When you went to your first race weekend with George, he gave you the grand tour of his garage. He made sure to save the race car for last so he can give you detailed descriptions about it.
"And here we are! My trusty race car." He said, patting on the halo twice.
"It's even cooler up close!" You praised.
"Do you want to get in it?" He asked, you sporting a concerned expression on your face.
"I'm not going to break anything?" You asked cautiously. He shook his head with a smile.
"You'll be okay! Plus it's media day today so God forbid, they'll be able to fix it for tomorrow." He reassured.
"Alright...if you say so." He helped you into the car, immediately noting how low you were in the seat.
"So this is your view, huh?" You asked, turning your shoulder to look up at him.
"It's cool, right?" He asked with a smile, you replying with a hum. You looked back and forth between him and the wheel as he explained what each function did.
To be honest, you did zone out for a teeny bit biy not because you were bored. You've always enjoyed hearing George explain things and this was one of those times where you focused on the sound of his voice rather than his words. You caught yourself just in time when he asked you to click on the left gear behind the wheel.
"The left side is to go down and the right side is to go up."
"Mhmm." You hummed, clicking between left and right. George squinted his eyes at you even though you couldn't see him but you felt like you were caught not fully paying attention to the crash course.
"Did you zone out again?" He asked, leaning down further to look at you. Pursing your lips together, he knew that it was a yes.
"Alright, out you go." George said, helping you get out.
"I didn't mean to zone out, I promise!" You replied once you were standing next to him again.
i have a request!!!!!!! okay so boom, driver is lewis hamilton and the title is simple, "All Night Long". super excited to see how you interpret those simple words and turn them into a writing piece.
so proud of you reaching 100 followers my bby💙
Chat we have our first 100 follower special post submission 🥰 Thank youuu 💙 it's such a huge milestone and now we're on the road to 200!
But yes, hear me out on this:
"All Night Long" with Lewis has a lot of avenues it can go down but to me, I'm envisioning that audio of Lady Gaga where she's like "bus, club, another club, another club, next place, no sleep." 😭
He had a absolutely successful race weekend and given that he didn't have to race the weekend immediately after, you two knew it called for partying like there was no tomorrow.
Hi everyone! After creating this blog in August of last year (2025), I hit 100 followers! 🎊🎊🎊 (now it's 101!)
I've always seen people do special events when they hit a milestone like this so I figured that I should do the same! It also creates a way to interact with you all 😊
If you want to participate in the special, you send a made up title as well as your driver (I do not write for Lance) or team principal (because I got asked if I write for Toto Wolff and I said I'm open to it) of choice to my ask box!
It's that simple! I'm so excited for the titles you all come up with :)
Who knows, maybe if you like what I come up with...you can request for a full fledged fic 👀
!Ryomen Sukuna; who falls in love with the concubine he hated the most
Every woman brought to his estate understood the rules of survival before they even crossed the threshold.
You bowed until your forehead touched the tatami. You spoke only when spoken to. You anticipated his moods, read the terrifying language of his four eyes, and offered flattery or tears depending on what type of amusement he was seeking that day.
To center your entire existence around Ryomen Sukuna was the only way to ensure your head remained attached to your shoulders.
Except you didn't.
You hadn't knelt when he first entered your quarters three months ago. You had been lying on your side, propped up on an elbow, reading a translated scroll from the northern provinces, and you had merely shifted your gaze to look at him, entirely unimpressed by the sudden, heavy drop in atmospheric pressure that usually accompanied his presence.
"Stand when I enter," he had commanded, his upper eyes narrowing into dangerous, ruby slits.
You had turned a page. "Then leave and enter again. Perhaps I will feel like it next time."
You hadn't scrambled to fix your posture. You had just looked at him with an expression of profound boredom.
The attendants behind him had turned white as ghosts, bracing for the inevitable spray of blood. Sukuna’s jaw had set, a terrifying, low growl vibrating from his chest. But you hadn't trembled.
If he wanted to kill you, he would kill you. Fawning over him wasn't going to change his nature, so you simply refused to waste the energy.
He hadn't killed you. Instead, he had left, the doors slamming shut with enough force to rattle the shoji screens.
And that was the exact moment the nightmare began. Because from that night onward, Sukuna became an insufferable, permanent fixture in your life.
"You are eating that wrong."
You stopped your chopsticks halfway to your mouth, letting out a long, slow exhale through your nose. It was midnight.
You had been looking forward to a quiet, solitary meal of cold rice and pickled plums, but Sukuna had simply materialized in the corner of your room ten minutes ago, dripping wet from a thunderstorm, and had proceeded to sit directly on the edge of your bedding.
"I am eating it the way I have eaten it for more than twenty years," you said, not looking at him. "If my technique offends you, the door is exactly where you left it."
Sukuna scoffed, leaning back on his palms. His massive, tattooed frame took up half the space in your small room, his lower arms crossed over his chest while his upper right hand casually reached over and swiped a plum straight from your bowl.
"You have a wretched attitude," he remarked, popping the fruit into his mouth and chewing lazily. "The women in the east hall weep with gratitude if I so much as glance toward their courtyard. You look at me like I am a stray dog that ruined your garden."
"Stray dogs are quieter," you muttered, finally looking up to glare at him. "And they don't steal my food."
Sukuna’s lower mouth twitched into a sharp, jagged grin. He loved it. The realization turned your stomach, a strange, dizzying mixture of irritation and heat.
He didn't come to your room because he wanted a concubine; he came because he was a creature driven entirely by conflict, and you were the only person in the entire empire who refused to give him the satisfaction of a fight. You gave him nothing. You gave him a wall of pure, unbothered apathy, and it was driving him entirely insane.
He leaned forward suddenly, crowding your space. The smell of the storm, ozone and rain, rushed over you. Before you could pull back, his large, calloused hand shot out, his fingers wrapping around your jaw.
It wasn't the brutal, bone-crushing grip he used on his enemies. It was controlled, a heavy, unyielding restraint that forced your face up toward his.
"You should fear me," he murmured, his upper eyes tracking the movement of your throat as you swallowed. His thumb thumbed the soft skin right beneath your lower lip, a deliberate, electric friction that made your toes curl inside your robes. "A single flick of my finger, and this pretty little throat splits wide open."
You met his gaze evenly, refusing to let the wild, frantic thudding of your heart show on your face. "Then do it. I'm tired of your bragging."
Sukuna froze. For a second, the silence in the room was deadly. Then, a loud, booming laugh tore from his throat, the sound rough and genuine as he released your jaw, shifting his weight until he was practically draped over your lap, his heavy head resting casually against your thigh.
"Insufferable," he muttered, closing all four of his eyes as if he owned the space. "Utterly insufferable."
You stared down at the King of Curses currently using your legs as a pillow, your hand hovering over his unruly pink hair, entirely tempted to shove him off. But you didn't. You just sighed, picking up your chopsticks again, ignoring the way his subconscious weight felt entirely too natural against you.
The shift happened. In Sukuna’s dictionary, words like love or devotion were meaningless concepts invented by the weak to justify their dependency. He would never admit to favoring you. If anyone asked, he would simply say you were a minor amusement, a dull distraction from his boredom.
But the rest of the estate wasn't blind.
The servants noticed that the rare silks brought from the western raids, the ones Sukuna usually threw into the treasury to rot—somehow kept finding their way into your wardrobe because he had casually grumbled that your current robes looked "like rags."
The guards noticed that if Sukuna left your courtyard irritated, he was significantly less likely to execute someone in the main hall.
And then there was the incident with the lord of the northern clans.
During a formal banquet, the lord had made a passing, disparaging remark about your status, calling you an "eccentric, useless mouth to feed" who didn't know her place.
You hadn't even heard the comment; you had been across the pavilion, systematically ignoring Sukuna’s attempts to make you try a cup of sake.
But Sukuna had heard it.
He hadn't made a scene. He had simply stood up, walked over to the lord’s table, and dismantled the man’s entire lineage within three seconds, leaving the pavilion drenched in red before sitting back down next to you, casually picking up his chopsticks as if nothing had happened.
"You're exhausting when you're angry," you had murmured, wiping a stray drop of blood from the sleeve of your robe with a click of your tongue.
Sukuna hadn't answered. He had just grabbed your wrist, pulling your hand toward him until you were forced to use your sleeve to wipe a smudge of gore from his cheek instead. He hadn't asked. He had just assumed your hands belonged on his skin.
Late one evening, weeks later, the heat of the summer had turned the air thick and oppressive. You were lying awake in your bed, staring at the ceiling, when the shoji screen slid open without a sound.
Sukuna stepped inside. He looked exhausted, the heavy marks of a curse battle still lingering in the tension of his shoulders. He didn't speak. He just shed his heavy outer robe, letting it hit the floor, before crawling directly onto your sleeping mat.
"Go away," you groaned, trying to roll over to the far edge. "It is too hot for this."
"Silence," he grunted, a large, heavy arm snaking around your waist from behind. He hauled you back against his chest with a single, effortless tug, his massive body completely enveloping yours.
His chest was blazing hot, a furnace of pure cursed energy, and his face buried itself directly into the crook of your neck.
"You cling too much," you muttered, though you didn't actually fight the hold. It was a useless endeavor anyway.
"What nonsense," Sukuna rumbled, his voice thick with sleep, his lower arms tightening around your hips, anchoring you so securely to him that you could feel the rhythmic, heavy thud of his heart against your spine. "You are small. You fit here. Stop complaining."
You lay there in the dark, his breath warm against your skin, his long, sharp fingernails absentmindedly tracing patterns into the fabric of your garment near your ribs.
He was completely unaware of how intimate the gesture was, how entirely possessive his body became the moment he was near you. He thought he was just resting. He thought he was just taking what was his.
You turned your head slightly, looking back at him. His eyes were closed, his expression unusually peaceful in the dim moonlight.
"You're an idiot, Ryomen Sukuna," you whispered softly.
A faint, arrogant smirk touched his lips, though he didn't open his eyes. His hand moved up, his fingers lacing through yours with a casual, unthinking pressure, locking your hands together against the bedding.
"And you are still breathing," he murmured into your skin, his grip tightening just a fraction more. "Be grateful I find your stupidity so entertaining."
You closed your eyes, letting yourself sink into his terrifying, inescapable warmth, finally accepting that while the King of Curses would never say the words, his actions had already rewritten the entire world around you.
[𝝑𝑒] :: true form!sukuna dealing with your mood swings while pregnant :: tags. wife!reader. fluff, sfw. pregnancy. size diff reader gets called ‘woman, brat’ :: wc. 1.8k
you’re crying in your chambers, the volume of your cries overshadowing sukuna’s arrival at the estate. you hiccup and sniffle as you sit in the corner of your shared chambers. there really isn’t an end to your mental breakdown.
you’re prone to mood changes because of your pregnancy, already being seven months along. your belly is as round as a globe, sticking out from under your kimono.
you hold onto your lower abdomen while mumbling to yourself. “not fair,” you rub your blurry eyes with your free hand.
the bedroom doors suddenly swing open.
you lift your head from your knees and make eye contact with your husband who looks rather . . . upset. somehow more upset than you are at the moment.
you whimper as his big and intimidating stature dwarfs over yours while you’re stuck in the corner. when you look up at him, you cry even louder. seeing that familiar face after two whole days of suffering in this place alone gets you even more emotional.
after sukuna entered the room, his gaze had immediately fell upon your quivering figure.
he raises an eyebrow as you cry louder once you spot him, the sound breaking his ear drums. he lets out a sharp exhale, a hint of annoyance seeping into his tone.
“enough with the tears,” sukuna grumbles as he crosses the room in a few long strides. his presence is both imposing and protective as he looms over your small figure.
his eyes flicker over your body—taking in the sight of your round belly. he can’t deny that the view makes his shoulders relax, relieved to see his wife do well after two days.
sukuna kneels down before you, his eyes narrowing as he notices the tears running down your cheeks. who knows how long you’ve been sobbing? the realisation that no one’s checked on you while you’ve been crying like this irks him.
the king of curses will make sure that every single servant—and especially the ones assigned to you—pay for not noticing your sour mood sooner.
“damn it, woman,” he curses under his breath, his words laden with both irritation and a sense of concern, “what’s gotten into you now, hmm? why the blubbering mess?"
you hiccup, gasping for air as sukuna kneels down to your level, something he rarely does. one of his hands reach out to wipe a tear from your cheek, his expression stoic and unreadable while he does so.
“welcome home,” you utter, remembering to greet him properly.
you wipe your own tears away and try to explain the situation without it sounding absurd. “i—i went down to the kitchen to get som-something,” you stammer, trying to spit it out before sukuna’s irritation spikes.
“but they didn’t have the food i craved. they’re out of mangoes,” your wailing starts again just at the mention of the fruit. it felt like the most devastating moment in your life when the maids told you that they were out of mangoes.
sukuna’s annoyance quickly dissolves upon hearing your explanation. the revelation that you’re crying over mangoes seems so unbelievable, so absurd, that he can’t help but let out a dry huff of laughter. an amused smirk tugs at the corners of his lips.
he brushes the remnants of the tears away from your face. his rough fingers pause at your chin, giving it a light tap. “mangoes, huh? y’re out here bawling y’r fucking eyes out like a baby for some damn mangoes?”
despite his tough exterior, sukuna knows that pregnancy hormones often amplify emotions, making even the smallest things a cause for crying. and right now, you’re stressing and sputtering over some mangoes.
“mangoes,” you nod and cry softly, watching as sukuna rubs your cheeks with his manly fingers, enjoying his rough touch.
you guess by just the increased toughness of his calluses that your husband has worked hard while he was gone.
though, mangoes are your current craving and not having them meant war to you. it’s all you can focus on—even if your beloved is right in front of you.
“i need them,” you whine and pout again. your hormones make it difficult for you to calm down.
you do, however, try your best to stop crying. you clean your face with the sleeve of your kimono and bite on your bottom lip to refrain from bawling your eyes out.
“i want my mangoes,” your voice is hoarse as you glance up at sukuna, “please?”
sukuna hates to admit it, but his expression softens upon hearing the hoarse tone of your pleading voice. the view of your tear-streaked face and the knowledge that you’re experiencing pregnancy cravings makes it difficult for him to maintain his usual firm demeanor.
the king of curses sighs, his annoyance replaced by a reluctant acceptance of your plight.
“tsk, damn it,” he mutters, lazily resting his head against the palm of one of his hands, “y’re really gonna make me fetch you some mangoes?”
here you are, a grown woman crying and begging like a kid for a sweet, juicy mango. he’s seen you in many states—happy, sad, tired, excited—but never quite as emotionally overwhelmed just for a piece of fruit.
sukuna’s large hand reaches out to pat your head in a surprisingly gentle manner, a rare display of his softer side.
you pout at him and lean into his touch. you come up with something witty to say, as you always do.
“well, yes, you’re the one who got me pregnant,” you comment in a teasing way, sticking your tongue out at your husband.
no matter what sour mood you’re in, you can still be sassy.
though it doesn’t last long before your bottom lip trembles again. “i can’t do anything about it. the baby craves mangos,” you sniff as you rub your baby bump to emphasise your desire.
sukuna’s smirk wides at your retort and the playful gesture. even in your distraught state, you had the audacity to sass him. cheeky little woman, he thinks.
your husband scoffs, his large hand roughly ruffling your hair again before pulling away.
“‘n i don’t regret a thing. even if i gotta put up with y’r cranky ass.”
you roll your eyes at sukuna’s reply. you know you’re an emotional mess, but you can’t care less. you’d dl anything for your mangoes—those juicy ones that you can eat a dozen of in one sitting.
“the maids said that the mangoes were out of stock in the towns ‘nd villages nearby,” you continue while you carefully stand up from the corner. you’re trying your best to stay rational.
you’re extremely hungry and haven’t eaten ever since breakfast. that’s how stubborn you are being.
“but i’m hungryyyyy. want my mangoes,” you sigh and nearly stomp your feet out of frustration.
“yeah, yeah—fuckin’ hell,” sukuna groans, watching you slowly stand up, your pregnant belly protruding like a perfect sphere. it’s a constant reminder of the effect he has on you and it makes him proud.
he helps you stand up by holding onto your arm, sharp eyes focused on your body to make sure you don’t strain a single muscle.
after you manage to stand up straight, you walk with sukuna to the kitchen to find something to eat—perhaps some other fruit will satisfy your cravings for now.
sukuna follows behind you, his steps long and leisurely while your shorter strides keep the pace with him. as the two of you walk towards the kitchen, he continues to listen to your repeated mantra.
it’s driving him insane.
“mangoes, mangoes, mangoes. i fuckin’ get it, brat,” the king of curses swears he can feel the vein in his forehead throb.
you’re lucky that he ‘tolerates’ you as his wife.
it’s something more than just ‘tolerating’ you, of course, but openly admitting to loving you, even in the slightest, is something sukuna would never do.
if someone would ask him why he goes the extra mile for you, his answer would be that it’s simply because you’re carrying his heir. however only he knows the full truth, the sappy secret he’ll forever keep to himself.
before you arrive at the kitchen, you bump into uraume.
they glance from sukuna to you and bow. “good day,” they greet you with as much respect as they do to sukuna. they’ve been doing so ever since you gained your title as his wife.
the king of curses folds all four of his arms over his chest. his lower pair of eyes are still focused on your impatient self, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. he just knows you’re holding yourself back from asking for your craving again.
sukuna clicks his tongue and nods his head at you while he speaks to uraume.
“keep an eye on her while ‘m gone. feed her what she wants,” he says in his deep voice, his tone commanding and firm.
uraume remains quiet for a second. sukuna had recently came back from a mission and is once again heading out for some ambiguous reason, but they know better than to question their master.
“where are you going, hubby?”
you of course, get a free pass.
you don’t hesitate at all before questioning your husband. sukuna scoffs when he hears your voice ask him such in an oblivious manner. you should known where he is departing to.
“where’d you think, smartass?” he pinches your nose, causing you to swat his fingers away out of instinct. he gives up on your nose and moves to squeeze your cheeks together in a gentle yet firm manner.
you huff at his antics. sukuna grins at your frown and pout before releasing your jawline with a faint push.
“you better hold on ‘til i come back with y’r stupid mangoes,” he scoffs while turning around to walk to the entrance, “and when i do, i don’t wanna hear ‘nother squeak, understood?”
sukuna seems to have made another mission for himself; find his heavily pregnant wife mangoes before she goes absolutely insane.
your face lights up and you nod repeatedly. your heart melts when you realise that he’s actually putting effort to satisfy your needs. he may be harsh and stern at times, but his actions speak louder than his words.
“okay! love you, ryo!” you call out to your husband as he disappears behind the gates.
as expected, your words are met by silence.
that’s fine with you. not hearing an ‘i love you’ back doesn’t hurt you as much as it did at the start of your relationship.
you know sukuna cherishes you in his own special way. if he didn’t, you’d be dead long time ago. on top of that, he would not go out on a hunt for mangoes right after coming back home if he didn’t like you.
campus heartthrob and resident fuckboy GOJO SATORU shocks everyone by going exclusive with you
gojo satoru settling down was as unlikely as catching the hour hand of a clock moving.
notorious for being a lady's man , he had it all going for him. he was all bedroom eyes and cheesy smiles that can make anyone's knees go weak. he was full of loud laughter and nonchalant swagger.
like he didn't give a damn.
cigars for breakfast, skipping lunch to attend classes if he felt so, hard liquor with his frat boys and a different woman in his bed at night—for dinner of course.
he had the face, he had the body, he had the charisma. none could blame the poor souls who wanted a taste, even for just one night.
and satoru. oh. satoru was just a guy. who was he to turn away the beautiful ladies? he didn't chase after them, it was just his luck that they came to him first.
then he caught his first glimpse of you. at his party, looking so out of place that made his eyes zero in on you. not even a cup in your hands. looking so good that it made him want to do something bad.
so he slid up to your side with his usual confidence. started a conversation he could hardly care about. and ultimately, was shocked into silence when you hit him with a "sorry, that pea in your bed is going to bruise my back".
rejected him.
rejected him.
and thus began satoru's chase. the chase for your heart.
the local campus gossip forum ruminated , 'the heartthrob, gojo, has been caught getting rejected by unknown woman. the university has since, seen a rise in the number of women left unsatisfied as gojo's bedroom door has been closed for shocking reason. is a reform on the way? is exclusivity on the horizon? '
heads turned as the usually absent satoru was seen attending classes almost to the point of regularity.
gasps rang out when someone leaked a picture of him handing you flowers. red. roses.
so awfully cliche that you couldn't even blame your past self for the disgust on your face in the aforementioned leaked picture.
women raged when a video of him begging you while chasing after you on the sidewalk surfaced in the stories of satoru's frat bro's.
the man who was known for being as careless with his words as people are with their phones after a year, was suddenly mindful of his vocabulary.
when before, smirks and winks were handed out to the girls so easily—now they were reserved just for you it seemed.
and the crazy part of it all? you made him run. you made him grovel. you made him fix his failing grades. made him fix his fillipiant attitude.
and made him take 2 hiv tests.
made him give a damn.
but you couldn't change his cliché-ness. he was a sappy romantic. he snuck candy in your stationery, climbed up your window ledge and left flowers in your hair when you weren't paying attention to him.
he even started gifting you books which you had talked about in that first meeting. at the frat party. and that was when you caved in. not enough to let him in your bed. but enough to go out with him.
the frat boys tripped over themselves when they caught satoru in a white formal shirt and black slacks. a red rose in his pocket. the picture of a lover boy. the change was not sudden, he had been chasing after you for months . but it was shocking nonetheless.
and satoru. oh. satoru was in love. the goodness tasted way better on his tongue than cigar smoke. your perfume on his clothes smelled better than nightly sex.
and your hand in his made his heart race faster than any orgasm he had ever had.
he never imagined himself to be tamed by a woman. yet here he was. and he had no regrets.
not when people all around him gaped at your fingers scratching the hair at his nape.
not when his boys hollered at the tattoo of your name over his heart.
and certainly not when you finally let him in your bed.
he still had a long way to go though. to prove that he was there to stay. to prove that he was exclusive to you.
so as he lay stroking your back as you slept on his chest, he planned the perfect little outing to take you on the next day. (and ways to woo you so that you would invite him to your bed again)
especially when he’s got you pinned beneath him, buried so deep inside your tight, dripping cunt that you can barely think straight.
every brutal thrust has him dragging against every sensitive ridge inside you, slamming right into that spongy spot that makes your eyes roll back and your toes curl so hard they cramp.
his hips is snapping with that cocky, practiced rhythm, stretching you open around his thick cock like he owns every inch of your body.
the wet, filthy sound of him pounding into your soaked pussy fills the room, your juices coating his length and dripping down your ass with every deep stroke.
and he just can’t help himself.
the moment you start clenching and fluttering around him, moaning like a whore, that feral side of him takes over.
he leans down with a wicked grin, his eyes gleaming with pure mischief and hunger, and sinks his teeth into your skin very hard.
he bites down on the junction of your neck and shoulder, teeth digging in so sharply you yelp in pain, your whole body jerking violently beneath him.
“fuck- satoru!” you cry out, but he just moans like it’s the sweetest sound he’s ever heard.
he thinks you’re screaming because it feels that good.
“shit, baby… you’re so loud for me..” he groans against your bitten flesh, voice husky and dripping with arrogance.
his tongue laps over the fresh, throbbing mark before he bites down again, harder this time, right above your collarbone.
the sharp sting blooms into burning heat as he sucks hard, leaving a deep purple bruise while his cock keeps bullying that perfect spot inside you without mercy.
you scream again, a raw, broken sound that’s equal parts pain and overwhelming pleasure and it only makes him worse.
satoru chuckles darkly, the vibration traveling through your skin as he grinds his hips in slow, filthy circles, stirring his cock deep in your guts.
“yeah? right there, huh? keep screaming like that, sweetheart. you’re clenching so fucking tight every time i bite you… makes me think you love when i get rough.”
he shifts his angle, folding you nearly in half as he drives even deeper, another harsh bite lands on the swell of your breast, teeth grazing your nipple before clamping down.
the pain shoots straight to your core, making your pussy gush around him.
satoru’s lost in it, he pistons into you faster, harder, the headboard slamming against the wall as he chases his own high.
he bites your neck one more time, right as his fingers find your swollen clit, rubbing tight, mean circles.
the mix of pain and pleasure shoves you violently over the edge.
you shatter around him, screaming loud enough to make your throat raw as your walls spasm and flutter wildly.
satoru groans in satisfaction, hips stuttering as he fucks you through it, chasing his own release while still nibbling and sucking on your abused skin like he can’t get enough.
The large, gilded mirror in Zuko’s private chambers reflected everything.
Moonlight spilled across the room, but the only light that mattered was the warm glow of the candles and the way Zuko’s golden eyes burned as he held you. He had you on your knees in front of the mirror, your upper body pressed forward, chest nearly touching the cool floor while your ass stayed raised for him.
“Zuko—” you whimpered as he pushed back inside you from behind, slow and deep, stretching you open around his thick cock.
“Shh, I’ve got you,” he murmured playfully, voice low and rough with desire. His large, scarred hands slid over yours, fingers threading between yours and pinning them firmly to the floor on either side of your head. He used his weight to keep you deliciously trapped beneath him, completely at his mercy.
You could see everything in the mirror.
The way your face was flushed and desperate, lips parted, eyes glassy with pleasure. Zuko’s powerful body caged yours from behind, his broad shoulders and muscular back flexing with every thrust. His dark hair had fallen loose from its topknot, strands sticking to his sweat-dampened skin.
He leaned down, pressing his chest flush against your back, and kissed the side of your neck before sinking his teeth into the sensitive skin just below your ear. You moaned loudly, clenching around him.
“Look at yourself,” Zuko whispered hotly against your ear, voice sweet and filthy at the same time. “Look how pretty you look when I’m fucking you like this.”
He rocked his hips deeper, grinding against you, keeping you pinned with his body and his hands over yours. Every thrust pushed you forward slightly before he pulled you back onto his cock, controlling the pace completely.
“You feel so good,” he groaned, biting down on your shoulder again, then soothing the mark with his tongue. “So tight… so warm… You’re mine, aren’t you?”
You whimpered pathetically, unable to do anything but take him. The position had your legs spread wide, knees bent, while Zuko’s strong arms kept your upper body locked down and his hips did all the work. You could barely move — only tremble and moan beneath him.
In the mirror, you watched his face — the way his eyes darkened with lust every time your expression twisted in pleasure. He was drinking it in, savoring every little whimper, every flutter of your lashes, every time your mouth fell open in a silent cry.
“That’s it, love,” he praised softly, kissing the shell of your ear. “Let me hear those pretty sounds. I love when you fall apart for me.”
His thrusts grew a little faster, deeper, still controlled but more insistent. One of his hands stayed laced with yours, the other sliding slightly to grip your wrist as he nipped at your neck again.
The pleasure was building unbearably fast. Your thighs started shaking, pussy fluttering wildly around his thick cock with every deep stroke. “Zuko— I’m— I’m gonna—”
“That’s it,” he encouraged, voice strained with lust. “Cum for me, sweetheart. Let me see you fall apart in the mirror.”
Your orgasm crashed over you hard. You cried out his name, eyes locked on your own reflection as your face contorted in pleasure, mouth open in a broken moan. Your walls clenched rhythmically around him, squeezing his cock as waves of intense pleasure rolled through your body. Zuko groaned deeply, fucking you through every pulse and twitch of your orgasm.
“You’re so beautiful like this,” he whispered tenderly, even as he fucked you harder. “All flushed and needy… taking everything I give you. My perfect girl.”
You moaned his name brokenly, eyes locked on the mirror — on the sight of Zuko claiming you so completely, his body dominating yours while his voice stayed so sweet and loving in your ear.
He smiled against your skin, eyes never leaving your reflection.
“I could watch you like this forever.”
His pace suddenly became more desperate, hips snapping harder against your ass. “Fuck— you’re squeezing me so tight,” he growled, breath hot against your neck. “I’m close…”
With a few final, deep thrusts, Zuko buried himself to the hilt inside you. He came with a low, guttural groan, pressing his forehead against your shoulder as thick, hot spurts of cum flooded your pussy. You felt every pulse — the way his cock throbbed hard inside you, pumping rope after rope of warm seed deep into your womb. The sensation was overwhelming, making your belly feel full and warm.
Your eyes stayed glued to the mirror, unable to look away. You watched Zuko’s face contort in raw pleasure, his golden eyes fluttering half-shut, lips parted as he moaned your name. His muscular body tensed behind you, hips stuttering as he kept grinding slowly, pushing his cum even deeper. You could see the moment it started to leak out — thick, pearly white fluid dripping down your thighs from where his cock stretched you open.
A broken, shaky whimper escaped your lips. The sight of him filling you combined with the intense warmth spreading inside you pushed you into another smaller, trembling orgasm. Your walls fluttered and clenched around his pulsing cock, milking him for every last drop as you moaned helplessly.
“Zuko… oh gods—” you gasped, voice hoarse and wrecked. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment and arousal at how obscene you looked in the mirror — flushed, teary-eyed, and leaking his cum while he stayed buried deep inside you.
Zuko stayed buried inside you for a long moment, breathing heavily, placing soft kisses of the back of your neck while his hand gently stroked your side.
“Mine,” he whispered possessively, golden eyes still fixed on your joined bodies in the mirror. “All mine.”
I think one of the funniest abortion stances I've heard was from my parents neighbor. He's a like, hard-core libertarian viking larper guy who is very tall and very fat and very bald.
He believes a fetus is human with a soul, but also its "basically attacking the woman's body" so if she wants to get rid of it, that's "basically self-defense". He compared it to shooting a home invader. So he supports abortion not as healthcare, but as killing a baby in self-defense
Y'know I'm so glad someone reminded me of this. Because this was also discussed.
My stepmother did NOT like the way her Libertarian Viking Neighbor framed pregnancy as the fetus "attacking the woman". She incredulously told him this was extremely disrespectful to expectant mothers to portray pregnancy as so violent and negative.
Libertarian Viking Neighbor's response was that people consensually hurt each other all the time, and "there's like a whole community about that, with the acronym the one that starts with a B" And his reasoning was that if the mother was consenting to bring attacked by the baby, it in fact wasn't violent and negative because there was consent.
He brought up people consensually hurting each other, didn't go for one of the obvious answers like boxing or body mods or something, no he went STRAIGHT TO BDSM and he DIDN'T EVEN REMEMBER THE ACRONYM
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