Prompt: Its Just Us, Everyone Else Has Gone To Bed

prompt: “It’s just us, everyone else has gone to bed”

pairing: tomioka giyuu x fem!reader 

warnings: smut 18+ mdni, semi public sex, creampie, praise

giyuu never sleeps. even after the party uzui held for his birthday ran long into the morning hours, your other half seemed completely calm and collected. you’re drifting off, leaning against his shoulder when you feel his hand slip just under your shirt. most of the other hashira were also spending the night at the uzui residence but had hobbled off to bed at this point. 

this left just you and giyuu to sleep on the couch in the living room. you almost ignore his touch, figuring it was just where his hand ended up, but you soon realize that wasn’t the case. his touch rises up your sides, fiddling with the strap of your bra. 

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“What’s that for?” Levi’s brow furrows as he watches you swirl your teaspoon in the little jar before you, only to pull it back with long, syrupy strands drizzling from the end. The candlelight catches in the flow: shiny and translucent as it drips down slowly to pool back in its jar again.

“It’s honey,” you explain with a light laugh, dipping the spoon down to repeat the same satisfying motion again.

“Well, what’s it made of?” The man’s distrust is plain in his tone, his eyes narrowing as he glares at the indulgence that you’d picked up on a visit into town earlier that day.

“It comes from bees,” you say, angling the spoon over the steaming cup of tea to your left—Levi's cup—to which you're intent on adding a teaspoon's worth of honey. But you suddenly find your effort halted— Levi’s hand wrapped firmly around your wrist, keeping it frozen in place as another long rivulet of the viscous, amber syrup sinks back into the open jar below.

You peek at Levi with a curious gaze, your head tilting ever so slightly to the side in confusion.

His lips part.

“It’s made of bees?” 

He sounds positively horrified. 

You almost snort at the revolted look on his face, shaking your head and trying not to get distracted by how easily his large, calloused hand circles the circumference of your wrist. 

“No, no.” You swallow down the laugh you feel bubbling from your stomach up to your throat, knowing it will only irritate him more if you let it free. “It’s made by bees—harvested from their hives. It’s sweet.”

“Why would I want my tea to taste sweet?” he asks gruffly, as though the suggestion is the most preposterous thing he’s ever heard. “I want my tea to taste like tea.”

“But it’s nice.” You make an earnest attempt to reason with him, a lightly teasing smile playing at the corners of your mouth which you fight uselessly to keep at bay.

“It sounds repulsive.”

This time, you really can’t suppress your laughter at his staunchly uncooperative tone.

You attempt to pry your hand from his grip, pressing against his hold to lean closer to the still-steaming cup of tea waiting for your spoon, but his grip refuses to slacken even through your efforts. His grasp is firm and unyielding, but not painful—and is still far from the strength you know he’s capable of.

Nevertheless, it doesn’t falter.

Instead, he tilts your hand upwards in response to your struggle, and you watch helplessly as the honey begins to inch down the neck of the spoon—creeping closer to your fingertips with every passing second.

“It’s a treat,” you argue with him petulantly while still endeavouring to free your hand, twisting it this way and that in his hold, though the jostling serves only to make the honey drip towards your fingers faster.

“It’s unnecessary, and frankly an insult to the tea,” he bites back with an equal insistence, his tone verging more and more towards genuine offence on the tea’s behalf with every syllable. 

Finally, inevitably, you feel the honey meet the tips of your fingers: a sticky, unpleasant sensation. You stop fighting, dropping the spoon back into the jar of honey with a plop, and watch how the edges of the utensil sink into the thick liquid as though being slowly swallowed whole.

“You made a mess,” he chides you with a familiar reproachful tch.

He watches as you survey the residue left on your skin, his upper lip curling back in distaste when you spread your fingers to let the viscid strands stretch and break between them.

“Besides, if I wanted something sweet I—mmph!” Levi’s impending lecture is cut short as your fingers press against his mouth, your index and middle digit slipping unbidden between his lips as they part in speech. Thoroughly blindsided by the intrusion, his jaw goes slack—allowing you to run the pads of your sticky fingers over the surface of his warm, wet tongue. 

You watch raptly as his startled eyes never stray from yours—not as you slowly withdraw your fingers, running them gently over his pink lips, nor when you lift your hand towards yourself and slide the very fingers that had just been in his mouth into your own. Only once you’re satisfied that no lingering traces of the honey remain on your skin do you pull your fingers back, smacking your lips together to savour the pleasant, saccharine taste left behind.

“Hm,” you hum thoughtfully, finally breaking your prolonged eye-contact to inspect the tips of your fingers for anything you may have missed. “Tastes sweet.”

“You’re disgusting,” Levi chokes out an entirely unconvincing jab, clearing his throat roughly. 

You glance back towards his face, making absolutely no effort to conceal your provocative grin. You raise your hand to your lips once more, tongue flicking out to catch the last bit of honey you’d overlooked. His eyes follow your every movement with a sort of spellbound attention.

“And you’re blushing, Captain.”

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||| 1:30 ⭒ josee! - 데이먼스 이어 damons year

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Status: Kinda activeᵎᵎ?

❝ 아, 아, 다시 너를 안게 된다면  그뗀 나의 빛을 밝혀서  너의 모든 것들을 덮어줄 게  잘 자 나의 우는 사랑 ❞

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.☘︎ ݁˖ HAEBI ⭒ aka hae or haes. she/her. in/stj. 6w5. november scorpio. 🇰🇷. lover of cats. acubi girl wannabe. strawberry chocolate <3. winter enthusiast. recently turned spring lover. ravenclaw drop out. broke ass college student. early season dean forester truther. silver jewelry girlie. studio ghibli fanatic. smiski collector. all things snoopy. kdrama binge watcher. occasional matcha drinker. panda lover. unfortunate kpop stannie (jk). forever in awe of soobin's dimples. chaewon's wife. never getting over beabadoobee's cologne. avid anime watcher. still crying over violet evergarden. webtoon enjoyer. constantly rewatching business proposal glasses scene. krnb listener. chronic pinterest user. can't make a decision to save her life. and currently rearranging my spotify playlists again. probably. ᯓ★

⋆.° i just like putting together pretty photos ₊༝༚༝༚

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⋆.✴︎⋆˚ glimpses of my imagination ࣪ ❍ ˖⋆

⭒ masterlist

⭒ haes moodboards

⭒ fics i think abt a lot (some are 18+)

⭒ my moodboard inspo

⭒ fics for moodboard inspo

(๑>؂•̀๑) - haebi nice day

warnings: nsfwish, aged up characters, implied fem-bodied reader

"I know what you're doing."

Across the room, Shouto throws you his most innocent look.

"I am reading," he says evenly, giving the book in his hands a little tilt as if to emphasize its presence.

You don't buy it, and you open your mouth to say so. As if on queue, you can feel the temperature of the room raise another couple of degrees—and the heat is coming from Shouto's direction.

You hadn't noticed at first. Earlier this afternoon, you'd been wrapped in a knit cardigan, but you'd noted eventually that it was too warm for you, and discarded it over the arm of the couch.

After another half hour, you thought perhaps your fuzzy socks, too, were overkill, as the house was pretty temperate today. Another thirty minutes later you'd exchanged your sweatpants for shorts—and it was only then, as you passed the thermostat on the way back into the living room, that that you realized.

The temperature was set to low. But the room itself was registering very hot. The temperature was being fucked with.

And only one of you was a pro hero with a temperature-based quirk.

You'd sat back down in the arm chair, slinging your legs over the side and pretending to get back to reading. Shouto waited a long while, twenty entire minutes, but then your shirt started to feel too warm against your skin, the air of the room slightly thicker in your lungs.

And you knew it was Shouto's doing.

"You are not just reading and you know it," you say. "Turn it back down, Sho."

Shouto's features betray nothing, his damnably perfect poker face sliding into place. "Turn what down?"

"Your quirk," you tell him. "I don't know what you're up to but you've been caught, and this scheme ends here."

The temperature ticks up a couple degrees—you can tell by the tiny bits of moisture gathering at your hairline. It's suddenly almost like a sauna in the room.

"Todoroki Shouto," you start, pointing your finger at him. But his eyes don't follow it—they're locked somewhere below your waist, staring fixedly at the length of bare thigh you're now showing, thanks to your wardrobe change.

There's a click in your thoughts as the puzzle pieces slide together. You suddenly understand.

"Are you...? Are you trying to get me to strip?" you ask incredulously.

Absolutely nothing in your boyfriend's face changes, and his tone is purposefully bland. But there's an incredibly long pause before he says, "Your shirt appears warm."

As if it's just a fact he's observed. As if he's not the root cause.

"You are such a sneak," you tell him.

Two mismatched eyes slide to yours, but Shouto looks unfussed. If anything, the room gets warmer. A drop of sweat slides down your spine, incredibly uncomfortable.

Curious about his objectives, you finger the hem of your shirt. Shouto's eyes snap to your hands, and you can feel gaze practically burning through your shirt as you pull it over your head, leaving you clad only in your bra.

Finally, you spot little hints of weakness in your boyfriend as his jaw clenches the tiniest bit, his fingers curling restlessly over the sides of his book as though he's imagining taking handfuls of you. You fight down a helpless smile.

"Is it warm, love?" Shouto asks, as though it's only just occurred to him. "Would you like me to cool you down?"

He sets down his book, blinking two very innocent mismatched eyes at you. He opens his arms as if to take you into them.

You can't help but laugh at the transparency, the absolute stupidity of his ploy that he's apparently been working at nearly all afternoon. He is such a boy.

You linger a moment, like you're deciding. But of course you throw yourself into his grasp in the end, laying yourself out over him on the couch.

Though you doubt things will really cool down from there.

Not for a very long while, at least.

𝗉𝗈𝖾𝗆𝖺 기이 𝗇𝗈. 𝟣𝟢𝟢.

𝐢.ㅤㅤ ♥︎ㅤㅤ 𔗌ㅤㅤ 사랑하는 큰 열정, que a estrofe um seja apenas o começo de uma jornada poética sem fim.

𝐢𝐯. fazendo filmes em digicam de todos os sorrisos radiantes que você me dá ( 아, 마음아 ) lhe dou flores e cartas escritas à mão.

𝒑𝒐𝒆𝒔𝒆́𝒖 ( n. ) é uma maneira poética de descrever alguém que encontra conforto e fascínio nas maravilhas celestiais.

일몰, 구름과 별 (   ☁️   ) e quando você notar que é inteiramente poeséu, seu mundo se iluminará.

☁️ ♡.ㅤㅤpoeㅤ⎯ㅤ séu.ㅤos suspiros dela eram como estrofes, e seus passos, uma dança com os elementos celestiais.

nooo but 7 minutes in heaven with shouto 😳

Note: Characters are adults, 18/19, in their 3rd year of UA.

"This is a closet," Shouto says, his tone both flatly observational and mystified, as a giggling Mina shuts the door behind you.

You look up at him in the dim, only a narrow strip of his face visible in the light from the crack in the door. It highlights one electric blue eye, a raised red brow, and an impossibly high cheekbone. But you don't have to see his face to understand the question he's asking.

"The term 'heaven' is artistic license," you tell him, your face going hot even though you're aware he can probably barely see you. "It's supposed to be more about, like, the activities than the space."

"What activities?" Shouto asks. The strip of light shifts, showing one strangely pretty ear, and you can tell he's glanced around for some sign of the aforementioned activities, as if someone's hidden away a Monopoly board in the janitorial closet.

You laugh despite your nerves. It figures Shouto participated in the game without knowing what he was participating in, just to spend time in the company of his classmates. He's like that, just content to be part of the group—to watch people talk, to listen closely and carefully.

You might have known he knew nothing about the game, especially when he didn't show any specific reaction to you being chosen as his partner.

"Um, well," you say, your insides hot and twisting. "We can just talk. We don't have to get into the usual logistics."

The strip of light highlights Shouto's blue eye and the side of his perfectly straight nose, and he blinks down at you curiously. He's very warm and very close in the small space, and even though you can't see much more of him, you're altogether too aware of the shape of his strong, lean body, lingering somewhere near in the dark.

"I want to play the way it's usually played," he says, his tone low and a little bit pouty at being rerouted like that. You know that about him, too, that he's a little bit of a spoiled youngest child, likes to get his way, even if he's usually patient and understanding about things.

A tiny thrill of anticipation goes up your spine, but you know he doesn't know what he's talking about. You frantically squash down your nerves, pinching the skin of your forearm to ground yourself.

"Shouto," you say, searching for the most tactful way to set him straight. You come up blank. "It's—not like, a normal game. It's...maybe with a different partner you would want to but trust me on this, we should just chat!"

The strip of light flickers, and every nerve ending in your body goes on high alert when you feel Shouto's exhalation on your cheek, realize he's leaned down to try to see you in the dim.

"Is there a reason you would not suit?" he asks, tone curious.

Yeah. The reason is that he was the most gorgeous creature on earth and you were just some general course rando on the periphery of his friend group with a creepy little crush. It would not do to take advantage of his naivety like this.

"Yes," you tell him, deciding maybe he just needed to hear it out. "Because Seven Minutes in Heaven is about kissing, Shouto."

There is a moment of silence, condemning in its length. The light strip shows only the top of Shouto's head now, soft scarlet strands raked through with the tiniest fluff of white on his right.

Then, an exhale, horribly, thrillingly close to your mouth.

"You do not want to kiss me," Shouto says, as if he's come to an understanding.

It's the absolutely shocking stupidity of this statement that causes you to blurt out what you do next.

"Are you for real? Anyone would want to kiss you, you nut," you say hotly.

There is another moment of silence, like Shouto is processing this. The force of your embarrassment hits you like a freight train, and you think it's only the saving grace that Shouto can't actually see you that stops you from self-immolating.

Then Shouto shifts, and his voice sounds even closer when he asks, "Even you?"

You can feel the heat of him now, barely inches away. A hot shiver creeps down your limbs, partly the thrill of his proximity, and partly a wild, gut-churning rush of self-consciousness.

"Yes," you say, trying not to cringe. "Even me."

And you think that will probably be the end of it, except something makes contact with your shoulder, startling you. You realize it's Shouto's hand as it slides up, warm and long-fingered, trailing across your neck as if feeling out the shape of you in the dark. He catches your chin between his fingers.

You open your mouth to ask what he thinks he's doing—

Only for Shouto to catch the words in his mouth.

It takes your brain several seconds to realize you're being kissed, though your body seems to realize it right away, thrilling with the feeling of his mouth on yours, hot and soft and utterly delicious. You hear yourself make an embarrassing noise and Shouto's mouth twitches into a tiny smile over yours, before his fingers grip you a little more firmly, pulling you deeper into his kiss.

You go willingly, your hands finding those strong shoulders in the dark, lifting up onto your toes to get closer to him. Shouto kisses you so thoroughly your head spins, his tongue careful and probing at first, then teasing.

The thought that Todoroki Shouto has his tongue in your mouth has you fighting down a little shivery whimper, as Shouto walks you back to press you against the wall, his hands finding your waist, pressing himself firmly against you.

His body is hard against yours, lean and long and carefully honed by years now of hero work. You grip him more tightly as his mouth leaves yours to follow the line of your throat. It's ticklish and thrilling, especially when he finds a spot at the base of your throat and sucks, leaving what is sure to be a hickey, an imprint of his mouth on you for you to wear for days after.

"Shouto!" you manage to gasp, gripping a handful of that silky hair, and Shouto makes a low, appreciative noise against your skin, moving over a half inch to leave another one.

The temperature in the closet is suddenly sweltering, and you can't tell if it's Shouto's quirk acting up or the heat of your own desire. All you know is you want to tear his shirt off of him, tear your shirt off of yourself, desperate to feel the press of his bare skin against yours, and—

A blinding light suddenly sears through your eyelids, and you jump about a foot in the air as Shouto reflexively clamps you against him.

"Wha—?" you garble out, your eyes blinking open to find Mina, peering into the closet smugly.

"It's about time you two stopped dancing around one another," she says, a Cheshire-catlike grin cutting across her mouth. "I accept gratitude in cash, credit, or banana milk at lunch."

Shouto lets out a huff against your skin, before turning to look at her, still gripping you tightly. "How much for an hour in heaven?" he asks, his tone politely bland.

A snort escapes you, mirroring Mina's and she tosses back her pink curls, her grin widening. She taps her chin, pretending to think for a moment before deciding.

"For you? It's on the house," she says finally, laughing, and closes the door, leaving you in the dark with Shouto once again.

You feel Shouto turn back to you, his mouth finding yours once more. "Seven minutes is not nearly enough time," he says against your lips, as you grin helplessly against his, disbelieving that this is really happening. "The inventors will want to change it. I'll write a letter."

You laugh but don't correct him, your veins singing with happiness.

You just let him kiss you again, finding your way into heaven.