drops open as you stare at the white-haired man looking up at you desperately.

he nods at you quickly. “i wanna test something..”

your eyebrows furrow slightly. “well, okay but..”

the second you give him confirmation, he buries his face deep into you, still separated by your tight fleece pants he had insisted on you wearing.

“mmh.. thankyou thankyou thankyou..” he murmurs, already beginning to pull down your first layer, and quickly moving to the second.

you gasp at his eagerness, the gusts of cool air beginning to sweep over you making you shudder.

he pulls you further into him, before nuzzling his face between your plush thighs, and you jolt as you realize he had already gotten your panties off, your cunt bare against his face.

“ah! w-what was it you w-wanted to test..?”

he experimentally licks a long, languorous stripe up your pussy, causing you to clench, hips bucking into his face.

his voice comes out breathy, slightly teasing. “oh, just if you’re as sensitive to cold here as everywhere else..”

and with that, he presses a chunk of snow directly onto your throbbing clit.

you instantly squeal, legs kicking out as you try and shy away, but he doesn’t let you, pressing it harder against your sensitive bundle of nerves.

your hips wriggle against the icy burning feeling but he doesn’t let up, only chuckling mischievously as he adjusts into a better position to torture you.

“toru! toru.. mmngh!”

and suddenly his mouth is on you, hot tongue gently sweeping and lapping at you, warming you up as he flicks it over your nub, slurping away the cool chill that had begun to settle over you.

your thighs spread wider and your body jolts and arches, a soft saccharine moan floating out of you, and a small whine leaving him as your hands find their way to his cloudy, billowing white hair, tugging him desperately closer.

you groan softly, shuddering, and just as you’re starting to enjoy it, your stomach tightening into knots with every breath, cold seeps into the edges of your vision, toes curling.

“hah.. fuck toru , y-you..” frustration and tears of overstimulation from the cold blur your vision as all you can do is stare at his smug face.

he tauntingly wriggles a piece of ice against your seeping cunt, gliding it over your folds and around your opening.

you shiver, whole body wracked with quivering as you look up at him pleadingly, legs twitching around his head.

he finally gives in, dipping his head to lick over your pussy again, relieving you of the cold numbness beginning to spread over you.

he continues doing this, switching between rubbing snow over you, and promptly lapping it all up again, rubbing your pulsating clit, and occasionally adding fingers inside to pump in and out.

but every time you would get close, he would instantly bring you back by shoving icy cold snow onto your poor cunt, or simply stopping completely.

and it had begun to get old now, leaving you a whining whimpering mess beneath him as you beg for more, anything he would give you.

“aww..” he purrs out, at seeing your poor, dumbstruck little expression. “somebody’s not enjoying this..?”

at this point, you’re at your breaking point, so you snap back. “no! so stop fucking around toru, or i’m gonna go back inside an’ never.. hnnghh!” your protest is cut off by a low keen as he speeds up suddenly, fingers squelching in and out as his head leans down to suck your little nub into his mouth.

you can’t keep up, and terrified he’s going to edge you once again, your hands reach for his head, holding him down on your seeping pussy.

he eagerly complies, busying himself between your spread legs with a small moan of contentment, as his fingers work in unison.

at this point, you’re grinding yourself desperately on his face in the hopes he’ll let you cum, too worked up to stop at this point as his hands come to tighten around your hips, dragging you back and forth over him in encouragement.

you can feel how close you are with every draw of breath, exhales puffing in white clouds as your tummy coils more and more, legs twitching around his head as your head lolls, eyes rolling back.

he chuckles at your fucked-out expression, knowing you’re reaching your limit as he nuzzles his face deeper, shaking his head side to side while he devours you, mouth covering your entire pussy as his tongue repeatedly flicks in small strokes over you.

you shudder, hips jerking upward as your release creeps so close you can practically taste it, stomach wound so tight that if he pulls away now, you might still cum without stimulation.

“toru! m’cumm..” is all you manage to slur out before you break off in something between a squeal and a whine as snow is suddenly slapped against your cunt roughly while his ice cold tongue collides messily with your sopping hole.

and then you’re cumming so hard, and so fast you almost black out, your entire body shuddering involuntarily as you absolutely drench his entire face in your syrupy slick, mouth widening into an o, as drool seeps out of the corners of your lips.

you can’t even speak as he gasps in delight, sounds muffled by his loud slurping, cold nose brushing and bumping your sensitive clit repeatedly, and causing you to buck into him, whining.

he gets the hint, and finally pulls away, rather reluctantly, wiping his mouth, with his chin still glistening in your sheen.

breathing hard, you grab his chin and pull him to you, chilled lips crashing together clumsily as you smash your mouth on his, kissing him with as much fervor as you can muster after your intense orgasm.

when he finally pulls back, beginning to get up again, you stop him, fist tightly clenched around his jacket as you stare up at him defiantly, eyes lowering to the massive bulge outlined in his pants.

“wait. i wanna test something too.”

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shotmrmiller · 1 year ago

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You don't need anyone else but us.

TW: implied dub-con, drug usage.

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley & Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Reader

WC: 1.1K

A/N: Im biting my knuckles at the idea of you going on a date with this guy at some restaurant, and the bum slips some aphrodisiac into your drink :)

It started small, with symptoms so faint they were barely discernible. Fanning yourself with your hand, you hoped to keep the beads of sweat forming at the nape of your neck from ruining your perfectly coiffed hair.

“Is it just me or is it hot in here?” you asked your date with a flustered, timid smile.

“No, I feel fine, but you do look a bit rosy. You alright?” As you give him a reassuring nod, a striking hum passes through your body, like a raindrop rippling still water, and every wave shoots arousal straight to your core.

He reached across the table to grasp at your wrist, bringing you closer to him so he could press a cool hand to your burning forehead. “You’re burning up, sweets. Maybe it’s time we take you home, hm?” You try to stammer out a response, but fire is pooling in your belly, making it hard to think. He quickly raises his hand, and gestures for the tab, then changes seats to be right next to you. “I’ve got you.” The fabric of his long sleeve grazes your uncovered back as he pulls you flush against him with his arm, and every shift of it scrapes at your nerve endings.

The pants that escape your mouth sound deafening in your ears, every twitch of your muscles amplified. It hurts, and even then, the edges of that pain are blurring, twisting into scalding pleasure. Your cheek feels the vibrations of his voice as your head rests in the hollow of his throat, and with the last of your lucidity, you catch the tail end of the conversation between your date and the server.

“— she’s had too much to drink, I’m afraid,” and through fogging vision, you observe as he hands the server the two wine glasses, remnants of red liquid at the bottom— but he had finished his wine and the rest of yours. “Have a good evening.”

He moves to get up, scooping you in his arms, and you’re powerless in your vulnerable state, body listless against his, like a puppet whose strings have been cut. Before you know it, you’re being practically carried out the door, frosty air nipping at your feverish skin. Your date bends his legs to hook his arm under your knees, and with a grunt, picks you up in a cradle carry. Head lulling on his chest, a pathetic whimper slips past your lips at the smell of him and his cologne that you had formally thought was overpowering.

“I know, sweets. We’re going to my flat, and I’ll take good care of you there.” But as he approaches his car, you’re abruptly wrenched from his arms, an unmistakable voice speaks up, tone harsh, severe.

“She’s not goin’ anywhere with you.” Simon?

Simon gently lowers you onto your wobbly legs, allowing you to steady yourself against the car. The freezing surface of it stings, a raw sensation surges through your body, and a sibilant hiss escapes your mouth.

Simon steps away, and Johnny takes his place, cupping your face. You let out a soft moan at the contrast of his chilly hands on your burning skin. “Hey,” he softly says, “you a’right?” Your peripheral vision catches a flurry of quick movements, making you instinctively turn your head, but Johnny’s hands exert a gentle force, keeping your head locked in position, fixated on him.

“Eyes on me, bonnie.” Johnny’s hands lower, trailing down to your neck, cool fingers enveloping your throat, and this time, you mewl. Loudly. “Och, I ken, i ken. We’ll be home in no time, hm? Simon’s just takin’ out the trash.”

Johnny’s thumb traces soothing circles against your fluttering pulse, and you whine when you imagine those circles being drawn on your throbbing clit, how euphoric it would feel. Maybe it would assuage the liquid fire in your veins— satiate the need to be filled, stretched.

“A’right hen, we’re takin’ ye to my house, gotta keep an eye on ye.” Johnny lifts you into a side carry, effortlessly, as if you weighed nothing. “It’ll be over soon.” God, you hoped so.

Placing you on his bed, Johnny takes off your heels and sits by your side, holding your hand in his. “How ye doin’?” Blinking, you thickly swallow and realize that your mind is clearer than it was at the restaurant. “Better, I think.”

Johnny hums, and turns to Simon. “Can ye get her a glass o’ water?” Simon looks at you, then flicks his gaze to Johnny, and slowly dips his head, before pivoting to leave. “Just rest, hen, I think that dunderheid spiked yer drink. I told ye he was nae good, but nae, the lass is grown, she can make her own decisions, hm?” Johnny reaches out to caress your sweaty forehead and drags his roughened knuckles across your cheekbone.

With a gentle touch, you reach up and firmly press his hand against your cheek, nuzzling it, and holding his gaze. “I’m too dependent on you,” and Simon walks in, a glass of water in hand, and your eyes shift towards him, “the both of you. One day, you’ll both move on, and,” your voice trembles, choked with emotion, as tears gather in your eyes, “I’ll be left behind and—” Simon’s deep timbre voice cuts off your outburst with a stern tone.

“Enough.” Johnny gives Simon a reprimanding look, and takes the glass, handing it to you.

“What Simon means t’say, is that yer haverin’, hen. Go on, drink yer water. All of it, gotta rehydrate, a’right?” As you knocked back the cup, you remained oblivious to them sharing a meaningful look, and Simon giving an imperceivable nod, one that Johnny reciprocated.

Carefully setting down the glass on the nightstand, you get cozy under the covers, breathing in his comforting scent, eyes sliding shut. Johnny pats your leg once and whispers, “Get some rest, hen. We’ll be outside, call if ye need anythin’.” A sluggish tip of your head is his only response, and without a sound, the two men exit the room.

Johnny casually rests his weight on the kitchen island, absentmindedly scratching his arm. “How’d ye get that bawbag to use the drug?” Simon shrugs nonchalantly, and says, “A little persuasion.” Johnny hums low, and after a pause, questions, “And how long will it take fer the drug in the water to take effect?”

“I gave her room temperature water,” Simon chuckles, “I say 5 minutes, give o’ take.”

In a matter of moments, the distinct sound of your high-pitched keens and mewls reached their ears, causing them to exchange a knowing look.“Heads er tails?” Johnny asks, his eyes gleaming mischievously. Simon removes his mask, running his fingers through his tousled hair, and states, “Tails and the winner gets to come in her first.”

They shake on it.

A/N: i was told to make a pt.II by my moot @rookiesbookies so I GUESS I WILL. set under the cbf! johnny x ghost au.

#call of duty #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #johnny soap mactavish #johnny soap mctavish x reader #ghoap x reader #cod #john soap mactavish #cod mwii #cod mw2

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magpiepills · 11 days ago

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Stocking Stuffer

Rating: EXPLICIT 18+ MDNI

Pairing: Santa Joel x f! Elf Reader

Word count: 1.5k

Summary: Santa Joel at the North Pole in his workshop late at night, gone off the eggnog and that one elf in her little candy stripe tights keeps bending over and her can see her little elf pussy through them and he decides to show her the North Pole.

Warnings: SMUT! PIV, oral f and m receiving, big dick Joel, one use of “daddy,” Christmas puns, crack fic but it’s filthy. No beta, no proofreading, no editing. Merry Christmas, you filthy animals.

A word from the author: I kind of hate Christmas. I do not enjoy this time of year, I am not festive, so this is the most Holiday fic you’ll get from me. Sorry! Blame @umnitsa

masterlist

🎅🏻🎅🏻🎅🏻🎅🏻🎅🏻🎅🏻🎅🏻🎅🏻🎅🏻🎅🏻🎅🏻🎅🏻🎅🏻🎅🏻🎅🏻🎅🏻🎅🏻🎅🏻🎅🏻

A frigid wind sweeps across the snow-blanketed landscape. Late at night, under a full and heavy moon, a cottage is nestled amongst a copse of gently swaying pine trees. The warm scent of ginger, nutmeg, cinnamon and clove perfume the air, and candlelight glows from the frosty windows.

Inside, in his plush chair, sits Santa Joel. He has spent the evening making his list and checking it twice, sipping eggnog as the hours pass, and his jolly buzz has settled into a thrum in his loins. As he worked, he watched his elves scurrying about, hammering and painting and putting the finishing touches on the toys he would deliver in a week.

All of Santa Joel’s elves worked merrily, singing as they crafted trains and dolls, but one elf had caught his eye and he couldn’t help but watch her. He tried not to stare at you as you polished the baseball bats you were working on, unaware of the most inappropriate thoughts that Santa Joel was having. It stirred something very naughty in his red velvet pants.

When the other elves left for the night, scampering off to tuck into their little beds, you stayed to work. His good little elf. Such a hard worker. He watched your tits bounce under your forest green smock as you applied more varnish to a bat, and licked his lips.

Reaching deep into the enormous toy box for another unfinished bat, your skirt rode up and your feet barely touched the ground. Joel watched as you struggled, each movement exposing more of your round little ass snug in your candy striped tights.

Quietly, Joel moved closer, stroking his not-quite snowy beard in lustful anticipation as he hoped for a better look as your delectable body. Once he was close enough to touch you he could see clear through your tights, the thin red and white stretchy fabric revealing your bare pussy underneath.

You wriggled and the seam of your tights wedged further between the lips of your pretty cunt. He imagined how sweet it must taste, like sugar plums and marshmallows and peppermint.

You hadn’t heard Joel come over, and you were shocked when you felt his thick finger trace over your most sensitive place.

“Shhh. Just me, sweetheart. Just Santa. Looks like you’re in a tight spot. I came to help.”

You were grateful it was just Joel, Santa Joel was always so good to you, always a kind work and a smile, bringing you hot cocoa to your work station, offering you rides in his sleigh. Truth be told, you had a crush on him, but he was your boss. Your married boss. There’s no way your silly little elf fantasy could be anything more than that.

Surely he didn’t mean to touch you there. He was just trying to help and…

You reasoned with yourself until you felt it again. Another touch, his thumb sliding up and down your slit, pushing the fabric of your tights in, exaggerating the outline of your pussy.

“Looks like you have more problems than just bein’ stuck. For one thing, I’m pretty sure this uniform came with panties and you’re not wearin’ em. And for another, the last elf bus back to the elf barracks left an hour ago while you were in my workshop trying to catch up. Now how do we solve this problem?”

The tips of your pointed ears felt hot. You couldn’t believe Santa Joel was actually speaking to you this way, touching you the way he was. Emboldened, you wiggled yous ass, seeking his touch.

You heard his deep, jolly laugh, then felt the stinging slap of his big hand across your ass. You moaned and he laughed again.

“Santa, please! Let me make it up to you.”

He spanked you again, enjoying the way your ass jiggled in your tights.

“You’re going to have to be real good if you want to get back in the nice list, darlin.”

Santa Joel lifted you from the toy box and held you close to his body, he was broader and firmer than his red suit let on, and he smelled of cranberry and pine.

He carried you to his sleigh, parked beside a roaring fire, gleaming in the firelight, the freshly polished, ornately carved mahogany was the size of a small suv, laden with bags of logs ahead of Christmas.

The bench inside was plush, and a thick blanket was draped over the seat. Joel lad you across it and peeled your tights down, holding your ankles in either hand, spreading you wide to take a long, lecherous look at your glistening, dripping pussy.

He fell to his knees on the floor of his sleigh with a pained groan and a mutter before throwing your legs over his shoulders and kissing your soft, slick folds sloppily.

“Fuck, Santa,” you whined, lifting your hips toward his mouth. He teased you, licking, sucking, nibbling lightly at your puffy lips.

As he tasted your sweet little cunt, he reached into his pants to tug at his turgid member. Joel wasn’t as young as he used to be. He knew time wasn’t on his side and he needed to be inside you like he needed a glass of milk after a plate of cookies.

“Fuck me, Santa Joel,” you begged him breathily, smock pushed up over your tits so you could swirl your fingertips over your nipples. “Fill up my little stocking. You know you want to. Give it to me, Father Christmas. Or should I call you daddy?”

Your voice was breathy and teasing, something Joel couldn’t resist. He stood and unbuckled his wide black belt, letting it drop along with his red velvet pants as his shirt hung open. There, swinging between his firm thighs, was the most magnificent North Pole you’d ever seen.

You sat up in awe, mouth agape and brought your hand to wrap around his cock. Your fingers just barely touched, the girth was so great, and two hands were needed to hold his full length. You stroked him, and stuck out your tongue to taste his beading precum.

“Suck it,” Santa Joel told you, his hand on your cheek, patting it gently until you opened wide and took all you could. You wetted his cock with your saliva, humming in pleasure at the taste, musky and nice, salty but sweet.

He pulled away abruptly, leaving you pouting and hungry for more.

“Gonna give you somethin’ real good, don’t worry.” He flipped you over, lifting your hips how he wanted, face down, ass up, knees knocked wide to take him.

He dragged the thick head over your silky wet cunt, slicking himself before pushing into your tight little hole. He didn’t believe it when he fit his cock head inside, he held it there a moment before pulling it back out, ignoring your please for him to just give it to you.

“I can take it, Santa, please. Fuck me. I know Mrs Clause never lets you fuck her like this. Does she suck your cock in the sleigh? Does she have a little pussy like this?” You goaded him until he relented, filling you in one thrust, silencing you with one motion.

“That what you wanted? Wanted this big dick to light you up like a Christmas tree? His hips slapped against yours with each thrust, and you knew no ordinary elf dick would ever satisfy you again. Santa Joel stretched and filled you, reached spots that no one had ever reached before. He pumped into you and your slick dripped down his heavy balls, teeming with cum that he felt an animalistic urge to fill you with.

“Rub your clit for me. I want to feel you come on my cock.”

You reached between your legs and swirled your fingers over your pussy. Joel was so thick inside you, so perfectly deep, your clit needed only the lightest touch to send you into a shaking orgasm, crying his name.

With your body tensing and relaxing as you rode out the aftershocks of your release, Joel set his sights on his own. He pummeled your pussy, balls slapping against you, his hands holding your hips tight. He reached under you and pulled you upward to hold you against his chest, using you as a merry little cocksleeve with your tits bouncing in his hands.

Santa Joel groaned and gasped as his thick cum burst into you. “Ho!” He grunted, “Ho! Ho!” He fucked it deep and felt it dripping out around his slowly softening cock.

When you were cleaned up as best you could be, he draped his soft, fur trimmed coat around your shoulders and pulled you onto his lap. He poured himself a glass of whiskey and while you relaxed, and listened to the crackling of the fire, Joel looked at you with affection.

“What do you want for Christmas?” He asked in his deep, raspy voice.

You nuzzled his neck and kissed the warm skin there.

“I want to do that again.”

If you made it all the way, here are your whistle and your crown.

#bat writes #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character smut #joel miller #smut #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller fan fiction #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #Santa Joel #christmas smut

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elixirfromthestars · 2 days ago

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Dancing Embers

Pairing: 1940s!Bucky Barnes x Nurse!Reader

Summary: A cozy cabin, the love of your life, and the warmth of a fire. What more could you ask for on a cold winter night?

Word Count: 1.3k

Warning(s): none. pure fluff. slight insinuation at the end. female reader.

Prompt/Event: @the-slumberparty december daze -> a crackling fire sets the mood

a/n: This piece is written as a standalone. However, I will link below the pairing this fic is based on in case you want to read more of them. For context, this timeline is one where Bucky made it back from the war safe and sound and is enjoying his life now that the war is over. Thank you for reading! ₊˚⊹♡ Likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated!! ♡♡♡

how their love story began ♡ || fluffy winter drabbles masterlist ❆

The hum of the radio travels through the air and finds its way into the kitchen where you’re placing tonight’s dinner in the oven. A puff of hot air caresses your face as you close the oven door, the casserole dish cocooned inside by a blazing heat. You pick up the small timer from the counter and twist the dial, setting it for thirty minutes.

Now, you have to find something to do to pass the time…

You look around the unfamiliar kitchen, its rustic woodsy furnishing a cozy contrast to the one in your apartment in the city. A smile makes its way to your face as you recall how Bucky surprised you with this weekend getaway. It was after you came home from a shift at the children’s clinic—exhaustion heavy in your bones. An exhaustion he eased with a homecooked meal and a plethora of loving kisses. All leading up to the surprise of a weekend trip just for the two of you, presented to you with a bouquet of your favorite flowers and a handwritten note.

You started packing right away after that.

While still ruminating on the joy of the memory, you begin to tidy up the mess in the kitchen—the one left from your dinner preparations. There wasn’t much to clean up—bits of leftover ingredients here and a few prep dishes there—but at least it gives you something to do while the timer counts down in the background.

Out of the blue, a frosty air embraces you from behind. You let out a small squeal as the arms that usually radiate warmth are bitterly cold against your skin. A sharp intake of breath escaping you at the contact.

“Bucky, you’re freezing!” you say with concern and caught off guard by the piercing chill of his hands. How long had he been out in the cold?

“Not anymore,” he mutters a response as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck, his icy lips pressing kisses into your skin. A shiver goes down your spine as the frost on his lips melts away into a heat that you’re used to.

You twist in his arms to face him, pulling him even closer by his wool jacket to kiss the tip of his reddened nose, hoping to bring warmth back to it. Bucky grins at you with a gentle adoration, even more so when you brush off the remnants of winter from his hair and shoulders. His eyes take in your every feature like he wants to commit this moment to memory.

When it comes to you, he always does. There’s never been a moment with you he doesn’t hold dear in his heart. His time at war taught him to treasure every second he gets with those he loves most. And of course, as the love of his life, that includes you.

“I’m going to need more than that to warm up, doll,” he claims playfully, before connecting his lips to yours, pulling you flush against him by your waist. Your arms eagerly wrap around his shoulders, melting into him faster than the snow on his body does. The kiss is sweet, yet profound as if the hour spent apart had been entirely too long for the both of you.

When the kiss has restricted enough air from your lungs, you both pull away only slightly and out of breath, smiling from ear to ear. You collect yourself enough to say, “Dinner should be ready soon.” Bucky, however, has his attention elsewhere as he plants a soft kiss to your forehead, your nose, and then your lips once more.

“Sounds. Good. Doll,” he mumbles the words between kisses that leave you in a fit of giggles. A sound that almost drowns out the grumbling of his stomach.

“Someone’s hungry.”

“Mm, chopping lumber will do that to you.”

“Chopping lumber?”

“For the fireplace. I should probably go and get it started.”

Bucky lets out an exaggerated sigh, not entirely keen on going back out into the cold night. He presses a tender kiss to the top of your head before reluctantly detaching his arms from your waist as he heads back outside. He spends the next few minutes hauling in pieces of wood into the living room where he tends to the fireplace. Meanwhile, you get the dining table ready for your dinner for two.

As you are on the brink of finishing setting up, you notice the radio gets louder—a slow song replacing the previous hum. It’s not long before Bucky comes back into the kitchen, however, this time he’s swaying slowly to the rhythm of the music. There’s a glimmer in his eyes as his hands outstretch to beckon you to him.

“Dance with me,” he says, taking hold of your hands and placing them on his shoulders. You laugh softly, looking at him with fond mirth. “Maybe later, sweetheart. Dinner’s almost ready,” you mention, glancing at the mechanical timer that would go off in a few minutes.

Bucky shakes his head, watching as your hands slide down from his shoulders, but before they can go anywhere, he swiftly intertwines them with his own. He uses this small leverage to begin coaxing you out of the kitchen and into the living room with gentle tugs. “Dinner can wait, doll. I want to dance with my best girl first,” he replies, his expression full of pleading affection.

You can never say no when he looks at you like that.

You throw the image of the timer to the back of your head and follow Bucky into the center of the living room. To your right, the fireplace crackles beautifully with bright embers, cascading the room in an amber glow. To your left, the coffee table, handcrafted in oak, is pushed up against the sofa, giving you enough space by the fireplace to dance.

Bucky’s hands find purchase at your waist as he anchors you closer. Your hands settle against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips. Soon your hips and his gradually sway in sync, letting the melody of the song guide you.

You hold each other close for what seems like a lifetime, the heat of the fire amplifying the warmth that radiates between you. Its flames flicker alongside you as if slow dancing themselves. The serenity of the moment forever engraves itself into your heart.

“I love you, Y/n. I can’t wait for the rest of our lives to start,” Bucky’s voice is full of devotion, bringing your left hand up to his lips to kiss the spot right where your engagement ring is. You look at him as if he hung the moon for you, “I love you too, Bucky. Forever can’t come soon enough.” Your hands snake up to wrap behind his neck, pulling him in for a deep kiss, the kind that consumes as quickly as a spark catches fire. However, before the intensity can reach a boiling point, a loud ringing suddenly breaks it. The timer in the kitchen signaling whatever desires were igniting would have to be put on pause until after dinner.

“Dinners ready,” neither of you are ready to break apart when you whisper this. A beat passes and Bucky lifts your chin gently with his finger, so your gaze locks with his adoring one.

“One more kiss.”

“The casserole is going to burn.”

“Just one more?”

There he goes again with that pleading expression you can’t resist.

“You know it won’t be just one more, James Buchanan Barnes,” you point out and he lets out a hearty chuckle.

“You know me so well Mrs.Barnes-to-be.”

He kisses you again anyway—short and sweet—leaving you with a promise for more to hold onto. Your laughter mixes with his as you lead him back to the kitchen. He hugs you from behind one last time as he whispers an enticing promise into your ear.

“After dinner, I’m having you for dessert.”

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13hoax · 7 days ago

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holiday shopping with bf!matt ⋆ ⁺₊❆ . [ wc: 685 ]

౨ৎ facing the foggy window, you wipe away just enough to watch matt slowly approaching the car. when the door opens, you’re met with an icy breeze paired with matt’s face flushed pink from the cold.

“thank you, for making the brave sacrifice of warming the car up,” he says while rubbing his hands together, trying to gather any source of warmth.

“yeah, you owe me. it’s freezing out here, even with the heat on full blast,” you reply with short laughter.

matt promptly starts the car and reverses unsteadily, from the amount of snow blocking the driveway. after about 10 minutes of driving, you both are greeted with christmas lights that lined the exterior of the local shopping mall. while matt tries to find a parking spot in the midst of holiday chaos, you quietly watch through the frosty window as kids run into piles of snow surrounding the building. observing them are their parents who stand and grip onto their hot coffee cups, and everyone is fitted in colorful hats, mittens and coats.

matt parks the car, and turns over to you slightly, asking if you’re ready to go inside. with a slight nod, both of you step out into the cold. before setting off you readjust your scarf over your mouth, to hopefully shield some of the winter wind from your face.

“here,” matt sighs while tossing his mittens over the hood of the car, “don’t owe you anymore,” he says with a slight smile.

౨ৎ walking through the front door, your attention goes straight to the bookstore. every time you come to the mall you promise to only ‘look’ at the calico critters, you and matt know that’s a reoccurring lie. you’re supposed to be shopping for your family and friends. but how could you not visit your favorite fixation at any given opportunity?

matt knows your fate and follows you up the escalator to the bookstore. browsing the aisles carefully, you spot the section you’re looking for. leaning over, you pick up a family of cats. taking a moment to admire the box, in awe you quickly turn to show matt,

“this is the cutest thing ever, aren’t they so cute??”

he can hear the excitement in your voice and decides to play along with your slight obsession, “yes they’re so cute, they would look very cute under the christmas tree.” he watches are your eyes light up.

before you’re able to say anything else he adds on softly, “under the christmas as a present for someone else maybe? that is why we are here y’know..”

your smile slowly fading, you simply turn away from him and put the box back on the shelf. not willing to beg him and argue his reasoning why you’re at the mall on a busy holiday weekend.

he notices and turns your head back towards him, “it could be under our christmas tree if..”

“if?” you interrupt trying to hide the pout in your lip.

“you know what i want to hear,” he says tilting his head up while showing that smile he knew would get you to do whatever he wanted.

you softly punch his shoulder and look up to his eyes, “put it under the tree first, and then i’ll tell you anything you want to hear.”

he continues to stare down at you, hopeful to get some sort of reaction that would lead to your defeat to him. but instead he’s left with a grunt from your mouth and a prompted head shake that silently scolds him from thinking you’d be so easy to break.

breaking eye contact, you brush past him swiftly. matt quickly takes his phone out to snap a quick picture of the box before he’s met with your hand, grabbing him and dragging him into the next aisle.

he follows your lead with full commitment, with rolled eyes and a smile slowly appearing on his face. little did you know he would come back later to buy the family of tiny cats for you, and he took a picture to make sure he got exactly the ones you wanted.

⋆❅* this is a entry for @mattscoquette & @letstrip13‘s writing comp! i’m new to writing on here, so pls be kind & give rylee & mae a follow!

#rylee & mae’s sturnmas writing comp ༘˚❄️ 🦌 ౨ৎ #13hoax₊˚༄ؘ writing #matt stuniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo fluff #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x you #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo tumblr #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo x you #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo fluff #bf!matt

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clawsdevour · 2 months ago

Note

CLAWS!!! Congratulations on 1k 🥹 you totally deserve it. You work so hard and your writing is always so enjoyable 🥹

For your 1k followers event could I order a katsudon and go watch a movie? ☺�� That sounds so fluffy but imma ask for a nsfw! 🤭🫣

Sending lots of love!~ ❤️

in the workplace

wc: 0.9k content warning: post-timeskip, work colleagues, suna x reader, smut, oral f!receiving, fingering, not proofread

-> katsudon : suna rintaro ^^ -> watch a movie : scenario where reader works overtime and the character's about to head out but sees reader working overtime (also work colleagues trope!) 𓂃𓆩⠀* ⊹𓈒 a/n: haiiii laid backcamp <3 tysm for all ur support and requests that i get to write from time to time and just enjoying my writing since day 1 cuz u the realest

由 𓈒⠀⠀ ׄ ⠀⠀ 𓂋

Late at night still working in the office with the light off, but the illuminating brightness reflecting onto your exhausted complexion as you wrap up the last few documents for tonight. Sleepy but almost finished, as you hear a slight squeak from the entrance of the room.

Awakening your full attention to be on the look out for whatever made that sound. The clanking of some slick and polished dress shoes interrupting your flow of focus. Facing you, it was no one else but your coworker, Rintaro Suna , whom you may have been having some chemistry with in your work place.

“Hm..? Working overtime again?” Suna scoffed playfully as he quietly stepped towards your little office, the light starting to dance on his smooth skin.

“I’m almost done, it’s just uploading these documents” scrolling the little nub on your mouse to show him the progress you’ve made today.

Suna’s heavy chest covered with his fitted suit loomed over your entire being. His face just a bit too close with yours where you can hear his steady breathing as his eyes skimmed the files. His large hand placed just right on the back of your chair, inching closer to your shoulders.

“Looks good to me, how ‘bout a little shoulder rub to relieve your stress?” tilting his head closer to yours as his slender eyes glance at your lips for a quick second before returning his gaze back to yours.

“How ‘bout it?�� you smiled, watching his body retreat and fingers work their magic on your tensed shoulders from behind your seat.

“Let me know if you want it harder..” going to town with his diligent fingers that did miracles to unwind the hidden knots that kept you up all night.

Pressing a bit too hard you squealed out a groan despite bearing with the pain that felt like ecstasy the moment it faded.

“Suna, I know what you’re doing..” opening your half lidded eyes as you slanted your head upwards to meet his beady dark eyes filled with desire.

“Doing what?” breaking out into a low chuckle, the smirk on his mouth said it all. He’s gonna help you relieve your stress in another way.

Swiveling your desk chair around, your body facing his suited tall figure that hovered above you. The intense romantic tension starting to rise in the workplace as you two knew what was gonna happen in just a minute as your lips crashed on each others, longing for the warmth and security you two felt from each other.

His thick and hot muscle wrapping around yours as you fought for dominance. Profusely and sloppily you kissed his lips until they were slightly pink and swollen. His hands planted on your chest, unbuttoning the buttons at the top of your blouse to reveal to him your lacy frisky bra.

“You’re kidding me.. this bra? It’s like you know I’d swing by tonight,” kissing your hot flushed cheek as one of his cold hands slither into your half opened blouse and under your brasserie, making your flinch in pleasure due to his frosty fingers.

Melting his hands with your warmth as you continued to make out, his other hand’s softly running up against the surface of your thighs. He’s situated just right inbetween your legs as you gradually let them part, further and further, for him.

Breaking away for a quick moment as you teasingly whined, using both his slender hands to hike your straining skirt up before slipping your panties off.

Taking a quick glance, there’s already a little puddle of wetness at the center of your panties from all the kissing which satisfied him to know. Dropping your underwear off from your legs and onto the ground, Suna got onto his knees to get a good look at your cunt that dripped for his touch.

Pulling you closer by under your thighs as you slouched into the plushness of your desk chair. Trembling in a ticklish manner as you felt Suna’s cold digits rub upon your slicked clit in slow and sensational circles, using your juices to combat with the friction before feeling his hot tongue latch onto your clit.

“Sunaa..!” you cried out in enjoyment as his tongue takes control over your entire body.

Using your hands to push his head further down onto you while his fingers insert themselves into your twitching hole to stimulate you even more. Despite being in the office all alone you can’t help but suppress your moaning to a minimum in case anyone else was nearby.

His slender fox eyes are sinfully watching your reactions go from tensed and stiff to free and delight the more he played with your squelching and pulsating cunt that yearned for his length.

The hot muscle that played with your clit started building up that volcano that could ignite any minute right in his smoldering mouth as your legs quivered with pleasure. Your fingers tightly grasping onto his brown locks of hair as the increase of volume rose in the air that reeked of intimacy. His long fingers continued to pump in and out of you mercilessly as you make a mess of your chair with your limbs going limp.

Seeing the static come into play when your head leans back onto the plush cushioned seat, essentially letting your climax roll on his tongue while he licked up every drop of it before getting up to wipe his mouth with his hand.

“D’ya needa ride home?” Suna teasingly huffed out of breath.

masterlist here | 1k event here

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mysteria157 · 7 days ago

Text

Merry Christmas from my little corner at the @pixelcafe-network. Thank you so much for hosting this gift exchange! I had so much fun writing this for my elf @grimmweepers. Your Christmas list gave me the opportunity to write Sukuna for the first time. I wanted to lean as much into your likes as much as possible so that it feels like it's you in this story.

I hope you enjoy!

Pairing: True Form!Sukuna x Reader (Ryu)

Rating/CW: slight dark romance, fluff, implied sexual content, dark themes (references to violence, blood, destruction, and a hint of cannibalism because it's Sukuna). MDNI!

WC: ~8.5K

Summary: Sukuna gives in to mortal festivities, for the promise of a worthy gift, unaware that some traditions leave marks deeper than ancient power.

Divider: @cyberbeat @arminsumi @firefly-graphics

The winter night drapes itself across the ancient estate, stars scattered above like diamonds on black velvet. Fresh snow has transformed this formidable domain into something almost magical—though no amount of pristine white can truly soften the centuries of power that seems to pulse through every shadow of the grounds.

You used to take these walks alone, finding solace in the environment that gave way to the shifting change of the seasons. But now, on this chilly and almost silent night, your solitary footprints are accompanied by another. Deeper, more commanding treads belong to Sukuna, whose very presence seems to make the stars above burn brighter, as if they, too, acknowledge the power that moves beneath them, feeding off the cursed energy he emits with every breath.

Your exhale forms a frosty white cloud before vanishing into the night air. It’s cold, far too cold for a walk, but you’re out here to clear your thoughts, to quell the overwhelming urge to ask Sukuna a question that you don’t want to imagine the answer to.

The thought first emerged when fall gave way to winter, the autumn leaves replaced by the starkness of bare branches now hidden beneath blankets of snow. The thought of markets late at night adorned in yellow lights, of hot cocoa and gifts wrapped in red ribbon.

The words, having coiled behind your teeth for days like a spring, finally slink past your lips. “I was thinking…what if we celebrated Christmas together?”

“Christmas.” The word leaves his mouth not as a question, but as if it’s not worth inflection.

You bite the inside of your cheek, fighting your rolling anxiety. He’s never been one for new things. This is his domain, after all—his home, his formidable walls that he has erected and ruled with an iron fist. The mere thought of anyone—let alone a mortal—suggesting something outside his design is almost laughable.

You pause in your footsteps, tracing his looming shadow in the snow before you look up at him. He’s tall, looming with a height that comes not from this realm, his silhouette dwarfing everything around him. While you are covered in furs and wool and warmth, he stands in a simple black Haori, barely covering his skin and open to show his chest.

The dark markings of his tattoos glow like black embers in the moonlight, each one a testament to the ancient power that pulses beneath his skin. Two pairs of muscular arms fold across his chest, large and thrumming with strength. An archaic strength that can level cities and destroy with little effort, yet those same fearsome arms cradle you with unexpected gentleness in the depths of night.

The fact that you understand this side of Sukuna, gives you the strength to press on.

“It’ll be our first Christmas together,” you press.

“A mortal festivity,” he claps back, naturally sharp but with little heat.

“I’m a mortal,” you counter, meeting his gaze head-on, refusing to back down from the menacing glare you can see right through. “And from what I remember, I am your Queen.”

Quadruple crimson eyes narrow from your truthful declaration, their glow cutting through the frost-laden air like embers in the snow. The two on the right gleam brighter against the rough texture of his half-petrified cheek, like jagged stone contrasting with smooth flesh on the other side. “You mistake indulgence for approval.”

You shrug, nonplussed, sniffing the chilly air up your runny nose. “Then indulge me. Mortals, like myself, put up Christmas trees, decorate their homes, bake treats, and watch movies.”

He hums, taking a step toward you. As he draws closer, the air shifts. While you have no cursed energy, you’ve come to know his intimately. It presses against your skin like an unseen force, electric and stifling, its movements mirroring the emotions he tries to smother. You’ve learned to read it like your favorite book, though it’s a story only you seem privy to, and you don’t intend to let him know.

“Indulge me?” you try again.

He remains unconvinced, his characteristic indifference plucking at your cold skin as you look up at him unflinching. It’s not like he denies you often. Sukuna, for as powerful as he is, gives to your many asks with a wave of his hand as if your happiness is unwarranted, even if his gaze flickers to you minutely for praise at haven catered to you.

Your confidence has only grown steadily, but that anxiety that curls around an ask still tastes sour. So you pull out another mental note card, a line you practiced in the mirror for days for this very moment.

“Gift-giving is also another tradition,” you sigh in faux nonchalance, pursing your dry lips as you try to ignore the flicker of curiosity you see on his face. The subtle tick of his jaw, the way one of his eyes tightens just so, the feel of his cursed energy pausing in its movements as if to hear you more clearly. “I know you’d never turn down any sort of offering. Especially from your Queen.”

Only seconds of anxious silence pass before that deep hum permeates the air, a gentle give. “You use that title often, Ryu.” You shrug again, biting the flesh of your cheek to suppress the victorious smile you can feel in your muscles. “Why must I wait for a specific day of the year to receive a gift? I can simply take what I want with little effort.”

His hubris knows no bounds. Neither does your perseverance.

“You put up with a few days of Christmas cheer, and I’ll make sure you get the best gift ever. Something wonderful and fitting for the King of Curses,” you promise, hoping to bring him home with your sales pitch. “But no griping.”

Sukuna scoffs, indignation heavy in the sound as he puffs white smoke into the air. “I do not gripe.” The look you throw him is unimpressed; one brow arched in a silent challenge that grants you a narrowed-eyed glare of concession in return. “Why do you assume you will get what you want?”

He reaches for you as he complains, and despite his sharp tone, you lean into the weight of his touch. You’ve come to know the language of his hands, each gesture a revelation of the complex nature he embodies. Like now, as he adjusts the furs draped around your shoulders—precious things hunted and skinned himself. His movements are deliberate, with hands impossibly gentle despite their proven capacity for destruction.

“Because you see me,” you whisper, the words soft but heavy with meaning. They carry the weight of something unspoken, a recognition of the four-letter word he is not yet ready to voice—your understanding of his care beneath his praise, his protection weaved into his possession.

A sales pitch now seems trivial, disrespectful even, in light of how the tone has shifted around you. Shame prickles at your skin, but it fades just as quickly, overwhelmed by the truth of your words. You do see him, even when he's being stubborn.

Sukuna’s answering hum to your question—to the anxious worry that started this conversation—reverberates through the air, an unspoken approval that settles in the space between you both.

Days later, the skies bloom with gentle hues of cotton candy—pale blue and pastel pink, slowly darkening as the sun peeks on the horizon. The dawn of winter greets you with its chilly embrace, its breath sharp and unrelenting, its touch frostbitten. You’re bleary-eyed as you shuffle over broken branches and moss-covered paths in the East forest.

The weight of your determination keeps you moving, even as your body protests, regretting your tenacity because why would Ryomen Sukuna, King of Curses, buy a tree when he can simply ‘get one from the backyard.’

“I like that one,” you offer, shakily pointing with a heavily gloved finger at a modest six-footer, its snow-laden branches slumping under the weight.

“If I’m to entertain a mortal festivity, it will not be done poorly.”

You’re far too cold to point out his first gripe of the day. His voice carries that familiar edge, but beneath it rests a note that only you can hear—the same careful attention he uses when observing the movements of his enemies, now turned to the expansive forest to the east of his estate.

You close your mouth around an exhale, your cheeks puffing like a fish in your own rendition of a pout as you follow him. The forest stretches silent and vast around you, a living extension of how far his power goes. Sukuna stops abruptly, still as stone as he surveys the trees with a menacing gaze. The dominance he exudes seems to make the air itself hold its breath. You’re simply a spectator—watching an apex predator stalk its prey—it would be a marvelous sight if you weren’t shaking like a leaf.

“This one,” he declares at last, voice carrying the familiarity of pride and authority as he looks up at a magnificent pine.

It’s uncharacteristically different in every way; a shadow brown trunk as thick as his waist, strong branches that house deep green needles, forming their own canopy over the other and covered in the white blanket of snow. Its towering height practically pierces the sky, a physical representation of how the being in front of you sees himself—ambivalent and all-seeing.

With a flick of two fingers, Sukuna’s Cleave technique slices cleanly through the thick trunk. The looming pine shivers, snow plopping from its arms in white globs before it slowly falls to the ground with a muffled thud. The wind that picks up from the disturbance tousles his pink hair, strands whipping against his marked face. One of Sukuna’s muscular arms grabs his prize and effortlessly hoists it onto his shoulder.

You can’t help but admire the broad expanse of his back. The curve and dip of muscle against black markings that shift with each movement, the skin warm to the touch despite how cold he makes himself seem.

The sight of him makes you think of his Christmas gift—your secret project—the fabric carefully chosen to embrace that strength with something just as enduring. You wonder if he will notice the details, the painstaking intricacy you’ve chosen just for him.

His gift is soon forgotten when his gaze falls on you, an unmistakable glint of satisfaction in his eyes. Carmine pools that invite you to step closer and gaze beneath its liquid, to see small slivers of vulnerability presented in the form of the pine on his shoulders. He’s waiting, expecting not praise for his strength, but praise for what he has provided. An offering.

You smile gently, genuinely, and without quivering despite the temperature. “I love it,” you compliment, watching as your words card over his offering like a caress that only fans the flames of his pride. His belly mouth curves into a smirk, chuffed in agreement with its host, white teeth glistening and ghostly breath puffing in steaming plumes.

He walks to you, thunderous steps shaking the forest floor but doing little to shake you, tucking and readjusting your furs once more before ushering you back to the estate, his unspoken need for you to get warm carving a smile onto your face.

In Sukuna’s vast estate, where shadows roam, and servants move with silent reverence, there is no room for joviality and merriment. He rules unflinchingly, with a face usually etched in disinterest and a heart that beats only in the throes of violence and battle. But since you’ve set foot in his domain that he keeps dark and teeming with fear, things have changed.

Now, the halls carry the scent of your vast perfume collection, a blend of smoky oud and earthy florals that linger in the air long after you pass. The servants, once bound by fear, now offer gentle smiles to the mortal who goes against the rules of this cursed realm.

Now, the shadows walk with you, satisfying your thirst for the paranormal as they follow you like a silent watchdog, a testament to the orders of their master—a being with four arms, four eyes, and a grudging acceptance of your presence.

Now, the mortal who carved her way into Sukuna’s domain with hardly a blink, the mortal who can see beneath his veneer of bleach-white bone and hardened blood…

Now… that mortal has decided to bring Christmas to these ancient halls.

Darkness now flickers with light. Pine garland decorates the windowsills in the expansive front room of Sukuna’s estate, its sharp scent striking through the air with every brush of your fingertips along its needles. The front room, what was once empty and meant only as a tunnel to another destination, is now lively from your touch.

A tall fireplace, its mantle wrapped in garlands of cypress and silk ribbons the color of deep red wine that reminds you of his eyes, casts a warm glow over goblet-red curtains that frame looming windows and fur-lined chairs that you curl into when you read your many books.

Sukuna has molded his domain to fit your silent requests. Your Christmas spirit that Sukuna continues to entertain if only for the promise of his reward, breathes life. His spoils—the cleaved pine—stands proudly by the fireplace, its branches wrapped in shining white lights and delicate ornaments.

Uraume was diligent, while unwilling to entertain anything pertaining to mortals, their loyalty outshines their disinterest when it comes to their Queen. Said loyalty shines in the snow that rests on each emerald branch, crystalline shimmers colored amber and orange from the roaring flames of the fireplace. Their technique ensures it will never melt, an ethereal touch of winter preserved.

You can’t help the warm smile that graces your features as you admire the transformed space. But it’s the scents wafting from the kitchen that draw you from your admiration. Cinnamon and nutmeg dance with something darker, a metallic tang that speaks to how well you’ve learned to blend your world with his.

Uraume, for as menacing as a curse user they are, has the cooking skills worthy of Michelin praise. The kitchen is their sacred domain but is now a battlefield of flour and spices, mortal and ancient alike. The heat from multiple ovens warms your bare toes, and copper pots and pans clank and steam with soluble renditions of a Christmas feast.

Sukuna’s dutiful servant moves about the kitchen with practiced ease, refusing help from the other cursed spirit-like servants in your presence no matter how many times you’ve insisted that you don’t mind.

“The consistency is correct,” Uraume observes, subtle praise in their soft tone as they nod toward the ruby liquid you’ve folded into dough. “Sukuna-sama will find it acceptable.”

You hide your smile at their careful choice of words. Months of coexistence have taught you to read the subtle ways in which Uraume expresses care—their meticulous attention to your recipes when cooking for you, your happiness from delicious meals enough to mask their fondness they will never admit to.

“We’re going to make gingerbread houses,” you exclaim an hour later to an indifferent Sukuna. His presence in the kitchen is rare, and you’ve had to ignore the peep of garbled eyes from cursed spirits who poke through the kitchen doors in disbelief before scuttling away in fear of being caught.

The counter is littered with cooled cutouts of gingerbread house walls, arches, and windows. White icing in pastry bags that will serve as glue and gumdrops to be adorned as paneling is the perfect setup for this small occasion between you both.

Despite Sukuna’s menacing demeanor, he is astute. It’s why he’s achieved the status he has now, why he’s feared among the world, both mortal plane and astral. So he wastes no time piecing together his own creation, his eyebrows creased in concentration fitting of a warrior planning a siege.

As Uraume flutters around you both, you recount the tale of Hansel and Gretel, Sukuna’s crimson eyes gleaming with interest at the more gruesome parts of the brothers Grimm.

“So this witch,” he muses, two hands delicately pipping white icing for a jagged wall, his other two hands covered in flour. “She devoured children who wandered into her domain.” His eyes twinkle with approval, his belly mouth curving into a devious smirk. “An acceptable response to trespassers.”

“She built the house to lure him in,” you add, swallowing a chuckle as you feel his cursed energy wiggle around you in interest. “That’s why it was made out of sweets.”

“Why did these children not become a proper meal?”

“They outsmarted her,” you explain, watching in muted supplication as his face drops from satisfaction to disapproval. “Pushed her into her own oven.”

His belly mouth scoffs, frowning as his thick tongue tastes the spiced air. “Mortals.”

As your special cookies perfume the air with metallic sweetness, you admire Sukuna as he works. He utilizes all four hands to guide his gingerbread creation to completion, clicking his teeth when a wall crumbles in his palms and humming in delight when the icing holds steady. Your gingerbread house lays half-created as you watch him, observing in silence until his masterpiece sits before you.

It’s a fortress—walls as imposing as a cathedral’s, windows designed to daze would-be escapees. The path to the door winds hypnotically, sugar-crystal steps that seem to pulse with cursed energy, leading young feet exactly where he wants them. The final touch? Miniature figurines made of pretzel sticks and marshmallows that are arranged at the front door like an offering.

“The witch’s failure was in her execution, not her concept,” he declares. Where normal gingerbread houses invite warmth, his promises something darker—a blend of Christmas tradition and Sukuna’s deadlier inclinations. “No child would think to check for a secondary barrier here.” He speaks as if defending a dissertation, pointing to the candy canes that could easily become weapons instead of the holiday cheer they should represent.

You can’t help the laugh that bubbles from your chest, soft and genuine, as you admire his evil architecture. Four eyes find you immediately, piercing in their gaze as if defensive, yet still holding something akin to wanting your approval. Your hand finds his marked cheek, fingers tracing the tattoos that mirror all over his body. He leans into your touch with imperial indifference, wary of Uraume’s presence in the kitchen but not indignant enough to deny your warmth.

“A domain worth of the King of Curses,” you praise, watching how his belly mouth curves into the wide grin that his master does not offer. It’s more than enough to know he’s satisfied.

“And why is yours unfinished?” Sukuna asks, crossing his arms in mock reproach despite the splattering of flour on his skin and Haori. “Surely, my Queen will make something of equal likeness.”

The oven behind you dings before you can reply, and Uraume retrieves your treat, the aroma rich and spiced. You slide the steaming plate between you, the burgundy cookies still piping hot and ready for him.

“I had other priorities,” you supply, blowing on your fingers before you offer a cookie to his belly mouth. It opens wide, tongue lolling to the side like a panting dog and already watering before you place the cookie on his taste buds. He chomps loudly, sharp teeth devouring the concoction of ginger, blood, and aged spices from Uraume’s private garden—a perfect blend of your world and his. His cursed energy warms, wrapping around your waist in approval as Sukuna throws cookies into his own mouth now.

“Is this my gift?” is all he asks, satisfied but ever impatient as he and his stomach finish the plate. You don’t resist the eye roll. “It’s a very acceptable gift. However, I wouldn’t have entertained Christmas if you only wanted to cook.”

“It’s not your gift Sukuna.” You wave him off, snatching the now empty plate before his belly mouth’s tongue can lick at the blood crumbs, another heaping plate taking its place that Uraume leaves. “And don’t try to guess. You won’t get very far.”

“Hm.” He leans back slightly, one of his hands reaching to dust flour from his forearm. You roll your eyes again, choosing instead to finish your gingerbread house while he sulks. “Then it must be something more…significant. Ancient scrolls, perhaps? Found deep within forgotten temples, imbued with curses?” His voice drips with mock curiosity as if daring you to reveal even the slightest clue.

You snort, pausing mid-pipe to give him a flat look. “First of all, ancient scrolls? Really, Sukuna?” His belly mouth grumbles at being ignored, lips covered in a red dusting of cookie smacking for more. “Second of all, what would I be doing roaming around a temple? This isn’t the Heian era, despite how much you like to talk about it.”

He tilts his head, eyes narrowing slightly, more intrigued than annoyed by your commentary. “So I am wrong?”

“Completely,” you answer, biting back another laugh as you return to your task of piping green icing along a gingerbread wall to resemble bushels of grass. “Do you think your gift revolves around curses and destruction?”

“Why wouldn’t it?” he counters smoothly, his tone smug and his gaze unwavering.

You roll your eyes for what feels like the nth time in only so many minutes, feeling the warmth of his cursed energy curling around your waist again, tugging at you like a child pulling his mother’s sleeve for attention. “Just eat your cookies and stop guessing, Sukuna. You’re nowhere close.”

His belly mouth snickers as Sukuna throws another cookie into it, but his narrowed gaze lingers on you as if memorizing every shift in your expression, every subtle movement of your hands, waiting for you to slip. You have a feeling that even though Christmas is only days away, his curiosity will make it seem like an eternity.

As he often says, Sukuna indulges for you quite often. Trivial mortal instruments meant to stave off your boredom. He tells himself it’s for his own peace, to keep you from pestering him in the throne room, even though he still searches for you and longs for your presence in his lap.

One of those mortal instruments? A television. He knows what they are but has never been bothered to pay attention—an invention he dismissed as frivolous and mind-numbing. The flickering screen is often a source of laughter and comfort on one of your sleepless nights, and though he swore to never sit beside you while it played, here he is. On Christmas Eve. Reclined casually on the expansive sofa in your chambers, a disdainful sneer aimed at the annoying mortal known as ‘Buddy the Elf’, judgment radiating from his very being.

“Ryu, you cannot possibly enjoy this,” he huffs, one hand picking at nonexistent lint on his linen pants, another draped over the back of the couch, and one more cradling your soft form against him.

“Elf is a Christmas tradition!” You insist, handing a heaping hand of buttery popcorn to his belly mouth who accepts with a please grumble. Unlike Sukuna, who prefers a more…carnivorous diet, his belly mouth will eat almost anything it is fed. You chuckle softly, laying your head on his naked chest as you both watch Buddy decorate the department store into a winter wonderland. "I love it."

“He trespasses into their domain and then defiles it. Disgusting.”

“I thought you agreed not to grumble.”

“I never agreed.”

You hide your smile in the warmth of Sukuna’s side, breathing in the familiar aroma of burnt incense that clings to his skin, grounding and intoxicating. The movie plays on, you enjoying, while Sukuna analyzes each scene with the precision he’d use to raze a village. He won’t admit what he’s been reduced to—a powerful being indulging in idiotic entertainment to please the mortal lady of his estate. All for a gift that he cannot guess.

You trace idle patterns on his marked arm. Each touch makes his cursed energy flutter beneath your fingertips, electric kisses on your skin that he pretends not to notice. These are the moments you love most—when the fearsome King of Curses allows himself to simply…exist beside you, his pride softened by the peace you often bring.

“A weapon,” he says suddenly, his voice cutting through Buddy and Jovie’s shower singing.

You blink, craning your neck to look up at him. “What?”

He gestures expectantly to the room around him. “You’ve found a weapon worthy of my domain.”

You should have known the moment he stopped complaining about the movie that his attention had drifted. The fact that this is what he is thinking about makes warmth bloom in your chest. “Are you guessing?”

“I do not guess,” he insists, glowering at the television to avoid looking at you, his curiosity-tinged cursed energy betraying him. “I deduce.”

A weapon would be fitting for someone like him—his strength, his dominance, his endless hunger for power. But it’s a far cry from what he will get. You throw more popcorn into your mouth to stop yourself from laughing at just how wrong he truly is.

He’s silent only for a moment before he adds. “Why must I wait until tomorrow, when you can simply tell me now?” His logic is, as usual, rooted in authority and impatience. You chew another handful of popcorn deliberately, ignoring him as you keep your eyes glued to the screen.

Not even five minutes pass before one of his large hands brushes against the nape of your neck. His fingers card through your hair, tugging the strands—not enough to hurt, but enough to send a shiver down your spine.

You know what he’s doing. His touch feels like a predator sneakily luring in prey. You know this game—this is Sukuna feigning boredom because he’s curious, using seduction to coax you when you’re being stubborn. It’s as effective as it is dangerous. But this time, you’re prepared.

“If you’re going to ignore the movie,” you trail off, your voice a mix of seductive challenge and amusement. You twist in his lap to straddle his waist, sliding your hands up his chest, tracing your fingers around his nipples in slow, deliberate circles. He does not react, at least not on his face. But you can feel the imperceptible jut of his hips, feel his cursed energy hum up your calves, and wrap around your body like a warm fog.

“I know of something else we can do.” You’re suggestive, voice dropping to the pits of your stomach as your lips brush along the sharp edge of his jaw. The shift in power is immediate, and exactly what you want. His hands tighten on your waist, head tilting slightly, giving you better access to lavish him with praise.

“Is that so?” His voice is pitched low, heady already. “Anything is better than this drivel.”

You roll your eyes as you fall back on the sofa, your body arching under his touch as he pulls you closer. Your hand slides lower, tracing the edge of his haori where it hangs loose against his skin.

“You’re impatient as usual,” you whisper, nipping lightly at his neck. “But you’ll wait this time. Won’t you?”

His eyes narrow as if in protest. But he doesn’t answer—not with words, at least. Instead, his hands roam your body, each touch firm and possessive. You grin against his skin, knowing you’ve managed to distract him…at least for now.

“A temple,” his voice rumbles through the darkness, shaking you from the deep edges of sleep. His massive form curves around you possessively, his warmth seeping into your skin. Both of you lie tangled in the aftermath of your earlier indulgences—the sofa, the wall, and, finally, the silk sheets of his bed. All bearing witness to his insatiable need for you.

“Mmm?” you mumble, still trying to pull yourself awake.

“Built in my honor,” he elaborates without repeating himself, shaking you again with a harshness that makes you yelp and throw a glare over your shoulder. He smirks to himself as if he’s finally solved the mystery. “That is my gift.”

You groan, burying your face in your pillow, but secretly relishing in the way he can’t seem to let this go. Rolling over halfway, you peek up at him through heavy-lidded eyes. The moonlight creates a shimmering backdrop, outlining his form with silver, blood-red eyes gleaming with determination. For someone who claims to have no interest in mortal traditions, he’s relentless about this one.

“You woke me up to guess….again,” you grumble, glaring at him through a half-open eye.

“I do not guess,” he starts, ready to repeat the same phrase from hours ago. “I simply—”

“Deduce, yes, I got that the first time.” You cut him off and surge up to give him a kiss, feeling his surprise for only seconds before he melts into your affection. “Go to sleep.”

“A secret text,” he murmurs against your lips, undeterred even as his arms pull you closer. “Written in blood.”

You grimace before answering with your lips on his again, your leg curling around a thick waist, ready to use the ammo from your arsenal just like a few hours ago. “Do I need to distract you again?” you ask, lifting an eyebrow.

The midnight air watches with bated breath as Sukuna rolls on top of you, his towering frame rousing the tingle between your legs.

“I know your method of distraction,” he whispers against the skin of your neck. His belly mouth kisses the skin of your inner thigh, licking its lips at the promise of what you might offer if you’re willing. “Considering you are no novice, one might think that you keep secrets from your King often.”

Your affronted laugh dissolves into a sigh as both stomach and Sukuna adorn your skin with wet kisses—one along the vein of your pelvis while the other works at the skin behind your ear. “O-one might think,” you manage, gasping as his mouth finds the pulse in your neck, “that my King is simply impatient for Christmas morning.”

“It is already past midnight,” he growls at the feel of your touch drifting lower, his cocks already throbbing and oozing precum. “Merry Christmas.”

“A proper Christmas morning!” you correct with a chortle, smacking his chest playfully. He hums noncommittally, the sound vibrating through you both, possessive and yet tender in a way that only you are privy to. “A few more hours. Let me wake up properly.”

With those final words, you promptly roll over, denying him any more sensual touch that could ignite the early morning. Sukuna, used to your defiance, simply grumbles at your withdrawal, choosing instead to press searing kisses along the naked skin of your back. They ignite the embers in your belly but are not persistent enough to tempt you further.

“A domain expansion,” he insists, inhaling the perfume at the dip of your spine, lips brushing the soft skin there.

“I can’t even do that.” Your voice is heavy, the dredges of sleep finally pulling at your consciousness.

“More blood cookies.”

You remain silent, using his solemn guesses as music to lull you back to sleep.

Sukuna can feel your presence even deep in sleep, his cursed energy wound tightly around you like a second skin, always attuned to your warmth, your breath, the way you shift beneath the covers. So when that connection shivers—when his energy touches only empty space—his crimson eyes snap open. Your side of the bed is still warm, a ghost of you lingering on his silk sheets.

He can still feel you in the estate, so he rises slowly, surveying his chamber. He takes in the transformation--the pine and silk ribbons that are around the mantle now present in his chambers, and the smell of cider and blood cookies that still wafts in the air around him. Resting along one wall is a beautiful vanity carved from marble with obsidian-lined mirrors and velvet surfaces adorned with your plethora of fragrances. The table near his window is littered with books, a speaker—another mortal instrument—rests quietly, no classical music that you enjoy playing.

His room—once untouchable, dark, and sacred—is now infused with you. It should feel like a violation, his personal sanctum defiled with the touch of a mortal. And yet.

His body is no longer cold in the halls because you thrive in warmth. His servants may bow in fear to him, but they smile at you. Shadows, once tools of terror, are now a source of protection and amusement, a manic gleam of fascination with the otherwordly preventing you from being fearful.

His emotions are still a mystery, but slowly unfurling like petals that have been sleeping for many winters. Anything besides strength and power, besides determination and tenacity are weak—should be weak. But you feel these emotions plenty, and to Ryomen Sukuna, you are far from weak.

The soft yellow lights from the pine tree spill against the floor, welcoming his bare feet as he enters the large living room that has come to life because of you and for you. He won’t admit it out loud, the pride that surges through his chest like a rushing wave when he looks at the tree. A pagan symbol meant to honor a god that is not himself, willingly brought into his domain by his own hand, a rare sight in his forest that only his eye could catch. He cleaved it. He carried it upon his shoulders. He cupped the approval in your eyes like water in a shallow pool in a drying desert, sacred and coveted.

His efforts have become yours, decorated in tinsel and ornaments, in obnoxiously bright lights and snow that will never melt. And you sit next to it, your silhouette glowing against the roaring fireplace, your gaze looking up at what he’s allowed you to have. You noticed his presence long ago, but you remain transfixed with the tree, a soft smile gracing your features as he draws closer.

“It is far too early,” he rumbles, his voice gentle but heavy in the silent Christmas air. “Come back to bed.”

You huff in reply, not bothering to offer words even as he sinks down next to you. His arms crossed over his chest, his legs folding in to sit with grace on the fur-covered floor. This close, he can smell another fragrance that you collect, a smoky Oud that coats your skin like a second skin.

It’s one of his favorites, yet another thing he will not admit, but you know. You know from the way he buries his face in your neck at night, his chambers shrouded in darkness beside the slanting of moonlight on his sheets, his cursed energy caressing your skin in appreciation.

“It’s a great tree, you know,” you sigh, wistfully. You hope to keep the tree up and lit long after Christmas passes. It’s a wonderful sight, a depiction of a past life before you became aware of the unknown, of curses and spirits, sorcery and realms besides Heaven and Hell. To see it now, in the domain of a powerful king, shining brightly as if the one who cut it down did not have four arms and eyes. “It’s strong…resilient.”

“Of course it is. Who do you take me for?” he snaps, tone not holding any heat as his sharp gaze looks at you from head to toe. He leans imperceptibly into you when you laugh, a sound that shakes from your robe-covered chest and into the warm air, the shadows catching it as if they are fireflies in the night.

You finally pull your gaze from the tree, looking to Sukuna and he refuses to let you hear the hitch in his breath. He refuses to tighten his jaw or let you hear the click of bone as he fights the urge to openly bask in your gaze. “I have something for you.”

You grab a box beneath the tree, the only object that decorates the skirt. You’re climbing into his large lap before he can protest, willingly invading his space without fear of the consequences. For others, a swift death. For you, a subconscious shift in his form, one of his arms falling behind you and hitching along your hip to steady you on his thigh.

“I hope you like it,” you muse, shrugging with indifference to shield your anticipation. “I know "human sentiments" are not your specialty.”

The hands not holding your back trace along the red ribbon, silky soft and tied neatly by you. But before you can push the box more insistently into his hold, his hands slide under yours, firmly stilling your movements.

One of his hands reaches behind his back, his form shifting closer before he presents you with his own box. It’s smaller than yours, crafted in dark, polished wood, the flames from the fireplace glimmering along the surface.

“How can I let you meddle and not have anything to counter it with?” It’s all Sukuna offers, tone low and edged with something warmer than usual. He places the box in your hands, his gaze heavy on your face as though waiting for a reaction. Truly, the thought of him getting you something had not crossed your mind. Sukuna seemed more than willing to put up with your holiday antics if only to get something in return. So the weight of the box in your hands, cool against your palm, feels substantial.

Your fingers tremble as you lift the lid, the dark wood creaking softly. Nestled inside a bed of rich blue velvet, is something that steals the breath from your lungs. It gleams against the firelight as you pick it up, its crystal surface refracting shards of gold and crimson that dance across your body. The shape is elegant yet otherworldly, the surface etched with markings that you’ve come to see throughout his estate. A stopper made of black Onyx crowns it, carved into a teardrop that you pinch and pull to open.

The scent curls into the air, smoothing beneath your nostrils in a delicate yet commanding embrace. It’s sharp at first, with notes of what you recognize as juniper and lemon, fresh and crisp like the frost that curls on the windows in your chamber. You’re an expert in fragrance, so it doesn’t take you long to detect the undercurrent of bergamot and pepper, adding an edge that’s reminiscent of Sukuna’s power—lurking beneath the surface.

It seems as if the notes are never-ending. Pine needles and incense weave into a rich, earthy warmth, like the forest you both walked through to cut down the decorated pine that rests behind you. Amber and balsam provide a sweetness that lingers with its base notes and a touch of vanilla. Finally, the richness of cinnamon adds a spicy conclusion, as if kissing your skin before it fades into the morning air.

“You didn’t,” you begin, mouth suddenly dry, your eyes quite the opposite. “You made this…?”

“Do you think anyone else could, Ryu?” he counters, his tone holding a rare softness that you wish you were more levelheaded to preserve forever. A hand not resting on your back drifts along your shoulder blades, caressing in a mixture of observance and reverence. “It is yours.”

Like everything else in this domain.

That is what he wants to add. Is what curls at the tip of his tongue. But he uses your fluttering eyelashes to distract that urge that throbs in his chest. Uses the sight of you resting the perfume carefully back in its velvet encasing before closing the wooden box as if it might break.

“It’s beautiful,” you finally whisper, uncaring of how shaky you sound. The gift is uniquely Sukuna, deeply reflecting his essence but still having you in mind. “Thank you.”

He offers that characteristic hum, rumbling through your body and clenching around your heart with a force he’s not yet ready to acknowledge. His belly mouth curves into a smug grin, but his eyes are still on you as if searching for something.

“Another example of my indulgence that you mistake for generosity.”

The way his cursed energy hums around you, warm and protective, tells you otherwise. And it only serves to make you laugh, finally wiping the tears from your cheeks and gently setting the wooden box on the fur rug beneath you both.

“Uh huh,” you tease, snickering at his frown you can see right through. You finally pick up your box, the surface warmed by the fire, now resting in his hands. The teasing air around you both falls to the wayside, hushed anticipation taking its place.

He’s spent days pestering you about what he would get, and now, with you on his lap and his massive hands cradling the box with unexpected gentleness, his curiosity morphs into something else. A prize he’s excited to have and now afraid to open. Not in fear—Sukuna has no room for fear—but in anticipation.

It takes everything in you not to snatch the box and open it yourself, but eventually, he does, and the purse of his lips and the narrowing of his eyes fall before you like a book as old as time finally opening.

The silk is as dark as the shadows that roam these halls, shimmering like oil in water as it slides along Sukuna’s thick fingers. To anyone else, the material would simply be silk. But to Sukuna, he can feel the cursed energy that pulses along it, no doubt stitched together with a cursed thread strong enough to embrace him and yet still soft to the touch.

You had no way to conjure or control cursed energy to weave into the fabric, so you had to turn to Uraume for help. Their frosty hands had guided yours, harnessing the cursed energy necessary for you as you wove the threads, ensuring the haori could hold the weight of Sukuna’s power while remaining as delicate as the intentions behind it.

The silk mirrors the intricate markings on his skin, its edges dyed in gradients of shadow and blood.

“It’s a Haori,” you finally speak, soft and given space so he can observe his gift without hurry. “It’s all you really wear, so I thought crafting something of my own would be….nice.”

Words gather on his tongue, and then scatter like leaves in a storm, too feeble to express the weight of what he feels. He knows that a simple hum of approval won’t be enough—not this time. Not for you. But as he readies himself to speak, opening his mouth just so, his breath catches when he looks inside one of the sleeves.

The inner lining is adorned with ancient symbols sewn in patterns only he would recognize, the same ones you’ve felt him trace in the air around you when he thinks you’re sleeping, offering protection for when he cannot be near you. They shimmer faintly, their glow deepening in the shadowed folds of silk and fading when touched by light—a testament to the darkness he commands and the solace he finds within it.

“Ryu—”

“At least put it on,” you interrupt, voice slightly shaky and betraying your exposed nerves. You hold the garment delicately, taking it from him and helping each arm through the sleeves. The silk moves like smoke around his massive form, designed to accommodate while maintaining the elegant lines that befit a being of his stature. Your eyes are on his skin, focused on the hem of his lapels as you trace over it and rest your hand on his chest.

“There,” you whisper, smiling but not looking up at him. His heart is steady beneath your palm, not fluttering like a bird in a cage, and you’re not sure whether to be upset that your gift doesn’t make his heart race. “It looks good on you.”

It fits him perfectly and thrums with a warmth that echoes the temperature blooming in his chest. That three-letter phrase—that elusive word that’s made his lip curl in disgust since the beginning of time, now pounds in his ears from the garment that sits on his skin.

It’s not just a garment—it’s an acknowledgment of who he is in his truest form, a declaration that you see his beauty in both his power and his evolution. The way it drapes over his marked skin, how it seems to pulse with its own life in response to his cursed energy—these details speak to your understanding of him, how you’ve learned to…love both the demon and the subtle changes your presence has wrought in him.

“You see me,” he finally speaks, uncharacteristically hushed. You see him—demon and protector, destroyer and creator, ancient force and the being who has learned to nestle mortal joy in hands only meant for destruction.

They’ve always been directed at you. Not from him. He’s never said them before. He’s never really known how, and part of him has always been envious of how the words can fall so effortlessly from your lips.

He’s never said them before. And yet now, at this moment, it feels like if he doesn’t act, the opportunity will be lost forever, forced down into the pit of his belly for who knows how long.

You hold your breath when you feel one of his hands cradle your cheek, massive enough so that his fingers card through your dark hair.

“And I see you, Ryu.”

The words feel like a promise. Like they will probably be rare but will only hold more and more weight as time goes by. And that’s okay for you. To be in his presence. To open him up and show him that he is capable of something gentle enough to hold you. That’s your gift that you will never need to wait until the 25th of December for.

His belly mouth is unusually silent, but his cursed energy tightens around you like a caress. Warm and vibrating, a protective weight that will remain around you for as long as you breathe. It speaks volumes that his pride won’t quite let him voice.

You lift a hand to rest on his cheek, tracing along the smooth skin that gives way to the rough texture that wraps around his right side. His two eyes on this side are more narrowed, encapsulated in the hard surface around it but still oozing dominance that could make others cower and definitely not come closer like you do. You cup his jaw before finally meeting his gaze—soft meeting a harshness that will never affect you, love meeting the beginnings of the same that linger beneath crimson pools.

“I see you too, Ryomen.”

The sound of his name makes his chest tighten, the organ behind his sternum pounding irregularly for only a second before falling back in line. His given name is forbidden for any who wish to speak it in likeness—he will only tolerate the name ‘Ryomen’ if it is wrapped in fear, or if it falls from your lips.

The silence lingers for what feels like forever, his hands holding you on his lap while he lets you map his face. Your heart flutters, happiness pulsing through your veins with every beat, cataloging every aspect of this moment in your mind forever.

“There is one mortal tradition,” he finally muses, his voice carrying that particular note of mischief that always makes your breath catch, “that I find…acceptable.”

It’s the kind of tone that usually follows lips along your skin and hands between your thighs, reminiscent of a man who can only bask in vulnerability for moments before shifting to something heady and tinged with lust.

Before you can question his motives, one of his hands lifts to hover above you both. His cursed energy manifests between his fingers, dark and potent, morphing itself into something that makes you snort in delighted surprise. Dark tendrils grow slowly from the mass of energy between his fingers, twisted and mangled to form branches, its leaves pitch black with berries that gleam like drops of blood.

A twisted version of mistletoe, the only representation that would be acceptable to someone like Sukuna.

“Of course, you’d make it look menacing,” you tease, giggling softly as his other arms draw you closer to his chest. His belly mouth snickers from below you, ready to join his host in whatever is planned. One of your fingers traces the metal of his gauges, your eyes narrowing in playful indifference.

“Then I advise you to have one ready for next year.”

Your heart stops, lungs seizing in your chest as the words tunnel into one ear and out the other. Next year. The idea hangs in the air, fragile and precious—proof that even Ryomen Sukuna, with all his arrogance and dominance, is willing to entertain a future with you.

The mistletoe pulses above you, casting reddish shadows across your faces, and you don’t need to think any longer as you lean in to slide your lips along his. His hands widen the expanse of your back, your robe slipping off your shoulders to hang in the crevice of your elbows, the heat from the pulsing mistletoe spreading over your chest. The naked feel of you against his torso pleases him, and beneath the prideful smirk against your mouth, beneath the snicker from his belly, you taste that four-letter word in his mouth, siphoning as much of it as you can before you pull away and rest your forehead against his.

“Merry Christmas,” you whisper against his lips, your body warming even further despite the heat from the fireplace.

He offers that hum—that characteristic hum that means so much.

Acquiescence.

Agreement.

I see you.

The mistletoe falls to the floor, crunching beneath your weight as Sukuna lays you on the fur, hands tracing your waist, sliding along your spine, hiking your legs around him. He doesn’t speak, content to admire you beneath him—a mortal without cursed energy who loves perfume, the paranormal, and classical music. A mortal who hates spiders, but loves Gothic architecture, monsters, and the many books that line his walls.

A mortal who has crawled beneath his skin and nestled there, unwilling to leave. And he’s too ashamed to admit that he gave up trying to pry you from inside of him a long time ago.

You throw your arms around his neck, impatient and tired of his staring, carding your fingers through deceptively soft pink hair to pull him down so that you can once again honor this particular tradition—one that, like everything else between you, has been transformed into something uniquely yours.

Merry Christmas, @grimmweepers !!!!

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fanfic #jjk ryomen #sukuna ryomen #true form sukuna #christmas exchange #secret santa #ryomen sukuna x ryu #ryomen sukuna x reader #Sukuna x reader #fluff #jjk fluff #mysteria writes #ryomen sukuna #Sukuna

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 months ago

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Mission Control 16

Warnings: non/dubcon, violence, blood, stalking, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Captain Hydra

Summary: a man marches into your life on a mission

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

When the monster emerges again, you refuse to look at him. He leaves without trying to get your attention. Is he off to smear more blood on his hands? Or is he just trying to get away from the violations he’s committed in this place? Can he even fathom the pain he’s caused?

You stay by the fire for the night. You put a pillow under your head and sleep on the floor. Your angry burns as hot as the flames and the morning greets you in an exhausted haze.

You busy yourself by cooking. Your human instinct draws you to eat but by the time you have a plate ready, your hunger dissipates. You leave it on the table to rot as you pace around the cabin.

You look around the front room and it’s worn walls. You examine where his fist snapped the planks then stand in the doorway of the bathroom. The dingy tub drips and the mirror is cracked in the corner. You turn and head into the bedroom.

You kick the door open and shiver as you peer around. The bed is made tidily. The corners are so tight, like a military barrack. The armoire looms against the wall. You turn away from it and approach the shelf in the corner. You stare at the images of yourself, of your former life, of your family.

You grab onto it and throw it all to the ground. It takes several tries to tip it but you do. It crashes and breaks the monotony of that prison. You stumble back and shake your head. What is wrong with you?

You spin and race from the room. The cabin blurs around you and you skid to the front door. You twist the handle and wrench it open. You grit your teeth as you stand in the frame and stare out into the shadows between the trees. Your eyes scan the patchy grass turned grey with the wintry decent.

Fuck it. You won’t stay. Even if you won’t escape, you won’t stay.

You hurl yourself forward. You stumble down the stairs and your socks soak with the first step over the frosty ground. Your second step is more confident and the third produces an odd metallic click. Then suddenly a pang rips through your foot and calf. You shriek in agony and horror as you collapse.

You gnash your teeth together and writhe and whine. You shake in sheer pain and struggle to even get your shoulders off the ground. Your eyes flood and your cheeks stained with tears. You raise your head and look down at your foot. The spike is lodged into your heel and extends up into your leg.

The sight churns in your stomach and you angle to puke onto the frozen strands of grass. More than the scene of gruesome mutilation, the agony makes you hurl. You can’t bear it. You’ve never felt anything this horrible in your life.

You know you shouldn’t take it out but you can’t leave it in. The spike might be keeping your foot connected but you’d rather have the whole thing off. You sit up then splay again. You’re dizzy with the effort as your blood slowly seeps out around the base of the spike.

You push yourself up again and hunch forward with all your weigh. You reach for your leg, bending it as you wretch again. You swallow the bile and touch the metal. A blinding whiteness strikes only to be shrouded in a smothering black void.

You wake again. Shivering as the winds barrel over your body. You blink up at the clouds as your leg throbs. You look down at the nightmarish wound and drag yourself back towards the step. You notice the hole where the spike erupted up from. A trap.

Stupid, stupid.

You manage to get yourself up the steps before you pass out again. You sprawl and rouse with another tide of vomit spilling onto the porch. You heave as you use your uninjured foot to push towards the door.

You finally get inside. Trembling in pain as much as the frigidity. You need to get the fire going. If you don’t bleed out, you’ll freeze to death.

You get halfway to the couch before you devolve into another blank valley. You wake again to the wailing winds and the crisp cold. You won’t get that far.

You grab the edge of the tattered rug and roll it around you. You don’t stop until you hit the couch. You quiver against the hard frame and chatter violently. Another swell of unconsciousness overwhelms you.

A strike of lightning cuts through you and you wake screaming. A sudden pressure on your heel has you whimpering and begging. Your eyes are awash in agony and your body is pulsing violently. There’s a coil around your ankle and the clunk of metal on wood.

You blink and find yourself no longer on the hard floor. You lay on the bed. The pain remains but you know the spike is gone. You shiver even as you’re trapped beneath at least a dozen layers of blankets. You can’t move. You won’t even think of it.

Your head pounds and your body buzzes. How did you get here? There’s no way you got here on your own.

The answer stalks in. His eyes meet yours and he hesitates before he comes to the bed. The vessel that was once Captain America lowers himself stiffly onto the mattress. His puts his rough palm to your forehead. He makes a guttural noise of disappointment.

He’s disappointed? It’s his fault this happened. You laugh but the tension it cords in you sends another storm of pain through you.

You wheeze and whine until you’re too weak to even spasm. You feel the sweat slaking down your body. He pulls down the blanket and you shiver worse than before.

“I... have a fever,” you say aloud. He tilts his head as if in agreement. You let your head drift to the side and groan, “let me die.”

He rests his hand on your shoulder and squeezes. He lowers his head and stays like that, as if he’s thinking, preparing for something. He peels the blankets down past your feet. You look down at your bandaged leg.

He touches your calf daintily. That alone is like a zip of electricity. Your vision speckles and goes black again. Even as your thoughts fizzle to darkness, you still feel the pain. There is nothing else.

#steve rogers #captain hydra #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #drabble #au #captain america #mcu #marvel #series #mission control #avengers

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contentloadinggg · 11 months ago

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January Blues - Hozier

Author’s Note: Y’all I finally did it. We’re going to pretend it’s still January so this fits. But it’s finally here 🙏. Thanks to my bestie lunaritessane Who’s input made this fic a whole lot better. I love you💚. (Literally, like their beta reading was just delicious.)

Summary: Andrew is feeling down, you make him feel better. Gender neutral!reader. (3k words)

⚠️Warnings⚠️: Smut! Smut turned weirdly poetic sometimes?. Kinda Switch!Andrew, sub vibes at the beginning, soft dom vibes later. Descriptive descriptions of Andrew’s long dick. (I have a problem)

This is a work fiction and is not a reflection of who Hozier is.

Inspired by:

“Well you cured my January Blues, yeah, you made it all alright.”

Fic under the cut💙, 18+ only, you’ve been warned.

The further Ireland dipped into the depths of winter, the more Andrew’s mood dropped. Reflecting the rainy, washed-out climate outside the frosty windows of his house. It hardly even snowed this winter, just a cold rain that somehow made his mood worse. Logically, he knew it was likely that the lack of sun on his already pale skin was what had him wallowing. But alas, no amount of tea and books seemed to make him feel any better. So that’s why he’d given up by this point. Gaze zoned out past the pages of his novel and tea now cold on the coffee table. His mind clouded like the gathering storm outside.

“Andy?”

A gentle call of his name had Andrew startled. Usually he would’ve noticed your presence by the sound of your footsteps, but he’d been too far into his head to notice.

“Yes, darling?”

He asked, the tone of his voice reflecting yours in its quiet manner.

“I’m just wondering if you’re alright? I’ve called your name a few times and you haven’t answered.”

You replied. Despite keeping your voice light, he can tell by the slight frown and the furrow of your eyebrows you’re more concerned than you're letting on. Sighing deeply with resignation, he closes the book with a soft snap and sets it aside.

“I’m just feeling… I’m not sure. Down, I suppose.”

He answers, voice tainted with melancholy. You look even more concerned. A part of him wishes he didn’t worry you over trivial things. But how could he ever resist your questioning of his well-being?

You walk over to him and sit down on the arm of the chair. Running a hand into the long curls of his hair to scratch at his scalp. He hums and closes his eyes, leaning back into your soothing touch.

“Anything I can do to help?’

You ask and he breathes out through his nose with a shake of his head.

“Not sure there’s much you can do, but�� stay?”

Andrew replies, aware his tone sounds dangerously close to needy. But you only smile and nod. Sating any insecurities he has as you continue to massage his scalp.

He hums contently once more, letting his head rest against your hand. The warm light of the room throws shadows over his face and the pale lines of his neck. Shrouding the valleys in darkness and the highlights with warmth. Turning the sharpness of his cheekbones all the more prominent if that's possible.

Leaning down, you leave a few kisses over his cheekbones. The feeling of warm breath against his face forces a smile to his lips. He turns his head, capturing your lips against his. Your kiss is like a balm on his apathy, replacing it with passion. Your free hand cups the side of his face. Feeling the gentle scratch of facial hair against your palm that’s also felt on your chin. The feeling lures you closer. Pressing into the space between his and your bodies until you’re straddling one of his legs. Lost in the velvety sensation of lips and tongues against each other. You break it off first. Ignited with one simple idea.

“Let me make you feel better, yeah?”

You prompt, in a lowered, raspier voice. He looks up at you with blown pupils, green irises dark. Shining hot in the orange light from the lamp. He breathes out. Like he can’t believe you’re real. And nods eagerly.

“Please… do what you’d like.”

His breathless agreement makes you smile and melt a bit, moving his head to get access to his throat. A soft sound leaves his mouth as you kiss over the thin skin. Breath hitching when your tongue follows along the groves of his veins. He’s so goddamn sensitive. He has to hold back a few noises, the heat of your breathing brushing over his neck. Goosebumps appear over his arms. He’s becoming more and more aware of your every move.

Andrew lets out a loud groan that he quickly cuts off in embarrassment. A response to the dragging of your teeth over the base of his neck where it meets his shoulder. The skin beneath your lips flushes a pink color. You snicker in response to the noise, and he huffs in irritation.

“It’s okay, I wanna hear you. I wanna know you’re enjoying it. You sound absolutely gorgeous, but that’s no surprise.”

You murmur to him, rubbing his side to subdue his unease. You know he’s listening because the muscles relax beneath your hand. He lets out another moan as you nibble, turning the skin a pale red.

It’s not long before you’ve scattered similar-looking bites over his neck. By the time you’re getting his sweater off Andrew is breathing a little heavier, sweat building on the back of his flushed neck.

His chest stutters watching you sink to your knees in front of the armchair. Eyes hooded and darkened.

“Just lie back, baby, and I’ll cure all those blues.”

You direct, and he does as you say. His mouth is too dry to try and come up with a sassy reply to your somewhat cheesy line. Not like that would matter anyway. All thought disappears from his head when your mouth lands on his chest. Kissing, licking, sucking down his sternum. Your lips wrapping around one of his nipples has him debating whether or not to beg for mercy. Airless moans slip from his lips without time nor thought to stop them.

“Fuckin’ Hell, darling. That’s so good.”

Andrew hisses, voice rough, Irish accent thickened, words a little slurred. His hands running into your hair. Using whatever is there to try and get a grip. Large palms grasping at the back of your skull. He can’t help but pull when you tug on his nipple, forcing a quiet moan from your lips.

“Shit, sorry.”

He apologizes in a way that would sound regretful if it wasn’t husky with arousal. You laugh in response to him jerking under your mouth when you suck softly. Your way of telling him it’s okay.

After giving Andrew’s nipple a bit more attention, just to hear him whine a few more times. And then start slowly kissing down his stomach. Feeling every little twitch and breath beneath your mouth.

“Darling, please, please, stop teasing.”

There it is, the pleads for mercy. He’s practically whimpering. His voice becomes tight. A struggle for control. You grant his wish, hands moving to his belt. There’s a large bulge beneath his jeans, straining against the fabric. God, that must be uncomfortable, you can feel the heat from here.

Eventually, with a bit of moving around, you manage to pull his jeans and boxers off. Freeing his cock from the confines of his clothes. It arches up towards his stomach with a surprising stiffness, considering you haven’t even been touching him for that long. He’s decently above average in length. To the point it burns a little to take, but not ridiculously so. The tip is a deep red, swelled with a desperation to be touched.

Andrew shoots a hand from your hair to the arm of the chair. Gripping it with a hiss when he feels the brush of your breath over the sensitive skin. His cock twitches, the two prominent veins along the bottom throbbing. You decide not to make him wait any longer. Wrapping a hand around the shaft. Andrew looks down at you with hungry eyes alight with reverence, studying your every move.

“God- fucking, yes.”

Andrew gasps in pleasured relief, a moan quickly following when you start stroking the length of his shaft, giving every inch an equal amount of attention. Just barely touching the tip to tease him. To watch his cravings become unbearable. At first, he accepts the simple touch, relishing in finally having friction on his cock. However, it soon becomes too little and he starts rocking his hips into your hand, eager for more. Slender thighs flexing with the movement. Light shining over his jutting hip bones. He’s absolutely stunning from this angle, chest heaving as he squirms. A thin sheen of sweat glistening over the bridge of his nose and high cheekbones. A stark contrast to the darkness of his neatly trimmed beard.

“Babe-”

Andrew starts, his words sounding more like a gasp of breath.

“Fine, I’ll be nice.”

You relent, not wanting to torture him too much. Dragging your hand over the weeping head, Andrew moans and sinks his fingernails into the arm of the chair. His other hand cupping the back of your neck, trying his best not to grip or pull. You circle your thumb around the very tip of his cock, over the most sensitive glands. Andrew practically whimpers because of it. Legs jerking, he throws his head back. Eyes squeezed shut. Showing off all those pink love bites you left over his throat.

“Yes, just like that. Keep going.”

Andrew manages in that sweet, unsteady voice. It’s like he can’t get enough air into his lungs, caught between moaning and whining. He thrusts his hips into your hand which moves up and down the entire length of his dick. A focused attention with a twist of your wrist over the head. Andrew isn’t the only one getting impatient. You’re interested in doing much more than just a handjob.

So, when your impatience gets to be too much, you duck your head and take the tip of his cock into your mouth. Causing a high-pitched noise of surprise from the man above. There’s an even sharper noise as you press your tongue against the bottom and suck. Pulling precum from his eagerness. The tangy and sharp taste coating your tastebuds, sticking to your tongue. It fills your senses, nearly overwhelming the musky scent of Andrew’s arousal.

“Let me see your eyes, please. Look at me.”

Andrew urges, his voice higher than normal. Looking up at him, his eyes meet yours. And he responds like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen in his life. His lips parted, looking down at you with warmth in his eyes. His entire dick throbbing with your gaze on his.

“God, you’re so gorgeous, sweetheart.”

He gasps out. His hand letting go of the armchair and brushing the hair away from your face. So he can see all of you properly.

“So, so pretty down there.”

Andrew continues in a murmur, the pleasure of seeing you drives his ecstasy even higher. He gently moves slightly further into your mouth, hungry for more of the warm pleasure, more than what your hand is giving him. You welcome him, slowly working his cock deeper into your mouth. Jaw stretching to accommodate until it nearly aches. Your tongue cradles the underside.

He moans lowly, running fingers over your scalp. The warm and wet feeling of your mouth wrapping around his cock causes his entire body to shiver. Pleasure bolting up his spine. He nearly becomes lightheaded with the rush of blood, cheeks flushing a bright red against the paleness of the rest of his skin.

The more you take, the more difficult it is to breathe. Andrew stops you for a moment, letting you take a breath. He caresses your jaw with the backs of his fingers, helping it relax out.

“Just go slow, breathe through your nose.”

He speaks in a calmly commanding voice. Forcing you to stay in your moment of pause for a few seconds longer before letting you continue. You follow his introductions and breathe through your nose, taking measured breaths as you sink further. Until tears gather in your eyes when the tip of his cock brushes the back of your throat. Pushing at your gag reflex.

A pleasured rumble sounds in Andrew’s chest. Vibrating back through your bones. He continues stroking your jaw, making sure you can take every inch.

“That’s good. You’re doing so well, baby. Start moving if you want.”

Andrew says, trying his best to keep his composure so his desire doesn’t get the better of him. It nearly does when you start moving achingly slow up and down the length of his dick. Your mouth is so consumingly tempting, hot and wet and just perfect. Both a gift and a curse. Luring Andrew to near madness with how good it feels. He’s speechless, wordless. Stuck in this version of heaven. You’ve got him absolutely hooked. Even more so when you start to move faster. Suck harder. Letting saliva drip down your chin and glisten on your skin the way it does on his cock.

“Fuck, I’ll never get enough of this. Your so skilled, so absolutely, fucking wonderful.”

He groans behind his clenched teeth. Resisting the urge to bury himself even deeper into your mouth. You struggle to move faster. Gagging on his cock when it hits your reflex. Andrew looks down at you, noticing your struggle. He gently pulls on your hair. Guiding you off his cock.

“It’s alright, let me help you, okay?”

He asks, but it’s less of a suggestion and more of a command if you want to keep going. You nod in agreement.

“Yeah, okay.”

Andrew takes a careful hold of your hair, holding your head in place as he brings his hips closer to your mouth. The tip of his cock brushes your lips, it’s so red it’s almost purple. Eager and more than ready to slip back into your mouth.

“Ready?”

He asks one more time and you answer affirmatively again. He accepts this and nudges his dick slowly past your parted lips. Guiding himself back into the heat of your mouth. It’s wet, soft and very, very hot. He waits a moment for you to get used to it once more. Before starting to move. Using your hair to move you up and down. His hips rocking forwards into your mouth. His breath hitching as he feels your teeth gaze him. His thighs clasp either side of your head, knees almost on top of your shoulders.

“That’s it, let me help you. Just like this.”

Andrew praises in a tone that does nothing to conceal how good it feels. Carefully thrusting his cock in and out of your already sore throat. You’re so sweet, letting him do this. Willing to take apart every piece of him and put it back together. It’s something only you can do for him. Yet he’s sure you could do it for anyone.

“God, that’s just right. You’re doing such a good job. You’re an angel.”

He manages, voice trembling. He rocks his hips faster. Guiding you to suck harder. Feeling every ridge moving back and forth across your tongue. The head is just barely nudging the back of your throat. Andrew is gasping, moaning above you like he’s never experienced something quite so amazing in his life. Something beyond any man’s wildest dreams.

His cock twitches in your mouth. His ecstasy reaching higher and higher. To the point his thighs are trembling, skin highlighted pink with exertion (is that how you spell it? idk). You look up at him. Admiring the way his features are painted with pleasure. His eyebrows furrowed and his eyes squeezed shut. His long hair is messy and falling into his flushed face. There’s strands sticking to the sides of his face and neck with the thin sheen of sweat on his skin. Droplets slide down his collarbones and disappear into his sweater.

He jerks his cock a little deeper on accident. Coming closer and closer to his finish. Causing you to gag. He opens his eyes with an apology on his lip. But you grasp his hips, pulling him closer. You shove down your gag reflex so you can take him all the way. Tears gathering on your waterline. He takes the hint with widened eyes of surprise and adoration. Carefully thrusting his cock into the depths of your throat, he groans loudly with pleasure. Both hands sinking into and grabbing on your hair.

Your nose brushes his pelvis. The smell of musk filling your nose. An almost sweet, earthy scent coming from him. You make eye contact through blurry eyes. Andrew’s breath stutters, his legs tensing by the sides of your head.

“Fuck- darling, so good. I’m gonna- shit. I’m gonna cum in your mouth. Do you want that? Do you want me to cum into your mouth?”

He asks, his words broken and stuttering. Almost failing at forming a sentence entirely. You nod the best you can. Tears and spit running down your face. He moans at your agreement. Somehow feeling hotter and even more aroused by it.

Andrew thrusts his hips into your mouth. Pushing how much you can take as he chases his high. It’s not more than a minute of nearly reckless movements before he’s cumming into your mouth just as he said he would. His back arching into it as his legs shudder. He moans loudly from the bottom of his chest. His mouth hanging open. Head thrown back with his eyes rolled back into his skull. Shooting warm, thick cum into your mouth. The salty and bitter taste overwhelming your senses, but one you could taste over and over again. You groan around his cock. Causing his legs to jump as he feels the vibrations.

He pants, remaining motionless in his recovery. His brain needed a moment to recover before piecing itself back together and pulling out of your mouth. There’s a lopsided, still half-gone smile on his face as he looks down at you. Humming happily as you swallow his cum.

“You’re so amazing, baby.”

Andrew compliments breathlessly. Moving his hands to cup your cheeks and brush the tears away.

“I’m so, so proud of you. Come on, get off your knees.”

The tenderness of his voice is so beautiful. His actions even more so, helping you up off the floor. And positioning you on one of his thighs.

“Are you okay? I wasn’t too rough with you?”

He questions, his worries calming when you shake your head. Still recovering yourself.

“Good… can I return the favor?”

Thank you so much for reading my first fic 🫶, any constructive criticism is appreciated. I’m going to go do the school work I’ve been procrastinating over to do this instead now. Hopefully, the next fic won’t take over a month to write and I’ll be more active.

-Thad 💚

#fanfiction #andrew hozier byrne #Andrew Hozier Byrne x reader #Hozier x reader #smut #fluff #rpf #I wrote this with one hand #if you know what I mean #Andrew is a sexy little shit #Spotify #Hozier smut

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