⋆★ ISEKAI SHIKKAKU E01 ✪ DAZAI OSAMU ★⋆

Physical Contact Masterpost

Hand-Holding Dialogue

Hand-Holding

Touching

Hugs

Hugging Dialogue

Touch Starved Prompts

Touches Ask Games

Super soft intimacy

Casual Affections

Seeking out physical affection

Romantic, non-sexual intimacy prompts

Kisses

First Kisses

First Kiss Prompts

Accidental Kisses

Places for kissing

Angsty Kisses

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geto suguru // fic recommendations

note: remember to read the tags! + i do not own any of these works

curious cat

lucky shot

dishonorable

what if i penned you like a tragedy, because i couldn't save you, but maybe it's enough that i tried

an acquired taste

to the wolves

wish you were sober

too tired to think (hug me)

gentle glow / deep thought

subway stations

mermaid motel

twelve minutes

waltz for sweatpants

tutorial on how not to get over your ex

butterflies

wouldst thou like to live deliciously?

in another lifetime

let the right one in

stealing glances, stealing hearts

an inescapable fate

wash it away

you never called

forever mine nevermind

do not answer

love me until i love myself

sweet

lillies

all my love, suguru

sooner or later.

so you were......... nothing?

sharing a kiss on new year's eve

controversy

summer nights

a grave of the future

muse

what if you're someone i just want around (i'm falling again)

i'd wait for you

When exactly did Sebastian Stan get bald? It should've been in Easter, so we could've called him our own Easter Egg.

𝙄 𝘿𝙤𝙣'𝙩 𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙇𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙖 𝘽𝙚𝙨𝙩 𝙁𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙙 [ 2 ]

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader Themes: Friends to Lovers. SMUT: Touch Hungry Bucky, Kiss Hungry Bucky, Bucky just not getting enough of you, fingering, cunnilingus, Oral [M&F], unprotected piv, creampie. Just PURE making love, no kinks. Summary: It's only been a few hours since you've become official and Bucky want to show you just how much you mean to him. A/N: 2 of 2. And I must say. . . JAYSUS. BON APETITIDDIES.

Part One

You were stiff. You were sore. Your arm was asleep. And you felt fucking fantastic.

Maybe in the movies people woke up entwined in each other's arms after a night of spirited lovemaking, but for you, reality was much more awkward. Your head had somehow become wedged behind Bucky’s shoulder, and both his legs were about to slide off the couch altogether. You untangled yourself as best you could, looking down at him as you moved his limbs out of the way.

Bucky was sleeping peacefully, his dark lashes lying flat against the skin beneath his eyes. They fluttered slightly as you pulled free of him, and he stirred.

"Five more minutes," he mumbled, and turned over so he was facing the back of the couch, still caught in mid-slide towards the floor.

You tried not to laugh. God, he was adorable.

You sat up, arching your back to stretch out the sore muscles. Then your breath caught. What time was it? Holy hell, I’m going to be late.

You stood up quickly, and was seized by an ache between your legs so unfamiliar that you nearly sat back down again. Holy crap. It had been way too long. You almost felt like a virgin again. You rose again shakily, noticing that your whole groin felt sore, and so did your hips—probably from throwing your legs up around his waist. God, what a wanton hussy you were, you thought happily.

You went quietly towards the bathroom, checking the clock on the stove as you walked by. It was nearly eight-thirty. Crap. You were supposed to be at work by nine, or nine-thirty at the latest. you'd  have to make the shower a quick one.

You stood under the hot water, letting it pour over your sore muscles. You washed out your hair, lathered up your body and massaged your sore hips as random images from last night invaded your thoughts. Even now you weren't entirely convinced it hadn't all been a dream. Has it really happened? The soreness was real enough. And so were the images flashing through your mind.

Bucky’s body on yours, looming over you, holding your wrists, kissing you with abandon. Taking each breast in his mouth, teasing you with his fingers. Sliding into you, tilting your back and thrusting deeper, faster, harder.

Suddenly a blurry figure appeared on the other side of the glass door. The door slid open and he stood there, looking disheveled from sleep but adorably sexy. And naked, too.

"Hi," he said, a seductive smile curving his lips. His eyes traveled down your naked body, pausing at your breasts and then sliding down to the between your legs where rivulets of water coursed and ran together.

You flushed at the frank inspection but willed yourself not to try to hide from him. You shifted your weight, jutting your hip out provocatively and smiled.

His eyes returned to yours, desire glinting in them. "May I join you?"

You pushed the door back and invited him in. Bucky stepped in and crowded you, not unpleasantly, until your back was up against the tiles. He braced his hands on the wall behind you, and let the water flow over him as he leaned down and kissed you.

You opened to him and kissed him back, winding your hands around his waist and sliding them down his ass, squeezing appreciatively. He smiled into the kiss, enjoying your wandering hands, then pushed forward so your bodies were pressed together, the water slick and warm between you.

"So," he murmured in your ear, his voice barely a whisper above the sound of the water. "So much for that idea."

"What idea was that?" you whispered back, kissing his ear.

"The idea that we could ever be just friends," he said, catching your jaw with his lips as you turned your head. He covered your neck with slow, lingering kisses, trailing his mouth down your and cupping your breast with his hand.

"Oh, I don't know, I think it's a great idea so far," you said coquettishly. "Besides," you joked. "I do this with all my male friends."

He mocked a scowl at you, and gave you  that smile that had always melted you. "Well, that's going to have to stop. You're mine now."

He kissed you slowly, his tongue tangling with yours as he teased and tasted, enjoying your mouth.

You kissed him back, licking and tasting and enjoying him until you felt rather than heard a hum of desire, of pure carnal lust, vibrating through him. He was growing hard against your belly, his cock pressing against you urgently.

He lowered his head further and took your  nipple into his mouth, licking the soft nub until it grew hard beneath his tongue. Pleasure shot through you, and he turned to lavish the same attention on your other breast. You writhed against the cold tiles at your back, arching into him and sinking your fingers into his hair to hold him to you. He smiled as you moaned with pleasure, and laughed softly when he took your nipple between his teeth and made you suck in a sharp breath.

His cock was as hard as it had been a few hours ago, and it surged in your hand as he took your breasts. You gathered some suds into your palm and grasped him again, feeling the iron-hardness of him beneath the silky skin. You began to stroke, gliding fast and smooth, and he groaned from the pleasure of it, collapsing against you and kissing you between his soft, low sounds of pleasure and need.

You kept stroking and teasing, gliding over him in a steady rhythm, and felt yourself growing warm and slick at how hard he was beneath your fingers. You loved that you were doing that to him, making him want you so much. He groaned, his breath jagged and shallow. He tried to kiss you through his mounting pleasure but he had to break off to breathe, to lose himself in the sensation.

"God, baby," he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. "So good."

You tried not to focus on him calling you baby, knowing it was only his arousal talking. You focused instead on the intense pleasure that was making him say it. You continued stroking him, changing your hand position so that you pulled up with each stroke, teasingly pulling his skin up over the head each time and sinking down to the base, pleasuring every inch of him. Your other hand cupped his balls and caressed him, gently rolling him around in your fingers as he tensed and surged and seemed to fight against you, against the unbearable pleasure you were causing him.

After a few torturous moments he stopped your hand, his breathing so fast and ragged that he could hardly speak. 

“You—don't want—this to end too soon, do you?” he warned, kissing you in between breaths. “Because, my God, you could make me come in seconds if you wanted to.”

“That might be fun,” you said, kissing the edges of his mouth, licking at his lips and his tongue when he opened his mouth to you again.

“For me, yes,” he breathed, breaking away from you. “But I'm not nearly finished with you yet.”

He slipped his hand into your hair and held your head, kissing you with such raw passion, such naked need that you felt a surge of warmth flood between your legs in spite of the cooling effects of the water. He had wrung a soul-shattering orgasm out of you just a few hours ago and yet here you were again, eager for him again. Wanton hussy indeed.

"Do you remember that night, two years ago?" he asked, his voice low and deep. "At the party, when I played that song on the guitar for you, and you asked whether it hurt my fingers to play the steel strings?"

He was watching his own fingers trail over your breasts, over your tightened nipple, down past your navel, as the water trickled over you both.

"Mmm hmmm," you murmured, your eyes closed, lost in the sensation of the water coursing down your body and his hand moving over you.

“And you touched my fingertips…”

Of course you remembered; you'd run your  fingers over the roughened pads of his fingertips, and had watched in delight as he'd twitched a little, and then trembled, just a little, at your touch. You'd kept your touch feather-light and soft, drifting over his fingertips and down his fingers a little, feeling the shiver of heightened awareness in your  own hands.

Maybe you'd been a little too suggestive, a little too lingering, whispering-touching those parts of him that were supposedly hardened against such sensations—but you'd been unable to stop yourself. His hands had been warm and strong and eminently male, and when he'd stiffened and held his breath, as if willing himself not to react to your seductive touch, you'd felt that shiver of awareness deepen into an intense desire.

Such a seemingly innocent touch, just a friend examining the time-worn calluses of a guitar player's fingertips. . .and yet in that moment, even amongst their friends, even with the music playing loud and the laughter soaring above it, you'd felt like it had been just the two of you in that room, touching each other intentionally for the very first time, your hand tentatively reaching out for his, and his reaching to meet your half way.

“You drove me wild.” he said, leaning to kiss your neck. “I got so hard, I was afraid to move. And after that, I kept thinking of all the things I wanted to do to you with these fingers.” He slipped his hand between your  legs and caressed your folds, parting them gently and sliding inside you. “Like this, for instance.”

You moaned and leaned your head against his shoulder, letting him touch you wherever he wanted. His fingers explored you, caressed you, possessed you, expertly as though they, too, knew you were his.

“I just had to touch you,” you breathed against him. “And believe me, this is what I was thinking about too.”

“You stopped me last night,” he murmured, dragging his mouth along your neck. “I wanted to feel you come for me. To finish what you started that night.”

You groaned at the sound of his voice, so low and sexual, so heated with his own desire.

“Let me feel you come for me, baby,” he whispered into your ear, licking your  earlobe. “Please.”

He gripped your hip and lifted you up against the wall slightly, positioning you so he could slide his fingers deep inside you. He held you firmly around the waist, bracing you against the wall, and thrust into you gently, with first one finger, then two, sliding deeper and deeper each time, stretching you, mimicking the size and power of his cock. His thumb played over your clit, sending shocks of pleasure through you as he pressed his forehead to yours and gazed down into your  eyes. You gasped and cried out from the overwhelming pleasure of it even as you squirmed beneath his fingers and ached for more.

He braced you against his thigh and pressed against you while his arm steadied you from behind, holding you completely in his grasp. Bucky had such a way of holding you, letting you know that you were going nowhere, making sure you had no desire to be anywhere but in his arms. You felt safe, and secure, and above all, worshiped.

Bucky bent down and kissed you, sliding his fingers into your with a wild, sensuous rhythm that matched the increasing speed of his thumb as it stroked and rubbed and swirled around your aching clit. His hand was so strong, his fingers curving inside you to caress you, to find that super-sensitive inner spot even as he plunged and drove and took. With his thumb circling your clit in a relentless rhythm and his fingers deep inside you, stretching you, claiming you, you felt completely owned by him, by the hand that possessed every inch of you.

His tongue slipped into your mouth, matching the rhythm of his fingers, swirling, tasting, mutely revealing that he had had another  fantasy, too. The thought of his mouth on you, his tongue tasting you, torturing you, swirling over your clit as you writhed beneath it made you go weak in the knees.

Bucky broke away from the kiss and began trailing kisses down your neck, your breasts, lowering himself to his knees in front of you  while bracing your hips against the tiles with his strong hands.

"Did I mention what it did to me the first time your tongue touched mine?" he whispered devilishly.

He looked up at you so intently, his beautiful blue eyes blazing as the water streamed over his shoulder and down the contours of his chest. You gazed down at him, and for the second time this morning questioned whether  all this could actually be happening. This gorgeous, virile man gripping you, kneeling before you, gazing at you like you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. It couldn't be real, could it?

Then he lowered his lips to your and you knew it was.

Sensation tore through your touch, so delicately gentle at first, and you arched against the wall with a startled cry. You reached down and gripped his shoulder, steadying yourself on one foot as he brought you to your leg up slowly, gently and eased it over his shoulder. The sight of it alone nearly made you come. He moved so languidly, so sensuously, positioning you better so he could enjoy your all the more.

He closed his mouth over your clit and kissed it luxuriously, his lips moving as though he were kissing your mouth. His tongue swirled over you in large, sensuous circles and he groaned against you, tightening his grip on your hip as you moaned against the sudden overwhelming pleasure of it. The tip of his tongue darted out to flick against your  rapidly as he looked up at you again, watching your pleasure, his eyes smiling at you as if he knew precisely how good he was making you feel. Then he fell on you again, his tongue roaming over you, tasting you, luxuriating in your folds and dipping to lap at your entrance.

“Oh my, g-god. Bucky—”

You bucked against him and cried out as his tongue slipped into your and pulsed there, gently, savouring you. Your hand sank into his wet hair and as you gripped his head, you were rewarded with a muted chuckle and a more intense forward surge of his tongue inside you. He liked the moans he wrought from you. He liked being able to make your  cry out and seize him, your head thrown back in agonizing pleasure.

And fuck did you like it, too.

"Oh God," you breathed, your heart thundering in your chest. "My God, that feels so good..."

He withdrew from your and slid his tongue up to torture your aching clit, and just when you began to miss the feel of him inside your he gently pushed his fingers into your again and began to thrust.

Pleasure soared through you and you cried out even louder, and the leg draped over his shoulder began to tremble. His tongue circled your clit again, deliciously slowly, as his fingers slid into you over and over again, a sensual, primitive rhythm that made you  want to grind your hips against the pleasure.

“I'm coming,” you whispered urgently. “You're going to make me come…”

His fingers thrust deeper and faster and he began to lick you so quickly, with such a throaty groan of pleasure that you felt your  orgasm rise, terrifyingly fast and sharp, making you cry out in increasing, panting breaths until you shattered, coming violently around his fingers and that sensuous, irresistible tongue. You shuddered with an aching cry and trembled from the spasms he sent rippling through you. Your body curled forward as you gripped him tighter, your  fingers pulling on his hair from the pressure.

He removed your leg from his shoulder gently as you continued to shudder, feeling aftershocks of pleasure shiver through you. He got to his feet and helped you stand, pressing himself against your  and nuzzling your neck.

“Holy shit,” you whispered, your voice shaking. your  whole body shaking. “That was incredible.”

“That...was just the prelude,” he whispered, kissing you. “I haven't even started pleasuring you yet.”

God, he was going to kill you. Death by orgasm, you thought happily. What a way to go.

He leaned to turn off the water, but he stilled his hand. He looked back at you with a questioning expression, and then understood. You pulled him back towards yourself and he went willingly, stepping back under the stream of water, kissing you deeply, his hands roaming greedily over your  body.

You weren't done with him. He had made you feel like a goddess, worshiped, cherished, adored.

You broke off the kiss and began trailing your  lips down his neck, his collarbone and chest, enjoying the warmth of the water trickling past your mouth. His chest muscles tensed as you kissed them, and as you moved your  lips slowly down his abdomen you felt his whole body go rigid with anticipation. You sank to your knees in the tub and brushed kisses along his navel, his hip bones, and he put his hands on your shoulders to steady himself. Water coursed over both of you, and you delighted in it, closing your eyes against the spray.

“Baby,” Bucky said softly, barely audible above the water.

You opened your eyes and looked up at him. He was about to say something but you smiled and glanced away, focusing instead on the head of his cock, hard and urgent in front of you. He was thick and beautiful, and still as hard, maybe even harder, than he had been when you'd teased him with your  hands.

“I want to taste you,” you said playfully. “All of you.”

You leaned forward and gently licked the swollen tip of his cock. He inhaled sharply, his whole body tensing, and you smiled up at him, letting him know this was for your  pleasure as much as for his. You swirl your  tongue around the head, taking it into your  mouth and suckling gently, teasing it. The skin was soft and smooth, stretched deliciously tight from the hardness of his erection.

You let your tongue play over it, dipping into the opening, making him moan. You drifted your tongue along the ridge, and down to the sensitive skin just beneath the head, licking and tasting, nipping and kissing.

You looked up at him, and his dark eyes were wild with desire. You smiled, and ran your  tongue up and down the length of him, ending at the head and flicking at it delicately, teasingly. He moaned softly, his breathing starting to grow rapid. You rose up slightly to take the whole length of him into your mouth and sucked him, long and hard.

He let out a gasp and braced himself against the wall with one hand, his other  hand gripping your  shoulder.

“Oh fuck—Baby...”

You slid your mouth over his shaft, deeper, deeper, and slid back up the length of him. Your hands came around and gripped his ass, pulling him towards you. He staggered forward slightly as you took him into your  mouth again, luxuriously taking in his entire length, sucking, licking, tasting as you went. The sensation of him in your mouth was almost as overwhelming as his first entrance into your body had been, so unfamiliar but so right at the same time.

You caressed his balls with one hand as you played your tongue over his cock. He groaned, his breathing jagged now, his cock harder than ever. His hand moved from your  shoulder to sink into your wet hair, and he gripped your head with barely restrained urgency. Gently he guided your head closer to him as you sucked. You lowered yourself onto him and slowly sucked your way back up, your mouth gripping him, your cheeks hollowing, as your tongue slid over him with each pass.

His hips began to move as he started to match your rhythm, thrusting into you, meeting your mouth. Bucky gripped your head more firmly and held your head still, driving into you gently.

You let your hand fall and you sat back on your haunches, enjoying the feeling of him sliding in and out of your mouth, controlling his own pleasure, taking what he wanted, and what you were so willing to give. Yet you could tell he was holding back, wanting to thrust harder and faster but restraining himself and settling for a smoother, slower pace.

For you. Bucky was holding back for your sake. This passionate, soulful, virile man was holding back his own pleasure because he wanted to be gentle with you.

The very thought of it excited you, and you increased your own rhythm, encouraging him, moaning with pleasure as he drove into you. You sucked harder, faster, turning your  gaze up to him with an urgent plea in your  eyes. Faster. Deeper. Now, my love.

And he understood.

Bucky groaned, and stepped forward. His hand clenched in your hair and he began to move, faster and harder, plunging deeper, holding your head as he thrust into your  mouth with urgent, rhythmic strokes. He slid in and out of your mouth as if through warm honey, and you felt and heard his pleasure mounting with every ratcheted breath and every desperate moan that escaped his lips.

His eyes watched your with rapt adoration and abject lust, and you could tell that the sight of your taking him fully into your mouth, of your sucking him with pure, greedy abandon and complete acceptance, was pushing him closer to the edge as much as the intense pleasure of your tongue on his cock was. Or more.

He tensed as his rhythm grew faster, his breathing harder, until you felt him tighten and strain so much that you felt certain he was going to spill himself into your mouth. But at the last moment he cried out and pulled back, his cock slipping out of your  mouth quickly. He stood still, breathless, his eyes closed as if willing his orgasm to retreat. Water sliced down his neck and chest, and finally he let out a slow, jagged moan of a breath and opened his eyes. He looked down at you wildly, and reached for you,helping you to your feet.

“Jesus,” he said breathlessly, staring at you as he tried to catch his breath. “I can't...I can't believe how goddamn good that felt. You brought me so close, so fast, I almost couldn't stop it.”

“Why did you?” you asked, running your  finger along his jaw. “I wanted to feel you come for me.”

He groaned against you, his hands roaming over your  body. “I told you, I'm not nearly done with you yet.”

He kissed you hungrily, his cock surging against your violently as your bodies met. you could feel him moving against you, his cock rubbing against you,and you knew how badly he wanted to be inside you again.

As badly as you wanted him inside you again.

He stepped back, his breath still ragged, and pressed his forehead to yours as he closed his eyes and tried to breathe.

“You're not done yet, huh?” you teased gently, letting your fingers sink into his wet hair as you kissed his neck.

“Not nearly.”

“But I have to go to work. Maybe if I'm lucky you'll be here when I get home?”

“I'm not going anywhere.”

He reached to turn off the water and stepped out of the shower, turning to help your step over the wall of the tub. You threw your robe on and cinched the belt as he dried off and wrapped the towel around his waist. You caught him grinning at you, and it was so clear what he was thinking that it made your  laugh.

“What?” you demanded, squeezing the excess water out of your hair with a hand towel. “What are you smiling at?”

Bucky wetted his lips with his tongue, “Fuck it. You're just going to have to be late for work. Come here…”

“Hey!” your eyes widened playfully, jumping away from him. “Are you trying to kill me? Stop!”

Bucky untied your robe and you yelped, trying to slap his hands away. He just kept advancing on you, grinning devilishly. You turned and scampered away from him with a squeal of delight.

He followed behind, still grasping for the robe. You shrieked and laughed and ran towards the bedroom, and he followed, catching up to you and pushing you onto the bed with a resounding crack of the bed frame.

You laughed as he tumbled on top of you, but he silenced you with his mouth, kissing you hungrily as he impatiently pushed your robe aside. His breath was ragged as he nudged your legs apart with his knee, his need too great for the slow, sensual lovemaking of last night. He held his cock against your entrance and smoothly thrusts into you and moaned against your mouth, and you wrapped your legs around him to draw him deeper.

He plunged into you, covering your body and your mouth with the same hungry possession. You were still so warm and wet, so exquisitely ready for him that he filled you easily, driving you relentlessly as he tasted your tongue, your lips, your neck, and groaned from the pleasure your body was giving him.

You tensed around him and he moaned breathlessly, a throaty, male sound of pure ecstasy. He pounded into you, falling into a steady rhythm born of raw, primitive need. Your body tightened around him with every thrust, and waves of pleasure rippled through you, building in intensity up to an almost unbearable pressure, a delicious heat that made you moan into his mouth as he kissed you.

He rose up, his arms braced beside you, to look down as he stroked and withdrew and breathed out his pleasure while his eyes glowed pure heat. He grabbed your rear, tilting one hip up towards him, entering you  on such an angle that a new kaleidoscope of pleasure bloomed throughout you. He gripped you possessively, driving you deeper and faster and harder. His eyes burned, glowing like obsidian, hot and wild and almost frenzied with desire.

“Baby,” he groaned, his eyes pinning you, claiming you, as though he were branding you with your heat.

You're mine...

You're mine...

Your first time together had only been hours ago, but it was as if you had been lovers for years...every fluid flexing of his hips against you hit just the right spot, every deep, powerful thrust of his cock stretched your pussy with a familiar, almost expected surge of pleasure.

“Yes—oh god yes, Bucky—fuck me,” you breathed.

Two simple words and suddenly he was on the edge...buried so deep inside you, thrusting, plunging, your breasts pressed against his chest, the pleasure roaring through his body.

Suddenly he wanted to take you, hard. He wanted to fuck you with abandon, the eyes-closed, head-back, moaning-out-loud kind of sexual abandon that he had so rarely experienced in his life, but which was crashing through his body and mind right now.

He wanted this woman...he wanted to own you, to take you, to claim your body as his....he wanted to fuck you until he'd emptied his balls into you, feeling your pussy clenching and spasming in orgasm around his cock as he came, as you came, as you came together.

He withdrew from you quickly, barely able to catch his breath, and, as if you could read his thoughts, you turned onto your stomach just as his trembling hands guided your hips over. Your hair spilled over your bare back and your ass curved out so seductively it was all he could do not to cum right there, all over your smooth skin. But his cock knew what it wanted, and he pulled you forward to slide into the heaven of your pussy, so wet and tight and swollen for him.

He cried out when he took your again, his cock parting your folds and filling you so completely. The feel of him stretching you, the crest of his head pressing against your  from this new angle...you felt a tremor of pleasure ripple through you and knew you were close, as close as he was. When he leaned over you and began to kiss your  shoulders you shuddered, and when he began to thrust you buried your face in the pillow and moaned.

Your moans of pleasure filled the room and he squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to last, begging his aching cock not to explode just yet. . .this pace, these quick short strokes as his hips slapped against your ass, your body moving with his every thrust. . .It was almost too much to bear. Bucky buried his faced in your sweet-smelling hair and let his cock plunge as it would, faster and faster, making him shake, making him breathless, making him feel like nothing but a desperate cock as he fucked you.

And fucked you. And fucked you, as you had begged him to...

You could only whimper now, lost to the pleasure of his man taking you like this, fucking you so wildly, almost savagely. The pleasure he was taking from your body, his moans and groans and the growls of pleasure you could feel against your back and in the warm breath at your ear. . . it was pure, primal lust.

You felt worshiped beneath him, as if every thrust of his hungry cock was a tribute to you, every growl and sharp breath an oath. He was fucking you, mindlessly, and yet every part of him was attuned to you, touching you, adoring you.

As his pace grew even faster, his thrusts shallower, you could sense he was about to come, and you felt your muscles tighten around him to heighten his pleasure and hers. His thrusts were so powerful that you felt the orgasm rising in you and you closed your eyes, lifting your head back so he could slide his hand into your hair, gently holding your neck and kissing your jaw with breathy, open-mouthed kisses.

“Oh, God Bucky...I'm coming,” you moaned. “I'm coming.”

“Yes...cum for me baby....cum on my cock.”

“Cum with me....please....I want you to cum inside me, please....please....”

And he could withstand it no more.

Pleasure detonated through him as his orgasm spasmed throughout his body, wracking him with wave after wave of euphoric release. He cried out your name as he thrust and bucked against your flesh, driving his cock deeper and deeper as he came and came and came. It felt like he would never stop cumming, and when he felt your orgasm tear through your pussy and clench his cock in waves, he thought he might black out from the sheer ecstasy of it.

You slammed back against him as the first spurts of cum began to fill you, and felt your  ravaged pussy begin to spasm again and again, milking his cock, pulling his cum deeper into you, flooding you with ripples of pleasure. You moaned and writhed, riding the crest of one orgasm only to feel a second one begin to climb and then crash over you. Breathless, almost sobbing from the pleasure, you let him hold you as he continued to pound into you, draining his balls into you at his will, lost in the utter bliss of a man taking a woman in the most primal way.

When he could bear it no longer, when his exquisitely sensitive cock throbbed within you and the pleasure bordered on pain, he stilled, finally, and shuddered. Sharp spasms of pleasure shot through him as his cock surged one last time within you, his aching balls emptying every last ounce of come. Bucky was almost lightheaded, his chest heaving, sweat glazing his skin as he withdrew his hand from your hair and ran it down the center of your back, needing to touch you, needing to feel your heated skin. You were breathless too, your back moving beneath his hand as you lay your head down and tried to catch your breath.

You felt him withdraw from you, and your  pussy rebelled, clenching to keep him there, as if pleading with him not to go. Bucky groaned softly against your ear as he pulled out and fell on the bed beside you, his arms surrounding you and pulling your back against him. You fit perfectly together, and every muscle in your body relaxed as you snuggled into him and breathed out a contented sigh. You felt his lips on the shell of your ear, kissing softly, felt his slowing breath against your skin as his soft sounds of contentment and pleasure hummed in his throat.

This is heaven, you thought. Pure heaven. your pussy twitched and tingled as you felt his warm come beginning to slip down your  inner thighs. His strong arms surrounded you, his soft lips murmured and whispered and kissed, his spent cock nestled against the curve of your ass.

“There was something I wanted to tell you, remember?” he murmurs, his words brushing warmly against your skin as he kisses a path down to your shoulder. “Last night… something I wanted to say to you. Something I wanted you to know.”

You shift slightly, turning to look at him, your heart pounding as you search his eyes, barely able to breathe. 

“Tell me,” you whisper, your voice almost a plea.

His gaze softens, an unmistakable warmth filling his expression as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering on your cheek. 

“I love you.”

The words settle between you, simple but perfect, like they were always meant to be there. Your heart feels like it’s soaring, every nerve in your body alive with the thrill of it, of finally hearing what you’d been aching to hear.

You break into a smile, biting your lip, feeling giddy and light, and without a second thought, you lean forward, kissing him softly, your hand finding his as you whisper back, “I love you too.”

And as he pulls you closer, his arms wrapping around you with a tenderness that feels like home, you realize that, for the first time, everything feels right.

tags: @cereal6666 @thatesqcrush @cl7ire @bighappypiels @mostlymarvelgirl

@winchestert101 @winterslove1917 @hzdhrtss @mcira @elvenrin

@xunquish-blog @meetmeattheapt

Sex stuff you probably won’t learn from fanfiction and/or porn:

Erotic fic and porn can be a lot of fun! But if you aren’t being provided with adequate sex ed through other channels (comprehensive sexual education, frank and open discussions with trusted adults, etc.), turning to fanfic and porn for your understanding of sex is gonna leave some major blindspots and may leave you with some unrealistic expectations. While there’s nothing wrong with these kinds of erotica, they are fictional and tend to leave out a lot of the more realistic, human parts of sex - they serve a great purpose, but that purpose isn’t primarily educational. The following is an incomplete list of some things you should probably know about sex that a lot of fic and porn tends to leave out:

It isn’t always super hot or super sweet. Sometimes it’s super silly. Or sometimes it’s sort of mundane and you’re both simply scratching an itch. That’s fine too. (Hell, sometimes you’re talking about comic books while boning and your partner is laughing that you’re getting REALLY ANGRY about spider-man while they’re going to town on you.)

You will probably not climax at the same moment. It’s a sweet idea, but extremely hard to coordinate, and if all your concentration is going into coming at the exact same moment, you’re probably not enjoying yourselves as much as you might. 

Sometimes bodies make weird, goofy noises. Squelching, slapping, air-escaping, un-sexy noises. It’s okay to laugh at this. 

Hell, it’s okay to laugh during sex in general.

Sometimes you fart. Sometimes you fart while someone is going down on you and it is embarrassing as hell. This isn’t the end of the world. Embarrassing body things happen. Heck, sometimes, with anal, there’s a little poo. You get over it.

Sometimes sex is… kinda bad? This doesn’t mean it’s assault, or something traumatic – sometimes it’s consensual but just kinda bleh and not what you hoped for. The best thing to do (if you’re talking about sex with a partner and not just a hook up who you can not call back) is talk to them about it. Figure out what went wrong, what you enjoy and what you don’t, and communicate what techniques you do and don’t like. Also don’t be afraid to stop someone in the middle of the sex act you’re not enjoying and offer guidance on how to help make it good for you too. (Side tip: masturbation makes great research into what you personally do and don’t enjoy sexually)

You won’t enjoy every sex act. Not every body is wired to find every thing pleasurable. You might find anal does nothing for you. You may find g-spot stimulation just makes you really anxious that you’re about to pee. You may not enjoy giving or receiving oral. You’re not broken if you don’t like something that every pornstar or smutty fanfic protagonist seems to have earth-shattering orgasms from. Everyone’s got nerve endings in a range of places – it’s quite literally, different strokes for different folks.

On that note, not all orgasms are earth-shattering. Sometimes it just feels warm and nice. That’s fine too. 

Sometimes, if you’re neutral on a sex act and your partner loves it, you can suck it up for them, and they’ll suck up something they’re not crazy about for your pleasure in return. But communicate preferences with each other! Know that when a partner does that thing you love that they don’t get much from, that it’s an act of care, and vice versa. 

Falling asleep in each other’s arms right after wild passionate sex seems really romantic, but dried and crusty fluids are gonna be a bitch in the morning. Also, after sex, you should both (regardless of your equipment) go pee to clear out the urethra of any gunk or bacteria to reduce risk of a UTI. 

Putting a towel down on the bed before sex means you don’t have to sleep on wet funky sheets. (it’s also verrrrrry useful for period sex if you or your partner menstruate.)

A lot of people don’t like dirty talk, or rough sex. Always ask first. (Fanfic on the whole does a better job than porn at showing communication, but a lot of it is still highly fictive on this point)

PROTECTION PROTECTION PROTECTION. Use condoms, dental dams, etc. not just to prevent pregnancy, but to reduce risk of STIs. (Yes, even couples with the same genitals who don’t need to worry about pregnancy).

Lube is great and very important, but random goopy things around you are not good lube. Random oils especially, since oil doesn’t flush out well and can trap bacteria inside the body – oil-based lubricant also degrades condoms. Use lube specifically designed for intimate purposes. Water-based and silicone-based lubes help sex feel really good!

Bigger isn’t necessarily better. A lot of people with vaginas don’t enjoy the feeling of being repeatedly punched in the cervix by a monster cock. Some people enjoy a larger size when being penetrated by an appendage or toy and some don’t.

Bodies are hairy. Genitals are hairy. You may get a pube stuck in your teeth at some point. If your partner is WAY fuzzier than porn ever led you to believe they’d be, well, that’s normal. 

Not everyone loves the taste of ejaculate. Sometimes it’s nasty (flavor tends to vary from person to person depending on their diet, but sometimes you just really don’t like it no matter what. Some of us hate the taste of peanut butter. People don’t always like things). It’s okay not to swallow, or to request a penis-having partner warn you so they don’t ejaculate in your mouth (in fact, it’s polite for them to do the latter). 

If you’re gonna have shower sex, get one of those rubbery mats for the shower floor that gives you traction, because otherwise it’s super embarrassing to call for an ambulance while dripping wet and naked because you slipped and accidentally broke something and your partner got a concussion while you were trying to bang in the shower. 

Moaning and screaming wildly during sex is fun but it will make the neighbors in the apartments adjacent to you hate you. Make choices accordingly. 

Fuck, c.ai for recommending Simon Ghost Riley. Now I have to play that bloody game COD ;(

ACHILLES COME DOWN — ryomen sukuna

prologue. → you had given the king of curses what he had wanted the most, an heir, borne of the wife that he loves. but for one typically vicious and unshakeable, you wonder why sukuna is left so shaken by how much your daughter takes after him.

you wonder at how the vast ribcage of a demon and a cold killer, who can make the sun rise in the west if he so wished, was once the ribcage that held the beating heart of a young boy, with little space for him, or his mother, in this world.

pairing. ryomen sukuna x afab!reader

warnings. reader is sukuna's wife and they really love each other, just in their own twisted way. tried so hard to not make sukuna ooc so he comes across as an awful bitch sometimes. mentions of violence, blood, giving birth. lots of angst, hurt, comfort, mild fluff, suggestive, dubious in parts of the backstory, heavy focus on sukuna's childhood. sukuna calls reader 'woman' and 'brat.'

word count. 8.4k song inspiration. achilles come down — gang of youths

a/n. this artwork by @innaillus lives rent free in my head, it was the driving force for this fic idea...wanted to make this something different to what i usually do.

mp3 you crave the applause yet hate the attention, then miss it, your act is a ruse. it is empty, achilles, so end it all now, it's a pointless resistance for you.

for all the jujutsu and sorcery that flourished in the world, with unearthly displays of mastery over lief and death, you loathed how none had devised a technique to pluck an unborn child from the womb, and deliver it to the world without pain, without effort, and without this infernal ordeal that had left you slumped against silk cushions.

the air of your chambers hung heavy with a languid quiet, steeping in the residue of suffering, triumph, and undeniably, the light scent of iron in the air that made you wrinkle your nose.

the faint rustle of bloodied sheets reached your ears, punctuated by the rhythmic hum of the cicadas just beyond the paper screens, their song rising and falling like the tide of some ancient hymn.

summer lingered there, stubborn and sweltering on your brow, as the tremor of your hands betrayed the harrowing hours of labour behind you, though it had felt like centuries.

she was impossibly small, your daughter, her form as delicate as ceramic from the kiln, and just as luminous. her hair, peach-pink and fine as spun silk, gleamed softly in the amber glow of the lamplights, a gentler echo of her father's sharper strands.

the infant stirred in her swaddling, a tiny yawn parting her perfect, bow-shaped lips before she blinked up at you with wide, unfocused eyes.

the sight of those eyes stopped you. their hue was unmistakable — the very shade of your own, what a mirror of familiarity nestled in in the impossibly round irises of the child.

your breath hitched, and then a laugh escaped you, weak and thin from exhaustion.

the sound startled the maids, their hurried motions faltering for an instant, but you paid them no mind. your fingers simply brush over the baby's smooth cheek, marvelling at the warmth of her, at the life so newly arrived, and yet so firmly tethered to you.

"one question answered them," you murmured, the words falling from you, "two eyes."

what an absurd observation, a flicker of thought that should not have mattered in this moment. yet it did tug at you. you had wondered often during the long, sleepless night of pregnancy, whether this child would resemble their father entirely. whether this child would inherent that jagged, fearsome visage and the shadow that hung over the king of curses.

you had privately hoped that there would at least be something of you in the child, something gentler, and tethered to the world of men.

your musings were interrupted by the low murmur of voices beyond the screen, followed by the familiar sound of footsteps, deliberate and unhurried.

the servants hushed themselves immediately, and a moment later, the door slid open.

"lord sukuna," one of the accompanying nobles intoned, bowing so deeply that the hem of his crimson sokutai kissed the polished stones of the floor.

what a redundant announcement, for sukuna's presence often needed no introduction. you would swear that the chamber, warm with the glow of the lamplight, shrank beneath the weight of him.

even the cicadas outside seemed to hush their song as his shadow stretched across the tatami mats.

you felt his gaze before you saw it, — those piercing rust eyes, a force unto themselves. they lingered on you, a single breath held between one moment and the next, before shifting to the swaddled bundle cradled in your arms. you studied his face, willing yourself to decipher the mask of his granite expression.

hope tugged at you, fragile and foolish, searching for some flicker of sentiment, some crack in the marble of his countenance. yet his features remained inscrutable, as if carved from stone by a hand too cruel to grant softness.

but you knew your lord husband well. the absence of visible emotion was not the absence of feeling. his silences were not voids, but rather labyrinths, frustratingly so often. still, you watched him, not daring to speak, as sukuna moved with inhuman grace, as his steps no longer made sound on the floor.

your eyes fell on an odd object being carried in one of sukuna's four hands. dark silk was wrapped tightly around a small, irregular shape, and the bundle was unassuming at a glance. but you knew that nothing sukuna did was without purpose, without some motive.

but his eyes did not hold the indifferent glance of a man acknowledging his heir. it was something sharper, and heavier.

what did he see in the infant's tiny, sleeping form? what judgement had he already rendered in the silence that stretched unbearably to every corner of your quarters?

was this displeasure? disappointment? no, there was no anger etched into the sharp planes of his face.

but sukuna had wanted a son, he had said so, enough times that had left you running your anxious hands over your swollen belly. the thought coiled around your heart like a serpent, tightening with each second.

an heir must be strong. he had said it once, not long after you had first told him of the child growing within you. and in the quiet hours of that autumn night, you had wondered what strength had meant to him.

was it the unyielding will that had carved his name into infamous legend? the power to command, and collapse armies and legions, to bend the wills of mortals, and curses alike? a boone that could only truly be carried by a son?

you had never dared to ask the alternative.

swallowing your doubt, you finally spoke, unable to bear it any longer, "sukuna," you said, your voice quieter than you had intended, and even to your ears, it sounded raw with ragged exhaustion, "you have a daughter."

the words lingered, fragile as a spider's silk, trapped in the web of this room. it seemed that the maids, nor the nobles, dared to raise their eyes, as their breaths seemed to hang on the response.

now his shadow was cast over you, dimming the light of the world around you, but his four eyes flicked between the child at your breast, and then to your face.

"she will spill much blood on this earth," his voice as deep and steady as the foundations of the earth itself, "like her father."

the words struck you, like a hammer reverberating against a bronze bell in the quiet air. had you not braced yourself for his disappointment, for the cold practicality that so often shaped his actions?

but you were glad to see something else in his eyes, certainty, conviction, and even the faintest glimmer of traitorous pride. relief simply swept over you, filling in the spaces where paranoia and fear had coiled.

a small smile broke across your lips, though it felt fragle, as if one wrong word could shatter the moment. nevertheless, the lingering doubts that had clung to you, as heavy as a sunrise fog, began to dissolve in his searing presence.

"i am glad," you murmured, "that you are not angered. for i did not give you a son."

sukuna raised a single thin brow, his expression as unreadable as always, though the faintest trace of something akin to amusement tugged at the corner of his mouth, "any child of my blood will be strong. i am glad that my wife did not pass from blood loss during childbirth."

you melodramatically sighed but a laugh danced on your mouth, that was essentially a heartfelt confession of sukuna's love for you, in his own twisted way.

"well," you replied, doing your best to sound bolder than you felt, "if you're feeling so magnanimous, you may as well tell me what that is."

your gaze was in the silk-wrapped bundle that still rested in his lower right hand, "could i hope that it's a loving gift for me? your wife who did not pass from blood loss?"

the ghost of a droll smile quirked sukuna's lips, a rare thing that seemed to thaw away some of the cold ice on his features, "you will get your gift later," and there was the faintest flicker of heat in his tone, the sort that made your stomach twist and your cheeks burn anew.

you quickly lowered your gaze, pretending to fuss with the edges of the infant's swaddle. the maids had suddenly busied themselves with unnecessary tasks in the farthest corners of the room.

"this," sukuna continued, lifting the package, "is for her."

for a moment, his words didn't register. you blinked, surprised, and your eyes flicked from the mysterious artifact to the tiny, slumbering child in your arms.

"for her?" you echoed, and the idea of the king of curses bring an item for a child, his child, felt strange, but tender in its unfamiliarity, "what is it?"

instead of answering immediately, he sat his hulking form beside you, sinking the silk of your sheets further into the wood frame. the wrapping fell away at his touch, revealing what lay within.

a spear, small and exquisite. wickedly sharp, and glinting faintly even in the dim light. it's shaft was adorned with intricate carvings of coiling dragons and parting clouds, and it had clearly been crafted for a hand far tinier than sukuna's own.

"a...weapon?" your stomach turned faintly, blanching at the sight of something so deadly meant for someone so fragile, unease colouring your voice.

sukuna sighed at your tone, like he had already predicted your protests, "it is tradition. a blade is the first gift given to a child, in the house of a warrior. it must be a promise."

"a promise of what?" you asked, though you weren't sure you truly wanted to hear the answer.

"of strength. that a child will grow strong, regardless of blood or lineage."

you looked at your daughter, so small and so impossibly fragile, and then down at the spear, the fine metal glinting faintly in the amber lamplight. you were certain that if you were to lay a finger on the razor edge, it could split your flesh apart with blooming drops of wine-red blood.

"she is but a few hours old," you murmured, "what strength must she carry already?"

sukuna's gaze was umoved, but not unkind, "the child carries a burden whether she knows it or not. the world is not kind to those who are weak. would you not see her survive it?"

a harsh truth, but spoken without cruelty. you studied sukuna's face, bathed in the lamplight, searching for something that you couldn't quite name. for all his barbed edges, you could have sworn his words nursed an older grudge. but you knew, in your heart that he was right, your daughter had been borne of a mortal mother, but of an immortal father, of a darker thread in this world.

a father, one who did not know how to speak of love, but who offered it in the only way he knew.

to sukuna, love and violence sat hand in hand, bloodied and stained.

"still," you said, deciding to drop the serious protest, for now, "a strange world you live in, where a weapon is a fitting fit for a infant? your wisdom knows no bounds," and your voice was laced with the teasing incredulity that he would tolerate only from his wife.

his crimson eyes flicked toward you, calm and unbothered, though the faintest smirk curved the corner of his mouth, like a blade just shy of unsheathing. "admittedly," he said, his deep voice like thunder rolling across a distant plain, "i hadn’t realised that babies were so… round. and weak. and plump."

"you were a baby once."

"never. i was born with the taste of blood and flesh already in my mouth."

"you’re insufferable," you said, though there was no real heat in your words. sukuna was not as naive as he pretended to be; you knew this game too well. his dry humour was his way of stirring you, drawing you out, even now.

"well," you said with a soft sigh, gesturing toward the swaddled bundle in your arms, "set the weapon aside, my dear warlord. for now, at least. let her meet her father before she’s introduced to steel and blood."

for a moment, his gaze lingered on you, unreadable as always, though something unspoken and hesitant flickered there, like the glow of embers beneath ash. then, with a small incline of his head, he relented.

"very well, pass the brat," he muttered, his tone lower now, softer.

you extended the child toward him, her tiny form impossibly small against the vastness of his marked hands.

for a fleeting moment, you worried — fearful that his strength, so absolute, might overwhelm her delicate frame. but when his fingers brushed against the blanket, they were steady, almost reverent.

he took her into his arms, his hold firm yet astonishingly gentle. what a beautiful little thing, you thought, as she stirred faintly, her little face scrunching in a way that made your heart ache with unexpected tenderness, for her and for this rare moment of quiet from your husband.

"how...small," sukuna said, almost to himself, his voice quieter than you’d ever heard it. the crimson of his eyes softened as he gazed at her, no longer the gaze of the strongest jujutsu sorcerer or a fearsome curse, but something far more human, a shadow of a man he might have once been.

"infants tend to be," you replied softly, watching the way his expression flickered, but you shifted closer to him, "here, let me unwrap her."

with careful hands, you unwound the swaddling cloth, each pull of fabric careful. the delicate folds slipped away in a quiet hustle, revealing the soft, flushed skin of the newborn, her form small and fragile in the dim glow of the chamber. a scattering of fine, rosy hairs crowned her head like the first petals of a spring bloom, soft and fleeting.

but then, as the last of the cloth unraveled, the room seemed to still. beneath her, something did not quite belong.

four arms. for, just like her father, another set of limbs was stacked underneath the first.

a chill ran through you, but you kept your gaze fixed upon her. the sight was no less miraculous for its strangeness, no less wondrous, but something shifted in your chest, a flutter of uncertainty.

oh, your darling baby girl.

your breath faltered for only an instant, and then a wry chuckle escaped your lips. "no wonder it hurt so much pushing her out," you griped, the words an attempt at brief levity.

the maids behind you had stilled, their eyes wide with shock, their breaths drawn in in silence. but you scarcely noticed or cared for their reaction.

your attention was on sukuna, and the subtle change that passed across his features like a shadow moving across the face of the sun.

at first, there was nothing — no word, no sound from his tight, pursed lips. his crimson eyes flickered over her, shifting from the unexpected sight of her four arms to her face, as though searching for some other sign of familiarity. his hold on her, though gentle, became uncertain, the steady grasp of one used to absolute control now wavering in the presence of something too delicate to tame.

no one would have seen the change in your husband, but you did. you always did.

"ah, sukuna," you whispered, "it’s alright. hold her properly."

sukuna's jaw clenched, a muscle jumping in the corner of his mouth, painted with all the sweetness of rancid milk gone sour. but at last, he obeyed.

slowly, deliberately, his hands shifted, cradling the child with a kind of reverence that seemed foreign to him. the baby stirred faintly, her small hands brushing against his bare chest, and for the briefest of moments, a flicker passed across his expression — something that could have been warmth, or tenderness, or even pain, but it was gone as quickly as it had come.

just as swiftly, his face returned to its usual impassive mask, the stoic countenance of a cruel warlord, implacable and untouchable. the walls of armour, built up over years of battle, of bloodshed, closed in around him once more, and you were left with the unmistakable sense that he had retreated behind them.

your brow furrowed as you watched him, "what's wrong?"

"nothing, woman." he replied curtly, and you could already sense the serrated edges of his tone, the one you would hear when his mood had gone afoul.

he placed the newborn back into your arms, and you nestled the infant close to your breast — and you blinked, taken aback by the suddenness of the gesture, your fingers stinging from the instantly cool touch of his skin.

"you have done well," and his voice was low, clipped.

a fleeting silence followed, thick with the weight of his half-hearted praise, or rather lack of his apparent love.

"done well? sukuna - " you repeated, unable to mask the incredulity in your voice, "my lord, that is all you have to say?"

his eyes rested on yours, cool and unyielding. beautiful and terrible, in the way that a soldier may have admired a temporary moment in time watching crimson shimmer and soar across the sky, before it fell down in acrid blood rain. terrible, all the same.

on any other day, his infuriating brevity and sharp demeanour might have sparked a flame of annoyance in your chest, but today...was not quite so. though the shadow that rest upon him would not reveal itself, you searched his face nevertheless for what had unnerved him so. but as always, sukuna's features were as unreadable as ancient stone.

his gaze flickered for a moment to the maids who lingered at the edges of the room, their wide eyes watching with an almost palpable curiosity. and without a single glance at you, or the baby girl nestled in your arms, he turned away in long strides, past the threshold and onto the balcony that held the evening's last fading light.

you let out a long, slow sigh — at the poison that had sunk its furled teeth into your husband once more. this was hardly the first time he had withdrawn into his own sullen, brutal thoughts, locked behind walls that you had not the key to breach. and it certainly would not be the last. you could only hope that this ill vein of his mind would not end in someone's pumping blood being spilled over the floors.

"uraume," you called softly, glancing toward your friend and confidant, who had been standing silently near the wall, having accompanied sukuna.

the short, silver-haired sorcerer turned their rosewood eyes toward you, their expression as stoic as ever, like frost that had settled over granite.

their hands were folded neatly in front of their heavy snow-robes, but you caught the faintest quirk of their brow as if to say what now?

you gestured toward sukuna's figure on the terrace, brooding and awfully solitary, "what has gotten into him?"

uraume shrugged, as unimpressed as always, "would that he has found himself in one of his moods again. you know how he is."

you frowned, not entirely satisfied with their answer, for what ill mood could have sunk its claws into sukuna after the birth of his only child. but still, uraume had known sukuna far longer than you had.

"can you hold her for a moment?"

at that, uraume hesitated, their stoicism faltering for the briefest second, "me?" they asked, their cool tone clipped but their light-teak eyes darting to the baby with thinly veiled interest.

"yes, you," you said with a wry smile, "ah, don’t pretend as though you don’t want to."

their lips pressed into a tight line, but you saw the way their hands moved almost instinctively, reaching out before they could talk themselves out of it. with practiced care, you transferred the baby into your friend's arms, watching as uraume's stern demeanor softened, just slightly, as they looked down at the tiny bundle.

"careful," you teased, adjusting the swaddle around your infant daughter, "she might charm you into smiling."

"unlikely," uraume deadpanned, but the faintest ghost of warmth touched their dulcet voice.

the evening air was cool as the breath of a shadow, brushing against your skin, and you watched as the pale pink petals of the gardens below fluttered in the winds, falling in gentle arcs around the estate.

you sighed, wrapping your robe tighter around your form, as the sheer fabric clung to your skin like the last vestiges of warmth that the day had offered. the coolness was a balm, but it did little to ease the deep ache in your legs, nor the weariness that had clung to you like a second skin now, so soon after an arduous labour.

you made your way onto the balcony, the rough floor beneath your feet cold and unyielding — and there, sukuna sat, his broad frame hunched slightly over the stone bench.

you paused, only a slight shadow behind him, unsure whether to disturb the stillness of his thoughts or let him be. the space between you was...heavy, but you broke through the silence.

"are you going to tell me what's wrong," you asked, trying to keep a lightness to your tone, "or are you planning to brood out here all night?"

you could only hope that you had not overstepped, for his moods were as tempestuous as the wild storms of summer's monsoons. although his promise of blood on skin, and guts on the table, had never been directed at you.

a flicker of irritation had brush over sukuna's face, as his gaze remained fixed on the horizon. a warning, perhaps, a retreat?

for a moment, you lingered where you stood, wondering if it would be worth your time to weather whatever tempest brewed within the king of curses. and you hesitated, fingers twitching with the urge to reach out and place a hand upon his broad shoulder. but something held you back, not tonight.

instead, you settled beside him, the cold stone of the bench biting into your thighs and abdomen through the thin fabric of your robe, a deep cramping that you wished you could settle with a steaming bath.

for a long while, sukuna said little. but you heard his small exasperated sigh, at the inconvenience that you had apparently created for him. a subtle movement in the dark silk of his robes, and without a word, he spread the folds of his garments wider so you could move closer to the searing heat of his bare skin, and rest upon the fabric, rather than the icy rock currently beneath your pelvis.

"sukuna, please. are you well?"

"why wouldn't i be, woman?" but the words fell between you, false and brittle in the warm air, betrayed by the clench of his jaw.

it must be of little standard, how you're pleased that sukuna has not blasted his beloved wife into cinders, and so you press on, undeterred now by the silence.

reaching out, you take one of his four hands, so much stronger than your own, into your grasp. your fingers weave into the thick tattoos marked on his skin, over faint scars that must stretch back to a golden age, long abandoned by the world. but here, his skin is warm and living, and solid beneath your touch. it is rough in places, like a weathered boulder, but there is no resistance in his grasp, no usual sharpness in a retreat.

"i wonder," he mutters, and you look up from studying his hands in surprise, "what mine own parents must have thought when i was born."

your breath catches, for sukuna has never spoken of family, not once in all the years that you have known him. after all, you had seen your husband in reminiscence many times, usually after a great flagon of rich drink.

about stories of battle and triumphs, of how greatly he enjoyed severing a stray general's head from the man's body, of how excellent the wine was five centuries ago, or how he found it a nuisance that it was no longer acceptable to chase after servants with a crossbow for the fun of the hunt.

but never had a word been uttered of those who came before him.

"you've never mentioned your family, sukuna," and you don't miss how his hand twitches under your hold, "never heard a single thing about the last king and queen of curses."

the sharp, razor lines of his body tighten, and sukuna does not smile, does not soften. his face is as unreadable as ever, like a mask carved from iron wood.

"i come from no such line, certainly not from kings," his tone is flat, only a mild sneer in his voice as the prospect of nobility, and you watch the handsome slope of his nose in the twilight, the stern profile that you had grown to admire in the time of your...tumultuous marriage.

he speaks the words like they are the final bookend of a story, the last page, with nothing left to say. but you tilt your head, watching the hard line of his jaw, and the way his fingers mildly tighten around your own, like an anchor.

"who were they?"

sukuna finally turns his head to face you, the faintest shift in his posture as his eyes finally meet yours. the look he gives you is cold, disinterested, and the subtle roll of his lower eyelids betray a flash of frustration and anger.

you frown at the fleeting, cutting gesture, but it is nothing new for you, "it was just a question. i've just never heard you speak on this before."

sukuna rolls his broad shoulders, half-hearted and dismissive, as though this conversation itself has suddenly become an inconvenience that he's barely willing to entertain. how typical.

"never found it relevant."

you aren't sure what is more unbearable now, the dull throb in your legs that still lingers from the birth, or the faint copper tang of the afterbirth that you're certain is now pooling on your robe, or the heavy, oppressive heat of the summer air that seems to suffocate in your throat.

but somehow, all of it combines to make your husband's behaviour just a bit too much, even for you, the one who has become so accustomed to the emotionally stunted king of curses.

"please, sukuna," and you loathe how it sounds as though you are begging once more, hoping there's no hint of the bitterness of your tone, no crack of anger, but it is hard to tie that mask in place when it seems like every part of your body is breaking, aching and exhausted, "i just gave birth to your child, our child. everything hurts, and i'm tired, and i just want to rest," you pause, and the words slip from your mouth before you can stop them, "and now you're off sitting here, and you didn't even want to hold her? what am i supposed to do?"

even you are surprised by the rawness in your own voice, the trembling that has begun to spread across your chest, until you realise with a quiet shock that your eyes are wet, and your face is streaking with tears that leave your head laden and heavy. you had not meant to lose composure like this, but now there they are, hot and clinging.

and sukuna's usual stoicism seems momentarily shattered. he's staring at you as if you have sprouted horns, as though an extra head has sprung from your neck. it is a subtle change, the faintest narrowing of his brows, the way his lips press together in an effort to tamp down whatever rude words he was going to spring forth upon his already fraying wife. but at this point in time, you do not care to read him, nor to decipher the layers of his complex, decaying heart.

but his rough hand reaches out, almost clumsily, and they brusqely brush the damp streaks from your cheeks. the gesture is far too gentle for one who only responds to strength, violence, and sometimes, decapitation.

but it is the first gesture of tenderness that he has offered in what feels like an age, "stop that, woman. this does not befit you," and the edges of his robe catch the falling droplets from your face, dampening the silk.

and sukuna's mouth is now downturned, the edges of his lips twisting in that familiar, inscrutable way. you wonder, for the thousandth time, how he ever reconciles the savage nature of the beast that he has become, with the faintest echo of what was once humanity beating in his chest, "wasn't trying to upset you, brat."

his voice pricks at you, and you wipe the last remnants of tears from your skin, but there's a sudden warmth in your cheeks, at the embarrassment of breaking like this, rather than lingering sorrow.

"if you're that desparate to know, my mother was a servant."

you blink, unsure whether you are hearing correctly, for sukuna's voice does not even falter, despite the apparent chink in his impenetrable armour. but this is no great surprise, perhaps, his mother had been a concubine to a lord, some powerful man, or the emperor himself?

sukuna had now looked away from you, his gaze turned to the darkened sky, "lived in the palace. or actually...worked there, didn't get to even live there. they had her live in some shack off on the edge of the estate," and his voice is like the wind in a sealed tomb, bitter and stale.

"with the animals," you murmur, and it is not intended to be cruel. you know better than to speak so carelessly with sukuna, and you have learnt that pity is something he cannot abide, he abhors it. has never wanted it, not from you, his wife or queen, nor any other.

but now sukuna grunts, low and gutteral, "don't even remember much of it. could only keep a stupid goat in there, at best."

you find yourself absently fiddling with the hem of your robe, the thin fabric slipping through your fingers, past your nails.

"and your father?" you wonder if he can hear the question that hangs on the edge of your words, a powerful man? even the emperor of that time had been known to dabble in jujutsu, and other forms of more foreign magic from the continental homeland.

"no name that i would waste my time mentioning," and sukuna's tone is heavy with disdain, and a sneer has spread on his face, having slipped past the mask of constant indifference, "or a name that i would have even bothered to find and learn. clearly...didn't care for the likes of mother. some lowly foot soldier she met one night, never appeared before her again."

you're not quite sure how to respond, how to fit his surprising words into a world that you're familiar with. you, born with royal blood in your veins, a lineage of kings and khans. you, who grew up in a palace with a gruff but loving father, and an overbearing but kind mother, or the warmth of a large band of siblings swarming around you.

you, who had never gone to bed cold, always had a fire on her back, had grown up with jewels draped across your neck.

"must not have been easy, sukuna."

you watch him closely, and you can tell that he's doing his utter best to wave your gaze away, to disguise this as a casual tale, one to be dismissed on the morrow. but you wonder, with a sense of sorrow, if there is a single living soul alive who has been privy to this story, aside from uraume, most likely.

but sukuna shrugs, a quick and careless motion, and the movement tousles his head of rosy hair, sharp spikes swaying, "she said i had been born in a time of famine," and you can hear him running his tongue behind his teeth, "that she had to serve the emperor fine banquets everyday, while she came home to not even two sticks of wood to put together for a fire."

and then, he turns his second pair of eyes on you, those crimson eyes that seem to see straight through the world, "said she had no idea how i even survived to birth," and your lower region pangs at the mention of your recent labours, "that it was a miracle that i had been born strong enough to live past a few hours in the cold."

you squeeze his calloused hand again, a soft press of rare reassurance to one who most likely does not care for such sentiments, and this time he allows it — a kind mercy you think, born of some unwilling guilt that lingers from having you weep.

for a fleeting moment, his hand remains, coarse over yours, but his expression hardens once more, like magma went hit with the cool wind. he pulls his hand away with a swiftness that makes your heart ache.

"sounds like she really loved you," you hum, but the words sound weak even to your own ears. unable to change anything, or stitch over whatever scars shaped the king of curses, but you say them anyway, fumbling for something to offer.

his scarlet gaze flickers to you once more, and for a moment, you think he might scoff. but instead, sukuna gives you a peculiar, twisted look, as though caught between disbelief, and a painful, begrudging acknowledgement.

"i- sure," and his voice is lower than the muted tone that you're accustomed, rough but listless, "used to sit there, putting scraps of cloth together for the winter. from the sacks used to carry feed for the horses."

you wince, unbidden, as the image cuts through you like a blade. of a faceless child draped in rough, burlap-like cloth, and a mother's raw hands working to piece together anything that might keep her son warm through the cold winters. but it is hard, hard to see that faceless child as the king of curses now, no matter how you peer up at sukuna's stern profile.

you think of your newborn daughter, her soft and downy cheeks. the way she had nestled into you with such implicit trust. you try to imagine the same tenderness in the woman who was the mother of the demon later known as ryomen sukuna, but when you close your eyes all you see is death and war, blood painting four hands as they pulled off man's head, clean at the jugular — at your wedding feast.

"how did you survive?" and the question feels intrusive, almost cruel, but he's only given you a fractured and worn story, a thread that you're dying to follow.

sukuna gives you a sharp look, his brows knitting as he takes in the mild teary hitch in your voice, "don't start getting weepy on me now," he huffs, coarse but not callously, "you asked to know. and don't think i'm going to sit here, and hold your hand through it."

you nod, chastened but affronted, as he continues, "i did what any child would have done. stole what i could from under the carts of merchants, bread from the palace, scraps from the barracks or medicine."

"medicine?" you ask, your curiosity slipping through.

sukuna's expression darkens, and for the first time, there's a flicker of something far more raw in his eyes, and you don't quite appreciate the way he's glowering at you as if it were your doing, "she was sick. sometimes."

the words are clipped, meant to cut short any sympathy you might try to offer, but they lodge deep in your heart all the same. and in a cruel corner of your mind, a thought emerges.

was it birthing him that made her sick? did it consume her spirit and body, the birth of the king of curses?

fortunately, and unbeknownst to your lord husband, shame rises to your cheeks as swiftly as the notion comes, hot and furious. you swallow it down, forcing your lips to stay shut, horrified with your own insensitive thought.

but now the silence is stretching before you, as a long yawn. you glance at him again, at the defiant set of his shoulders, and you shake your head of the ridiculous surge of protectiveness towards a beast, one such as sukuna. but you still cannot picture him as a small and gaunt boy, with quick and desparate hands, trying to survive a life that he did not ask for.

"she must have been proud of you."

sukuna sneered, but it lacked its usual edge, "proud?" he shakes his head, glancing at you with an expression you can't quite name, "would've wanted better than this."

better than what? you want to ask. better than the wealthiest man in the realm? the most powerful sorcerer in written history? the king of curses?

but what do you know? and so, the words don't come. instead, your fingers twitch in your lap, aching to reach for him again, and knowing that he would just pull away once more.

"and yet, men compose sonnets of your power. the king of all the light and shadow touches," and your voice must be laced with a quiet wonder, at what it is to be so feared, but it is not admiration.

"my mother did not want that for me," sukuna says, his tone sharp, ruminating with a hard expression, "but i did it anyway. they wouldn't take me at first, not a child with no family to present him, nor gold to weigh in his favour," and the words are low, and biting, as if speech sits bitter on his tongue, "so i took up the sword. trained until i was good enough to join the legions."

"and then?" though you know that there is little point in asking, for the tale is now one that you have heard before. written in dried blood, and throughout history. it is famous on the mainland, on the islands, on the continent, to where the horse-lord khans are now raising great empires. but hearing it from sukuna's mouth feels different, like tracing your fingers over the jagged edge of a rough wound.

"sought power in other place," and now he's looking down at you, physically, but also knowing him, quite literally, "soft thing like you has never seen the rest of the world, but there were masters who never answered to a throne."

"crushed every army of the great clans, north to south, every squad of the sun, moon and stars. brought them to their knees, one by one, and tore their throats out," and you can hear how sukuna's tongue kisses his teeth when he speaks, as if he's reminiscing the taste of beautiful iron in his mouth, "and when it was done, the emperor, the same one who ruled while my mother and i rotted on his estate...he bowed to me."

"they invited me to the harvest festival after that," he continues, his lips twisted in a bitter smirk, "in the capital. worshipped me like an idol, some ancient hero."

it's never lost on you on how sukuna's tone is the most pleased when thinking about how blood rips from ripe arteries and wounds. but his eyes are colder than the snow-capped mountains of the earlier months, and they betray no joy nor triumph. it is simply what happened, as if told from the vantage of a stranger.

you hesitate, the next question caught in your throat. but the need to know burns brighter than your fear, "your father," you say carefully, and there. the tell-tale clench of sukuna's sculpted jaw, "he was a soldier, was he not?"

his eyes remain fixed beyond the terrace, where the light faded long ago. for a moment, you think that sukuna has not heard you. but then, he speaks, his voice akin to the rumble of thunder on a faraway horizon, "my father," and his tone is entirely devoid of feeling, "could have been one of the soldiers i killed, i care not."

"what did you mother say after all that?"

for a moment, the silence stretches between you, heavy and unyielding. and privately, you have grown much tired of this brooding quiet, but you fancy not being blown to ashes alongside the rest of this estate, so you let him linger.

but sukuna has inhaled sharply, and his wandered gaze has snapped back with an edge you hadn't expected, "i wouldn't know," and now, this feels more like an open wound, "died when i was twelve winters."

there is no softness in his tone, no tremble or catch to suggest the pain of memory, for it is too old and too familiar. but the world around you seems to dim as he still speaks, "hadn't learnt reversed curse technique by then. hah, if she had lived longer..."

and sukuna closes his mouth with a snap, as if an unseen poison has dredged to the surface. for it is not within the king of curses's nature to regret. to wonder what if?

you can see it in the way sukuna's hand clenches at his side, the subtle twitch of his mouth. it is not grief that overtakes him, nor even regret. it is something darker, colder — a wound that time has turned to scar tissue but never truly healed.

and again, you try. to imagine her, a woman bent by the weight of a hard life but still fierce in her love for her son. you still cannot see a face, but you can picture frail hands threading through coarse fabric into a makeshift tunic, telling her son stories to chase away the hunger and cold of the night. and you wonder about fate's cruel hands, for her son would first grow into a man, and then something crueler and inhuman, one who could topple armies and empires, one who sung fangs into still-beating hearts. but not in time to save her.

it is a sad story, but you know better than to offer your apologies. one thing still lingers in your mind, pressing against your thoughts like a stone beneath rushing water.

"what does this have to do with your daughter?"

your husband suddenly looks at you, quizzical, and he's faintly confused. you frown, clarifying before he can twist your meaning, "it's just...you seemed upset after holding her. i thought -"

sukuna's expression shifts, a flash of irritation breaking through his impassiveness, "what? that i loathed the sight of her?" his lips curl into a smirk, laced with a drier humour, "hope she got my brains, and not yours."

you scowl at him, your indignation quick but shallow at his cheap barbs. without much thought, you jab an elbow into his bare side. but he doesn't flinch, of course he doesn't. but a mild smile breaks through, faint as dawn's first light. and for now, it's enough for you.

but then sukuna's face clouds again, and the weight of his brooding thoughts seems to settle over him once more. you sigh, and venture a guess, your voice quieter now, gentler, "you’re worried about her because she was born as you were."

sukuna scoffs, "tch! don’t make me sound so weak and weepy, like you."

"ryomen," you say, letting his name stretch out, both affectionate and exasperated, "it's alright to care about your infant daughter. no one is going to topple your throne over it."

"i'd invite them to try," he snarls, shooting you a hard look, like you were going to raise an army later that day.

"it wasn't easy for me," he adds, and the edges of his words are brittle, "didn't quite have that grasp on jujutsu when i was younger. ended up even melding flesh together to try and hide two arms out of four. or...almost crushing them together so they would break and bend."

"what a cruel strife, delivered upon a child," you're frowning, at the vivid imagery and at how sukuna delivers it in such a matter-of-fact way.

but your husband dips his chin, and you're left staring and wondering, just what it would take to have him break away from his unholy pride, "a fair exchange," he says, "wasn't a stranger to what people called me. or thought."

"you know what the difference is?" and you've paused long enough for the words to settle, to break him out of his reverie, "our daughter has a loving father," and sukuna's face twitches.

"and," now, you point at yourself, "a loving mother. i do think she will grow up strong."

you almost say that she will grow up safe, happy, content. peaceful. but you had stopped yourself, for you had pushed the king of curses enough for one night, emotionally at least, and you know that 'strong' is something that he respects, something that he can hope for without feeling lesser for it.

"she better," he grunts, and you smile at the faintest glimmer of pride slipping into his voice, pride at what he deems a worthy creation from him, and you, "i don't care if she was born today, i need to see her cursed technique."

"sukuna!" you snap fiercely, and it just draws a rich laugh from him, one that makes you sigh too, for you think that your husband is often (and ironically) like the sun. for when he blazes far too hot, and bright, you can feel the burn sting. but when sukuna glows, all tend to clamour to bask in his rare warmth.

you laugh with him, the sound light in the still of the night, and before he can pull away or grumble something sardonic, you press a soft kiss to his cheek. sukuna huffs above you, the noise low and guttural, a half-hearted complaint about how he is being suffocated, but you feel the warmth bloom under your lips.

and it is sweet, in its own odd way, at how his creamy skin flushes quickly, betraying him, and his lower set of eyes flutter close. for a brief moment, the king of curses is almost bashful, the storm clouds parting as quickly as they came.

as you rise to your feet, you feel the ache in your thighs, but you tug lightly at his hefty arms, urging him, "come, my lord," you say, your tone teasing but warmer, "come see your daughter now."

sukuna doesn’t move at first, his gaze following yours, tracing the place where you had just been sitting. his expression shifts, darkening as his eyes fall on something. "is that blood?" he asks, the words sharp and low.

you glance down, catching sight of the vivid smear on the stone—a crimson stain stark against the dimly lit fabric. your shoulders tighten, a flicker of embarrassment sweeping through you before you remember that this is not your fault, and you glower, your voice bristling. "afterbirth," you mutter, crossing your arms as if to shield yourself from the moment. "would have been nicer to pass in my own bed."

the faintest quirk touches his lips, an almost-smile that flickers and vanishes as quickly as it came. "you must be hungry," he says, his tone succint but carrying the faint edge of something softer—something close to concern, though he would never name it as such, and call you foolish if you did.

you sigh, the weight of exhaustion pressing against you like the tide, for you desperately wished to rest, "you have no idea," half a complaint, half a confession.

sukuna doesn’t reply immediately, but you catch the way his gaze softens, lingering just long enough to remind you that, despite his gruffness, he cares more than he lets on. perhaps, in his own way, he is just as raw and exposed as you are now.

again, you tug at his marked arms, insistent, and he sighs — long-suffering, as if your request were a monumental task. yet, he rises, uncoiling his tall frame until he towers over you, the shadows darkening most of what is around you.

before you can utter another word, he sweeps you close, all four of his arms encircling you with an ease that borders on reverence. his lips brush against your forehead, fleeting but gentle, a moment so tender it nearly takes your breath away.

and then, like clockwork and a theatrical grimace, sukuna pushes you away, his expression twisting into an exaggerated mask of disgust. it's his strange, unpolished way of showing affection, and you can’t help but snicker, the sound light and unburdened.

"you’re ridiculous," you tease, though your smile lingers, soft and warm, and he mutters some comment about how he doesn't even like you.

"you know,” you begin, "i asked uraume to hold our daughter in the meantime."

His eyes widen, incredulous, and for a moment, he looks genuinely doubtful, "huh, this entire time. uraume cannot have agreed to that."

"they did!" you insist, triumph lighting your voice, thinking of the petulant sorcerer probably making faces at your baby indoors.

sukuna shakes his head, muttering as if the mere notion defied all reason, he who had seen mountains turn to dust and oceans part. "unbelievable," he says, his tone caught between disbelief and faint admiration, as though uraume's rare acquiescence were an impossible feat.

you had returned indoors, arm entwined with one of sukuna's which had pulled you close with a sudden, almost possessive gesture.

and lo and behold, you found uraume still kneeling by the cradle, with their eyes fixed on the infant, who was staring back at the ice-sorcerer with curious intensity, oddly knowing for one so small.

and uraume, typically stoic and cold, leans in loser to the child, now gentle and cooing, "yes," they murmur, "and when you are all grown up, you will listen to me. i don't care if sukuna has a stroke. your father is prone to theatrics, and your mother is prone to equal dramatics. but you can learn from the best there is, me."

sukuna, ever the cynic, guffaws, "i hope you are not indoctrinating my heir," you laugh at the flicker of amusement in both sets of his eyes.

you catch the briefest glimpse of an embarrassed flush on uraume's pallid cheeks before the sorcerer quickly recovers, lips pursing in an exaggerated show of indifference.

"i do not care for this pudgy thing," uraume huffs, the words a touch too hasty as they thrusts the child back into your arms, clearly uncomfortable with the softening of their usually unyielding nature.

and when sukuna's peering down at the child, with barely veiled interest, the same set of eyes that you carry end up meeting blood-red eyes with teeth.

your daughter, promptly robbed of uraume's gentler attention and less-monstrous features, begins to wail, loud and teary, as sukuna growls, affronted.

"can't you put the child back in you?"

the linked artwork belongs to the artist. but the header and writing belong to curtins.tumblr.com. likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated, but do not repost my work!

Welcome to the world of “Being in love with a person who doesn’t exist in real life but you pretend they do anyway because you’re obsessed” ✧˖*°࿐

dating sukuna!