after carrying your son around in your stomach for 9 months, and pushing through 8 hours of intense labour, you are now staring down at your beautiful baby boy with tired eyes.
he is beautiful, but he looks exactly like his father.
you huff. "he looks exactly like you"
"don't sound too excited" sukuna jokes, smoothing over yujis scarce pink hair.
you inspect the baby further, peering at his pink hair, the exact same shade as his daddy's, as well as the same skin tone and his little mouth laying perfectly flat along his face while he sleeps. your eyes follow his chubby arms and fingers and belly, baby fat almost promising that he will get as big and strong as his dad.
then you look up to his father, kuna's face resting in the same serious line while you watch him watching yuji. you reach up and cup sukuna's cheek. when his gaze meets yours you take in the details of his pretty eyes, his tattoos, and his markings below his eyes.
you snap your head back to yuji.
"kuna he even has your little markings" you whine, "he looks nothing like me... i pushed out your fatass baby and carried him for 9 months the least he could do is look a little like me.." you continued on.
sukuna holds back a laugh and smooths over your hair, "the next one will look exactly like you.. maybe a pretty little girl."
you grumble a little more but inevitably settle down and lay back onto the pillow. with yuji in your arms, and sukuna leaning over you both, carressing yujis face, you all sit there for a while.
yuji babbles a little in his sleep and cracks a little smile. "he must be dreaming" you softly mumble with a smile.
sukuna looks back and forth between you too. "he has your smile"
if you weren't so tired, you would've jumped for joy. "really?" you tuck yourself against sukunas chest, nuzzling him slightly.
The air in the chamber is suffocating. Reeking of spice, sweat, and the heavy, ozone scent of his cursed energy. He’s massive in his true form, a mountain of dark, tattooed muscle and four arms that make escape a physical impossibility. You’re draped across his lap like a silken ribbon, your legs hooked over two of his brawny thighs while the other two pin your wrists above your head.
"Look at that," he rumbles, the mouth on his stomach twitching with a wet, hungry heat. "My little doll, always so ready for me. Do you even remember how to close your legs, or have I ruined you that thoroughly?"
He doesn't wait for an answer. He’s a blunt force, a thick, terrifying heat that split you open hours ago and hasn't let up since. He slides his thick creamed-covered cock back in, a slow crawl that stretches you to the point of sobbing. It’s filthy. The sound of him pushing deep in your used up cunt. The wet, squelching friction—is the only thing breaking the silence of the shrine.
"You’re so tight," he hisses, a primary hand coming down to cup your jaw, his thumb bruising your cheek. "Like you’re trying to keep every drop of me for yourself. Greedy little thing."
He starts the rhythm again, a punishing, rhythmic thud that vibrates through the floorboards. But then, his other hands move. They don't strike; they roam. They trace the line of your ribs, the curve of your waist, almost... tender. A contrast to the way he’s absolutely wrecking you from the inside out. He leans down, his face burying into the crook of your neck, inhaling the scent of your terror and your heat.
"Shhh," he mumbles against your pulse, his voice dropping into something dangerously close to a caress. "Don’t cry. You were made for this. Made for me. You’re the only thing in this miserable world that doesn't break when I touch it."
He picks up the pace, his hips snapping forward with a guttural growl. The talk gets viler, words that should make you recoil but only make your little hole clench tighter around him. He tells you exactly how he’s going to fill you, how he wants you heavy and sluggish with his mark, unfit for anything but his bed.
Then the end comes with a roar that shakes the foundations. He lunges deep, pinning you against his chest as he floods you, a hot, ruinous tide that makes your vision go white. He doesn't pull out. He stays, four arms wrapping around you in a crushing, possessive cage, his forehead resting against yours.
"Mine," he pants, his eyes, all four of them, dark with a terrible, soft kind of hunger. "Sleep, little pet. I’ll be here when you wake up to do it all again."
ꮼ heian!sukuna fucking the sanctity of marriage into his pretty wife.
ᦸ he's big ⸝⸝ p in v ⸝⸝ cervix kissing ⸝⸝ rough sex ⸝⸝ creampie ⸝⸝ req ⸝⸝ not proof read ⸝⸝ art by hunnismokah
You knew you were fucked the moment you uttered "my lord" in the presence of your husband.
The unfortunate habit you'd carried into the marriage from the days of being one of Sukuna's many concubines—when the thought of him choosing to marry one was purely blasphemous.
One that you deeply regretted the moment your beloved husband dragged you back to your shared chambers, already grumbling about how he's talked about this before—many times.
Though that regret quickly subsided the moment that sweet sting of him sinking each thick inch of his length into you came.
"I've told you multiple times. It's—fuck—Sukuna, or Ryomen. No lord, master, or king of curses bullshit." He hissed out, a particularly mean thrust bringing his angry tip to prod against your cervix.
Ryomen's mouth buzzed against your throat—leaving biting kisses on your flesh as your cunt tightened perfectly around him, it felt like a pitiful attempt at milking him.
"M' sorry, baby, it won't happen again, I promise." You whined helplessly into his ear, very aware of the way your hips were bucking up against his with the cruel pace he maintained, "Was jus' an accident."
Your nails instinctively curled against the hardened muscles of his lower back as he gripped your hips, tugging them flush against his.
It took everything in him not to grin at your gasp—or the way your walls fluttered around him.
"Yeah, I'm sure; you've used the same excuse for months," he rasped, dragging his hips in a slow circle. "Remember it this time—" He paused, drawing his hips back with a glint in his eye. "—It's your husband fucking you like this."
Before you could even fully process his words, he was already setting a new ruthless pace, pistoning his cock in-and-out in a way that felt like your body was levitating rather than being pinned by him.
"C'mon pretty, who is it fucking you s'good?" He purred in your ear, nipping slowly at your earlobe.
"My—ngh—my husband?" You forced out, eyes fluttering at the familiar heat of your lower stomach coiling itself up, ready to give any second.
"There's my good girl. You got it right for once." He mused, pressing a single hot open-mouthed kiss to your shoulder. "Do you think you deserve a reward? Hmm?"
"Yes. Yes, I did good. I deserve a reward, Ryo." Your quick answer made his cruel thrusts slow enough to give you both more comprehensive pleasure.
"Oh? Baby wants her treat, huh? Well... who am I to say no?"
With one final, deep thrust, he came. Pouring deep in your thoroughly fucked-out cunt, white-hot pleasure ripping through you both, the mutual orgasms feeling heavenly.
it's kinda canon in the books that when bella and edward cuddle, a lot of the time it's him resting his head on her chest to listen to her heartbeat. i didn't really care about this detail before, but these days i've been thinking about how cute that is. i imagine that on rainy afternoons they chill together in her room, each of them reading a book - edward lying on his side, his left ear over bella's heart, feet dangling over the edge of the bed. her pulse is so strong in his ears that he feels like it's his own. it's a pleasant thing to feel. bella's on her back, cross-legged, holding her book right above herself with one hand and stroking edward's hair with the other, stopping only to turn the page every couple of minutes. edward repeatedly asks if she's even comfortable and she lies that she is. admittedly, her arm is straining but she enjoys feeling the weight of him, listening to his breathing, and he seems so serene right now. why ruin the moment because of a tiny bit of discomfort? the current chapter ended on a cliffhanger on top of that. she can't just stop reading right now.
at one point she gives up and props her paperback on edward's head. it makes him grin.
I just wanted to say your Wukula’s fic is awesome! I’ve been craving for more of Wukula content!
If it’s okay, what about Wukula with a Mangkwan reader, who’s a raider?
Thank you so much! And thank you for your request 🩶 Now... oh, boy... Wukula with a fellow Mangkwan raider as a mate? Unstoppable and absolutely unhinged:)
The Aranahe camp burns bright against the night, woven bridges snapping like breaking bones, Kinglor moths scattering in panicked spirals as Mangkwan warriors tear through everything.
You move like a blade through silk—fast, vicious, laughing manically as you cut down anyone foolish enough to stand between you and the spoils. Blood streaks your arms, your face, your thighs. It tastes like victory on your tongue when you lick it from the blade of your dagger.
Wukula is everywhere at once; roaring commands, breaking, and claiming. He snaps an Aranahe’s neck with one hand while his eyes find you across the flames. The look he gives you is feral, starving, and equal measures proud. You bare your teeth in answer, blood-smeared grin wide, and the heat between your legs flares hotter than any lava could.
The moment the last resistance crumbles, the raiding party erupts into celebration—drums pounding, stolen sap being passed in carved skull and bones, fellow clan already tangling in the shadows.
However, neither you nor Wukula join them.
Instead, you find each other at the edge of the burning camp, where the forest still fights the burning embers of defeat, and both of you are buzzing with the rush of adrenaline and bloodlust.
He grabs you first with a hand around your throat, and slams you back against the trunk of a half-charred tree. Your dagger clatters to the ground while his follows. No words. No need.
You snarl before his mouth crashes into yours—teeth clashing, tongues warring, tasting copper and smoke. You bite his lip hard enough to draw fresh blood. He growls in approval, shoves a thick thigh between yours, and grinds up until you’re riding the hard ridge of his muscle through your leather loincloth.
“Mine,” he snarls against your mouth, licking his blood from your teeth.
You claw at his shoulders, nails raking fresh welts over old scars. “Prove it.”
He spins you around so fast the world blurs and your face ends up pressed to rough bark, wrists pinned above your head in one massive hand. The other tears your leather skirt aside while he hisses like it personally offends him. Cool night air hits your slick, aching cunt while your back arches and your tail curls around one of his wrists; already dripping for your mate, thighs trembling from the fight and unbridled want.
Wukula doesn’t tease, never does.
Your kurus link naturally as he kicks your legs wider, strokes his throbbing cock twice before he notches himself at your entrance, and sinks into you in one thrust.
You moan at the familiar stretch—half pain, half ecstasy—as he fills you completely. Thick, ridged, stretching you to the edge of too much. Wukula doesn’t pause, doesn’t gentle. He fucks you like the raid still rages: hard, fast, merciless. Each snap of his hips drives you up onto your toes, bark scraping your cheek, perky breasts bouncing freely with every punishing stroke as he rips the strips of leather away.
You push back into him, meeting every thrust, snarling curses and pleas in the same breath. “Harder,” you hiss. “Break me.”
He answers with a murky chuckle, releases your wrists only to fist your queue, yanking your head back until your throat arches. His other hand grips your hip, fingers digging bruises you’ll wear like trophies while your tail flicks against his thigh in retaliation.
“You want broken?” he growls, pounding deeper, ridges dragging against every sensitive inch inside you. “I’ve already ruined this cunt so no other male ever satisfies you, oeyä txep. You are mine.”
And you can feel it deep in your soul through the mating bond you share; his burning devotion and possessiveness, the unrelenting hunger for you.
It’s enough to push you over and make you shatter around his cock, sudden and violent; velvety walls spasming tightly around him, saccharine slick gushing down your thighs in thin rivulets. The pleasure whites out your vision, and you scream his name into the night like a war cry.
Wukula follows seconds later—powerful hips stuttering before burying himself to the hilt as he floods you with hot, thick pulses. You feel every spurt, every twitch, the way he grinds in deep like he wants to brand you from the inside just like he has carved himself into your skin.
He stays inside you after, always ready for it to take; buff chest heaving against your back, his piercings biting into your flesh while his teeth graze your shoulder. One hand slides around to cup your still-twitching cunt, long fingers smearing your combined release across swollen folds.
“Again,” he rasps, already hardening fully once more. And you giggle hoarsely, blood and ash still heavy on your tongue. “Again,” you agree.
Behind you, the raiding party chants and drinks and fucks.
Here, under the smoke-choked stars, two mates keep celebrating by themselves, rutting like animals; obsessed, bonded and owned by each other.
cw: smut; violence; forced tsaheylu; loss of virginity; noncon
The raid ends in blood and smoke. Successful at last.
Your clan’s central fire still burns in the hunting camp away from your Hometree, but instead of celebration and laughter, the screams have faded to whimpers.
You kneel on the burnt moss, wrists bound behind your back with rough cord, hair torn loose from its braids. Warriors from the Mangkwan circle you like vultures—laughing, spitting, already arguing who gets first claim.
Then Wukula steps through the crowd.
Tall and broad even for Na’vi, limbs painted the color of obsidian, scars crisscrossing his chest like lightning, blood splatters of your kin clinging to his skin like accessoires. He carries no weapon now; he doesn’t need one. The others fall silent the moment his shadow falls over you.
He studies you slowly. Eyes trace the elegant line of your throat, the swell of your breasts beneath torn woven fabric, the curve of your hips, the defiant lift of your chin. You glare back—unbroken, even with ash streaking your face.
He crouches, his tail lashes. One massive hand grips your jaw, tilts your face up. His thumb drags across your lower lip, parting it slightly.
“Pretty thing,” he murmurs, voice rough like gravel underfoot. “Too pretty for the rotten wood you come from.”
You spit at his feet. He barks a laugh, eyes glinting with danger.
The other warriors shift, tails swaying and ears flicking with eagerness, but Wukula stands and turns to them.
“She’s mine.”
No discussion. No vote. The words are law.
However, someone protests; hisses and snarls, but Wukula’s hand moves faster than thought—grabs the young male by the throat, slams him to the ground, foot on his chest until ribs crack. The rest look away.
He hauls you up by the cord around your wrists, throws you over his shoulder like you weigh nothing, ignoring your defiant hiss. Your bound hands scrabble uselessly against his muscular back, and you curse him in every tongue you know while he merely chuckles, deep in his chest, the sound vibrating through your body.
His shelter sits at the far edge of the makeshift camp his fellow Mangkwan have set up—larger than the others, walls reinforced with blackened bone and iron stolen from sky people. Inside smells of smoke, blood, and him.
All of this while your own camp keeps burning and the raiding party celebrates. You pray to Eywa that someone managed to flee and is on their way to call for help at home.
Then Wukula drops you onto thick furs. You scramble to your knees, wrists still tied, glaring.
He kicks the entry flap shut. Removes his armor piece by piece—slow, deliberate—until he stands bare before you, lazily stroking his hardening cock.
Your face burns and you swiftly look away, ears flattening in silent submission and fear as he stalks closer.
You bare your teeth, but it looks more like a grimace. “I’ll kill you in your sleep.”
He grabs your queue and you yelp when he yanks your head back so you look up at him. “You can try,” he says, almost fond, like he admires your fire, “but first you’ll scream my name.”
He cuts the cord around your wrists with one slash of his dagger—then grabs your wrists again, pins them above your head with one hand.
“Say my name, kalintu,” he purrs roughly. “Say Wukula.”
Your jaw tightens as your nose scrunches up in a snarl before you hiss through clenched teeth: “Tsaheylu si ngeyä txìmhu.”
Wukula pauses at your insult, then snorts. His other hand tears your ruined top away with one harsh tug. Cool air hits your breasts; your nipples tighten instantly.
Your eyes widen, you gasp and squirm in his iron grip, and Wukula groans at the sight.
“Stop!” you whimper, but his head is already lowering to your chest.
He takes one dark peak into his mouth—sucks hard, sharp teeth grazing. You arch despite yourself, a choked sound escaping your throat. He switches to the other, hand sliding between your thighs to rub your cunt through your loincloth.
“Filthy little liar,” he growls against your skin as he feels you getting wet under rough fingertips. “Body tells the truth your mouth won’t.”
Two thick fingers push inside without warning, breaking you open for the very first time. You yip and whimper, hips jerking. He curls them, strokes a spot inside you that makes your thighs shake and your belly tighten, his thumb grinding your clit in rough circles.
“Look at you,” he taunts, pumping faster. “Soaking my hand already. You were made for this—made for me.”
You curse him again. He laughs, pulls his fingers free, and shoves them between your lips.
“Taste yourself. Taste how much you want this.”
You bite down hard. He hisses, but doesn’t pull away. His pupils blow as he leans in, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper: “Do that again and I fuck you dry, txepvi.”
Wukula flips you onto your stomach, yanks your hips up, and wraps your tail around his wrist to keep it from smacking him. Your face presses into leather that smells like old blood and soot while he spreads your thighs wide and notches himself at your entrance.
One brutal thrust.
You cry out louder; back arching more as pain and pleasure twist together. He fills you completely, throbbing ridges dragging against every sensitive inch inside you. He doesn’t wait—pulls back and slams in again, setting a punishing rhythm.
Each thrust forces a sound from you—sharp gasps, broken moans, helpless mewls. He fists your hair, changes the angle until he hits that one spongy spot over and over.
“Say my name,” he growls again. “Tell me who you belong to now.”
You bite your lip until it bleeds. He reaches beneath you, fingers finding your swollen clit again—pinching, rolling, and rubbing relentlessly.
“Say. It.”
He lets go of your tail to grab your kuru instead, connecting the pink tendrils with his own before you realize what is happening.
“Wukula—!” The word finally tears out of you on a sob as your world suddenly narrows down to him.
Wukula roars in triumph. His pace turns feral—deep, hard, claiming. You come suddenly, violently, walls clenching around him, slick gushing and coating his thighs while his wretched self connects with your soul, like a drop of poison into fresh water.
He follows seconds later—groaning shamelessly and burying himself to the hilt, flooding you with hot pulses of his seed, marking you inside and out.
And he stays inside you long after, chest heaving against your back, one arm banded around your waist.
“You’re mine now,” he rasps against your ear. “Claimed. Kept. Bred.” Each word is followed by a nip along your nape.
You tremble beneath him—body spent, mind reeling, but something fierce and alive sparking deep inside while your kurus stay connected.
You don’t answer. There is no need. He feels what you feel, and you do the same. His deep, dark chuckle vibrates against your back. Sated and satisfied.
The entire camp heard you scream his name.
And they already know—the Mangkwan have gained a new member.
ellievsbear
janainaart
gummygunk
kianamaiart
dailybridgerton
baratheonpilled
areudirty
turnnoffyourmind
snowghoul
jbbartram-illu
