#mistletoe banner by mikeykuns

[daryascurse]

ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴏɪꜱᴏɴ ɢʀᴏᴡꜱ ᴀᴛ ᴄʜʀɪꜱᴛᴍᴀꜱ

“Deadly to eat.” His voice is smooth velvet. “Isn’t that funny? Humans saw a parasite that can kill, and decided to call it romantic.”

“Only if you eat it, then,” you say. “Something harmless pretending to be dangerous.”

“Or something dangerous, pretending to be harmless.”

SUKUNA x READER | 3.3k | ao3 | ᴀꜰᴀʙ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ɴᴏɴɢᴇɴᴅᴇʀᴇᴅ ᴘʀᴏɴᴏᴜɴꜱ, ᴍɪʟᴅ ᴘᴏꜱꜱᴇꜱꜱɪᴠᴇɴᴇꜱꜱ, ʙᴇɢɢɪɴɢ ʙᴊ/ ᴅᴇᴇᴘᴛʜʀᴏᴀᴛɪɴɢ, ɴɪᴘᴘʟᴇ ᴘʟᴀʏ, ꜱᴘᴀɴᴋɪɴɢ, ꜰɪɴɢᴇʀɪɴɢ, ᴄᴜᴍ, ᴄʀᴇᴀᴍᴘɪᴇ

“You have to kiss under mistletoe,” says the little girl who materialized at your elbow. “That’s the rule.”

You take a step backwards, startled, and she just beams up at you. “Well, look.”

“Careful,” Sukuna mutters as you almost tread on his toes, and the child scowls at his low tone. Her mother swoops in and grabs her forearm, tugging the girl down the snow-dusted street with apologies tossed your way. They make their way through the thinning crowds, the streetlights throttled with green cords and illuminating bulbs.

You glance up. A cluster of frostbitten mistletoe dangles, knotted just over your head where someone’s tied it off a lamppost’s iron branch.

Sukuna’s hand is at the small of your back as you lift your fingers to touch the shriveled plant. “Careful,” he says again. “It’s poisonous.”

“Hmm?”

“Mistletoe,” Sukuna says, and you pinch the ribbon instead as you bring it closer for inspection. It’s half-black with rot and frost. The red berries glimmer, weakly reflecting the streetlight around. It’s on its last legs of life as the holiday season peaks, just a dead plant tied together with fraying ribbon.

“Poisonous?”

He lifts his hand as well, cupping the berries in his palm. “Deadly to eat.” His voice is smooth velvet. “Isn’t that funny? Humans saw a parasite that can kill, and decided to call it romantic.”

“Only if you eat it, then,” you say. “Something harmless pretending to be dangerous.”

“Or something dangerous, pretending to be harmless.”

His breath is hot in your ear and the tableau is frozen a moment; a hand at your spine, the turn of your shoulder warm against his chest, your outstretched arms embracing the same plant. You tilt your nose closer to his face.

“A weed,” Sukuna says, and suddenly snaps the ribbon clean from the iron post. "It's also called the thief of the tree."

You turn, your face burning, and can’t watch him fling the mistletoe down the street. But he offers you an elbow as you walk towards the small square at the end of the street. Blinding lights take on proper shape as you approach. Fenced trees, white with snow and dead under a layer of frost, circle the plaza. They sparkle with the same golden and green lights threaded up the trunks and through the branches. The footpath is lined with electric, brilliantly scarlet poinsettias that cast an artificially red glow along the ground. Every few minutes, the colors ripple and change hues, eliciting sounds of delight from the children in the crowd.

“Beautiful,” you hear a woman breathe to another.

And he, Sukuna, he is beautiful too, his chin buried in the cowl of his dark coat, his narrowed eyes shining like the ornaments around you. You duck your face away in a bashful smile. The warmth of his thick coat pushes into you. Streetlamps pepper your way with light, and you shiver, even with Sukuna’s body heat snug and welcome against you.

Chirp!

The winter serenity is broken by the phone beeping in your pocket.

You try to draw your arm away from Sukuna to get to it, but he clamps his elbow closer to yours with a bullish look ahead. You use your other hand to awkwardly reach across.

“Oh,” you say as you read the message. “The girls – they want to meet up a little earlier for drinks.”

“You need to get the train now?”

Sukuna’s looking straight ahead.

“No, not yet,” you say, but frown when you slip your phone away again. “I think I left my headphones at yours, though.”

Sukuna rubs the tip of his nose with his free hand, and slides it back into his pocket. You can’t read the flash in his eyes. “We’re not far.”

“I know,” you say, and give a wistful look to the romantic lights around you. “I’m sorry to leave early…”

He grunts, a response you can’t quite decipher. But he turns and leads you from the square. Slowly, with each new block, the illuminations and lights drape away to bare night streets.

It’s hot in the lobby of his building. Sukuna’s bicep flexes in release when he slides your body from his arm to push the door open and lead you to the elevator.

His boots are off. You’re shimmying free from your shoes in his foyer when he turns. He pulls his hand from his pocket and lifts it over your eyes, backing you against his closed door; the stolen mistletoe and ragged black ribbon threaded between his fingers.

“Now what did that brat say, you have to kiss underneath this?”

Sukuna dangles the mistletoe, lifting his arm. You feel the weight of your head in a nod.

“But what if I want more than a kiss?”

Your eyes skim, up to the pinch of the mistletoe in his hand, before coming back down to meet his gaze. Sukuna smirks.

His lips are on yours before you can even lean into his chest. His mouth is cold to the touch. Your fingers grab the front of his coat and his free hand slides to the small of your back, drawing you closer. His fingers are impatient and they curve to pluck under lengths of fabric, to curve his hold to your body. You breathe shakily through your nose when he breaks the kiss.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Sukuna says with a thin smile. He looks at the mistletoe, back down at you. “What else can I make you do with this?”

Your elbows are resting on his chest, your grip still against the lapels of his coat. Sukuna’s fingers push at you.

“I asked, what if I want more?”

“I’ll give it to you,” you say, your breath coming quick and jagged. Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth without his own.

“Good answer,” Sukuna says. His voice is throaty, his lips spreading in a grin. The next kiss is encompassing, his arms on you, around you, to guide an entwined walk from the foyer. Light spills from the entry to the dark room. Your arms wrestle his coat free. He tosses the mistletoe somewhere down to the couch, and his hands move to his pants as your own jacket slips from your shoulders.

“Come here.”

Sukuna lifts his hips to let his pants kick down. He sits wide on the sofa, and you drop to your knees. He strokes his cock lightly in one hand, unbuttoning his shirt slowly, lazily with the other. His eyes fall down as you sit between his spread thighs.

“I want you to suck on it,” he says.

His hand is on yours to control your motions when you lean forward; back up, down, up again. He stiffens under your touch and the tip glistens as your thumb slides messily in circles. Sukuna lets go with a groan coming from his throat.

You guide him to your lips and he moans again, the sound hitching in response. The taste of him waters your mouth. He hits the back of your throat and you move back up with a slight gag.

“Mmm- ”

“That’s it, that’s it.”

Your mouth adds pressure to the rhythm, your tongue stroking along the underside of his cock until you’re sucking him, harder, harder, before gasping. Sukuna is hard and full when you put him back in your mouth. Saliva gathers, drools out over him.

“Fuck…”

You force your eyes up to see Sukuna’s lids are closed, mouth agape with elbows slung over the back of the couch. His chest rises and falls rapidly, half-bare. Slight groans slip from his lips.

As if he can feel the plead of your stare, Sukuna’s hands drop to the back of your head. His cock is ribbing over you, pushing to the back of your throat with each urge of his hand. He’s fucking your mouth more than you’re sucking him off now, his hips thrusting shallowly upwards with no mind to your struggle. Your hands fumble clumsy and blind to smear your saliva down.

Tears are beading involuntarily, leaking from your eyes as he moves you faster and faster over him. There’s that long, hard vein – and your tongue finds it, runs over it again and again.

“Oh – ”

The sound comes with an anguished force from him. The hands are pushing back now, and you lean away panting for breath. You wipe your lips with the back of your hand.

Sukuna lets out a groan like a growl, fumbling with the last buttons of his shirt. His eyes are wild on you. He tears the sleeves from his arms and he pulls you to his lap with rough hands. His mouth returns to you again, tasting his suggestion with a reverence, and the hands are busy to help you shed the layers from your own skin.

“You didn’t need mistletoe for that,” you whisper, your lip twitching in a half smile between kisses. Your nails card through his hair again, raking lower and lower, and then a hand to balance on his shoulder.

He urges your hips up a moment and your panties are off with the measured patience of someone who restrained himself from ripping the fabric from you. “Careful.”

“Why – oh – ” and as he steadies your knees over his thighs, you curl your fingers into hair with a gasp – “do you keep saying that?”

The question stutters out of you as his hands ride up around your ribs.

“Because you think everything is harmless until it bites you.”

Sukuna kisses your neck, your collarbone, down your breast where your skin pebbles cold.

“A weed… a kiss… a man.”

He bites then, pulling your nipple between his teeth with a pinch that makes you squeal. The words dissolve on your tongue.

There’s nothing slow or gentle to help slow your eager heartbeat. Sukuna dances his tongue until your nipple peaks, one hand coming to brace the small of your back to balance you, really keep you at him this time. He moves to the other with a fervor, saliva sparkling across your skin as you shake over him.

His other hand pushes into you, his finger seeking between your folds and urging your hips into position with each suggestive turn of his wrist. His finger finds your clit and begins to rub.

“Ohh – ”

It lowers you in a relentless rocking to where his cock waits, hard at the back of your thigh. The smoothness of it makes you whimper. Your muscles are tensing, relaxing when you realize you’ve been holding yourself steady for him; but then you tense again in a desperate reach for anything close to friction.

You curl your fingers into his shoulder to keep the balance as you reach with your other hand anxiously, trembling. His cock is still wet with your mouth.

“Impatient,” Sukuna murmurs.

“Maybe I should hang the mistletoe over your head,” you say, trying to angle him to you.

“You want more than a kiss from me?” His hand at your back lowers, and you’re leaning against the strong muscle of his forearm for a moment as he slaps your ass – cheekily, but with enough of a smart to make you yelp. “Didn’t you have somewhere to be soon?”

“Ah- ”

You’d forgotten, with his other hand now running a teasing finger along you to coax out the slick that opens you to him.

Sukuna’s lip curls at that, at the vacancy settled over your eyes, and he slides into you easily. From above like this, he’s pushed up so deep –

“- so d-deep…”

You’re stuttering, clutching to his shoulders with both hands now. Your thighs are clenched as you sink onto him.

“Move your hips.”

There’s an edge of impatience in his voice, choked with something thicker. Sukuna’s hands are there now, and he lets his palms run gentle massaging circles before slapping your ass with both hands now. It stings, and you bark out another cry. You push your hips back in whimpering response and spread your legs as best as you can to let your thighs and knees work and support the movements. But this dropping pushes him further inside you, and you let out another whine.

“Oh…”

“Better.”

He spanks you again as you move. His cock slides out of you a moment, back in, as you build your own unsteady rhythm. It’s unsteady because every deep, hard stroke inside makes you shake. When he thrusts his hips back up into you with a grunt, the force is so strong that your nails bite into his skin to keep you up. Sukuna moves his hands again at that and lock around your wrists.

You look down between the bars of your arms. Below your chest, his tense abdomen, his cock slides up into your body split and stretched against his width. It makes you shake just to see it, as if it defies reality to comprehend what it is you feel. You close your eyes and tilt your head back dizzyingly, shifting your hips.

“Mm… hmm… it feels so good…”

It’s easier, the more he’s in you, to rock your hips back and forth. You need to feed that desperate desire for friction, even if it grinds you raw. You’re able to move faster now, but Sukuna is still stronger, so much stronger that every stroke up into you stutters the rhythm.

He’s picking up the pace again in a way you can’t keep up with, and he’s groaning your name wildly.

“Feels – good?”

“Yes…”

“You’re… going to… leave my cum inside your cunt,” Sukuna says, his voice a low hiss, strained as he thrusts erratically, ecstatically, up inside you. His grip tightens on your wrists. “All night. With your friends. Let it sink … into your panties… all night.”

You whimper, and it makes your body shudder to hear those words rasp from his lips, wet and red with your kisses. Your back arches and you’re riding him with some new fire in you, even as your thighs tremble and your hips begin to ache.

Sukuna’s fingers are digging into your forearms, hard enough to promise a Morse code of bruises for you to read in the morning. His grip seizes; he releases to grab desperately at your hips again.

“Oh – ”

And Sukuna comes, hot and thick and roaring your name. Your inner muscles compress with clenching over his cock; the punching, dull ache behind your belly button fluttering so tantalizingly close to an orgasm as he climaxes in you. It shoots through and you moan, lifting a hand to clutch at yourself at the sensation – at your cheek, at your throat, squirming at the lewd sense of him.

Sukuna pants. His breath is hot and short as he finishes. He lets go of you, his palms giving a few, sweaty pats. His hips push back and dip into the couch and his cock begins to slide out of you with a slickness.

“Oh – “ you say, and you whimper, grabbing at him again. “Please – please not yet – I’m so close – ”

“Please?”

Sukuna looks up at you through his eyelashes, and just barely quirks his brow up. “Greedy,” he says. He makes a tongue clicking sound of mock disappointment, and pushes up and stays inside you, still heavy and still thick and warm. “Then you do the work.”

You’re so close, torturingly close, and his cool, dismissive gaze mixed with the heat of his words is almost enough to push you over the edge. You drag your shaking hands down from Sukuna’s shoulders, with skin marked with the crescent moons of your fingernails, down over his chest where his heartbeat betrays the nonchalance in his eyes.

“I want to see you touch yourself,” Sukuna says.

You push your hands against yourself. His grip has come comfortable on your hips, the strength of his wrists keeping you in balance. One of your hands hovers down, the heat of your joined bodies still radiating, the other right below your stomach. You push, gingerly, and a moan slips from you at where his cock sits within you.

When you start to force your thighs back to strength, there’s a sense of pure cream coming from you. You look down and could freeze at the sight – his cum is beginning to practically drool out of your spread folds. You rock your hips, slowly at first, and clumsy. Your body is aching for more and you begin to touch yourself, watching the grace of your fingers and feeling your clit slide beneath your touch. You look back up at Sukuna.

He’s watching beneath heavily lidded eyes, and he’s holding his jaw tight and your hips loose. True to his word – you do the work.

But how long will his stubborn pride win over his desire? His breath is coming faster and faster. You press your hand over your belly and let out a louder whimper for effect.

“Oh… Sukuna…”

No, he can’t let you keep control for long. His left hand moves back and he gives another spanking, a sharp one that makes your leg muscles clench across his body, and you yelp again. “Oh!”

“Yes,” he says.

You whine and press your finger flat against yourself. He’s moving his hips now, this time in a frenzy that makes your blood spin at how you can feel him beneath your belly. You have to drop that hand, to brace yourself for support on the couch, and then you cry out even louder when a hand shoves onto yours between your bodies. Sukuna uses your finger, manipulated under his, to push on your clit, dancing a firm pressure on and off your body.

“Come for me,” he says, his voice raspy. “Come on my cock.”

You groan, turning your head with a fevered madness next to his. “Say it again,” you breathe. “Please, say it again.”

The aching place that he pushes at is tightening.

“Please, Sukuna.”

“Do – what you’re told – and – come.”

His voice is dark and rough, as probing and insistent as his fingers. You let out a shuddering cry as it finally takes you to climax. Your orgasm pulses, throbbing and ebbing as it washes over you. He groans, fat and full within you.

“Oh,” you moan, your face in the crook of his neck.

He lets go of you, his hands sliding away.

With his grip released and offering no resistance, you lean back, bracing your arms against the couch as you climb off his lap.

Chirp! Chirp! Chirp!

Either perfectly timed, or simply within your awareness for the first time, your phone begins to sing.

“Oh,” you say again, and press your hand to your forehead. “Oh, shit. I’m going to be so late now.”

You feel sore and weak, your skin hot and sticky between your thighs. Sukuna has gleams of silver across his legs in the darkness.

“Oops,” Sukuna says in a nasty voice that offers no true apology.

He sits up, and his large fingers encircle your hand as you lean forward to fish for your phone amongst the litter of clothes.

“I meant it,” he says evenly.

“What?”

“Go see your friends. Have fun. Get all dolled up. But I want you to put those panties back on. I want you to feel that, rubbing against you and staining you the rest of the evening. I want you to smell me under your clothes. I want you filthy and mine before the whole city.”

You turn your knees towards him, your breath coming from your mouth. Sukuna reaches next to him, and lifts the mistletoe from the couch over your head once more. His eyes shine in the darkness.

“Give me another kiss.”

A/N: this is admittedly a rework/ edit from a fic i did on my old account with chrollo. merry christmas!!