#and final couch positioning

[xiaq]

It’s nearly done! And I’m a little beside myself.

[unproduciblesmackdown]

revisited some parts of deh i hadn't in a while via obc boots, mostly kicked off by audio of an aus tour show, & it's like now hang on lol reevaluating the whole of heidi's material / that arc like i have been too generous what in the....kind of worked backwards from good for you b/c for that song i've Been like sympathetic re: alana & jared's sections while like Shrug at heidi like i'm on evan's side there really. but the whole thing is like, sympathy for heidi's feelings aside, i'm on evan's side b/c like yeah heidi has feelings & insecurities too but it's not the same peer to peer like fellow unpopular couple of students as parent to child & i'm looking at it all like The Whole Thread is heidi's insecurities as A Mother & the demand is on evan all the time to not just Not cause her insecurity but also assuage ones that have nothing to do with him, e.g. what's he supposed to say about digs at his dad's wife

& like really going over that First Scene i.e. opening scene post evan's soliloquy i.e. anybody have a map it's like. sure only increasingly like Oh Boy when evan not being able to order pizza despite the online option is met with the "you Need to be able to order dinner for yourself" ft. that he should be "too old for this" (disability....grow up) (not a direct quote but rather yknow the "you're a senior in high school, evan" intro) & nothing about like, support or alternatives, certainly nothing about it being Okay that he couldn't. just that he Has to do this thing this way (why. or else what.) & also just the simple fact that evan has been honest about "something wrong with him" / something he did that he figures she wouldn't like & gotten this wholly negative response about that just being Unacceptable to hear, regardless of the "positive" pivot like you can do it re: school, just must not be Trying enough, just must be evan's own attitude or something else about him, the letters had better help....& all this revisiting inspired by beau woodbridge evan's delivery after heidi says the line about Her Not Wanting To Hear (framed about Her Feelings if evan were to Tell her about this) about evan having no friends, & like the delivery of "neither do i??" like a sort of nonplussed indignation that is a kind of "how do you think *i* feel about it??" like no yeah what about evan's feelings about him dealing with his problems here, the one not having dinner, not having friends, not Not having anxiety, etc. like obviously heidi like every person ever has feelings & problems too but it's that the parent's problems are supposed to be Made Up For by the child somehow, while evan's problems are framed as Being A Problem for his mom, how she feels about Knowing about it, try harder please okay evan....but cue, yknow, how she resents evan feeling any responsibility for Her Problems in gfy yknow not insofar as she's been embarrassed to tell him like "yeah money is a problem" when it's been about pushing him to get scholarships but rather when the murphys know (maybe just via evan implying they're Not Rich to zoe after zoe is like ah, to be poor....) that heidi will need Financial Support for college for evan & then heidi like i'm not That poor & to take money would be wrong (always the reminder heidi does not know everything re: evan & connor isn't true either)

which, that last part of her dinner at the murphys pre gfy was really this time hitting like ://// whew okay. all of it always grating lmao but like, "i don't want evan to get the idea etc" like ma'am he's sitting right here? he's seventeen? can't just Declare the ideas evan will or won't absorb even though like yeah also clearly it's about her pride as A Good Mom being wounded & just putting it on evan by expressing it that way like no i have to be A Good Mom via my example, is why i must decline....& like i'm sure it can all be softened depending on how heidi is played but still like, this is about her Full Story / Material, & just what is written lol like even if she was more [pensive emoji single tear] in delivery or something, vs watching the obc like full anger & contempt by this point & i'm like yeah this Shouldn't be familiar if the excuse of like "well heidi is messing up in this Special Occasion, an outlier" really went that far. or was actually out of line w/how she acts other times. or how this all resolves. but heidi storming out While lashing out at evan / blaming him like my god lmfaooo & like. speaking of "do you think the murphy parents did read between the lines & think evan & connor are secret gay high school lovers" like gee evan having no problem moving in to the murphy household, keeping secrets from his mom like his ostensible epic friendship w/connor, not talking aobut her or really trying on his own to involve her, being fairly alarmed when Surprise Dinner With Your Mom, heidi acting like That??? like "do you think the murphy parents read between the lines to think evan is abused by his parent" i mean like lol lmfaooo on both points like heternormativity? the normativity of abuse & parents Owning their child as well? in the murphy household? but you know. of course no deh is not supposed to be about that but i'm like, uh oh, whole time i was like "well my own perspective based on what i learned from personal experience & then learned About such experiences isn't that relevant at least to heidi b/c it's supposed to be that she's Not Like That at the end of the day" but i'm like is it in effect though lol, is it really that different In Essence if not also like "yep the way heidi acts is just directly familiar sometimes. maybe often. or always" difference in degree like. plus just that how often is whatever particular lens/perspective like Useless to apply

anyway & that fight in the leadup to gfy is wild & just like further illuminating re: how the whole time, from the first scene, it's like okay to heidi what's most important in her motivations is Her Insecurity about how anything about evan supposedly reflects on her being a mom, like. again that heidi has no idea everything about evan & connor isn't true & she's just going sicko mode at evan b/c the murphys Aren't His Family, yknow, She is, & that entitlement that's supposed to come with it, evan can't have these other adults acting Parently towards him re: money & housing & dinners & feeling fond of him or anything, all circumventing her status as His Mother....the whole "sorry i can't give you more than that, shit" "well it's not my fault other people can" like yeah sorry about your feelings heidi, yeah it's not "nice" of evan to say that but i'm not like yes evan must never even think things that aren't nice(tm) much less say them, that again like even if we sympathize w/heidi there b/c obviously yeah she'd be hurt & feel insecure. even if we suppose that was mean of evan. i'm like well yeah he's right. just setting aside the apparent universal desire for a life as closely approximating the brady bunch as possible, it's like hey yeah look evan's been getting dinners this way, re: him not ordering a pizza at the start of a show. turning out to be less important like "well at least you've been eating, good" than evan not doing so through the Proper efforts to Become Normal(tm) & of course that like. coming from another mom staying home making him food is unacceptable b/c she imagines this is supplanting her / making her the Bad Mom vs this Good Mom & then taking it out on evan to make her feel Good Enough(tm) like truly just the usual fallback refrain of "ohh sorry i'm not perfect / have feelings / have problems" which is true for everyone ever but yknow evan is the one having to Defend his feelings & problems & imperfections against the fallout of "failing" to be "responsible" for mitigating or fulfilling heidi's & she's the one who can break out "i'm your mother" whereas evan's less overtly declared "i'm your son" about her potentially failing Him is what gets met with more contempt & "ohh sorry i'm not perfect & have feelings & problems" & her starting off Good For You. great

& like the way All That illustrates, like the way evan getting dinner now through a different now available avenue is, to heidi, more about her own feelings than about [evan gets dinner now], like just that expanded to how it's not Okay that evan's problems seem to be getting better / he's getting more support / he's doing better or anything as soon as heidi becomes insecure about her not having the role she wants in it. the entire thread about her being bothered about evan not telling her things, lying about things, hiding things, like yeah evident that she Is worried about him but same as she's evidently worried about him in the first scene, when, again, we Did see him share something honestly with her & she was like "UGH evan jeez i Hate that you told me this" & then her input is to tell him to Get Good, yknow, must be his own failures, get on that. gosh why would he keep anything from her. & then yknow we have that line later on, evan like you don't know me & heidi like "i thought i did" (contempt again) & like the main issue of this not being like "oh no if i Don't know him or about his problems then i'm not supporting him like i thought i was / he's not getting the support Overall i thought he was" but rather like i can't believe evan is doing this to me / her insecurities & evan's "responsibility" for them, again, rather than yknow. evan's wellbeing regardless of her personal feelings? & we're ready for resolution after heidi inadvertently reads his diary to realize he was that sad & it's like. even if he wasn't That Sad like none of that response was okay. at any point lol like it's still the issue of her dynamic with him where evan is In Charge Of how heidi feels & that obviously she can act on this in the ways she can & what can evan do about anything but avoid her / not share things / idk indeed move in with this other family lol, sorry about the pretenses (also obviously like. murphy parents not doing that much better. certainly larry like, are you kidding? never changes his mind that all connor's problems were connor's fault & Failings & now his reaction to it is about facing any insecurity & Rejecting It as no i'm always right & just have to hold out forever. vs that zoe is also bearing the brunt of being Trapped In The Family(tm) but cynthia dares to be like "no, i feel like i failed my dead son" & "no, i don't feel someone 'has to be the bad guy' who tramples boundaries")

like speaking of boundaries. ppl having always pointed out "uh oh, heidi's not good with those" or the point like "in gfy heidi's also mad about the rejection by her ex-husband & just putting that over her fight w/evan" like not beating the [parent making their child the one in charge of them & their feelings & actions] allegations.......

& you know, the resolution like "ohh you were sadder than i knew" like okay Now that matters instead of heidi Just being insecure that he wasn't sharing this with her already, thus the important part being how that makes her feel like a bad mom vs like, how evan is actually doing & her actual role in this beyond what makes her feel best, personally? or that like oh i'm Not going to not be here, physically, in this house....like okay. but what about the actual dynamic you have while around him & you will always be around him, b/c like, has that changed from the start. how is heidi going to offer support re: evan Feeling Like This that's different from "you Need to order pizza and Need to get your cast signed, Just Do It" or that b/c she doesn't want to hear otherwise like well then of course evan won't tell her, or maybe a therapist if that's not confidential, or other people if it'll get back to his mom, or the internet if that'll get back to his mom which i guess it will. is evan gonna be not in charge of her feelings anymore. i'm just like yeah evan find yourself in college sure get outta there idk if you're even rude along the way. & obv shoot larry into the sun

[quitedisastrous]

i wish i could just do nothing for a few days straight. maybe even just sleep for a few days straight. sooo excited for constant misery over the next 20 days

ranting in the tags. i would just scroll past if i were you

[gregorygerwitz]

apparently I'm starting 2024 with Covid. this is the only time I've gotten it. and I hate it I'm so miserable.

[kurooh]

❤︎ LOVE POTIONS ! — MY HERO ACADEMIA

⊹₊˚. VALENTINE’S DAY 2025 — aphrodisiacs are both a curse and a blessing. / midoriya izuku, bakugo katsuki, todoroki shoto, kirishima eijirou, kaminari denki, & takami keigo.

warnings. 18+ content — mdni, fem! reader, aphrodisiacs / sex pollen, dirty talk, edging, brattiness, overstimulation, squirting, threesome, sickness but it’s sexy, breeding kink, unprotected sex.

xoxo, juno. everyone pretend it’s v-day 💘

MIDORIYA IZUKU.

⟡ getting hit by a villain’s quirk right before valentine’s day was not something you’d planned to do. somehow, the effects of the quirk end up being an early gift and also a curse.

fat tears race down izuku’s face, his hands grasping weakly at the sheets with each dizzying bounce of your ass onto his thighs. an hour has passed, spent in different positions around the house with less than five minute breaks in between—but no matter how many times you cum, the glowy pink ring around your irises doesn’t go away.

“too much, ‘s too much,” he slurs, words running into each other and becoming jumbled nonsense. “baby, i can’t, not anymore—shit! ‘m empty now, and it h-hurts so bad.”

“hurts?” you parrot disbelievingly, too deep under the spell to feel the burn in your thighs. “‘zuku, know what hurts?”

“no, i know,” he sobs, balls squeezing painfully as the familiar pressure returns to his cock. it’s familiar, but it’s not the same; there’s no cum involved, he’s been drained too dry to give you anything. “l-last time, please. i need a minute to, ngh, relax.”

it hurts. izuku’s cock is practically purple with overstimulation, but he’s too entranced to pull you off himself. when you’d arrived home, tugging at his belt and babbling about what had happened, izuku took a moment to consider if he had any notes on something like this.

villains with these types of quirks have always been rare, and it’s just his luck that one popped up before valentine’s day.

the couch groans from the combination of movement and weight on it, yawning with wear. izuku has never underestimated your strength or sex drive, but this . . you’re bouncy, and he’s wondering if the villain’s quirk enhanced your stamina too.

in a startling display of affection, you grab at his jaw and kiss away his tears, cooing sweet, sensual nothings into his ear. your voice is smooth when you tell him how good he’s doing, how sexy he looks when he’s whining so sweetly. just when he’s thinking it can’t get any better, you hit him where he’s weakest with a sultry murmur of want you to put a baby in me, izuku.

flustered, he can’t help but let out a squeal when you nip at his neck, kissing over previous bites and smatterings of freckles.

“do what you want with me,” he surrenders, verdant green eyes meeting your own. “hah, if that’s what you want, jus’ use me. fuck me, baby.”

BAKUGO KATSUKI.

⟡ you have the misfortune of tracking a villain with japan’s number one hero, the all too explosive dynamight. everything completely unravels during the confrontation, when katsuki’s rushing forward to deliver the final blow. the dastardly villain releases a thick, noxious smoke that fills the air with a sickening sweetness — despite all the coughing and hacking, he manages to subdue the villain until the police arrive, but you never make it back to the agency to regroup.

ridiculous, is all you can think as you’re being folded in half in the back of a company car that’s sneakily wedged in an alleyway. katsuki’s not-so-gentle teeth nip at the tender skin of your thighs, and he doesn’t think twice about the marks that are sure to show up by tomorrow.

“d-deeper, katsuki,” you writhe against the seats, too handsy for his liking. “please, it’s not deep eno—”

“shut it,” he grunts, scowling down at you. his usual expression doesn’t quite have the same effect it usually does, since it’s been mellowed out by the villain’s aphrodisiac like quirk. “don’t you dare tell me how to fuck, got it?”

a bratty huff escapes you, and you make a show of rolling your eyes at him, seemingly unimpressed. “i wouldn’t have to if you’d just do it right. oh, but who am i to judge the number one?”

a vein bulges from his forehead as he listens, crimson eyes seething silently while you continue to lay it on thick. “i guess dynamight can fuck however he wants, even if it’s subpar—”

in an instant, katsuki’s hand is on your throat and applying just enough pressure to force out a gasp from you. that teasing and talking back worked—now he’s really about to come undone, show you just how strong the number one pro can really be.

“can’t take that back now, can you? if you think you can insult me and order me around, oh,” katsuki grinds his teeth, pressing your knees into your chest without taking a moment to appreciate the pretty moan that leaves you. “fuck, you’ve got another thing coming. shut your mouth.”

“make me.”

he can’t seem to recall a time where he’s ever been this turned on—that aphrodisiac quirk’s got nothing on the way you talk to him, challenge him in a way that nobody has before.

katsuki draws his hips back, slow and deliberate in each movement. you were right, he wasn’t giving you his all; but now, he will, and he won’t stop until you eat your words. deeper? harder? faster? if that’s what you’re asking for, he’ll give it to you.

you watch breathlessly, mesmerized by the frustrated scrunch of his face, all because he can’t stop replaying your words in his head. a harsh slap to your clit snaps you out of your daze the moment it lands, stinging terribly.

“let’s work up to that, alright? you’re going to—”

“what if i don’t, katsuki?” you tip your chin up at him, looking down your nose at him. “then what?”

another slap, this time with a little more strength behind it. he disregards everything you just said, getting ready to give you an explosive orgasm you’ll have to work hard for.

“that’s what. now, let’s try that again—you’ll be good and count each slap, unless you want me to spank this slutty pussy raw,” satisfied by the responding clench of your cunt, he arches a brow and smirks. “your choice, brat.”

TODOROKI SHOTO.

⟡ with a new, unstable virus spreading rapidly through japan, scientists are racing to develop a cure. it seems to act like the standard flu, but it affects quirk users differently—shoto ends up with an unusual kind of fever.

“ah, ‘m cumming, sho,” cum squirts from your pussy like a waterfall, and everything’s so overwhelming that you unintentionally push his cock out. “good, ‘s so fucking good.”

sweat coats his face, clinging to the rough scar on shoto’s left side. panting, he sucks in a breath, grasping around for his swollen cock.

“i’m sorry,” his voice cracks once his tip slides through your sticky folds and makes your back jolt off the bed, “it’s just—shit, it’s not enough.”

“a-again? i, hah, don’t know if that’s a good—”

shoto shakes his head, shivering as a thin layer of frost appears on his right cheek; it sparkles brilliantly before melting into droplets of water that drip from his jaw. “i’m still burning up,” it’s completely out of bounds, but the low rasp of his sickly voice scratches an itch in your brain. “see, lovey? can’t even use my quirk to fix it.”

a sigh escapes you, and you spread your trembly thighs one more time. “i might be too tired to drive you to the hospital after this,” you warn.

“i know, but baby,” gratefully, shoto pushes forward, burying his cock to the hilt inside you. his warm hand settles on your lower belly to add some pressure, gearing you up for another explosive orgasm. “i don’t wanna be like this when we go to the hospital.”

he flushes darkly with embarrassment, and the mental image of a tortured shoto rutting into a hospital bed as waves of the fever’s severe effects overwhelm him is enough to make you soften.

once he starts to thrust, developing a rhythm that would put your own fingers to shame, his mouth drops open and he’s babbling incoherently. “ . . always so fucking hot around you, baby. i-it’s not my fault you’re so—haa, shit—so perfect, making me burn up whenever you’re not looking.”

and because being this deep inside you is as close as he can get to heaven, shoto sees no reason to hold back on the honest praise. he’s always been a little shy to express himself during sex, mouth drying up whenever he tries to say something rather dirty, but not now. since his brain is being fried by the heat at the moment, he won’t feel any embarrassment.

“sho, right there,” a breath is punched out of your lungs, and your nails scratch at his shoulders each time his tip kisses your sweet spot. “oh god, ‘m gonna make a mess again!”

his cock twitches and he moans your name, only egging you on. “can’t wait to taste it, darling.”

you fall off the edge, his words serving as the final push. euphoria curls through you, cresting like a wave until the sensitivity becomes too much, bringing you back to earth. abs clenching, shoto pulls out to cover your stomach in white.

in an instant, shoto’s temperature drops. quietly, he shivers against you, huffing into your neck.

“i want to stay like this before we leave.”

“you’ve got ice forming rapidly on your back, sho.”

“it’ll melt if i’m cuddling with you . . could you also rub my back? maybe i just need to sleep it off.”

KIRISHIMA EIJIROU.

⟡ eijirou listened to you specifically tell him NOT to eat the wrapped cookies you had in the fridge and when you left, he did exactly that.

“babe, baby, you feel so good,” cum races down his fingers in creamy rivulets, puddling at the base of his cock. caught up in his fantasy, eijirou flicks his wrist faster, hoping with all his heart to imitate the hot squeeze of your cunt. “s-so pretty when you take me, always so fuckin’ beautiful.”

his voice cracks just as the door opens, and your purse falls to the floor. your boyfriend is spread out on the bed, flushed feverishly and gasping out your name like he’s delirious—it would be the perfect scene to come home to if you didn’t spot two torn cookie wrappers near him.

“eijirou,” you speak his name lowly, catching his eyes and raising a brow. he’s not sure if he should feel awkward or turned on because of your scolding tone, so he just swallows dryly and looks toward you with hooded eyes. “already forgot the speech i gave you? why’d you eat the cookies?”

shame creeps up his neck and makes his skin prickle uncomfortably. grasping for a response, eijirou decides to question you right back. “why’d you have sex cookies in the fridge?”

“they were a surprise for valentine’s!”

oh.

now he really feels dumb for spoiling your plans. perhaps if he hadn’t been so hungry, so greedy, he wouldn’t be embarrassed under your scrutinizing gaze.

but the feeling doesn’t last long—your tough face drops into something more sultry: doe eyes and an upturned quirk of your lips that’s sure to finish him.

the mattress sinks under your weight, and you scoot beside him with a self satisfied smile. it’s small and quiet, but a voice in the back of his head tells him maybe you wanted this to happen; you certainly don’t look too upset about it.

“no way, baby,” a hiss escapes him when you slap his cum-stained hand away from his cock, instead choosing to replace them with your own. “am i dreaming? mrs. red riot, are you—”

his narration throws you off, and you choke just kissing his tip. you know eijirou’s surprised and eternally grateful, but damn. “mr. red riot, you’d be quiet if you wanted me to.”

“sorry,” he says earnestly, tensing up to hide the fact that he’s shaking like a leaf when you finally take him in your mouth. “i’ve just—” he inhales sharply as you slowly, torturously take him inch by inch. “i’ve been waiting s-so long for you to come home, babe.”

you swallow, throat squeezing tight around his cock, and eijirou’s clean hand flies to the back of your head, hovering precariously. “i’m crazy about you, all day every day, and the cookies made it worse. ‘m sorry for spoiling the surprise, i didn’t mean to—haa, w-what’re you doing to me? oh, you’re gonna make me—”

it doesn’t take long for obscene slurps and occasional gags to fill the room as you suck eijirou’s cock, spoiling him with each languid bob of your head. it’s too much, and the tension grows thicker in his gut, setting his insides ablaze with anticipation.

he’s hurtling toward his high, jerking his hips up and shamelessly preparing to fill up your throat this quickly—but then, you push yourself off of him. a shudder ripples through his body, and he throws you a pained, wide eyed look.

“why’d you..? baby?”

you motion for him to lay on his back, and he can see the gears in your head turning behind a wicked smile. “might as well draw it out, hm?”

“you’re gonna milk me?”

he’s so cute . .

you want to see him crying.

you hum, “only until you’re begging for me to stop.”

KAMINARI DENKI, ft. SERO HANTA

⟡ an undercover sting at a mysterious village with your work partners doesn’t go as smoothly as planned. the village, out in the far country, has been reported as the one place with the highest levels of quirk activity in japan. little did you know about the fact that this place is home to infectious pollen that makes its way into people via the air, or about its temporary effects on people . .

“what the fuck,” you moan, vision blurry between their faces and intermittent flashes of light. “there’s no way it’s from a plant, it can’t be—”

hanta’s tongue darts out to lick the salt away from his upper lip, and he points a finger toward a passage in the encyclopedia. “the symptoms are, ngh, the same.”

one of your hands works denki’s cock while the other shakily flips through an encyclopedia of germs and the like; hanta’s buried to the hilt inside of you, tan cheeks flushed with exertion.

“can’t you just read after?” denki unhelpfully suggests, blinking back a few tears while sparks of electricity fly off from his blond hair. “let’s just fix—yeah, baby, jus’ like that—fix the problem now and figure it out later.”

“shut it, denks,” hanta rolls his eyes, rocking his hips into you. despite the fact that the three of you are totally naked and in the middle of some kind of threesome, you’re researching what apparently caused this surge of uncontrollable arousal.

things began not long after you arrived in the village, where everything had looked unsuspecting and normal. surely there was a villain lurking around somewhere . . ? why else would there be so much unusual activity, enough to alert the authorities?

“look, they f-found something similar in america,” hanta’s voice wavers uncharacteristically, his own high racing through him with such intensity he doubles over.

“forget about the book,” denki’s begging while pressing dazed kisses to your tits, one hand tossing the book aside and slipping between your trembling thighs. “c’mon, babe. show us what you look like when you cum.”

perhaps this is something to be selfish about — when will an opportunity to fuck your hot coworkers come around again? hanta’s everything you’ve been daydreaming about, with a muscular physique sharp enough to have been cut from stone. denki’s just as attractive, though his features are softer, the result of his constant snacking while on the job or in the agency.

hanta nods in assent, already trailing over the edge. “want you to gush all over me, baby.”

thrashing under denki’s fingers, it momentarily occurs to you that maybe they’re a little too experienced. neither of them were concerned with a threesome when it was suggested, and there’s no mistakes in their almost synchronized movements.

just watching your eyes flutter and roll back is enough to make denki cum with a moan of your name as his cock sprays white. hanta’s pupils probably dilate a hundred times their size at the erotic sight, and his hips begin to stutter as heat races up his spine.

denki, shaking profusely, musters his voice and maintains his hurried pace. “g-good girl, go on ‘n let it out.”

since stepping foot into the village and inhaling that damn pollen, the pro hero’s been getting realistic flashes of thoughts he’s kept locked away for some time. you, on your knees, looking up at him like you’re ready to do more than just please. you, with your pretty eyes full of tears as you lose your mind beneath him.

an orgasm stronger than the lustful effects of any aphrodisiac tears through you, and your cunt bears down so hard it forces out hanta’s own high as well. with all his might, he tries to resist the surge of weakness that hits him and fails—he collapses on top of you, hugging you closely and burying his face in your neck.

loosely, your jaw hangs open and breathy gasps leave your mouth. denki’s sparking with electricity beside you and simultaneously struggling to get it under control. a single yellow spark flies off his body and mildly electrocutes hanta, snapping him back to reality. he jerks against you, sounding exhausted.

“uh. so, um, what’re we supposed to report when we get back?”

TAKAMI KEIGO.

⟡ bless his heart. for valentine’s, he decides to be a silk heart-shaped box of japan’s most expensive chocolate for you. he’d been so focused on finding your favorite flavors along with new ones that he didn’t even realize that he’d purchased sex chocolate.

“it hurts, dovey. it’s s-so painful.”

since sharing the box of chocolates with you, keigo’s been reduced to a pathetic mess who can’t seem to stop shaking when you just barely touch him. vermilion feathers puff up and out at his back, his messy wings conveying the way he’s crumbling inside.

you’re just as hot, skin crawling with a lustful itch only keigo can scratch for you. the frenetic beating of his wings whips up cold gusts of wind stronger than any ceiling fan, and not a single goosebump rises on your skin.

“right there, kei,” you moan, tears gathering in your eyes as he continuously hits your sweet spot. “oh my god, don’t stop.”

as if he’d ever plan to.

he hiccups, face flushed and hair tousled like he’s just returned from some mission out in the wild. softly, with the barest note of urgency, keigo whines out your name and a request.

“dovey, c’mon,” his voice cracks halfway through his sentence, shattered with unmistakable pleasure. “just tell me what you want, and i’ll, ah, i’ll fuckin’ give it to you.”

keigo’s entire body thrums with the need, the purpose, to please you, and his own pleasure hinges on you and your praise. sure enough, you cry out to him, words saccharine and addicting.

“make me cum, kei,” and he doesn’t need any further instruction, not when he knows your body this well. smooth fingers slip between your thighs and work your clit, causing your back to arch when he applies just enough pressure to send electricity through your nerves.

you’re wrapping around keigo’s waist, drawing him in and breaking down his self control easily.

“want me to fill up this pussy, baby? i can do it again and again—” he punctuates his words with harsh thrusts that amplify the clap of skin against skin almost as much as a quirk could, “while you take it like you were made to.”

quaking beneath him, you nod frantically, as if those are the words you’ve been waiting to hear. while he was so vividly illustrating the scene, his wings unconsciously began to wrap around your bodies, a sign of how much he wants it too.

you gasp, eyes squeezing shut with the last image being keigo’s face, twisted in ecstasy and scrunched with concentration. “gonna—‘m gonna cum, kei!”

“with me, dovey, please,” sweat pours down the sides of his face as the heated bliss tightens in his gut, applying an unbearable pressure to his cock. “let me feel you cum around me, ughhh.”

sloppily, keigo presses open mouthed kisses to your lips, and a delighted moan escapes him when you kiss back. your lips are soft against his, and your tongue carries the sweet taste of valentine’s chocolates, the expensive ones he’d come home with earlier.

with his orgasm creeping up on him and dulling his surroundings, a brief thought occurs to him about those chocolates. the sales lady had raised a brow when he filled up the customizable box with many pink chocolates that had been sitting in a case separate from the rest.. no, that can’t be right. surely this is the common valentine’s day effect on couples—it can’t be from the chocolate, can it?

[holeforzenin]

ִ ˖ ࣪⭑ OLDER BF TOJI TOUCHING AND TEASING HIS SHY GF :(

Tw- just Toji being a perv :p (not proofread)

You’re comfortably seated on his lap, and the only thing currently on your mind is to peacefully continue watching the shitty comedy movie you chose about twenty minutes ago since it was movie night and you always looked forward to it but it's getting awfully difficult to even concentrate when his large hands are roaming every curve of your body in existence.

His fingertips gently glide over the supple skin beneath the hem of your tank top, while his other hand is shamelessly groping at the soft flesh of your breasts with unbridled desire like you’re some piece of meat that’s on display for him to grab and touch whenever he feels like it.

He's planting little kisses into the crook of your neck and occasionally mumbling how much he loves you and telling you how sweet you smell and all you can do is slightly arch your back and squirm under his touch because you don’t know what else to do :(

You can feel the heat igniting between your core as your tummy flutters with Toji’s every move. At this point you just want him to pull his thick cock out from his sweatpants and fuck you face down till you're drooling all over his couch but you’re way too shy and flustered to ever admit something like that.

You hated how unbelievably fast he could easily get you all riled up and horny for him and he knew it.

Most of the time Toji is the one to take the lead when it comes to initiating sex unless he's randomly waking up in the middle of the night with his twitching, wet cock nestled all the way inside of you while you’re sitting on top of him because you think it’s less embarrassing when you do it while he’s sleeping.

But now you’re so eager and your cunt is aching to be filled with Toji’s girth. You love it when his cock is stuffing the little gape in your cunt, it makes you feel so full of him but yet you still can’t get enough. You whined softly when you felt him hooking his fingers into the waistband of your pajama shorts— thinking that you’re finally about to get what you’ve been longing for.

But no.

He rested his hand on the curve of your pelvis before slowly tracing a long, tantalizing stripe along the sensitive skin of your neck with his warm, moist tongue and lifting his head to gaze at your flustered face.

“Aww, What’s wrong baby?”, he teased with a taunting smirk when he saw the cute little disappointing pout visible on your face. He was such an expert at getting on your nerves and annoying you with how much he teased you that sometimes, you just wanna punch him in the chest but even that would probably just make him laugh at you even more because of how adorable you look when you’re trying to act tough.

“Toji.. you know what” you murmured softly, your words almost lost in the quiet of the room, as you gently adjusted your position on his lap, moving to sit more comfortably on his big clothed erection that's poking out through the crotch of his sweatpants instead of just his thighs.

He chuckled at your eagerness, his warm breath tickling your ear. “Hmmm I don’t think so baby, why don’t you tell dear old Toji?”. The hand that was squeezing your boobs, now firmly gripping your hips, his calloused fingers digging into your soft skin. “Y’know I'm getting older and dumber as the days go by”.

“I n-need you” you whined softly, feeling vulnerable as you shifted your gaze downward to avoid meeting his piercing green eyes, heart pounding in your chest because you knew his penetrating stare lingered over your shoulders.

“Yeah? You need me? Where do you need me, sweetheart?”. He playfully inquired. You can feel the big pool of slick damping your panties as you feverishly bite your glossy lips. You can feel the throbbing bump of Toji directly under your needy core and you can’t stop thinking about it finally being buried deep inside the deep depths of pussy to the point where his jabby tip is resting at the entrance of your womb, he’s all you want at this point.

“Need you inside of me, Toji” you finally blurted out as rested your head on his strong shoulders in disbelief that you actually said that out loud. Toji couldn’t help but smirk before moving his fingers that were touching your pelvis deeper into your underwear till he could feel the puddle of sticky wetness soaking through the cotton. “Fuck, you’re so wet, didn't know you were such a needy slut like this”.

He rests his middle finger at the entrance of your yearning hole, feeling the tantalizing sensation of more slick trickling out, almost making him want to stuff his face into your delicious pussy and taste you but that’s for another time. “is this where you want me baby?”. He asked before planting a kiss on your earlobe. “In here?” He lightly probes at your dripping hole as you grab onto his meaty forearm.

“Y-yes— Toji”

“You want me to split your pussy open around my dick?” You whimpered at his sudden vulgar bluntness as you eagerly nodded your head like some stupid slut.

“God… you're so dirty, baby” he chuckled in a mocking tone like he was trying to embarrass you as if he's not just as eager to stuff his painfully hard and throbbing dick in your warm hole and feel the creamy mess you'd decorate his shaft with slowly tainting his cock.

[solxamber]

You Try to Sleep on the Couch after an Argument with: Housewardens

Other Parts: Vice-Housewardens; First Years ; Cater, Floyd, Silver, Rollo

Riddle Rosehearts

The house was quiet, save for the occasional creak of wood and the rustle of fabric as you flopped onto the couch with all the grace of a cat forcibly denied its favorite sunny spot.

The argument still hung in the air, an unspoken tension that neither you nor Riddle were willing to breach—at least not yet. He wasn’t wrong, not entirely, but he wasn’t right either. The impasse was as thick as the silence between you.

Determined to make a statement, you yanked the blanket off the couch arm and cocooned yourself in it, defiantly turning your back to the door. No way were you crawling back to bed tonight. Your pride wouldn’t let you. Let him stew in his perfectly fluffed, oversized bed.

Meanwhile, in his room, Riddle’s impeccable composure was fraying at the edges. He lay stiff as a board under his duvet, staring at the ceiling like it held the answers to all his mistakes. His pillows seemed unusually hard, the blankets too suffocating, and no matter how he adjusted, something felt... wrong.

It didn’t take him long to figure out the culprit: you weren’t there.

He groaned softly into the darkness. Guilt clawed at his insides, sharp and relentless, each tick of the clock making it harder to bear. He’d handled things poorly—he could admit that, now that the heat of the argument had ebbed. And worse, he couldn’t bear the thought of you being upset, out there on the couch, all because of his stubbornness.

With a heavy sigh and an even heavier heart, he threw off his blanket and shuffled into the living room. His breath caught when he saw you.

There you were, fast asleep, your cheek smushed against the arm of the couch, one arm dangling off the side. The sight was far too adorable for the emotional train wreck he’d become. His guilt doubled.

Riddle knelt by the couch quietly, determined not to wake you. But as he crouched there, the exhaustion hit him—of the argument, the guilt, the restless tossing and turning. Maybe just sitting here would suffice. He wouldn’t disturb you.

A few minutes turned into an hour. Before he knew it, he’d slumped sideways against the couch, head lolling onto his arms, fast asleep in what had to be the most uncomfortable position imaginable.

When you stirred awake, the morning light was peeking through the curtains. Groggily, you rubbed your eyes, the previous night’s anger feeling like a distant shadow. That was when you noticed him—his normally pristine figure curled up on the floor, head resting uncomfortably close to your dangling hand.

Your chest ached at the sight. The idiot. The sweet, guilty idiot.

You reached out, brushing your fingers lightly against his hair. “Riddle,” you whispered. “Hey… wake up.”

He stirred, blinking up at you with sleep-clouded eyes, disoriented but instantly softening when he saw your face. Without a word, he shifted closer, arms wrapping around your middle as he buried his face against your stomach.

“Don’t go,” he mumbles, voice thick and quiet.

You freeze but quickly recover, leaning into his embrace. “I wasn’t going anywhere.”

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, voice muffled by your blanket. “I didn’t mean for it to get so out of hand.”

Your throat tightened, and you found yourself carding your fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry too,” you whispered. “Let’s not fight like that again.”

For a moment, the two of you just stayed like that, wrapped up in quiet forgiveness. When he finally looked up at you, there was a hesitant, hopeful smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Will you come back to bed now?” he asked softly.

“Only if you promise to use it too. No more couch-floor accommodations,” you teased, pinching his cheek lightly.

“Deal,” he murmured, and together, you made your way back—closer than before, warmth filling the space where anger once was.

Leona Kingscholar

The argument had been sharp, biting, and the kind of fight where you both refused to back down. Storming out of the bedroom felt dramatic enough to match the vibe, so you grabbed a blanket, stomped to the living room, and threw yourself onto the couch with the weight of your indignation. “Fine,” you muttered into the cushions. “Let him have the stupid bed. I don’t care.”

And at the time, you didn't. You were replaying his snarky remarks and cursing his stubborn attitude. But the couch was lumpy, the blanket too short, and sleep came grudgingly after what felt like hours of stewing.

When you finally woke, disoriented and achy, something felt...off. For starters, you weren’t on the couch anymore. You were in the bed, wrapped snugly in the comforter that still carried Leona’s scent.

Blinking against the sunlight, you sat up, confusion clouding your thoughts. At the foot of the bed was the blanket you’d dragged out last night, now neatly folded like some taunting symbol of Leona’s existence.

And Leona himself? Missing.

You slid out of bed and wandered to the living room, where the answer to your mystery lay sprawled across the couch. The sight of him, however, made your irritation waver.

Leona was far too large for the couch. His long legs hung over the edge at weird angles, and one arm was slung over his face to block the light filtering through the curtains. He looked wildly uncomfortable, but his usual arrogance softened in sleep, his face peaceful and unguarded.

It didn’t take a genius to piece it together. He must have carried you to bed sometime in the night, only to exile himself to the lumpy couch. The guy could be maddeningly stubborn, but this... this unexpected gesture had you torn between wanting to yell at him or simply kissing him awake.

Ultimately, you decided to settle for the middle ground.

Crouching next to the couch, you reached out and brushed the stray strands of hair from his face. Before you could withdraw, one eye cracked open, and a lazy grin spread across his lips.

“Caught ya,” he drawled, voice rough from sleep.

You raised an eyebrow. “You moved me to the bed, didn’t you?”

He huffed, clearly uninterested in owning up to the sentimentality of it. “Couldn’t leave you out there whining in your sleep.”

“I wasn’t whining!” you protested, even though your cheeks were burning.

“Sure you weren’t,” he replied smoothly, grabbing your wrist before you could retreat. With a sharp tug, he pulled you down, practically pinning you against him. “Don’t see the big deal. You’re mine, aren’t ya? ‘Course I’m gonna take care of you.”

The casual way he said it didn’t make it any less sincere.

You sighed, melting into his warmth despite yourself. “I hate how sweet you can be when I’m trying to stay mad at you.”

His smirk widened, and he tucked you closer, burying his face in your hair. “Didn’t mean to piss you off,” he murmured against your temple. “But you’re not leaving this couch till we make up. Deal?”

You rolled your eyes, but your voice softened. “Deal.”

As the tension melted away and his arms tightened around you, the couch didn’t seem quite so lumpy anymore. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad place to be.

Azul Ashengrotto

The argument had been tense, the kind where you both said things you probably shouldn’t have. Frustrated and too stubborn to stay in the same space as Azul, you grabbed a pillow and marched out to the couch. He’d barely tried to stop you, his pride seemingly keeping him rooted in the bedroom.

But pride was a fickle thing, and now you were left trying to fall asleep on the stiff cushions. Every creak of the floorboards made you feel a little guilty, knowing exactly who it was.

You didn’t even need to look; you could feel Azul’s presence lingering in the doorway, his usual composure clearly absent. The sound of shuffling footsteps returned to the bedroom, and you thought maybe he’d finally leave you alone—only to hear those same footsteps inch closer again a minute later.

"Azul, I know you're there," you muttered, cracking an eye open and turning toward the doorway. Sure enough, there he was, peeking out. His glasses caught the faint glow of the hallway light, and he immediately froze like he’d been caught stealing treasure.

“I-I wasn’t...” he started, before trailing off, clearly scrambling for an excuse.

You sighed and sat up, your frustration ebbing in the face of how uncharacteristically sheepish he looked. This was Azul Ashengrotto, the calculating businessman who could sell ice to Yetis—and yet he couldn’t even apologize without peering at you like a child who’d been scolded.

“If you’re just going to lurk there all night, we’re both going to lose sleep,” you said, finally beckoning him over with a wave.

Azul hesitated for a fraction of a second before his composure cracked, and he shuffled toward the couch. “I didn’t mean for things to escalate...” he started, sitting next to you, his head ducked low, voice soft.

You smirked despite yourself. “You’re cute when you’re embarrassed, you know that?”

He bristled, his dignity rallying as he cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses. “I am not—”

“You’re very cute,” you interrupted, and the smallest flicker of a pout crossed his lips.

Azul looked away, a hint of color dusting his pale cheeks. “You’re the worst.”

“And you still love me,” you countered, pulling him down beside you. “Truce?”

He glanced at you, the beginnings of a smile tugging at his lips. “Truce.”

Apologies came in murmured exchanges after that, both of you acknowledging where you’d gone wrong. You knew you’d both let pride get in the way—typical for two people as headstrong as yourselves.

Eventually, Azul’s head rested on your shoulder, his warm weight grounding you. You leaned back against the couch, and despite its discomfort, it felt perfect with him there.

“You know,” you whispered, running a hand gently through his hair, “for a guy who’s made half of Twisted Wonderland sign contracts, you really can’t stand your ground for the life of you.”

Azul huffed, turning his face into your shoulder to hide. “Do you want me to apologize again?”

You chuckled, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Nope. I think I’ll just enjoy this.”

And with that, the two of you finally let the tension of the argument melt away, falling asleep together on the couch in an imperfect, perfectly “you and Azul” sort of peace.

Kalim Al-Asim

The argument had been uncharacteristically heated—rare for someone as sunny and easygoing as Kalim—but even he had limits, and so did you. When your stubborn streak flared, it ended with you grabbing a blanket and storming off to the couch.

“No, Kalim, I’m fine. You sleep in the bed, I’ll sleep here,” you snapped, cutting off his attempts to follow you. His face fell, but for once, he didn’t argue, retreating to the bedroom with a defeated slump of his shoulders.

You burrowed into the couch cushions, determined to stay mad, but as sleep started to claim you, the anger dulled into annoyance. It didn’t matter. He started it, you thought stubbornly, clutching the blanket tighter.

A soft rustle of fabric woke you, tugging you from the edges of sleep. Blinking groggily, you turned your head to see Kalim crouched beside the couch, carefully tucking another blanket over you. He had his tongue poking out slightly in concentration, his touch so gentle that it was clear he didn’t want to wake you.

“What are you doing?” you mumbled, voice hoarse with sleep.

Kalim flinched, looking at you like a startled puppy caught raiding the kitchen. “Oh, I—uh—I just thought you might be cold, so I…”

He trailed off, clearly expecting you to brush him off again. Instead, you sighed, your irritation melting as you realized just how ridiculous he looked, trying to coddle you even while you were angry at him.

“Come here,” you said, sitting up and pulling the blanket back a bit.

“What? No, I don’t want to—”

“Kalim.”

His protest crumbled immediately, and he slid onto the couch beside you, tucking his legs up awkwardly. You wrapped the blanket over both of you, and after a moment of stunned hesitation, Kalim relaxed into the embrace, resting his head against your shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his voice small and earnest. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

You sighed, tilting your head to rest on his. “I’m sorry too. I overreacted.”

He perked up slightly at that, his usual cheer trying to peek through. “So… does this mean you won’t sleep out here alone again?”

“You’re lucky I’m even letting you under this blanket, Asim,” you teased, though your smile softened the words.

Kalim beamed, his arms wrapping snugly around your middle. “I knew you couldn’t stay mad at me forever!”

You rolled your eyes fondly, leaning back into the cushions. The couch wasn’t exactly built for two people, but the warmth of his presence made it easy to ignore. Slowly, you both drifted to sleep, Kalim murmuring sweet nothings even as his breaths evened out.

Maybe next time, you thought sleepily, you’d just let him win.

“You can have your perfectly fluffed pillows and skincare routine in peace,” you muttered, tucking yourself in with a spiteful sense of triumph.

Vil Schoenheit

The argument left both of you simmering in silence, which for Vil was a rarity. Instead of his usual icy composure, he seemed genuinely rattled. You, however, weren’t in the mood to care. Grabbing a blanket with theatrical flair, you stomped to the couch.

Once comfortably cocooned, you scrolled on your phone, trying to drown out the lingering annoyance. That’s when you heard it—sharp, purposeful footsteps marching toward you.

Before you could react, Vil appeared like a vengeful storm god, looking every bit as flawless as a deity would while furious. With a huff that could make kingdoms tremble, he reached for your arm and began dragging you back to the bedroom.

“Vil, what are you—let me go! I’m fine out here!” you protested, but his grip was firm, his annoyance palpable.

Once you were unceremoniously deposited by the bed, he turned to you, pointing at your neatly made side. “You are sleeping there,” he declared.

You folded your arms. “I’m sleeping on the couch. Deal with it.”

He tilted his head, his expression a dangerous blend of frustration and disbelief. “Absolutely not. You’ve ruined my entire evening, and now you expect me to suffer further by sleeping alone?”

“Ruined? Seriously?” you shot back.

“Yes! I require my beauty sleep, and I can’t possibly get it knowing you’re out there, sulking on a couch. It’s impossible to relax without you next to me—so you, are going to have to take responsibility!”

The sheer audacity of his statement left you blinking. It was so dramatic and entirely Vil that you couldn’t help it—you laughed. Not a little chuckle, but a full-bodied, slightly wheezing laugh that made you clutch your sides.

Vil crossed his arms, arching an offended brow. “I fail to see what’s funny.”

“You,” you said between giggles. “This whole ‘it’s your fault I can’t sleep because I love you’ nonsense. You’re ridiculous.”

He didn’t deny it. Instead, he sighed, and once your laughter subsided, he gestured to the bed again, this time more softly. “Please. Don’t make me sleep without you.”

You relented, sliding under the blankets. As you settled in, Vil switched off the lights, the room going still.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly after a moment. His tone was sincere, lacking the sharp edges from earlier.

You shifted closer to him, wrapping an arm around his waist and pulling him gently against you. “I’m sorry too.”

Vil let out a contented hum, nestling into your hold. With your body heat mingling and the earlier tension dissipating, it didn’t take long for both of you to fall asleep—together, as it should be.

Sleep came in patches, your mind replaying the fight in a loop. At some point, the dull ache in your bladder forced you to stumble toward the bathroom. On your way back, you froze, hearing quiet, panicked murmurs drifting from Idia’s room.

Idia Shroud

The argument had been rough—sharp words, bitter edges, the kind of fight that left your chest heavy. It didn’t matter how much Idia stammered his way through an apology or tried to explain his side; you weren’t ready to hear it yet. So, in an act of frustrated finality, you grabbed a blanket and retreated to the couch, refusing to spare him another glance.

“Ortho, what do I do? I think I really messed up this time,” his voice wavered, thick with worry. “They probably hate me now. Like, actual hate—no respawn, no restart. I mean, who else would put up with me? I’ve completely blown it.”

You sighed, anger ebbing as guilt trickled in. You hadn’t meant to push him that far, and his usual self-deprecating spiral sounded more frayed than usual.

Pushing the door open, you caught the tail end of Ortho’s voice. “Big Brother, you should—oh!” His robotic eyes darted to you, scanning the scene. A moment later, he gave a tiny thumbs-up and practically zoomed out of the room, leaving you and Idia alone.

Idia froze when he noticed you. His shoulders hunched as if he could shrink his already wiry frame. “I-I didn’t mean for you to hear that. Sorry for being pathetic. Again.”

Rolling your eyes fondly, you stepped forward and opened your arms. “Come here, you dramatic dork.”

His eyes widened, hesitation etched into every inch of his posture. When you didn’t move or drop your arms, he finally shuffled over, nervously slipping into your embrace. You wrapped your arms around him, holding him securely, and his entire body seemed to deflate as tension drained out of him.

“I thought you weren’t coming back,” he admitted, voice muffled against your shoulder.

You huffed softly, rubbing his back. “Idia, I wasn’t leaving. Just... needed space to cool off. And honestly, hearing you lose your mind over it made it hard to stay mad.”

“Cool. Cool, cool, cool,” he mumbled, the words tumbling in an embarrassed rush. “Um, does this mean...?”

“It means I still love you,” you interrupted gently.

His grip on you tightened for a moment before he pulled back, pink dusting his cheeks and his hair glowing pink at the ends. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice so soft you almost missed it.

“I’m sorry too,” you replied, kissing his cheek and earning a startled squeak.

Together, you made your way back to bed. As you settled under the blankets, his fingers tangled hesitantly with yours. The argument seemed miles away now, replaced by the steady warmth of simply being with him.

“I’ll try to be better,” he murmured into the quiet.

“You’re already enough, Idia,” you replied, squeezing his hand.

And as you drifted off to sleep, you felt his thumb rubbing gentle circles against your knuckles, grounding both of you in the quiet comfort of reconciliation.

Malleus stood frozen for a moment, processing your declaration, and you could feel his pout even with your back turned. "You do not need to sleep on the couch," he finally said.

Malleus Draconia

The argument left both of you tense, and you were too mad to deal with Malleus' brooding silence. Grabbing a blanket, you stormed off toward the couch, refusing to even glance at him. "I'm sleeping on the couch," you announced. "Goodnight."

"I'm not changing my mind," you shot back, tossing the blanket onto the couch for emphasis.

There was a brief, sulking pause. Then, he went quiet—suspiciously quiet. You peeked over your shoulder just in time to catch him crossing his arms with a look of smug triumph spreading across his face.

“Malleus—”

Before you could finish the thought, a flash of green lightning struck the couch, reducing it to a pile of ash with alarming precision. You stood there, jaw dropping as the faint smell of charred upholstery wafted in the air.

"Well," Malleus said, ever so matter-of-factly, "it seems the couch is… out of commission. A most unfortunate turn of events."

You turned to him, dumbfounded. "Did you seriously just smite your own couch?"

He looked at you expectantly, his lips pressed into an overly calm smile. "The bed is still available," he offered, gesturing toward the bedroom as though that solved everything.

Your anger reignited—if that was even possible after witnessing such sheer audacity. Without a word, you dropped your blanket onto the floor, flopping down dramatically as if making it your personal mission to out-stubborn a dragon fae.

He stared at you in bewilderment, clearly expecting a different outcome. For a long moment, he didn’t move, as though trying to process your act of defiance. Then, with an audible sigh, he finally caved.

“Alright,” he said softly, crouching to your level. His eyes held a rare vulnerability. “I… overreacted. I apologize for upsetting you.”

You bit back a smirk, pretending to be unimpressed even as you felt your resolve softening. "I wasn’t thrilled about it, yeah."

Malleus tilted his head, something of a pout returning to his expression. “Will you come back to bed, then? The floor hardly befits someone so precious to me.”

“Only if you promise not to zap anything else," you teased, finally relenting as you reached out to take his offered hand.

He helped you up gently, his grip firm but careful, as though he feared breaking you. “I cannot promise to never act rashly in defense of my love,” he murmured, leading you back to the room.

Settling into the bed together, you couldn’t resist poking at him one last time. “You really destroyed your own couch just to keep me near you, huh? You know they make couple’s therapy for this, right?”

He chuckled softly, pulling you close. “I would smite an entire castle if it meant you stayed by my side.”

“Noted,” you said, rolling your eyes, though you couldn’t hide the warmth in your chest. As you both drifted off, tangled in the sheets, you couldn’t help but think how absurdly lucky you were to be loved by someone so dramatic—and so utterly devoted.

Masterlist

[satvrnsearth]

Imagine nanami’s face when he hears “shut up, mommy!” from your childs mouth. feel like he’d be passive aggressive idk. andddd maybeeee, possibly, a girl dad..

nanami was sitting by the couch, reading a book when he happened to overhear a conversation between his wife and his daughter.

“sweetheart, I know you want to play but I told you before that school work comes first.” you gently brush your fingers through your daughter’s hair, sensing her annoyance. You’ve been at it for a few minutes now, going back and forth. “no! I want to play!”

you sigh, crouching down to her level. “no, school work first."

nanami wanted to intervene, but he also wanted to see how you would handle this situation. that is, until—

“shut up, mommy!” she huffs, sniffling.

nanami's attention immediately turned to his daughter with a stern expression, clearly displeased with her words to you—his wife. you—though surprised at your daughter's outburst—held your composure.

nanami kneeled down in front of his daughter, his voice firm but not overly harsh, "you know better than to speak to your mother that way, young lady. It's not appropriate or respectful, and you need to apologize, right now.”

the little girl pouted, her bottom lip trembling slightly as she crossed her arms. nanami could see the defiance mixed with guilt in her eyes, but he remained steadfast, not budging from his position. you stood nearby, trying not to show the slight amusement on your face at your daughter's stubbornness.

nanami reached out, gently taking the little girl's hand in his own. His tone softened, slightly, as he spoke, "I understand you're upset, but there is no excuse for disrespecting your mother like that. I need you to say you're sorry, and mean it."

the little girl looked up at her father, her tough facade crumbling slightly. she squirmed in place, clearly uncomfortable with the situation. after a few seconds of silence–she finally muttered, "I'm...sorry, mommy."

nanami felt a small smile tug at the corners of his mouth, satisfied with her response. he nodded approvingly before turning to you, who gave a small, relieved smile in return.

💭;; might I say this is one of my fav works EVER??? idk i just liked this sm idk why

credits—

dividers: @cursed-carmine

[bi-writes]

simon knows something is wrong as soon as he comes home. (a little 18+, f!reader)

you're sitting on the floor of the living room. there's acrylic paint in your hair, and you're crying, eyes red and puffy cheeks wet. you're sitting around a floor of strewn about toddler toys, and you're rubbing your chest in the way that simon knows means your breasts are sore.

he shuts the door behind himself. there's dishes piled up in the sink. he smells something that's burnt. the kitchen table is littered with remnants still from breakfast, and there's clean laundry still piled up in the basket, forgotten next to the couch.

"wot the fuck is happenin'?"

you jump a little when you hear his voice, as if it's the first time you've noticed something in your house is different. you want to smile at him, but it falls short. simon kicks his boots off, hanging his jacket up, and he lets out a deep breath as he kneels down in front of you.

"hey, baby," he murmurs. you sniffle, wiping your face, and simon cups your cheeks to make you look at him. "wot happened?"

"he hates me," you whisper. "h-he hates me, simon, h-he said it."

"who hates ya, swee'eart?"

"joe," you whine. "i told him...i told him you wouldn't be here for supper, and he..." you start to cry. "he said he hates me. he wants you, he only wants you. he hates me..."

simon sucks on his teeth under the mask, shaking his head.

"mm...and where's our sweet girl then?"

"s-sleeping."

"havin' a nap?" he kisses you softly. "olright. time to pump, huh, love?" he cups under your breast tenderly, rubbing over your sore nipple. you sigh, nodding, and he nudges his nose against yours. "olright. you 'ave a go. take a nice bath. have somethin' ta eat."

you collapse against his chest in a fit of soft tears. he wraps an arm around your shoulders, holding you close, and he rubs your back gently.

"we'll 'ave a chat," simon murmurs. "sort this out."

"i-i'm sorry, simon."

"no need ta be sorry, baby. i've got it."

"i...i wanted to have it, too. i wanted..."

simon rubs a thumb over your face gently.

"you do, baby. you've got it. i know you do. there now, that's a girl..."

it takes a few minutes to get you to go into your shared bedroom. when he sees you relaxed as you get your breast bump, he makes his way down the hall, to where your son's bedroom door is just ajar.

when he pushes it open, it creaks. simon sighs as he sees your little boy sitting on the carpet, playing with his trains. he's quiet, which is unusual; when he comes home, normally his son is bounding towards him, jumping up and down, so happy and excited to see his father. now, he looks shy, and he won't acknowledge him.

"oi," simon murmurs gently. "that a way to greet me, lad?"

his son just shrugs. he looks up at him, the picture of shame, and simon closes the door behind him as he takes a seat on the little bed. it creaks under his great weight, but it holds up. simon looks positively funny—he takes up most of the bed, and he has to hunch over to get closer to his son.

"i missed you very much. been gone awhile, haven't i?"

his son just shrugs again.

"'n i come home, and i see y'r mum covered in rubbish, very upset. would y'like ta tell me wot tha's about? huh, joe?"

his son, predictably, just shrugs.

"y'r mum thinks y'hate her," simon continues. "tha' true?"

shrug.

"oi," simon's voice hardens, but it's still gentle. "i'm havin' a conversation with you, lad. i'd like it very much if y'gave me y'r attention."

joe finally stops touching his trains. he sniffles, looking up at simon, and simon tilts his head to the side. when they meet eyes, simon tries to be less intimidating. he wants his son to know he's done something wrong, but he doesn't want to scare him.

"y'r mum thinks you hate her. tha' true?" he asks again. when joe shakes his head, simon narrows his eyes. "then why'd ya say it?"

"wanted a lolly."

"uh huh. but mummy said it was supper time, didn't she?"

"yeah."

"so you hate her?"

"no."

"then why'd ya say it?"

"i dunno," joe shrugs. he frowns a little, thinking, and simon is satisfied with this reaction. punishing joe never works; taking away his toys, his coloring books, playtime, it never works. joe is like you—too smart for his own good. he learns when he's confronted with the truth. "i wanted..."

"ya wanted to hurt her," simon finishes. "like you think she hurt you."

joe turns back to his trains. simon sits up, taking a deep breath.

"one day," simon murmurs, "y'r gonna love someone the way i love y'r mummy."

"i am?" joe is interested. he turns his head a little, blinking up at his dad, and simon just nods. realistic. honest.

"right," simon tells him. "y'r gonna love them 'n y'r gonna wanna protect them, like i want to protect y'r mum. you can't stop everyone from hurtin' them, but i would hope that at least it...wouldn't be family. tha's y'r mum, mate. i remember when y'were the size of a tiny bean, inside of her tummy, yeah? she was so happy. 'n when y'were born, she cried so much. said y'were the most wonderful thing, said she would love you more than anythin', more than me." simon chuckles. "was a bit jealous of ya for a bit, won't lie. 'n she does. loves you with all of herself. tells me all the time."

"she does?" joe's eyes are big and bright now. he feels bad. he's sad.

"tha's right," simon mutters. "'n when i'm gone, i'm not here to protect y'r mum, so i thought you'd be a big help, but here we are, joe. 'n y'r mine, mate, all mine, but y'r mum is special to me, y'hear tha'? she's my special girl. my special girl tha' loves you more than herself, so i need you to go tell her y'r sorry, and i need you to mean it."

joe stands up onto his little legs, and simon watches as he toddles over to simon. simon scoops him up into a big hug, and joe wraps his arms around his neck and buries his face into his shoulder.

"i'm sorry," joe whimpers, and simon rubs his little head gently. "i-i don't hate her, i-i got...m-mad..."

"tha's olright," simon whispers. "you can get mad. but ya can't hurt y'r mum. she does oll the heavy liftin' when 'm gone, and...can't do tha'. won't 'ave it."

"i-i won't. i-i won't anymore—"

"good lad..."

when it's quiet in the house, and the babies are sleeping, simon is rubbing lotion into your hands gently. you're tired from feeding the baby, and you're tired from scrubbing the paint out of your hair, but now simon is home, and he's here, and your son sobbed in your arms blubbering about how much he loves you, how he's sorry.

"you come home, and everything..." you sniffle, "everything just gets better again. i-i...why am i so bad at this, simon?"

"you're not bad," simon tells you. "i'm the bastard, baby. the one leavin' ya here...all alone..." he sighs. he pushes your hair out of your face, thumbing at your cheek. "work so hard, love. make my life so easy."

"easy?" your eyes water. you reach up and clutch his forearm, leaning into him. "what you do is so hard, simon. a-and...and so scary."

simon shakes his head, meeting your eyes. you look tired. you look beautiful, but you look tired, and he feels it—he knew one day he would feel it, but he didn't realize that day would come so soon. it's time. it's time for him to come home. it's time to put the papers in, to stomach the desk job, to bite the bullet, because he won't leave you and come back like this. not again. he can't do it. not to you.

"my pretty girl," simon mutters. he licks over his teeth, moving his hand lower to cup your jaw in a big palm. you arch up to meet him, fisting his shirt, and you open your mouth as he bends to kiss you. his tongue is hot against yours; he devours you from the inside out, kissing you wet and eager. you whimper softly, sinking into him, and he smiles into the kiss when he feels you nearly liquefy underneath him. "open, swee'eart."

you do. you let your jaw hinge and mouth fall open, and you accept his fingers easily. you tongue at the pads of his fingers, closing your mouth around them and sucking softly. when he removes them, he slips them under the shirt you wear, where he finds you soft and warm and wet between the thighs. he tucks his fingers under the gusset of your panties, and he feels all the blood swell into his cock when he has to feel between a nearly full bush to find your puffy clit.

"didn't want to touch it while you were gone," you whisper.

"yeah?" simon smirks, slipping two fingers inside of you. his thumb keeps its place on your clit, and your toes curl as you leak onto his palm. "why's tha', love?"

"b-because...because..."

"cause why, baby?"

"cause...c-cause it's yours, simon. your pussy."

"tha's right," simon hums. "my pussy."

[ggukivrse]

JUST THIS ONCE | JJK

summary. when you complain to jungkook about your lack of action in the past year, you're not really asking for a solution. but when he casually offers to help, you just can't seem to bring yourself to say no.

after all, what's the worst that could happen in hooking up just this once?

pairing: jeon jungkook x f!reader

genre: friends to lovers, smut, fluff (?)

word count: 5.1k

warnings: you’re gonna get sick of the title loll, brief alcohol consumption, this is lowkey pwp (there will be more plot soon i promise) swearing, explicit sexual content, kissing, making out, fingering, oral (m. receiving), he’s very cocky but also pathetic, multiple orgasms, lots of banter and teasing as dirty talk, petnames (baby), jk calls oc a brat x2, multiple positions, insinuated aftercare, let me know if i missed anything!

notes: you guys built this fic!! this was supposed to be out on thursday but i realised i was being wayy to ambitious cuz i definitely needed more than two days to write this loll. but alas, it’s here :3 as always, likes, comments, reblogs, feedback and asks are very appreciated! enjoy reading angels <33

ps. THERE WILL BE A PART TWO!!

⌗ masterlist. ⌗ taglist. ⌗ feedback

You fumble with your keys, swaying just slightly as you try to jab the right one into the lock. Behind you, Jungkook’s laughing under his breath, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath on the back of your neck.

“Need help?” he asks, the amusement in his voice unmistakable.

“I’ve got it,” you say, jabbing the key with exaggerated precision. The door finally clicks open, and you push it in with a triumphant, “Ha!”

“You’re so competent,” he deadpans, clapping a mock applause as he follows you in. His shoulder bumps yours as he passes. “It’s honestly inspiring.”

You kick off your shoes, tossing your keys into the bowl by the door. “And you’re so annoying,” you mutter, but there’s no heat in it.

Jungkook drops onto your couch like it’s his own, sprawling out like he owns the place. Which, in some ways, he kind of does.

A hoodie of his is already slung over the back of a kitchen chair, from some night two weeks ago when he stayed too late and decided not to drive home. There’s an energy drink in your fridge with his name written on the lid in Sharpie. The blanket he’s tugging over his lap? That’s the one he gifted you for Christmas, mostly so he could use it whenever he came over.

It’s always been like this.

He tosses his denim jacket on the couch as you grab two bottles of water from the fridge, chucking one to him without warning. He catches it with the ease.

“You were definitely flirting with that bartender,” he says, unscrewing the cap and looking at you with that maddeningly smug smile.

You scoff. “He had a mullet and called me ‘miss.’ It wasn’t flirting— it was survival.”

“Sure,” he says, nodding like he totally believes you. “That’s why you laughed at everything he said, even when he asked if you liked your tequila neat.”

“It was neat!” you say, defensive and laughing at the same time. “And besides, you flirted with the girl in the fishnets for, like, an hour.”

He shrugs. “Guilty. She had good taste in music. And thighs.”

You groan and flop down beside him on the couch, letting your head fall back against the cushion. Your thigh brushes his, but you don’t move. Neither does he. The buzz from the party is still warm in your blood, and the apartment feels too quiet now — too intimate without the noise and lights and other bodies.

“You ever think we’re just... really bad at dating?” you ask, staring at the ceiling.

“Constantly,” Jungkook says, without hesitation.

You glance at him. “Like, maybe we peaked in college.”

He makes a face. “Don’t say that. I refuse to believe my best years happened while I was still eating instant ramen and failing comp sci.”

You laugh, and he turns his head toward you, watching you with that soft-eyed expression you know too well. There’s something about Jungkook when he’s like this — no bravado, no teasing smirk, just... present. His hair is a mess from the wind, and a dark tank top hugs his figure.

He’s too comfortable here. Too familiar.

“I genuinely think I’ve forgotten what a good kiss feels like,” you say, mostly to the ceiling, like it’s a throwaway thought.

Jungkook hums. “That bad, huh?”

“It’s not even bad, it’s just...” You trail off, searching for the word. “Empty. Mechanical. Like everyone’s going through the motions, but nobody’s actually there.”

He shifts slightly, angling his body more toward you. “So no decent kissers at all lately?”

You shake your head. “No decent anything, if I’m honest.”

He raises an eyebrow, curious.

You hesitate, but the alcohol in your system makes it easier to say what you probably wouldn’t sober. “I haven’t slept with anyone in like... almost a year.”

Jungkook blinks, not in judgment, just surprised. “Seriously?”

“Yeah.” You rub at your temple with a laugh. “I didn’t plan it or anything. It just kind of... kept not happening. And then it became this weird streak, and now here we are.”

He’s quiet for a moment.

“Well,” he says eventually, “maybe your standards are just too high.”

“Or maybe men are just mid,” you shoot back.

That gets a laugh out of him, loud and bright. He tips his head back, and you watch his throat move as he laughs. Too long. Too hard. When he calms down, he gives you a look — something mischievous that you've grown to know too well over the years.

"What?" you ask, narrowing your eyes at him with a smile.

He shrugs. “I mean... I could help."

“With my standards?”

“With the streak.”

You snort. “What, you offering?”

“Maybe.”

You tilt your head. “So what? You wanna bang it out?”

It’s meant to be funny. You’re grinning when you say it. But when you look at him — really look — he’s not laughing.

His gaze lingers on your mouth for a beat too long. Then his eyes flick up to yours.

“Just this once?” he asks, voice low. Careful. Like he’s giving you an out.

You don’t answer right away. The room goes still. The hum of the fridge feels too loud. His eyes are still on you, and it’s not a look you’ve ever seen from him before.

Your heart stutters in your chest.

You swallow. “Wouldn't it be weird?”

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t look away.

“Only if we let it be.”

You sit there for a second, the weight of it all hitting a little too fast. Your brain’s still catching up to your mouth, to the way your body’s buzzing — not from the alcohol anymore, but from him. From the heat in his eyes, the way he said it — almost like a dare.

And then his expression shifts.

His eyes flick away, and his tongue runs over the silver ring on his bottom lip, like he’s pulling it back, reeling it in.

“Only if you want to, obviously,” he says, quieter this time. “We don’t have to.”

He starts to lean back like he's resetting the mood — like this moment can still be folded back into the safety of your usual teasing — but you stop him.

You move first.

You grab the front of his tank top — not hard, not dramatic, just enough — and you pull him in.

You kiss him.

It’s abrupt. Heat over hesitation. A split-second decision that tastes like tequila and impulse, like comfort and fuck it all wrapped up in the same breath.

At first, he doesn’t move, frozen in surprise. But then he kisses you back — really kisses you back — and suddenly you're not thinking anymore.

His hand slides to your thigh, just enough pressure to ground you, and you shift toward him instinctively, knees brushing his. His mouth moves against yours with a kind of focused laziness, like he’s savouring it. Like he’s trying to figure out exactly how you taste.

You pull back half a second, just to breathe, lips brushing his as you mutter, “Took you long enough.”

He laughs into your mouth, low and smug. “You kissed me.”

“Yeah, well. You looked like you were gonna bail.”

“I was being respectful,” he says, voice muffled against your jaw as he starts kissing along it. “But sure, let’s call it bailing.”

You gasp a little when he nips at your neck, just enough pressure to make you arch toward him. Your hands slide under his top, fingers skimming the warm skin of his back, and he shivers under your touch.

“Jesus,” you murmur. “How are you this built? You eat, like, gas station snacks and leftover noodles.”

“I work out,” he mutters between kisses, grinning as he drags his mouth back to yours. “Also, you’ve seen me shirtless.”

“Yeah, but not like this.”

“Like what?”

You tug him closer until your chest presses to his. “Like I get to touch.”

That shuts him up real quick.

He kisses you again, this time more urgently, and you feel the change in the air — less teasing, more want. Your legs shift to straddle his lap without thinking, your hands sliding up into his hair, tugging just a little.

He groans, deep and rough, biting down on your bottom lip before kissing it better. You rock your hips forward slightly and he bucks up into you with a hiss.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he mutters, hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise.

You smirk against his mouth. “You offered, remember?”

“Yeah, and I’m rapidly realising that was a dangerous choice.”

You laugh, breathless, before kissing him again. He tastes like beer and something sweeter — probably the gum he always chews. You bite his lip and feel him groan into your mouth, hips jerking beneath you.

His fingers slip under your shirt, warm on your skin. Not rushed, just exploring — like he’s been curious for a while and is finally allowed to look.

You roll your hips again, slower this time, and his head drops back against the cushion with a low fuck that makes your stomach flip.

“You still sure about this?” you ask, teasing, as your hands drag down his chest, fingers playing with the hem of his shirt.

His eyes open — dark, focused, amused.

“You gonna stop me if I say no?”

You shake your head. “Nope.”

“Then yeah,” he says, breath hitching as your fingers reach his abdomen. “I’m very sure.”

He catches your fingers before you can finish unbuttoning his jeans.

You raise a brow, breath still uneven. “Seriously?”

He nods, steady, calm in a way that only makes your pulse pound harder. “I said I was helping you, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, but I thought that was like... a mutual helping situation.”

His mouth twitches. “You always gotta argue when I’m trying to do something nice?”

You open your mouth to throw something back — something biting, something stupid — but he leans in and kisses you before you can get the words out. One hand still wrapped around your wrist, the other cupping your jaw.

He pulls back just enough to speak.

“Let me take care of you.”

You stare at him for a beat, heart kicking hard in your chest.

“Fine,” you mutter, trying to sound unbothered. “But don't expect any thank yous or shit.”

“I’ll survive,” he says, already smirking as his fingers work at your jeans. “Though, for the record, I think you’re gonna want to.”

You snort — right before he pops the button of your jeans and drags the zipper down, knuckles brushing your skin. You shiver.

“God, you’re cocky.”

He glances up, eyes flicking to yours. “You saying I haven’t earned it?”

You don’t answer. Your breath stutters when his hand slips beneath the waistband of your panties, palm flush against you.

He stills.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, voice dropping. “You’re wet already?”

“Shut up.”

He smiles cockily.

You roll your eyes — try to, anyway — but your thighs are already parting, your body moving without conscious thought. His fingers slide into you, testing the waters, and your head tips back with a soft sigh.

He watches your face like he’s waiting for something. When your mouth parts, when your hips twitch toward his hand, that’s when he moves.

His thumb finds your bud and he's gentle at first. Circling, then rubbing just a little firmer. You bite your lip hard, trying not to give him the satisfaction of the noises building in your throat.

“Still not thanking you,” you say through clenched teeth.

“Oh, you will,” he says, low. “Eventually.”

You glare at him. He grins back, fingers dragging lower, slipping in without resistance. You suck in a breath, and he laughs softly under it.

“Okay?” he asks, suddenly serious again.

You nod, maybe too quickly. ��Yeah. More than okay.”

He starts moving his fingers — slow at first, too slow. Like he’s enjoying making you wait. You squirm, trying to rock your hips into his hand, but he tightens his grip on your thigh.

“Nuh-uh,” he says, eyes gleaming. “You’re letting me do the work, remember?”

“I hate you.”

“You’re literally grinding on my hand right now.”

You reach out blindly and smack his chest. He doesn’t even flinch — just slips another finger in, and your breath catches so hard it punches the air from your lungs.

“There it is,” he murmurs.

His thumb picks up a rhythm again, and the pressure starts to build fast. He knows it, too. His free hand slides around your waist, steadying you as your body starts to shake. Your fist curls into the soft fabric of his top, needing something to hold onto.

“Still hate me?” he asks, voice rougher now, his breath tickling the shell of your ear.

“Don’t flatter yourself— fuck—”

“Yeah?” His fingers curl just right, and your whole body tenses. “Right there?”

You nod, desperate, eyes squeezed shut. Your thighs are shaking. You’re so close you can’t even keep up the bit.

“Say it,” he says.

“Say what?”

“Tell me how good I make you feel.”

You groan. “Jesus, Jungkook—”

He slows down suddenly, barely moving his hand.

You whine. Actually whine.

“That’s not what I asked for.”

“God, you’re annoying,” you say, breathless.

He grins. “You're the one being the brat here.”

You drag your eyes open and glare at him, but it’s all heat now. All want. You lean in close, lips pressing against his.

"Fuck— fine. You feel so fucking good, Kook. Please, just don't stop."

He doesn’t.

He kisses you hard and fast, and his fingers start again, slick and firm and relentless. Your body clenches around him and this time, you don’t even try to hold the sounds back. His name leaves your mouth like muscle memory, and he groans into your kiss, like he’s the one coming undone.

When you break the kiss to suck in air, he presses his forehead to yours, voice rough in your ear.

“That’s it. Let go for me.”

You do.

Your body arches, thighs trembling as the orgasm washes over you sharp and fast. Your fingers dig into his back, into his top, into anything that keeps you tethered.

He doesn’t stop until you’re gasping, twitching, pushing his hand away because you’re too sensitive now.

He pulls back finally, breath warm against your skin, his fingers wet. He looks at you, gaze heavy, lips parted.

Then, without a word, he brings his fingers to your mouth.

“Open,” he says, low and steady.

You blink at him, your body still humming, brain half-melted. “What—?”

He brushes two slick fingers against your bottom lip, and your mouth parts on instinct.

“You said no thank yous,” he says, smirking. “So this’ll do.”

You glare at him, but your lips close around his fingers anyway. He watches every second — the way your mouth wraps around them, the way your tongue slides against the pads. His expression flickers from cocky to wrecked.

“Shit,” he mutters, voice rough now, the smugness cracking around the edges.

You suck once, slow and purposeful, eyes locked on his, and he jerks slightly under you — hips twitching like your mouth is on him instead. When you pull off with a soft pop, your lips are swollen and wet.

“You said mutual help,” you murmur, breath still catching on the end of every word. “It’s your turn.”

He blinks, like he’s short-circuiting.

You slide off his lap slowly, hands dragging down his chest, and his breath catches when you settle between his legs on your knees. You palm him over his jeans, and he hisses, already hard under your touch.

“Fuck,” he mutters, head tipping back.

“You okay there?” you ask, voice sweet, taunting. “Or do you need me to go slower?”

He looks down at you, pupils blown, jaw clenched. “Don’t be a brat.”

You unbutton his jeans, real slow, enjoying the way he twitches under your hands. “No promises.”

You drag the zipper down, tugging his jeans and boxers low enough to free him. He’s flushed and heavy, tip already glistening, and you swear you see his hips flex at just the sight of your mouth this close.

“Holy shit,” he breathes. “You look way too good down there.”

You wrap your hand around his cock, giving one slow stroke, and he groans like it surprises him.

You start slow. Just your hand. Thumb brushing over the sensitive ridge under the head, watching his thighs tense beneath your touch. His head drops back against the couch cushion, and you feel the way his hips subtly shift toward you, like his body’s trying to chase more without him even realising it.

You lean in and lick a slow stripe from base to tip, tongue flat, deliberate. His breath catches — then shudders out of him like you’ve knocked the air from his lungs.

“Shit,” he mutters again, voice strained.

You hum like you agree, and wrap your lips around the head, just barely. You suck, not hard — just enough to make him twitch. Your hand works in tandem, slow, steady strokes, and your mouth follows, inching lower until the tip presses against the back of your throat.

He moans, raw and wrecked. “Fuck, baby—”

The pet name is barely more than a gasp, almost like it slipped out without permission. Your stomach flips at the sound it.

His voice borders on the line of sounding pathetic, and it makes you want to press your thighs together.

You fall into rhythm — your lips sliding over him, tongue pressed firm underneath, hand twisting where your mouth leaves off. Every now and then, you let yourself get sloppy. Let the sound of it echo between you, let him hear what he’s doing to you.

He’s falling apart above you. You can tell by the way his hand flexes and releases in your hair, the way his thighs tremble every time you sink a little deeper. He’s breathing hard now, jaw slack, eyes barely open. Watching you. Like he still can’t believe this is real.

“God, your mouth—” His voice cuts off into a moan when you swallow around him, deep and slow. "You're gonna be the death of me."

You pull off just long enough to breathe, lips slick, chin wet. “You deserve it.”

He laughs, but it breaks halfway through. Your hand doesn’t stop moving.

“You like watching me fall apart, huh?”

You look up through your lashes, tongue flicking over the head. “More than a little.”

You go back down — deeper this time — and he chokes on a groan. His hips jerk up too sharply and he curses, hands fisting hard in your hair.

“Shit— I’m—” He’s panting now, thighs shaking. “I’m not gonna last if you keep— fuck, don’t—”

You suck harder, then moan around him just to hear the sound he makes. It’s almost a whimper.

“Baby, stop— wait— fuck— please—”

You pull off with a wet pop just before he tips over the edge, lips red and swollen, saliva clinging to your chin. He’s barely keeping it together. Chest heaving, flushed to the neck, cock twitching where it rests against his stomach.

“You were right there,” you say, feigning innocence, voice soft and ruined.

“Exactly," he says, sitting up. "I'm not done with you yet."

He drags the fabric of his top over his head, tossing it aside without a second thought. The moment it’s off, your breath catches.

Fuck.

He’s all golden skin and sharp lines, chest heaving, abs flexing with every breath. His tattoos curl over his shoulder and down his arm, black ink stark against flushed skin. His cock’s still hard, flushed dark, resting against his stomach, twitching when he sees the way you’re looking at him.

And you — still kneeling between his legs — can’t look away.

Then you rise, shaky but determined, and pull your top over your head, letting it fall. His eyes snap to your chest, lips parting like he’s just been punched in the gut. You're movements are purposefully slow as you pull down your jeans, then your panties.

“Jesus,” he mutters, eyes dragging down your body. “You’re a fucking dream.”

You crawl back into his lap, your bare skin meeting his, and the contact makes both of you gasp. You straddle him, knees on either side of his thighs, and he groans the moment your heat presses against his cock.

He fumbles for a condom, pulling it out from an inner pocket in the jacket he’d draped onto the couch earlier.

You watch as he tears it open and rolls it on, fingers practiced but tense. You reach between your bodies, guiding him to your entrance, and the second his tip slides against your soaked folds, his grip tightens on your hips.

“Fuck,” he mutters, voice shaking.

You sink down slowly, inch by thick inch, and your nails bite into his shoulders as you stretch around him. He’s big — your pussy gripping him tight, wet and pulsing as he fills you up. Every nerve lights up, every breath gets harder to catch.

“Holy fuck—” His head drops to your chest, groaning against your skin. “You’re so tight. So fucking warm. Gonna make me lose it.”

You whimper as you bottom out, walls fluttering around him. You can feel every vein, every twitch. It’s almost too much. Almost.

But not enough.

You start to move — slow, dragging lifts of your hips, circling them on the way back down. He watches, hands clamped on your ass, guiding the grind of your body like he already knows how to make you fall apart again.

You ride him, pace picking up fast, desperate. Every time your hips drop, the base of his cock grinds against your clit, slick sounds filling the room with every slap of skin against skin. His cock hits deep, stretching you wide, and a moan passes your lips.

He groans are low and guttural, eyes locked to where your bodies meet. “Goddamn, baby. Watching you fuck yourself on my cock— shit— never gonna forget this.”

You’re panting now, thighs burning, rhythm faltering. You try to keep going, but your legs are shaking.

He notices.

Without a word, he shifts under you, plants his feet flat on the floor, and grabs your hips tight.

“Let me help you, yeah?”

You nod. “Please.”

He starts thrusting up into you.

You cry out, spine arching, hands flying to his shoulders to hold on as he fucks you from underneath, sharp and deep. His hips snap up into you, cock pressing into your sweet spot over and over again.

The new angle is obscene. Filthy.

“Fuck, Jungkook— holy shit—”

He smirks up at you, sweaty hair sticking to his forehead. “That’s it. Take it, baby. Look at you— so cockdrunk already.”

Your pussy clenches around him, soaked and messy, and the sound of it is downright pornographic. His balls slap against your ass with every brutal thrust, and you can’t even think anymore. Just feel.

Your head falls back, hips rocking with his. “W-we’re still best friends, right, Kook?”

His rhythm stutters, hips slamming up too hard, too deep, and his jaw drops slightly like he’s not sure if he actually heard you right. His pupils are blown, face flushed, and he stares at you like you just kicked the last brain cell out of his skull.

“What the fuck,” he pants. “You can’t say that. Not when I’m— fuck— inside you.”

You whimper, walls clenching around him like your body’s reacting to how wrecked he sounds.

“That’s so fucked up,” he mutters, almost to himself. “Say it again and I might actually come on the spot.”

You huff out a weak laugh at that, hands tangling in his hair, and he groans, fucking you harder, deeper — like he needs to wipe the thought of friendship off your brain with every snap of his hips.

“Y-Yeah,” you gasp. “So close, fuck— don’t stop—”

He doesn’t. One hand slips between your bodies, fingers rubbing tight, fast circles over your clit while he pounds into you. You sob his name, hips stuttering, body locking up.

“Come on,” he grits out. “Wanna feel you squeeze me.”

That’s all it takes.

You break with a cry, body clamping down around him as your orgasm hits like a fucking freight train. Your pussy pulses around his cock, milking him, soaking him, your whole body shuddering with the force of it.

He slows just a little — just enough to let you ride it out — but he doesn’t pull out. He’s still hard inside you, jaw tight, eyes blown wide.

You collapse forward, panting into his neck, spent.

His hands slide down your spine, warm and possessive. “You good?”

You nod, still breathless. “Yeah. Jesus.”

"Good." He swiftly lifts you off him just enough to slip out, and you whimper at the sudden emptiness. But he doesn’t give you time to think.

He shifts, guiding you onto your back, his body following yours down to the couch. His hands frame your face as he settles between your legs, and when he presses back into you — thick and hard.

His eyes roam over you like he’s never seen anything more obscene or more beautiful. Your lips are swollen, parted in a messy moan. There’s a faint smudge of mascara under one eye from when you’d cried out his name, and your skin’s glowing — sweaty, flushed, wrecked.

“You’re so pretty like this,” he says, voice gone rough. “All fucked out for me.”

You pull him down into a kiss before you can think. It’s open-mouthed, greedy, teeth clashing a little. His hips start to move again, slow at first — long, deep thrusts that make your breath catch every time he bottoms out.

You wrap your legs around his waist, heels digging into his back to pull him deeper. His chest brushes yours, sticky skin against sticky skin, and your nails rake down his back.

He gasps into your mouth. “Fuck—”

“More,” you breathe, nails dragging again, leaving angry red lines down the muscle of his back. “Please.”

His hips snap harder, pace picking up again. He braces one hand beside your head and the other slides up your thigh, gripping tight enough to bruise. Your body rocks with every thrust, his cock slamming into you, the slap of his hips against yours louder now.

“You feel that?” he grits out, forehead pressed to yours, sweat dripping down his temple. “How tight you are around me? Fuck— I’m so deep, baby, you’re taking me so fucking good.”

You moan loud at his words, head falling back against the cushions.

He kisses down your neck, your collarbone, the swell of your breast — open-mouthed, wet kisses that make your skin burn. Then he’s back at your mouth, kissing you like it’s the only way he knows how to breathe.

He watches you with the kind of hunger that makes your stomach flip, watching how your brows pinch, how your mouth trembles, how you twitch around him with every stroke like you’re on the edge all over again.

And fuck, you are.

“Touch me,” you gasp, voice raw. “Kook, please—”

His fingers snake down your stomach, rubbing tight, perfect circles against your clit, synced with the rhythm of his thrusts. You cry out, thighs shaking around his waist, and he just watches — eyes dark and wild, like he can’t believe what he’s doing to you.

You clench hard around him, and he curses, slamming into you deeper, grinding at the end of each stroke.

“Gonna come again?” he pants. “Wanna come on my cock like that, baby? Let me feel you soak me?”

You’re nodding before he finishes, tears prickling in your eyes from how fucking intense it is. “Yes— yes, fuck, don’t stop—”

He kisses you as you fall apart — moaning into your mouth, swallowing every sound. You come again, whole body seizing around him. Your nails dig in, and he hisses at the pain, thrusting through it, fucking you right through the high.

When it ebbs, your body goes limp under him, chest heaving, lips swollen, slick dripping between your thighs.

Jungkook fucks into you again — slow, deep, like he’s trying to memorise the feel of you pulsing around him. His breath stutters, muscles drawn tight, every thrust rougher than the last.

“I’m not gonna last,” he pants, voice wrecked.

You bring your hands up to his hair, lightly tugging at his locks as you whisper, “Wanna feel you.”

He chokes on a moan, slamming into you one final time as he comes hard, cock twitching deep inside as he fills the condom.

His arms shake, muscles locked tight, and his face is buried in your neck as he rides it out, breath ragged, skin flushed and burning. You feel every pulse of it, every tremble in his frame, and all you can do is hold him there — legs wrapped tight around his waist, arms tangled around his shoulders, your nails still leaving stinging trails across his skin.

He presses kisses against your neck and jaw, eventually trailing up to your lips before pulling back to just look at you.

"I— you're perfect."

You smile, a familiar warmth enveloping your cheeks. "Yeah, yeah, you can stop with the flattery."

But he doesn’t smile back right away. He just watches you, quiet. Like he’s still catching up to the weight of what just happened. What’s still happening.

His hand drifts to your waist, thumb brushing lazily over your damp skin. “Let me run you a bath.”

You blink. “A bath?”

He nods, lips brushing your temple. “Yeah. You’re shaky. And I kinda wrecked you.”

You snort, catching the smugness in his voice. “What happened to, ‘Shit, baby, if you don’t stop I’m gonna come down your throat’?”

He groans, laughing. “Okay, first of all— rude. Second, I don’t sound like that.”

“Mm, you definitely do.”

He pinches your side lightly. “Keep talking, I’ll re-enact it right now.”

You shut up. But you’re smiling.

He stands a moment later, disappearing into the bathroom. You hear the water running, the soft clatter of bottles, his voice humming something low and familiar.

When he comes back, he tosses you a towel and holds out a hand, that same easy smile on his face. The one you’ve known forever. The one that makes everything feel… normal.

Even now.

You lace your fingers with his, let him pull you up.

Your legs are jelly. His hand doesn’t let go.

And as you follow him into the bathroom, skin still marked by his touch, lips still swollen from his kiss, a quiet thought flickers at the edge of your mind.

You guys were still best friends.

Right?

→ read part two here

taglist | click here to join: @thegreatdepressionme @golden-loona @kissyfacekoo @cookysstuff @whoa-jo @minghaosimp

[yeonzzzn]

Heeseung teaching inexperienced reader how to ride him while he sucks on her titties wtfhsjshekwjekke

“fuck, baby, just like that.” heeseung moans against your breast, mouth wrapped around your nipple as his tongue flicks the sensitive bud. one hand gripped tightly on your waist while the other cups your other breast, “you’re doing so so good baby.”

you bite down on your bottom lip, fingers digging into his shoulders as you ride him. legs growing weak and shaky as your hips roll. the fear of you riding his cock wrong still sat at the back of your mind, but hearing heeseung’s moans and feeling his mouth switch to your other nipple shreds that fear almost away.

it wasn’t even an hour ago you sat right beside your best friend on this coach spreading nonsense chatter as you usually do as you both play video games on his tv. but somehow this idle chatter turned into a real conversation, one you were not expecting.

“what you mean you’ve never ridden a dick before?!” heeseung raises a brow at you, eyes still locked onto the fighting game you’re both playing, “you’re not a virgin, I was literally a bedroom away when you lost your v-card! and you’ve had multiple partners since then!”

you groan at the stupid memory from a high school end of the year party. heeseung dragged you to it, saying bullshit equivalent to “Y/N, it’s the end of our senior year! we are about to graduate! loosen up a bit!” then proceeded to put drinks in your hand and you somehow ended up in park sunghoon’s bedroom upstairs on your back and him between your legs after flirting with him the entire night. it wasn’t the ideal way to lose your virginity, mostly since your best friend was indeed the next bedroom over fucking the most popular girl in your class, but here we are.

“don’t remind me,” you say with a roll of your eyes, tossing the playstation controller onto the coffee table, “but just because i’ve slept with a few guys doesn’t mean we did anything but missionary.” which was true. you’ve had multiple partners over the last few years but they were either one night stands or quick fucks. always ended with you on your back and that’s it.

this perks and idea into heeseung’s brain, tilting his head to the side and staring up at his ceiling, “I could teach you, if you want.” you laugh way too loud. he couldn’t be serious. but you see the way he looks back at you as he too, sets the controller down, “i’m being serious, Y/N.”

you swallow, is this okay? to have your best friend teach you a new sec position? and to do it GOOD? you already know heeseung is some sex god, he brags about it all the time…so you know it would be worth it. you can’t deny and say you haven’t thought about what his cock buried deep within you felt like. and he’s practically giving handing you that pass.

“i-if you’re okay with it…” you whisper.

and god was he okay with it. heeseung didn’t hesitate pulling you into his lap and closing his mouth around yours. he could feel your tremble under his touch and fuck it was making him hard as hell. “now, just do as I say, okay?” he says between kisses, hands now cupping your ass, “but I also need you to understand at any point you feel uncomfortable tell me and we’ll stop.”

you stare in his eyes and knew, you wouldn’t want to.

heeseung keeps his eyes locked with yours as he strips you bare, loving the feeling of your hands removing his clothing afterwards. loves the swallow of your throat and heaving of your chest as you stare at his cock, mouth nearly watering at how red the tip was. heeseung has been in love with you since the day you guys met, and finally having you in his lap, naked, in his apartment was the best dream come true.

he helps guide you to where you’re hovering over him, tip pressed gently to your entrance. you clench around the small amount of him you can feel, fingers pulling at the cushion of the couch behind him. you shook with absolute fear that you’re going to be terrible at this. “slowly slide down on me,” he breathes, pressing his forehead against yours. you do as he says, sneaking down until he filled you completely, thighs clenching his hips as you both let out a desperate moan. you’re so tightly wrapped around him and fuck he could climax just by the pressure of your cunt surrounding him.

“now,” he breathes out shakily, “start with slowly moving your hips, once you get the feel of it you can use your legs to help shift you up and down my cock. we’ll start with those two steps.”

and fuck he was going to die right here on this couch. one slow movement from you was all it took for him to fling his head back and clinch your waist, nails leaving crescent moons in your skin.

now here you are, his mouth attached to your tits as you bounce on him. what turned into just teaching you how to ride a cock resulted into a full out fuck fest. you can’t get enough of him, and he of you. you didn’t want to stop—not with how fucking good the tip of him felt as he hit your spot, treating to break the barrier that’s keeping him from fully and completely being inside of you. you knew you’d cum at any moment, the clench of your pussy was the give away of it, and heeseung knew it too.

he released his mouth from your tits, hands placed firmly at your hips and he flings his head back, your swollen nipples brushing his chest with each rock of your hips. heeseung’s pupils were dilated and face so fucked out, he was going to burst at any moment too. and you relished in it, “you’re doing so good for me baby, taking my cock so well.”

you really don’t know what came over you after hearing those words, but your fingers were in his red hair, tilting his head further back into the couch, free hand still gripping his shoulder, “fuck I love your cock,” you whimper, “i’m going to cum—“ and heeseung bucked his hips up in time with your movements, shoving himself so deep and hard into you.

“cum with me baby,” he begs, mouth gapped and eyes locked in with yours, one of his hands leaving your hip to gently wrap around your neck, giving a small and gently squeeze. that pressure along had you climaxing on him, clenching down harder and that being enough for heeseung to spill his load into you.

you drop against him, feeling his arms wrap around you, “well,” he says out of breath, “you definitely know how to ride dick now.” you hum in response, having the confidence to do so. but sit up and look at him, knowing deep down you don’t want to ride any other cock that isn’t his. and you knew he was thinking the same thing.

[kaiist]

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐄 ⋯ 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐀𝐘 “𝐈’𝐌 𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇” 𝐓𝐎 𝐇𝐈𝐌

𝐗𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑

The living room is quiet as you grab a spare blanket from the closet. Xavier watches you quietly, head tilted slightly.

“Why are you taking that to the couch?” he asks.

“I’m sleeping on the couch tonight,” you explain, not meeting his eyes.

He blinks slowly, processing. “Is the bedroom uncomfortable?”

When you explain your reasons, he simply nods once and says, “I understand. I’ll join you.” He’s already following you to the living room. As you settle onto the couch, he squeezes in beside you, somehow fitting into the remaining space.

“Xavier, there’s not enough room,” you protest.

“But I want to sleep here,” he states, already wrapping an arm around your waist. His body radiates warmth as he pulls you closer against his chest. Your continued protests are met with the same neutral reaction, but his grip only tightens, secure and protective.

“Sleep,” he mumbles into your hair, his breath even. “I sleep better when you’re close.”

You shift uncomfortably, the couch clearly not made for two people. He notices immediately, his hunter’s senses attuned to every movement.

“Is it uncomfortable for you?” he observes quietly. Without another word, he repositions both of you, somehow finding the perfect arrangement where your bodies fit together like puzzle pieces on the narrow surface.

“Better?” he asks. When you nod, his lips twitch in what might almost be a smile. He brushes your hair back with careful fingers, his touch delicate despite his strength.

“Xavier, how can you sleep in such random places, then?” you can’t help but ask.

“Mm? I just... sleep when I feel like it,” he says absently, his voice a low rumble against your ear. “I’ll just close my eyes and sleep.”

Within minutes, his breathing deepens, and you realize he’s already fallen asleep, still holding you tightly against him, completely content with wherever you choose to rest as long as you’re together.

𝐙𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄

The bedroom door closes with a soft click as Zayne retreats inside, leaving you alone on the couch. He doesn’t argue when you announce your intention to sleep there tonight—just gives you a brief, assessing look before nodding once.

You toss and turn on the couch, trying to find a comfortable position. The cushions, while plush, don’t quite support your body the way the mattress does. After twenty minutes of adjusting pillows and rearranging blankets, you finally settle into an awkward position that feels almost comfortable.

From the hallway comes the sound of soft footsteps. He appears in the doorway, arms crossed as he leans against the frame, watching you shift for the dozenth time.

“You can’t sleep like that,” he states the obvious, voice low in the dim room. His expression remains impassive as he approaches, but his eyes track your movements.

“The human spine requires proper support during sleep cycles,” he continues, bending down beside the couch. He slides one arm beneath your knees and the other behind your back, lifting you against his chest.

“This will lead to muscle strain, and you’re going to wake up sore tomorrow,” he says, carrying you toward the bedroom. His voice is firm, but his hold is gentle. “As a doctor who’s in charge of taking care of a certain stubborn hunter who doesn’t want to sleep on the bed, I cannot allow it.”

“The bed has more than enough space for both of us,” he says quietly, placing you carefully on your side of the mattress. “And I prefer knowing you’re getting proper rest.”

He settles beside you, maintaining a respectful distance while still close enough that you can feel his warmth. “Now sleep. Doctor’s orders.”

𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐋

The pencil in Rafayel’s hand pauses mid-stroke when you announce you’re sleeping on the couch tonight. He looks up from his sketchbook, eyes widening as you walk past him with a pillow.

“What? Why?” he calls, abandoning his work to follow you.

When you settle onto the couch and explain, he pouts dramatically, flopping down on the floor beside you.

“But I can’t sleep without you,” he whines, reaching up to tug at your blanket. “Remember last week when you fell asleep in the bath after your mission and I just sat on the bathroom floor all night?”

“Well, that was your choice. Or you could’ve carried me to bed,” you dismiss him.

“That’s not the point,” he sighs, rolling onto his back. “Fine. If you’re sleeping here, so am I.”

He disappears momentarily, returning with his own pillow. As you try to get comfortable, he squeezes himself onto the couch, ignoring your protests that there isn’t enough space.

“There’s plenty of room,” he insists, wrapping his arms around you and nuzzling into your neck.

You shift uncomfortably under his weight, the couch creaking in protest. He notices your discomfort but misinterprets the cause.

“Am I too heavy?” he asks, adjusting himself so he’s half-draped over you, half-wedged between you and the back of the couch. “Better?”

It’s not better, but his hopeful expression makes it hard to say so. You squirm again, trying to find a comfortable position.

“Hold still,” he murmurs, suddenly serious as he studies your face. “You’re actually uncomfortable, aren’t you?”

Before you can answer, he’s up and pulling you with him, his previous playfulness replaced with genuine concern.

“We’re going to bed,” he declares, tugging you toward the bedroom. When you resist, he sighs dramatically.

“Look, I know I sleep on the couch sometimes, but I usually wake up lightheaded, and I have to lie down on the bed the whole day with no work finished. Trust me when I say discomfort isn’t worth it.” His voice softens. “Please? For me?”

With gentle insistence, he leads you back to your shared bed, immediately pulling you close once you’re both settled. “See? Much better,” he whispers, fingers tracing patterns on your skin. “Now, I can hold you properly.”

𝐒𝐘𝐋𝐔𝐒

The phone in Sylus’s hands is set aside the moment you announce your intention to sleep on the couch. He watches you from his position on the bed, expression unreadable save for one slightly raised eyebrow.

“Really?” he asks, voice smooth and calm as you gather your things. He makes no move to stop you as you head for the door.

The living room is quiet as you settle onto the large couch. Despite its size, it still feels small compared to Sylus’s custom bed. You’ve just begun to get comfortable when the lights dim slightly.

“This is rather amusing,” comes his voice from the doorway. Without waiting for your response, he approaches, towering over you. “You think I’ll allow this arrangement?”

He bends down and lifts you effortlessly into his arms. “Sweetie,” he says, voice laced with amusement, “that couch, impressive as it is, wasn’t designed for proper rest. Even I find my legs hanging off the edge.”

As he carries you back toward the bedroom, his hold is firm but gentle. “If you wish for space, just say so,” he continues, laying you down on the bed. “But I prefer to have you where I can reach you.”

You start to object, but he raises a finger to your lips, silencing you mid-sentence.

“I’ve watched you shift positions seven times in the span of two minutes,” he observes. “You’re not going to rest properly that way, Miss Hunter.”

He sits beside you on the edge of the bed, one hand coming to rest on your shoulder. His fingers trace a path down your arm, his touch surprisingly gentle for someone so powerful.

“The bed is large enough for both of us, even if you wish to maintain distance,” he says, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Now, shall we try this again? Or would you prefer I join you on that inadequate couch?”

When you hesitate, the corner of his mouth quirks up in a knowing smile. “I thought as much,” he murmurs, sliding in beside you, one arm draped across your waist. “Much better, wouldn’t you agree?”

𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐁

The smile falls from Caleb’s face the moment you announce you’re sleeping on the couch tonight. He watches from the bedroom doorway as you grab your pillow and head for the living room.

“Hey, wait a second,” he calls, following close behind. “What’s going on? Talk to me.”

When you give your reason—whether it’s needing space, being upset, or just wanting to sleep alone—his demeanor shifts.

“That’s not happening,” he says, crossing his arms as he blocks your path to the couch. When you try to move past him, he catches your wrist, gentle but firm.

“You’re not sleeping on the couch,” he states, voice dropping lower. “Not tonight, not ever.”

Despite his words, you manage to settle onto the couch, arranging your pillow and blanket while ignoring his frustrated sigh. You toss and turn, the couch suddenly feeling lumpy and uncomfortable. He notices immediately, his sharp eyes tracking your every restless movement.

“This is ridiculous,” he finally says after watching you adjust your position for the tenth time. “You’re uncomfortable, and you’re just being stubborn.”

His expression softens slightly at whatever he sees in your face. “I know when something’s bothering you,” he says, voice gentler now. “But this isn’t solving anything.” He scoops you up in his arms, blanket and all.

“The couch is fine for watching movies,” he says, carrying you toward the bedroom. “Not for sleeping. Especially not when there’s a perfectly good bed where I can hold you properly.”

His grip is steady as you squirm in his arms. “If something’s wrong, we’ll talk about it,” he promises, gently placing you down on the bed before lying beside you, one arm draped firmly across your middle. “But I’m not letting you spend the night uncomfortable just to prove a point.”

Whoops, got a tiny bit carried away with this one... 😬

[misaamoure]

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭:

𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐭 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝…!

⋅ ˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

𝐒𝐲𝐥𝐮𝐬:

“Yes,” Sylus threw his head back, exposing his adam’s apple. “Just like that.”

Things had gotten a little heated on the couch in the living room.

You two had been watching this old ass movie tied to a soundtrack in Sylus’s vinyl collection as a pastime, and had clearly gotten distracted.

He had been very periodic and methodical with his caresses and touched, before finally leaning over and whispering in your ear, “instead of watching a movie, why don’t we make one?”

Stupid. How predictable.

Sylus was beyond hot though, so you let it slide.

Turning away for a moment to roll your eyes, you swing your leg over his lap to straddle him.

And that’s how you two ended up here.

You’d never had a makeout session so intense.

You felt his hands all over you… you felt like you were on fire.

You were also more than positive that your wetness had leaked all the way through your panties and pants.

“Oh!”

Your train of thought was interrupted when Sylus thrusted right up into you.

It felt so good… you could feel his hard dick pressing right into your clit.

“You shouldn’t give away what you like so easily, sweetie,” He gave one last squeeze to your tits before moving his hands down to grip your waist. “You’re giving me such a large advantage.”

Jesus Christ he talks too damn much.

You didn’t particularly feel like arguing with him today. Sure, it could be fun, but what you really wanted was to shut him up.

Deciding to take the initiative, you repositioned yourself to sit right on his hard dick, and started to roll your hips back and forth.

Sylus inhaled sharply, something you didn’t miss.

Grinding on him slowly and sensually, you feel his hands twitch on your waist as you kissed down his jawline to give his neck a sharp bite.

The sound of Sylus’s heavy breathing and moaning only egged you on further.

“Fuck, kitten,” He shut his eyes tightly, throwing his head back. “Wait…”

Sylus was going fucking crazy.

Why did it feel so good? It was just a little kissing and grinding.

He suddenly felt like a horny teenager all over again.

But it felt so fucking good… you felt so fucking good. Rarely did you ever have the chance to get on top like this.

Maybe he should let you do it more often.

It was so out of character for him, to be moaning and panting like this. His head was a mess.

His boxers were a mess too, all the precum he had been leaking.

The electrifying feeling of your wet cunt dragging over his cock was driving him over the edge quicker than he’d like to admit.

“Wait, please,” Sylus felt fucking neurotic, begging like this. “Y/N… wait…”

It wasn’t long after that Sylus felt himself cum in his pants. Hard.

Holding you tightly by the waist and panting up a storm.

Oh my god… there’s no way he…?

You quickly sat up on your knees, lifting yourself off of his lap to see with your own two eyes.

And he did! There was an unmistakable wet spot right where his dick was.

Fuck… it was so erotic.

𝐙𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞:

Unintentional dry spells. It was common between you and Zayne.

He was always busy at the hospital and you were constantly running around to kick wanderer ass.

But you two always made that lost time up.

In fact; you can say with full confidence that you preferred the sex after the build up.

There was a particular intensity that came with it that simply couldn’t be replicated.

Nobody else saw Zayne with this level of passion but you.

It was his day off and he had invited you over.

While you two had been once sitting on his couch, things had began to get heated after Zayne initiated a kiss with you, stating how much he missed you.

It was rare for him to verbalize exactly what he felt so boldly.

Oh he was so sweet. The sweetest man you’d ever met.

Cut to you being on top of him with him laying on the couch below you.

You don’t even remember when you got on top of him. Well… not that it mattered.

Not when he was making you feel this good. He was the only thing on your mind at the moment.

“Y/N… please,” You felt his grip on your waist tighten as he squeezed his eyes shut. “Wait…”

Hearing him beg and plead with you was making you unbelievably wet.

You didn’t want to stop. You couldn’t stop. It was too good. And you’d been waiting for him for hours.

With every pass of Zayne’s hard cock over your clothed clit you became more and more aggressive.

“I’m not going to last like this,” He said breathlessly. “Please, my love, enough…!”

Oh my god was it your birthday?

Making Zayne cum in his pants sounded maddening.

He was under you losing his mind.

Zayne could feel how wet you were through all the layers you two were wearing.

The delicious friction of how perfectly you were grinding on him was bringing him to his climax all too quickly.

“Y/N… I’m-”

Digging his fingers into your hips, Zayne came all into his boxers.

Shit… you drove him crazy.

[riddlesrose]

kissin him stupid

w/ the housewardens

in which you were recently gifted a tube of lipstick from grim, you're unsure of where he got it or why he decided it's yours now but it's given you a fantastic idea.

(he probably stole it from vil somehow and wants to place the blame on you..)

note; malleus' is the shortest but the most full of love i swear to goooood but the post itself is quite long

part two!

if riddle could form a proper sentence right now, he might scold you for slacking off, or breaking rule six hundred and seventeen, or he may just ask you to do it again. if colours could speak, his face would scream in comparison to the red accents in the housewarden’s room, uniform and matching hair. 

you attempt to keep a sober expression but he seriously cannot be so flustered by a single kiss? the red lip stain on his cheek is bright against the flush of his cheeks, as he sputters vowels and consonants, attempting to speak, to protest, to ask you what in the queen’s name are you doing.

you invited riddle over to the ramshackle dorm under the guise of needing help with studying, but you had this motive the entire time. riddle could feel your rebel to his help and directions if he ignored the obvious fact you hadn’t even cracked the spine of your book yet (to be fair it was only assigned today, and it was a new book), and the devious smile you attempted to hide until now. 

riddle took a breath, finally feeling sensible enough, “what… was that.” 

“affection, riddle. this isn’t new.” you shot, tone dripping in sarcasm. 

“yes, my rose, i know that. i mean,” he grabs hold of your uniform tie, drawing you closer, “what’s with the lipstick?” your head probably could have exploded, where did this riddle come from and how can he be drawn out more often?

you press a swift kiss to riddle’s other cheek, thanks to the proximity. “i have no explanation,” you press another kiss onto his forehead, “i simply was gifted it,” a kiss to his temple, “this morning.” the grip riddle has on your tie loosens completely as it falls back onto your chest, slightly wrinkled from the force. 

“i just had this ironed!” you frown. 

“i-i’ll get it done again.” riddle stands, brushing invisible dust off his jacket, though nothing could distract from the shade of pink that covers his face. 

“you’ll iron my tie for me? how kind.” you wrap an arm around riddle’s waist, pulling him close. he drops his forehead against your chest with a thud, inaudibly mumbling to himself. 

you wrap your other arm around him as he takes your face between his hands, slightly squishing into your cheeks he drags your face to his height, kissing you feverishly. 

“where did this riddle come from? i like him.” 

“i just felt… bold i suppose.” riddle’s red tinted lips smile against yours.

“do it again!”

leona stirs underneath you. you’re sat, straddling either side of his hips, weight pressed on his defined torso. leona doesn’t know it but you’ve practically trapped him where he sleeps. where he’s asleep currently, that is. in your dorm. 

on your couch.

using your pillows, taking in the setting sun like a true feline, though you would never dare utter the word feline anywhere near him lest you face the wrath of a moody boyfriend. 

you silently laugh to yourself, leaning down and pressing your lips on the prince’s temple.

leona stirs again at that, attempting to roll over – he cracks an eye when you gasp. slowly, coming to his senses, he furrows his brows at your positioning. you weren’t there when he fell asleep, when did you do that, and why are you sitting on him with half of a sinister smile across your lips…

and when did your lips turn red? he brings a hand up to rub his face, trying to shake the sleep out of his fogged mind, but you catch his hand before it makes contant. 

“don’t, it’ll mess up all my hard work,” you say with a half hint of embarrassment. (just a hint; only because you were caught before you could slip away undiscovered.)

leona’s confusion increases, as he detaches your hand from his wrist. he takes his freed hand up to your lips and swipes his thumb across your bottom lip, smudging it further across the line of your lip.

he inspects his red finger, “is this… lipstick?” you purse your lips in an attempt to stifle the laugh that bubbles in your chest. he looks ridiculous; eyes half lidded, nose crunched in focus and red marks painting his face.

your tinted lips curl upwards slightly into a smug grin, “maybe?” if leona knows one thing, it’s smug grins. he matches yours and wipes his thumb on your cheek, smearing the lipstick off his thumb and onto your skin. 

you playfully swat his hand away and lean down to continue painting your masterpiece, placing another kiss on his skin – onto the spot between his eyebrows. leona’s hand find your hip, giving a teasing pinch to the side. 

leona may be a prince used to some pampering, but this is some treatment he could get used to. 

azul has a finger in every pie, as riddle likes to say. you’re very much aware of that as your boyfriend likes to talk your ear off about his investments, new opportunities and the lounge. you’re so very proud of all of his hard work but sometimes he gets off on a tangent that doesn’t stop until you make him. usually with a kiss. it flusters him just enough that he forgets what he was going on about and it works every time. 

this time, however, was a bit different. azul didn’t take notice of the hue change of your lips as you leaned in and shut him up. drawing back, you snicker at his pursed lips and flushed cheeks, and the red lipstick smeared around his lips.

azul peeked in your direction, curious. you usually find it funny when he’s flustered like this but you were laughing a little too much. he noticed the messy red lipstick and furrowed his brows, wiping a finger across his lips. 

you suppressed a smile as you watched him curiously examine his stained finger, “it’s lipstick.” he concludes. 

“well… obviously? i thought that would have been pretty clear,” you grab his hand, wiping the red off of his finger. 

before azul can retort you lean in to kiss him again; anywhere you can get your lips on before he shells himself away, utterly embarrassed. a kiss to his cheek, jaw, forehead, nose, other cheek, forehead again, has him sputtering, almost begging to be released. 

azul places his free hand on your shoulder, trying to push you away while laughing between breaths. when you do back up, leaning back on your hand, he almost looks sad. (as if he wasn’t actively trying to get you off!) 

“so, mister ashengrotto? feeling loved and appreciated yet?” you give him a toothy grin, watching as his face contorts from flustered to even-more-flustered. (if that’s possible.)

“well yes! i dare say i’m feeling very valued and cherished as well.” despite his rosy features, his voice is unwavering, full of conviction. 

his confident, put-together outer layer completely melts away when you’re alone with him, but this has him absolutely on fire, a feeling no number could replace. numbers can’t give affection, you give it tenfold in their stead. 

kalim’s permanent grin widens when you claim you’ve got a gift for him. he expectantly holds out his hands, making you shake your head. 

“it’s more of an eyes closed kind of gift,” you start, kalim instantly squeezes his eyes shut. he puts so much trust in you that you worry jamil has eyes everywhere. everywhere. but you brush the jesting idea away, believing that you wouldn’t even be allowed on scarabia grounds if jamil didn’t trust you with the housewarden. 

you turn to a nearby mirror, passing the tube of red lipstick over your lips. the smooth makeup applies nice and neatly. (doesn’t matter because you know it won’t be neat for long.)

you step back over to where kalim’s sitting on the edge of his bed, standing between his knees. he’s waiting not-so patiently, he looks like he’s almost vibrating, is he really that excited? you suppress a smile as you gently grab onto his jaw, tilting his head to the side as you press your lips to his cheek. his laughter immediately fills the room, making you press more kisses over his face. one to his forehead, one on the nose, another on the other cheek, his temples, and anywhere you can get before he’s laughing too much, pushing you away.

“it tickles,” he heaves a breath, “stop!” a wider smile grows on his face after seeing yours, the red lipstick you applied had smudged around your lips, looking not-so neat. his face isn’t much better, tan skin littered in red kisses.

while you’re mentally retaining the image of kalim covered in red lip marks, you notice him looking more intently at you. you raise a brow, curiously.

“my turn, give it here!” he reaches a hand out, expecting the tube of lipstick?

you look at him bewildered, “what?” 

“my turn!” he repeats. he seems real set on returning the ‘gift’ it seems. kalim’s all smiles as you hand him the black tube. he exposes the stick and passes it over his own lips, tossing it aside and pulling you down to his seated height. he flattens his lips across the expanse of your face, getting at any skin he can just like you did to him. 

when he deems he’s finished, you’re dazed and equally covered in red lipstick stains, smiles wide across your faces. matching stained faces for matching blitheringly infatuated idiots.

vil leans on the back of his vanity chair; his face littered in different coloured lip marks. the reason? he claims he wants to see which ones compliment him the most. 

you know he already knows exactly which shades of each brand line do exactly that. (thanks, rook.) vil doesn’t know that you know he’s already figured this out. 

you wipe the makeup remover-soaked cotton pad across your lips, ridding it of the pink. “what would all of your fans think if they knew you were being covered completely in rainbow kisses?” you wipe the moisture from your lips as vil reaches around you to grab another tube, but you stop him. 

“i’m sure they would lose their minds,” you reach into your pocket, revealing a miscellaneous tube of lipstick, it matches none of the previously discarded lipsticks, nor does it have a brand logo on it. “where did you find this?” vil takes the lipstick in his hand, nimbly examining the exterior. he removes the top to reveal a rich, velvety red colour. his eyes widen just slightly. 

“it’s a secret,” you wink and take the lipstick from him and apply it, smiling as you replace its cap and let it fall from your hand, onto a messy vanity behind you. 

vil wraps an arm around your neck, drawing you closer to his seated level, “well, share your secret with me, if you would be so kind.” you swiftly close the gap between yourself and the housewarden, administering a healthy dose of red onto his lips and the surrounding skin. 

he parts first, his cheeks dawn a hint of pink that’s hidden behind the various stains on his otherwise perfect skin. he truly is the most beautiful person ever. makeup or not, hair tied back or loose, vil is sincerely as pretty as the morning's first light, a flower; freshly bloomed, and a fresh set of nails. 

“you’re staring. not that i mind,” you snap out of your hazy daydream about your gorgeous boyfriend and back into reality. 

“yeah, sorry. you’re just really fucking pretty.” you lean down and tenderly kiss his forehead as he internally squeals like one of his fan-girls. he really hit the jackpot with you as his (second) biggest fan.

idia looks up at you with wide yellow eyes, but they have a sort of gloss over them that makes you believe he would not want you to get up and leave his dorm right now. you grin at his feeble attempt of a silent, inconclusive plea. an ask to what, you’re unsure because his face (minus the eyes) and hands grabbing at you tell you he’s very much enjoying you straddling his hips right now.

you reach into your pocket, revealing your master plan. a tube of lipstick, you swipe it over your lips once, then twice before replacing the cap and tossing it down, letting it hit the plush bedsheet you’re atop. 

the translucent tips of his hair start to turn pink as you lean down towards his face. a trembling hand comes up to your shoulder, not pushing you away but seemingly grounding the housewarden underneath you. “how cute,” you smile against his lips, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth, then another to his left cheek, then the right. one more on his forehead for good measure. maybe one more. okay, one last one couldn’t hurt.

you sit upright and drag a hand down idia’s chest, over the sweater you know is probably two sizes to large for him, (but that’s how he likes them you suppose and it just makes for a more comfortable sweater when you steal ‘em) while admiring the definitely not smudge-proof lipstick marks on idia’s face, giggling as you compare the red smears to his blue features. you wonder if-

the rapid rise and fall of idia’s chest catches your attention, it almost sounds like he’s hyperventilating, but when you look up to his face it’s surrounded by fiery pink hair and a flush across his cheeks, spanning down his neck, you realize he’s fine. probably a little more than fine. 

“well, that’s some false advertising,” you smile, wiping at the edges of your lips lightly with a finger. idia snaps out of his stupor, hastily agreeing with a stuttered breath. his hands find your hips, giving you a small squeeze. you lean down and press a proper kiss to his lips, you lift away just as quick as you bent down, pushing idia back down as he chases you up, hoping for more. a pitiful whine escapes him as his hair burns brighter. 

the red lipstick mixes with his natural blue lips gives him a sort of purple that would put the octavinelle’s house colour to shame. though, he almost looks forlorn. the usual solemn and gloomy housewarden; reduced to a blushing mess after a few kisses. 

hilarious, isn’t it?

malleus’s eyes flutter shut, a pleased sigh escapes his lips. his hands, hidden by your sweater, trace messy patterns on your back as his nails scratch lightly. he’s unsure of how he got himself into this humanoid predicament but he’s not complaining. 

you’re sat in his lap, placing kisses all over his face, leaving red lip marks behind. 

“you look like you’re enjoying this more than i am, malleus.” you bring a hand up to rake it through his bangs, pushing them behind his horns and revealing the shiny scales hidden beneath. 

the housewarden cracks a sharp emerald eye, examining your features. the slope of your nose, the curve of your stained lips, your eyelashes, cheeks. your eyes. oh how he loves your eyes, the way they look up to him with adoration, not fear or indifference like other humans do. 

you cup his cheek, “malleus?” 

he blinks once, twice. the gloss over his eyes breaks, refocusing on you. “i apologize, i was lost in thought.” 

“i could tell,” you trace your finger to the tip of his ear, then drop your hand back into your lap. “what were you thinking of? me?” 

“yes.” 

“woah, okay. blunt!” heat rises to your face. 

a hand leaves your back, trailing around your side and up to tuck a piece of hair away from your eyes. “was i not suppose to tell the truth?” 

“no, malleus, you should have said you were thinking of pancakes.” 

“but i wasn’t? i was thinking of-” you cut him off, placing a kiss on his lips. 

“now, let me resume my art.”

malleus is more than happy to sit as still as the gargoyle statues he studies while you press kisses all over his face. he is, truly is.

this was so self indulgent i ain’t even sorry (is my favouritism showing??)

masterlist

[hearts4hughes]

ೃ࿔:･ making rafe sleep on the couch

it started with something dumb. a harmless comment that hit the wrong nerve. the way he asked if you were really going to wear that top to dinner with his family, or the fact that he left every dish in the sink like you were his maid. nothing huge, just a spark. but it was the kind that lands in dry grass. you bit back, he bit harder, and suddenly you were both yelling over absolutely nothing.

his tone sharpens and yours stiffens. the air gets thick enough to choke. “i just asked a question,” he says, hands lifted like you’ve pulled a knife on him.

“no, you didn’t. you made a comment.” you snap, throwing your book onto the coffee table with a smack. your stomach tightens as you try to focus on the crackle of the red candle across the room.

“jesus christ,” he mutters, dragging a palm down his face. “are we really doing this?” he stares at your eyes. then at your lips. you avoid eye contact like the plague.

finally your eyes cut across the room, staring right through him. “you’re the one who started-”

“and you’re the one blowing it out of proportion.” he raises his voice an inch louder. silence fills the room like an elephant. you can hear the hum of the air conditioner and the distant chattering of the radio.

that’s it. your blood heats up like water on a stove. you scoff and storm down the hallway, steam pouring from your ears. the heels of your feet slam the floor harder than necessary. you throw the bedroom door open and it smashes against the wall.

he’s already close behind you, voice raised. “you’re being ridiculous.” his throat runs dry, hands balling into fists besides him. he bites down on his cheek hard enough to draw the taste of copper.

you don’t say anything. just rip his favorite pillows out from under the white comforter and throw them onto the ground. they plop onto the hard wood. you turn on your heels, arms crossed, and eyes absent of their usual spark.

“what the hell are you doing?” his voice snaps through the doorway, low and biting. he already knows the answer but wants to hear you say it anyway. he’s standing there with his jaw locked, shirt half unbuttoned. his eyes drop to the pillows on the floor, then back to you. “oh my fucking-”

you glare at him, pointing to the pillows. “you’re sleeping on the couch.”

his eyebrows shoot up, borderline laughing, but you’re too pissed to care. “you’re not serious right? there’s no way i’m sleeping on the-”

“no,” you cut in, cold and flat. there’s no room for debate. “i don’t want to sleep next to you. i don’t even want to look at you.” you turn away from him, eyes filling with salty tears.

the silence is thick and ugly. he opens his mouth but only swallows. he looks at the pillows on the ground like they betrayed him.

“fine,” he says eventually, voice low and bitter. “fucking fine.” he trudges across the room and grabs the pillows. he curses under his breath as he leaves. before he crosses the doorway, he looks back one last time. he imagines you running towards him and saying you didn’t mean it, but his eyes are met with your back as you face away from him.

the bedroom door clicks shut behind him.

~

you stare at the ceiling and flip the pillow. you curl tighter under the blanket, breathe in and out, slow, and force your eyes closed. but your body knows what it’s missing. it’s his heat, his weight, the way his hand always finds your waist even when you’re turned away. the soft, unconscious sigh he lets out just before he falls asleep.

every creak in the house feels louder. on the couch, rafe’s not feeling much different. he’s shifted his position, changed couches, and even hugged his pillow, yet nothing could replicate the feeling of comfort you gave him.

you hear him walk to the kitchen and back. he mutters something to himself under his breath. then the door creaks open. you don’t look.

he slips in like a ghost, like maybe if he moves quietly enough you won’t kick him out again. the bed dips under his weight, tentative. his hand grazes your arm. it’s light, careful, and everything the last few hours weren’t.

“i can’t sleep,” he says, voice raw. “not without you.” you still don’t face him. but your breathing stutters. he leans in anyway, presses his forehead to the back of your neck. “i’m sorry,” he murmurs, and this time it sticks. not an afterthought, not a truce…just the truth.

you shift, just barely, and he takes that as a hint. his strong arm scopes your figure and presses you against his warm chest. he wraps both of his arms around you and kisses the nook of your neck. and this time, you both sleep.

taglist ~ @ren-ni @bungurus @kayperrysinging @cupids-diner @mojitrvo @babygirlboeser @makiplan @ladyatwalmart @qversazex @favbrnette @nothingtosee333her @soft-starr @f10werfae @bibissparkles @brennanyay @grungefck @kravinoffswife @restinpaece @illumoria @meetmeintheemeraldpool @miaaaoa @imtalkinnonsense @strawberrymilk99 @angel06babysworld @rafesteddy @drewrry @urcoolgf @thegirlnextdoorssister

[kurooh]

HOT THINGS THEY DO ★ MY HERO ACADEMIA

⊹₊˚. featuring various characters being attractive in and out of the bedroom.

warnings. 18+ content — mdni, fem! reader but a few can be interpreted as gn. mainly suggestive / nsfw hcs

izuku’s eyes are always on yours when he’s listening to you speak—sometimes, in the middle of conversation, he tilts his head to the side. it’s completely unconscious, he’s just really focused on you. +bonus: he twirls his pen around between his fingers when he takes notes and he has such nice hands . . ykwim

in the bedroom, izuku’s open to anything. he welcomes change in the form of new kinks, positions, toys, etc but also doesn’t mind if something doesn’t work out. his willingness to experiment has almost always yielded a positive result and better sex.

katsuki is an amazing driver. safety and making yellow lights are very important to him. he usually drives with one hand, and he throws an arm behind the passenger seat to take a look behind him when he’s backing up. yes, he’s able to use the camera without turning to look back, but he prefers not to for safety. (he likes getting you a little flustered)

katsuki’s easily able to throw you around and manhandle you as much as you like. in addition, he’s got a filthy mouth, so by extension, his dirty talk is excellent. he’s able to fluidly switch between tones and leave you thinking about everything he said even days later.

shōto doesn’t understand why you’re fawning over him when he’s in the middle of working out. after a few sets, he tugs on the hem of his sleeveless shirt and uses it to wipe away the sweat gathered on his forehead. by the time he’s pausing to do so, he’s panting heavily and his abs clench sporadically as he tries to catch his breath. +bonus: sho’s tired and doesn’t gaf about a little mess when he’s sucking down some water, so it always ends up trickling down his chin

when you’re naked and ready for his touch while pinned beneath him, shōto’s easily able to read your body. he’s mapped out the spots that make you tick and committed them to memory; he’s able to figure out what you want and how you want it without you having to say a word.

eijirou often sits back lazily in chairs or on the couch, with his legs comfortably spread. in that position, his thighs always look extra thick and strong. when he catches you staring, he pulls you into his lap with a laugh.

when it comes to fucking eijirou, it’s clear that his pleasure is really yours—he gets off on pleasing you and makes it his top priority always. he’s cum untouched a few times with you sitting on his face or riding it.

denki is always smiling. it’s easy to tell how he’s feeling because he’s so open about it, and he’s also genuinely happy often. even when he’s nervous he tries to hide his little smile !

as often as possible and if the position allows, denki’s right up against your ear and softly making noise while babbling dirty or sweet nothings. he’s not at all shy to make noise and encourages you to do the same.

keigo is naturally protective. in crowded areas, he takes your hand in his and pulls you close while you walk together. if you’re walking around the city at night together after getting tipsy and someone threatening approaches, he steps between you and them while shielding you with his wings.

keigo builds tension perfectly through lengthy kisses and eager touches all over your body. it’s a little torturous for him to fight back the urge to cum when he hears you softly begging him to touch you. he’s shaking when he finally slides in, and his wings fan out uncontrollably; they’re always talking for him when he’s too busy making noise to communicate.