Fics I Think Abt A Lot - Tumblr Posts

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||| 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

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

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⭒ fics for moodboard inspo

(๑>؂•̀๑) - haebi nice day

The Death Note characters and why they kiss you in the rain

W/C; 938

[Gender neutral reader]

[Potential TW for burns and hospitals, only in Mello’s]

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

Light Yagami kisses you because he needs you. Not romantically, because if he doesn't have you as his, you could ruin everything. The rain is hammering down and you can't hear half the words he says but he's desperate. He looks desperate, his eyes wide and arms out, like he’s trying to pull you toward him. He puts his hands on your shoulders, says something about you being the only one for him, how he needs you so badly it's painful. You kiss him because you don't want him to ask you if you heard him, because you probably didn't, but kissing Light is like liquid fire. Its hot and fast and he’s got a grip on you, you can feel his brows draw together on your forehead as he focuses all his attention on you. He’s smiling when you pull away, and you feel sick. Because you are Light Yagami’s new playing card.

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

L Lawliet kisses you because he missed you. He missed the way you talk to him and feel in his arms. It’s a wonderful surprise when he wakes up in your bed with you clinging to him. The rain pitter patters against the window high above the city below. You stuff your face into his neck as he runs his hands all over you so he can remember it while he works. He kisses you slowly and you feel his tears fall against your cheeks as he pulls away to apologize. You run your fingers through his hair as he cries softly and tell him he shouldn't apologize. You leave slow butterfly kisses on his salty cheeks, and he wipes his eyes with a smile. L tells you that he's making progress and he’s most likely going to sleep with you again tonight. There’s a look in his eyes as he looks at you, almost like he’s memorizing you, and then he leans into your hair and inhales deeply. He gives you a lengthy goodbye, kissing down your arm to your knuckles as he slips away. You never got to look in his eyes again.

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

Matsuda Touta kisses you because he’s excited. You said yes! You, wonderful beautiful you, the love he’s always looked for. Him, the “group idiot”, the unlovable fool who’d never get a partner (-Aizawa’s words). The rain was finally ending after a huge storm, and being stuck inside had been too much for Matsuda. You two had been sent on grocery duty, and the bag of drinks had spilled in the entrance hall. You were both soaked through your clothes and you felt the bag get lighter and the smash of glass on the floor. You both stare at the floor, and the fizzling liquids as they stream into the floor drain. You put down all the bags, and sigh heavily. Matsuda hangs his head and looks at you through his bangs. You try and comfort him, its not his fault, they won't get mad, but he kisses you. His arms are stiff from holding the bags, and his face is so focused you’d think he was angry. You press your lips back onto his, slick with rain. You don't stop kissing as he puts his bags down, and he pulls you so close and lets you breathe.

“Marry me.”

You look at him, slightly blurry from your proximity, and nod. You nod, nod nod nod nod nod. You kiss him again and again and you’re both giggling and grinning so wide it hurts. You stride into headquarters glued together and tell them to get their own damn groceries, and a wedding gift while they're at it.

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

Mello kisses you because he’s sorry. Sorry for not being there, for every empty threat, snide remark, for everything. Mello loves you so deep and full that it spills over when he gets home, bruised and burned. He’s sobbing because he hurts so badly and the rain on the burns make it so much worse. You speed him to the hospital for treatment, and refuse to leave him when he’s in the room.

Once he’s awake again, the rain had turned into a storm, and you're sobbing over him, kissing his knuckles and gripping his hand. He wakes up and he hugs you really hard and it hurts his side and his bones ache, he’s so tired. But you’re crying and kissing every inch of his ruddy face, all eyebags and scrapes. You kiss his lips, and he cries too. You were so worried, he realizes, because you love him so much.

Mello kisses you because he crumbles.

His chest heaves in heavy sobs and wails, and he kisses you when he can. He’s so in love with you and he’s angry that it hurts. Mello is such a hot fire, all emotion and nothing else.

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

Near kisses you with so much emotion you never knew he had. He only kisses you first when he needs to leave everything and hide in your arms like a child after a nightmare. He’s been angry, guilty, excited, and so sad. This time, it’s a cold day, the rain is freezing. He’s draped over you like a blanket, while you genty plait his long silver hair. He sits up on his hands and kisses you. You run your hands to his cheeks, where he’s still got those soft round cheeks from his childhood. He tilts his head and leans into your mouth more, pulling away to press quick kisses to your lips. He’s flushed red now, and hides in your shoulder when he pulls away.

“What feelin’ you feeling?” you ask as your hand retreats back to his hair.

“‘M jus’ really in love with you,” he mumbles against your skin. Your cheeks get warm, and you slump down so you can hug him against your shoulders.

holy fuck

Paranormal Activity | Levi Ackerman x You

Summary: You visit Levi’s place of work for the first time & shit gets spooky & a lil’ slutty. 👻

Warnings: MDNI, 18+ ONLY, NSFW, Fucking in a Haunted House because why the fuck not, Breath Play, Gagging, Public Sex, Exhibitionism, Copious Amounts of Fluff, Two Idiots in Love. Wishing it was Halloween already 🎃🎃🎃

***

One glow stick cracks under your trembling palm.

That’s all you and your friends get to lead your way through the twist of halls drenched in shadow, looming beneath the fluttering entrance of tattered black fabric strips in the wind.

Levi somehow convinced you to visit him at work.

The cashier at your local haunt’s ticketing booth fit him so perfectly it almost made you laugh the first time he told you. Of course that’s where he works.

You still have a hard time seeing what he saw in you all those weeks ago.

Insatiably inked from head to toe like he couldn’t get enough. A trait you would later find out he shared with nearly all things as he licked your pussy for hours into the night. His tattoos gliding over his collarbones, over his strong neck, to the back of his ears resting underneath either side of his jaw. A permanent collar.

Levi was…intense. Even then.

Well, running into someone and sending their coffee-or was it tea?-flying, would throw anyone into a panic. But he just stoically stood over you in a scramble, stammering over your words, and he was fucking smirking of all things. Your floral dress flounced about your ankles, peering up at him through your curled lashes with innocent doe eyes.

He was fucking smitten from the start.

And he always likes to see you squirm.

Just like now.

Somehow you didn’t find him in the box at the front of the lot…Maybe you caught him at a bad time? Was he on break?

Totally normal to visit your boyfriend under any other circumstances, but Levi has been far from conventional ever since you first met him, working the front end for one of the best haunted houses in the state. It tops nearly every list and has a cult following for fuck’s sake. The thousands of people lined up just to get a good scare is something else, and you’re about to be-

“Next!”

And here you are, shaking in the cold as your knees knock together under your pure white skater skirt that flutters over the curve of your thighs in the fall breeze. A voice rips you from your anxious haze yet again.

“Remember, stay together. There’s no signs in there, so the goal is to find your way out using the glow stick. As long as it takes,” the host looks up from her stand with a wicked smirk cast your way, “And don’t touch the actors.”

Easy enough.

That was until your friends pushed you in first as they cowered behind you.

One has their hand twisted so far into your shirt that the collar threatens to cut off your air. Shit, I guess you’re really doing this. You step across the threshold holding your breath.

You expected it to be loud in here. Aren’t haunted houses supposed to be loud?

Only the hesitant shuffle of your new black leather Docs that Levi got you can be heard against the unseen path before you. Your friends are already sniveling and whimpering close to your back.

The dark is so thick it feels like it presses into your open eyes unable to adjust to the oppressive lack of light.

“Will you please take your hand off my neck? You’re choking me!” You throw over your shoulder to your friend that’s already in shambles.

“Shit, fine. M’sorry…” The hand retreats from your back and glides into your free hand while the other holds the useless orange glow stick above you barely shedding any light in front of you.

“I can’t see a damn thing with this,” you speak into the air thick with a rolling fog.

In response, the hand in yours shifts, fingers lacing through yours in a tighter hold.

“Don’t tell me you’re that fucking scared you’re holding my hand right now…You’re ridiculous,” you attempt to cast over your shoulder with a roll of your eyes. The faint light of the glow stick illuminating your friend’s face of utter shock as they quietly mouth “what are you talking about?” Panic breaks over their features and pummels through your body.

The deft fingers immediately slip from your hold as if they were never there. Just smoke slipping through your hands and you nearly vault into the air. The shockwave of your reaction ripples through your line of friends that nearly run in all directions as they let out their first screams into the night.

A breathy, disembodied laugh escapes into the air as if they were a prize to be won.

“Fuck! What was that?!” Another friend cries out in desperation while the darkness begins to swallow you all whole.

“Me?” Is breathed onto your neck so sinister and alluring that you can feel the heat of their tongue nearly inches away.

You whip your head around in the direction of that voice again, frantically searching to find nothing. The orange glow of your sole light source is just mocking you alongside the voice now.

Your friends lurch forward in a panic, knocking the light out of your hands that goes flying only to cast the shadow of something on all fours slinking away like a creature in the night.

Unable to fight their impulses, they bolt on instinct, picking up the stick, nearly dropping it again, and taking off in front of you as you scramble to catch up around the next corner.

As the dull glow disappears around the wall, you’re left panting in the dark.

Reaching out in front of you helplessly in the shadows.

Not a soul behind you.

The air is so thick with torment and there’s nothing you can do but grope the empty space in front of you in distress.

Your breaths begin to pick up. You thought you could handle this before.

But alone like this in deafening silence? It’s fucking torture.

The tense atmosphere shifts alongside you, a presence detected, and that heat on your neck again, words dripping down your spine-

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this? Hm? Aren’t you scared, sweetheart?”

“Levi!” You’d know that dark voice anywhere.

“He’s not here, but I can be,” the voice purrs in your ear in a grin.

You reach a hand back to run your hand through the dark hair behind you, and a hand snatches your wrist mid air pinning it to the small of your back. Your fingers flex outstretched chasing the smoke before it speaks again.

“I can help you…if you want. But…you’ll have to help me too,” the muffled voice is far too innocent, sending a shiver through you.

“Oh fuck off and get me out of here,” you sneer and you can feel lips curl back against your neck in a dark grin at your attitude. Teeth grazing over your pulse point, thrumming at a dangerous pace under their heavy gaze.

“That’s not how good girls speak, now is it?” The specter punctuates by licking a long stripe up the side of your exposed throat and you whine against the hold. The grip releases you back into the darkness.

Alone again.

Your boots scuffing the floor in an attempt to ground you in the twisting black.

No sight of a glow or your friends. Maybe they really did get swallowed whole.

An uncomfortable silence scratches at your ears.

Or…was that nails dragging down the metal hallway, endlessly echoing all around you, entrapping you in the sound?

“White, hm?” Sinks into your ear, replacing the cacophony with horrifying clarity.

“Yeah…and?”

A demonically low snicker fills the space between wet lips and your jaw.

“You would wear a white mini dress in a fucking haunted house.”

You have the audacity to scoff in the face of the faceless danger.

“But with the boots too?” Lips are licked in a snarl. “Maybe I’ll let it slide…this time.”

A blaring noise rips through all around you like a truck slamming on its breaks. A bright red flash of light illuminates the silhouette now in front of you. Smiling so devilishly wide with a glint in silver slits for eyes. You find a scream threatening to burst forth from your chest at the sudden shock in contrast to the near pin drop silence from before. But it doesn’t come out. Not yet.

The lights begin to strobe so quickly that you only see him in fractions.

Frame by frame he moves so slow to you.

Dark synth chords are triggered alongside the lights above you, wrapping you in a sensory overload.

Before you can make sense of it all, those lithe fingers graze at the ends of your skirt to the back of your thighs, meeting the crease of your ass, and taking a handful of you as the fabric drapes over his wrists.

You’re panting into his exposed collarbone for dear life and he moves his lips next to your ear, nipping.

“Are you scared?”

“It’s gonna—hah—take more…than that to scare me.”

“Is that so?”

He lifts you with ease, pushing you up the wall as your boots clack against each other. You wrap against him so tightly that he feels your every shiver. Not scared huh…

As you grind down into him he dares to push you back further and a trap door opens behind you. The flimsy wooden door swings on its hinges as he steps in and it loudly slams shut.

You’re in a trick room no bigger than 4 feet across with a small shelf built into the side. He rests you there with your feet dangling off as your heels lock against his waist and pull him in close.

“You little liar,” you growl through your teeth, “A cashier?? You really are a menace, aren’t you?”

“Mmm I’ll be whatever you want me to be, if you still want my help.”

“Oh, I’m indebted to you now? Got it.”

“Hey, your friends ditched you. You should’ve seen the look on their faces. It’s either me getting you out of here or you’ll be alone again.”

“Don’t tell me you’re worried about me?”

“You were hyperventilating.”

“I wasn’t-you don’t-I was just catching my breath.”

Another buzzer tears through the maze sending a bright flash of light over you both, catching each of Levi’s piercings. The bridge between his eyes…a septum hanging over his parted mouth. Two snake bites buried into the plush of his lower lip as his tongue piercing pokes out just underneath his smirk. He reacts to your eyes opening wide as you throw yourself deeper against him, shaking.

“Who’s the liar now?” He pries you back from the safety of his hold as he stands deep in between your spread thighs, pressing against the thin, straining fabric of your panties. They’re stretched so impossibly thin that your lips can barely stay inside the dripping lace, swimming in a floral pattern that casts a spell over Levi.

“Been thinkin’ about you all night. Hoping you’d come in.”

You feign a prissy scoff; face upturned. It’s apart of the game after all.

“Don’t believe me? I couldn’t wait to make you scream.”

“You’ve gotten a good jump out of me at best.”

“I’ll make you scream tonight. Promise.”

At that, he’s running a finger through your folds over your panties that are about as useless as that damn glow stick.

And fuck, you moan long and loud into his ear.

“Close, but not where I want you, sweetheart.”

He hooks his hands underneath your knees sliding you closer to his cock hardening beneath you. Your hands fly back from his neck to the small platform to support yourself. You arch back into him with a guttural sigh that shakes through your teeth.

“Not good enough, baby,” he exhales in disappointment and feathers a kiss against your knee. His hand slides down from your side, over your thighs, lifting your knees over his shoulders and he kisses the leather wrapped around your ankle in a grin.

“I know you can do better than that.”

You feverishly shake your head and his soft touches turn to scratches down your thighs, leaving red marks in their wake.

He slides over those pathetic panties, gripping your hips and pulling down sharply to expose your cunt to the stale air of the cramped room.

Watching in awe of you, Levi nearly faints as a string of your arousal breaks in front of his eyes. He wraps your ruined panties around his wrist for safekeeping.

“Fuuuuuck, you really are a liar. Say you don’t want my help, but how the fuck were you gonna get out of this one?”

You move your hand down to touch yourself and he snatches your wrist again just as you dip in a fingertip.

“You really are a brat, huh? Trying to play it off with all these cute little skirts and shit, but I know what you are. I’ve heard you before. I’ll hear you again,” he sneers with a flick of your hem.

“Isn’t that right?”

You drag his hand up your chest in his grip and put your glistening finger in your mouth, tasting yourself so shamelessly that he has to bite back a groan.

His eyes widen at the sight of you. His black makeup smudged over the hood of his eyes and the bridge of his nose like a blindfold. The whites of his eyes now narrowing as he drinks you in are a stark contrast against the pitch black.

He pulls your hand from your mouth to take it deep in his own, moaning around you.

“Maybe I wouldn’t be such a brat, if you weren’t so damn easy,” you snap.

His eyes pulled shut in ecstasy from your taste fling open with a fire.

“Isn’t that right?” You mock, throwing his own words back at him.

He pulls your hips down so fast and flush to his as your back hits the platform underneath you. A gasp rings out with his name on your lips and it’s music to Levi. He grins as you cave so easily. Your knees draped so cavalier around his shoulders and neck like that damn skirt that got you into this mess in the first place.

“Bold of you to think you’re not the easy one here…When all you can do is pant my fucking name like that.”

You go to slide your skirt off, but again, he’s catching your every movement in his iron grip with reflexes too fast to release from.

“No, no, no, your skirt and boots stay on, sweetheart. But if you’re really that desperate, take your tits out for me,” he chastises with a click of his tongue that curls around his lips. That fucking tongue piercing matching the glint in his silver stare.

Your eyes nearly roll out of your head.

“Whatever will get you to shut that smart mouth of yours.”

“Your loss. You won’t get to see what else it can do.”

Before you can protest, he’s hastily pulling down your shirt, so the elastic collar stretches underneath your breasts, pushing them up your chest in your sheer lace bralette and clinging on for dear life. Your nipples straining through the fabric make a mockery of him and he latches onto one as you keen into his touch.

The smooth metal of his tongue piercing sliding over you and pinching you unexpectedly as he swirls around you and pulls you into his mouth. It has you in his trance. Right where he wants you.

He releases you wet and hungry with his lips parted in a pant of his own as he says your name barely above a whisper.

“Who’s panting my name now?” You spar and he accepts with a bite on your chest. Teeth marks shining against another strobe set off overhead and he smiles against your flared skin as he catches your eye in irreverence.

“Alright, that’s it. You’ve had enough,” you rasp on your exhale, swiftly sliding your panties off his wrist and stuffing them into his protesting mouth. You stretch a strap around the back of his neck and pop the elastic into place against his skin and Levi cries out thick and heavy as his own spit begins to spill over his bottom lip.

“Can’t even fuck me yet and you’re already a damn mess, huh Levi?”

He growls into the gag and nuzzles against your leather clad ankle. Hair hangs in front of his pleading eyes raking down your body as his chest heaves.

“My pretty…messy boy…Levi,” you breathe out as you pull down on his bottom lip with your thumb. His snakebite rapping lightly against his teeth and he just stares through you in awe.

“What are you waiting for, pretty? Fuck me.”

He’s bent over you so fast it steals the air out of your lungs with your legs pressed against your chest nearly pushing your breasts to your chin.

He caresses against your jaw so lovingly through the gag that it nearly breaks your heart to have to muzzle him like this. But fuck, if he doesn’t deserve it. He’ll learn.

He breaks the silence to pop open his buttons and slide his pants down around his thighs that have your favorite tattoos carved into them. Floral patterns that twist over his taut muscle and the solid bone of his knees. If he thought you were up to something with your skirts, than what the hell is he doing with these romantic ass flower petals and vines ghosting over his pale thighs? This man’s a hypocrite. Your hypocrite.

The thought etches a smile onto your face and Levi drags his fingertips all the way down from your laces, your calf, the back of your thighs. He lightly runs a finger through your pussy and how the fuck did you manage to get so wet that you’re dripping now? He nearly whimpers at the slick as you sigh in return.

Running his spare hand up your sternum he lightly envelops your neck in a soft hold. Just to feel, not to grip. He grounds himself there, feeling your heartbeat pulse against his touch in time with the synth of the dark hall. He looks up at you one last time for your mark and as you nod your chin slightly, he pushes into you to the base with a cough and choke against the lace wrapped around his tongue.

You let out a gasp and one of your hands flies up against the wall behind you. Fingers splayed out reaching for something, anything to hold onto while he fucks into you so deep your toes curl in your leather boots still wrapped around his head.

Spine arched you begin to squeeze him inside of you and his eyes threaten to roll back while his lids close in disbelief. He hangs his head heavy against the boots he bought you. He releases a harsh breath out his nose as you wrap him so deep in your pussy.

“Move, beautiful,” you praise him and he could die buried in you.

He rolls his hips forward, picking up a steady pace, and you feel the hard lines of his stomach through his shirt, working against your soft open thighs.

But it’s not enough and you want him to flex against your fingertips. You reach as far as you can around yourself to the ridge between his hip and navel. How can he be so plush and powerful at the same damn time? It floors you and you can’t help but fuck him back. Using the wall as leverage you grind down into him in a fever that causes him to throw his head back with a cry. You push him impossibly deep and he finds himself so moved by you as you work.

Your clear skin contrasting against the ink etched up each arm. You’re so sweet. Delicate and fierce. Too good for h-

“You’re so good for me, Levi.”

Oh fuck, here you go. He can’t take it.

“Fucking me like that. Just how I want. Always how I want, don’t you? My pretty boy?”

Fuck. You really do have him wrapped around your finger. He couldn’t care less, if it’s you and only you.

You reach up from his contracting muscles on his sides and thumb his cheek right under his eye, smearing some of his makeup. He leans into your touch with a strangled sound against your wet panties.

“There something you wanna tell me, baby?” You ask so innocently and Levi is seconds away from falling to pieces.

He nods against your ankle with his eyes squeezed shut in concentration, heaving through the gag.

“Why don’t you show me instead, pretty? Think you can do that?”

His brow furrows, pinched up and spellbound as he takes both hands and wraps them around your ankles. He pushes them further into the pounding pulse of his neck.

“I’ve got you, baby. Let me take care of you,” and you squeeze his throat at his silent request with the eyelets of your laced boots leaving purple marks trailing up the sides of his neck.

Levi’s vision blurs. Black spots fizzle against his eyelids and he chokes out a sob never breaking away from your heated gaze.

The way you look at him now…so openly adoring him as he falls apart in your grip…God, he loves you. He’d tell you right now, if you’d just let him.

He’ll let his body speak for him for now as tears gather in his lash line, threatening to spill over. You gently nudge the back of his head with the toe of your boot and the tears begin to flow over, dripping down past your knees. They slide further down your trembling thighs, kissing your cunt below.

They cut and carve perfect lines through his eye makeup, black grime streaming down his full, flushed cheeks and you could cum from the sight of him just as he is now.

“Are those for me, beautiful?”

Your thumb on his cheek gathers them there and hurries down to your parted mouth. The sweet brine of him pushing you closer.

“You taste so good, Levi…I’ll never get over it,” you slur around your fingers with a smile.

The things you say sometimes, fuck, he’s never heard them before in his entire life. Makes his chest swell and his heart beat in stuttered skips. Fuck, he’ll be good for you. So good. Whatever you want.

He begins to muffle through the gag, incoherently saying something out of hurried desperation.

“You’re being so good for me, baby. Tell me. Here-“

You pull the strap from around his neck and the destroyed lace from his mouth, and he’s barely stringing together a sentence with his eyes half lidded, panting. Fucked dumb by the lack of air in his lungs. Ruined.

He’s helplessly drooling as he fights himself.

“Mmfucking p-promised. Mm—haah—mfuckin promisssed I’d-that I’d m-make you scream,” and he fucking smiles against your shaking hand as he moves to flip you over on your front, chest heaving against the platform as your ankles dangle around his waist in his grip. He leaves a matching set of marks from his nails on your thighs like the ones you left now adorning his neck in lilac blooms.

Your ass spread wide and thumping off his hips at a breakneck pace.

“God, your fucking ass.”

He slaps your cheek sending vibrations straight to your pussy.

That fucking white skirt fluttering with every thrust into your skin.

You couldn’t hide your euphoria even if you tried and he knows it. He has you now.

Your voice climbs in rapture as he slams into you, causing that spot inside to swell thickly against his relentless cock. Through deep pulls of breath and cries hissing through your teeth. He knows you’re close.

And he has to hold you now through this or he’ll never forgive himself.

He drapes over your back, planting open-mouthed kisses up your spine and to your nape where you offer him your throat so freely he sees stars.

Laying each of his fingers one-by-one until your throat is encased and head pushed backward to meet his.

“Look at me, sweetheart,” he whispers into your ear as his teeth drag over your earlobe.

He tilts your head up, so you’re inches away lost in him as your jaw hangs open.

“I’m-“

“I know baby, let me hear you. It’s your turn to tell me.”

You turn to meet his eyes and he gazes into you so deeply he might just steal your soul then and there.

Levi laces his fingers over your hands clawing at the surface below. He’s determined to send you flying over the edge at his mercy as he fucks into you without abandon.

The fog of his unbridled intimacy rolls across your vision and you clench down around him as you plead, “Pleaseeeeahhh-just-j-just kiss m-me, please, fuck, Levi, fuuckkk me…keep fucking me—hah!”

He seals your begging with a kiss and you scream into his open mouth while he fucks into you with a force that you can’t keep up with.

Nipples raking against the surface of the platform, rattling the walls of the makeshift maze. You cum so hard your contractions clamp down around him as your knees squeeze around his waist possessively. You’re thrashing in his hold as you fill his mouth with a wail that etches into his memory. His prize.

He can’t do this, watching you constricted in his hold, the fucked out look in your eyes-

“Let me cum. P-please let me. I’m gonna—fuck—help me, baby please!”

“Now. And don’t make me wait.”

He presses his forehead so deeply into your neck and bites against your nape, smearing his tears against you.

He cums so forcefully that he pushes you up the platform as his muscles tense and tighten in pulsing waves around you.

His face still buried in your neck as the heat of his mouth dampens your hairline from a groan deep within his chest.

He begins to twitch and flinch at every movement you make, coming down from chasing your shared high.

You reach up to pet him there and he melts, nuzzling into you. The cold steel of his piercings meeting your flushed skin still hot to the touch.

The affection causes him to twitch inside you and a small gasp leaves your lips.

As he pulls out a sigh escapes him like he never wanted to leave.

He can’t bring himself to let go of you.

Running his hands along your back, your hips…

He’s so sweet in the afterglow. Tame.

Your shared breathing begins to slow and you wish you could just stay like this.

“Stay with me tonight,” he whispers with a kiss to your temple.

“After I get off. Stay with me. I’ll come get you.”

“My Levi, the softie, hm?”

“For you, always,” he breathes through a grin.

“Levi…”

“Hm?”

“How the fuck am I gonna get out of this place?”

A low chuckle fans over your hair and you can’t help but feed off of his energy, laughing at the sobering clarity of the position you’ve found yourselves in. He pulls you up so gently in his arms.

He can’t bring himself to rush anything with you, embracing you against him for just a moment more.

“I’ll show you this time…like I wanted to. Maybe I’ll get another scream out of you too,” he smirks at you before opening the trap door into the darkness.

***

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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.”

a lover’s hands

Levi Ackerman x Reader, fluffy canonverse drabble, ~350 words. 

A/N: I’m sorting through documents on my laptop and I found this little piece that I wrote months ago (that was supposed to be part of a longer work that I never finished) so I edited it lightly. I’m looking through older documents to try find WIPs that are intended to be short in an attempt to get some writing motivation back, hopefully it’ll work haha

His hands are rough. 

Levi’s a stickler for hygiene and physical self-care, and his hands are no exception, but it comes with the job. Callouses harden particular patches of his palms and the tips of his fingers, and his knuckles are littered with cuts. There’s often a few healing scabs to be found upon his previously split knuckles at any given moment in time. And it is clear to you that his hands are weapons of war. He breaks noses without even blinking, twirls knives with his deft fingers and sends them hurtling through the air towards their targets. 

Yet, his hands are gentle. They hold you with such reverence and cup your cheeks as if he will never get to hold something so precious ever again. They stroke your back gently in bed as he spoons you, drawing aimless patterns into your skin, pulling you out of your slumber in the mornings. They brew you tea to perfection and make the bed neatly and pass you neatly folded notes during meetings, his perfect penmanship a stark contrast to his crude words. Those hands brush up against yours under the table, his pinky intertwining with yours. Those hands rest at the small of your back as the two of you try to navigate a busy market, carefully pulling you to the side before somebody jostles you. 

Levi’s fingers interlock with yours as he makes love to you, your legs trembling and wrapped firmly around his waist. His hands trace your features softly as you slumber next to him in the middle of the night, before Levi takes your limp hands in his again and wonders exactly what he has done to deserve somebody like you in his life. 

He holds the hands of his fallen soldiers, refusing to let them die alone and scared. Those hands clutch onto yours tightly soon afterwards, shaking and covered with his fallen subordinates’ blood, and squeezes yours to say, I’m glad you’re alive; thank you for staying.

His hands are weapons of war, but they are gentle, and you can think of no better pair of hands to cherish you so. 

this is so good omg

CPE — CERTIFIED P*SSY EATER

taishiro (fat gum) x reader

warnings: oral (fem receiving), oral fixation, overstimulation, implied sex afterwards.

a/n: this is literally my first time writing for someone from mha other than hawks so this was... different.

✧ WEEK OF SINS EVENT MASTERLIST ✧

╰ You can find all of the event information and other works here once they have been posted!

It’s no secret that Taishiro could eat, he was the BMI hero after all. Though, there was a surprising detail that you didn’t expect. His quirk fueled by his eating habits and deemed popular by the public should‘ve made it obvious. But it wasn’t until you started dating Taishiro that you became aware… he was a certified pussy eater.

You were the new object of fascination for his oral fixation. He didn’t eat you out as an obligation or just to say he did – not even for your pleasure – it was because he genuinely liked doing it. And he couldn’t stop. He was addicted to the feeling of his mouth on your cunt. One orgasm wasn’t enough to satisfy him. He needed more. It often got to the the point where you were a twitching mess and couldn’t move after the fact.

“T, I can’t. Ah ~ ”

You had been saying it for the past hour or so, and every time Taishiro proved you wrong as he coaxed you through yet another ograsm. “Yes you can baby, just relax.” He didn’t want you to finish so quickly, so he gives your pussy a break and tends to the soft flesh of your thighs instead, it was the only way he could keep his mouth busy while giving you a minute to recover.

But if you had known how ruthless his mouth would be when he resumed, you would’ve endured it just a little longer. You couldn’t run from it either, not with his strong arms holding you down. All you could do was clench the white sheets and scream up to the heavens, hoping your prayers and tears would be enough for deliverance.

You shouldn’t have looked. You should’ve kept your eyes screwed shut so you couldn’t see how Taishiro lapped at your swollen lips. Watching the muscles in his face move as he worked was almost enough to finally throw you over the edge.

When he catches you watching with a look of awe plastered on your face, he accentuates his movements: dragging his tongue a little slower, adding extra pressure here, and curving his tongue a little more there. Eating pussy was an art form to him, and if you asked anyone, they would say he mastered it – if you asked Taishiro himself, he would say he wished to improve and he would never be satisfied.

“You taste so good, baby.” He plants soft kisses to your drenched sex. “Just one more.”

“Promise?” You couldn’t keep going. For the sake of your sanity this needed to be the last one.

He chuckles softly. You whine a little, begging for him to say it back. “Alright, alright. I promise.”

You both fall back into place, your head resting on the pillow while he returns to the wet mess between your thighs. Since it’s the last round he decides to use his fingers as well – why not go all out? Eventually a scorching white heat flows through you, lighting your entire body on fire as the knot in your core finally snaps and you cum once more.

Taishiro stands to discard the sweatpants that hung low on his hips, a look of confusion overcoming your tired face. “What are you doing, T?”

“I never promised that I wouldn’t fuck you.”

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𝑭𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆'𝒔 𝒂 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒎

[Todoroki Shoto]

[NSFW]

Reblog | Comment | Enjoy, ig

Warning! Oral Sex. First time sex. Arranged Marriage Sex. Oral Sex (cause there's a lot). Sex.

You'd known him since high school. You'd fallen in love with him, since high school. He barely even knew your name since high school. Now, by some miraculous joke, you're married to him. Wonderful, isn't it? Not if he was forced into the contract, no.

"You want something to drink?" You smiled softly and shook your head at his monochromatic words. He nodded his head slowly before walking to the side of the bed, close to where you were sitting on the edge. He sat down and started undressing, which obviously had you flustered. It triggered the realization of what was about to go down.

"Actually!" You blurted out, the two-toned-haired boy turning his head to look at you. "A drink would be nice. Something strong. Very strong."

He wasn't an idiot and got what you were trying to imply. He didn't blame you. Mere hours before you were wed to one another. Mere days before you were notified of this arrangement.

You blinked your haze away and looked at his approaching form. His god-like approaching form, might I add. You could gawk forever should you be given the chance. His dress-shirt was already buttoned down, exposing teasing amounts of his fucking ripped body. His hair was messy. His pants were wrinkled. He looked at you through hooded eyes. Oh, those eyes.

What you'd give to know what they were seeing. How he saw you and what he thought of the image.

Beauty. Intellect. Confidence. Stubbornness, mind you. If he had five words or less to describe the image he was seeing, that would be the perfect summary.

He gave you the drink and after clinging the glasses together, both chugged the strong alcohol. You knew alcohol usually took a while to kick in, but your mindset soon changed after those few swallows. So did his. He looked at you with much more honest stares, consuming every inch of your body as if it were the last meal on earth sitting before him. Fuck.

A certain area in his pants tightened, cruelly obvious to your angle. Your eyes had no filter, and you blatantly eyed the stiffening boner the poor lad had to deal with. The more you allowed your ideals to roam, the more alluring your gaze became. He watched you, not minding your stare. In fact, the lustful look in your eyes had him leaking in his pants.

You swore that if he'd looked closer into your eyes, he would've seen your fantasies play out like a hentai.

He wasn't standing that far away from you; arm's length to be precise. You both signed the contract, sure, but for the sake of decency you looked up. Like a baby doe begging at its mother. You looked at him, the boy you'd loved since the early stages of teenage years. He swallowed hard.

While still looking up your hand reached out, hooking a finger over his belt and edging him forward. One tiny step later and you nearly broke your neck looking up at him.

His breaths grew thicker, as if the tension had an effect on the atmosphere and evening air. You two were alone, after all, supposedly enjoying an excessively expensive honeymoon. You'd laugh. The wedding by itself was more than needed. You were still sitting in your wedding dress, might I add.

Slowly, but very surely, your fingers worked their way around his belt's buckle. A large and icy hand instantly gripped yours, stopping you from going any further.

"You should stop if you don't want to do this," he spoke with rigid breaths. So sweet, you thought and lifted your brows slightly. Your other hand gently removed his and you let his pants drop to the floor.

"Trust me. I want this," you fiddled with the hem of this boxers. "I've wanted this for a very long time... Shoto."

How could he decline such an offer? How could he ignore such a turn-on? His hands fell to his side, and he watched you dominate him. Your eyes left his and observed the bulge that created nothing more than curiosity as to the true size. The waistband stretched and his boxers joined his pants on the floor.

Should your reflexes have been any slower, and a massive fucking cock would've slapped you through the face. A finger tapped its tip, the noticeable twitch amazing you about as much as his length did. How the flying fuck was that going to fit inside of you?!

First, you rubbed it. You gently took long strokes up his shaft and cupped your palm in a circling motion around his swollen tip. He felt himself go mad. Still watching your every movement, his vision started to blur. He thought he was in the seventh heaven but was proven wrong.

You slammed his ass right back to earth and straight to the steam of hell, because what you did next felt unholy. He'd had sex before but nothing like this. Something about your soft lips and rough tongue had him cussing a string of curses. His tip was barely in your mouth and his knees were already on the brink of giving in. His mind was starting to succumb to his desire.

You took him in, tasting the oddness of his precum. Never in your life would you've imagined it to taste like that. Twisting and turning your head around his, you promised him pleasure. Again and again, until the softest little whimper motivated you to take all of him. You gagged. You brought your mouth back up and resumed your focus on his tip, nearing his first orgasm.

This is where the tables turn. Todoroki, though all the brain fog and intoxicating dugs (that is you) he came to realize how submissive he was under your touch. Not a fuck was that going to fly.

The next thing you knew, your hair was gripped tightly within his icy hand and your throat stretched at the welcoming of his cock. Again, and again your head bobbed onto him, urging his seed into your mouth. You gagged but encouraged him to use you for pleasure. A shaky motion indicated his proximity to euphoria.

Faster. Faster. His hips buckled into your mouth, a few tears damming up instinctively. Faster. Faster. His whimpers morphed into grunts and soon you were joining his reactions with soft moans. Your tongue added pressure and moment later warm, sticky cum was dripping down your mouth.

"F-Fuck," he stuttered, momentarily forgetting how to breathe. You had to adjust to the texture of his seed, but it alone had you dripping yourself. He knew this. He knew this very well. Barely given any chance to swallow, you were pulled to your feet. A hand pressed against your back, forcing you closer towards him, and another heated up beside you.

He threw you onto the bed, simultaneously sending flames to your dress. The act was so bold and unrealistic that you only came to reality when you were ass-naked, surrounded by the ashes of your wedding dress. You felt shy. You tried to cover-

"Fuck!" No time for feeling shy, you concluded. Next thing you knew your hands were gripping at the sheets beside you, body squirming at the unforgettable sensation.

A side glance to where he was stuffing his nose up your cunt, and you could see his sinister glare. This man knew what he was doing. He was driving you towards insanity.

First, he looked at you as if you were the last meal on earth, now he was eating you out as if you were the last meal on earth. Each flick of his tongue. Each such of your clit. Fuck! It felt so good you didn't even know how to fucking describe it!

"Shoto-" you tried calling for his name, but again your attempts at communication were cut hort. Instinctive reaction had you jerking upright, hand clutching at his hair. Even when sitting, he was digging himself deeper and deeper into you, easing his hunger. "Fuck- Shoto-"

He looked up at you. The fucking bastard looked up at you and seemed displeased. Your grip loosened and body fell back. No longer were you blessed with his mouth of your cunt, but rather his mouth on yours. Sloppy. Messy. Wet. Passionate. He kissed you like you meant the world to him.

To him there was you and only you. Nothing else mattered. Nothing. He had you tasting yourself, in attempts to share the sensation of how good you tasted. His kisses traveled along your lips to your jaw to your neck and there they fucking ruined you.

Hickeys of every size, shape, and color were spread out like a Picasso art piece on your body. You were the one at his mercy. The room echoed with your whimpers and soon filled with your cried of pleasure... and all he had to do was fuck you with his fingers.

For a moment he pulled away from your neck, looking at your side profile. "You're so tight," he remarked. But it was as if he was questioning it. You didn't respond with words; you didn't have the mental capacity for it. He answered himself, "It's your first time."

You nodded your head once, Todoroki still having his fingers pump into you mercilessly. Then he suddenly pulled out, forcing disappointment onto you for the second time. You opened your eyes and watched him support his own weight above you, hovering and towering alike. His eyes darted between yours, seeking out who-knows-what.

"You're a virgin."

"What of it?" You sounded offended that he was making such a big deal out of this.

"You've never done this before."

"Isn't that what 'virgin' means?" Your distaste in the conversation melted into his touch. His warm side caressed your cheek, his eyes a bit wide and his mouth slightly parted. If you allowed yourself to be influenced by wishful thinking, you'd say he was busy admiring you.

"I'll be your first." He kept on stating questions.

A few moments of no response passed. Then, you gently took hold of his left hand. All you did was touch his wedding band. Flutters of butterflies attacked your stomach. His heartbeat doubled and his throat dried out. You look at him sincerely.

"You'll be my only."

He was careful. He was considerately slow. He was influenced by your reactions to his every action. After hearing exactly what you had to say, and knowing what you meant to him, he felt his heart race with some uncanny emotion. But it wasn't unpleasant. He wanted more of it. He wanted to do everything the two of you did that evening again and again and again. And so much more.

Take you places. Share your stories.

Early the next morning when the sun was still ages from shining its face, he sat upright beside your exhausted figure. He'd already cleaned you up, patting down affectionately at your tender areas. Some blood had him experience guilt, but he knew you were okay.

Beauty. Intellect. Confidence. Stubbornness, mind you. Fuck, the things you do to him. Arranged marriage, sure. Only goal to birth an heir for his family, if they really have to (sarcasm). He just knew that when he looked down at her resting self, he knew life would be good.

Fucking her and loving her. And it only took him one evening to conclude. First time's a charm, hey.

© all content belongs to estjbeaver '22. do not modify or repost.

Todoroki Shoto

you get caught

pairing: inumaki toge x f!reader

warning: mild n*fw, suggestive. 18+

you’re straddling toge when the door abruptly slides open to reveal an excited yuuji, along with megumi and nobara slowly trailing behind. “inumaki senpai!” his mouth falls open and his brain stutters at the scene unfolding before him— your breast pressed up against the sorcerer’s chest, hair cascading freely off your cheeks like black ink of a tilted piece of parchment, not to mention the covers slowly slipping past your naked back at every passing second.

toge is just as shocked as you, but he recovers quickly. with his hands quickly covering your exposed body, a calm but malicious “leave” is enough to have all three sorcerers scrambling out and disappearing from your sight. letting out a frustrated sigh, the door slams shut and toge returns to bed, only to bury his reddened face in your chest to hide his embarrassment. “stupid kids,” you almost hear him grumble in your head, as he tightens his grip around your waist and nuzzles into you.

©𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙜𝙧𝙖𝙫𝙚 — 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙧𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨 𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙙

secrets uncovered - toge inumaki x reader

cw: suggestive themes! nothing explicit tho!

word count: 941

“Ooo, someone had some fun last night.” Nobara teases you, poking at the very prominent hickey sucked into your neck last night by your secret boyfriend. She tugs down your collar with an excited gasp when she notices even more marks. Just as quickly, you’re tugging it back up, face burning hot as you do your best to avoid looking at the man who gave you them, and more, last night. The lot of you, former first and second years, now graduated are now having a movie night to celebrate.

“My, my, we’ve got a little slut on our hands.” Maki joins in the teasing, enjoying your embarrassment. On the other couch, sandwiched between Yuta and Megumi, it’s Yuji who puts two and two together, much to everyone’s surprise.

“Wait a minute..” He begins, and you can’t help the way your wide eyes nervously glance to Toge, sitting on the floor next to Panda, only to see the white-haired boy practically glaring a warning at his pink-haired friend. “Y/N, weren’t you with Inumaki yesterday..?” The entire room goes quiet, save for the movie still idly playing, though no one is paying attention to it now. Now it’s Megumi’s turn to share in the memory of you denying their offer to hang out after lunch with the couple, stating that you had plans with Toge.

“You did mention that.” He states, not sure whether to feel happy that you finally laid your long-time crush, or disgusted.

“What?!” Nobara borderline-screamed, grabbing you by the shoulders roughly. “And you didn’t tell us?!”

“W-Well-“

“We’re your friends! What-“

“Let her explain herself.” Maki interrupted, her hand firmly resting on Nobara’s shoulder, instantly making the redhead settle down. All eyes were on you, except for Toge, whose face was buried in his hands. You could hear the muffled sounds of Yuta trying so hard to hold in his laughter, to no avail.

“We just.. I-“

“Alright,” Megumi cuts in, seeing as you’re too flustered to speak, and Toge can’t speak to explain the story. “Just leave it be for now. This is probably why they didn’t tell you.”

“Who says you get a say in this?!” Nobara argues. “Our sweet little Y/N.. So innocent.. So pure..” She fakes a sniffle for dramatic effect, and the topic might’ve been on the way of fizzling out, except the comment about your innocence and purity made Toge snort, earning a sharp warning glare from you.

Yuji does a spit take, choking on the drink he was about to swallow, making his boyfriend sigh in annoyance while patting his back to help him through it.

“Really couldn’t help yourself there, huh?” Yuta comments through laughter to Toge, who’s seemingly lost all shame as far as the topic was concerned, smiling proudly.

“So, are you guys dating, or just..” Panda trails off, but the insinuation is there, making you groan in embarrassment, covering your burning face with your hands.

“Salmon.” Toge speaks up, standing and walking over to you, removing your hands from your flushed face and kissing your lips to seal the deal. He pulls away a moment later, both of you sporting matching smiles. To your right, Maki fakes a gag, and Nobara grabs a pillow and half heartedly smacks at the two of you, both of them only making you laugh.

“She’s fuckin’ liked him long enough.” Megumi comments, earning a glare from you. Toge wears a smug grin at the confession, that falters when Yuta’s grin matches his as he raises his eyebrow.

“Don’t.” Toge mouths, but it’s far too late for mercy, Yuta is already opening his mouth and spilling his secret. “He’s liked her for years-“ Suddenly, the pillow has been snatched from Nobara and thrown at the dark-haired sorcerer, which he effortlessly catches, as he and the rest of your friends fall into laughter.

“I’m happy for you guys!” Yuji exclaims when everyone’s settled down a bit. When you look over at him, he’s absolutely beaming, making it impossible for you not to return his smile. To your right, Maki taps her girlfriend on the shoulder with a smirk on her lips before whispering a question in her ear to pass onto you, making Nobara gasp.

“Wait!” She exclaims. “We’ve gotta know..” There’s a pause for dramatic effect, naturally. “How was he?” Both girls are smirking, barely containing their giddiness, knowing that Toge can’t speak up to defend himself. Maki moves her hand to her cheek, acting like she’s scratching an itch while she mouths to you to play along. You get the picture real quick, and it takes a lot of willpower not to let your expressions betray you.

“He was-“

“Y/N, stop talking.” You feel his cursed words buzz in your head, similarly to last night, and you could no longer force yourself to speak. Laughing though, you could do that, giggling uncontrollably at his reaction. You were going to praise him, but Toge would rather not have your shared sex life being discussed like this.

“..Did he do that to you while you were-“

“Maki, Nobara, quiet.” Under different circumstances, they would’ve attacked him for this, but all three of you were damn near in tears from laughter, yet you were nodding, confirming their question, much to your boyfriend’s dismay.

“..Why does that sound like it’d be really hot though..” Yuji ponders, earning a whack on the back of his head by Megumi. Yuta is having the time of his life, he can’t remember the last time he’s laughed this much. Meanwhile, Panda just shakes his head, wishing he would’ve left sooner when he had the chance.

drunk toge

pairing: inumaki toge x gn!reader

warning: mildly suggestive

despite his size, toge is not a lightweight drinker. it usually takes him a while to feel the effects of alcohol running through his veins. when it does hit him, it hits hard. his zipper is down and he refuses to keep his mouth shut, not when you’re sitting right next to him. he grows more and more touchy by the second, hands sliding down to your hips and grabbing at your thighs, while slurring out your name over and over again.

Keep reading

pairings: f!reader x tomioka / f!reader x tengen

contains: suggestive, pining!tomioka, pining!tengen, tengen being a teasing shit, light humiliation, talk of sexual themes, tengen making tomioka watch, use of pet names (sweetheart)

warnings: minors dni

a/n: slamming my head on my desk good lord i messed up the tags for this one too, so this is a repost

Silk of deepest vermilion pooled at your bare feet, swathing your body. It was cold in this room, empty with the exception of finely threaded rugs. Tengen stood in front of you, lowering himself to drag a large hand along the seams of the garment, the lines of your shoulder and waist.

“Lower this,” he said, gently tugging on the fabric at your breasts. One of his wives, kind Hinatsuru, stepped forward to fulfill his command and rewrap the folds of the silk. When she finished, Tengen hummed in approval. “Much better,” he said.

You opened your mouth as if to speak and found you could not. Your tongue sat heavy with trepidation as Tengen continued to mark adjustments, to splay his fingers at the fat of your thigh and stomach.

“Lift your leg for me, sweetheart.” he asked before settling your ankle upon his shoulder, pressing closer until the bend of your knee was warm by his ear. He told you he only wished to ensure the garment provided for full mobility. “This assignment may very well go to shit,” Tengen lowered your leg, “and no one wants a damned dress becoming an issue.”

You nodded, your face heated in embarrassment for the clothing Suma had offered forth; for Tengen and his wives’ nudging touches; and for Tomioka who waited patiently at the wall.

Though, your chagrin was far from naught.

Tengen peered over a broad shoulder to Tomioka, and grinned.

-----

FIVE DAYS PRIOR

“Have you ever been with someone?”

Tomioka visibly balked, his glass still in his hand.

Tengen crooked a brow, mistaking his silence as misunderstanding rather than appalment, “Like have you slept with someone before?”

“I heard you the first time,” he said, and took a draw from the water.

“Well, have you?”

“How is that any of your concern?”

He shrugged, pearl-white hair shifting, “I didn’t say it was.”

Tomioka braced himself for the other man to continue, and when he did not they lapsed into a pocket of silence. Until Tengen spoke once more.

“I see the way you look at her.” There was the sound of a smile to his voice.

Your name did not need to be said aloud for Tomioka to understand who Tengen meant.

“You like her,” he mused, “and it’s so painfully obvious.”

Tomioka did not respond, his finger tapping idly on the rim of the glass.

“Hell, I can’t say I blame you.”

A shift in Tengen’s tone, a coy little tease, had Tomioka measuring his breaths.

“I’d make her another of my wives if I could--fuck her to sleep and leave her panting.” He groaned at the thought, pitching his head back, “Bury myself in her every damned night.”

Tomioka cleared his throat, face pinching. He would be a liar if he claimed those precise thoughts hadn’t plagued his mind already, but he would never admit it aloud. It felt dirty of him to want to know how your breasts would feel pressed against him, how your cunt would feel around him; how you would turn your face into the crook of his neck and whimper brokenly; how he would want you so, so close to him, grasping for your body to be touching his.

-----

PRESENT TIME

Watching the way Tengen touched you, handled you, Tomioka’s fingers pressed terribly into his palms. He was aware Tengen mainly did so to elicit a response from him, but also for his own self-enjoyment.

“Giyuu,” he called and Tomioka lifted his gaze, “what do you think?” Tengen shifted from you, smile broadening as Tomioka’s throat bobbed.

“It’ll work,” he said, still keeping his back to the wall.

Sabbatical

levi ackerman x F!reader

summary - erwin makes levi take a vacation. he finds you. strangers to lovers, smut.

a/n - cafe worker reader, reader is taller than levi, dom!levi but frankly not a lot of kink in this other than him making you ask him to cum. levi has PTSD, modern au.

this fic is dedicated to therealvalkyrie who is one of my favorite people and also i was supposed to gift this for christmas so i am <3

wc - 4K

“Can I take your order?” You shift your weight nervously, the wood floor of the cafe creaks underneath you. The man in front of you looks unusually serious, deep purple circles under his light eyes, peeking out from a fringe of black brown hair. 

“Tea.” He glances at the menu. “And a turkey sandwich.” 

“Right away, sir.” You whirl around and make your way back to the kitchen to put the order in, glancing behind to look at him He’s staring out the window, watching the gentle snow fall. 

“He’s staying at the creepy air bnb at the end of Spyglass Lane.” Your coworker, Sasha, elbows you. “Kinda suits him. He already looks a bit like a ghost.” 

“Sasha!” You hiss, “He just um, he looks tired.” You start to make his tea, unable to keep from checking in on him, watching him fiddle with his phone, and scoff at the local newspaper. You check the steeping color on his tea and pour it into a dark blue ceramic mug, carrying it on a tray over to him. 

“Are you new in town?” You ask politely, setting it in front of him. You notice that despite how often he’s been checking his phone that he hasn't received a single notification. 

“Mhm.” He grunts, not returning your warmth. “Just stuck here on vacation.” 

“You’re at the air bnb on Spyglass, right?” He just stares at you. “I um, I live over there so if you need anything, feel free to uh, knock on my door. I’m in the little green house, down by the water.” He grunts again noncommittally. You turn to go get his sandwich, a little hurt by the chilly reaction. 

“Wait.” He says after a second and you turn around, confused. It looks physically painful for him, but he sighs. “I’m Levi.” 

“Y/n.” You offer, he looks down and for a moment you think he’s oogling you, but you realize he’s looking at your nametag. 

“I know.” 

“Oh.” You give him another courteous smile before disappearing back into the kitchen. 

“He’s terrifying,” Sasha says, biting into a roll, “I call dibs on not waiting on him while he’s in town.” 

“He seems,” you search for something charitable. “He seems like he’s trying.” 

_____

You’re walking home from work at twilight, and the whole world is glowing a soft blue as the sun sets behind clouds. Snow falls lightly around you, catching in your hair and eyelashes, in the crooks of your elbows. You hear him before you see him, hear the tires spinning in the ice. You jog down to the end of the lane, past your house to the Brimwell Estate, knowing exactly what you'll find. Sasha was right about it being creepy, it was an old Victorian mansion, painted deep purple with black accents. The home was out of place in your little New England town, flush against the snow. You can just barely make out the car as you jog towards it, it's black and boxy, some kind of European sports car that had no business on these winter roads. 

You arrive just in time to catch Levi swearing violently, raking his hands through his dark hair as he bends down to examine his tires stuck in the snow, apparently having given up revving the engine. 

“Hey,” you call, waving to him. “Need a hand?” You watch him consider denying you then sigh deeply in defeat. 

“Yes.” He says, shoving his bare hands in his pockets, you catch how red and raw they are from the cold. 

“You need gloves,” you breathe, scandalized, “I have a pair you can borrow, if you want to.” Levi shakes his head. 

“I’m fine. Fucking car is stuck.” He looks away.

“I can see that.” You crouch down and look at the hole the tire’s dug in the snow. “So um, you can get in the car and try to drive, and I can push-” 

“You can drive the car.” He snaps. “I can push.” You fight to keep your skepticism off your face, he’s much shorter than you, and slight at that. He seems convinced though, so you shrug and he opens the car door for you like some regency era gentleman. The engine purrs to life under your palms, you press experimentally on the gas pedal and watch him brace his body against the back of the car, and to your shock, the car scoots immediately forward, as if Levi is able to lift it’s entire weight without great effort. You carefully drive it into the garage, keenly aware that even a scratch on this vehicle might cost you several student loan payments. 

Levi looks mostly unchanged, a flush on his cheeks from the cold, but his eyes are grey and emotionless. He doesn't look like he's exerted himself in any great fashion, and you feel a warmth creep up on your cheeks. 

“Ugh.” He rubs his eyes. “I suppose if I were,” you watch him hear someone else's words in his mind, have some internal conversation that flashes across his face. He doesn’t attempt to hide his conflict. “I suppose if I were being, a person ,” he grinds down on those last two words clearly repeating someone else, “I would invite you in for a drink.” You laugh lightly. 

“Well I don’t say no to free booze.” You offer, and he nods, and just starts walking back to the house. He unlocks and opens the door, stomping his boots off, swearing more. 

“I hate this fucking shit.” He snaps. “The snow. It’s supposed to be pastoral but it’s a fucking hazard.” 

“Yeah, it’s better than the mud, in my opinion.” You glance around, the house is decorated but unlived in. Despite this, it’s immaculately clean, to the point where you’re afraid to touch any tables or surfaces for fear of leaving footprints. 

“The mud?” He asks and you nod. 

“Spring is mud season.”

“What?” He furrows his brow. “I thought spring was supposed to be flowers and shit.” You shake your head. 

“Not here.” 

“Great.” He stomps off to the kitchen with you in tow. You watch him pour two glasses of what looks to be expensive whiskey from an ornate glass bottle, and scoots one to you across the table on a coaster. He doesn’t ask you if you drink whiskey, or if you want ice. He just takes a sip and closes his eyes. You speak.

“What um, brings you to town?” 

“Sabbatical.” He grunts. “I work for the government.” You raise your eyebrows. “I’m not a politician,” he cuts off your thoughts with a shudder, “I’m in intelligence.” 

“Oh.” You cock your head at him. “Like, military intelligence.” He shrugs, and takes another drink. 

“Like I can’t talk about it intelligence.” He says, and a second too late he realizes he’s fully shut down the first conversation he’s had in two weeks since moving here, he grasps for a desperate straw. “How about you?” 

“I work at the cafe?” You say, a small amused smile playing on your lips and Levi just barely manages not to smack himself in the forehead. Of course. You met today. At the cafe. 

“There’s too much mayonnaise on the turkey sandwich.” He says, searching for things to say to you, for the first time in a long time, he wishes he could schmooze like Erwin, or joke like Hange. 

“I don’t actually make the sandwiches,” you say, and to his relief, you laugh, diffusing the tension a little. “So,” you look around. “What made you pick this place?” Levi’s lips twitch downward. 

“An old friend inherited it.” He looks out the window. “I suppose, I could call him a mentor. It’s dark but,” he pauses again, you note that he seems to be having trouble choosing the right words. “I don’t hate it yet.” 

“You don’t have to fill the silence.” You offer, gesturing towards a window seat where you can watch the snow fall. “If that would be better for you?” He nods. The snow picks up and the two of you sit and watch it blow across the street, sipping your drinks for a full fifteen minutes. You’re thinking about leaving when he offers you a refill. 

“You can, I can get you more?” He says, standing and adding to his own drink, feeling intensely awkward but finding that he cant tear his eyes from your curves, from your waist, from that little sliver of skin he can see when you move, where your shirt's come untucked from your pants. You stretch a little, and he gulps the whiskey, keeping his eyes on your face with herculean efforts. 

“Any more of that stuff and I’ll be crashing on your couch.” You stand. “I gotta get home.” He nods, and you’re not quite sure if it’s wishful thinking on your part but there’s a touch of disappointment evident in his eyes. 

“I’ll walk you home.” 

“You don’t have to-” 

“Shut up,” He grumbles, already reaching for his boots. “I know I don’t have to. I want to.” He jams his foot inside what look to be virtually unused snow boots. “What the fuck do people do around here anyway?” You think about it. 

“Hike?” You offer. “During the summer there’s more, you could kayak in a lake or something.” He nods, shoving his hands so hard into his pocket that you think you hear the seams rip. He walks like that, next to you down the hill to your cottage. 

“Why the fuck do you live out here alone?” He asks, studying you. “Isn’t it boring?” You sigh. 

“I’m um, I’ve got friends here. I decided I don’t wanna do the rat race, you know, the competitive college and career thing, I want,” you swallow, wondering if the drink was stronger than you thought. “I want to be happy.” You say finally and he lifts his head, cocking his head at you. “Sometimes that’s hard, I guess. For some of us.” 

“Yeah.” He says quietly. “I get it.” You stomp your boots on the porch. 

“I’m having a couple people over this weekend, if you want to come?” He balks and you backtrack. “It’s just a few people. Not even enough to have a real party.” 

“Fine.” He says, and then pauses. “Thanks. For the car.” 

“Yeah.” You shrug. “No worries. That’s sort of how it is out here, winters are hard. We gotta help each other out.” He looks at you like  he’s got something else to say but he just turns and walks back up the hill. 

____

“Mornin’ Levi,” you shoot him a sunny grin, one hip popped as you stand, pen to paper, ready to take his order. 

“Good Morning.” He says begrudgingly engaging in small talk. “I’ll have a large tea, don’t oversteep it, and,” He barely glances at the menu. “The barley soup.” You nod. 

“That’ll keep ya warm on a day like today.” You glance at the snow covered street, at the windows covered in condensation. “It’s freezing.” He grunts his agreement, and and you see where his sports car is parked at the end of the street. Today, he doesn’t leave after lunch, taking a laptop out and setting it on the table, drinking several teas and after the soup eating two sandwiches, so lost in his own world he barely looks up when you clear the table. You clear your throat softly several hours later and he looks up. 

“We’re closing, Levi.” You say softly. He nods, pressing his lips together. 

“Do you,” it looks like it physically pains him to get the words out, but he gets it out anyway. “Do you want a ride home?” You blink at him. 

“Oh, yeah,” your smile lights up his entire chest, “Definitely, thanks Levi.” He scrunches his face up, wondering why you insist on saying his name like that, Levi, Levi, Levi, here’s your sandwich, Levi, are you finished with that, Levi, we’re closing, Levi. He presses his lips together while  you gather your things, watches you wind a scarf around your neck. Levi. His mother’s only legacy, a name that was at best, outdated, and at worst ugly. He catches his own reflection in the window of the cafe, and then glances at you again, laughing with your clumsy co-worker, tucking your jeans into your worn boots. 

He feels the urge to leave. To run. To walk out into the street and not look back, feels the anxiety that seized him so violently in D.C. that he thought he was having a heart attack, only to be told by doctors at the hospital that what he thought was the violent ending of his life, was something emotional. Soft. A panic attack. Who has panic attacks? not soldiers , he thought, not brave people. But once they started, they only got worse, until eventually he couldn’t even make it to his own office without the violent involuntary hyperventilation. 

“It’s alright,” Erwin had said to him. “Take time. Take as long as you need.” It’s nearly enough to bring the hot sting of humiliation to his eyes. 

“You’ve given me too much.” Levi says angrily. “You can’t-”

“I’m not just your boss, Levi.” Erwin sits heavily in his chair. “I’m a person who cares for you.” Levi swallows. “Take the time. I’ve got a place you can stay, if you want to get away from the city for a bit.” 

“I have, I have a duty-” 

“You’re useless to this country if you can’t function.” Erwin says, blue eyes flashing, “I need you. So take care of yourself and come back. There will be things to do when you get back.” He gestures to the globe next to his desk. “There will always be things to do.” Levi nods, wishing he had the words that come to him much later, alone in his car on the drive up to Erwin’s family home. That’s the problem. He wants to say. That it never stops. 

“Levi,” you’re in front of him, pulling him out of the back of his head. He swallows. “Whatcha thinking about?” He shrugs. 

“Work.” 

“Oh,” He opens the door for you and the two of you step out into the cold. “Do you like your job?” Does he? Levi hadn't considered this in many years. He thinks about it now. 

“It’s a job.” He shrugs. “I work with some good people.” 

“That’s nice.” He opens the car door for you, moving so quickly you barely see him do it. “Oh thanks, Levi.” He groans out loud and you cock your head at him. 

“I,” he presses his lips together, aware that he’s holding you hostage in the blistering cold, “Why do you keep saying my name like that?” 

“Like what?” You shiver. 

“Like, Levi ,” he does an imitation of you and you laugh lightly. “Like you say it every time you talk to me.” 

“I guess I just like the way it sounds,” you sit in the seat and he closes the door quickly, running around the car to rejoin you. “It’s got nice music to it. No hard consonants. I like it.” 

“Huh.” His car hums to life. 

“Do you want to um, to come over, for dinner?” You say, and he looks at you sharply. “I mean cooking for one is kind of lame.” He presses his lips together. 

“I’ve been eating frozen meals.” He admits, and you giggle. “It’s fucking depressing to eat alone all the time.” 

“Right so, come over.” You say again and he sighs. 

“Do you,” he presses, and then catches himself before he imposes, “You don’t have to, because you feel badly.” 

“I’m inviting you for dinner because I want to.” You say firmly. “I’m alone too, you know.” He nods, pressing his lips together. He parks the car in your driveway, carefully. Levi examines your home carefully, framed drawings from your niece on the wall, comfortable couches covered in blankets, bookshelves, a screened in porch at the back of the house. 

“I have beer, um, and seltzer?” You offer. Levi doesn’t answer right away, struck by how lived in this space is. The pile of shoes at the door, the coat on the chair, the spot on the couch you clearly always sat in to watch tv still a little wrinkled. He swallows. 

“Beer.” You hand him a glass bottle, and he opens it. He glances at the dinner table but you take your beer and sit on the couch, beckoning him to join you. He manages not to take the furthest possible seat from you, manages to keep his eyes from the way you fold your legs underneath you, the way you tuck a pillow into your chest. A car door slams down the street and he jumps viscerally, hand flying to his shoulder where his gun would be in it’s holster, heart racing. 

“You alright?” You ask, the bell tone of your voice cutting through the silence. He takes a shaky breath, remembering the embarrassing grounding exercises his therapist had taught him. “Levi,” and now all that he can notice is you, the length of your eyelashes, the curve of your jaw, the way your hands are folded in your lap. He takes a risk, feels like Erwin, making a gamble. 

“What if I asked you to come sit here?” He glances at the couch next to him. “What would you say?” He watches you consider, burning in agony. 

“I could say yes.” You respond, after the longest minute of Levi's life. “What if I have questions first?” He shrugs. 

“I’ll answer them, but you have to answer them too.” He sips his beer and watches your face, your beautifully expressive face, as you think through things, he watches the emotions push and pull you. 

“Why are you here?” 

“Forced sabbatical.” He grunts, and sees on your face it’s not enough for you, and reveals just a little more. “I always thought, for sure, right, that I was doing the right thing. I trusted the people giving me orders and I,” he takes a sip of the beer, it’s cool temperature calming him, grounding him. “And I’m not sure I do anymore.” You nod. “Why are you here?” 

“I um,” You look down at your hands. “I couldn’t do college. I wanted to, but I couldn’t handle it. Just too um, sick I guess. Too low functioning.” He nods. “Other people could stay up all night, they could work hard and not, not lose their minds and their happiness. I just couldn’t see myself doing it.” 

“I didn’t go to school.” Levi offers, and you laugh, taking a sip of your beer.

“It’s a choice I feel good about.” You say firmly. “It was my choice.” He nods. 

“Any other questions?” You shake your head and scoot across the couch, leaning against him as he slips an arm around your waist. He sighs, feeling a visceral kind of relief at your touch. Your body is so warm, so soft, you feel so close to him, that his heart rate slows. You sigh, and his hand slips, almost accidentally, under your shirt where it’s riding up on your waist, his cool fingers on your warm skin. You feel him tense, and then decide to own it when you snuggle into his chest. “I’m going to put the beer on the table.” He says, softly, and you know what he means, know what he’s asking. 

“Yeah.” You look up at him. “Good.” He sets it on the table and then turns back to face you, his lips inches from yours, holding eye contact. He makes you close the distance between you, crashing your lips against his, but from his firm hold on your waist you guess that’s the last decision you’ll be making. You fumble with the buttons on his shirt but he stops you, wanting, needing to see you, to really see you without the layers of clothing, tossing your sweater on a nearby chair.

“Fuck,” he breathes, as your lips move down his jaw, burning on  his skin, “Let me-” He pushes your clumsy hands away and tugs his shirt over his head, letting it crumple on the floor with uncharacteristic carelessness. You lie down, he cups your face with one hand, slotting a thigh between yours and nearly laughing when he feels you grind against it. “Easy.” He mutters. 

“I want-” You start.

“I know what you want.” He half snaps, half gloats. “I’ll tell you when you can have it.” He palms your breasts, burying his face between them and groaning at the soft warmth he finds, pulling them out of your bra. His mouth closes on one of your nipples, pulling the most beautiful hushed gasp from your lips, and he needs to hear that sounds again, would do anything to hear it again, and you oblige, you sweet fucking thing, moaning again when pinches and pulls at them, and presses his thigh to your clothed cunt. 

“Oh,” you sigh, feeling him kiss down your stomach, peeling your jeans down, tugging them out of his way, kissing the inside of your hips, delighting in the softness he finds in your thighs, leaving little bruising kisses on the inside of them. There’s something so genuinely warm about your body, something golden and comforting about the energy you exude, beautiful and innocent, he nearly loses all composure when you breathe his name, a prayer, a hymn. “Levi,” you moan, and he gets it, gets why you say it all the time, understands why you’d repeat it at the end of every sentence, it was to prepare him for this, so that he didn’t lose his mind when you’d do this. “Levi,” you say again, when he presses a kiss to the top of your panties, removing them at a maddeningly slow pace, “Please,” you whimper, “Please, I want  you so-” 

“I know,” he says sharply, “Be patient, or I won’t give it to you.” You bite down hard on your lower lip, resisting the urge to grind your hips against him, but you’re rewarded for your stillness when he slips a single finger inside you, moving your panties to the side and starting to kiss gently at your clit. 

“Oh, oh my god,” it’s like the breath has been robbed from your lungs, he growls into you, 

“Taste so good.” He picks up the pace, wanting more music, more sound from you. 

“Levi,” you moan again, “Levi, Levi, right-” 

“Mhm,” he says, watching you fall apart, adding another finger, certain he’s got you right where he wants you, and he’s reminded of the pleasure of human connection, of the warmth of trust, of the way it felt to give to someone so completely like this. 

“I’m gonna, gonna,” your back arches up off the sofa, drowning in pleasure as the roughness of his tongue flicks along the softest parts of your body, “Please I-” 

“Ask me.” He demands, lifting his face from you, grinding his thumb into your clit, watching you fall apart,  unable to sit still. 

“Please, please can I cum, Levi I need to,” you beg, shameless, breathless, beautiful, “Please, please, please-” 

“Go ahead.” He orders and watches the pleasure wrack your body, the way you tense and relax as you vault over the cliff of your climax. “Shit,” he fumbles with his belt buckle, achingly hard in his pants, “Do you have, do you have a condom?” You blink back to reality. 

“I uh,” You rub your eyes, “I don’t.” He pauses, teeth sinking into his lip for a moment before digging through his wallet and  pulling one out, checking the expiration date. 

“Lucky you.” He says coolly, standing and stepping out of his pants. “What was your plan, if I didn’t have one, just out of curiosity?” You give him a mischievous smile. 

“I uh, I guess we would have rolled the dice.” 

“Irresponsible.” He mutters, pinning your wrists over your head, climbing back on top of you, “You just seduce men with that sweet fucking voice,” he snaps, pushing the end of his cock inside you, “And roll the dice, huh?” Your mouth drops open. 

“I-” He cuts you off by cupping your face gently, stroking your cheek for a moment as he commits' every part of this moment to memory. 

“I'm teasing.” He mutters. “Fuck, oh my god.” He pushes a little deeper inside you and you let out a little whimper, he’s bigger than you’d expected, “Shh,” he breathes, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Shut up and take it.” You moan out loud then and he rolls his eyes at you before pulling back and rolling his hips against yours in earnest, “Feel so good,” he grunts, “Oh my fucking god.” You’re making little mewls that you can’t hold back, feeling every inch of him pushing in and out of you, dragging against your walls. 

“Levi,” you gasp, and that seems to placate him a little, “Levi,” your back arches, and he leans down to kiss his name off your lips, his name, short and ugly, in your mouth, sounds like a miracle, feels like a sunbeam. “Levi,” 

“Yeah?” He groans. 

“L-levi,” you squirm against his hold but he’s so strong it’s like pulling on iron. “Levi,” you choke out, and feel him start to rub at your clit with his free hand. “Oh, oh my god, don’t stop, don’t-” 

“So good,” he growls, “So good for me, cum for me again, you can do it.” 

“I,” you buck your hips against his and he scowls. “I’m so close.” 

“You can do it,” he orders sharply, “Cum for me, I wanna see that shit, cum for me and moan my name again.” You obey, your second orgasm hits you harder, little tears forming in your eyes, the pleasure overwhelming as he chases his own high, cumming deep inside you with a loud groan. He flops on the couch next to you, holding your soft body close to his own, kissing the top of your head. You feel his touch on your back, he holds you tightly, tracing feather light patterns on your skin. 

“Levi.” You sigh deeply, and he feels your warmth, praying he’s not leeching off of you, that it’ll spread between your bodies, as he grabs a throw blanket and tucks it around you, grumpily burning his face in your neck. 

“I like my name better in  your mouth.” He mutters. You nod, relaxing a little. 

“Stay for a bit.” You ask, it’s a gentle plea. Levi rolls his eyes. 

“As if you’re getting rid of me now.”

baseball

pairing: inumaki toge x gn!reader

the crack of impact rings in your ears as you watch him drop the bat and swiftly make it on base. you weren’t sure how to feel about the results of the goodwill event being settled with a baseball game, but seeing the way everyone is letting loose and enjoying themselves instantly changes your mind. not to mention, getting to see your boyfriend in action is a real treat.

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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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his fingers are knuckle-deep inside of you as he sucks on your nipples like a lollipop. you did not expect things to turn this way when you agreed to date the introverted kid but here you were— back arched, tears flooding your eyes, cheeks flushed red, and the heat between your legs growing by the second. "w-wait.." you whimpered, the sensitivity between your leg growing as you came for the third time. but he was no where near stopping, just thrusting his fingers inside of you as he bit on your skin, making hickies everywhere. "can't wait, baby," he whispered against your ears, voice raspy and deep, enough to make you come on the spot, "need to take you right now.."

𖦹°‧★ —— megumi fushiguro, kai young, levi ackermen, armin arlert, todoroki, dabi, simon riley, gaz garrick, nate hawkins and your mannn<333

multi-character drabble.

includes breeding indication, apathetic! character, and adult themes so, mdni.

he's so apathetic, one would think he's not interested in you at all. but you know better.

you see him adjusting his pants and looking away whenever you enter the room. you feel him sniff your perfume when you lean too close, his deep breath tickling your skin. you hear him gulp when you whisper a suggestive comment in his ear.

and tonight you finally break that indifferent shield of his. when his eyebrows furrow, he inhales sharply and he's whimpering against your ear, begging for more of you. when his cock throbs around your tight walls, telling you he's so close.

nagi seishiro, suna rintarou, todoroki shoto

© starreo 2023. do not copy, translate or repost .

ON ICE : TODOROKI SHOUTO x READER

summary: your pro hero boyfriend ices you to the counter and has his way with you. content warnings: shameless unedited smut, fem/afab reader, aged-up characters, established relationship, misuse of shouto’s quirk (aka ice restraints), nipple play, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex word count: 2.6k

It happened right in the middle of lunch prep.

You’d just taken the vegetables out of the oven and you’d been peering thoughtfully into the sauce, wondering what else it needed, when there was a crackling, crystalline sound, almost like glass shattering. There was the freezing touch of ice at your ankles, curling up around your foot, locking you to the floor.

You yelped, catching yourself on the counter, and whipped around to stare at your pro hero boyfriend as he lounged in the doorway.

“Shouto, that’s fucking freezing!” you yipped, clutching the countertop for balance as you tried to yank your house slippers out from the block that had encased them. The thickness of your socks and the material of the slipper protected you from the worst of Shouto’s quirk, something you thought he’d probably banked on, but you could still feel the icy chill beyond them.

“What the hell?” you demanded.

Shouto, for his part, looked extremely unconcerned with what he’d just done. Today was his off-duty day, and he’d clearly just awoken from the nap he’d been taking, face down in the bed when you’d left him. The right side of his hair was mussed, fluffed up and out of its usual silky perfection, and he still looked sleep-soft in a dark tee shirt and sweatpants. A tiny, mischievous smile turned up the corner of his perfect mouth.

“Caught you, love,” he said in his low, gentle tone. Which was extremely sexy but also explained absolutely nothing.

You peered at him suspiciously over your shoulder. “I’m making lunch—there’s nothing to catch.”

You watched your boyfriend’s mismatched eyes slide over you in a cool assessment, icy grey and fiery blue, flickering down the lines of your body. Instead of answering, he pushed off the doorway, padding slowly over to you. You lost sight of him as he moved closer, unable to twist your head at that angle, so you were surprised by the sight of a long fingered hand reaching out by your hip, tugging the pair of oven mitts hanging off the side of the stove.

“Uh, what are you doing?” you wondered as his hand retracted, only to shiver as he stepped up behind you, his chest warm against your back.

“Hold out your arms, love,” Shouto said, catching you under your left elbow. You watched, mystified, as he pulled your hand back, gently guiding an oven mitt down over your arm. “I don’t want you to get frostbite.”

“Frostbite?” you echoed as he pulled on the second one. Shouto carefully guided your hands back to the counter, encouraging you to take hold. You had your answer, then, as a lick of ice formed under his hands, pressing yours down to the counter. It crackled up and over the fabric of the oven mitts and clamping down tightly until you were encased in ice up to your forearm, a solid, unmovable mass, locking you against the counter.

You could feel a vague sense of the cold through the mitts, but it was abstract, distant—cool more than cold.

You stared, blinking down at the ice block in bemusement. “Sho—what the hell?”

Shouto’s chest pressed more firmly against your back, and his hands skimmed up the skin of your arms to your shoulders, holding you as his mouth pressed to the side of your neck. You shivered in his grip, feeling lost and confused and also weirdly, strangely turned on.

“You asked, love,” Shouto said into your shoulder, those long fingers playing with the straps of your dress, pulling one aside so his mouth could reach the skin under it. Your brain went a little bit fuzzy with the feeling of his soft lips on your skin.

“I think I would remember asking you to turn me into a giant ice cube,” you told him, wracking your brain for what he possibly could have interpreted as a request for this.

“When we watched that movie last week,” Shouto said, his hands sliding down your back to grasp your waist. His front pressed all along your back, and you thought you could feel the slight stirring of his interest, pressed just above your ass.

You tore your focus away from the feeling of him, a long, hot line along your back, trying to dredge up the memory of whatever movie he was referencing. “The—the super old All Might one? With the frost villain?” you asked incredulously, suddenly recalling.

There had been a classic damsel in distress, frosted to the side of a building set to implode—and All Might, aka an actor in a horrendously blimped-up bodysuit and yellow wig, had come charging in to free her. She’d been all dark eyes and heaving bosom as she’d called out to him, and when he’d pressed an enthusiastic kiss to her waiting mouth, you’d unthinkingly given voice to your doubts.

“Shouto, I said that there was no way that situation was as sexy as they tried to make it look!” you said, your mouth dropping open. “There can’t be anything hot about being ice cubed!”

Shouto hummed into your skin, a low vibration you felt all the way down your spine. “We’ll see about that, love,” he said, pressing a slow, languorous line of kisses up the column of your throat.

You tried your ice restraints again, aching to reach up and pinch him, but there was absolutely no give. “And you took that personally?” you asked.

“I did,” Shouto replied, his hands bunching up the waistline of your dress. You realized he was slowly gathering up the folds of your skirt, his fingers skimming the skin of your thighs as they were bared.

“Okay well my bosom won’t be heaving,” you promised him. Shouto’s mouth quirked against the back of your neck and he hummed again, low and full of promise.

“We’ll see,” he said again, as his hands slipped beneath your dress, sliding up your stomach to cup the aforementioned bosom. You couldn’t help but laugh, and you could feel Shouto smiling into your shoulder too, even as he grew harder against your back, pressing himself into you with intent.

“I’ve got plans for the state of your bosom,” he told you, making you laugh again. Long fingers fiddled with the cup of your bra, occasionally teasing the skin underneath, until he pulled it away from your chest, rolling it up and over your breasts.

His hands replaced the cups, warm and gentle, and you shivered again as he bit a careful kiss into the lobe of your left ear, just as his thumbs came up to brush slowly over your nipples.

“Feels good, love?” he murmured, doing it again, his thumbs flickering back and forth again in slow little circles. You could feel your nipples growing stiffer in his palms, incontrovertible evidence that it did feel good.

“Y–yes,” you said, letting out a slow breath. You felt your thighs squeeze together in the open kitchen air, your legs and your entire front bared with the way Shouto had your dress rucked up over his forearms.

Coupled with the immovable pressure at your arms, the vulnerability was unusual, and a little bit nerve-wracking. But there was no better pair of hands you trusted yourself in than Shouto’s.

Shouto kissed up the back of your neck, slowly, as his fingers worked your nipples, gently pinching and plucking, exactly how he knew you liked. Despite your earlier promise, you felt yourself growing wet, your breath coming heavy, your chest almost heaving. You realized your hips were moving, grinding in little circles against Shouto’s front.

“O–oh,” you said, when Shouto rolled your nipple just so between those elegant fingers, in a way that made the edges of your vision go a little bit blurry. "Ah—yes—"

“Mmm,” Shouto intoned against your ear. One of his hands released your breast, sliding back down over your stomach, dipping with intent into your panties. “That’s it, love,” he said, over the bitten off moan you choked out, as his fingers found their way between your folds.

His middle finger sank into you easily, his thumb brushing gently over your clit.

You grasped the counter tighter between your fingers, barely able to adjust in the minute space his ice had given you.

“It’s not so bad, is it, pet?” Shouto murmured, both his thumbs stroking over your sensitive areas in unison. His index finger joined the first, pressing up into you with purpose. "Could it be good?"

Something about the guiding question in that low, indulgent tone made you shudder, pressing harder back into him, clenching around his fingers. You felt him adjust himself against your back, his cock pressing against your ass through the fabric of his sweats, dragging up the cleft in a rocking motion.

He let out an appreciative huff, kissing below your ear, adding another finger. The heel of palm pressed firmly to your clit as his other hand plucked at your nipple again.

You turned your head, seeking his mouth. You could feel the tiny smile on his mouth as he met you halfway, licking across the seam of your lips. You moaned into his mouth as his heel pressed harder against you, pinning you back against him. You were slowly rocked between his hand and his hips, your vision sparking and fizzing, then dimming completely as your eyes fluttered closed, lost in the feeling of his hands on you.

“I’m going to take you, love,” Shouto said between kisses, licking slowly and unexpectedly filthily into your mouth, continuing that insistent rocking of his palm, the press and curl of his fingers within you. “Do you want that? Right over this counter, pet? Trapped in the ice?”

You nodded quickly, squirming in his hands. Fuck, you didn’t even care that this meant he’d been right about how sexy the ice thing could be. His fingers were so clever, so good inside you, but you wanted him more—wanted to be bent right over the edge of the counter and filled with him, wanted him weighing you down to the countertops, all those kilos of pro hero muscle curled possessively over you.

“Shouto, please,” you managed, and Shouto’s hands left you instantly. You felt him pull down the waistband of his sweats, and those fingers were teasing your panties aside, and then he was guiding himself into you, long and thick and full and utterly delicious.

You were so wet already he slid into you easily, and you realized he’d melted the ice at your feet as he walked you forward to press you right over the counter, fisting a hand in the back of your dress.

“Fuck, love,” he said, his voice tight. Hearing the inflection in his normally impassive tone heated your blood until it was simmering. “Ah, you feel so good. So sweet for me.”

He felt so good, especially when he slid back out and into you again, his hips slapping the flesh of your ass. He bucked into you slowly, groaning his approval, one strong arm curling around your waist, pulling you back into him.

“Oh my god, okay—Shouto, please—please—” you said again, uncaring that your voice had risen into a high, shaky whine.

His hips slapped into you again as his fingers found your clit once more, his palm pressing down against you. The slide of him within you and the tease of his fingers without had you moaning into your dress, bunched up over the top of the ice. You could feel the sharp bite of the ice block against the underside of one of your breasts where your dress didn’t quite cover it, shockingly cold against your overheated skin.

Shouto worked you up with the maddening skill and precision of long familiarity. He knew just how you liked it, murmuring praise into your hair, his hands roaming over every inch of you, plucking, pulling, teasing. He fucked into you with long, hard strokes, all that pro hero athleticism turned on you, maintaining a pace that had you slumping bonelessly into the counter, heat licking through all your veins.

You wanted to clutch at him, but you could only flex your fingers uselessly within your stupid oven mitts as that pressure in your lower belly started swirling out of control. When his hand lowered to your cunt again you found yourself unable to get away, every slap of his hips driving your clit more firmly into his fingers.

His other hand found your right breast and carefully teased your nipple again, rolling it between fingers that were suddenly slightly too hot, then slightly too cold.

You realized you were babbling something, but you couldn’t hear yourself over Shouto’s warm murmurs against your temple. “That’s it. That’s it, love. So perfect for me. So lovely, so tight—so good. Come for me, pet—come on. Can’t you do it?”

You were delirious with the sound of his voice, the feeling of his fingers, the slide of him inside of you. With only a few more slaps of his hips, you found yourself twisting desperately in his grip, every muscle in your body drawing taut, like a string about to snap—everything inside you hot and tense and tight—

And then you were thrown out over the edge, crying out Shouto’s name, twisting and squirming and writhing out your pleasure between his hand and his cock. Shouto fucked you through it, his low, soft moans in your ear, the rapid huff of his breath stirring your hair.

Even as you relaxed against him, feeling pliant and shivery like gelatin, he kept going, seeking his own release. You pressed your cheek against the cool ice through your dress, Shouto still fiery-hot against your back, sweat sticking you together. Shouto’s hands both clutched your waist, and it was the tightening of his grip that signaled his orgasm, as his thrusts grew more hurried, more irregular.

He groaned out your name into your shoulder as he came, his voice thick and low and warm and pleased.

His weight trapped you against the counter, even more firmly than his ice, and a feeling of deep contentment and satisfaction pooled in your veins.

So...he had been right, you could admit. The ice thing could be sexy, or whatever. Given the right pro hero in the mix.

“I thought so,” Shouto said when you admitted this aloud to him, sounding a little too pleased with himself. “I suspected you would be interested.”

You turned your head to look at him, catching sight of one blue eye, his scarlet bangs falling across his brow. “I am pretty certain I said I thought it wouldn’t be sexy though,” you said, squinting at him suspiciously.

In the corner of your eye, you saw his mouth quirk. “Ah but that means you thought about it,” he said, with the terrible perceptiveness of a partner you’d had for years.

Your whole body went suddenly hot with embarrassment.

“Okay but I say a lot of stuff during movie scenes,” you said defensively, as Shouto’s hands came up to smooth over your waist again, clutching you almost possessively. You were occasionally kind of a talker during movies, you could admit it. It wasn’t like this scene in particular had been special.

“Which means we have several other scenes to explore, love,” Shouto said, shifting over you with intent, still buried within you. “I seem to recall two others from this last week.”

You suddenly realized he was making no move to free you from the ice, even as his hands slid over you again. And you recalled with a startling clarity just which scenes you had remarked on this last week—

You could feel your boyfriend’s smirk against your skin, and you shivered with delight, as he slid down your body and began his work anew.

pretty boy | todoroki x reader

pairing: Todoroki Shouto / Fem Reader

length: 4,100 words

summary: You have strong feelings about Shouto’s scar. Shouto finds them…surprising.

tags: romance, reader-insert, fluff, pro hero shouto, makeup artist reader

warnings: aged up characters (no smut though!!)

note: Happy Valentine’s Day! I don’t really know what this is, I just wanted an outlet for my Shouto thirst, and to live vicariously through a reader who’s allowed to get her hands on him. ✨ I hope you guys have a lovely day.

EDIT: Now with art by the love of my life @ofmermaidstories​

As soon as you entered the studio that morning, you could tell a big name was coming.

No fewer than eight of your coworkers were crowded together in a tight knot at the end of the hall, discussing something in excited whispers. The hallway stank of a headache-inducing mixture of recently-applied perfumes—the florals, citruses, vanillas and musks all blending together combatively. Even all the way from the elevator door, you could see several freshly administered coats of lipstick, eye-catching smears of red. Some of the girls were even changing out of their office flats into their emergency heels, leaning on one another for support as they did.

Somebody really, really big then.

And probably very handsome.

The heels usually meant an actor, a pop star, or any of the younger, cuter heroes in the top fifty, and the sight of them set off a code red in your brain.

You suddenly wished you’d arrived a little earlier in case you wanted to primp for whoever it was today, too—but the siren song of your snooze button had lured you back to sleep this morning, and then a side trip for iced coffee had you arriving just before the floor manager called the morning meeting. Not that many of the celebrities you got in the studio paid that much attention to the support staff. But it was still nice to look your best if you were getting somebody extra cute, like pro hero Hawks, who was given to appreciative winking and the sorts of compliments that could make your entire week.

You sighed. Oh well.

At least you, as a makeup artist and hair stylist, always made sure that you were some form of presentable before entering the studio, if only to reassure guests that you knew what you were doing and weren’t about to massacre their image. Even if you might have picked cuter shoes or your butt-hugging slacks if you’d known.

“Who is it?” you asked one of the PAs, Hanako, as you made your way over to the primping pile of productionists.

“Pro hero Shouto,” she said, her mouth hanging open as she applied mascara in a hand mirror. “He’s doing some kind of thing with some charity or whatever—I heard his manager called the studio head directly so it’s probably a big PR push before the Awards next month.”

Despite yourself, your eyebrows went up.

Very big, then. And super rare.

As far as you knew, Shouto Todoroki had only graced Good Morning Tokyo once before—almost two years ago, before you were hired. In general he avoided media appearances like the industry was a bag of feces on fire—which it definitely was—but he seemed to avoid your studio more than others. New Day Japan had nabbed him three times in the interim, a fact that your producers often bemoaned over their ratings sheets.

Definitely high heel-worthy, and you cursed yourself for not dressing cuter.

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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.

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.