#without siding with the protesters

[kingorgan]

you don't understand just how monumentally stupid shooting that Australian reporter with a rubber bullet live on tv was. That reporter works for Channel Nine which is, I would argue, Australia's most conservative free to air tv channel. And keep in mind that most people in Australia don't have cable. It is owned by the Packer family, the gambling tycoons who own Crown Casinos and are friends of the Murdoch family. More specifically, James Packer and Lachlan Murdoch are friends and have done business deals together in the past (to not a great success). Americans might be more familiar with Lachlan's work overseeing Fox News for the past decade or so.

Up until that shot was fired, that reporter was giving the mildest of reporting. The bare bones of what was physically happening on the ground without the context needed to understand why the protesters were there in the first place. It was designed to look unbiased whilst leading people to side with the cops. And then you shot her in the leg.

[fyllophobia]

[acourtofquestions]

Overhead, the stars shone clear and bright, and though Mala had only once appeared to him at dawn, on the foothills across this very city, though she might be little more than a strange, mighty being from another world, he offered up a prayer anyway.

Then, he had begged Mala to protect Aelin from Maeve when they entered Doranelle, to give her strength and guidance, and to let her walk out alive. Then, he had begged Mala to let him remain with Aelin, the woman he loved. The goddess had been little more than a sunbeam in the rising dawn, and yet he had felt her smile at him.

Tonight, with only the cold fire of the stars for company, he begged her once more.

A curl of wind sent his prayer drifting to those stars, to the waxing moon silvering the camp, the river, the mountains.

He had killed his way across the world; he had gone to war and back more times than he cared to remember. And despite it all, despite the rage and despair and ice he'd wrapped around his heart, he'd still found Aelin. Every horizon he'd gazed toward, unable and unwilling to rest during those centuries, every mountain and ocean he'd seen and wondered what lay beyond... It had been her. It had been Aelin, the silent call of the mating bond driving him, even when he could not feel it.

They'd walked this dark path together back to the light. He would not let the road end here.

[a-dash-in-the-middle]

wanting to visit the archives without looking like a fanatic bc nobody likes posting government documents online apparently

[macro-microcosm]

Look, I'm sorry, but you cannot say "there is no antisemitism in the Free Palestine movement" and also say that you think Israeli youth should be put into Viet Cong-style reeducation camps.

And no, it's not a more vindicated or less bigoted opinion just because nobody comes to you with a better single-sentence solution to hate crimes.

[adiadagaki]

smitten!sukuna won’t admit he is absolutely enthralled by you, but he sure as hell knows how to show it. You want a vacation? First class flights and a five star hotel are booked. You like that diamond necklace? It’s in a box waiting for you when you get home. You want to spend some time with him? He can destroy that village another week

smitten!sukuna can’t function without you by his side, he always requires your presence no matter where he is or what he is doing, and vise versa. An hour without you is an eternity he would never live through

smitten!sukuna who has already arranged your wedding (something you are ignorant to) and is just waiting for the day you agree to be his bride (he has asked you 50+ times already)

“Come on princess, know you want to be my wife.” Circling your clit with the mouth on his stomach, he pulled out to the tip, his cock throbbing in protest

With tear stained cheeks, you shook your head. “Ryomen… it’s only been six months.” Six weeks. Six months. Six years. What difference did it make? You were his until the universe ceased to exist, in his eyes you may as well just skip a step or two.

But deep down, you already knew your answer, you were just waiting to exploit him a little before you gave into what you both wanted. What was the fun in having a big, burly king at your whim if you couldn’t play him as you pleased?

smitten!sukuna who kills anyone that dare question you in any capacity. You were a Goddess and should be treated as such.

smitten!sukuna had to close his eyes if you ever asked for something he didn’t want to give you. Like a pet. Sukuna hated the idea of sharing you with any one or thing, a furry nuisance included. But he could never say no while looking into those pretty eyes of yours.

smitten!sukuna hosts balls in your honour, flaunting off the pretty little thing he had managed to make all his.

smitten!sukuna who lets you peg him because you asked ever so sweetly.

“But Ryo.” You whined.

That damned nickname softened his will to something weaker than jelly.

“Princess.” He warned, not amused in the interest you had taken in dominating him. Sitting back, you crossed your arms and turned your chin up at him. “No pegging. No marriage.”

His mind had never changed so quickly.

Part 2 Part 3

[kaiist]

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐄 ⋯ 𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐂𝐔𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄

𝐗𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑

Limbs completely intertwined, Xavier’s legs weave between yours, creating an intricate knot of warmth beneath the sheets. His arms encircle your waist, pulling you so close that your chests rise and fall against each other with each breath. Face to face, his nose nearly brushes yours.

The weight of his arm draped over your side anchors you firmly against him, while his other arm slides beneath your neck, creating a living pillow. Your foreheads touch, creating a small pocket of shared air between you. His fingers absently trace your spine, the light pressure a silent communication in this cocoon you’ve created together.

When you shift slightly, his body automatically adjusts to maintain the connection, legs tightening their gentle hold around yours. He pulls you impossibly closer until your heartbeats seem to synchronize, the steady rhythm vibrating through the minimal space between your bodies.

His breathing gradually slows against your face, eyelids growing heavy even as he fights to maintain this moment of consciousness with you. The battle was lost, his muscles relaxed slightly, but his hold remained secure—his body curled entirely around yours, every limb connected, every point of contact preserved even as sleep claimed him.

𝐙𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄

Your head rests perfectly in the hollow of Zayne’s shoulder, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek creating a gentle, lulling motion. His right arm curves firmly around your shoulders, hand splayed protectively across your upper back. The weight is there yet comfortable—present without being restrictive.

He shifts slightly, adjusting his position to better accommodate you, his movements careful not to disturb you too much. His left hand reaches across to brush some hair from your face before settling on your arm, completing the circle of his embrace. The warmth from his body envelops you completely, his chest radiating heat like a furnace.

His chin rests atop your head, fitting perfectly in the space as if designed for this purpose. When you nestle closer, his arms tighten slightly, a subtle adjustment to your new position. His cheek presses against your hair, the light pressure a constant reminder of his presence.

Your bodies align—his longer frame curved exactly to complement yours, creating perfect contact from shoulders to feet. Even his breathing eventually synchronizes with yours, his chest rising as yours falls, then reversing, creating a peaceful counterbalance beneath the weight of his encircling arms.

𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐋

Rafayel’s head nestles against your chest, his ear pressed directly over your heart as though listening to a favorite melody. His arms snake around your middle, fingers interlocked behind your back to complete the circle of his embrace. The weight of him draped across your torso is notable but comforting, like a living blanket.

He adjusts frequently, small wiggles and shifts as he seeks the perfect position—head nudging under your chin, then sliding to rest in the center of your chest. His legs tangle with yours beneath the sheets, one thigh thrown casually over yours. His hair tickles your neck and chin with each subtle movement, a constant sensory reminder of his presence.

His arms squeeze randomly in bursts of affection, momentarily tightening their hold before relaxing again. His fingers remain in constant motion against your back, tapping out rhythms only he can hear. When you breathe deeply, his head rises and falls with your chest, and he sighs contentedly at the motion.

Each time you attempt to create even the smallest space between you, he instinctively puts an end to it, pressing closer with a small noise of protest. His entire body molds against yours, claiming every available inch of contact as though trying to dissolve the boundaries between you.

𝐒𝐘𝐋𝐔𝐒

The solid heat of Sylus’s chest presses firmly against your back, fitting perfectly against your spine with not even a whisper of space between you. His arms encircle your waist, one wrapped securely over your midsection while the other slides beneath you, completing the embrace. His fingers splay possessively across your stomach, occasionally tightening their hold as if confirming your presence.

His legs align with yours, the back of your thighs cradled against his in a perfect fit. When you shift, his body moves with yours as a single unit, maintaining the connection. The warmth between your bodies intensifies where you touch, creating a cocoon of heat that envelops you completely.

His breath falls in measured rhythm against the nape of your neck, stirring the fine hairs there with each exhale. The subtle press of his lips occasionally replaces the breath, lingering briefly before returning to the established pattern. His chin occasionally hooks over your shoulder, bringing his cheek alongside yours in a moment of increased closeness.

The entire position forms a protective shell around you—his larger frame curved precisely to encompass yours, his arms locked in their secure hold, his chest rising and falling against your back like a living fortress that has claimed you as its sole occupant.

𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐁

Caleb positions himself facing you, his head placed slightly higher on the pillow so his chin can rest protectively atop your head. Your foreheads occasionally touch when he ducks down to catch your eye before returning to his watchful position. His legs weave between yours, calves hooking behind your ankles to close any possibility of distance.

His arms create a complete circuit around you—one curved beneath your neck and shoulders, the other wrapped securely around your waist, hands meeting in the middle of your back. The embrace envelops you entirely, his larger frame curving to accommodate yours while still maintaining his slight height advantage.

When you breathe deeply, his hold adjusts automatically, loosening and tightening in perfect response to your movements. His fingers trace idle patterns against your spine, occasionally pausing to spread wide and pull you fractionally closer, eliminating even the suggestion of space between you.

The position places your ear near his heart, its steady rhythm a constant backdrop to the rise and fall of his chest against yours. His chin occasionally rubs affectionately against your hair before settling back into place, maintaining that protective angle.

Based on this request.

[mothofmyth]

DP X DC

The Justice League summons the ghost king. Danny was in the middle of an emergency that only he could stop.

He screams and cries and begs them to send him back, tells them it's life or death, tells them they can summon him again in 24 hours just PLEASE send him back NOW everybody was going to die

They argue and deliberate for almost ten minutes before they send him back.

They summon him again the next day. He's different.

They try to talk to him but he just hangs there numbly, floating and staring at nothing.

Nightwing can't take it anymore. Maybe the ghost king is an eldritch god, but to him he just looks like a traumatised child.

Without hesitation, he steps into the circle (Constantine told them all to stay back from it the first time he summoned Phantom but what's the worst that could happen?)

Everybody protests but Constantine keeps them back, tells them more people in the summoning circle will only make things more dangerous.

So, Nightwing does his thing. He hesitantly approaches the loose ball of glowing limbs that is Phantom, talking gently as he goes.

He asks Phantom if he can touch him, and still gets no response. Just dull, dead eyes looking past him.

Cautiously, he lays a hand on the ghost-boy's shoulder. No response.

He pulls him into his side, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and talking softly.

All at once, the king crumbles. He turns into the one-armed hug, fisting a hand tightly into Nightwing's costume. He buries his face in the hero's shoulder and begins to sob. Terrible, wretched noises of agony.

Nightwing makes soothing noises to the child in his arms as he turns to meet eyes with the rest of the Justice League.

They summoned him in the middle of an emergency and instead of sending him back immediately they kept him there. Kidnapped him.

This was their fault.

[talaok]

After all

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: A morning in Jackson with your husband Joel and his kid Ellie, only ever since you got pregnant he has seemengly become insatiable.

Warnings: A bunch of fluff, reader is pregnant, unspecified age gap, smut| Unprotected p in v, creampie, breeding kink, big dick Joel (ofc), soft!dom Joel.

a/n: this is a weird short lil thing bc i am delulu and i dont wanna think about the next ep. this is what happens. all of this is canon 100%.

You'd stopped setting an alarm long ago.

This was the only way you ever woke up now... with Joel Miller's mouth on you.

Today, the kiss had landed on the top of your head.

"Mornin' beautiful"

The man was like an alarm clock, he always woke up at the same exact time, and he'd made it a routine now of taking his sweet time in the morning.

Each day felt like a blessing when he opened his eyes and you were in his arms, breathing deeply onto his chest, his neck... every morning he'd wake up and stare at you for a little while, letting you have a few more minutes of sleep, thanking whoever was responsible for having ever let him meet you.

And this morning had been no exception.

"Good morning" you mumbled, softly rubbing your face against his neck as you tried to will your eyes to open.

Your senses were invaded with everything Joel- his potent manly scent, his heat, his touch... just as every morning he was the welcome reprieve against the daunting task of starting your day.

But today it seemed a slow morning wasn't exactly what he had in mind.

You finally craned your neck up with a yawn before smiling softly at him.

He always looked so cute in the morning, when his defenses weren't up because it was just you and him...

Without speaking, without needing to, both of you leaned closer to the other until his mouth was gently pressing on yours- which is how you usually greeted each other every morning... what didn't however happen every day was his lips pressing harder, his tongue infiltrating your mouth, or his left hand forcing your head even closer to his.

You didn't even have time to smile at his eagerness that he'd pinned you beneath him, kissing you brutally now, his tongue fighting with your own as his right hand began to trail down your swollen belly looking to get beneath your sleeping shorts.

Your hands went to his hair- it had changed since you'd arrived in Jackson, his locks had grown longer and greyer and it didn't matter how many times he'd come up with an excuse as to why he wanted them short again... you'd never allow it, it was as if his long hair was the proof of how comfortable and safe he'd grown here... around you.

"Joel" you managed to murmur, trying to slow him down.

But he didn't answer, he only groaned in response as his left hand seeped underneath your shirt, desperately grasping your boobs.

"Baby" you cooed as his mouth left yours to peck whatever inch of your neck he could reach.

"I need ya darlin'"

You wanted nothing more than to accept what you knew was about to come, but even if it killed you, you spoke up.

"I wanted to make breakfast baby" you murmured as his calloused fingers touched your belly as if it were made of porcelain, caressing it with all his love "before Ellie goes on patrol"

The groan he let out was one of both frustration and protest.

Joel had never been a fan of Eliie going on patrol... quite the opposite really.

He'd tried to talk her out of it countless times, he even persuaded Tommy into getting her off some shifts, but to no avail, she always got her way.

He even tried getting you on his side, and although you didn't love the idea, you knew better than to tell Ellie what to do.

You'd had countless conversations about it, hundreds of:

"You can't protect her forever Joel" and "She's not a kid anymore, you can't tell her what to do"

And he'd always say something like:

"It's too damn dangerous" and "I just don't get why she has to go"

And then he'd always complaint about how "She's so damn reckless" and every time, you couldn't help but smile as you reminded him: "She's just like her dad"

But in the end, he had accepted it... he wasn't happy about it, but at least he got Ellie to promise she would be 'real fucking safe' and that she'd stay out of trouble.

Which is why you smiled as you guided his head up so you could kiss him.

"Please?" you bit down a smile, half laughing "I'll make it up to you later"

He grumbled displeased before giving up.

"I hate that goddamn patrol"

__ __ __

Eggs were frying in the sizzling pan, but all your focus was on Joel's mouth devouring your own... again.

Joel Miller had always had a voracious appetite, but from the very first moment you got pregnant he'd become insatiable.

Every single second he had to have his hands on you, no matter if you were in public or not, his palm was on your lower back, on the inside of your thighs, on your cheeks, and most of all on your growing belly.

And then there were times like now, where he had every inch of your body pressed against his, both his hands on your ass, as he kissed you like it was the very last time he ever could.

That was until a voice startled you.

"Jesus"

It seemed Ellie had made it to breakfast.

"Get a room you two"

Joel begrudgingly took a step back, letting you out of his hold so you could finally greet poor Ellie... you would have liked to say this was the first time she'd caught you showing a little too much affection to each other, but the truth was the girl must be tired of it.

"Hi Ellie" you smiled wide, certain that your face and cheeks were flushed enough to notice.

"Good mornin' kiddo" Joel nodded, pouring himself a cup of coffee, completely unfazed.

"No wonder you got pregnant in less than a year" Ellie grumbled, making you chuckle.

__ __ __

Breakfast flew by. It was mostly Joel and Ellie who talked, yapping about whatever disgusting discovery Ellie had made on some recent patrols or the new jokes she and Dina had made up.

The whole time Joel's hand remained on your thigh as he listened eagerly at every word leaving Ellie's lips- but you... you weren't really listening, all you could do the whole time was smile, as the rising sun shined through the windows, as Joel's and Ellie's laughs filled the room, as your child grew in your belly, you could only smile as the reality of how great life could really be, even after all, set in.

__ __ __

Ellie had run out of the house only minutes ago.

You were just starting to wash the first mug in the sink when he wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, kissing your cheek.

He set down the last dish he'd retrieved from the table into the sink and guided your hands away from the task, forcing you to turn around.

You could see it in his eyes before he even spoke a word.

"Jesus baby you're insatiable today" you laughed as he smirked, leaning closer to leave a soft kiss on your lips.

"can't help myself when my wife looks so goddamn beautiful" he murmured, his hands finding your sides so his thumb could trace small circles on your belly.

You smiled at his words as he moved you against the kitchen counter. "You're gonna be late to work"

He nodded mindlessly, kissing your neck and sending shivers down your back.

"'m sure they'll survive without me"

And that was that.

You didn't even know why you'd tried to protest, you could never deny him... and he never did change his mind.

"You wanna go on the bed?" he asked breathlessly between kisses, his big warm palms working your shirt up and off of you.

Jesus, you got hotter every day.

You let out a soft cry as his leg found its place in between your thighs and he grinded his rock-hard cock against you.

You hadn't even touched him and he was damn near losing his mind.

"You're the one with the bad back... and knees... and-"

He interrupted you with a kiss, moving you onto the counter as an answer.

"You're saying I'm old sugar?" he challenged, his voice sweet as honey and lustful as ever.

You grinned, your hands traveling downwards to the tent in his sweatpants.

"Well it sure isn't me who needs glasses"

He couldn't help but softly laugh, his forehead falling to yours- though the moment your hand infiltrated his boxers and grabbed his dick, giving it a slow, torturous pump all the sounds coming out of his mouth turned to a desperate groan.

"fuck doll" he growled, getting rid of your shorts and panties in one quick move "You sure you're comfortable here?"

It was funny, the way while he asked that, he was already guiding his cock into you.

"Yeah," you nodded nonetheless, your voice barely a whisper "it's... it's perfect"

The cold of the counter against your skin grounded you as Joel thrust his dick inside you- inch by inch.

No matter how many times he filled you, you were never getting used to him.

"Fuckin'- Jesus Christ babydoll" he growled, his mouth just an inch from yours, both your heavy breathings mixing with one another.

"Feel like fuckin' heaven," he growled before he started moving.

And... yeah... fuck.

Moans started spilling from your mouth like prayers as your hands went to his back, scratching his skin as you held onto him for dear life.

He never went particularly hard since the baby, but he still managed to go fast... and deep.

"Oh my god" you cried, eyes locked with his as he split you in half "Joel" you mewled, earning a messy kiss.

"takin' me so well darlin'" he praised, moving some hair from your face as your eyes fogged up with that pre-orgasmic haze "Always so good for me... I'll never tire of this perfect fuckin' pussy baby- think about it every second of every day... fuck"

At that, at the feeling of his cock grazing your cervix with each thrust, your walls hugging him impossibly tight and his sweet southern drawl coming out more the more ecstasy took over, your eyes rolled to the back of your head as your moans got higher and louder.

You'd never had to be quiet since Ellie moved to the garage, and you sure didn't miss it.

"J-Joel-- Oh shit"

You threw your head back as the pleasure started overriding your body, your legs spasming as your mind went blank, and Joel took it as an opportunity to bend down and kiss every inch of your neck he could reach- eventually, he started focusing right beneath your ear, where he knew drove you crazy.

"You're gonna come for me sugar?" he purred, the sound of his skin slapping with yours bouncing off the kitchen's walls "be a good girl and come on my cock darlin'"

He didn't even have to ask.

You silenced your own cries by biting down on the piece of him where his neck met his shoulder as your vision went white and all you could feel was pleasure in its purest form.

Joel watched every second of it, his eyes inevitably lowering to your belly together with his hands... he couldn't believe this was real.

You didn't know how long the orgasm went on, but Joel didn't stop for one second. It was only when you finally relaxed that he let himself off the hook.

"I'm gonna come babygirl" he groaned, his thrusts turning sloppy "Gonna fill you up" he smiled, kissing your mouth as you tried your best to reciprocate in the post-orgasmic haze "It don't matter that I've filled you up already... need to show everyone you're mine" he grunted, his hands cradling your belly making you beam "gonna make you a mama over and over again, sugar- fuck- goddamnit"

Before you knew it, he was doing exactly what he'd said- filling you up.

His head fell to the crook of your neck as he groaned loud enough for the whole Jackson to hear.

His eyes seemed even bigger as he peeked up at you after a while, nothing in them if not joy and devotion.

"I love you" he murmured, kissing you softly.

"I love you" you promised back.

Yeah... life really could still be great after all.

[chuluoyi]

𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐄𝐗𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄

- sylus x reader

you and your lover are hailed and feared, but who would have guessed that behind closed doors, both of you are just that — lovers?

genre/warnings: very suggestive, making out, fluff, comfort, period cramps, assassin!reader (not l&ds mc), loosely based on sylus' secret times: midnight warmth & exclusive care!

note: very self-indulgent bye pls don't look at me :') this fic is a companion to assassin!reader series (strictly (un)professional and jealousy incarnate)

“Who’s ther— lord! Missus! What happened to you!?”

On a rainy night, you staggered into the base, drenched and covered with dirt. Your steps were unsteady as you made your way through the front door, and the first person to see you, Luke, was so shocked by the sight that he rushed to your side.

“Kieran! Call Boss!” he shouted to his twin, who immediately sprinted off to find him, steadying you. “Are you injured?”

“No,” you hissed, wincing as you clutched your abdomen. “Let go, I’m fine—” But before you could finish, you missed a step and—

—fell into Luke's arms.

In that very instant, Luke genuinely feared for his life. He squeaked and stammered, incoherent sounds escaping him, because oh lord— if Boss sees me ever touching his woman—

“What are you doing?”

And there came his nightmare. Sylus’ deep voice cut through like a blade, marking the arrival of doomsday itself.

“B-Boss! It isn’t what it looks like!” Luke quivered, desperately trying to explain himself.

However, Sylus paid him no mind and exhaled sharply, immediately moving over to pull you out of Luke’s grasp. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine!” you insisted, pulling away from him while staggering. “I’m not wounded or anything. Just... I just need a bath, please.”

Sylus eyed you from top to bottom. You had just been out for a reconnaissance, and yet you looked as though you had been through a tornado and back. Disheveled, your dress was smeared with mud and dirt, and even grime clung to your hair.

“Did you fall into a sewer or something?” he questioned, and he knew he had hit a nerve when you shot him a glare.

But you spared him no answer, walking away with labored breaths and a hand pressed against your lower belly. It was clear you were in pain, and the sight tugged at him as he followed you.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his concern growing. “What hurts?”

“You don’t have to fuss over me—” your breath hitched, feeling exhausted, and ashamed all at once. “Just my period, nothing much,” you murmured in a quieter voice so the twins wouldn’t hear.

As you reached the stairs to the second floor, you felt like collapsing. Did you really have to climb these stairs, too?

As if reading your mind, Sylus let out a sigh, but you nearly squealed when he lifted you into his arms.

“You’ll get dirty!” you rebuked, even as he took large strides up the stairs. “Sylus!”

“Just hold onto me.” He shot you a pointed look. “You can’t even walk without gasping for air, and you still want to climb the stairs? You’ll end up rolling and breaking your back.”

Despite your protests, your lover immediately brought you to his bathroom and sat you down on the sink. He turned the hot water on and then faced you.

“So? What did you get yourself into?” he asked, his red eyes narrowing in dissatisfaction. “You were fine, and you didn’t face anyone.”

You pressed your eyes shut, leaning against the wall, resigned to explain. “Fell into mud. Totally idiotic, I know, but my cramps started right before, so…”

“I don’t recall you experiencing this before. What brought this on?”

You met his gaze indignantly, retorting, “Well, a certain someone banged me so hard last night, and I got my period right after.”

It was quite unexpected, but still answered his concern. So, to that, Sylus snorted and tousled your hair, a playful twinkle in his eyes. “Ah, sorry, I guess?”

You pursed your lips, aware of how unapologetic he was. He smirked and added, “Now that I’m dirty too... I suppose we’ll have to take a bath together.”

“Are you mad? Do you want to get covered in my blood?”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “Why not—”

“No,” you retorted firmly, clearly irked. “You take the bath after me, and that’s final.”

. . .

“Put your arm around my neck,” Sylus commanded when you both emerged from the bath and already dressed in silk bathrobes. You complied, and he swiftly lifted you into a princess carry, bringing you to the bed.

Despite yourself, your heart fluttered at his action. He set you down gently, and the moment your back met the soft surface, you relished it and let out an involuntary moan. “Ahh...”

Your voice was soft and sultry, though tinged with a hint of pain. Sylus placed his hand gently on your face. “Your cheeks are warm,” he noted. “And you still look pale.”

"Mmm," you mumbled, suddenly the total fatigue catching up to you as you leaned into his touch. Seeing you so pliant like this seemed to flip a switch inside him, and he immediately settled next to you and placed his huge hand on your lower belly, pressing down on it.

“What are you doing?” you frowned.

“I’m giving you a massage,” he replied. “Stop squirming. I’m trying to pamper you here.”

“You don’t have to…”

“My woman is in enough pain that she doesn’t talk back to me. It’s feels off.”

“...actually, you suck. You’re too rough.”

Taking your whine into account, he adjusted his touch, softening his pressure. "How is it? Better?"

You didn’t immediately reply, indulging in the warm sensation, letting out a sigh as you squeezed your eyes shut. “Mm... Yeah, it feels good now. Don’t stop…”

There was something quietly erotic about watching you, usually so defiant, surrender to his touch like this. Sylus felt a deep, protective satisfaction as he continued his gentle ministrations—

But after a while...

Before he could stop himself, he leaned in, pulling you closer as he buried his face in your shoulder, inhaling deeply, savoring the scent of the bath foam you had just shared. “Mmm…”

You were caught off-guard and shivered at his breath tickling your skin, eyes fluttering open. “Sylus…” you murmured, a mix of protest and surprise in your voice.

But he didn’t pull away, his lips lingering against your skin, his gaze fixed on your bare neck, whispering, “Just relax. I’ve got you.”

Then, when he suddenly nibbled on your neck, you jolted awake. The gentle bite on your sensitive skin sent another shiver down your spine, stirring a mix of warmth that made your pulse race.

But he didn't stop there, as Sylus trailed your neck with a series of kisses and wet sucks, his breath hot against your skin. Soon, the only sounds filling the room were his quiet sighs and the soft noises of his lips as he continued to bite and pepper kisses on your skin, over and over.

“Ngh…” Each touch left you almost breathless, and the heat between you growing with every passing moment, making your toes curl and you moan softly by his ear.

“Hold me,” he gruffly whispered, and as if bewitched, you clung to his shoulders. He let out a husky chuckle. “Not too hard, or you won't be able to sleep later.”

“And whose fault would that be?” you quipped, entangling your legs with his, savoring the warmth of his body against yours.

“I’ve spoiled you rotten, haven’t I... sweetie?” he murmured amidst kisses, his tone laced with intrigue and his burgundy eyes flashing with a glint. “Just let me have my fill for a while.”

If you had a mirror, you’d see the hickeys forming on your neck, but instead of fighting him, you pulled him closer, letting out breathy moans freely and massaging his scalp as if urging him to go further.

“Naughty vixen—you are,” Sylus rasped deliciously in your ear, thick with desire and restraint as his grip on you tightened. “Tempting me, knowing full well I can’t do anything to you…”

A low giggle slipped from your lips. “Unfortunately… I learn from the best.”

Hard to get, snarky, taunting... You were the bane of his existence, and yet Sylus wouldn't have it another way. Your defiance and teasing only deepened his affection, making every challenge you presented feel like an irresistible part of what drew him to you.

He knew when his patience was on the verge of snapping, so to end it, he sucked hard on your shoulder one last time, making sure to leave another mark there. The squelching sound reverberated through both of you, before he pulled away and planted a firm kiss on your forehead, a gesture of both dominance and fondness for you.

“Now sleep,” he grounded out. “Your body has been through enough.”

“Mngh...” you whined, curling into him in contentment, your head nestled against his toned chest where you could feel his strong, steady heartbeat. “Really unfair...”

“You're going to feel better soon...” he sighed, one hand soothing your back and the other resting on your waist. “And as soon as you do...”

A wicked grin curved his lips.

“I'll pick up where I left off.”

[yanderenightmare]

Yandere Seven Deadly Sins

♡ AN: from the Promptlist

♡ TW: a lot of different stuff today, NSFW, noncon/dubcon, yandere, stalking, gangbang, harsh language, sexual exploitation, bondage, zero holes safe, and more, read at your own risk

♡ FEM reader

Pride is an artist, and you, poor dear, are lucky enough to be his muse.

You’d caught his eye one day simply by coincidence while working your part-time job as a barista.

And though it had been a rather unorthodox request—between balancing school and work and constantly finding yourself both strapped for cash and strapped for time—you’d decided to quit and take him up on his offer—as what he was offering was about twice what you could make at the cafe anyway.

He’s not that much older than you, but he’s old money. And while you're stuck in community college, he goes to an elite art school—which he doesn’t even show up to, 'cause why would he? They can't afford to kick him out anyway, given his father’s donations make up half of their yearly budget.

And so he's free to self-study as much as he wants.

Yeah... he’s a little too used to getting what he wants—exactly how he wants it—without delay. So when you struggle to come to your sessions on time due to having to take the bus to the other side of town, he decides to solve it by buying you a car. And when he doesn’t feel like that’s sufficient enough, he buys you an apartment right above his own studio. And when you try to reject, he only has three concise words for you.

“Don’t be stupid.”

The way he says it leaves very little up for debate. In fact, it leaves you mute each and every time. 

It was nice in the beginning—you didn’t protest to anything other than his overpriced gifts. You were flattered and blushy and giddy and more than happy to sit pretty for him for hours at a time while he sketched and sculpted and painted and whatnot. It was essentially nothing in comparison to the luxuries he gave you in return.

But you think, at some point along the way, he must have forgotten that he only owns the artworks he makes of you—not you yourself.

“N-naked?” you stutter, looking at him wide-eyed where he stands in his usual apron—flecked with the proof of your countless sessions. Honestly, it was getting to be a little strange posing for him in a room stuffed with a myriad of sketches, paintings, and statues of yourself. Hadn’t he had enough?

“I can’t capture you correctly when you wear all these rags,” he says—clinically, though with a pinch of impatience just shy of vexation—eyeing you from head to toe, almost with a look of disgust while beholding your clothes, despite being the one who’d bought them. “They obscure everything. So take them off.”

You knew he’d probably had about a hundred models undress for him, and stand here—old, young, men, women—you knew it probably didn’t mean much to him. He probably regarded it the same way he does everything—without even batting an eye. However…

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I can do that…” You fiddle with your fingers, standing there, still dressed despite him standing ready at his easel, foot-tapping while waiting for you, already with a stick of charcoal between his fingers. 

“Why are you making a fuss? You think I haven’t seen a naked body before?” he jokes, but without humor—no, rather strictness as if you’re wasting very precious time. “This is standard practice—don’t make it anything than what it is.”

There he goes again with those very final words that make you feel all in all kind of silly.

You bite your lip and mull it over before ever-so-begrudgingly uttering a weak little, “Okay…”

You suppose he was right. This is a job, and it’s just nudity—just another shape in the eyes of an artist—it doesn’t mean anything—is what you tell yourself while you undress. Still, you can’t help but feel flush—heart pounding in your chest as you fold your clothes all neatly for some other nervous reason. 

“Resume the pose,” he says—almost like a drill sergeant. And you jump into place, timidly rushing over to the chaise where you lie down like before.

This does feel like it would be a better painting, you admit. More reminiscent of Renaissance art and such. Not that you know much about it, but thinking back to field trips through the museum, you seem to remember having seen plenty of portraits of naked ladies lying on pretty but uncomfortable sofas just like this.

He seems very invested, at least. A deep furl between his brows, nearly scowling at you while he works—though you’ve come to learn that it’s just his concentration face.

After a while, he sets his charcoal down and wipes his blackened hands on his apron.

You sit up, asking, “Are you done?” All but ready to leap from your seat to your clothes and finally cover yourself again.

“No, keep still,” he all but reprimands—voice intense as he stalks across the floor over to you with determination written plainly across his face.

You draw back in place as he rests his knee on the chaise and leans forward. It wasn’t uncommon for him to come and correct your pose, but you couldn’t help but flinch this time around, feeling just a bit too exposed.

His hands are warm and overworked, both dry and a bit clammy all at the same time. You didn’t mind much when you wore clothes, but it felt a bit too intimate now as he touched your bare skin. But you bear with it despite that.

Eyes closed, you repeat that same line from before—it doesn’t mean anything, this is standard practice, it doesn’t mean anything.

It works in calming your breath for a moment, but then he grabs your tit.

You gasp, jolting back while stuttering, “Wha–what are you doing?”

And yet, he keeps his steal gaze just as fixed and unfazed as before, sighing at you as if you were overreacting, before stating rather simply, “Getting a better understanding of your body.” He then reaches toward you again, showing no concern for how you shrink away. “It’s easier to replicate when I know it by hand.”

Again, you let his voice silence you, and again, you closed your eyes and let his hands wander—around your chest, up your neck, down your belly, and then—

“Wait! That can’t be necessary—” you blurt out, this time with your arms and hands shooting forth to distance him.

“Oh, trust me—it is.” Again, he pays you no mind, simply bearing over you with his entitled hands roaming whatever place he so wishes and chooses. Only clicking his tongue at you when you squirm, “Don’t fuss.”

You don’t exactly push him away, though you don’t exactly make his pursuit easier for him—lying there beneath his touches, wiggling and whimpering, though not really protesting either as he feels your slit.

Your fingers curl into his arms, gripping his messy shirt streaked with paint and coal—as his fingers run through your lips, teasing your entrance and your clit. He twists his hand around and presses his thumb down on the pearl after it perks for attention, then enters you with his pointer finger—drawing out wetness before promptly feeding you another.

You bite your lip as they curl and spread within you, testing you out while rubbing firm circles into your clit.

Gingerly, your hips return it, starting to move in tune with his ministrations. Thighs trembling, keeping your eyes squeezed tightly shut as you start to pant—small moans leaving your lips with every breath, feeling it build within you—a small flame at first, nursed until it fills and all but fights for room within you before finally bursting.

“That’s it—that’s the expression,” he purrs—voice much softer than usual—cupping your face with his other hand, holding you steady while taking in those dopey eyes sparkling with pleasure and those parted lips that never dare speak up—eyeing you like he's the proud owner of a prized possession. “Perfect.”

He hums, sounding pleased, then gets off you shortly after, sauntering back to his easel.

“You can get dressed now. I got what I needed,” he states, picking the stick of charcoal up again, ripping the last sketch off for a fresh sheet before starting anew as if nothing had happened.

And you, still lying there, are left just as mute as usual.

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Shoto, Touya, Hawks, Shinso, Overhaul ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Naoya, Megumi ♡ HQ – Kageyama, Oikawa, Sakusa ♡ BLLK – Reo, Rin, Sae, Baro ♡ AOT – Eren ♡ DS – Muzan, Sanemi

Wrath is your ex-boyfriend who refuses to get it through his thick skull that the two of you are over.

Any time you talk to another guy, he beats him up—to a fucking pulp, no less. 

He’s always been that way, and still, it wasn’t always like this…

You started dating each other when you were young. He was rough around the edges, and you liked that about him—tattoos from his neck down to his ankles—the type your parents would have a heart attack if you ever brought home.

He was going to be a professional fighter, he’d say—mixed martial arts. He had all the rage and zero technique, but still, he’d land some of the best on their ass all through pure strength of will alone. 

He was near impossible to train, though—always too wired to be able to take any pointers. And that’s why he needed you. You were his reliever. He’d fuck you like it was his last day on earth, and suddenly he’d be able to do anything. Like an enhancement drug, everything would start moving in slow motion, and he could somehow see all the moves of his opponent before they ever made them.

You admit you liked hearing him preach about it. It made you feel important—made you feel as if half the win, or at least some of it, was yours. And when he started raking in the dough as the champion, winning multiple titles across several tournaments, you were more than happy to be his lucky charm and cheer him on from the sidelines.

But then, you had this awful and sudden feeling of being just that—a tool for his success and nothing else. Sure, he’d give you presents—pretty things he thought suited you well—but you hadn’t gone on a date since his career started, nor had you had a proper sit-down dinner together either. He’d stick to his diet regime, be out training at the gym all day, and you’d be home, going about your own business.

And while you were doing that, you’d think—about the nature of your relationship. And what you found is that all it really entails in the end is him demanding a fuck whenever he needed it—before a tournament, before training, before an interview. And then, after coming to that glum conclusion, you can’t help but feel like nothing more than another one of those items he keeps loose in his gym bag.

And those thoughts only got validated when you tried denying him sex for the first time…

You were just curious, really—curious to see what he’d do. If he’d beg, if he’d plead, if he’d say boo, don’t be that way while down on his hands and knees for you.

But of course... he can’t get anything else but angry.

“If you’re not gonna give me the one thing you're useful for, then what the fuck do I keep you around for?” is what he’d said—no, barked. “You think you’re special? If you’re not gonna put out, I might as well go out and find me someone who will.”

He’d fucked off to some other room with a huff and left you standing there. 

And you don’t know, amidst the shell shock and the ache of your heart coming undone... suddenly, you had no idea why you were there or with him or what you were supposed to do—and when you found no answer to any of those questions, it made no sense for you to stay. And so you went to your shared bedroom—or his bedroom, as a matter of fact, which you’d stayed in for the last months—quickly grabbed your things—your things specifically, and not all the other stuff he’d thrown at you—and stuffed it all haphazardly in your bag, then gone out to the entryway to put your shoes on.

That’s when he’d reared his head again with the gall of asking, “Where the fuck are you going?” 

He hadn’t had that same raised tone as before. No, this time it was lowered—frayed—with a touch of urgency and unease as if balancing on the edge of a knife—as if he knew he'd done something wrong and was reaping the consequences and yet still hadn't the balls to simply apologize and correct it.

And so, you hadn’t answered him.

“It’s the middle of the fucking night,” he’d stated then, coming closer, ready to grab your arm with that hint of alarm in his voice increased. “Hey, I asked you fucking a question—”

That’s when you’d twisted around and slapped him. You’d put all your might into it as well, though you doubt it compared to much of what he’d felt in the ring. 

And still, he’d looked at you as if he’d just lost all his titles. 

He hadn’t said anything else after that—just stood there with his mouth agape as you opened the door and slammed it shut behind you. In fact, you don't think he even dared do so much as take a breath.

You’d gone and crashed at a friend's and rethought your life. There was no way you could ever go back, after all—not after what he’d said. Treating you like a stay-at-home whore. Who the fuck does he think he is?

What an asshole—you'd tried convincing yourself as you cried yourself to sleep…

The days and weeks after were nothing if not fucked up and toxic, to say the least. You’d go out to have a fun time and try to forget about him, but he’d always show up out of the blue to ruin everything—being his usual douche self. 

Though… you can’t exactly claim to be any better than him—not after finding yourself in bed with his number-one up-and-coming rival.

Of course, it ends up all over the news—big headlines plastered on every gossip platform pushing your private affairs for all to see—a real media circus if there ever was one.

You end up back in his apartment. To talk, he’d said—a pretense you had a hard time believing in. He’s never been one to talk much. Honestly, you don’t know why you even bothered coming over when he asked. There might even be a chance he’ll kill you. This is how most homicides start, after all.

The two of you sit in silence for a couple of minutes. You look off to the side, waiting for him to speak because fuck knows you have nothing to say. 

Meanwhile, he just stares at you—his big, hulking body leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and his hands braided before his face. It’s the type of posture he’ll have when sitting in the corner of the ring—he’s got that same look in his eyes, too, deadset on you.

It makes you a little nervous, actually—maybe he really does plan on killing you.

“Why’d you do it?” he asks suddenly.

You almost scoff—almost roll your eyes, but you end up simply returning his dead glare. “Is that really what you asked me here for?”

He doesn’t answer that question. He just keeps staring at you.

You huff out a sigh, “I don’t know, maybe I just wondered what it would be like to be fucked like a woman for once and not someone’s toy.” 

You don’t know why you decided to take it there when you both know why you’d done it. What other fucking reason would there be other than to get back at him? It’s a stupid question to begin with, and so you give it a stupid answer in return. And you won’t deny it feels fucking good—seeing him like this. Five o’clock shadow, eyebags, and uncut, disheveled hair. 

He looks like a wreck, and rightfully so. Fuck knows what a mess you’d been before you finally managed to drag yourself out of bed. Funny what the single simple thought of revenge can do for someone so lost.

He scrapes his thumb down his jawline, over his stubble—a deep sigh running through him as he leans back on the couch. Offering no other reaction as he says, “I can sit here and act threatened, but you and I both know he was shit compared to me.”

He throws his arms up against the headrest, chin tipped up. Thinking he can hide it, thinking you can’t see right through him—to how hard he’s fighting to upkeep the poker face. 

He’s forgetting who his opponent is.

“I know you, babe—I know your body. And there's no fucking way some shitstain you just met–”

“His dick was bigger,” you interrupt—face blank because two can play that silly game, and you do it better.

He’s shut up for a moment—you can see a vein pulse, but it’s quickly stifled, and he smirks instead, snickering despite his grit teeth, “Sorry, that must'a hurt given how much you cry with me.”

This time, you don’t refrain from scoffing and rolling your eyes, “That's all you have to say? Thought you were a fighter.”

“You want me to get jealous? Is that it?” he accuses then, starting to crack, throwing your scoff back at you, “Tch—should've fucked somebody important then.”

This time, you skip the eye-roll and flat-out laugh instead, “I'll keep that in mind. Next time, I'll call up your dad-”

That did it—got him out of his seat and everything. “Shut your mouth.” Standing big and hunched, all muscles and fury.

And you react in kind. Glad that you’re finally getting somewhere. “Make me.”

"You're fucking–" He clenched his fist in the air, scrunching his face in frustration, withholding a growl before releasing a heavy sigh instead.

Dropping his arms, shoulders slumping—hanging his head the same way whilst mumbling under his breath, “Fuck this… fuck this entire thing.” 

And just as quickly as he’d sprung to his feet, he flopped down on the couch again. 

“I don't wanna play games…” He looks up at you—now with the look of a starved and beaten dog. “I don’t want anyone but you.”

He reaches out slowly—big hands cradling your thighs, pulling you towards him gently, and you let him—put off by that strange new look in his eyes.

“You can fuck half the world, and I'd still only want you.”

It’s an odd confession. Unexpected coming from him. You’d anticipated more of a fight, not whatever this is. Looking at you with glossy eyes on the verge of tears. Suddenly, you feel kind of mean, struck with this sense of guilt for having reduced him to such a state.

“Don't take the high road. It doesn't suit you,” you declare, though without much bite.

And he just sighs, “Fuck that, we’re even now.” Pulling you even closer still—into his lap—he makes you straddle him. Forehead to forehead without kissing you yet. “So, are you gonna let me fuck you, or are you really gonna make me beg?”

And though you would kind of like to see what he’d look like on his knees, the sight of him like this was good enough proof that he’d learned his lesson despite it not being an apology.

Besides, he'd been all too right when he’d said the other guy couldn’t fuck you like him.

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Dabi ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Naoya, Toji ♡ HQ – Kyotani, Sakusa ♡ BLLK – Shido ♡ DS – Akaza, Sanemi ♡ HxH – Uvogin

Sloth is a street urchin.

You volunteer at the homeless shelter and can’t help but feel extra sorry for him. He’s only around your age—so young yet with no future to speak of.

This winter, given it’s going to be an especially harsh one, all volunteers have been asked if they have any spare room they can be so kind as to give to those less fortunate. And though you’re not that well off yourself, you still have an extra room you’ve only been using as storage.

So, unable to look the other way, you decide to clean it out, get a bed, and host him.

You took precautions first, naturally—just to be safe. But, from what you could tell, he’s neither a drug addict nor has any criminal record to speak of. No, he’s just another abandoned kid who'd society had failed.

This is the least you can do to correct its wrongs.

And, of course, he falls in love with you for it. Not only do you give him a place of rest—but you make him warm food, give him fresh clothes, do his laundry, draw his bath, watch movies with him every night, and always ask him if he has everything he needs. You even cut his long, shaggy hair for him and give him luxuries such as face-lotion. 

You’re a saint, too good for a filthy sinner like him, but he’ll never let you know that... No, your pity feels too nice—taking such good care of him—he’s going to leach off of you and your honeycomb heart for the rest of his life if he can help it.

He doesn't look too bad after he cleans up, and after a few more weeks of eating well and getting enough rest—he stops lurching and starts standing up straight, looking lanky and lean with muscle—at which point you can’t deny he’s even a little hot. You know… in that scrappy sort of way.

You feel weird about it, of course—guilty even. He’s a homeless guy you’re housing—you’d be nothing if not downright evil if you took advantage of him. But after a few weeks of settling in, he starts feeling like more of a normal roommate and not a stranger. And with that familiarity, you both lose the distance and become more lax and loose around each other—wearing less, talking casually, not afraid to brush up against each other, and before you even know it, you find yourself folded in half beneath him on the living room couch.

You don’t know what the fuck you’ve gotten yourself into—but his cock’s so big he’s pounding the sense right out of you with every thrust.

He’s not even going fast. No, rather slow, actually—taking his time as if savoring it. But that doesn't take away from the pleasure bubbling up inside of you where his strokes hit so heavy, resting deep within, so fulfilling that it all but replaces your better judgment with the sole need to squeeze him with all you've got.

“Mh, you’re pussy’s so nice and warm—I could stay inside you forever.”

You’re so wet it’s ridiculous—like never before—like you’re the one who’s been starved and neglected and not the other way around. Getting your breath all but knocked out of you, getting fucked so utterly full, he’s making you kick your feet and curl your toes in the air, bucking your hips back into him like you’re desperately begging for more.

He’s got your knees hooked over his arms, keeping you neatly pressed under him. “You’re so good to me—so, so sweet, you must be the sweetest girl in the whole entire world. My guardian angel.” 

All you’re able to do is babble and moan in return—misty- and cross-eyed with your dewy face cradled in his hands. 

You just hold onto his wrists while he speaks fondly against your lips, “You saved me when no one else even bothered looking. Let me return the favor—give this pretty pussy all the thanks it deserves.”

When he re-angles and hits you in a different spot, the switch in your lower belly is immediate—making your whole body seize up and shiver, breath shuddering in your throat, followed swiftly by a pulse migrating from your core all throughout your body, tasting oversweet on your tongue enough to make you drool. 

He locks lips with yours, slurping your spit up sloppily and keeping himself fully sleaved as you peak—feeling your wet, gummy walls tighten and flutter, rippling along his length like a rush of kisses. 

Then, right before it fully dies down, he picks up the pace again and rekindles it—because fuck knows he’s well-rested and over-due and the farthest thing from done with you just yet.

♡ BNHA – Deku, Denki, Shigaraki, Dabi, Hawks, Shinso ♡ JJK – Mahito, Gojo, Yuji, Megumi, Yuuta, Choso ♡ HQ – Kuro, Lev, Miya twins, Suna, Tendou ♡ CSM – Denji, Yoshida ♡ BLLK – Nagi ♡ DS – Zenitsu ♡ WB – Togame

Gluttony is a five-star chef. 

You start off as a waitress at his restaurant. And yet, he’s the one who developed an appetite—for you and your pleasing smile and that busy-bee swing you have in your hip as you hop around from table to table. 

He licks his lips at the sight of you more than he does the food he makes. He even had the uniforms altered in your image—made the skirts shorter and shirts tighter.

He's utterly shameless, but who can blame him? You’re such a little bite-sized treat—he just has to taste you.

And taste you, he most certainly does. 

For breakfast and for brunch and lunch and dinner and supper, as well as a midnight snack.

“Your pussy juice is my favorite,” he groans from between your legs.

Fat-muscled chef’s arms, tattooed with all types of silly patches, curled tightly around your thighs, keeping you close despite those times you try and push away when it gets to be a little too much—because fuck knows he doesn’t have the same reservations. Nose and tongue and chin deep in your slit, slurping you down while filling you up with his words, “I want to flavor every meal I make with you.”

You keep a hand over your face, kissing your knuckles, sometimes with a bite—whimpering pitifully, “Gross…”

Of course, you can’t help but cringe when he says things like that. He’s your boss, after all, not a porn actor. Still, you don’t say it with much conviction. It’s just that you get so embarrassed you don’t know what else to say.

He chuckles, still with his face buried. “Don’t be childish.” Words muffled as he doubles down on his efforts of sucking on your clit like a piece of candy.

“I’m not,” you whine. “You're just weird.”

He smacks off of you at that, a refreshing sigh leaving him rugged and raspy, a devilish look in his eyes as if he’s about to eat you for real. “I’m a world-renowned chef—are you implying I don’t know my flavors?”

Everything in your gut coils with anticipation, nearly rumbling with need, while he pulls your lower half up and even closer—face glossy with the way he’d gorged himself already—licking his teeth now as he refocuses on your clit alone.

Flattening his tongue on it while he speaks, sounding like some type of beast, “I’ve tasted everything the world has to offer. And I'm telling you, this pretty little thing between your legs is the best there is.”

You can’t stand looking up at him. Beyond embarrassed, you hide your face with both hands. Mumbling out a weak, “Pervert...”

Again, he snickers, shaking his head as if he’s ripping into flesh when he’s really just got his tongue out—straight motorboating your poor pussy.

When done, he drops you onto the bed again, grinning while replying to your insult, “Can’t argue with that,” before promptly kissing and licking up your belly—with fingers replacing his tongue, pumping you on his knuckles, getting you ready. 

He groans when his mouth reaches your chest, lips wrapped around a nipple, “If only these titties had milk. I could feast on you from every position.”

You don’t know if you should giggle or grumble—he’s such a baby—and a spoiled one at that. But really, his fingering is making it difficult to do anything but stammer and try and keep it together, “We talked about this—I’m not taking hormones just to breastfeed you, you weirdo.”

He whines then, “Please—it’s my only wish in the entire world—I need it.”

You struggle to argue, feeling like you’re under siege—an onslaught set out to make you breathless. “Well—” you pant, gritting your teeth and bearing it. “We can’t always get what we want.”

“Oh, I’ll see about that.” He takes it as a challenge, this time really locking his lips around your nipple and suckling—releasing just briefly to say, “I bet if I suck on these babies enough, they’ll give me what I want.”

He keeps his fingers working diligently while at it—used to multitasking—curling and spreading them out within you, pumping you so fast, you barely have the time to beg him to “Stop that—” before you’re already shaking and cumming for what must be the seventh time already.

He laughs breathily, kissing your teat goodbye as he lifts himself up again. Pulling his fingers out of you, he brings them to his lips and blithely sucks them off. 

“You know I can’t stop, dear. I’m so hungry—I’m ravenous.”

You watch him from over the tips of your fingers. So hot and mortified you think you’re soon to pass out. Breathing heavily behind your hands, muttering, “You’re a glutton—that’s what you are.”

Again, he just cheerfully snickers, bowing down to your halfway-hidden face with a smile. “I hardly see how it’s my fault I can’t get enough of you.” 

He spreads your legs again and finds his place between them.

“You’re the one who got me hooked—so you better take responsibility for it.”

♡ BNHA – Kirishima, Natsuo, Mirio ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Toji, Todo ♡ HQ – Bokuto, Ukai ♡ BLLK – Baro, Aiku ♡ AOT – Zeke ♡ DS – Doma ♡ HxH – Uvogin ♡ WB – Umemiya, Togame

Lust is your boss. He's the owner of the strip club where you work, your pimp when money’s tight, as well as the porndirector of all your lovely little films.

Yeah, you might as well have a tramp stamp of his name on your ass, the way he practically owns you…

He's around ten years older and has basically taught you all about sex from when you were only a fledgling in the industry. You live at his studio above the club since he keeps all your money in a bank account under his name, calling you his little sugarbaby and telling you you’ll get an allowance and that you can get more if and when you ask him nicely and tell him what it’s for. 

“Don’t be a brat, baby. You know how I hate it when you're a bad girl,” he says when you raise the topic of moving out, treating it as if you’re a child threatening to run away from home.

“I don’t belong to you. Give me what you owe me.”

Honestly, you have no idea where you got the courage. 

But is it courage? Or is it just plain stupidity? Because, though you’re increasingly more terrified as you quickly watch him lose his temper, it doesn’t exactly come as a surprise. And so, if you knew this is what was going to happen—why the fuck would you put yourself through it?

Must be madness.

“I give you everything, don't I? Food, clothes, a home,” he chastises, bearing over you while you’re down on scuffed knees, holding your wrist in a bruising grip and your face just as fiercely—nearly tearing the skin off your cheeks with the bite of his nails.

“And still, you have the fucking nerve to act like a goddamn bitch.”

You hiccup on sobs, spluttering out a desperate “Please—I’m sorry–”

"You and your entire slut body belong to me, you understand that?"

"Yes-yes—please—I'm sorry! You're right! I belong to you! I'm sorry!"

That seems to calm him just a bit—at least enough to take the bite away from his voice, now cooing at you in an ugly mocking attempt at sweetness, “Yeah, you do every single little thing I ask. ‘Cause if you’re not gonna behave like a good girl, I have no other choice but to treat you like a bad one.”

He lets your audience be rowdier than usual that night, allowing them to slap and grab, then forces you to have an extra rough shoot afterward—with tighter bondage, more toys, bigger guys making use of you like a piece of meat, smacking and choking you as they find out how many cocks your holes can fit, every last one finishing on your face.

Then, when you’re all done and all used up for the day, he brings you upstairs—home, sweet home—where he treats you to some much-unwanted after-care...

You shiver and shake despite the hot water. Sitting in the bathtub, laying back with your spine against his chest, feeling thin like a sheet of paper, all crumbled up and torn—sniffling and sniveling as the after-shock of the day still ricochets through you like wind through a hollow husk.

“The shoot today was rough, huh?” he drawls, washing you with his own hands. Stroking your poor sore cunt despite how it makes you whimper. “Yeah... was it a little too rough for you, hm?” 

You don’t do anything in return—but your body language says enough on its own, and he allows it to be your answer.

Sighing heavily, he wraps you up with both arms and squeezes you tighter, chin resting atop your head.

“You know… if you’d just be my good girl, I’d give you a good girl to-do list. Let you stay here all day, do some house chores while I’m gone, make love when I get home, hm? Doesn’t that sound better?”

He traces a welted bruise on the inside of your thigh, one you got from the shoot—roughly the shape of a hand, and a dozen more others layered on top of it. It makes you suck in a hiss.

“But if you’re gonna be a bad girl, then this is what you get.” 

He settles into the grove of your neck, purring against your ear. “Are you gonna be my good girl from now on? Hm?”

You bite your lip, breath shuddering while nodding pitifully.

And still, he insists, “Say it so I can hear it.”

The water’s gone cold around you—just like everything else, as you say, “I’ll be a good girl.”

He seems pleased, at least. Nuzzling against your cheek with chin stubble and a smirk, asking, “Yeah? Whose?”

Your voice is small and pathetic, nearly a wince, “Yours.”

He groans then, “That’s right. My good girl.” Lifting his hand from the water, he takes hold of your chin, fingers pressing into those designated sore spots as he angles your face toward him and gives you a heartless kiss before growling against your lips, “And don’t you ever fucking dare forget it again.”

After he’s finished washing you up, he carries you out to bed. It's one you fear much more than the one down in the studio.

Because in this bed, just like every night in this hellhole… he starts teaching every last one of your holes who they belong to.

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Shigaraki, Dabi, Hawks, Overhaul ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Naoya, Toji ♡ BLLK – Reo, Shido, Aiku ♡ AOT – Zeke ♡ DS – Doma, Muzan, Sanemi

Envy is your enemy. 

Or, well, no, he’s not your enemy, but you’re most certainly his enemy. 

You’re just not aware of it because of what a ditzy and clueless airhead you are. 

But fuck, he can’t stand you—you and your fake personality, acting all bubbly and sweet, cheering him on, always telling him to do his best—condescending little bitch acting like everyone’s friend—like he doesn’t see through you right to your rotten core. You don’t fool him—he knows you’re as bad as the rest of them, so just quit pretending like you’re better or something.

You’re under the false impression that the two of you are friends. You just think he has a strange sense of humor, but you laugh politely even when you don’t always get the joke.

Well, maybe it’s not so much politeness, but the fact that you have a big fat hopeless crush on him.

It infuriates him. He throws your niceties back in your face as insults, and you just laugh. How low do you think of him? Honestly? How tall is that high horse of yours that you have your head constantly in the clouds?

Poor you… you just think he’s so cool—always saying what he feels like, not a lame people-pleasing goodie-two-shoes such as yourself. You can’t help but follow him around like a lost puppy all day long. You’re always making sure you sit next to him during lectures—heart almost beating out of your chest, holding back from squealing when your prayers are answered, and the two of you are finally paired for a project together. 

It really feels like the universe is on your side, and so you just can’t stop yourself from going the full mile—making chocolates and preparing him a hand-written love letter. You know he’ll think you’re a little silly, that he’ll make fun of you for it—but you can’t expect to get anywhere without putting your heart on the line, can you? For a chance at love, the risk must be worth it!

Yeah, you’re such a hopeless romantic—you feel it as he punches his fist through your ribs when he rips out your poor heart and stomps all over it. 

“I fucking get it already! You’re little miss pretty and popular. Would you quit rubbing it in my face, or do I really have to spell it out for you? I. Don’t. Fucking. Like. You,” he seethes through grit teeth. “Go pick another one of the hundreds dying to be your partner and leave me the fuck alone!”

You shrink where you stand, shocked doe-eyes rapidly welling up like a flood, lips wobbling as you choke on your words, “Oh… okay… I’m sorry… I just… I–”

“You-you-you what?” he barks at your stuttering. “Spit it out already! What the fuck do you want?”

“I just-I-I just always thought you were amazing. So…”

His face contorts, scrunches up in a grimace different from anger, though not without it, as he spits out, “What the fuck are you on about now?”

But his voice is a little diminished now, with confusion usurping the place of his hate, suddenly feeling a little out of sorts because… what did you actually just say?

“I just, I really like you–” you repeat, hanging your head, only barely able to mumble through the tears blocking your throat. “But I guess I’ve just annoyed you all this time—I’m sorry...” 

Only now does he notice you’re trying to hand him something—a flat little box with a pink note attached. 

“This is for you, but I understand if you don’t want it.” Unable to look up, you just stretch your arms out until it gently bumps into him. 

Baffled, he accepts without thinking.

“I’m sorry—I’ll leave you alone from now on.” And then you run off, disappearing with a sob that all but shoots him through the chest.

And slowly bleeding out, he remains standing there, eyes glued to where you'd left—mouthing the word what…

What did you just say? 

Like? Him?

Did he mishear you, or did you just confess? 

No way—that can’t be it, right? 

But what the fuck is this heart-shaped letter, then?

"What the fuck did I just do?"

You look like you’ve been crying your eyes out all night the next day—your usual bubbly personality reduced to a ghost in a shell, walking the hallways like a zombie, slowly and without purpose, eyes on the ground—letting everyone bump into you.

You don't even so much as bat an eye when someone runs straight over you, fully knocking all your books and folders onto the floor. 

You just get on your knees and start recollecting them.

A newfound hate flares up within him at the sight. “Hey, you!" He stomps over. "Watch where the fuck you’re going next time, dipshit.” 

You look up at the sound of his voice—flinching before you notice it’s not directed at you.

No, rather, he’s got a boy up against the lockers, lifted by his collar onto the tip of his toes. Face only a few inches from his, glaring at him harsher than he’d glared at you yesterday.

“Now apologize to the girl before I punch your ugly face in.”

You stare at the altercation with large eyes, only able to blink as the boy who’d bumped into you starts spluttering on the verge of tears, “I–I’m sorry–I didn’t see you! Sorry!”

You don’t answer. Shocked and speechless, you remain on the floor in confusion, asking yourself why’s he doing this? Didn’t he cuss you out yesterday, or was it all a bad dream like you'd hoped?

He throws the boy on his way, then gets on his knees down alongside you—proceeding to help you gather your things.

You only watch on in wordless bewilderment until he starts muttering something under his breath.

“I’m sorry I made you cry yesterday.” He stacks all your things in a neat pile next to you while continuing his apology. “And for being an asshole. You didn’t deserve that.”

He keeps his eyes fixed to the floor where his hands busily roam around until there was nothing more to retrieve.

He then hesitantly looks up at you—eyes flittering—a little too ashamed to hold your gaze as he says, “Your chocolates were really good.”

That’s when your heart starts fluttering again—as if new life was just breathed in and revived it.

He can see it as well—how you light up like a rekindled candle.

“They were?” you gush, shuffling closer on your knees all excitedly—face brighter than the sun on cloudfree summer day.

It blinds him—nearly stunts him, only able to utter a meager, almost shy, “Yeah.”

He then slings his bag in front of him and pulls something out.

A lunchbox. 

“I made you these..." he swallows thickly. "As an apology…”

He’s utterly red—from the tips of his ears to his neck and entire face, even his hands.

“For me?”

“Yeah..." He reaches it over stiffly. “They’re not as good as yours, though...”

You eagerly accept despite his nervousness, popping the lid off where the two of you sit—right there in the middle of the hallway floor, with other students walking around you like water passing two rocks in a stream.

His blush grows ever more intense as you pick one of his crudely made chocolates up, not even examining it before throwing one into your mouth.

It was his first time making anything that required a recipe. And they most certainly did not come out well, but he figured the embarrassment was part of his atonement.

He didn’t actually expect you to try them.

But there you are—lying through your teeth, saying, “I think they’re great!”

He can only scoff out a soft laugh. “Of course you would.” 

Turns out, you really are just a nice person after all. You don’t have the heart to be mean at all, do you? Yeah, you don’t even have it in you to feel any of the ugly things he keeps inside. In fact, he bets you don’t even have the means of knowing such ugly things exist.

That must be what he’s envied about you all this time…

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Dabi, Shinso ♡ JJK – virgin Sukuna, Megumi ♡ HQ – Tsukishima ♡ BLLK – Rin, Sae ♡ DS – Genya

Greed is your clingy childhood friend. 

He doesn’t want to share you with anyone and gets viscerally jealous each time you hang out with others. It’s as if he feels boils rising beneath his skin, simmering with a violent need to kill anyone and everyone you ever come into contact with—even if it’s just a passerby who accidentally brushes against you.

He can’t stand other people—how they think they can just come along and be your friend when he’s been your friend since you both were in diapers. What? Do they really expect him to share you with them? Just like that? No way. You’re his best friend. They should all go find themselves their own.

Actually, the term best friend doesn’t even really cut it… It’s a little too childish. You’ve both grown out of it. And besides, it never really fully encompassed what the two of you actually are to each other. You’re so much more than just friends, after all. Yeah, what you really are is soulmates. Yeah, that sounds more right. Soulmates.

And the bond between soulmates is like the bond between an addict and their favorite drug. You wouldn’t ask an addict to share his favorite drug, now would you? No. Not unless you’re prepared to either kill or be killed.

But he can’t say he blames them for wanting you, either. Of course, they’d want you—anyone would.

He pities them, actually. And you make it no better for the poor suckers, stringing them all along—acting as if there’s enough of you to go around. Well, there just isn’t. And even if there was, he shouldn't have to share you with anyone.

Yeah, the problem here is you. You don’t get it, do you? You don’t understand that you’re his. 

Well… seems like he’ll just have to teach you once and for all, now, doesn’t it?

“What’s… this?” you mumble groggily once you wake, sluggishly tugging your bound wrists—not yet aware of what they are. Your eyes blow wide once you do—voice turning sharply frantic, “What’s happening?”

“We’re having a play date like we used to.” He comes into view just as the panic sets in—and though his face has all the familiarity to be a sign of comfort, his words evoke no such feeling within you.

“Remember? How we used to play house?" he says. "Granted, we're a little older now… so I thought I’d change it up a bit.”

He stands before the bed you’re currently lying tied down on. But he doesn’t look like himself. No, there’s something very wrong about all of him. Seeming way too at ease for the situation.

“Instead of making mud pies…” he continues. “I'm gonna fuck you and give you a creampie.”

Your heart lurches up into your throat at his words, and you choke. Your clothes from the day have been removed, leaving you naked. You spot them lying on the floor in a heap while you spastically look around for clues as to “What the fuck’s going on? This isn’t funny–”

“Shut up,” he says—his demeanor still as nonchalant as he climbs on top of you and pushes something past your lips, nudging it deep down in your throat.

Feeling it as it scrapes your tongue, you can tell it’s your lace panties, and you gag—shaking your head, trying to dislodge both it and his fingers, but he holds you steady.

“I have things to say. So, be a good friend and listen.”

You start crying then—brows cinched as you look up at him in terror, full-tremoring now while struggling under his weight and the all-too-intimate way he starts touching you.

“I'm glad you’re still a virgin…” he suddenly says, running his hands down your breasts, catching your nipples between his fingers.

You twist in disgust, halfway convinced you’re having some godawful fucked up dream—that this just can’t be happening—but somehow, at the same time, something deep in your gut that’s been lying there for a while ignored by your kind heart doesn't find it completely without warning, having felt how strange he'd been acting as of late—always looking at you a certain way and saying certain concerning things—certain concerning things he’s saying right now, “I’d kill all those little toy friends of yours if you were ever so stupid to let them have it.”

He glares at you—looking every bit angry, and yet you can’t describe it exactly. Something about that look in his eyes makes him seem like a complete stranger to you. Then he cracks a smile, and it makes it all the worse. Bowing down until his forehead presses clean against yours, noses rubbing against each other.

“But I think you knew. Didn’t you? Knew how it wouldn’t be right. Knew it was mine to take.”

He shuffles backward until he’s separating your thighs instead of straddling your waist. And you croak with an especially full-chested sob as his touches travel further down along with him—with savage goosebumps running rampant across your body once he rubs his thumb crassly over your slit.

“You see?” his breath shudders in his throat—thick with something mortifying that’s bound to ruin you forever. “It’s so happy to see me.”

You whine and scramble, trying to force your thighs shut—but he has the upper hand—keeping you spread with his body while two of his fingers slip through your lips and bully themselves inside.

He pumps them in and out with zero regard to how you recoil—only sneering at the way you worm in disgust, “At least your pussy understands where its loyalties lie.”

It’s not long before his ministrations draw wetness, and he pulls them out—inspecting them in the dim light he’s left on. Rubbing the digits together before putting them in his mouth.

You close your eyes with a whimper while listening to the sickening sounds of him sucking them clean.

He puts both hands around your neck next. He doesn't squeeze hard, but your breath stops nonetheless. Eyes stinging with both spent and still-welling tears.

“I’m upset with you,” he states, brushing his lips over your parted ones, still stuffed and silenced with your own underwear. “But I’ll forgive you if you apologize and swear to me that you meant it when you said we’d be friends forever.”

That look in his eyes—you still can’t explain it. Desperate, desolate, deranged, and enraged—something downright sick.

“But since you can’t talk right now, you’ll have to prove it some other way...”

One of the hands disappears, and you hear the following sounds of a zipper being undone, then the rustling of his pants being shoved down.

“Cum on my cock, and I’ll know.”

The room tastes of blood and something rotten as he frees his cock and graces your clit.

“Actions speak louder than words anyway, after all, don’t they? So cum on my cock, and I’ll cum in your pussy, so we can seal our friendship again—just like the time we married each other on the playground.” 

He enters you, and you think you might just die in the mix of horror and grief.

And yet you remain perfectly alive—even as he rips through you and splits both you and your heart apart.

“You can think of this as the honeymoon,” he whispers. “Always and forever, happily ever after, never apart.”

♡ BNHA – Deku ♡ JJK – Gojo, Yuuta ♡ HQ – Tendou ♡ BLLK – Bachira ♡ DS – Zenitsu ♡ WB – Nirei

♡ HEAVENLY VIRTUES ♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[sidollie]

༉‧₊˚. Simon Riley eating reader out. cw// ᴍᴅɴɪ, overstimulation, pussy eating, simon riley being pussy drunk

𐙚 Simon Riley loved to come home to you, his sweet little wife. You always wore one of his shirts that seemed to always swallow you up with some cute little panties. But more than that he loved to eat you out, it was like your sweet cunt always called out to him and he was a very good listener.

On one such day, he got home to catch you in the kitchen making one of his favourite meal in just his shirt. He silently creeped up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist, nuzzling his face in the side of your neck, making you flinch,

"hello lovie, missed ya"

"Ah! you scared me si"

"Oh I did? 'm sorry dovie, let me make it up t'ya"

"No it's oka-"

Without another word he fell down to his knees, his large tatted hand pressing you down on the cold kitchen counter making you bend over. He pulled down your panties, pocketing them as he spreads your legs admiring the view of your pretty pussy, before diving in.

He eats you out with loud, messy slurps enjoying every second of it making you moan and squirm. His tongue circles your clit tightly, knowing exactly how to make you cum despite your efforts to escape his grasp

"Mmmm... ya smell like heaven, swee'heart. Like fucking candy 'nd sin all mixed t'gether"

He leans in closer, pressing his nose against your wet slit. He inhales deeply, his eyes rolling back slightly at the intoxicating scent. his hot breath fans over your sensitive wet mound. He parts your lips with his thumbs, his calloused fingers pinching and rolling your clit making you squirm and moan softly.

"Such a good girl, lettin’ me have a taste of this lovely cunt whenever I wan'."

He groans against your pussy, sending vibrations through your dripping cunt. His tongue swirls around your clit, teasing the sensitive bud as he laps up your delicious juice. He laps at your cunt, letting his tongue lick you in long, slow strokes. He pushes his tongue in your quivering hole, curling it inside you, making you whimper and writhe on the kitchen counter.

"That's it, darling. Mark me up, get me messy, drench ma face with yer sweet juices. I wanna be covered in your"

He presses his face deeper into your pussy, his nose buried in your cunt as he devours you like a starving man. His rough stubble chafes against your sensitive cunt as he buries his face between your legs. You body tenses on top of him as you manage to whimper out,

"s-si, 'm gonna cum!!"

"That's it, baby cum f'me. Come all over my face lovie, let me taste yer sweet cum"

He doubles down on his efforts, sucking your clit hard into his mouth while two fingers slide inside you, curling to hit that sweet spot. He prods your gooey spot again, as his warm mouth sucks on your clit. He feels your pussy clamp down on his fingers as you come, your juice flooding over his chin and dripping down his neck. He moans into your cunt, inhaling your scent deeply, drunk on your taste.

He starts licking and sucking at your sensitive cunt again, ignoring your protests and whines. His thick fingers spread you open, exposing your red, puffy pussy to his hungry mouth as he licks a long stripe.

"S-si!! No more, I... Ngh I just came!!"

"Mmm, don't care, darlin'. 'm not done with this sweet lil cunt yet."

@sidollie

༉‧₊˚. masterlist

[dior-luxury]

Love your stories♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️ Could I request the female reader falling asleep on their boyfriends lap with the dorm leaders and vice dorm leaders + Floyd? Thank you.

In the Comfort of You

( ✧ ) ────── boyfriend stories . fluff - she/her .

- [𝐜𝐡.] dorm leaders . vice dorm leaders + floyd

- [𝐩:𝐬] none

Note: Aww, this prompt is actually so cute are you kidding! I came back from my dance comp early so I celebrated by writing again! (*¯︶¯*)

Riddle Rosehearts

It was a quiet afternoon in Heartslabyul, the garden unusually still after a morning of chaos. The usual string of rules, order, and unexpected mushroom inspections had tired out even the strictest members. The sun filtered through the rose bushes, scattering golden flecks across the picnic blanket laid out under the gazebo. The breeze rustled the leaves above, and the faint smell of strawberry tarts lingered in the air.

Riddle sat upright, posture perfect, a book open in his lap. He was mid-sentence when he felt a shift beside him.

You, his girlfriend, had been curled up at his side for a while, your head resting lightly on his shoulder. But now, slowly, without a word, you repositioned yourself and laid your head fully in his lap.

He stiffened.

Rules. There were rules about propriety. About maintaining posture. About not being flustered in public—even if it was just you two in the garden. His brain fired through a checklist of what he should do. He should tell you to sit up. He should maintain boundaries.

But then he looked down.

Your face was peaceful, softened by sleep. A slight smile played on your lips, your chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. One hand loosely held the hem of his jacket, as if even in sleep, you wanted to be close to him. You trusted him enough to rest like this. On him.

His heart stuttered.

Slowly, he placed the book aside and stared down at you, watching the way your lashes fluttered when the breeze tickled your cheeks. His hand hovered in the air for a long time—unsure—before he finally brushed your hair away from your forehead, his fingers trembling slightly.

He had always been taught discipline, order, and responsibility. But with you? He felt human. Vulnerable. Safe.

His fingers lingered in your hair, stroking it gently.

“…I suppose... one nap isn’t against the rules,” he murmured to himself.

He leaned back slightly, his other hand resting lightly across your back to make sure you didn’t roll off his lap. He felt warmth in his chest, unfamiliar and wonderful, like a sun blooming behind clouds. For once, Riddle Rosehearts didn't care about rules or appearances. Not when you looked so peaceful. Not when your presence filled his every thought.

And when you murmured his name softly in your sleep, like a prayer wrapped in trust?

He knew he'd never let anyone disturb this moment.

Not even the Queen of Hearts herself.

Trey Clover

The sun was setting over the Heartslabyul courtyard, painting the sky in sherbet hues. After a long day of baking sweets for the next unbirthday party, the scent of sugar and vanilla still clung to the air.

Trey had insisted on taking a break—dragging you out into the garden with a blanket and leftover tarts. You’d tried to protest, insisting you had homework, but he just smiled with that warm, steady patience of his and said, “You’ve earned a rest.”

You sat beside him, legs stretched out, chewing lazily on a berry tart as he leaned against a tree trunk. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to the elbow, and his glasses had slipped slightly down the bridge of his nose as he read aloud from a half-open cookbook. You didn’t understand why he found recipe books so relaxing, but his voice was calm, familiar, grounding.

Eventually, the warmth of the setting sun and the soft cadence of his words started to lull you into a haze. Without thinking, you scooted closer and laid your head in his lap.

Trey’s voice trailed off.

He looked down at you, blinking once, then again. The way you curled into him, unguarded, so effortlessly vulnerable—it made his chest ache in the sweetest way. He smiled, one hand coming up to adjust his glasses, the other instinctively brushing along your arm.

“You okay down there?” he asked softly.

No response.

Your breathing was slow and even, lips slightly parted as you drifted deeper into sleep. Your hand rested on his thigh, fingers barely curled like you were holding onto the moment.

He chuckled under his breath. “Guess that’s a yes.”

With infinite gentleness, Trey shifted the tart plate out of the way and used his free hand to tuck your hair behind your ear. He watched the way the sunlight danced on your skin, how your eyelashes cast little shadows across your cheeks.

He didn’t move for a long while. Didn’t read. Didn’t speak. He just sat there, a steady presence while you slept on his lap. His thumb brushed lazy, affectionate circles on your shoulder.

“I hope you know,” he said eventually, voice soft and low like a whisper in a dream, “I could sit like this forever.”

His heart beat slow and full. This wasn’t the chaos of the kitchen, or the madness of Heartslabyul. This was something simpler. Sweeter. Like a quiet lull after the storm.

He leaned down slightly, pressing a feather-light kiss to your temple.

“Sweet dreams, sugar.”

Leona Kingscholar

It was one of those scorching afternoons in the Savannaclaw lounge. The heat had chased most students into the shadows, and the usual clamor had died down to a low hum. Leona had claimed his favorite sun-drenched couch—stretched out with one arm behind his head, the other lazily flipping through a textbook he had no real intention of reading.

You were sitting next to him, legs curled under you, chatting idly for a bit before trailing off. He barely registered the silence at first—figured you were just zoning out. But then something shifted.

You moved closer.

His ears twitched.

Without a word, you leaned over and placed your head directly on his lap. Just—boop. Laid down. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Leona froze.

He looked down slowly, like he couldn’t believe what just happened. There you were, his girl, sleeping soundly across his lap. Lips parted slightly, cheek pressed against his thigh, hands tucked under your chin. Peaceful. Completely knocked out.

For a moment, Leona just stared.

And then—

“…Tch.” He clicked his tongue, but it lacked any real bite. “You’ve got some nerve.”

His hand hovered over you for a beat. He wanted to push you off, maybe grumble something about how he was supposed to be the lazy one, not you. But instead…

His fingers dipped into your hair.

It was light. Barely a touch. Just a lazy comb through your strands, again and again.

“Brat,” he murmured, but his voice was soft, like the desert wind at night. “You really just gonna sleep here without asking? On my lap?”

And yet he didn’t move.

Didn’t complain.

Didn’t breathe too loudly for fear of waking you.

His tail swished lazily across the floor, betraying the contentment he pretended he didn’t feel. The warmth of your body against him made his eyelids droop, but he stayed awake, keeping a silent vigil.

He wouldn’t admit it, not in a thousand years—but having you there, choosing him as your safe place to rest?

That meant more than all the crowns in the world.

He smirked, resting his head back.

“…Guess I’ll let you off this time.”

Ruggie Bucchi

Ruggie wasn’t used to having time off. Between errands for Leona, club stuff, side hustles, and dodging various school responsibilities, “relaxation” wasn’t exactly on his schedule. But today? For some miraculous reason? He had an open hour. So he dragged you out behind the Savannaclaw dorm where the sun was warm, the grass was soft, and there were no chores to do.

He was halfway through telling you about some weird thing he saw in the cafeteria (“Swear on my granny’s life, the mashed potatoes moved!”) when he realized you weren’t laughing anymore.

He turned his head to look—and there you were.

Head in his lap. Curled up like a cat in a sunbeam. Eyes closed. Asleep.

Ruggie blinked.

Once. Twice.

“…Huh?”

He looked around like this was some kind of prank. “Oi. Y/N?”

No response.

A soft snore.

Ruggie stared down at you, your face squished slightly against his thigh, your fingers loosely gripping his hoodie. He didn’t know what to do with his hands at first. He held them up in the air like you were fragile and he might break you by accident.

He whispered, “…You serious right now?”

His face was bright red. Full-on red as a beet. But his heart? Beating like crazy. Fast and full and warm in a way that made his chest ache.

He glanced down again.

And slowly, hesitantly, the corner of his mouth tugged into a grin.

“Heh… cute.”

Very carefully, he pulled his hoodie sleeve down and tucked it under your head like a makeshift pillow. Then he leaned back on his hands and looked up at the sky, his tail flicking lazily behind him.

“You better not start drooling on me,” he muttered—but there was no venom in it. Just affection.

He sat there quietly, keeping still even when his legs started to fall asleep. When you shifted a little and sighed in your sleep, he actually stopped breathing for a second.

Because no one ever really… relaxed around him like that. Not like this. Not since he was a kid in the slums of the Sunset Savanna. This—being someone’s safe place—was something new. Something precious.

And he’d fight anyone who tried to ruin it.

Even if he’d totally deny that later.

Azul Ashengrotto

The Lounge had closed for the night. The clink of glassware had faded, the last customer long gone, and the velvet curtains drawn tight. Everything was bathed in that dim oceanic glow Octavinelle was known for—deep blues and the shimmer of water against stone.

Azul had finally finished sorting through contracts, sighing in satisfaction as he slid the last document into its folder. You were already sitting on the plush couch in the VIP room, legs tucked to the side, watching him with a soft smile on your lips.

“Hard at work, as always,” you teased lightly.

Azul chuckled, brushing his bangs back. “You know how it is. A businessman’s time is never his own.”

“You’ve got time for me now though, right?”

He hesitated only for a moment. “Always.”

You patted the space next to you. He sat, slightly stiff as always—ever the perfect posture. But he relaxed once you leaned against his shoulder. You chatted for a bit, your voice slowly trailing off as the atmosphere quieted. Your head slipped downward, resting lightly against his arm at first… then lower… until suddenly, Azul felt a shift.

He looked down to find your head in his lap.

Asleep.

Breathing gently.

Like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Azul froze. Completely. His hands hovered mid-air, his back went ramrod straight, and panic flickered in his mind like a school of darting fish.

What do I do? Is this allowed? Is she okay? What if she drools? What if Jade sees—oh seven seas—

He dared to look down at your face. Your eyelashes fluttered faintly. Your lips were parted slightly, your expression peaceful. Unburdened. Completely unafraid.

The kind of peace Azul never had in his own head.

He felt his throat tighten.

You trusted him—him, a calculating, manipulative, secret-wielding businessman enough to fall asleep on his lap.

“…You really are bold,” he whispered, voice breaking into a whisper. “But… I suppose I can’t blame you.”

Cautiously, as if worried he’d shatter the moment, Azul rested a hand against your shoulder and the other—so slowly—began to stroke your hair. The strands slipped through his fingers like sea silk. He watched you for what felt like hours, every so often brushing a strand out of your face or tracing the curve of your cheek with his thumb.

And for once… the silence wasn’t unnerving.

It was comforting.

“Maybe just a little longer,” he murmured.

When Jade poked his head in later to report something, his eyes landed on the scene. He raised a brow—but said nothing.

Azul simply met his gaze, a faint smile playing on his lips. For once, he didn’t care about appearances.

Not when you were in his arms.

Jade Leech

The rainforest in the botanical garden was dim, warm, and filled with the sounds of dripping water and the flutter of hidden wings. Jade loved bringing you here after long days—the two of you wandering between the glowing mushrooms and thick vines, talking about strange creatures and even stranger students.

That evening, you had been unusually quiet.

Tired.

He’d noticed. Of course he had. Jade noticed everything.

So, he suggested you rest.

You both sat on a stone bench nestled under an arch of glowing moss. The lights cast a soft green hue over the clearing. Jade had started telling you a story—some obscure tale about a deep-sea creature with a song that lured people into dreams.

And maybe it was his voice—smooth as silk, low and lulling—or maybe it was the way he ran his fingers lazily through the fern beside you, but soon…

Your head slipped gently into his lap.

And you didn’t move again.

Jade blinked once, tilting his head ever so slightly.

“…Oh my.”

Your face was tilted toward him, cheek resting on the fabric of his uniform pants. Your breathing was deep, peaceful. Your body, curled like a cat, radiated warmth into his legs. You made not even the faintest sound.

And Jade?

Jade was frozen—but not out of panic.

He was fascinated.

You trusted him enough to sleep here. On him. Fully vulnerable. Open. And you didn’t even seem to hesitate.

The corners of his lips curled upward into a smile—genuine and serene.

“Well,” he murmured, reaching out to gently brush your hair behind your ear, “you are more interesting than any mushroom I’ve ever encountered.”

He chuckled quietly, the sound blending into the soft symphony of the garden.

Jade’s hand lingered in your hair, slow and thoughtful. He studied the way you clutched the fabric of his jacket with one hand, like you were anchoring yourself to him. And slowly, his usually composed heart began to thrum, unfamiliar and full.

No one ever rested near him this way.

No one dared.

But you did.

“You’ve caught me off guard,” he whispered, almost reverently.

Not a trace of mischief in his tone—only awe.

He leaned down slightly, brushing a kiss to your temple with an elegant tenderness only someone like him could manage.

“I wonder what you’re dreaming of,” he said softly, his voice a promise. “Whatever it is… I hope I’m there.”

And he stayed perfectly still, watching over you like a sentinel in the jungle. Not because he had to—but because he wanted to.

Because you, in that moment, were the most precious thing in his world.

Floyd Leech

The tide was low in his mood today.

Everything felt boring. Club meetings dragged, the Lounge was quiet, and even scaring first-years didn’t give him the usual rush. He was sprawled out on one of the long couches in the Octavinelle dorm lounge, legs dangling off the side, one arm draped over his eyes.

You were with him, of course—his “Shrimpy.” His favorite toy. His favorite person.

Today, though, he wasn’t teasing you or playfully squeezing you until you squirmed. He was unusually quiet, lying still in a rare moment of calm. You sat beside him, chatting softly at first, your fingers absently tracing patterns into his arm.

But then… your voice faded.

Your hand stilled.

He peeked out from under his arm just in time to feel it—your weight shifting as you gently curled up beside him, resting your head right on his stomach. A warm, sleepy sigh left your lips.

And then nothing.

You were asleep.

At first, Floyd just blinked, his mismatched eyes wide with surprise. “Huh?”

He tilted his head forward, peering at you like a curious sea creature watching a pearl roll into its den.

“You really knocked out, huh?”

No answer. Just the sound of your soft breathing, face nestled into his hoodie, arms curled in like you were hugging a plush toy.

Floyd didn’t move.

Didn’t make a sound.

Instead… his grin slowly, slowly spread across his face.

“Eheh~ Shrimpy... you really are something else.”

He gently lifted his hand and let it fall over your back, his fingers splaying like seaweed, curling into the fabric of your shirt. He didn’t squeeze this time. No chaotic thrashing, no threats of “squeeeezin’ ya ‘til ya pop.” Just the weight of his hand, steady and warm, like he was grounding himself in you.

His tailing mood melted like drift ice under sun.

You chose him.

To rest on. To trust. To fall asleep on, even knowing how temperamental he could be.

That tugged at something deep. Something primal and tender. He could feel his heartbeat slow to match yours, lulled by the rhythm of your breath.

“You’re lucky I like you so much,” he murmured, voice unusually low and gentle. “If it were anybody else, I’d have chomped ‘em by now for touchin’ me like this.”

But he didn’t move. Not an inch.

He just laid there, arm wrapped around you, letting you use his body like a pillow made of seafoam and muscle.

And when you murmured his name in your sleep—barely audible, just a breath?

Floyd melted entirely.

His grin softened, his head tilted back.

“…Guess I’ll nap too, then. But if I drool on ya, it’s your fault~”

Kalim Al-asim

The palace-like halls of Scarabia were quiet in the golden haze of late afternoon. The sun poured through the arching windows, lighting the silken pillows in warm amber. It had been a long day—flying carpets, music practice, and Kalim pulling you into at least three spontaneous dance circles.

Now, you were both on the balcony, surrounded by flower pots and colorful lanterns swaying in the breeze. Kalim had been talking excitedly about a festival his family hosted once—a night where they lit a thousand paper lanterns and let them float into the sky.

You were curled beside him, resting against his side, nodding along as his hands animated every story.

But eventually… your replies stopped.

He glanced down mid-sentence to find you still. Eyes closed. Breathing soft.

Your head had somehow found its way into his lap, resting there like it belonged. Your hands tucked under your cheek, your face tilted up toward him like you were dreaming of the stars he’d just described.

Kalim’s eyes widened.

“Oh!”

He clapped a hand over his mouth immediately, realizing how loud he was about to be.

“She fell asleep,” he whispered to himself, awed.

He looked down at you like you were made of starlight and gold.

You trusted him. You felt safe with him. So safe, in fact, that you’d fallen asleep in his lap under the open sky.

His heart soared.

“Wow…” he breathed.

He reached out, ever so gently, brushing a lock of hair from your forehead, his fingers trembling just slightly. Not from nerves—Kalim was never shy—but from the sheer overwhelming joy of the moment.

He wanted to laugh, to cheer, to kiss your forehead a hundred times.

But he didn’t.

He sat still, barely breathing, his smile wide and wonder-filled.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he whispered, his voice full of love. “Like a dream.”

He looked up at the sky, watching the clouds drift by, and then down again at you. His fingers found yours, lacing them together gently.

Kalim’s world was fast, bright, full of noise and song. But this?

This was a quiet kind of joy.

One that filled his chest like sweet air and didn’t need to be shouted.

He leaned down, kissed the crown of your head, and rested his cheek gently against your hair.

“If I had a thousand stars,” he whispered, “I’d give them all to you.”

And there, under the setting sun, with the breeze carrying hints of jasmine and warmth, Kalim stayed absolutely still—just a boy in love, holding his world in his lap.

Jamil Viper

It was late—well past the quiet hours in Scarabia. The sun had long since dipped behind the dunes, and the dorm was bathed in a soft, warm glow from hanging lanterns. The courtyard had emptied after a long day of activities, and only the hush of wind through palm trees and the distant trickle of water from the fountain remained.

Jamil sat beneath the archway overlooking the open courtyard, dressed down in his lounge clothes—simple, dark, loose-fitting, no frills. His shoulders were slouched, rare for someone always so tightly wound. You were beside him, curled up with your legs tucked under you, slowly leaning more and more his way.

The conversation had started casually—stories about Kalim’s antics, about classes, about the endless list of responsibilities Jamil was juggling. But as you listened, your replies grew quieter, slower…

And before he could even finish a sentence, he felt it.

Your head, gentle and warm, settled right into his lap.

Jamil went completely still.

He looked down, blinking, utterly silent.

“…You fell asleep?”

He could hardly believe it. There you were—his girlfriend—just… sleeping on him like it was natural. No hesitation. No fear. Just soft breath against his stomach and one hand lightly curled in his hoodie.

And him?

He didn’t move a muscle.

Jamil wasn’t used to this kind of closeness without strings. He wasn’t used to someone resting on him, not needing anything, not demanding he do something, fix something, prove something.

You were just there.

Sleeping.

Trusting him.

He swallowed hard, his heartbeat loud in his ears. One of his hands hovered above your shoulder, hesitant, as if afraid touching you would wake you—or worse, make the moment disappear.

But then, with a quiet exhale, he let his hand fall gently into your hair.

Fingers threaded through the strands slowly. Carefully. Like you were made of delicate silk.

“Y/N…” he whispered, barely audible.

There was a softness in his eyes no one else ever got to see. He didn’t know if you could hear him in your sleep—but it didn’t matter.

“You really don’t know what you do to me.”

He leaned back against the pillar, staring up at the night sky, the stars peeking through the edges of the courtyard ceiling. For once, he allowed himself a moment of stillness. No planning. No scheming. No worrying about Kalim or school or a hundred responsibilities.

Just you.

Warm and trusting in his arms.

And Jamil—quiet, calm—stayed perfectly still, the ghost of a smile on his lips as he brushed his thumb over your temple.

“If this is a dream,” he whispered, “I don’t want to wake up.”

Vil Schoenheit

The dressing room was quiet.

For once.

The glow of vanity lights lined the mirror, casting golden halos over the room. Bottles, brushes, powders, everything meticulously organized in Vil’s space. You had been keeping him company after his rehearsal—watching him take off his stage makeup with gentle, practiced motions, each movement like part of a performance in itself.

You sat beside him on the plush velvet chaise, your posture proper at first, engaged in conversation. He was mid-rant about a classmate’s awful skincare routine (heaven help them), and you had smiled, eyes soft, head tilted just slightly.

And then…

You slumped sideways.

Right into his lap.

Vil’s breath hitched, and he looked down, mouth parted slightly in surprise.

You… fell asleep?

On him?

“Darling?” he said quietly, brushing his fingers against your shoulder. No response.

Your face was tilted toward him, cheek gently pressed against his thigh, lashes brushing the top of your cheek, lips parted just slightly. You looked so peaceful. So still.

So unaware of how tightly you’d gripped his heart in that moment.

Vil slowly exhaled, lowering his hand to rest on your back. His other hand—still elegant, still carrying the last remnants of lotion—hovered over your hair. And then, with featherlight grace, he began to smooth it back, careful not to disturb your rest.

“Sleeping on a chaise,” he murmured. “That’s hardly ideal posture.”

But his voice had no edge. No scolding. Just… gentle amusement.

Vil Schoenheit was used to control—his appearance, his schedule, his image. And yet, here you were, disrupting all of that with a single act of vulnerability. Trusting him with your body in its most unguarded state.

And it didn’t irritate him.

It moved him.

“This is… dangerous,” he whispered. “You lower my guard far too easily.”

He gazed at you for a long while, memorizing the curve of your face in the soft light. The way your hand rested atop his knee like it belonged there. The softness of your lips, the warmth of your breath.

Vil had been photographed a thousand times, posed beside the most beautiful people in the world.

But this?

This was the most beautiful moment he had ever been part of.

He gently tugged a silk throw blanket from the back of the chaise and draped it over your shoulders, careful not to shift your head. Then, leaning down, he pressed a kiss to your temple—soft, reverent, full of unspoken feeling.

“You’ll be the ruin of me, schatz,” he whispered. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Rook Hunt

The sun had long since begun its descent, draping the vast grounds of NRC in a golden veil. The lush gardens behind Pomefiore dorm basked in that soft honey light, petals curling gently like sleepy sighs, and even the breeze seemed to hush itself to a lullaby. Rook Hunt sat on a stone bench nestled beneath an arch of ivy and lavender, legs crossed with poetic elegance, one arm draped along the bench’s edge, the other cradling a small leather-bound book of Baudelaire’s poetry.

But he had not turned a page in fifteen minutes.

His gaze, normally so sharp and brimming with curiosity, had softened completely—locked onto you, his beloved, curled up in the safest of sanctuaries: his lap.

You hadn’t meant to fall asleep, of course. It had started with just leaning against him, the sun warming your back and his hand absentmindedly carding through your hair, twirling strands like golden thread between his fingers. His voice had been low, reciting French verses with a soft lilt, letting the words flutter into the air like butterflies. Somewhere between the cadence of his voice, the scent of lilacs, and the rise and fall of his breathing, sleep had stolen you away.

And Rook… was absolutely enchanted.

“Oh, mon ange…” he whispered, barely audible, his breath brushing against the crown of your head.

He didn’t dare move. His usually ever-restless energy was still for once—his stillness more reverent than any silence in the cathedral. Your cheek was resting just over his thigh, your arms folded like a child’s under your head. A soft sigh escaped your lips every now and then, the kind that melted straight into his chest.

It was an intimacy far beyond a stolen kiss or dramatic serenade. This was something quiet. Sacred.

Rook’s gloved fingers ghosted along your shoulder, his thumb brushing ever so lightly against the skin where your shirt had slipped a bit. He chuckled—quietly, tenderly.

“To inspire such trust… Such vulnerability…” He murmured in awe, gazing down at you like one might look at a painting in a gallery, overwhelmed by its beauty but unable to explain why. “Tu es ma muse éternelle.”

The soft flush on your cheeks, the way your lashes kissed your skin, the rhythm of your breath—all of it wove a spell around his heart. A predator by nature, he was always seeking, always hunting the next beautiful moment. But this? This stillness, this peace—this was the rarest prey of all.

Rook leaned back, head tilted toward the twilight sky.

He would sit here forever if it meant you could rest undisturbed. The hunt could wait.

Idia Shroud

The atmosphere in Idia’s room buzzed with low ambient synth music, neon lights tracing cyber-punk lines across the walls, bouncing off rows of figurines and glowing monitors. Ortho had exited the room a while ago, leaving behind a half-empty can of soda and a quiet “I’ll give you two some space, nii-san~” in a sing-song voice that had Idia practically overheating.

You were on the floor, curled in a sea of fuzzy blankets and oversized gaming pillows. Idia had set up your “chill zone,” as he nervously called it—stocked with snacks, manga, and an absurdly cute cat-shaped pillow that he had definitely not bought because it reminded him of the way you smiled.

You had climbed up into his gaming chair at some point, practically draping yourself across his lap, completely fearless. Idia had gone full system error—stiff as a board, hands twitching at his sides, a thousand inner alarms going off.

“Wha—Y-You can’t just—th-th-there’s a process! A sequence! L-like, at least two awkward movie nights before you just go full-on lap-mode!!”

But you hadn’t answered. Your breathing had slowed. Your body had gone warm and heavy.

You’d fallen asleep.

Idia’s heart skipped several beats. He actually had to check that he wasn’t hallucinating. A tiny puff of air escaped your lips, your cheek squished against his hoodie-clad thigh, and your hand, like it had a mind of its own, had curled around the hem of his sleeve.

He froze. Again.

Then slowly, as if afraid to wake a very fluffy, very delicate sleeping beast, he let himself breathe. Just a little.

His hand trembled as it hovered near your head. His fingers twitched like they were afraid to mess it up—you—the whole fragile image of this moment.

And then, very carefully, he let his hand settle into your hair.

“…This is… r-real, right?” he whispered, voice cracking mid-sentence. He bit down on a whimper, overwhelmed.

“She’s literally asleep. On me. Like, I’m not even an NPC in this cutscene. I’m the main questline now.”

A faint giggle threatened to bubble up, but he slapped a hand over his mouth.

Then the other part of his brain chimed in.

What if she wakes up and realizes it’s weird? What if she was just tired and it wasn’t a conscious choice? What if she thinks you’re a total loser for sitting there like a statue?

He shut his eyes tight.

No. No, for once, he wouldn’t self-destruct this moment. Not when it felt like he’d stepped into a rare hidden level that only unlocked when your affection for an NPC was maxed out.

He looked down at you again, marveling at the tiny breath of warmth rising and falling against him.

“You’re like… my safe point,” he mumbled into the dark, letting his fingers finally settle gently in your hair.

A small ping from his PC reminded him a new update had installed.

“Whatever, I already got the best patch.”

Malleus Draconia

It was a rare, quiet evening at Diasomnia. No thunder echoed from the mountains, no duties called for the crown prince, and no students dared interrupt the rare moment of peace Malleus found with you.

The courtyard behind the dormitory was bathed in moonlight, silver threads weaving between tall hedges and ancient statues. You’d been chatting beside him on a stone bench, your legs curled beneath you, fingers grazing his as you recounted a ridiculous tale Ace had told you during lunch. Malleus listened—his eyes never straying from your face, utterly enchanted by your every word. You were warm and brilliant, like the sun he’d always been curious about, and it was moments like this that made him feel closer to understanding it.

But the day had been long. Long classes, longer conversations, and the gentle lull of Malleus’s deep voice had slowly pulled you into the edges of slumber. One moment you were chuckling, your cheek in your palm, and the next… your head tilted gently against his thigh.

Malleus stiffened slightly—not in discomfort, but surprise.

He blinked down at you, your lashes fluttering, your lips parting slightly as your breathing evened out. His first instinct was stillness. Dragons, after all, are patient creatures. He gazed at your peaceful form, processing the trust it took for you to doze off like this—on him. Vulnerable. Soft.

“My treasure…” he whispered, voice low with reverence.

He gently adjusted his posture, making sure your head had a comfortable angle. One clawed hand hovered hesitantly in the air before slowly descending to stroke your hair, tender and cautious, like touching spun gold.

“Even in sleep, you are unafraid of me.” The words were not sad, but filled with quiet awe.

The warmth of your body against him, the subtle scent of your perfume, and the delicate rise and fall of your breath began to unravel something inside Malleus. A rare emotion—one that wrapped around his ancient heart like ivy. He had seen kingdoms rise and fall, yet here you were, the most precious thing he’d ever held, choosing to rest in his lap like he was your sanctuary.

As your hand twitched in your sleep, seeking his, Malleus smiled.

He laced your fingers together, holding you close.

“You will never know harm while I breathe,” he murmured, more promise than poetry.

He remained there, unmoving, for as long as you needed. Watching over you with all the devotion of a dragon guarding his hoard, his heart heavy with love and light.

Lilia Vanrouge

The music from the Lounge had died down hours ago, and yet the two of you lingered in the quiet common room of Diasomnia, curled up on an emerald velvet settee, bathed in candlelight.

You had been scrolling through photos on your phone, laughing at memories, while Lilia lounged beside you, arms spread over the back of the couch, looking for all the world like a retired general watching over his beloved court jester.

His teasing quips had slowed as the hour crept past midnight. You were curled sideways now, legs draped over his, head tucked against his shoulder.

And then… your body shifted slightly.

You sighed—a soft, exhausted exhale—and gently, instinctively, nestled your head into his lap. Your phone slid from your hand to the cushion with a muffled thud.

Lilia paused mid-sentence, blinking. Then he looked down.

“Well, well…” His voice was a whisper, touched with warmth and amusement. “You’ve gone and melted into my lap, little bat.”

There was no complaint in his tone. Only gentle adoration.

He shifted minutely, reaching for a throw blanket folded neatly over the back of the couch. With practiced ease, he draped it over your form, tucking it around your shoulders with a tenderness only centuries of experience could perfect.

As your cheek pressed against his thigh, he could feel the subtle hum of your breath through his clothes. He gently brushed your hair away from your face, taking a moment to admire your features—so soft, so trusting, so utterly you.

Lilia had lived longer than most stars, but never had he found a moment quite like this.

“A sight sweeter than sakura in spring,” he murmured, one gloved hand resting lightly atop your head.

He leaned back, gazing at the ceiling, his other hand lazily tracing invisible patterns against your arm beneath the blanket.

He thought of the countless battles he’d fought, the wars he’d survived, the heartbreaks endured. And yet this moment—this quiet, sleeping you—was what he found himself wanting to protect most of all.

“Don’t worry,” he said quietly, “I’ll keep watch tonight, just as I always have. Even nightmares wouldn’t dare bother you while I’m here.”

A mischievous glint twinkled in his eyes, even as his voice remained soft.

“And if you drool on me, well… I suppose I’ll consider it a badge of honor.”

He chuckled lightly to himself, and resumed playing with your hair, humming a lullaby so old the stars had likely forgotten it. It was a melody sung once in ancient fae courts, now resurrected just for you.

Lilia, the eternal guardian, kept his silent vigil, heart full and content.

[ultraviolencced]

when zios show up at a court hearing that’s not related to them whatsoever they have the biggest main character syndrome and we live in their heads rent free

fuck 12

free my comrades

free palestine

[plutotheplum]

I'm Your Man

caleb x fem!reader

summary: riling up your boyfriend is entirely too easy. when he finds out you have a tutor that happens to be a man... well, it's safe to say caleb hates that sort of thing.

cw: nsfw (18+) - mdni!!, smut, fluff, kissing, spanking, oral sex, vaginal fingering, p in v, praise kink, finger sucking, exhibitionism, jealous!caleb, established relationship, modern au

w/c: 5.8k

a/n: *caleb seeing reader near a guy* crashes out immediately - hope you all enjoy!! <3

also on ao3!

“Baby!”

You squeak when the door swings open, the man in front of you moving in a blur. There’s a pair of lips landing against your cheek in a quick kiss before he wraps his arms around you, lifting you up off of the ground, his faze nuzzling into your chest.

“C- Caleb,” you whine, squirming in his hold, trying to get him to set you back down, “put me down, you dork.”

“But I missed you,” Caleb grumbles back, rubbing his face all over your top like a cat, nuzzling into your chest. He finally grants your request once he’s satisfied, hands smoothing down over your sides once he sets you down onto your feet.

You smile when he cups your cheeks, humming happily when he begins to pepper soft kisses all over your face, his thumbs smoothing over your skin gently.

“I missed you too,” you say, arms wrapping around his neck to tug him down for a kiss, sighing softly against his mouth.

Caleb groans, his hands squeezing at your waist, kissing you back eagerly. You huff out a laugh when he gropes at your ass, rocking up onto your tiptoes to plant a kiss on his cheek.

“That’s it?” he protests when you pull away, pushing your hands away when you try to tug your duffle bag into his apartment.

“I literally just got here,” you muse, watching as he grabs your bag for you, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you silently appreciate the flex of your boyfriend’s biceps as he carries your duffle bag into his bedroom for you. 

You shut his front door, securing the lock, before trailing after him. Caleb is reaching for you the moment you step inside his bedroom, shoving his face into the crook of your neck and letting out a contented sigh.

“Missed you so much,” he sighs, voice muffled with the way he’s pressed his face against your neck, his nose digging into you, lips brushing over your skin. 

“Sometimes I wonder how you live without me,” you tease, hands stroking over his hair gently, scratching his scalp every now and then.

“I hardly get by,” Caleb complains aggrievedly, tugging you towards his bed. “I think I have withdrawals every time you leave.”

A laugh slips out of you at that, crawling up to snuggle into his arms, leaning back to rest your head on his shoulder. Caleb kisses your cheek, his chest warm and firm against your back as he hums in satisfaction. 

“I only have a year left before I graduate, then I can move in with you,” you remind him, scrolling through your phone absentmindedly as Caleb busies himself with trying to meld his body against yours.

“Feels like an eternity,” he mutters, huffing out a breath. Caleb props his chin on your shoulder, eyes trained on your phone as you watch some random video. “How are your classes anyways?”

“Not bad,” you say, tilting your head to press a soft kiss to his lips. “I was struggling in one of them, but I sorted that out.”

“Yeah?” he murmurs, pecking your lips gently in return, “how’d you do that?”

“I got a tutor,” you shrug, glancing up at him before turning your attention back to your phone. “He’s pretty good.”

You can feel Caleb stiffening behind you, his fingers stopping their movements against your sides. Your brows furrow, tossing your phone somewhere in front of you before turning back to look at Caleb properly. There’s a tell-tale pout beginning to form on his lips; something you’ve gotten used to ever since you were children.

“What’s wrong?”

“He?” Caleb echoes, his eyes darkening, “your tutor’s a guy?”

“Well… yeah?” you reply like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “the dude is like super smart; top of the class and everything. I figured he’d be the best to teach me.” 

“I’m super smart,” Caleb shoots back, and you raise your brows when you see a frown coming across his face, his lips turning downwards. “And I was the top of all my classes. Definitely smarter than your little tutor. Drop him.”

A laugh bubbles out of you, turning around his arms until you settle on his lap, thighs straddling his hips.

“Yeah?” you smile, peering up at him, “you don’t even know the syllabus, Caleb.”

“I can learn it,” he protests stubbornly, “besides, I am smart. I’m a fighter pilot, baby.”

Your smile widens when you see Caleb’s chest puff out a little, his proud nature showing - not that you minded. Your fingers smooth up over the back of his shoulders, a soft sigh escaping Caleb when you play with the hair at the nape of his neck, his head tipping back, eyes fluttering shut.

“You can just say it,” you whisper teasingly, pressing yourself a little closer. “You’re jealous.”

“Jealous?” Caleb echoes, his lips pursing as he considers your words. “Maybe,” he shrugs, his eyes opening as he stares down at you, “or maybe…” he whispers, lowering his head to brush a kiss across your lips, “maybe I just want to keep my girl to myself.”

Your cheeks flush when he calls you his girl, heart fluttering in your chest. The words echo in your mind, brushing whatever thoughts were filling your mind away. He always knew how to disarm you, and you can never quite get used to Caleb’s possessiveness, his need to have his claim on you. It’s thrilling and nothing else has ever made you feel so wanted.

“Hm?” Caleb hums against your cheek, “my girl is all mine. Right, baby?”

Hands pawing at his firm chest, you nod, leaning into him as though in a daze. You lean up, making a small noise, trying to kiss him. Caleb clicks his tongue, his hand cupping your jaw, fingers squeezing gently on either side of your cheeks to bring you out of the slow, syrupy haze that was currently fogging your mind. 

“Use your words, sweetheart.”

“Yes- yes,” you say insistently, pouting before you pucker up your lips a little more, desperate for a kiss, “‘m all yours, Caleb.”

“Good girl.”

You preen at the praise, mewling softly when he kisses you. Caleb’s hands squeeze at your hips gently, trying to stop all of your squirming and jostling on top of his lap. A dissatisfied sound leaves you when he stops you from grinding across his lap, your eyes narrowing as you peer up at him.

“I thought you missed me, Caleb.”

He rolls his eyes, grabbing your hand that was currently sliding down his chest, his lips pressing against your palm when he manages to unfurl the fist you’d made with your fingers. 

“You’re so grabby,” Caleb mumbles against your palm, “‘m tryna take it slow, baby.”

“I don’t want slow,” you huff out, fisting his shirt and yanking him towards you. “I want you to fuck me.”

There’s a smirk on Caleb’s lips, his nose nudging against yours, fingers pressing into your back.

“Last time you cried when I-”

“Shut up!” you sputter, slapping your hand over his mouth, cheeks hot with embarrassment when you remember what had happened last time. Caleb’s hand wrapped around your throat, fingers relentless against your clit, cock pounding entirely too deep-  “That was- it was overwhelming!”

Caleb opens his mouth to respond, mischief glinting in his eyes, but your phone ruins the moment, ringing out. You groan, turning your back to him as you reach for your phone that you had tossed over to the foot of his bed.

“Who is it?” Caleb asks, his fingers wrapping around your ankles as you kick up your legs lazily.

“My tutor,” you reply, showing him your phone.

A smile spreads across your face when you see Caleb’s playful expression drop, replaced with something akin to annoyance.

“You know,” you continue, your voice dipping into a drawling taunt just to piss him off, “bet he’d fuck me if I asked him.”

“You little-” Caleb hisses, his voice rising as he tries to grab for your phone.

You pull it out of his reach, pressing a finger to your lips, making a hushing motion. Caleb’s expression grows darker the moment you swipe your finger across the screen to answer, his hands tightening their grip on your ankles.

“Hi,” you chirp sweetly, twirling a strand of hair around your finger.

“Uh hey,” the man on the other end of the line replies, “are you free to talk?”

You hum, sneaking a glance towards Caleb who seems close to snapping, his glare venomous when he catches your eyes. Too easy, you think, biting your lip to stifle a laugh at his thinly veiled anger.

“Super free,” you say pointedly, “what did you want to talk abo- ow!”

A sharp yelp escapes you when Caleb’s hand comes down on your ass, the slap stinging. A strangled whine escapes you, your head whipping around to glare back at Caleb, feeling your eye twitch. Your boyfriend meets your eyes with a hard glare of his own, his fingers pushing up the hem of your skirt to examine the rapidly reddening skin of your ass.

“You okay?” your tutor asks, a tinge of concern in his voice.

“F- fine,” you manage out, “just- just um- stubbed my toe!”

“Right,” he murmurs, “hate when that happens.”

You nod along as though he can see you, trying to kick Caleb in the face as you roll over onto your back. The wind is knocked out of you when Caleb grabs you by the waist, manhandling you until you’re laying on your front again, his hands squeezing at your ass roughly, hand coming down again in a harsh smack.

“Ouch!”

“You uh- you stubbed your toe again?” your tutor asks tentatively.

“Mhm,” you say, voice slightly breathless with the restraint it was taking you not to cry out. “I’m- ‘m just really clumsy.”

Your fingers tremble as you manage to mute yourself on your phone, letting out a whimper when Caleb spanks you again and again, a hint of regret pooling inside of you at pushing your boyfriend this far.

“Unmute,” Caleb murmurs, gripping your hips to make you arch a bit, ass up in the air for him to spank again, your skin hot and prickly. His voice is a low snap when you don’t do as he says, your throat bobbing as you swallow harshly, Caleb’s tone growing firmer, no longer requesting but demanding. “C’mon baby, unmute the fucking phone.” 

You whine in protest, but do as he says, shakily unmuting yourself. You can hardly hear whatever your tutor was rambling on about, eyes blinking rapidly to try and concentrate. It’s all in vain however, when Caleb rains down another slap to your ass, your teeth sinking into your forearm to muffled a pained gasp.

“Bad fucking girl,” Caleb mutters lowly, “such a bratty, little slut.”

The itch to argue and bite back prickles across your skin, but Caleb’s hands are smoothing over you ass, and you wiggle your hips back to meet the soft pets he rewards your ass with; his fingers prodding and pushing your ass cheeks apart to take a glimpse of your panties.

“Anyways,” your tutor continues, “I was just calling because my schedule’s changed so I might not be able to tutor you during the time we agreed on.”

“Oh,” you breathe out, eyes widening as Caleb tugs at your panties, pulling them away from your skin before he lets go, the elastic snapping back against your skin. “That’s- that’s uh- too bad?”

“Yeah,” he sighs, “do you mind if we settle on a different day?”

There’s an answer sitting on the tip of your tongue, but Caleb pulls at your ankle, managing to flip you over onto your back. He tightens his grip, your body sliding against the sheets as he tugs you towards him.

“N- no,” you hiss, forgetting about the man on the other end of the line, too preoccupied by trying to simultaneously yank your leg free whilst trying to kick Caleb’s face, “don’t you dare!”

Caleb only gives you a lazy grin, his hands managing to catch both your ankles and tug you further down the bed. 

“Don’t you dare?” your tutor echoes confusedly, and you squeeze your eyes shut, wincing at the misunderstanding.

You laugh, trying to cover up your flustered state, head dropping back against the sheets as Caleb smiles against the soles of your feet, peppering kisses all over the expanse of your feet.

“That’s not what I meant,” you grit out, shaking your head vehemently when Caleb smooths his hands over your thighs, pushing your skirt up to expose your panties.

You can feel your brain short-circuiting when your boyfriend settles between your thighs, his hands grasping at your thighs, squeezing at the fat before he turns his head, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh.

“So you’re okay with me rescheduling?”

“Y- yes!” you say, your voice pitching upwards awkwardly when Caleb rubs his fingers over your clothed cunt, his head dipping down to press kisses to your damp panties.

“Great,” he says, sounding a little chipper, “how does Friday sound? Maybe 10-12 in the morning?”

“Oh fuck,” you breathe out hazily, fingers brushing through Caleb’s hair as he pulls your panties down your legs, your half-lidded gaze not missing the way he slips them into the pocket of his sweats - another addition to his growing collection.

Perv.

You sigh, biting your lip as Caleb kisses your puffy folds, his tongue sliding through them after, your grip on your phone loosening as you squeeze your breast, squirming under Caleb’s ministrations.

He stares up at you, pulling back to lick his lips, strings of slick clinging to his lips and chin. You smile hazily and Caleb leans forward, stealing a quick kiss before burying his face back into your aching pussy. 

“Uh- does that sound good?” your tutor asks, his voice sounding a little unsure with all the sighing and soft noises you were let out.

“So good,” you murmur absentmindedly, thighs squeezing around Caleb’s head gently, enough to tease him a little.

Caleb gives you a pointed stare, his teeth sinking into your thigh before he smirks, nodding towards your phone.

You flush, embarrassment making your body go hot. “I- I mean y- yeah! That sounds perfect!”

“Okay, let me just write that down-”

You tug at Caleb’s hair, mouth dropping open when he latches onto your clit, sucking harshly. The sensations make your thighs twitch, toes curling as they press up against Caleb’s broad back, a soft mewl leaving you when you see the flex of his muscles through his shirt.

“Pretty pussy missed me,” Caleb whispers, his voice barely audible. He sighs contentedly when he thumbs apart your folds, the sheets rustling slightly as you watch him grind his hips into the bed, Caleb’s eyes not wavering from the clench of your pussy around nothing. “So wet, hm? Gonna ruin my sheets, baby.”

You whimper when he draws back, thighs twitching when he gathers a considerable amount of spit in his mouth, spitting down onto your clenching pussy. It’s filthy really, but Caleb is well-versed in your body; knows you well enough to know that you’ll go along with whatever he offers you.

Your fingers push at his head gently when he tries to kiss your clit, moving your hand down to spread your pussy for him instead, rubbing his spit into your cunt, mixing it with your slick. Caleb lets out a low groan at the sight, and you smile prettily, pressing your wet fingers against his mouth, smearing it over his lips.

His tongue lolls out soon after, licking his lips and you feed him your fingers, hips rolling up needily when he sucks on your fingers lazily. “Want you to cum for me on call,” Caleb slurs, licking between your fingers, grazing his teeth against the pads of them.

“What?” you hiss, brows raising incredulously. “I am not doing that.”

Caleb ignores you, busying himself with burying his face back into your cunt. You stifle a moan, biting down on your lip hard enough to remind yourself that you shouldn’t have been doing this; be on a call whilst your boyfriend was eating you out.

“I was thinking we could meet up at the library.”

Your tutor’s voice breaks through the haze and you grit your teeth, silently regretting the fact that you’d been the one to start this whole ordeal in the first place.

“The- ah- the library sounds good,” you mumble, eyes squeezing shut when Caleb begins to double his efforts, sucking and slurping, the sounds entirely too lewd and perhaps audible to the man on the phone. “

You press down on Caleb’s head, fingers tangling with his hair, back arching. Caleb’s smile is obvious, you can feel it against your cunt, his head tilting as he prods at your aching hole, beginning to fuck you with his tongue. A shudder racks through you, an impatient whine slipping out of you, desperate to orgasm.

“Be good, baby,” Caleb murmurs, replacing his tongue with his fingers, curling them up inside of you.

You try to stifle a moan and Caleb is feeling nice enough to help you, his free hand sliding up over your stomach, squeezing at your tits appreciatively before stuffing his fingers into your mouth to muffle your noises.

Legs jerking, you try to hold still, but when Caleb latches back onto your clit, your entire body quakes. It’s torture, the way Caleb knows how to play with you, his mouth smashing against your dripping pussy to suck more feverishly to drive you further towards the edge.

“The library it is then,” your tutor notes down. “Or you could always come over.”

Come over. Come. Cum. Cum?

A drunken giggle slips out of you, fingers running through Caleb’s soft hair as he flicks his tongue against your clit, stroking over it gently before his mouth suctions around the swollen bud, making your back arch. Yeah, you think hazily, you were going to cum. 

“Mhm,” you slur, “‘m definitely gonna be cumming.”

“You- you are?” he sounds a little surprised, “you know, I’ve never had someone so eager to learn. It’s actually kinda… refreshing, honestly so thank you.”

“You’re so welcome,” you mewl, hips rocking up against Caleb’s face, feeling the huff of laughter your boyfriend lets out against your pussy, his hand coming down to spread you apart for him again, his fingers thrusting in and out of you faster.

You bite down on your lip, body seizing up when Caleb crooks his fingers inside of you just right, the sensation of his tongue on your clit enough to have your back arching, toes digging into Caleb’s back as you cum.

Caleb groans, kissing your clit sloppily, his tongue sliding through your puffy folds to drink up every last drop of slick that he could find. He laps over your pussy, nuzzling into your thigh after as you shudder and shake, kissing your hip to help soothe you through the aftermath of your orgasm.

You’re too boneless to stop Caleb from reaching for your phone, eyes fluttering shut, unable to stop the syrupy atmosphere that had befallen you.

“Hung up for you,” he murmurs, putting your phone somewhere, his lips landing on your cheek for a sweet kiss.

“I didn’t get to say bye to him,” you mumble belatedly, arms wrapping around Caleb’s neck lazily.

Caleb clicks his tongue, sending you a half-hearted glare. “You don’t need to say bye to him, baby. Stop thinking about him. I just made you cum on my tongue.”

“But he’s just so helpful,” you sigh lazily, feeling Caleb’s fingers dig into your hips.

“For fuck’s sake,” Caleb mutters, rolling his eyes, “I’m helpful and I’m your fucking boyfriend.”

You smile up at him, tugging him down to kiss him. Caleb lets out a low noise against your lips, his hands squeezing at your waist, shuddering when you scratch his scalp.

“You don’t have to be so butthurt, baby,” you coo, sitting up, “I still love you.”

“Not enough apparently,” Caleb grouses, tugging his shirt up over his head.

You go hazy eyed at the sight, hand running up over your boyfriend’s defined abdomen, your fingers catching on his dog tags situated between his unfairly thick pecs. 

“Gonna fuck me now?” you ask him sweetly, tugging his sweats and boxers down to free his cock.

Caleb’s cock bobs free and you sigh dreamily at the sight, the head of it wet with thick globs of pre-cum; damning evidence of his arousal. Your hand wraps around his fat cock, the length hot and throbbing under your touch. 

It’s all too much for Caleb who lets out a shuddering noise, his head dropping forward, resting against your shoulder as you stroke his cock lazily, leaning forward to spit on it. Caleb whines and you take the opportunity to lean forward, mouthing at his pecs, pressing open-mouthed kisses across his heated skin.

“Fuck, baby,” Caleb sighs, hands coming up to cradle your head against his chest, his cock twitching in your hands when you reach down to squeeze at his balls, your teeth scraping across his sternum playfully. 

“Missed your cock,” you whisper, rising up onto your knees to kiss up his neck. “‘s just so big and thick,” you say appreciatively. 

“Do you even think about me?” Caleb protests, his head tipping to the side to bare more of his neck to you, “or do you just think about my fat fuckin’ cock?”

“It’s not a crime to think about it,” you huff out, angling your head to kiss the underside of his jaw. “I just really like it.”

“Brat,” he mutters, reaching down to grope your ass. “You sound like you have a crush on my cock.”

“You steal my panties!” you shoot back exasperatedly, glaring up at him before biting down on his shoulder in retaliation.

“Maybe I just really like the cute little designs,” Caleb drawls, yanking your head back using your hair before dipping his head to kiss you messily, his tongue invading your mouth, practically fucking you with it until there’s spit leaking from the sides of your mouths.

You moan, pawing at his broad shoulders, mewling happily when he manhandles you to his will, turning you over onto your front, his hands tugging your ass up into the air, making you arch for him.

“Good fucking girl,” he snarls, landing a spank to your ass. “Ask for my cock, sweetheart, c’mon.”

You whimper, face shoving into the sheets, grabbing at them to try and ground yourself. The sounds of Caleb stroking his cock making your pussy throb, hips wiggling back to try and make him push his cock inside.

“W- want it inside,” you demand, yelping when Caleb smacks your ass again.

“Think you can do better than that,” Caleb murmurs, his hand smoothing up over your back, his cock slapping against your aching cunt, before he presses the tip of it in before drawing it back out. “Hm? Wanna hear you all pretty, baby.”

“P- please?” you hiccup, feeling desperate tears prick at your lash line - a sign of your own desperation and need to have him close, no, in you. “C- can I p- please have your cock, Caleb? Please?” 

“You sound so sweet when you ask like that,” Caleb says dreamily, dipping his head to reward your cheek with a kiss. “I love you so much, sweetheart.”

A shaky breath escapes you, your cheek squishing against the sheets, eyes slipping shut when he sinks his cock inside of you. You’ve slept with Caleb countless times, but you can never get quite used to the stretch of his cock and the way it manages to turn every rational thought in your mind to mush.

Caleb doesn’t seem to be faring better, letting out a guttural groan as he buries himself into the hilt. You can’t help but think he’s being a little louder than usual, but you’re not complaining.

“So tight,” he rasps hoarsely, fingers spreading apart your ass to watch his cock sink in and out of you, his eyes silently appreciating the way your cunt is stretched out around his cock. “Feels so good, baby.”

You mumble something back incoherently, content to let him have you like this, his hips smacking into your ass loudly with every thrust he delivers.

“Love you, Caleb,” you mewl when you feel him kiss up your back and over your shoulder, his face pressing into the crook of your neck, “love you much.”

“I know, sweetheart,” he soothes, drawing his hips back before driving them into you harder and faster, “so good to me, aren’t you?”

“Mhm,” you nod, rising up onto your hands, turning your head to kiss him, “‘m your good girl.”

Caleb grunts, his arm wrapping around your waist. “You weren’t being good when you were talking to him.”

You pout, too horny to roll your eyes and tell him that he was being wildly immature and entirely too possessive for his own good. Instead, you squirm forward, Caleb’s cock slipping out of you despite his protests.

“Should I make it up to you?” you ask sweetly, voice lilting as you bat your lashes up at him.

“Make it up to me?” Caleb echoes, his breath hitching when you crawl towards him, hips swaying a little, your hands pushing at his shoulders to get him to lay down.

You hum in response, crawling up over him, settling on his lap. You smile when he groans loudly, your hips rolling as you grind your pussy over his hard, aching cock.

“Ride me,” he mutters dazedly, pre-cum coating his abdomen. “Sink down on my cock and ride me, baby.”

“I’m enjoying this though,” you say teasingly, hands planted firmly on his chest as you roll your hips again, moaning softly when his cock slides through your folds, the tip of it catching on your clit. “W- wait- Caleb!”

You squeak when he grabs for you roughly, picking you up easily, dropping you down onto his cock. A sharp cry escapes you, cunt clenching around him in a desperate attempt to get accustomed to his size.

“‘m gonna fuck the brattiness outta you,” Caleb murmurs, his lips slotting over yours to seal the promise. “And then-” he moans, his head tipping back slightly as he guides you to rock your hips, feeling your cunt around his throbbing cock, “and then, you’re gonna scream my name while you cum.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, gasping as he begins to bounce you on his cock, your ass smacking against his thighs. You don’t need much encouragement, not when Caleb’s mouth is sucking and biting at your neck, most likely leaving numerous hickeys in his wake. 

“Who's making you feel this good?” your boyfriend asks, “huh, baby?”

“Y- you are!” you squeal when he slaps your ass, hugging his head as he buries his face into your chest, his mouth sucking at your nipple before switching over to the other breast, biting a mark into the fat of it.

“That’s right,” Caleb growls, “I am, not anyone else. Just me and my cock, yeah?”

“Yes- yes! Oh fuck- hah- C- Caleb!”

He snarls, pulling you down, breasts squishing up against his chest. You squirm, hardly able to believe you’d manage to piss him off into such a state. Caleb wraps his arms around you, his knees bending as he plants his feet firmly against his bed, beginning to thrust up into you.

“S- so deep,” you hiccup, pressing sloppy kisses to his jaw, “you’re the best.”

Caleb groans, his heart fluttering at your words, a light flush covering his cheeks. Despite everything, your words still manage to fluster him, the softness of your lips on his cheek making his body throb with affection.

He manages to tilt his head, capturing your lips with his, uncaring that your kisses were slightly clumsy and uncoordinated with how fucked out you were. You whimper when he quickens his pace, cock pounding into you, his balls slapping against your ass.

“‘m gonna c- cum,” you whine, pussy clenching down around his cock desperately.

“Yeah?” Caleb rasps, kissing the corner of your mouth, “gonna cum on my cock, sweetheart?”

You nod rapidly, nuzzling into the crook of his neck, letting out a contented coo. Caleb grunts out your name, his fingers reaching down to squeeze at your ass, fucking up into you over and over again until you squeal and scream, his name leaving your mouth in a slurred chant.

“C- Caleb! I- ah! I love you!”

“Cum,” Caleb snaps, burying himself into the hilt, his hand managing to find your clit. You whine when he rubs it, body shuddering on top of his as you cum, your nails digging into his broad shoulders. “There you go, baby.”

You let out a dazed sound when Caleb kisses you, lips pressing together sloppily, his cock twitching inside of you.

“Fuck,” Caleb mutters, his body covered in a thin sheen of sweat, his thighs trembling slightly as his hot, thick cum floods your pussy. “So good to me, sweetheart.”

You flop down onto the bed, chest rising and falling as you pant raggedly, Caleb’s softening cock slipping out of you. His cum smears across your thigh when he moves towards you, his face pressing into your chest as he kisses your breasts, sucking a nipple into his mouth playfully until you push at his head in protest.

“I should rile you up more,” you muse, fingers tracing over his lips gently, a triumphant smile on your face.

Caleb rolls his eyes, kissing the pads of your fingers. “Maybe you should,” he concedes finally, running a hand through his hair, looking a little weary, his cheeks flushed prettily. 

You cup his cheeks, pulling him closer to pepper kisses over his face, to his cheeks, forehead and brows, laughing when he returns your kisses and sucks the fat of your cheek into his mouth childishly.

“Y’all are freaks.”

The smile on your face fades, the color all but draining from your face when you hear a crackly voice coming from your phone. You glance towards Caleb, and the asshole in question looks entirely too smug and pleased, a lazy grin spread out across his face.

The cozy intimate atmosphere around you seems to fade, annoyance flitting across your face. You have half a mind to slap Caleb across the face, your jaw clenching as your teeth grit together, but the more pressing issue at hand wins out. You only need to sit up to spy the dangerous glint in your boyfriend’s eyes. The bed dips under both of you, sheets rumpling in a flurry as you both scramble towards your phone, trying to grab it first.

“I am so sorry-” you begin, shrieking when Caleb tugs your phone from your hand. You flail, trying to crawl up onto his lap, shoving at his shoulders in an attempt to snatch your phone back, desperate to save the last shreds of your now scarce and very much dwindling dignity.

“You could’ve hung up,” Caleb retorts bluntly into your phone, his thumb pushing into your mouth when you open your mouth to protest. “Now fuck off.”

You watch as Caleb disconnects the call, your eyes narrowing, not tempted to suck on his thumb like you might’ve been in any other situation. Instead, you bite down, satisfaction coursing through you when Caleb yelps, watching as his eyes squeezing shut in pain. You cling on stubbornly, glaring up at him when he tries to pull his thumb free, a wince leaving him as pain flares up through his thumb. You don’t let go until Caleb protests, his hand pushing at your forehead gently.

“So mean, sweetheart,” he complains, wrapping his arms around you, his face nuzzling into your chest, mouthing at the sides of your breasts lazily. 

You stare down at your boyfriend, the soft tufts of his brown hair now messy and sticking up into your face. You can feel your eye beginning to twitch, irritation prickling across your skin.

“What the fuck was that?” you snap, swatting the side of his head, “you said you hung up!”

“Must’ve forgotten,” Caleb mumbles, his expression feigning innocence as his eyes flick up to meet yours.

“Really?” you murmur, leaning forward, head tilting. “You forgot? Guess I’ll just forget to stay here tonight.”

You move to get off of his lap, but Caleb clicks his tongue, his arms tightening around you. You try again, but his hold is firm, preventing you from going anywhere other than staying in his lap.

“Thought you were my good girl,” Caleb sighs, dragging his lips across your jaw, trailing soft kisses over your skin. “I was only showing him who you really belonged to.”

“Belonged to?” you echo, hand cupping the back of his head to bare your neck to him when he kisses your neck. 

“Mhm,” he hums, lifting his head to peck your lips. You can’t help but lean into him, eyes fluttering as he brushes his thumbs over your cheeks gently, tucking your hair behind your ears.

“Funny,” you breathe out, showing him your hand, “I don’t see a ring on my hand.”

Caleb pauses, his eyes widening for a moment before a smile spreads across his face, his head dipping to give you another kiss.

“I can do that,” he whispers against your lips. “You want a ring, sweetheart? I’ll give you one.”

“That’s not what I-” you begin exasperatedly, squeaking when Caleb grabs your chin, his mouth slotting over yours to kiss you heatedly, stopping you from speaking.

“So?” Caleb asks eagerly, “what do you want? A diamond? Personally, I think-”

“I am not marrying you,” you interrupt, pressing your hands against his chest to push him back. You bite your lip, averting your gaze, feeling a little shy. “...At least not right now, so- so shut up.”

“I’ll marry you eventually,” Caleb murmurs, a smile spreading across his face, “been wanting to ever since we were kids.”

You groan, flopping away from him, burying your face into a pillow to hide your flustered expression.

“C’mere baby,” he coaxes, smiling against your cheek after he pulls you into his arms, letting you bury your face into his warm chest. “I love you.”

“You’re such a dick,” you mumble, peering up at him. You pout and Caleb grins, dropping a soft kiss to your forehead. “I love you too, jerk.”

He runs his fingers through your hair, stroking gently as your eyes droop shut, lulled to sleep by the heat and comfort of his body, cocooned in Caleb’s affection - until he decides to ruin it with a thoughtful whisper that makes him sound entirely too pleased with what he’s managed to accomplish. 

“Guess you’re gonna have to send me the syllabus for that class after all.”

[sakuraszn]

ft. timeskip katsuki bakugo

summary: you and katsuki got into a fight last night but he’s not leaving the next day without his kiss.

“You Still Mad?”

The sun had barely risen, casting a warm, hazy glow through the bedroom window, but you were still wrapped up in last night’s argument like a thick-ass winter coat. You hadn’t even looked at Bakugo since you both woke up, let alone spoken a word to him.

He noticed. Of course, he did.

Now, he stood by the front door, arms crossed, already in his hero gear, watching you with narrowed crimson eyes. His gauntlets hung from his belt, meaning he was giving you extra time before heading out.

“Tch,” he sucked his teeth. “You still actin’ like that?”

You didn’t answer, just sat on the couch, scrolling through your phone, legs tucked under you.

Bakugo took a slow step forward, then another. “Y’know I ain’t leavin’ without my shit, so you might as well quit actin’ funny.”

Silence.

His jaw twitched. “Oh, so we playin’ this game?”

Still nothing.

Bakugo exhaled sharply through his nose before yanking his gloves tighter. “Alright.”

Before you could react, he marched over, plucked the phone right out of your hands, and tossed it onto the couch.

“The fu—Bakugo!” You snapped, looking up at him.

“There it is.” He smirked, tilting his head. “Finally got your attention.”

You folded your arms, scowling. “You really that pressed over a damn kiss?”

He scoffed, looking down at you like you were the dumbest person alive. “Uh, yeah? That’s my good luck for the day. You want me out there fightin’ villains without my daily dose of you?”

Your lips twitched, but you forced the smile down, turning your head away from him.

Bakugo, not having any of that, leaned down, caging you in with his arms on either side of you. “Oh, so now you mute?”

You rolled your eyes. “Katsuki, go to work.”

“You know I’m not leavin’ without my shit.”

He was so close, his breath tickled your skin. His scent—warm spice and a little bit of leftover sleep—wrapped around you. You hated how familiar it was, how much you’d miss it if he actually left without kissing you goodbye.

“Why do you even care?” You muttered. “I’m still mad at you.”

“Yeah, yeah, you say that,” he murmured, fingers slipping under your chin to tilt your face up. “But I know you. You don’t wanna be mad anymore.”

You huffed, but his touch was soft, gentle. A contrast to how brash he usually was.

His thumb traced your bottom lip. “Lemme fix it.”

Before you could protest, he kissed you. Slow. Deep. It wasn’t just some quick peck or heated make-out session. It was that I-know-you-love-me-so-stop-frontin’ kinda kiss.

And, like a damn fool, you melted into it.

His hands slid down, gripping your waist, pulling you even closer. His lips moved with yours, lazy but demanding, like he had all the time in the world. Then, right when he knew he had you, SMACK.

His palm connected with your ass, making you gasp into his mouth.

Bakugo smirked against your lips. “There she is.”

You shoved at his chest, but he barely budged. “Your so damn annoying.”

“Yeah?” He nipped at your lip before pulling back, smug as ever. “But you still love me.”

You exhaled, finally giving in. “Yeah, yeah. I love you.”

“Damn right you do.” He leaned down, stealing one more kiss, slow and sweet, before finally stepping back.

You watched as he grabbed his gauntlets and strapped them on, the usual cocky attitude in full effect. Right as he reached the door, he turned back, grinning. “Oh, and don’t think I didn’t catch that lil’ smile. You ain’t slick.”

You rolled your eyes, but he saw the way you bit your lip.

Bakugo chuckled, shaking his head. “See you later, dumbass.”

And just like that, he was gone, leaving you sitting there, heart still racing.

© sakuraszn! xoxo