#i want a soft slow makeout session

[wtfjd95]

I just want a soft & slow make out session.

[mggslover]

judt thinking about reader and spencer making out and just doing stuff over clothes yk and spencer cumming his pants 🥰 (love your work btw !!)

dry humping with spencer genre: smut (18+) cw: just a bunch of variations on dry humping lol, inexperienced!spencer but his confidence grows throughout it, tit play, fingering, handjob over clothes wc: 1,6k a/n: i wrote this "drabble" so quickly, felt so inspired by your request. this was a really fun one, thank you!

From the moment you started dating Spencer Reid, you knew your relationship would be nothing like your previous ones. Not only was Spencer way kinder and more thoughtful than anyone you’ve ever dated, he was also more inexperienced.

Spencer’s lack of relationships and experience in the bedroom never posed a problem for you. In fact, you found it endearing that he was shyer than the average man, and it felt good to know you’d found someone who took your relationship seriously and wanted to take things slow before moving to the next step. 

Spencer didn’t mind all physical touch, though. You often found yourself cuddled up on the couch, facing him as you sat on his lap, his arms wrapped around you and his face hidden in the crook of your neck. 

As much as you tried to contain yourself, you were just a girl. And sitting on your boyfriend’s lap as he held you close and smelled deliciously like leather-bound books and overly sweetened coffee, turned you on. A lot. 

So it was a little more than an accident when, one day, during a passionate makeout session on the couch, you found yourself moving your hips against him. Spencer’s response was immediate, inhaling a sharp breath against your mouth. You pressed your lips back to his in a soft peck, making him forget about it until you repeated the movement a few minutes later. He responded with a whimper, and you pulled back enough to see the slight furrow in his brows and the twinkle in his eyes, his face speaking words he was too nervous to admit. 

“Do you want me to do it again?”

Spencer swallowed, giving a hesitant nod. His nerves quickly faded into pleasure as you put your hands on his shoulders, giving you enough grip to continue your motions. Your lips found his neck, and with a couple of licks and bites, he came undone, moaning incoherent words as his hips stuttered into you.

This event became a solid foundation to build on. Spencer’s confidence grew over time. Whereas it used to be only you who touched him, Spencer now dared to explore your body as well: his hands roaming over the sides of your thighs, wandering to the curve of your ass, kneading the covered skin as you grind your body against him. 

His warm hands would glide under your shirt, leading you to assure him that he could take it off. First came your top, then your bra. The more clothes you removed, the bigger Spencer’s need was to touch you. To take control. On his own initiative, he would squeeze your breasts, biting down on his bottom lip as your nipples hardened in reaction. He’d reach out to rub the buds in circular motions, until they stood peaked enough for him to wrap his lips around them. 

You’d revel in the feel of Spencer hungrily sucking on your nipples, gripping your tits tightly in his hands. He was like a man starved, having spent all his years without the touch of a woman. He couldn’t get enough, especially not because it was you. 

After a while, you even convinced him to get rid of his shirt. He didn’t regret his decision as you showered his chest in kisses, making him feel more loved than he thought was possible.

Eventually, Spencer wasn’t intimidated by the concept of dry humping anymore. Going as far as putting you into different positions. He’d have you on your hands and knees, your back arched as he thrusted against you. His strong hand would hold you by your thigh, the other placed on your shoulder as his denim-clad bulge repeatedly pressed against the thin fabric of your leggings. The rough material of his pants gave just enough friction for you to orgasm, your face pressed into the mattress as you cried out. Spencer only stopped once his pants reflected the same wet spot as yours had. 

-`♡´-

It was on a sunny morning that you found yourself tangled up in each other on top of his bedsheets. 

The heat of the night had resulted in both of you undressing down to your underwear. You woke up with Spencer pressed against your back, sleepily grinding his cock against the swell of your ass. Your moans woke him, and in practiced ease, he pulled you into a deep kiss. 

In all the months of dating, you had never seen Spencer in his underwear before. You could predict what his cock would look like based on the feel, but seeing his hard length stand proud in his boxers, pointing up to the small patch of hair covering his stomach, was a more mouthwatering sight than you’d imagined. 

Spencer lay on his back, his upper body propped up against some bundled-up pillows. Golden streams of sunlight hit his chest, and a tired smile graced his lips.

You happily climbed on top of him, your knees bent on either side of his body. You lowered yourself down onto his bulge, a satisfied moan leaving your lips as his length perfectly fitted between the space your thighs had created. His warm brown eyes never left yours as you placed your hands on his stomach, fingers digging into the soft skin as you moved your hips up and down. The room was filled with the soft creaking of the bed and the mixture of your moans. Another thing you loved about Spencer: he was loud. A whimpering and moaning mess every time your covered pussy made contact with his bulge.

When you looked down, you caught a glimpse of the tip of his cock peeking out from underneath his boxers, revealing itself as the fabric moved with your movements. It flushed a deep shade of pink and glistened with precum, seeming to accumulate with each roll of your hips. You didn’t want to bring any attention to it, scared he’d turn self-conscious, so instead you locked your lips with his.

He bit down on your bottom lip and moved his hands to your ass, helping you quicken your movements against his cock. You threw your head back in pleasure, giving him a beautiful view of your breasts as they caught the sunlight. He cupped them in his hands and thrust his hips up into you. 

His name left your lips in a high-pitched moan. “Oh, Spencer.”

“Am I making you feel good, sweetheart?”

You cried in response, nodding your head. Your sounds of pleasure always encouraged him. He felt bolder as he slipped his hand in his underwear, adjusting himself so that his tip rubbed deliciously against your soaked underwear. 

“Turn around for me, baby.” 

You turned around on his lap, leaning back against his chest. Your knees remained spread and bent, and he held you up by the back of your thighs as he slammed his bulge up into you. Your hand slipped to your underwear, rubbing your palm against your heat. Your clit stood swollen, the layer of cotton forming no barrier for your pleasure. 

Experimentally, your hand slid lower down to his cock, rubbing the length and cupping his balls over his underwear. 

“F-fuck, do that again,” Spencer breathed heavily.

You obeyed, jerking him through his boxers. You felt overwhelmed by the feeling of him, finally able to know how heavy he felt in your hands. Your fingertips softly traced the veins of his cock, and you could feel his breath heaving against your neck. He pressed a wet kiss to the sensitive skin, making you shiver. 

Spencer resumed where you left off, his hand making its way to your pussy. He hooked his fingers into the fabric of your underwear, pulling it aside and revealing how soaked you were. “All of this for me?”

You gasped as his long fingers trailed your outer lips. The pleasure clouded your mind, and you couldn’t find the words as your boyfriend, for the first time, slipped a finger inside of you. He curled his finger skillfully, and you would’ve believed it if he told you he’d done this a thousand times. 

The warmth in your core started building faster than anticipated. You reached out to grab Spencer’s wrist in an effort to ground yourself. He didn’t stop his movements, though, pumping his finger inside of you as he rutted against you at the same fast pace. 

“Spencer, I’m-” 

Your words got cut off as a leg-shaking orgasm washed over you. Spencer let out a deep groan, and you could feel his hot release forming underneath you. 

You hurriedly got off his lap, sitting on your knees next to him as you took in the scene. His underwear was translucent from your juices, and his happy trail was coated in his thick, white cum. 

“You made a mess of me,” Spencer chuckled, his voice still hoarse from waking up. 

You gave him a dreamy smile, and he returned it with a big, goofy grin.

“You look so incredibly hot, I wish I could fuck you.”

The words escaped your lips before you realized. You always made sure not to hint at wanting anything more than he was ready for, not wanting to rush him. You nervously looked up at him, but where you expected to find your boyfriend looking uncomfortable, his eyes shone with a compelling glimmer as he licked his lips.

“I think I’m ready for that.”

[botanicsoul]

Rainfall and Ruin

Izuku Midoriya x fem! Reader

this is straight filth

❀ ❊ ✿ ❀ ❊ ✿ ❀ ❊ ✿ ❀ ❊ ✿ ❀ ❊ ✿ ❀ ❊ ✿ ❀ ❀ ❊ ✿

You’d been poking the bear all damn day.

Not just for fun—but to finally see what he was hiding.

The thing was…you were dating. You’d been dating for a while now. He kissed you sweetly, held your hand, dry humped you with desperate little whines—but he never went any further. He always stopped himself. Always shook his head, cheeks blazing, voice soft and nervous. He worshipped you, always asked before going any further. And yeah—it was cute.

At first. But now?

Now, it was maddening.

“I don’t wanna hurt you,” he’d told you once, after a particularly heated makeout that ended with him biting his lip and pulling away. “I don’t… I don’t fully know my own strength. What if I lose control?”panting, cheeks flushed as he grinned against you until both of you were trembling. “I get so… worked up. I don’t know if I could stop.”

God, and you loved him for it. You remembered smiling up at him, brushing sweaty hair from his face. “Then don’t stop.”

you saw the way his hands shook when they rested on your hips. How his jaw clenched when you moaned into a kiss. You knew he wanted to go further. He just wouldn’t let himself. Every time. He never let himself lose control or be rough with you.

You wanted to test him. So today? You wanted to see how far he could be pushed. And damn, he made it too easy.

——

The way he always turned red every time you called him “Zuku.” How his breath hitched when your hand brushed low on his stomach. How his eyes would flicker nervously away when you leaned over to grab your pen, your skirt riding up just enough to make his throat go dry. You’d let out soft moans around him when you’d stretch a little in your seat, just so he could hear. It was like you had him on a string, and each movement you made tugged him closer to the edge.

During your study session later, you decided to take it even further, to really test just how far you could push him without him breaking. The room was nearly empty, the only sound the soft rustle of paper and the scratch of pens. You skipped over to him, a playful smile curling on your lips as you took your seat just a little too close.

“Tell me, Zuku,” you breathed softly against his neck, your lips grazing his skin. You felt him freeze, his body going rigid as your breath tickled his ear. “Do you think about me when you’re alone?” you whispered, “what do you do when you think about me?” your voice soft and teasing.

You could see the way his grip tightened on the textbook, his knuckles turning white as he tried to steady his breath, but it wasn’t working. He couldn’t hide it anymore. You could tell by the way his eyes darted to the side.

You leaned in closer, your body brushing against his as you let your words linger. “I know what you do,” you purred, practically tasting the way he was unraveling under your attention.

You saw his jaw clench, his chest rising and falling with every breath. It was almost cute, how badly he was trying to hold it together. Almost. But you weren’t done yet.

“Zukuuuu…” You dragged the name out, rolling it on your tongue like it was a secret. “wanna know what I do when I think of you?” You slid your hand down his arm, deliberately slow, and when your fingers brushed the edge of his hand, you didn’t pull away. Instead, you kept your palm pressed against his, letting the heat of your touch seep into his skin. “Maybe i’ll have to show you” He was trying to be good. But you were done playing sweet.

So when you asked him to walk you to your dorm after that long study session, all soft smiles and batting lashes, you had every intention of testing that tight grip he kept on himself.

You hooked your arm around his, holding onto him like you needed his warmth, and he let you. Quiet and sweet like always.

But when you got to your door, you turned around, tugged him a little closer, fingers just barely grazing the waistband of his pants.

“Thanks for walking me, Izuku,” you said, voice low and sweet, fingers brushing just below his waistband. You leaned in, your lips grazing his jaw. “You’re always so good to me.”

That’s when you saw it. Not the flustered smile. Not the blush. His eyes.

Dark. Focused. Hungry

You tilted your head, trying one last poke. “Goodnight, Izuku.” You turned toward the door. But before your hand could touch the knob, his slammed into the wood above your head, caging you in.

You gasped, spinning around, heart jumping. His eyes weren’t flustered anymore. They were blazing.

“You think this is funny?” he asked, voice low—dangerous. “You’ve been teasing me all damn day. And now you’re gonna act like I’m just supposed to walk away?”

Your lips parted, breath catching. “I didn’t mean—”

His hand grabbed your chin, tilting your face up. “You did,” he growled. “You said goodnight like you didn’t spend the whole day trying to see how far you could push me.” He leaned in, his lips brushing your cheek.

“You wanted my attention, baby? You’ve got it.”

Before you could react, his thigh slid between yours, pressing up hard, forcing your legs apart. You gasped and instinctively tried to close them, but he held you there—pinned and squirming. His mouth curled into a slow, knowing smirk.

“Ooooh, there it is,” he whispered. “You like this. You wanted this.”

He leaned close, lips ghosting over your jaw, hot breath sending chills down your spine.

“You’re not nearly as innocent as you pretend to be” You opened your mouth to throw out another cheeky line—but you didn’t get the chance.

His lips crashed into yours, all teeth and tongue, stealing your breath. There was nothing sweet about it. It was greedy, rough—punishing. Like he was tasting every smirk, every teasing laugh you gave him that day.

You moaned, grabbing at his shirt, desperate for more. He didn’t stop.

He lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist. You felt the hardness straining against his pants, pressed perfectly against where you needed it. You whimpered.

He kicked the door open and shoved it shut behind him, never breaking the kiss. Carried you to the bed like you weighed nothing. Then he dropped you onto the mattress and climbed on top of you.

His fingers gripped your hips, hauling you closer, grinding his cock right against your soaked panties through your shorts.

“Feel that?” he rasped, voice dark and gleeful. “I’m hard for you. Have been all damn day.”

You couldn’t even speak—just gasped, clinging to him, your mind spinning from the pressure, the heat, the filthy things he was saying in that shaky, desperate, cocky voice.

“I’ve been so good,” he hissed, voice shaking as his forehead pressed to yours, his breath coming in ragged little pants. “So fucking good for you.”

He ground his hips forward again—harder this time. You cried out, your hands flying up to clutch his shoulders as the thick, heavy heat of him rubbed right against your sweet spot.

His eyes fluttered shut. He bit back a moan.

“Held back every damn time you touched me—every time you climbed in my lap with those pretty eyes, makin’ those little sounds—and I didn’t touch you like I wanted to.”

He dragged his hips against you again, slower this time. Deeper. His voice broke—pleading now.

“Tell me I’ve been good, baby,” he whispered, raw and low, like it was killing him. “Tell me I’ve been good for you.”

You whimpered, nodding, clinging to him like you might fall apart. “You’ve been so good, Zuku—so good, baby—”

You pulled back just enough to look into his eyes—now blown wide, wild with want—and smiled.

“I want you to ruin me, Zuku.”

He let out the filthiest, neediest sound you’d ever heard, like your words physically wrecked him.

He thrust forward again, harder this time—enough to make you cry out.

He nuzzled against your neck now, lips brushing your skin, his voice lower—more vulnerable.

“Think you’re ready to take me, baby?” he asked, tilting your chin up again. “’Cause when I get inside you—I’m not stopping.”

You gasped his name, dizzy from the friction, from the way he was everywhere.

His eyes swept over you, dark and unreadable.

“Strip,” he said, calm. Too calm.

You blinked, breathless. Your jaw dropped slightly. But your thighs pressed together. You slowly sat up, pulling your shirt off one shoulder, then paused, lips curled in a challenge.

“If you want me naked so bad,” you purred, “you should do something about it, Zuku.”

His eyes flared. He was on you in a second. He grabbed the hem of your shirt and yanked it over your head, then dragged your shorts down your thighs in one rough pull, leaving you in your underwear.

“You’re real brave with your clothes on ya know?,” he muttered, kissing down your stomach, teeth scraping lightly at your hip.

“You really gonna fuck me like you’re mad?” you breathed, eyes fluttering shut as his tongue dipped below your waistband.

He leaned up, lips brushing your ear.

“No,” he whispered. “I’m gonna fuck you like I’ve been waiting.” god—you were done for.

His mouth was on you—

Hot, wet, perfect. His tongue moved like he was memorizing every part of you—slow drags, then sharp flicks over your clit that had you gasping, fingers digging into his curls.

“Izukuuu—”

“Say my name again like that,” he murmured, eyes flicking up, glazed and desperate. “Say it while you cum on my tongue.”

And you did. Hard. Arching up, thighs trembling around his head, crying out for him as the pressure snapped and pleasure crashed over you like a wave.

But he didn’t stop. Not even close.

He kept licking, slower now, gentle—like he was soothing you through the high. His hand trailed up your body, calloused fingers brushing your ribs, your breast, until he was hovering over you again.

His cock pressed hard and heavy against your thigh through his sweats.

You sat up as he straightened, taking off his shirt. Now seeing his barea chest rising and falling with every ragged breath. His hair stuck to his forehead, damp with sweat, his cheeks flushed, lips parted.

You reached down slowly, eyes locked on his, fingers curling into the waistband of his pants.

He didn’t stop you. Just watched. Watched with dark, hungry eyes, looking up at him like you were about to worship him.

You pulled his pants down, dragging his boxers with them, and—Your breath hitched.

His cock sprang free, flushed and hard, twitching as the cool air hit him. It bobbed once, landing right in front of your face, heavy and aching. You bit your lip, eyes wide with awe and want.

“Tell me again,” he whispered, voice low and wrecked, full of that ache he’d been holding back for so long. “Tell me I’ve been good. Tell me I deserve to fuck you.” His hand came up—not rough this time—just soft. Gentle. He cradled the back of your head like you were the most fragile thing in the world, fingers threading through your hair, rubbing slow circles into your scalp. His thumb brushed just behind your ear.

It was so tender it made your heart stutter.

“You’ve been good, Zuku,” you whispered, voice cracking as your hands fisted in the sheets. “So good to me. You waited. You were patient. You didn’t rush anything.”

He leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours again, eyes fluttering shut like he needed to feel everything. But then, in a snap, that softness twisted into something hotter. Darker.

He grabbed your neck and shoved you flat onto the bed so fast you barely had time to process it. Your back hit the mattress, breath stolen from your lungs, hands grasping at the sheets as he towered over you.

He let out a low groan, hips twitching forward. “Tell me I can.” his grip around your neck let up for you to breathe.

“You can. I want you inside me. Please, Izuku—I need you.” He finally gave in.

One hand braced on your thigh, the other gripping your waist, he sank into you slow at first—inch by inch, letting you feel every stretch, every bit of him until he bottomed out with a guttural sound.

You cried out, back arching, breath knocked from your lungs.

He snapped his hips forward, hard and deep, and you saw stars.

He was relentless now.

Each thrust slammed into you with dizzying force—deep, punishing, perfect. His grip on your waist had tightened, fingers digging into your skin like he couldn’t bear to let you go.

Your moans had turned to cries, hands scrambling to hold onto anything—him, the sheets, your sanity.

His thrusts grew rougher, more desperate—like something inside him had snapped completely, like the leash had finally given way.

The bed slammed into the wall over and over again, the headboard banging so loud you could barely hear yourself moan. Each thrust sent a sharp jolt through the frame, until even the bolts started to rattle loose beneath you.

“Izuku—” you gasped, hands scrambling at the sheets. “You’re gonna break the—”

CRACK.

“Baby I- I can’t stop” he panted, forehead pressed to yours. “I’m not deep enough in you.”

The headboard split with a sharp snap, wood splintering under the force of his grip as he braced himself, hips snapping forward with punishing rhythm.

Your thighs trembled, legs falling open wider just to take him, even as pain bloomed where his hips met yours. You knew you’d be bruised with dark marks between your legs.

“Z-Zuku—!” you gasped, eyes glassy, vision blurred. “Too much—!”

But your legs didn’t close. Your hips didn’t pull away. If anything, they lifted, begging for more.

Because god, it hurt, but it was so good. That line between pleasure and pain blurred until you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. Your body needed it. Needed him.

“I’m hurting you—” he choked out between thrusts, breath shaking as he slowed just for a second. “I—I don’t wanna hurt you—”

“You’re not,” you moaned, nails raking down his back. “You feel so fucking good, Izuku. Don’t stop. Please—don’t stop—”

His pace returned, rough and needy, but his hand slid to your face, cupping your cheek—tender, even as he wrecked you.

“You’re everything,” he panted, kissing your lips between thrusts. “You’re—fuck—you take me so well.”

Your body trembled, every nerve on fire, tears prickling in your eyes from the intensity, from how much he gave you—how deeply he wanted you.

And when his fingers found your clit and circled once, twice, just right—

You screamed. Your back arched off the mattress, a strangled scream ripped from your throat, and your whole body snapped.

The orgasm hit you like a wave. Blinding. Overwhelming. Your legs locked around him, hips bucking, hands fisting in his hair.

“ZUKU—!”

Your voice broke, trembling as you sobbed through it, clenching around him so hard his rhythm stuttered.

“Fuck, baby,” he hissed, head dropping to your neck. “You’re—fuck, you’re squeezing me so tight—!”

He was losing it.

You felt it in the way he started to fall apart—his thrusts erratic, his moans louder, deeper, needier. He braced his forehead against yours, eyes screwed shut, muscles shaking with the effort to hold on.

“I’m—baby, I’m gonna—fuck—I’m gonna come—”

You cupped his face this time, kissed him through your wrecked smile. “Do it. I want it in me. Izuku—please.”

That was all he needed.

With a strangled cry, he buried himself deep one last time—so deep—and came, hips jerking, body trembling above you as he gasped your name like a prayer. You felt the warmth flood inside you, the way his cock pulsed through every twitch.

Then everything went still.

Just the sound of your heartbeats. Your ragged breathing. His soft whimpers as he collapsed on top of you, chest heaving.

You wrapped your arms around him, threading fingers through his messy curls.

“Hey,” you whispered, still breathless. “You didn’t hurt me- I mean you hurt everything around us.” He lifted his head slowly, green eyes soft again—glassy, concerned. “promise?” You smiled, kissed the tip of his nose. “You were perfect, Zuku.”

A shy grin tugged at his lips, and he melted into you with a shaky laugh, arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you impossibly close.

“You drive me crazy,” he murmured.

“Good,” you whispered. “I want to be the only one who gets you like this.”

“You already are,” he said, pressing a kiss to your collarbone.

“I love you”

[munsonsmixtapes]

Eyes On Me

Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader

Simon is more than happy to worship you after you tell him how nervous you are to sleep with him for the first time.

cw: MDNI (18+) oral (f receiving) body worship

Thanks @the-witty-pen-name for getting me to hop on the Ghost train!

You’re standing in Simon’s bathroom as you hype yourself up for what’s to come. You’re wearing the lingerie set you bought specifically for him but now that you have it on, you’re nervous that he’s not going to like it. This is going to be your first time together and you don’t know why you’re so anxious about it. 

Okay, maybe you do know. None of your partners have ever been able to make you come and even though you know it’s not your fault, you can’t help but feel like it is. You’ve spent so many dates, terrified to go to the next step and Simon has been the only person who’s been willing to take it slow. 

You’ve been on so many amazing dates in the past few months and after many makeout sessions in various rooms in either of your apartments that you’ve always cut short before going to the next step, you’re finally going to sleep together. 

You feel so lucky because he’s been nothing but a gentleman, going at your pace even though you know he’s been wanting more than you’ve given. He’s been a gentleman in every other area as well. He brings you flowers every time he sees you, he opens doors for you and even holds your hand or has his arm wrapped around you in some way since he always needs to be touching you. Not that you mind. You never mind. 

Your heart races in your chest as you unlock the door and open it, shutting your eyes tight as you step into the bedroom. Simon is sitting on the bed and he can’t believe his eyes when he sees you. You look so-beautiful. He already can’t believe that out of all the men that you’ve probably got on speed dial that he’s the one you’ve chosen to spend your time with. And here and now, he’s convinced that he’s seeing an angel. 

“Fuck,” is all he’s able to say as he lets his eyes slowly rake over your body. The dark blue looks so good on your skin and he doesn’t know why he’s embarrassed that he’s already hard just from looking at you. His eyes snap up to your face to see if you’re looking and is confused to see that your eyes are shut tight. 

“Why are your eyes closed, angel?” He asks, his voice soft. “Come here,” he reaches for your hands and pulls you to stand in front of him. His thumbs rub along your knuckles and that calms your anxiety just a bit. “Look at me, please.”

But you don’t look at him. You can’t. Your bare skin is burning under his gaze and you can’t get yourself to loosen up. Your shoulders are to your ears and your eyes are shut so tightly that you’re seeing stars. You want to let go, to show Simon a side of you that no one else has seen, but you just can’t. 

You’re getting frustrated and feel tears welling up in your eyes because you wanted this night to be perfect and now you’re ruining it with your insecurities. Your hands slip from his and you bring them up to your face so he can’t see you cry which seems pointless since you know that he’ll hear you anyway. 

“Oh, angel,” he says, his voice even softer than before as he stands. He pulls you into his arms as his hands move up and down your back just like always. It’s the thing that always soothes you. That mixed with the sweet words he says softly in your ear. “What’s going on, my love?” 

You can’t get yourself to tell him. The words will definitely sound silly when they’re said out loud, but you feel like telling Simon will ease your mind. He’s always so good at that. You pull back  and when your teary eyes look into his, he feels his heart break into a million pieces. 

“No one’s seen me like this in so long so I feel nervous.” the words sit between the two of you and you feel even more nervous when he doesn’t speak. He’s just trying to gather his thoughts. The news is surprising to him. He has no idea why someone wouldn’t want to take you to bed. You are the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen and he can’t believe that you chose him. 

“You have every right to be nervous,” he replies. “This is a big step we’re taking. If you’re not ready-”

“I am ready,” you cut him off. “I just-my past partners haven’t made me-” you cut yourself off, cringing at your words, but now that you’ve started your sentence, you have to finish it. It doesn’t seem like you need to since Simon nods, getting the gist. 

“You know that’s not your fault, right?” He asks, his hands caressing your face as the pads of his thumbs wipe away your tears. You nod as you bunch his shirt in your hands, leaning your head against his chest for a brief moment before looking up at him again. 

“I know it’s not my fault and I-I want to try if that’s okay with you.”

“Oh, angel,” he smiles widely. “That’s more than okay with me.” He leans down, his lips slowly finding yours in a featherlight kiss. This is exactly what you’ve done plenty of times before. This is good. This is safe. This is comfortable. 

He takes it slow and you know it must be hard for him when you feel his bulge pressing up against you. You appreciate how gentle he’s being with you, that he’s willing to go at your pace despite how close he is to bursting. 

His hands move down to your waist as his tongue licks into your mouth. You moan into his mouth and he swears he’s going to come right there. You’ve moaned before, but not like this. It’s loud and breathy and desperate. God, you really have no idea how hot you are, do you?

“You’re killing me,” he says against your lips. First you wear this little thing and now you’re making those pretty sounds? It’s like you want me dead.” You’re pushing him towards the bed and moves with you, backing up until he falls onto the mattress. 

You’re standing in front of him and he pulls you to him, pressing feather light kisses to your stomach, letting his fingers dip into the waistband of your panties. He’s whispering the sweetest words against your skin and you feel yourself getting progressively more wet with each compliment. 

“So pretty,” Simon whispers against your stomach. “Can’t believe I’m lucky enough to be able to see you like this.” You feel weak in your knees and he’s quick to pull you into his lap before lying you onto the bed. He stands up, hovering over you and seeing you like this, spreading your legs for him, seeing your soaking wet, underwear, god, you’re making him lose his fucking mind and you’re not even doing it on purpose. 

Simon gets onto his knees between your legs. He widens them even more before bringing his head between your thighs. He takes the waistband of your panties between his teeth and pulls them down your legs, his eyes on yours the entire time he does it. You’re looking at him with your mouth wide open like you can’t believe what he’s doing because you can’t. 

You’ve never been so turned on by someone before and for the first time, you’re actually excited for what’s to come. For the first time, this doesn’t feel like a performance with fake moans and orgasms just so you can rush out the door after it’s over. This time, you want to stay afterwards and have him hold you in his arms while he tells you how well you did. It all just sounds so perfect.

“Eyes on me, angel,” he says, his voice still so soft. “Wanna make you feel good. Is that okay?” 

“Yes,” you whisper, your voice barely audible but the way you’re looking at him, very enthusiastically, he knows it’s okay to continue. 

“Can’t believe this is all for me,” he says as he looks down at your cunt. You’re wet beyond belief and he feels honored to be the cause of it. He slowly raises his hand and brings it up to your cunt. His fingers slow inch inside and you can’t help but let out a noise. You’re not sure if it’s out of pleasure or pain but what you do know is that you need more. 

Simon keeps his eyes on yours as his fingers pump in and out. You’re tight and considering your inexperience, he’s trying to be gentle even though he wants to go harder, to make you come completely undone, to get your slick all over his fingers. He wants to bury his face between your thighs and devour you like a man starved. 

But he’s a gentleman so he’s going to be nice. He’s hard beyond belief watching you moan as his pumps get progressively faster. You look so pretty like this and he’s staring at you, so focused on your face as he takes a mental picture that he will definitely be using to get himself the next time he needs some relief. 

“Faster,” you whine, your head already spinning. He’s barely done anything and you already feel close. You’ve never gotten this far with fingers that weren’t your own and you don’t know why you ever doubted Simon. 

“As you wish,” he responds and as his pace picks up, you feel yourself start to loosen up, to enjoy what’s happening and not feel like it’s a chore. He continues to pump and brings his face down to your cunt, his lips inching towards your clit which he brings into his mouth, giving it a rough suck, chuckling as he hears you gasp. 

He continues to lick and suck on your clit as his fingers keep working, your moans encouraging him to keep going. As he focuses on your clit, his fingers slow to a stop before sliding out of you, Simon now dedicated to devouring you. 

He brings your legs to rest on his shoulders, still making sure that he can see you from where he is. Your back hits the bed as you throw your head back, your back arching in absolute pleasure. Once he’s happy with what he sees, he shoves his face into your cunt, his mouth moving down to your slit to give it some love, still licking and sucking before he gives the spot a bite to test the waters. 

Your thighs tighten against his head so he takes that as an invitation to do it again and again, repeating the motion until you’re screaming his name and even then he doesn’t stop because you just taste so good.

This is easily the best orgasm you’ve ever received and you apparently want him to know that with the way his name falls from your lips in a loud moan. You don’t know when your hands got into his hair but now they’re tugging on it as his head is still between your thighs. 

Simon pulls away with a wide smile, feeling a sense of pride not only for himself for being able to get you there, but also for you because you were able to let all the unease go, to let yourself feel pleasure. And he couldn’t be more proud of you.

[cosmicmunsonwrites]

all the times we used to have

best friend!rafe cameron x innocent!virgin!fem!reader

cw — fingering, very innocent and slightly oblivious reader, mentions of fighting

summary — rafe loves his best friend.

authors note — new au!!! please request

do not copy or post my work anywhere else.

best friend!rafe who absolutely worships the ground that his best friend walks on. hes the type to rip off his jacket and place it over a puddle just so you can avoid dirtying your pretty shoes that you love so much.

best friend!rafe who would’ve normally never gotten so close with someone so completely opposite of him but is so extremely thankful he did. he wouldn’t know what to do without you.

best friend!rafe who is careful what he talks about around his best friend to avoid ruining her strictly positive perception of the world.

best friend!rafe who protects his best friend with his life. he once beat a guy within an inch of life at one of toppers party for giving you a dirty look. no one was ever allowed to disrespect you.

best friend!rafe who sometimes had to excuse himself to the bathroom when you’d come over in those pretty crop tops and extremely tiny shorts. when you bent over just enough, he was able to catch a glimpse of your lacy underwear that had his biting down to surprise a groan.

best friend!rafe who was overly touchy with you but said it was normal for a friendship. its how things worked.

best friend!rafe who has driven and paid for everything during the duration of your friendship. you see something you want? done. bought instantly. you want to go somewhere? he’s already outside waiting on you with his truck.

best friend!rafe who lets you decorate the passenger side of the car and no longer lets anyone else sit there. if he picks up his boys? they sit in the back or he takes another car.

best friend!rafe who exchanges “i love you”s with you because he convinced you its what friends do. you loved each other so it was normal.

best friend!rafe who stayed up late at night wondering if things would ever be different between the two of you. especially when you slept over at each others houses and woke up in bed together all cuddled up.

best friend!rafe who convinced you that kissing was something all best friends did. it was a way to show they care about each other.

best friend!rafe who somehow managed to get you in his lap, grinding against him all needy as you shared a sloppy makeout session. when you asked what was rubbing up against you and why it was making you tingle down there, he told you it was nothing and it just happened when two people really care about each other.

best friend!rafe who was the first to ever finger you and work you through your first orgasm because you were on your period and it hurt so bad. your back pressed to his chest with a towel beneath you as his fingers plunged deep inside of you at such a soft and slow pace. and when a mix of cum and blood seeped onto his hand and you hid your face out of embarrassment, he comforted you and said it wasn’t a big deal. its what best friends are for.

[polarisjisung]

ꨄ X-O, KISS ME, DON'T SAY NO

KISSES WITH ENHYPEN

pairings: enha x fem! reader genre: fluff wc: 1k warnings: use of petnames, slightly suggestive notes: I wrote this for dream had to do it for enha too ! | LIBRARY

HEESEUNG — desperate, flirty kisses

A simple peck doesn't exist for Heeseung. You're like his drug, once he gets a taste, he's addicted. Quick morning kisses are impossible. One peck on your forehead easily turns into a full makeout session and suddenly you're late for work. And not for a second is Heeseung worried about your impending anger, instead he'll try and convince you to call in sick, no work meant more time for kisses, right?

“Heeseung, I have places to be” You know it's no use arguing but you seem to try anyway.

You'd been in this situation countless times before, and it ended the same way each time. In your defence, Heeseung was pretty good at convincing.

“Yeah, want me to list a few?”

Something about a kiss-driven Heeseung is so exceptionally flirty. You both know that you're never getting out of this your way. “My arms, the bed, against the wall if you're into that.

Okay maybe you didn't take much convincing either.

“All of the above?”

Heeseung can't dispute that.

JAY — forehead kisses

Jay's kisses are spontaneous, but so tender and loving, like a scene cut out straight from a high school romance.

You're perched up on the sofa with your nose stuck in one of those picture-perfect romance books you love so much.

Jay can barely make out your face from the material of the hood pulled over your head.

You look cute. There's a pair of blue light glasses resting on your nose and your eyebrows are furrowed with concentration. Jay couldn't help but leave a soft peck against your forehead. He takes a couple moments to just sit beside you and stare, truly wondering how he ever got so lucky.

Next thing you know, his hand moves carefully to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear, his thumb positioned just under your chin, guiding you into a slow, soft kiss.

JAKE — messy kisses

Jake kisses like a man starved.

Hands tugging at your hair, arms around your waist, loud, shallow pants filling the room. It's like he can't get enough.

He pulls back to stare at you, breathless. But only for a moment.

To Jake, catching his breath seems awfully difficult when you're staring up at him with swollen lips and a sultry gaze.

“I could kiss you forever.”

His words are more a promise than a statement, and how could you not believe him when he pulls you back in so impossibly close, letting his cold fingertips run across your skin.

Both his hands cup your cheeks, passionately. Lips moving over yours with an unsteady, fervent rhythm, and so much urgency, you swear you feel your heart beat out of your chest.

Each time you kiss is like the first, brash. But Jake always holds you so tight, like he's afraid you'll disappear the second he lets go.

When he does finally pull away, Jake exhales a soft laugh, giggling almost.

“You alright?”

You can only nod, burying your face in the crook of his neck.

SUNGHOON — distracted kisses

Playful fights or debates like whether orange juice is better than apple (it's not) or whether milk comes before or after the cereal always seem to arise with you and Sunghoon.

Part of it has to do with the fact that Sunghoon thinks you look so insanely fine when you're passionately arguing your point forwards.

But somewhere along the way Sunghoon stops listening to what you're saying, eyes zeroing in on your lips when he'd come to a sudden realisation. That shade of lipstick suited you, a little too well maybe.

“Hoon, are you even listening?”

He nods, he's not listening.

He wouldn't have this problem if the lipstick wasn't there. But you were still explaining in full detail, hand gestures and everything. And as much as he loved to hear you ramble, Sunghoon could not concentrate.

He was going insane— he needed to kiss you. Now.

You don't really know why you continue, seeing as Sunghoon's clearly not present, but you can't help but gasp when he pulls you in close and crashes his lips to yours.

“You're right, I wasn't listening”

JUNGWON — soft morning kisses

Soft and intimate, that's what kissing Jungwon feels like.

There’s quiet whispers of ‘I love you's’ and the sweetest compliments.

Even if you've just rolled out of bed, when your hair's a mess and your eyes can barely open all the way, Jungwon thinks you're beautiful.

“Good morning my love” he presses a kiss to the back of your head, just below your ear as he slips past you on the couch, making his way to the kitchen so he can check on breakfast.

But he can only stay away for so long, running back a few minutes later with your morning coffee and a couple kisses to keep you occupied while you wait for it to cool down.

“I love you.” he'd keep it short and sweet, holding your face in hands with so much care. By the time breakfast is ready, not a single inch of your pretty face remains unkissed and that's an achievement Jungwon is insanely proud of.

SUNOO — giggly kisses

You and Sunoo are like the epitome of PDA— cuddling, quick pecks on the cheeks, always holding hands— you have to have your hands on each other at all times. It's sickeningly sweet.

And matters only get worse when your behind closed doors, Sunoo would spend all his time with his lips glued to yours if he could.

He's obsessed with you, and your strawberry flavoured chapstick is anything but helpful. He needs kisses, no matter what it is you're doing.

“Sunoo, I'm busy.” You roll your eyes at him playfully, but he only shrugs, spinning you around on your desk chair.

“Too busy for kisses?”

When you nod, it's Sunoo's turn to roll his eyes.

“Wrong answer.”

And he crashes his lips to yours just as he had intended, illiciting a few giggles from you, laughing at his urgency.

NI-KI — kisses in the rain

Kisses never last too long with riki, quick pecks, passionate and loving but short. Long kisses, something you'd both be down to try but had never actually made the effort to. It's felt scary, awkward, maybe?

The two of you always had a more easygoing relationship, so your more affectionate gestures had always been kept to a minimum.

Until one night when your car broke down and you found yourself stranded in the middle of nowhere.

Rain pelted down from the sky and the wind whistled loudly, but even so, you'd be a fool not to step out of the car and watch the sunset in person.

You and Riki sat with your legs crossed, dangerously close to the cliff edge, bodies pressed against each other as an attempt to conserve heat.

There was something about that moment— maybe the soft glow of the sky as the sun dipped just below the horizon — or the way your eyes beamed and sparkled as each strand of your hair slowly grew wet. Something so raw.

Riki couldn't even bring himself to hesitate, pulling you into his lap in one swift motion and kissing you urgently.

One hand reached back to grip your hair, and another cradled your chin, guiding your lips further into his.

Safe to say, kissing in the rain might just be his favourite.

taglist: @chenlezip @nanawrlds @mystverse @jenobubbles @flaminghotyourmom @lotties-readings

[em1i2a3]

Night Sky

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x Super Soldier!Thunderbolts!Fem!Reader!

Summary: You and Bob are getting ready to attend your first gala together, and the both of you get increasingly distracted by one another, leading to an intense night of stolen glances and sneaking around the gala to get some relief.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Smut and Fluff y’all, Reader and Bob are in a fairly fresh relationship, this is the first gala they’ve ever attended (it’s Val’s first gala she’s throwing for the team), The Reader and Bob are in their honeymoon phase (y’know that phase where you literally can’t get enough of your partner? lol)

Smut Warnings: Unprotected P in V Sex (I’m not the sex police or anything…But I mean…Wrap it up y’all), Dirty Talk, Teasing, Heavy Makeout Session, Begging, Fingering, Oral Sex (Female Receiving), Semi-public sex, Cum Eating (technically)

Author’s Note: Y’all…I’m starting all these series and I’m so excited to literally attack and devour all of them at this point. So exciting! I’ve been going through my old drafts that I had at the beginning of writing for Bob and there’s so many ideas I feel like I can expand on and I’m so excited to share them with all of you <3

Word Count: 8,190

The bathroom door was open, cracked just enough for the warm light to spill into the bedroom in golden ribbons, pooling onto the dark-stained hardwood floors in glowing strips that stretch toward the foot of the bed. The bedroom itself was dim, hushed by the setting sun filtering in through the gauzy curtains, casting everything in soft, bruised lavender and light gold. The contrast between the two lights–muted twilight in the bedroom and the cozy amber of the bathroom–made the space feel dreamlike, suspended in time in a way, caught somewhere between indulgence and anticipation for the night's events.

The air is heavy with warmth and the remnants of steam, still clinging from the shower you and Bob had taken together fifteen minutes ago. The mirrors are no longer fogged, but the scent remains–intimate and heady. Your perfume kisses the air, soaking into the walls now: tart mandarin rind softened by crushed blueberries, mixed with fresh neroli and a whisper of earthy sage. It was absorbed into your skin and hair, thick and rich, and Bob swears that it’s coating his tongue. Every time he breathes in, it’s like tasting you without even touching, and it’s driving him insane with thoughts of what he wanted to do to you.

You were standing barefoot at the bathroom sink, your toes curled slightly against the sticky tiles. The skin of your legs were still faintly dewy from the shower, a sheen of moisture plastered on the curves of your calves and thighs. You wore nothing but a strapless black bra that cupped your breasts like it was created with your body in mind–they were smooth, sculpted satin that gleamed faintly beneath the overhead light–and the matching lace cheeky-cut underwear that you paired it with purposely. The lace was fine and intricate, clinging to the round of your ass, teasing the line where your thighs began, cutting high and soft like a sigh. The sheer panels of it glittered faintly when you shifted around. There was no pretense or artifice, it was just you–confident, stunning, and absolutely breathtaking.

Your hip was cocked slightly to one side in front of the mirror, a natural bend that made the curve of your waist more pronounced. One hand steadied you on the counter, fingers splayed across the marble as you leaned forward, close to the mirror, lips pursed and tucked between your teeth in concentration. In your other hand, you held a sleek black wand, drawing the sharp wing of your eyeliner with slow, practiced precision–like you had done it a thousand times. Each pass of the brush was patient and careful–so still and measured it looked mechanical in a way–like everything had turned to stone alongside you just so you wouldn’t break the line.

The bathroom mirror captured your profile perfectly–the subtle tension in your jaw, the delicate flutter of your lashes, the slope of your bare neck. Light glimmered on your collarbones, across the subtle swell of your chest, down the smooth plane of your belly. You shifted slightly–unthinking–leaning closer to perfect the flick of your liner, and your back arched just a little. The motion was automatic, unconscious. But it shifted your whole silhouette: the new angle drew your butt back a bit, accentuating the curve of your spine, which in turn made the lace of your underwear ride up just a little more. You didn’t notice.

But he certainly did.

Bob was standing in your bedroom in front of the tall mirror that was mounted on the inside of your closet door. It was angled in such a way that it reflected the entire bathroom doorway–and you, framed in the soft yellow light like you were carved out of something absolute and divine.

He was in the middle of getting dressed, or he had been until he caught sight of you. Now it seemed like he had been turned to stone. His tailored black dress shirt–fresh from the hanger and steamed straight–was only half-buttoned. He had gotten all the way up to the center, but the top buttons were still open, revealing the smooth line of his collarbone and his soft muscles beneath his pale, lightly freckled skin. He had slicked his light brown hair back with some water and a comb, but it was already starting to fray, coming out of its confines to frame his face slightly. His sleeves were unrolled and hanging, his belt was unbuckled, and the bottom of his shirt was still loose over his waistband. The tie that he had draped around his neck–which was emerald green to match your dress–could’ve been considered decoration at this point, because he hadn’t moved in minutes. His pupils had dilated so much from staring at you that the oceanic blue was barely visible, and he could feel something twisting low in his gut, burning hot under his skin. The longer he stared at you, the more the image seared into him, into memory, into need and desire.

The light from the bathroom hit you just right, illuminating the soft curve of your spine, and in that glowing sliver of reflection he could see the faint lines he had left on your back in the shower. His scratch marks, from when you had gasped against him, fingers curled into his shoulders, bodies pressed slick and close under the hot water that burned the both of you. Those marks were fading already, but in this lighting, they stood out just enough to taunt him. It was proof that he had you once–and the relentless reminder that he wanted you again right then and there.

His stomach clenched.

All he could think about was walking toward you–quietly, so you wouldn’t notice him until you were stepping past the threshold between the bedroom and bathroom–and lifting you onto the edge of the sink. The thought of your thighs spreading open for him, your calves knocking gently against the cabinets, your head tippin back as he buried himself in every inch of your body–it played like a reel behind his eyes, vivid and urgent. He imagined your clammy hands, reaching for his shoulders to balance yourself. He imagined the sound you would make when he kissed you just so he could taste your lipgloss, or when he grabbed your hips and–

He swallowed hard, shaking himself out of his thoughts. The gala was too important.

There were too many first impressions that needed to be made. Val had been clear–this night mattered, you all needed a good public image, to display trust and unity. If two people from the team didn’t show up to the event, there would be questions, headlines, consequences, and probably a long winded lecture about how you tarnished the team’s attempt to look good in the public eye again. Though this didn’t stop Bob from wishing that you and him could be locked in this warm, perfumed room for the entire night, and the Sentry Serum certainly wasn’t helping his case.

Ever since that first time–when you had grabbed him by the collar of his sweater and kissed him like your life was on the line–Bob had been put under your spell. One taste of you and it was over for him. He wanted you constantly. Insatiably. It was like you were seared into him–into his bloodstream, his bones, and into every sharp, aching edge of his restraint.

And sure…You had the Super Soldier Serum, but you handled it all differently. You had discipline, and you had mellowed out over time. Gone were the days when you could go at it for hours, all day and all night, until you and your partners were both gasping for breath and dizzy from the high. Bob mourned the loss of that era–even though he didn’t even exist to you back then. He often told you, half-joking and half-devastated, that he wished the serum he took existed just a few years ago when you were clawing at the walls like that.

Even now though, your sex drive still met his tenfold. You were just better at managing it. At holding yourself together in moments like this, when the room felt full of pheromones and half dressed people. When the air was thick with tension and heat.

Bob was doing his best though. He really was.

His eyes glanced over at the emerald green dress you had picked for the gala that was still hanging on the closet door beside the mirror. It was simple, strapless, and elegant. It was going to hug every curve of your body, make your waist look like it had been drawn in with ink, and bare your shoulders and collarbones completely. He was already picturing you in it. Twirling once, maybe. Pressing into his side at the gala, while the both of you ordered drinks, and posed for the cameras.

But he was also picturing it crumpled on the floor of this bedroom, somewhere near the foot of the bed, or bunched up at your hips as he drove into you, his hand pressed against your mouth to muffle your cries because you were both too far gone to remember the concept of quiet.

He sighed at the thought, before reaching back to his shirt buttons with unsteady fingers, managing one, then another. His throat felt tight, and his pants did too, but he chose to attempt to ignore it.

And then you said his name.

”Bob.” Your voice was casual, light, like you had absolutely no inclination of what you were doing to him, “Can you come here and tell me if this is even?” He almost groaned aloud, but he managed to keep it locked behind his teeth as he took a slow, steadying breath and stepped away from the mirror. Each movement felt like it required divine strength. He crossed the floor in a few slow strides, and stepped into the bathroom doorway, leaning against it like a man wounded. Your gaze met his through the mirror for a moment before you turned, fully, lazily, like you weren’t wearing next to nothing and didn’t just know exactly what kind of hell you were putting him through. You raised your chin slightly and motioned him forward with two fingers, your lips pulling into a little pout.

”You can’t see if they’re even if you’re standing all the way over there,” You murmured, sweet and dangerous all at once. Bob let out a long breath through his nose–a low, strained exhale like he was trying to summon every last scrap of restraint that hadn’t already been incinerated from the heat building in his stomach.

He shuffled closer with slow, measured steps, biting the inside of his bottom lip. His pupils were still blown wide, and now that he was close–chest to chest close–you could feel the heat rolling off of him in steady waves, and see little flecks of gold shimmering in his eyes. His dress shirt was still slightly open at the collar, and his jaw was clenched like he was holding back something absolutely feral. He reached up with one large, steady hand and gently tilted your chin toward him. His fingers were warm against your jaw, the pads of them rough and trembling. You closed your eyes beneath his touch, lashes fluttering shut as the golden light spilled down over your face completely.

Your breathing synced with his almost immediately–like you had tethered to each other and somehow became one body. His minty toothpaste lingered faintly on every exhale, sweet and sharp, ghosting over your skin as he leaned in to inspect your eyeliner. You felt the heat of his breath along the bridge of your nose, across your cheekbones, down your lips.

”They’re perfect…” He murmured, voice rough and strained, “Sh–Sharp enough to kill a man.” A smirk tugged slow and wicked onto your glossed lips as your eyes opened just slightly glinting under the bathroom light.

”A man named…Bob, perhaps?” You teased. He groaned–loudly this time, no restrained left in it–as your hands slid up to rest on his stomach, fingers brushing against the slight part in his shirt. You could feel the way his muscles clenched beneath your palms, his whole body buzzing under your touch like he was barely hanging on.

“You’re an ev–evil…Diabolical woman,” He whispered, like he was cursing you and praising you all at once. His voice was cracked around the edges, laced with tension and want. He leaned in slowly, and you didn’t move. You didn’t pull back. You just tilted your head slightly, lips parting like a challenge, like you wanted him to close the distance. Your voice dropped low and sultry as your hands fanned wider against his stomach, curling slightly at the hem of his shirt.

“Oh yeah? Are you going to punish me for it?” You asked. Bob froze, his eyebrows raising, and hands tightening just slightly, one cupping your jaw, the other holding the counter–steadying himself because he didn’t want to pass out. His nose brushed yours.

”You know exactly what yo–you’re doing,” You nodded slowly, deliberately, your smirk blooming into something darker.

”That I do, Robert.” He let out a breath that was part laugh, part grunt, his face heating up at the way you said his name.

“Y/N…I sw–swear to God,” He muttered, jaw clenched, “We’ll be late if yo–you keep pushing it.” You hummed softly, trailing your nails over the skin of his abdomen–it was featherlight, but sharp enough to make his fingers twitch against your jaw, like he was trying to hold himself back. Your tongue poked out to lick your bottom lip slowly.

”Think you can fuck me in ten minutes?” Bob inhaled sharply through his nose. He didn’t move at first–just stared down at you, like the very question had ignited something primal in him that was just beyond the surface. Then he leaned in, his mouth brushing the shell of your ear as he whispered, voice wrecked and shaking:

”You’ve got me so wo–worked up I really think I won’t be able to last more than five to be honest.” You giggled, low and teasing, as your hands slid further up his shirt, skimming the ridges of his abs, feeling them tense and move beneath your touch.

“Then be a good boy,” You started, lips at his cheek, “And get me on the bed.” His restraint broke with a breathless sigh. He gripped the backs of your thighs and lifted you up with a low grunt, your legs instantly locking around his waist, your ankles crossing at his back like instinct. You kissed him the second he hoisted you up against him, your hands on his cheeks, mouth messy and open, devouring. The stickiness of your gloss clung to both your lips, smearing onto his in smudged cherry streaks. You kissed him like you had nothing to lose, and he kissed you like it might be the last time he ever got to.

He stumbled blindly toward the bed, nearly crashing into the nightstand in his urgency. Your moans were low and breathy in his ear, your fingers tugging his hair when you pulled back for just a second.

“Let’s be sure we don’t ruin my makeup…Cause then we’ll really be late.” You whispered, breathless from the kiss. Bob’s laugh was gravelly, bordering on dangerous. He gave your ass a sharp smack that made you gasp, then smirked when your nails dug into him in response.

”I’ll be sure not to,” He rasped, and then kissed you again–slower this time, but somehow even more urgent than before. He felt around for the mattress, then gently laid you down on your back near the edge of the bed. His hands were everywhere–palming your thighs, sliding up your sides, brushing over your ribs–and then, with a quiet groan, he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your underwear and tugged them down your legs.

”Fu–Fuck, Y/N,” He whispered, eyes dragging over you like he was seeing you for the first time all over again, “God, you’re so fucking beautiful. I want you co–constantly. You have no idea how hard it is being near you like this, all the time. All I fu–fucking do is think about you.” You smiled softly, feeling yourself growing hot beneath his gaze, as he dropped your underwear beside the bed. His hands moved fast now–stripping out of his dress pants and boxers in one motion, moving them over so they didn’t get crumpled. His cock was already flushed, aching, and leaking, and his pale cheeks flushed deeper when he looked down at how worked up he already was.

You writhed softly on the bed, lifting your knees just a bit, tilting your hips in an invitation. Your hands reached for him again, pushing his shirt up his stomach to feel the skin beneath, You knew where he liked to be touched–how he liked it when your nails scraped lightly over the soft muscle just above his navel, how his hips jerked when your palms pressed low and firm. You did it now, slowly, smiling when his breath caught and his cock twitched. A soft groan escaped his throat.

”I’m really not going to la–last,” He warned, as he wrapped one hand around the base of himself, “You’re already doing too much. You’re just–fuck–you’re just so perfect.” He moved between your thighs, sliding the flushed head of his cock through your arousal–slick, slow, and with the goal to tease. He pressed it against your clit, dragging it in slow circles, smearing precum and slick in messy strokes, making your thighs tremble slightly. Your back arched, and your hips lifted slightly to chase the sensation.

”Does that fe–feel good?” He asked, voice low and filthy, “You like that, hm? You like how wet you are for me even though I didn’t even touch you?”

“Yes,” You breathed, panting softly, your nails digging into his skin again, “Bob, please. Don’t tease me–fuck, I’m already ready. I need you in me.” His head fell forward slightly.

”I could slide right in,” He continued, teasing your entrance before trailing back up to your clit again, “Could just fucking bu–bury myself in you.” You brought your free hand up and wrapped it around his wrist.

”Bob…Fuck me please. I need it–I need it so fucking badly.” He sighed, leaning down slowly, bracing himself with one hand by your head, the other guiding himself to your entrance. He kissed you again–slower this time, sweet and desperate–then rested his forehead to yours and whispered.

”Gonna fill you up, stay st–still for me.” And with one, slow thrust, he pushed inside. The stretch was instant and perfect–like you were built to take him in with ease. Your slick heat welcomed him inch by inch, and the both of you gasped in euphoric unison–Bob’s jaw falling open as he watched your eyes flutter shut, until his hips pressed flush to you, his whole body trembling.

“Jesus Christ…Oh Je–Jesus…I–I can’t.” He moaned, biting his bottom lip, almost drawing blood. You reached up to caress his heated cheek, running your thumb along the smooth skin just beneath his eye, as you wrapped your legs around his hips, pulling him even closer, locking him in.

”You said five minutes…Prove it.” You whispered against his mouth, with a devilish smile coming up on your lips. He let out a strangled groan at your words, his mouth crashing into yours with a sharp desperate heat. It wasn’t soft this time–your teeth knocked, your breath caught, your lips parted on a gasp that he swallowed whole. His body pressed harder against yours, hand leaving your hip to grab your wrist, pinning it down beside your head as he rutted into you with a force that bordered on feral. Your back arched off the bed, head tipping, eyes fluttering as he thrust into you with that aching, purposeful pace–deep, rhythmic, punishingly good. The slick sounds of your bodies moving together filled the quiet room, only slightly muffled by the way you both tried to keep your moans quiet, gritted behind clenched teeth and bitten lips.

”F–Fuck,” Bob rasped, his voice cracking, “You’re ma–made for me…Squeezing me so good–I can barely–“ Your hips lifted to meet his, and his head dropped, groaning into your neck. Your free hand reached up and swept his hair from his forehead, damp now, soft and curling loose again from where he’d tried to comb it earlier. His mouth hovered against your jaw, hot and trembling.

You were pulsing around him, each stroke sending your muscles fluttering tight, and he felt it, every time–made him whimper with it, a sound so breathless and raw it turned your blood molten.

“Look at you,” He choked, still thrusting into you with that ruined rhythm. “Pulling me in, taking me so deep–“ You squeezed around him deliberately and his hips stuttered. He whined–high and desperate–his thrusts becoming erratic, hands tightening where he held you down.

“I’m gonna…Fuck…I’m cumming–” He buried himself in you with one last deep thrust, so deep it punched the air out of your lungs. His whole body trembled violently as he let go, cock twitching inside you, his breath stalling out against your skin. You felt it immediately–warmth, thick and spreading, coating your walls as he spilled inside you, filling you up. You clutched at his back as he trembled through it, his body pressed fully against yours now, his face hidden in the crook of your neck. His weight was comforting, grounding, and you both stayed like that for a long, ragged breath.

He collapsed over you like gravity had finally claimed him, his heart pounding hard against your chest, breaths coming fast and shallow. You let out a long sigh, brushing your lips against his temple.

“Mmm…Now you’re gonna be hot and bothered all night knowing you’re dripping out of me under that dress of mine.” Bob let out a breathless, strangled laugh, still dazed, his face flushed and sticky where your gloss still kissed his skin.

”I think we’re both gonna be going cr–crazy…” He huffed, voice muffled against your neck, “But let’s–let’s play nice with each ot–other…No teasing, please. I literally won’t be able to handle it.” You smirked, shifting just enough for your thighs to squeeze around his hips.

”No promises, Bob.”

——————————

The gala was in full swing.

Lights glittered like champagne bubbles across the high ceiling of the ballroom, casting silver and gold refractions against the glassy floor. Crystal chandeliers shimmered above like suspended stars, flickering with every subtle sway of air. Music drifted in soft and elegant from a string quartet tucked near the floral arrangements, their instruments creating a lull of sophistication meant to distract from the silent tension that came with the first Thunderbolts appearance.

Everyone had arrived in the same limo–one of those stretch black monsters outfitted for appearances, not comfort. You were all piled inside like a ticking bomb: Alexei took up half the bench seat just manspreading, Yelena sat slanted in the middle row nervously fiddling with the top of her pantsuit, Ava shifted against the window staring out into the city that passed by, Bucky had his arms crossed and eyes narrowed at Walker’s knee bouncing too close to his, and Walker had been trying–and failing–to make casual conversation to fill the silence. Bob had sat next to you the whole time, tense and warm beside you, his thigh pressed tight to yours, one arm slung over the back of the seat while you kept your legs crossed just to keep from shifting directly into his lap.

Now, though–now that the flashbulbs had stopped and you were inside, shielded from the camera shutters and the scrutiny of the security and press–it was easier to breathe.

The bar was low-lit and mirrored, sleek glass shelves stacked with every top-shelf liquor bottle imaginable. But neither of you or Bob were drinking–both by choice, both out of necessity. He didn’t trust what even a buzz would do to his control with the serum thrumming hot in his blood, and he didn’t want to test that tonight of all nights. And you…You liked keeping your wits about you when you were this close to him, especially when you were currently feeling him leak out of you with every step you took.

Bob stood beside you in all black, and somehow, it made him look more powerful than when he wore the cape. The tailored dress shirt fit him like a second skin, the cut sharp at his broad shoulders and tapering down to his trim waist. The top buttons were done now, but not all the way–just enough to keep things proper, just enough to reveal a faint peek of the freckled skin at the base of his throat. The sleeves were rolled at his wrists to show the expensive timepiece you had helped him pick out for the night, the emerald tie knotted tight and straight down his chest, exactly matching the deep green of your gown. He smelled like citrus and heat, sandalwood and ozone, a faint spritz of your perfume–clean skin, warm silk, and the barely-there ghost of sex. You had helped him slick his hair back after your quickie, palms soothing through the soft light brown strands as he leaned down for you, eyes on yours the whole time like he couldn’t focus on anything else. It had dried by this point, styled but slightly tousled at the temples, because your fingers couldn't resist touching him.

He looked perfect. And you knew it.

You turned your head toward him slightly, glass lifted to your lips, and looked at him over the rim with a slow blink that made your lashes kiss your cheekbones. The drink was cool against your tongue–sparkling water with blood orange and something floral, maybe rose–but the look you gave him was anything but innocent.

Bob stared, his fingers twitching against his own glass, jaw tightening slightly as he swallowed a mouthful of lemony ice water, eyes fixed on your lips. He could still feel the soft smear of lip gloss on his lips if he focused hard enough. Every time he looked at your dress, he imagined what it would feel like bunched up in his fists. Every time you leaned just slightly closer, he remembered how warm you were beneath him just an hour and a half ago. And now you were giving him that all too familiar look.

“Yo–You’re doing it again.” He muttered under his breath, eyes sliding to yours, voice low and intimate, only for you.

”Doing what?” You asked innocently, licking some of the sparkling water off your lips.

“That look,” He rasped, trying to sound annoyed, but it came out a little breathless, “Like you don’t know you’re dr–driving me insane.” You shrugged, resting one hand on the bar, fingers splayed, the soft fabric of your dress stretching just enough across your hip as you shifted your weight.

”Am I?” You whispered back, just loud enough for him to hear over the music. He leaned closer to you, his nose almost brushing your temple, his voice raspier now, his control thinning by the second.

”It’s not fa–fair Y/N.” You raised your eyebrows.

”What’s not?”

”I’m su–supposed to smile and shake hands and make a good impression, when all I can think about is how I want to shove my face under your dress and ha–“

“Bob,” You murmured, cutting him off with a warning edge and a soft, teasing smile. But he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. Not when you were pressed this close to him, not when the memory of your breathy moans still echoed in his skull like a bell,

“If you’re this frustrated maybe we should find a corner,” You added sweetly, “So you can cool off.”

“Or,” He said, voice dropping slightly, “So I can remind you that you’re the one who started all of this.” He leaned in, letting his breath ghost along the shell of your ear, and you shivered–just slightly. Your fingers drummed against the bar, and before you could say anything back, Bucky’s voice cut through the heated mood.

”Everything okay lovebirds? You two look like you’re about to jump each other’s bones.” Bob choked on his water, droplets sputtering out of his mouth. You reached over and patted his chest once, trying to keep your face neutral as he coughed into his fist and flushed bright red from the collar up. Bucky didn’t even try to hide the smug twitch at the corner of his mouth as he leaned lazily on the bar beside you, sipping from a glass of whiskey like this wasn’t the most chaotic comment he’d made all week.

“Yeah,” You murmured smoothly, offering Bucky a side glance and a wicked little smirk, “We’re alright. Or at least we’re trying to be.”

“Mhm,” Bucky hummed, voice all low amusement as he let his gaze flick from your face to Bob’s, who was still recovering from nearly asphyxiating on his drink. “The stamina from the serum certainly doesn’t help with that, huh?” You smirked wider, eyes cutting back to Bob who was fidgeting with the knot of his tie like it was strangling him, his ears turning a flush cherry red.

”It certainly doesn’t.” Bob inhaled sharply through his nose and then very suddenly downed the rest of his water like a man desperate for salvation. He raised his hand as soon as the glass hit the bar again.

“So–Sorry, can I get another water, please?” The bartender nodded without missing a beat, chuckling softly as he plucked the glass away.

“Pretty sure in about an hour or two you guys will be left off the hook,” Bucky offered casually, voice low enough to feel like a kindness, “I think mainly Yelena and I are going to have to stick around and chat with the press and stuff.” You raised a brow, turning your head just slightly to glance at Bob. He looked like he was trying not to visibly sweat. His jaw was locked, his pupils still huge, and he was holding himself so tightly together it was like watching a building creak under the weight of too much pressure. One hand braced the bar, the other curled around his thigh, fingers tapping like a countdown.

“I don’t know if he’s going to survive that long,” You murmured to Bucky without breaking eye contact with Bob. He blinked slowly, like he couldn’t believe you’d said that out loud, but he made no move to contradict you. He just reached for the new water the bartender slid over and drank half of it in one long, continuous gulp.

Bucky snorted quietly. “Hm… I’m sure you guys will figure it out.”

And then, a beat.

He leaned in, real casual-like, voice dropping low and conspiratorial, just for you.

“And…You didn’t hear it from me,” He added, swirling the ice in his glass, “But there’s a little coat check area past the left hallway that’s not being used right now. Pretty tucked away. Real private.” He sipped from his drink again, then smiled–innocently, if you could call it that, “Do with that information what you will.” He added. You glanced sideways at Bob seeing his knuckles had gone white around his glass, like he was one well–timed whisper away from committing a felony of passion in the coat check area. You raised your glass to your lips to hide the grin curling across your mouth.

”Thank you Bucky, I think we’re going to have to go…Check it out.” And Bob–sweet, emotionally wrecked Bob–let out a low, barely audible whimper as he gulped the rest of his water like it might put out the fire you kept stoking inside of him. Bucky gave a casual nod as he turned away, sipping his whiskey like he hadn’t just casually handed you two a loaded weapon wrapped in plausible deniability. He melted back into the crowd with an ease that only came from having seen far, far too much, leaving behind the slow burn of his suggestion like a match on dry kindling. The second he was out of earshot, Bob leaned into you–fast, close, his breath hot against the shell of your ear. His voice was wrecked with desperation, thick with restraint barely holding together.

“We… We need to go th–there right now.”

It wasn’t a suggestion. It was a quiet, slightly begging declaration of need.

You raised an eyebrow at him, turning your head just enough to meet his gaze, lips curving into something coy and dangerous. You glanced down at your still half-full glass of sparkling water and tapped one manicured finger against the side of it.

“I wanna finish this sparkling water though,” you murmured with mock sweetness, lifting it slowly toward your mouth. The glass sparkled faintly under the chandelier light, almost innocent in your grip.

Bob groaned quietly–but the way his eyes squeezed shut, the way his jaw clenched like he was physically restraining himself from combusting right there at the bar–it told you just how close to the edge he already was.

“I–I feel like I’m gonna tear this gala apart,” He muttered, voice thick and pained and a little wild now, “I feel like if I keep looking at you, I’ll snap. I can’t–fuck, Y/N–please.” You smirked, then tipped the glass back and drained it in a single, slow gulp, throat working visibly while Bob watched like it was pornographic. The moment the glass was empty, you set it down on the bar with a soft clink and turned toward him fully, stepping into his space.

“I’m just joking, Bob,” You whispered, reaching for his hand with your warm, sure fingers, “Let’s go find that coat check.” Bob exhaled like you’d just saved his life. His shoulders dropped, just slightly, with relief and longing all tangled up in one. He clutched your hand tightly like he might shatter if he let go.

You began leading him away from the bar, heels clicking softly on the polished floor as you weaved through the clusters of guests. Bob followed like a man possessed, his free hand twitching at his side like he was restraining himself from doing anything too obvious, too reckless. You passed other attendees in glittering gowns and crisp tuxes, the music swelling, the chatter buzzing like champagne in the background. But the moment felt thick with something else. Private. Singular.

No one stopped you. No one noticed. Or if they did, they didn’t dare interfere.

You turned left down a quieter hallway just past the floral installations, where the lighting dimmed and the voices behind you softened into background hum. At the end of the corridor was a half-open wooden door with a small placard reading Coat Check–the light inside a soft yellow glow that spilled just faintly across the carpeted floor like a halo.

You slipped inside without hesitation, Bob following, and gently nudged the door shut behind you. The space was small and warm, lined with hooks and racks that were completely empty and abandoned.

The moment the latch on the door clicked, Bob was on you.

”Th–Thank God–“ He rasped, grabbing you by the waist and spinning you so your back met the wall with a soft thud. His mouth was on yours before you could even exhale, all desperate heat and groaning need. His hands were everywhere–gripping your hips, fisting the side slit of your dress, running up the bare skin of your thigh until he was holding you like he’d die if he couldn’t. Your arms wrapped around his neck, nails scratching lightly through the back of his hair as you kissed him back just as eagerly. His body was trembling with restraint, but he was already pressing into you, his hard length pushing against your inner thigh through the fabric of his dress pants.

“You’re go–gonna kill me,” He breathed, his lips dragging down the slope of your jaw, tongue flicking out to taste the salt of your skin like he couldn’t help himself. He groaned softly against you, his voice thick, trembling. Desperate. You tipped your head back with a smirk, eyes fluttering shut, your chest rising and falling fast as your back arched just slightly against the coat room wall.

“Not trying to do that,” you murmured breathlessly, your fingers tightening in his hair, “but if it happens…You’ll be dying a happy man.”

Bob huffed a laugh against your skin–wrecked and aroused all at once.

“Da–Damn right I will.”

He pressed against you harder for a moment, enough for you to feel every twitch of his cock through his dress pants, before his breath hitched and he dropped to his knees with the kind of urgency that made your lungs seize. His hands slid down your thighs, warm and hungry, guiding your legs apart. The silk of your gown rustled as he pushed it up with trembling hands, bunching it at your waist. You helped him, fingers threading beneath the fabric to lift it higher, exposing the soft heat between your legs, still slick from your earlier quickie. The lace of your underwear was already damp, glistening at the center.

Bob sucked in a breath like it punched the air from his lungs.

“Jesus Christ,” He whispered, worshipful and in awe “You’re still dripping me…And yo-you’re so fu–fucking wet.” You nodded shakily, the cold air against your inner thighs making you tremble.

He dove in like a man gone mad.

His lips found the skin of your thighs first–hot, wet, greedy kisses that left your skin sticky with his mouth. His breath ghosted over the sensitive spot just beneath your underwear, and he moaned like he was already tasting you. His hands slid up the backs of your thighs, guiding one leg over his shoulder, and he shoved your soaked underwear to the side with a rough, trembling hand. The moment your slick heat was exposed to the open air, Bob groaned again, deep and needy.

“So fu–fucking pretty,” He gawked, eyes locked on your core like it was the only thing that had ever mattered, “You have no idea what you do to me. I’m so addicted to you, sweetheart–I ca–can’t go a few hours without wanting to be inside you, without dreaming about tasting you again. You’re my goddamn drug.”

Then his mouth was on you.

He licked a long, slow stripe through your folds, groaning low in his throat at the taste. His tongue curled up, slipping over your clit with practiced reverence, before dipping lower to collect your slick–and the remnants of himself–with hungry, worshipful devotion.

“Fuck,” He groaned, burying his face deeper, letting his nose press against your mound as his tongue circled your entrance. “You ta–taste like us.” Your whole body jolted at that, a choked moan breaking from your lips as your hand slammed back against the wall for balance. He sucked your clit into his mouth, lips plush and slick as he flicked his tongue against it, firm and rhythmic, then pulled back just long enough to speak, panting.

“I want you to feel what you do to me,” He breathed, “I wa–want you trembling on my tongue. Come on Y/N. Let me ha–have it.” One thick finger slipped inside you, and you gasped, hips jerking. He thrust it in slowly, then added a second, scissoring you open with obscene, wet sounds that echoed in the tiny coat check room. His mouth returned to your clit, more desperate this time, more frantic, his fingers curling inside you, pressing right against that spot that made you cry out.

“There,” he growled, licking harder, tongue flattening against you as he fucked you with his fingers, “You’re squeezing me so tight. You go–gonna come for me? Come on my fi–fingers Y/N…Give it to me.” Your head fell back, a strangled moan escaping your lips as you writhed against the wall. The way he fingered you—so firm, so intentional—was only matched by the frenzied worship of his tongue. You could feel every breath he took against your skin, every moan that vibrated into you, every filthy word he muttered between slurps of your arousal.

“Taste so fucking good…Can’t get enough… I’ll stay down here all go-goddamn night if you let me–fuck–I need it so bad.” He whimpered. You were close. Too close.

Your thigh trembled against his shoulder, your hand fisting in his hair as you ground yourself against his mouth, whining with every stroke of his fingers.

And Bob–God, Bob was a mess. His face was glistening, lips red and swollen, tongue working you over like you were the only thing that had ever existed. He looked up at you, eyes blown black with desire, gold flecks shimmering, begging without saying a word.

You cried out as your orgasm crashed through you.

Your hips bucked against his mouth, your muscles seizing, thighs quaking, and he held you steady through it–groaning as your walls clamped down on his fingers, as your slick spilled into his mouth. He drank you down, licking you through every pulse, whispering broken praises against you.

“So perfect…Do fuckin’ good for me…That’s it, baby, let me taste every drop… God, you were made for me, weren’t you?”

You collapsed against the wall, panting, legs weak, and Bob finally pulled back just enough to kiss your inner thigh, then the other. His face was wrecked with arousal, mouth glossy with your slick–and his.

And then he licked his lips. Slowly.

“Still sweet,” he rasped. “Even better with my cum still inside you.”You whimpered, dragging your hand down to his cheek, and he nuzzled into it like he’d just found religion in the way you touched him.

“You okay?” He whispered. You nodded immediately, letting out a long unsteady sigh, brushing your fingers against the damp strands at Bob’s temple.

”God, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how good you are with your fingers and that tongue of yours.”Bob pulled back slightly, still on his knees, lips swollen, cheeks flushed and glistening.

“Wo–Would you consider me a pro?” He asked, voice still hoarse from moaning into your core. You laughed, soft and breathless, and cupped his jaw.

“You’re god tier, Bob.”

That made him smile–crooked and dizzy, boyish and wrecked. He leaned in and kissed your inner thigh again, then murmured against it:

“Fuck, I wanna be inside you again. Right here, right now. Can’t–I can’t walk back out there without it.” You whimpered, your legs trembling as you leaned harder into the wall.

“You’re gonna have to hold me up,” You breathed, “because my legs are literally shaking.”

Bob let out a soft laugh, voice still ruined. “Request granted.”

He stood with purpose, his body rising slowly, his mouth finding yours the second he was level. The kiss was messy–open-mouthed and starving–your lips still sticky with your lip gloss, his face still damp with you. The taste of your arousal and his own cum was thick on his tongue, and you moaned the moment your mouths connected. His hands fumbled between you as he unbuckled his belt, the soft clink of metal barely audible over the frantic sound of your kissing. He shoved his dress pants and boxers down just enough to free himself, his cock already rock-hard and flushed, slick at the tip from the earlier release and his never-ending want for you.

You clutched the fabric of your gown at your hips, hiking it higher as he palmed your thighs, lifting you like you weighed nothing. You gasped against his mouth, arms wrapping around his neck, legs around his waist.

He pressed you to the wall in one fluid motion, his body anchoring you there, thick and trembling between your legs.

“Fuck, yo-you’re so hot,” He rasped, kissing down your neck as he adjusted himself, the flushed head of his cock sliding through your soaked folds, catching at your entrance. “You’re everything, Y/N. Ev-Everything I’ve ever wanted. Every second I’m not in you, I’m aching for it.” You whimpered, holding tight to his shoulders.

“God I need you so bad.” You whimpered, voice shaking, and right then and there, he pushed in. One slow, deliberate thrust, thick and stretching, filling you until you couldn’t breathe. You choked on a moan, burying your face in his neck as your walls clamped around him, still sensitive, still soaked, still fluttering from his mouth. He grunted low and deep in your ear, trembling.

“Yo–Your body takes me so fu–fucking well.” He rocked into you harder, hips snapping up in short, powerful thrusts that sent your back bumping gently against the wall with every motion. The slick sound of your bodies filled the air–obscene and perfect–and the heat of his breath fanned across your cheek.

“So deep,” You mewled, your voice cracking. “I can feel you everywhere, Bob–God, you fill me up so good.”

“Say that again,” He gasped against your mouth, his thrusts getting faster, rougher now. “Say it–tell me how good it is–how go–good I make you feel.”

“You make me feel full,” You moaned. “So full, so fucking claimed. I swear, no one’s ever touched me like this, Bob–no one.”

That made him falter–a soft, broken sound spilling from his chest as he buried his face in your shoulder. His thrusts didn’t stop. If anything, they got deeper. Rougher. His hands gripped your ass like a lifeline, dragging you down against him with every thrust, grinding his pelvis against your clit.

“You own me Y/N…My bo–body, my soul…It’s all yours.” Your lips crashed into his again, teeth clashing, tongues messy and desperate, swallowing each other’s moans. He muffled every whimper you made, and you swallowed every breathy praise that left his mouth.

“You feel so good—so warm and tight and wet,” he groaned. “Every time I’m inside you it’s like I’m home.”

Your hips rolled against him, grinding as much as they could with how tightly he held you.

“Don’t stop,” you begged. “Fuck me until I can’t think. Until I forget my name. Until the whole fucking gala forgets we were even there.”

Bob let out a cracked, filthy laugh and thrust harder, the head of his cock nudging your cervix.

“You’re ruining me,” He groaned. “I’m never go–gonna be able to live without this–without you.”

The world narrowed to heat and pressure, to the way he moved inside you and the way your name kept falling from his mouth like a prayer. Your second orgasm built fast, molten and overwhelming, and Bob felt it. The way your body clenched around him, the way your thighs shook.

“Come for me again,” He whispered, forehead pressed to yours, “Please…My go–god please.” You shattered around him with a muffled cry, biting his shoulder to keep from screaming. Your entire body tensed and bucked against his, as you came hard–hot and wet and shaking in his arms.

And Bob lost it.

“Fuck…Fuck, I’m gonna come inside you, again–I have to–I need to–”

“Do it,” You breathed. “Fill me up again. I want it–I need it, Bob–want to feel you leaking out of me for the rest of the night.”

That was it.

He buried himself to the hilt, groaning so deep it sounded broken, and came inside you with a force that made his knees buckle slightly. He stayed locked there, cock twitching deep inside your fluttering walls, forehead pressed to yours as he moaned through every pulse.

The silence after was thick with heat, both of you panting, trembling, fused together.

His arms were shaking from holding you up. Your dress was wrinkled and rucked high, your hair mussed, your lip gloss long gone. And neither of you cared.

Bob pressed the softest kiss to your nose, then your jaw, then your lips.

“You okay?” He whispered, thumb stroking the back of your thigh.

You smiled, eyes half-lidded, chest still rising and falling.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been better.”

Little did you know that tomorrow morning there would be press reports about this secret rendezvous plastered in every single magazine in New York, completely dampening the memory of this night for you and for Bob, and in turn stirring up the first PR scandal of the Thunderbolts Team.

[missmadella]

"How they react when you initiate a makeout session in a risky place" // Tokyo Revengers

Charakters: Mikey, Sanzu, Chifuyu, Ran, Rindou, Wakasa, Shinichiro, Hanma, Draken

Synopsis: You catch them off guard. A sudden kiss in the middle of chaos — a stairwell, a back alley, an elevator, the back of a bike. Somewhere you’re not supposed to. Somewhere you shouldn’t dare.

And yet, you do.

CW: Public/intimate scenes, risky/public makeout scenarios, mild language, implied violence (minor injuries post-fight), suggestive content, emotional vulnerability, tension/power dynamics. Please read responsibly.

Mikey (Manjiro Sano):

The night air is thick with silence. Mikey stands near the edge of the rooftop, eyes locked on the horizon. That unreadable look in his eyes — dead and distant, like he's miles away. The city glows beneath him like a slow-burning fire, but he doesn’t look impressed.

No one approaches Mikey when he’s like this. No one touches him. Even Sanzu keeps his distance when Mikey goes still like that—like a loaded gun with no safety.

But you’re not Sanzu. And you’re not afraid of him. Not entirely.

You walk up behind him, slowly, feeling the weight of the moment press into your chest. You know the cameras are probably picking up every movement. Someone will report this. Someone will talk. But you’re done waiting for the right time. Because there’s no such thing with this version of Mikey.

He doesn’t acknowledge you at first. Not when you step close. Not when your hand brushes against the back of his.

You whisper, “You ever stop thinking long enough to feel something?” It’s bold. Reckless, even. But he turns to look at you—slowly, like he’s waking up from a bad dream. His eyes settle on you. Cold. Heavy. But there’s a flicker underneath. Something unspoken.

You step even closer. Close enough that your bodies are inches apart, tension coiling between you like a taut wire.

And then— You kiss him.

Deliberate. Forceful. Like you’re trying to pull him back to life with your mouth.

___________________________________________________________________________

For a second, nothing happens. You feel him breathe—shallow and still.

Then suddenly— He grabs you.

Hands gripping your jaw and hip in a bruising hold, like he’s trying to anchor himself. His kiss is harsh, possessive, a little desperate—like he’s punishing you for making him feel something again.

You lose yourself in it, in the way his teeth graze your bottom lip, the way he exhales like he’s fighting himself. His body is hot against yours, dangerous and trembling with control he’s this close to losing.

And then—he pulls back. Too fast. Too sudden. Breathing hard. Looking at you like you’ve just stabbed a hole through his armor.

You stare at each other.

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing?” he mutters, voice low and rough.

“To you?” you ask. “Yeah.”

He lets out a dark, dry laugh. No humor in it.

“You keep doing shit like this,” he says quietly, “and I won’t be able to stop.”

The way he says it—it’s not romantic. It’s a warning.

Still, he leans in, presses one last kiss to your jaw—so soft it barely registers.

Then he steps away. Face blank again. “Might want to go downstairs before someone sees you. I won’t explain it twice.”

And just like that, he’s Mikey again. Cold. Untouchable. A king surrounded by corpses.

But as you leave, you catch him staring after you. Like maybe—just maybe—you’re the only thing he has left to lose.

__________________________________________________________________________

Sanzu Haruchiyo:

The tension’s always thick when you’re with Sanzu. Even on calm days — if you can call them that — he buzzes with an energy that makes your skin prickle. You never quite know what version of him you’re going to get: the eerily quiet one with the thousand-yard stare, or the loud, grinning menace with blood under his fingernails and jokes on his tongue.

Tonight, he’s in that middle space. Leaning against the wall of the elevator, one hand buried in his hair, pink strands slipping between his fingers. His jacket’s half-zipped, collarbone exposed. And that lazy, crooked grin is all over his face.

“You keep lookin’ at me like that,” he drawls, “I’m gonna think you want something.”

You don’t reply. You move. A step forward — then two — and before he can blink, you grab him by the collar and slam your mouth onto his.

___________________________________________________________________________

He laughs into the kiss. That unhinged, breathy kind of laugh that vibrates against your lips. But he doesn’t pull away. Oh no. Sanzu devours the kiss — teeth clashing, hands everywhere, gripping your waist like he owns you.

“You’re fucking bold,” he whispers against your mouth, voice low and raspy.

The elevator dings past the 24th floor. You’ve got seconds. You don’t stop. And neither does he.

His tongue licks into your mouth like he’s starving for it, hands pushing you against the cold elevator wall. He’s hot and overwhelming and tastes like cigarette smoke and adrenaline. His grip on you is tight enough to bruise, but there’s no hesitation — Sanzu wants this. Wants you.

“Security’s watching,” you manage to breathe between kisses.

He grins, wide and sharp. “Let ’em.”

You tug his hair, just to mess with him, and his eyes darken. The grin fades a bit — replaced by something more serious, more dangerous.

“You like makin’ me lose control, huh?” he mutters.

The elevator dings again. You’re almost at the top floor. You both should stop.

But he leans in again. This time slower. Deeper. Like he’s trying to memorize the way your mouth feels. When he finally pulls back, his lips are swollen, pupils blown wide. He looks... deranged. Beautiful. Desperate.

“If you kiss me like that again,” he whispers, voice trembling with restraint, “I’ll drag you into my room and forget the world exists.”

You blink at him, breathless. “That a promise?”

The elevator stops. The doors open. And in the hallway stands one of the Bonten executives, looking very confused at what they just walked in on.

Sanzu casually throws his arm around your shoulders like nothing happened, licking his bottom lip with a bloodthirsty little smirk.

“Sorry,” he says brightly. “We got bored.”

___________________________________________________________________________

Chifuyu Matsuno:

He’s leaning against the wall at the landing, arms crossed, hoodie slightly rumpled from gym class. There's a bit of sweat on his temple, hair falling messily across his forehead.

You can see he’s still catching his breath from whatever fight or argument just went down — with a teacher, maybe with another delinquent. He’s got that look in his eyes. Focused. Serious. Like the world’s resting on his narrow shoulders.

And all you want to do is distract him. Or comfort him. Or maybe just kiss that cute, worried frown off his face.

You approach slowly. His eyes snap to yours immediately, softening the second he sees it’s you.

“Hey,” he breathes, voice low. “You okay? Someone saw you slip out?”

You don’t answer. You just take a step forward, then another—until you're standing right in front of him, your fingers brushing the edge of his jacket.

“Chifuyu,” you whisper. “Can I kiss you?”

His eyes widen. His breath catches.

And that’s all the permission you need.

You close the distance, kissing him gently—soft lips against soft lips, nothing too fast or urgent. But the tension? The heat behind it? It makes your knees weak.

He freezes for a heartbeat—caught off guard. Then?

His hands lift like he’s not sure where to place them—like he’s terrified of doing it wrong. One hand settles hesitantly on your waist, the other on your upper arm. You feel his lips start to move, slow and unsure but so full of feeling.

Like this means the world to him. Like he’s wanted it forever but never thought he’d get it like this.

You pull back slightly, just enough to whisper, “I know someone could walk in.” His forehead leans against yours, eyes still closed.

“I don’t care,” he says softly. “Let them.”

But you can hear the catch in his voice. The nervous energy. The part of him that does care—but you? You matter more.

So you kiss him again. This time, deeper. He exhales shakily, hands tightening just a little. His lips part. His body relaxes into yours, and for a moment, the stairwell doesn’t exist. The school doesn’t exist.

It’s just you and him and the way his heart is thudding through his chest loud enough to feel.

But then— Footsteps echo above.

Chifuyu jumps. His hand flies to your wrist, tugging you gently behind him, like he's ready to shield you even from something as harmless as a nosy teacher.

You both hold your breath. The steps pass. Silence returns.

He looks at you, flushed and breathless, then lets out the tiniest embarrassed laugh.

“Okay, that was... uh. That was... wow.” He scratches the back of his neck, ducking his head.

“You’re cute when you’re panicking,” you grin.

He groans, leaning back against the wall. “You’re evil. But, like... the kind I’d let ruin me.”

___________________________________________________________________________

Ran Haitani:

He’s been playing with you all night. Eyes lingering. Fingers brushing yours when no one’s looking. Whispered words in your ear that made your stomach twist.

And you’ve had enough.

So when the hallway clears, and the only thing between you and the edge of scandal is that fire door behind him, you grab his collar, slam him against the wall (okay, gently)—and kiss him.

No warning. No build-up. Just mouth on mouth, hands in his hair, bodies pressed tight.

__________________________________________________________________________

Ran's body stills for a beat—like he’s surprised you made the first move. Then? He smirks against your lips.

And kisses you back. Slow. Deep. Maddening.

He doesn’t rush. Ran never rushes. He draws it out, tilting his head just right, one hand slipping under your jacket, the other sneaking up to cradle the back of your head like he’s savoring every second.

“Mmh… Damn, baby,” he murmurs against your lips. “You just gonna devour me like that outta nowhere?”

You go to pull back, maybe toss a sarcastic comment—but his hand tightens behind your neck and pulls you in again, lips brushing yours.

“Mm-mm. You started this,” he purrs. “Now finish it.”

And he takes control.

The kiss deepens, turns darker. He licks into your mouth like he’s tasting something forbidden. One leg slides between yours, pinning you gently to the wall, just enough pressure to feel caged in, owned.

His voice stays soft. Dangerous. All that sweet venom curling off his tongue.

“You know there’s a camera at the end of this hall, right?” he murmurs. “Bet the guards are real entertained right now.”

You hesitate. Just for a second.

And that’s when he grins—wide, wicked, triumphant.

“Aw, don’t go shy now,” he teases, brushing a kiss along your jaw. “You’re the one who couldn’t keep your hands to yourself. Not that I’m complainin’.”

He leans back slightly, eyes tracing your flustered expression.

“God, you’re hot when you’re reckless.” Then he leans in closer again, voice dropping: “Wanna do it again? Or should we give them a real show next time?”

___________________________________________________________________________

Rindou Haitani:

The low thump of bass leaks from his earbuds. His eyes are half-lidded, bored, detached. He looks tired. Not physically—mentally. Like the weight of what he’s seen is eating him from the inside out.

You find him alone, finally, and he doesn’t see you until you’re right in front of him.

He blinks, pulls out one earbud. “You good?”

You nod. Then take a step closer. And another. Until you're standing directly in front of him, chest nearly brushing his.

You don’t speak. Just lift a hand to his jaw, fingertips grazing the cool skin there. His breath catches. You see it—his eyes widen just slightly.

“Here?” he says under his breath, glancing around the empty garage.

You nod. “Yeah. Right here.”

And you kiss him.

Soft at first—so soft—like you're checking to see if he’ll pull away. But he doesn’t. He freezes.

And then you feel it: The way his body shudders. His hand coming up to your waist, hesitant, unsure if he’s allowed to hold you like this. Like maybe he’s afraid he’ll break something if he touches too hard.

But he kisses back.

Not like Ran—with confidence. Not like Sanzu—with chaos. He kisses you like he’s never been kissed like this before. Like he doesn't know what to do with it.

Slow. Careful. Almost reverent. Like you’re something holy in a place full of monsters.

His other hand slides into your hair, gentle, grounding himself. His breathing gets heavier, and you feel the way he starts leaning into you—his composure cracking, just a little.

“You’re not scared?” he murmurs between kisses. “Someone could come down here.”

“I know,” you whisper. “Do you want me to stop?”

His grip on your waist tightens.

“No,” he says—quieter than you’ve ever heard him. “Not even a little.”

And then he kisses you harder.

It’s still not fast. Not rough. But there’s intensity now. Like he’s trying to memorize the shape of your mouth. Like this is the first real thing he’s felt in weeks.

When you pull away for air, his forehead rests against yours. Eyes shut. Breathing shaky.

“You’re dangerous,” he whispers.

You smile. “So are you.”

He huffs a soft, bitter laugh. “Yeah, but you make me forget why I’m supposed to be.”

He keeps his hands on you for a while. Doesn’t speak. Just holds you. Like he doesn’t get to do this often, and he’s terrified it’ll vanish if he opens his eyes.

___________________________________________________________________________

Wakasa Imaushi:

Near the old, unused gym. Paint chipping, chain-link fence half bent, vines creeping up the concrete wall. It’s dead quiet out here. Everyone else is in class, which makes it the perfect kind of dangerous.

You round the corner and there he is.

Wakasa Imaushi, leaning against the wall like he belongs to it. Hoodie draped off one shoulder. Eyes half-lidded, music playing from one earbud, jaw slack like he’s either about to fall asleep or punch someone.

He doesn’t notice you at first — or maybe he does and just doesn’t care. He’s like that. Drifting through moments like they bore him, like he’s waiting for something real to snap him awake.

So you step closer. Not slow. Not hesitant. You’re done waiting.

When you’re just a breath away from him, you say his name. Soft.

“Waka.”

He blinks. Looks at you — and for a split second, he really sees you. Eyes sharpening. Chin lifting.

“…You’re not in class.” “You aren’t either.”

That lazy smirk tugs at the edge of his mouth. “Touché.”

You don’t banter. You step into his space. One hand sliding up his chest, gripping the front of his hoodie. You tug him gently forward, close enough to feel the heat off his skin, the rhythm of his breathing.

He still hasn’t moved. But he’s watching you now — really watching.

“You’re not gonna say anything?” you ask.

“Depends,” he says quietly. “You gonna kiss me, or just keep standing there looking like sin?”

You do.

You grab the collar of his hoodie, pull him down, and press your mouth to his. Soft at first. Testing. But he responds — immediately.

His lips move against yours in that same way he fights: slow, controlled, deliberate. Like he knows exactly what he’s doing and exactly how you’ll react. He kisses like he’s unraveling you one thread at a time, and he’s not in a rush to finish.

One hand finds your waist, the other slides up your back — light touch, fingertips tracing heat into your spine. You feel his palm settle between your shoulder blades, steadying you. And then he deepens the kiss.

Just slightly. But enough to make your knees tremble.

He breaks the kiss first — barely — and you feel his breath against your lips.

“Didn’t peg you for the bold type,” he murmurs, voice rough and warm.

You smirk. “Guess you bring it out of me.”

Wakasa hums, pleased. “Dangerous game, baby.”

And he kisses you again. This time longer. Slower. The kind of kiss that sinks in deep and stays — like he’s letting himself feel it now. Like he’s giving in.

Your back presses against the wall. His body crowds yours, but it’s not overwhelming — it’s protective. Like he’s shielding you from the world outside this moment. From being seen. From being heard. From everything.

You wind your arms around his neck, tangling your fingers in his hair. It’s softer than you expected. He groans softly — not loud, just that low noise deep in his throat, like he’s been starved for this kind of touch.

When he pulls back again, he doesn’t let go of you.

His forehead rests against yours. Eyes closed. Breathing heavy but quiet.

“You always do shit like this?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

“Only with you.”

His lips twitch. His hand strokes your side.

“That so?” “Mmhmm.”

A beat of silence.

Then, softer than ever:

“You’re trouble.”

There’s no fear in his voice. No judgment. Just... recognition. Affection. The slow acceptance that you’ve cracked his shell a little more than he expected.

And then he kisses your temple, slow and warm, right before he whispers:

“…Don’t disappear on me after this.”

___________________________________________________________________________

Shinichiro Sano:

The garage door is halfway down, sunlight slanting in through the gaps like gold stripes across the concrete floor. The place smells like oil, dust, and faint traces of coffee from the thermos he forgot to clean. Music plays low from a beat-up speaker — old J-Rock, the kind no one but him still listens to.

He’s got grease on his hands. Again.

Bent over a half-finished engine, sleeves rolled up, hair tied messily back. There's sweat clinging to his neck, and his expression’s tense — eyes narrowed, jaw tight, like something isn’t working the way he needs it to.

You step into the shop, careful not to trip over the scattered tools.

He hears you before he sees you. “Be careful where you walk. I’ve already broken three sockets today.”

You grin. “You sound mad.”

He sighs, straightens up, wiping his hands on a rag. “I’m not. Just tired. And this piece of shit isn’t cooperating.”

That’s when you walk up behind him. Arms wrapping around his waist, cheek pressed to his back. He goes still — not because he’s uncomfortable, but because he’s surprised. He always is. He doesn’t expect affection, even though he gives it so freely.

“Thanks for the warm welcome,” you murmur.

He chuckles, leaning back into your touch just slightly. “Sorry. I’ve had a rough day.”

“I can tell.” You step around him, look him straight in the eyes.

And then — before he can say anything else, before his brain can catch up to his mouth or guilt or stress can pull him away again — you kiss him.

Right there, in the middle of the cluttered shop. Grease-stained floor. Sunlight cutting through dust. Your hands in his shirt, pulling him in. His rag falling to the floor. You, making the first move. You, choosing him.

His breath stutters. And then?

He kisses you back like it’s the first time. Like he’s starving for it.

Shinichiro is gentle — always. But when you kiss him like that? When you give him something raw, something real in a world that constantly takes? He unravels. He grabs your hips like you’re the only solid thing he’s got, and his lips are soft but urgent.

Like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

Your back hits the worktable behind you, rattling a tray of bolts. He flinches, about to apologize — but you grab his collar and pull him back in.

“No one’s around,” you whisper. “You sure?” “Does it matter?”

He kisses you again — deeper this time. Fingers threading through your hair. One hand sliding up your back, slow and careful, like he’s holding something precious.

And the way he looks at you when you finally pull apart?

Wrecked.

Messy hair, flushed cheeks, eyes wide — like he can’t believe you just wanted him like that.

“You okay?” you ask, brushing a bit of grease off his jaw.

He lets out a quiet, shaky laugh. “Yeah. I just…” He exhales. “No one’s ever kissed me like that. Not when I needed it most.”

You run your fingers through his hair, smiling softly.

“Then get used to it.”

He leans forward again, resting his forehead against yours. For a long moment, you just breathe together. His hands still on your hips. The music playing low. The scent of motor oil and something sweeter now — you.

___________________________________________________________________________

Hanma Shuji:

It’s almost midnight. The street’s dim, flickering with the neon haze from a busted "24-HR" sign. Music bleeds from inside the building — bass-heavy, loud, someone off-key singing their lungs out.

Hanma leans against the wall, cigarette dangling from his lips, hands in the pockets of his hoodie. He’s not wearing the uniform tonight — just black jeans, sneakers, and a grin that screams fight me or fck me.*

He’s laughing at something dumb — maybe a fight that just broke out two blocks over. Maybe just the sound of sirens. He’s the kind of guy who thinks everything is funny.

You step out after him. You’ve had enough of the noise, the lights, the heat of the bar. You want air. But the second you see him there, haloed by the pink glow of a flickering sign, grinning like the devil under city grime—you want more.

So you don’t hesitate. You step in, grab him by the collar of his hoodie, and kiss him against the wall.

It’s rough. Sudden. Messy.

And for one sharp second, he freezes.

Then?

He laughs.

This manic, delighted sound rips out of him — full of surprise, thrill, and pure chaotic joy. “God damn,” he hisses against your lips. “You really are insane.”

And then he kisses you back.

Hard.

It’s teeth and tongue and hot breath. His hands fly to your hips, dragging you closer, slamming you against him like he can’t get enough. His nails bite your waist through your shirt. The alley spins.

He kisses like a guy who doesn’t know how to slow down — like this moment might vanish, like you might vanish, and he wants to make sure your lips leave a bruise.

“Out here?” he growls against your neck. “On the f*ckin’ street?”

You grin against his jaw. “Scared?”

Hanma pulls back just enough to look at you — wide eyes, sharp grin, wild and wicked and alive. “Oh, babe.” He brushes a thumb across your cheek, leaving the ghost of ash and heat. “I think I’m in love with your bad decisions.”

Then he kisses you again.

He doesn’t care who walks past. He doesn’t care who sees.

This is the kind of guy who lives off attention, but you? You made him the center of your chaos. And that? That’s what undoes him.

He drags you back into the shadow between the buildings. His knee slots between yours. “You kiss like a f*cking riot,” he pants.

And when you look up at him — flushed, out of breath, wild-eyed — he chuckles low in his throat.

“What are you gonna do if someone catches us?”

You pull him back in by his shirt, smirking.

“Let them watch.”

___________________________________________________________________________

Ken "Draken" Ryuguji:

It still smells like spice and soy from the kitchen vents above. The quiet hum of Tokyo traffic buzzes a few blocks over. But here in the alley? It’s just you and him.

You watch him walk ahead — tall, broad, limping slightly from a kick he barely acknowledged. The adrenaline is still running through his veins, but his shoulders are starting to sag under the weight of the night.

He slides down the wall and sits on a low crate, elbows resting on his knees, jaw clenched. His hair’s tied back, a few strands falling loose. His shirt is stained with blood — some his, some not. There's a fresh scrape on his cheekbone, red and raw, and the dragon tattoo on his temple gleams under the yellow glow of the streetlamp.

You stop just in front of him, watching his chest rise and fall.

He doesn’t look up.

“I scared you, didn’t I,” he mutters. Not a question. Not fishing for reassurance. Just a statement — like he’s already bracing for the disappointment.

You kneel in front of him slowly. He looks up at last, and his eyes — tired, worn, still smoldering from the fight — soften the second they meet yours.

“You didn’t scare me,” you whisper. And then you reach forward and kiss him.

___________________________________________________________________________

It’s not soft.

It’s urgent. Fierce. The kind of kiss that leaves no room for misunderstanding. Your hands cup his jaw, fingers brushing the bruise on his cheek, your body leaning into his, demanding closeness.

For half a second, he freezes — stunned. Draken, the guy who’s seen every kind of chaos, who’s thrown punches harder than most people can imagine — looks at you like you just knocked the wind out of him.

Then he breathes in sharp — like you just punched the air back into his lungs — and kisses you back.

Hard.

_________________________________________________________________________

His hands fly to your waist, dragging you onto his lap, your knees straddling his thighs before you can blink. You gasp at the sudden movement, but it’s swallowed by his mouth on yours, tongue sliding deep, kiss rough and hot and full of pent-up everything.

Weeks of tension. Days of brushing shoulders. All those looks. All those close calls.

It all spills out now.

He kisses like he’s starving. Like your mouth is the only thing that can calm him down. But even then, even wild like this, there’s care in it.

When his fingers grip your hips, they press gently. When he deepens the kiss, he does it with a low groan, checking your rhythm. And when you fist your hands in his hair and roll your hips down against his lap — just once — his entire body shudders.

“Shit,” he whispers against your lips. “You’re gonna kill me.”

_________________________________________________________________________

You’re both breathless now.

The alley’s quiet. Too quiet. Someone could walk out of the ramen shop. Someone could turn the corner. There’s a street camera half a block down. It doesn’t matter. Not when he’s looking at you like that.

Not when you’ve never seen him this undone.

“I don’t want to stop,” you whisper.

Draken leans his forehead against yours, breathing hard, one hand sliding up your back to hold you steady, like he’s trying to ground himself.

“If you say stop, I stop,” he says. Simple. Steady. Dead serious.

You shake your head slowly, heart pounding. “I’m not saying stop.”

His lips twitch — just barely. A half-smile. Half relief. Half disbelief.

“You’re really okay with this?” You don’t answer with words this time. You just lean in and kiss him again, deeper this time — slow, like a promise. Your fingers slide down the front of his chest, tracing over the muscle beneath his shirt, and you feel him shudder under your touch.

He pulls you closer, arms tightening around you.

“You’re… somethin’ else,” he mumbles into your neck. “I always thought I’d have to keep you at arm’s length. That maybe you couldn’t handle all this.”

He pulls back to look at you.

“But you just… walked straight into my storm.”

And then, with a hand on the back of your head, he kisses you one more time — slower now, burning like coals instead of fire. The kind of kiss that says: If you’re mine, I’m all yours.

[fixated-cookies]

IM THINKING OF SLOPPY MAKEOUT SESSION WITH PURE VANILLA!!!! TAKE THIS MAN AWAY FROM MY I SWEAR!!!

You tried not to meet his eyes. That familiar golden warmth—usually so calm, so composed—was now burning, trembling with need. Pure Vanilla kneeled before you, hands resting lightly on your knees, his breath soft and uneven. His cloak pooled behind him on the floor like he had no care for the dignity of his position, only for the way your fingers fidgeted in your lap and your eyes kept darting away.

“Please,” he whispered, voice barely audible, “Just one kiss. I need it—I won’t ask for anything more, I swear…”

You blinked at him, cheeks warming fast. He was already on his knees… and yet somehow looked like he’d fall even further for you if you asked.

“I—Vanilla, you’re already…” You trailed off, your voice shrinking under the weight of his gaze.

“I’ll stay here as long as you need,” he murmured, sliding his hands up gently to cradle your face. “But please, let me feel your lips.”

Your heart fluttered painfully, and you nodded, barely. Just a little tilt forward, just enough for your lips to brush his. Chaste. Soft. You thought that would be enough.

It wasn’t.

The moment your lips met his, something in him broke. He inhaled sharply like he’d been starved of air, then kissed you back with such helpless want it made your fingers curl into his robes. His lips moved hungrily, sweetly, his mouth parting to deepen the kiss without hesitation. Your gasp only encouraged him—his tongue slid forward, licking into your mouth, slow and wet and reverent, and he moaned so quietly you nearly melted.

When you tried to pull away—embarrassed, trembling—he chased after you, hands sliding to the back of your head like he couldn’t bear a single inch of distance. “Again,” he panted, lips brushing yours. “Please… just one more—don’t stop yet.”

“V-Vanilla…” you breathed, dizzy and hot.

“You taste like heaven,” he whispered against your lips. “Please… let me drown in it.”

He kissed you again, sloppier this time, sucking gently at your bottom lip, groaning at the soft noise you made in return. Your thighs squeezed together involuntarily, and he felt it—he always noticed everything. His hands trembled slightly as they cupped your jaw, thumb sweeping your cheek.

“Don’t look away…” he murmured, so tender it hurt. “You’re so sweet when you’re shy…”

And then, softer, more breathless—still kneeling, still kissing you like prayer: “If you give me one more kiss… I’ll behave tonight. I promise…”

But you already knew he wouldn’t.

[dreamersparacosm]

Girl we need a smut blurb for them , im talking wild sex . I’ll take anything I know they’re both freaked out

well, well, well. you put two overachievers in a bed and what’s going to happen? magic, that’s what. or maybe he’ll just use your vibrator as part of your scheduled stress relief. whatever.

the price of desire — epilogue blurb 3!

prompt ; in which stress relief takes on a whole new definition.

warnings ; sex toy usage, fingering, jungkook cums in his pants

There are worse problems to have, you tell yourself.

Ever since you and Jungkook officially started dating, things have gotten a little… out of hand (and by “out of hand,” you mean fucking each other senseless across multiple continents.)

Obviously it started in New York and Seoul. Then it was Paris. You two dabbled in exhibitionism during a trip to Bali. Now it’s whatever remote, paparazzi-proof destinations your travel agent nervously books for you at 2 in the morning.

Hotels, apartments, rental cars, bathrooms you’re pretty sure were not designed to withstand the kind of behavior you’re inflicting on them. At this point, it’s becoming a global crisis. International security agencies may want to get involved.

It’s getting so frequent, so mind-numbingly good, that you’re starting to worry about yourself a little. Like, is it normal to see god every weekday?

Unclear.

But it is nice, really nice, to relieve that stress that weighs on you after a workday. (And god knows you have plenty of that to go around.)

Jungkook is, if nothing else, very committed to the cause. He takes care of you painfully well, as if it’s his full-time job and the only acceptable performance review is your legs shaking too hard to stand.

Case in point: you’re currently spread out across your bed in New York, lips swollen from a makeout, hair damp from the bath he ran for you, and he’s kneeling between your legs, big palms dragging slow strokes up and down your thighs.

It's a perfect Wednesday night, all safe and soft and steady until he drops his suggestion into the quiet.

“Let me use the vibrator on you, baby.”

Your brain, already half-melted from the hour-long slow burn he’s been subjecting you to, scrambles for purchase.

You are not equipped for this on a Wednesday night. Especially not after a 14 hour workday, 2 back-to-back global strategy calls, and a last minute crisis involving a Calvin Klein store opening in Shanghai.

You open your mouth to respond, yet nothing makes its way out.

Jungkook smiles at you with amusement and reaches over to the nightstand like it’s the most casual thing in the world. As if he didn’t casually drop a bomb into the atmosphere of your previously scheduled stress-relief session.

With bulging eyes, you observe as he pulls open the drawer, rummages around for a second, and then holds up your light purple vibrator in his hands.

The device is small and sleek, manages to look mockingly innocent resting in his palm.

You stare at it, then at him, mouth working like a fish suddenly introduced to the concept of air.

"I—" You stutter eloquently.

He responds with that signature grin, the one that makes you want to throw a pillow at his face and climb him like a tree. "Come on, baby," he coaxes, "You said you were stressed. Think of this as... advanced relaxation techniques."

You narrow your eyes suspiciously. "This wasn't exactly what I meant by 'stress relief.'"

"What's the worst that could happen?" he asks innocently, setting the vibrator down beside you before leaning close to press a kiss against your inner knee. "You enjoy yourself too much?"

"The audacity," You roll your eyes, trying and failing to suppress the shiver his touch sends up your spine.

"It’s like.. a scientific experiment," he continues, trailing featherlight kisses up your thigh. "Testing the effects of a vibrator on stress."

"Did you just turn my vibrator into a science fair project?"

His laugh rumbles against your skin. "I'm innovative like that. Always thinking about my subject’s satisfaction."

"You’re not selling it," You sigh but there's no heat behind it.

"I'm persistent," he corrects, looking up at you with darkened eyes. "And also extremely dedicated to your wellbeing. Just say yes."

You can’t look at him. With his mess of black hair falling over his forehead, with his eyes displaying a glint of mischief and the stupid Calvin Klein white t-shirt that drives you crazy. He’s so fucking hot, and it brings you to the brink of temporary insanity. That’s how you got in this mess in the first place.

What you need to be doing is saying no. Set some kind of a boundary. Be a strong, independent woman who does not immediately fold at the suggestion of midweek sex toy experimentation.

You do none of those things. Rather, you sigh and flop back against the pillows, one arm flung dramatically over your eyes.

“Fine,” you mutter like he’s inconveniencing you. “Whatever. Just don’t break my toy.”

You hear him laugh, a rich velvety rumble that vibrates through you while the mattress dips beneath his weight as he repositions himself closer to your core.

Before you even take your next breath, he’s kissing up your thighs, hands stroking the backs of your knees, your calves, your hips.

The vibrator hums to life; it’s soft at first, a low sound and your stomach flips violently.

Curiosity compels you to emerge from behind your self-imposed blindfold just in time to witness his gaze fixed upon you. He is a hungry man, you’ll give him that much.

Which leads you to your next thought: you’re not even sure why you bothered putting on underwear after the bath. A small, defeated part of you wants to blame some lingering sense of dignity, some naive attempt at not being completely easy just because your boyfriend washed your hair like a Disney prince and kissed your shoulder after.

Whatever weak attempt at decency you made is long gone the second Jungkook hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties and starts dragging them down. Thumbs brushing over the dip of your hips like he’s memorizing every line, every secret part of you he already owns.

The cotton peels away from your thighs, and the cool air hits your core, makes you shiver. He works them down over your knees, then your ankles, tossing them somewhere behind him without a second thought.

You’re already squirming a little, hips shifting against the mattress, thighs clenching reflexively, but he just chuckles under his breath before reaching for the hem of your oversized T-shirt. (Technically his T-shirt. Technically yours now. He stopped fighting that battle months ago.)

Slowly, he pushes it up, bunching it around your waist, exposing the soft skin of your belly, the slick glistening between your legs that you’re trying very hard not to feel embarrassed about.

A single finger gets dragged between your folds, dipping into the mess he’s barely even touched you to create, and you can’t help the broken little gasp that escapes your mouth. “Oh—“

Jungkook lifts his hand and holds it up between you. Your slick clings to his finger. Shining in the soft light your lamp provides.

The bastard. How dare he provide proof of your demise.

He raises a brow smugly. “Already this wet, baby?” He teases.

You glare at him, or at least try, but it’s hard to summon the proper outrage when your body is practically vibrating with need.

“Shut the fuck up,” You grumble.

He laughs and settles himself back between your thighs. The toy hums softly beside you, still on the lowest setting and when he picks it up again, your stomach nearly exits your body.

He strokes the inside of your thigh with his free hand, “Ready?” He asks. Jungkook’s always been sure to consent; you do know he’s genuinely asking for permission.

You nod, frantic, willing to sell your soul if he would just please, please touch you already.

Oh god.

Oh fuck.

For the love of everything holy.

You jolt forward violently the second the vibrator touches your clit. Even on the lowest setting it’s too much, white-hot pleasure snapping up your spine and exploding behind your eyes.

“Fuck—” You gasp, whole body twitching, hands scrambling for something to hold onto.

A string of curse words falls out of your mouth before you can stop them, completely and deliriously out of your control.

Jungkook smiles, presses his palm flat against your thigh to pin you down. “You’re so sensitive tonight,” He notes, somewhat amused.

You might cry. God damn him for being so perfect to you that he’s holding a vibrator to you and not making comments about how “he could do it better.”

You settle for grabbing a fistful of the bedsheets and moaning helplessly when he adjusts the angle slightly, nudging the vibrator a little higher until your hips are jerking against the mattress.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, thumb rubbing slow circles into your thigh. “Let me take care of you.”

Alright, you’re not afraid to admit — maybe you didn’t care much for his definition of stress relief before.

But now? Now you need it more than anything.

You’re a mess; panting, moaning, hips twitching up and it’s still on the lowest setting.

You risk a glance down your body, and the sight nearly undoes you. Jungkook is watching you intensely, brows drawn, lip ring caught between his teeth, arms flexing where he’s bracing you open.

The look on his face alone could make you finish.

“Please,” you gasp. “M-More.”

He nods once, like he’s been waiting for you to ask. “Yeah, baby?” he’s clearly out of breath, thumb brushing over your thigh in grounding circles. “I got you.”

Jungkook clicks the vibrator up to the medium setting, and the second the stronger vibration hits your clit, your back arches clean off the bed, a cry ripping from your throat. There’s a hum that comes from low in his throat while he presses a kiss to your inner thigh.

“You’re so good for me,” He says against your skin. “So desperate already. Bet you could cum just like this, couldn’t you? Just from how good it feels?”

His tattooed fingers squeeze your flesh harder, holding you open, keeping you steady, and the way he’s looking at you makes you want to sob, truthfully.

Jungkook drags the vibrator in slow circles over your clit, keeping you teetering right on the edge before mercifully setting it down beside you. You barely have time to breathe before he’s spitting into his hand and sliding two fingers between your thighs.

The second he pushes them inside your entrance, you buck violently, a whine tearing out of your mouth. “F-fuck—”

You feel impossibly full already, walls clenching around the stretch, the slick sounds embarrassingly loud in the otherwise silent room.

Jungkook groans mostly to himself, head dropping forward to watch where he’s sinking into you.

“God, baby,” he exhales, curling his fingers in that way that makes your toes curl too. “You’re so fucking wet.“

You moan helplessly. Obviously, the man must be trying to kill you. A death wish of sorts. He works his fingers inside you, dragging them along that sweet spot that has you keening into the mattress before reaching over with his free hand to flick the vibratot back on.

He sets it to the highest setting — and holy mother — you nearly catapult off the bed. The intense, overwhelming buzz against your clit paired with the slow pump of his fingers inside you is absolutely lethal.

You choke on some form of a gasp, thighs jerking. All thoughts of work, stress, the world outside this room — gone. Obliterated.

Jungkook, flushed and sweaty, arm veins flexing with every stroke of his fingers, can’t take his eyes off the mess you’re making on your sheets beneath you.

Your thighs are trembling violently now, little spasms you can’t control. You try — god, you want it noted you do try — to keep your hips still, to hold off a little longer.

But the man is evidently on a mission. Fingers fucking into you deep and steady, the vibrator merciless against your clit, voice rougher than normal: “Cum for me, baby. I wanna see it. Wanna feel you cum all over my fingers. Please.”

You’re way past the point of rational thought. Spinning out. Every nerve ending burning hot under your skin.

“Fuck—” you sob. “Kook— I’m gonna— oh fuck, fuckfuck—”

Neither of you get to find out what you’re “gonna” before the orgasm tears through you viscerally, a full-body convulsion that has you crying out and grabbing onto his wrist.

Your toes curl involuntarily against the sheets while your thighs close around his head, stomach muscles clenching before your whole body lets itself fall into the pleasure.

For one disorienting moment, your vision actually blurs at the edges — a genuine blackout that some doctor could probably explain but you're certainly in no condition to contemplate — while somewhere in the distance you hear yourself gasping his name in a way that makes you grateful these walls are soundproof.

You’re panting when it finally ebbs, chest heaving, pussy clenching desperately around his fingers. Jungkook presses a kiss to your thigh again, slowly eases his fingers out and shuts off the vibrator that's become both your nemesis and savior in the span of minutes.

There’s a quiet that feels almost startling compared to your thundering heartbeat.

You’re floating somewhere, the bed seeming to perform a gentle carousel spin around you when he grabs your face gently with both hands and kisses you. You kiss him back automatically, pulling him closer by the front of his shirt.

Through the haze, you murmur against his mouth, “Take your sweatpants off. Wanna fuck you.”

He responds with a groan, pressing his forehead against yours. Insistently, you tug at the waistband, whining a little when he resists.

“Come on,” you mumble, still half-drunk off your orgasm. “I need you.”

He makes a choked sound and pulls back to look you in the eye. His body moves to lean against your headboard, and you scooch over to kiss down his neck while he tries to come up with whatever excuse he can.

And then comes the confession, tripping awkwardly from his lips. “I… uh…”

Your eyes narrow into spiteful little slits, pulling away from him.

He winces, a full-body cringe that would be adorable under other circumstances but currently only amplifies your confusion.

“I… I came already,” He confesses, so low you almost don’t catch it.

Jeon Jungkook? The Jeon Jungkook… came in his boxers like a teenage virgin.. from using your vibrator against you?

You blink repeatedly, brain attempting to process this unexpected plot twist.

“What?” You say dumbfounded.

He covers his face with one large hand in the universal gesture of mortification, ears betraying him by flushing a deep crimson even in the room's low light.

“You— you… came? Just from—?”

Your boyfriend groans, clearly exploring the possibility of spontaneous human combustion as a merciful escape route.

“You looked so good,” he murmurs into his palm. “I couldn’t— fuck, I tried to hold it—”

You stare at him for another second. Then, completely against your will, you burst out laughing. It spills out in waves that are equal parts exhaustion, affection, and perhaps a whisper of mockery, but your attempts to suppress it prove to be futile.

Jungkook glares at you weakly through his fingers.

“You’re an idiot,” you giggle, “My idiot.”

He grumbles something unintelligible while pulling you firmly against his chest, a transparent attempt to muffle your laughter and hide his reddening face but your giggles persist. At some point, you do take the opportunity he presents to nestle your face into the warm crook of his neck, breathing in the familiar scent of his cologne, a chuckle exiting once every few minutes.

All things considered?

Not a bad way to spend a Wednesday night. Not bad at all.

masterlist + ask

[ashonheavenscloud]

would you maybe be down to write headcanons abt making out with p1h 🤭

Need nothing more then to be laying in bed, lazily making out with keeho 😞

making out with p1harmony members!

warnings: none, a little suggestive but nothing explicit!

a/n: thank you so much for the request!! it was kinda fun to think about🤭 hope you enjoy <3

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☆ keeho:

he is soooooo obsessed with kissing you that make out sessions happen almost anytime, anywhere. he knows when to read the room, but isn’t against pulling you to the side or finding a more secluded room/hallway/etc to spend a bit of time kissing you and feeling you up. what’s he supposed to do when you look so good all the damn time??

i am however a biggggggggg enthusiast of keeho loving to make out with you in the car. will make “detours” or even just ask you to drive out with him somewhere where he can park and make out with you for a while. doesn’t need to go any farther than that (although he’s not against it🫣) but will not settle for less than like. an hour of kissing you. he will complain otherwise

makeouts start out slow and full of back and forth teasing. he loves holding the back of your neck for a bit of control (again, helpful with the teasing) and sliding his other hand up and down your waist. PLEASE straddle him he will die of happiness and excitement and will need you sooooo bad

lowkey loves it when you try to take the lead but 1) will never admit it and 2) won’t let you take it so easily

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☆ theo:

makeout sessions will most likely happen at home, just cause theo lovessssss taking him damn time with you and sees any kind of physical affection/touch as deeply intimate and personal. 90% of the time they happen in bed, either in the mornings or evenings.

will cup your face and hold you close, focusing on your lips with slow, languid, deliberate kisses that leave you out of breath and your mind completely empty. is a very very very good kisser and knows it. often smiles and whispers against your lips

favourite thing in the world is hearing you sigh into a kiss. literally lights his body on fire

most of the time these don’t escalate, or if it does, the whole thing is very soft love making. most of the time though, he’s content to bask in the moment and take you in. finds kissing you so relaxing and makes him feel at home

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☆ jiung:

similar to theo, jiung finds kissing you makes him relax, so he would likely loveeeeeeee making out with you after long stressful days or in the studio between working on projects. pulls you onto his lap or between his legs and holds you close with both his hands either under your jaw or behind your neck.

50/50 chance on it escalating. 100% chance if you tease him in any kind of way, either by saying his name in a certain way or pulling at his hair. he loses the game very very fast and needs your skin on his IMMEDIATELY

doesn’t spend the time only on your lips, often drifting across your whole face and neck while he’s at it. talks a lot during the whole thing, cause he likes to hear your breathy responses and know he’s driving you crazy.

makeout sessions could be a couple minutes or a couple hours and there’s no telling with him until you glance at the clock and both realize he’s missed a meeting and you’re late for an appointment. whoops.

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☆ intak:

like keeho, intak wants to kiss you ALL. THE. TIME. it’s getting him to stop and focus on anything else that’s the problem

is incapable of both keeping the makeout session short and keeping it from escalating. he gets excited easily and the second your hands find his chest and you sigh against his mouth it’s so, so over. hands on your waist, body leaning over yours, caging you in. LOVES holding you against a wall or just about any surface tbh

sloppy kisses. everywhere. focuses mainly on your lips but gets distracted sometimes at your neck when he wants to hear you a little louder for him. but your lips are his kryptonite and he wouldn’t really rather be anywhere else

on the flip side, he also really enjoys when you wake him up with lazy kisses. could die of happiness

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☆ soul:

makeouts with soul are spontaneous and giddy! usually gets the urge to kiss you the most when he’s excited or you’re being extra cute, and the kisses start all over your face before focusing entirely on your lips

and once he’s there, he’s THERE. lots of fast kisses, pulls at your lips a lot and holds your waist to keep you close to him. prefers to stand between your legs while you’re sitting in front of his, say, on a counter; OR he likes having you beneath him on the couch

teases a little but kinda can’t keep it up cause he just wants to kiss you so bad and it feels just as hard for him to maintain as it is for you to endure. but he sure does love the dazed expression and the faint voice you have when he does

doesn’t often escalate but when it does it does FAST

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☆ jongseob:

like theo, jongseob also sees kissing you as a personal, intimate show of affection, so makeout sessions almost always happen at home. he loves coming back after a long day, holding you in his arms and kissing you slowly, smiling and relaxing into it, knowing he’s where he belongs.

loves laying between your legs, hands around your waist or under your thighs, and slowly kissing you. nibbles on your bottom lip and often trails kisses down under your jaw before heading back to your lips. often goes back and forth between kissing you and talking about his day and yours, taking all the time in the world with you.

50/50 on whether it escalates, and when it does, his grip on you gradually tightens and his kisses turn from slow to hurried and needy. is a big whiner.

murmuring against your lips with a smile… yeah.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

p1harmony masterlist

navigation

[erosology]

slow, sloppy makeout sessions with captain john price :( him coming home late from work, dark, puffy bags under his eyes and the stench of cigars clinging to his skin as an indicator of how stressful the day was. His strong brow furrowed in frustration but smooths out once he sees you; his hands reaching out to you and immediately pulling you in as soon as you’re within arm’s reach; wrestling you into his clutches so you two can watch a movie and unwind together; wandering fingers tracing the bare skin of your hip as your shirt hikes up higher and higher before splaying flat across your stomach; feeling his breath dance across the back of your neck as you try your hardest to follow along to the plot

“this part is really important, sweetheart,” he whispers into your ear. “you need to pay close attention”

but you can’t—not when his familiar scent is filling your nose and you can feel the strong, reliable beat of his heart knocking against his ribs and his fingers are grazing against the band of your underwear. and somewhere along the way, you find yourself facing him and all of the beauty that is him and nearly go blind with love and lust, delicate fingers tracing the outline of your eyes as if teasing to tear them out. it’d be worth it, you think, worth having the last thing you see be your lover’s tired, handsome face

and after some more teasing and giggles, you feel his soft beard tickle your cheek and nearly melt into a puddle of desperation. hands shaking with need, you pull him closer by the collar of his shirt and a chuckle reverberates in his chest—low, sweet, tender

“eager, love?”

“jus’ wan’ you, john.”

“you've got me, silly girl. always have, always will”   

his fingers fiddle with the hem of your shirt as his chapped lips brush against your cheek, and then your nose, and then he slowly grazes them across yours before he slots them together. his kisses, much like him, start off slow, sensual, gentle until the sparks dance together and a fire inevitably starts and you’re choking on cigar smoke and love and other minuscule things. his calloused palms graze your thigh, stomach, sternum, anything that reminds him of how human you both are and how much he adores your skin. soft moans and groans blend together until someone opens their mouth and then suddenly, tongues are tangled together as you try and swallow each other’s pants

somewhere along the way, you’ve wound up in his lap, grinding against his hardening cock, and now his hands are on your hips and encouraging your movement. more moans tumble out of his lips followed by some curses, his lips swollen and his tongue swiping across them

“f-fuck, baby,” he pants. “slow down. i want to taste you a bit more, yeah? kiss me some more.”

and how can you resist? truth be told, you think you might be able to sit on this very couch for the rest of your life, legs wrapped around his waist and fingers tangled in his hair, lips working against his and pulling pretty noises out of his throat. and honest to god, he thinks he would allow it, maybe even indulge in it a little. because he’s here in his living room, some sort of movie he lost track of the plot of long ago playing on his television, your teeth brushing against his bottom lip as you suck it into your mouth, surrounded by love and relaxation

[worstghost]

teaching bob how to kiss and accidentally slipping into a 20 minute makeout session

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

it was a weird situation that you were in, an impossible one really.

bob had confessed to you that he hadn't really kissed anyone, at least not sober. and he had this insane crush on some mystery girl and couldn't stand the thought of embarrassing himself with his lack of experience, so he never went for it.

and you, being a good friend, who happened to dream about kissing him, offered your services. you weren't a professional by any means, but he didnt need to know that.

once you pushed past his nerves and settled down on his bed, fingers twisting the tassles of his threaded blanket, you looked at him and waited for him to give you the go ahead.

let him take his time, spending it admiring his freshly washed hair and the bright flush across his cheeks. the way his eyes looked anywhere but you and then- he leaned in, squeezing his eyes shut and gripping the blanket tight.

you couldn't help your smile, sliding your fingers closer and intertwining them with his as you met him in the middle.

you were careful, slow, just pressing a gentle kiss against the corner of his mouth.

he let out a shaky slow breath of relief, tilting to the side and making sure the next time you came in it was a real kiss.

his boldness surprised you, but it wasn't unwelcome. you took it as a sign to keep moving, scooting ever so slightly closer and bumping his thigh with your knee.

bob jumped just slightly, pulling away until your noses touched. kissing was more fun than he remembered, not that he remembered much.

you smiled up at him, waiting for him to continue.

"Wow..." he spoke so soft, breath fanning across your cheeks, mint like his toothpaste.

that made you giggle a little, biting your lip to stop it from coming out completely.

"Oh Bob. I haven't shown you anything yet."

he swallowed hard, watching you like he couldn't imagine there was anything better than what just happened.

"Here... do this." reaching for his hand, you brought it up to the side of your face, mimicking the motion yourself and brushing your thumb across his cheek.

he smiled so sweetly at you, your heart leapt. what a beautiful man.

"What?" his blush rose ever higher, hand shaking against your jaw.

did you say that out loud?

you decided to run with it, "You are, Bob. So beautiful. I thought you knew."

it felt like his room was getting infinitely warmer, your clothes too tight. keep going.

before he could respond you brought him down to your lips, it was easy, wherever your hand brought him, he followed.

this kiss was easier, more comfortable, he sighed against you and you could feel the flex of his fingers against your throat.

you held him tight, wanting to see if he'd let you show him more. your lips parted, swiping your tongue against his and he groaned.

bob immediately reciprocated, opening up for you and bringing you closer, letting your tongues meet in the middle. his free hand started wandering, sliding across your knee and settling on your thigh.

the heat radiating off of him was enough to have you panting when you pulled away.

his eyes were so dark, pupils blown, mouth dropped open in shock.

"Can you... show me more?" he was so uncertain, completely unaware of the fact that you were so fucking in love with him, the fact that you could spend the rest of your life like this and never be unsatisfied.

you didnt even respond, threading both of your hands in to his hair and sitting up taller to meet him in the middle this time.

he understood immediately and wrapped his arms around you, practically pulling you in to his lap as you connected again.

this one was messy, constant adjusting and tongues sliding against teeth and you truly wouldn't have it any other way.

bob started leaning back, it just felt natural to pull you with him, until you were straddling his thigh and moaning against his mouth.

god, his heart couldn't take this. he didn't know you'd offer to help like this. he was being hopeful when he talked about his mystery girl, hoping he could sense if you somehow reciprocated.

this was probably the best case scenario right?

even if you rejected him, he at least got this experience.

you pulled away, leaving soft kisses against his swollen lips, shushing him when he started to complain. you were confident he'd love this part, mouthing across his jaw and down his throat, scraping your teeth against his rapid pulse.

you didn't even react when his hands slid down to your ass, grabbing hard like you were the only thing keeping him grounded.

the moan he let out was so soft, surprised and breathless and you wanted to hear it again and again and again so you sucked until he had hickeys down to his collar bone.

"Fuck- you're amazing..." he couldn't help the whine to his voice, embarrassed at how easily you've unraveled him.

finally, you sat up to meet his eyes again, panting and trying to get your mind back on track. this definitely went off the rails but god you couldn't have asked for a better way to spend your night. at the very least if you never speak again, you got a chance to make him feel good.

"Mm. Think I've taught you enough to ask her out?" no, you were hoping he'd ask you to stay and keep going.

bob looked shocked, biting his lip as he looked away. "There was no her... it was just you."

your smile was so big it made your cheeks hurt, "God, I was hoping you'd say that."

you didn't give him a chance to respond, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and pulling him right back in.

[pankesitopank]

AAAAAAAAAAA OMG AAAAAH AAAAA MMMHHMMM WOOF WOOF GRRRR GRROOF RRWOOF

omg just thinking about riding him like that aaaahhh

like I have this idea where reader (who I may or may not have imagined as her... but that's very virgin so I'll just leave it as reader) is riding him in that same pose and he does NOTHING just watches her while she falls apart on top of him. Then he's the one who takes control and AAAAHH.

STAY WITH ME I HAVE A MINI SCENARIO

It was that pose. The one he knew made you crumble.

Hyunjin laid back against the couch, arms resting behind his head, his shirt stretching deliciously across his chest. His legs were spread like he was inviting you in—but his expression? That was the real trap. Heavy-lidded, smug, lips parted in just the faintest smirk. He looked at you like he already knew how this would end.

And maybe he did.

You were supposed to be proving a point. Something about not always needing him to take the lead. Something about how well you could ride him without begging for help. But the second your knees settled on either side of his hips, and your hands found purchase against his chest, you felt that confidence flicker under the weight of his stare.

“You sure you wanna try this?” he asked, voice a low hum, almost bored. “You remember what happened last time?”

You rolled your eyes, cheeks already warm.

“I can handle it.”

Hyunjin didn’t argue. He just arched a brow, the gold of his necklace catching the light as his head tilted slightly. “Alright then,” he murmured. “Go ahead, baby.”

And fuck if that didn’t already do something to you.

Your fingers trembled just a little as you reached between you, lining him up—hard and hot, his length already pressing against your folds from just a few soft grinds during your makeout session. He hadn’t even touched you properly yet. That was the worst part.

The teasing was all you.

You sank down slowly, inch by inch, your breath catching as his cock stretched you open. That familiar burn, the delicious fullness—it made you pause, hips trembling as you adjusted. He was big. Every time felt like the first. And from the slight twitch in his smirk, he knew it.

“Still doing okay?” he asked, voice smug and lazy.

You bit your lip, trying to focus. “Fine.”

You weren’t fine.

You were already clenching, already too aware of how he filled you up, how deep he was when you were on top. But you started to move—hips rolling slowly, experimentally, finding a rhythm.

And god, it felt good.

The friction, the angle, the way his cock hit just right inside you. You set your pace, slow and deep, hands pressing against his firm chest for leverage. Your thighs ached just a little, but you pushed through, trying to stay in control. You had to. That was the point.

Hyunjin didn’t help you. Not once.

His arms stayed behind his head, that stupid gold watch catching your eye as he laid there like a fucking painting, letting you do the work. Letting you work for it.

He just watched.

Watched the way your breath got heavier, the way your legs started to tremble, the way your movements got a little more desperate. You tried to stay composed—keep a rhythm—but the tension was building fast.

And Hyunjin was silent.

No moans, no groans. Just that same smug look on his face. That calm, unreadable gaze that made you want to snap.

“Why aren’t you—” you panted, lifting and dropping onto him again, “—doing anything?”

He just blinked slowly. “You said you wanted to ride me, remember?” A pause. “You were so confident. So cocky. Wanted to prove a point.”

You hated how turned on his voice made you. It was too casual. Too calm. And you were already shaking.

“I—fuck—” you gasped, grinding down against him with more force, chasing the friction you needed. “I can. I don’t—nngh—need you to—”

“Oh?” he said, tilting his head. “Because you’re getting real sloppy, baby. Haven’t even made yourself cum yet.”

You whimpered.

It was true. The angle was almost there, your clit barely brushing against his pelvis, but it wasn’t enough. You couldn’t get enough speed, enough force, not without help. Your legs were already burning.

Still, you didn’t want to give in. Not yet.

You braced your palms harder against his chest and moved faster—bouncing on his cock with shallow, needy motions, chasing something that was just out of reach. His cock dragged perfectly inside you, but you were losing rhythm, falling apart.

And all the while, Hyunjin just watched you.

“God, look at you,” he said softly. “So pretty when you try.”

His voice made your stomach flip. You were whining now, desperate little sounds falling from your lips every time your hips met his. You were so close, but it wasn’t enough.

You needed help. You needed him.

And the second your pace faltered again, the second you let out that frustrated little whimper, Hyunjin moved.

His hands came down from behind his head, strong fingers wrapping around your waist. He didn’t flip you. He didn’t sit up. He just gripped you tight and started thrusting up.

Hard.

“Ah—Hyun—fuck!”

You collapsed forward instantly, hands fisting in his shirt as he rutted up into you, hips snapping with a rhythm that stole the breath from your lungs. Every thrust hit deep, his cock slamming into your sweet spot like he’d been waiting for you to fail.

“Wanted me to let you ride me, huh?” he grunted, voice right against your ear now. “Wanted to show me how good you are?”

You couldn’t speak. You could barely breathe.

His grip was tight, his rhythm brutal. You could feel his abs flex beneath your stomach, his thighs tensing with every upward drive. The couch squeaked under the pressure, the sound of skin against skin filthy in the air.

“Not so cocky now, are you?”

You cried out—his cock hitting so deep it felt like you were about to fall apart. Your body went boneless on top of him, your chest pressing against his as you moaned shamelessly.

“Say it,” Hyunjin growled. “Tell me who’s in control.”

You shook your head, tears threatening at the corners of your eyes.

He slammed into you.

“Say it.”

You gasped. “You! You’re in control—fuck, Hyunjin, I can’t—”

He grinned, breath hot against your skin. “That’s what I thought.”

One hand slipped between you, fingers finding your clit and rubbing in tight, fast circles. It was too much. His cock ramming into you from below, his fingers on your clit, his voice in your ear—

You came hard, body convulsing on top of him as your orgasm ripped through you.

But he didn’t stop.

“Good girl,” he whispered, still thrusting up into you. “Now let me finish.”

You were sobbing now, overwhelmed, your walls fluttering around him as he fucked you through your high. You were limp against him, totally at his mercy, thighs quivering as he chased his release.

And then—deep, low, a growl against your throat—

“Gonna cum inside you.”

You moaned so loud it echoed.

“Gonna make sure you remember who really owns this pussy, baby.”

And with one last, brutal thrust—he came.

You felt it. Hot and thick, spilling deep inside you as he groaned into your skin, holding you tight against his chest. Your body pulsed with aftershocks, your breath ragged, your legs trembling uncontrollably.

The room was silent.

Only the sound of your breathing. Of Hyunjin’s heart pounding beneath your cheek.

You didn’t move.

Couldn’t.

He kissed your temple, still inside you, still warm and hard.

“Next time,” he whispered, “just ask.”

You let out a breathless laugh, cheeks burning.

Maybe you’d let him win this one.

[satsugacafe]

𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐃𝐨 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐓𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐎𝐧

➳❥ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬: Shunsui, Jushiro, Ichigo, Byakuya, Renji, Hisagi, Gin, Kira, Aizen, Toshiro, Kisuke, Shinji, Zaraki, Unohana, Yhwach, Jugram, Askin, Bazz-B, Ryuken, Uryu, Grimmjow, Starrk, Ulquiorra

➳❥ 𝐀/𝐍: I wasn’t expecting to write to write for everyone, but I also didn’t want to do this in parts. So everyone’s here in one post :)

➳❥ 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 18+ content, fem!reader in the smut part, asphyxiation, blood and knife play, manhandling, cunnilingus, blowjobs, fingering, lingerie, rough play, power play, cockwarming, thigh-riding, marking, light bondage, dirty talking, sleepy sex

➳❥ 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐱𝐭: Non-sexual and sexual things you do that turns them on.

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐍𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 | 𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Kyoraku Shunsui

Non-sexual turn-ons:

A playful sense of humour and teasing wit.

Wearing his haori or hat just to mess with him.

Intelligence that reveals itself subtly.

Being affectionate and touchy without needing a reason.

Showing empathy and gentleness, especially with others.

Drinking tolerance can match or outdo his

Sexual turn-ons:

Whispering into his ear while seated on his lap

Flashing glimpses of cleavage, thighs, or the curve of your hip when you pretend not to notice

Lazy, sensual makeout sessions while straddling him on the porch

Being the one to initiate things slowly, then letting him take over

The sight of you stroking the base of his cock while still dressed in one of his robes

Ukitake Jushiro

Non-sexual turn-ons:

Soft spoken encouragements and genuine smiles

Gentle physical affection—stroking his hair, massaging his back

Bringing him food or medicine without being asked

Listening to him talk about history or poetry with interest

Seeing you play with children or his younger siblings

Sexual turn-ons:

Tender, unhurried touches—especially trailing fingers down his chest

Sucking lightly on his tongue when you kiss

Gently guiding his hand under your robes while making eye contact

Being vocal, breathy, but sweet—he melts hearing your moans

Giving him slow, teasing head with your hands stroking his thighs

Kurosaki Ichigo

Non-sexual turn-ons:

Standing up for yourself or others unapologetically

Sparring with him and actually managing to knock him down

Wearing his clothes and acting like it’s no big deal

Brushing your fingers through his hair after he’s bathed

Letting him protect you but also fighting at his side

Sexual turn-ons:

Grinding against him while you’re both fully clothed

Tugging on his hair when you kiss roughly

The look in your eyes when you drop to your knees for him

Telling him how big and hard he feels in your mouth

Riding him while biting your lip and watching his reactions

Kuchiki Byakuya

Non-sexual turn-ons:

Elegance, poise, and self-discipline

The graceful way you move—particularly in formal attire

Quiet loyalty that never needs announcing

Speaking refined, poetic compliments that catch him off guard

Playing a traditional instrument or painting in silence near him

Sexual turn-ons:

Undressing slowly and deliberately in front of him

Moaning softly into his ear as you ride him in his private quarters

Holding eye contact as you suck him off—subtly defiant

Leaving lipstick marks on his collarbone

Whispering your filthy thoughts in a voice soft as silk

Abarai Renji

Non-sexual turn-ons:

Boldness and unfiltered honesty

Sparring or working out together, especially if you show him up

Wearing something tight or revealing without even trying

Cheering him on at his matches or missions

Talking dirty in casual conversation just to mess with him

Sexual turn-ons:

Biting his neck and shoulders while he's deep inside you

Taking control—pushing him back, pinning his wrists

Moaning his name when he hits just the right angle

Tugging on his hair and smirking while you’re on top

The sight of you bent over, looking back at him with a dare in your eyes

Ichimaru Gin

Non-sexual turn-ons:

Playing his game of sly remarks and never flinching

Giving him a mysterious smile of your own

Feeding him something sweet with your fingers

Staring him down until he laughs genuinely

Reading or observing him silently like he’s a puzzle

Sexual turn-ons:

Letting him tie your wrists and whisper what he’ll do to you

Moaning his name when he ghosts his tongue over your sskn

Clenching around his cock while grinning up at him

Giving him a look that says you want him to ruin you

Being playful, coy, and just a little bratty—he loves the chase

Izuru Kira

Non-sexual turn-ons:

Quiet empathy and gentle support

Touching his hair or face with loving patience

Listening to him without judgement

Writing him notes or letters instead of saying things aloud

Seeing you defend him when he doubts himself

Sexual turn-ons:

Stroking his cock softly while looking up at him with flushed cheeks

Running your hands across his chest while kissing his neck

Light bondage or being guided firmly—he secretly likes being told what to do

Soft sighs and moans that escape you as you ride him slow and deep

Letting him worship your body like you’re sacred

Shuhei Hisagi

Non-sexual turn-ons:

Confidence that doesn’t cross into arrogance

Tracing his tattoos with curious fingers

Wearing his sleeveless uniform and mimicking him with a grin

Helping him relax when he's stressed—running your hands through his hair

Admiring his scars or voice work sincerely

Sexual turn-ons:

Scratching your nails down his back while he’s fucking you rough

Letting him pin your arms above your head with just one hand

Moaning shamelessly when he squeezes your throat lightly with his fingers

Riding his thigh until you’re dripping for him

Sucking on his fingers while you grind into his lap

Hitsugaya Toshiro

Non-sexual turn-ons:

Intelligence, especially when it challenges him

Cold weather snuggles—wrapping yourself around him

Running your hands along his chest or collar absentmindedly

Letting him take care of you when you're injured

Playing an instrument or humming to yourself while working

Sexual turn-ons:

Warming his cock between your thighs before sliding him in

Leaving frostbitten kisses on his chest and neck

Gasping when he pushes your legs apart with firm hands

Riding him hard enough to melt the ice under you both

Letting him lose control—he rarely does, but when he does…

Zaraki Kenpachi

Non-sexual turn-ons:

Anyone who can take a hit and laugh

Bloodied lips and challenging stares

Wearing nothing but a haori or his eyepatch

Joking about fucking in the middle of a battlefield

Fighting him and moaning when he slams you to the ground

Sexual turn-ons:

Scratching down his chest while he fucks you brutally

Screaming for more while you ride his cock until your thighs give out

Biting his lip until he bleeds and shoving him back for round two

Taking him raw and wild, begging for him to fill your pussy

Letting him fuck you against a wall with one hand on your throat

Hirako Shinji

Non-sexual turn-ons:

Quirky humour and refusing to take things seriously

Playing with his hair or trying on his hats

Teasing him with clever innuendos

Letting him cook for you and pretending it’s better than it is

Kissing him upside-down just to throw him off

Sexual turn-ons:

Riding his face with slow, shivering control

Moaning his name sweetly when he stretches you open

Light biting and tongue-play—especially on his ears. And his tongue piercing—tell him you like it when you use it on you

Getting on all fours and arching your back for him

Pinning him down and whispering what you want him to do

Aizen Sosuke

Non-sexual turn-ons:

Polished confidence, intellectual curiosity

Subtly challenging his authority with charm

Wearing glasses or reading books on complex topics

Obeying him flawlessly and then seducing him with a glance

Letting him teach you something, and acting too impressed

Sexual turn-ons:

Licking his cock while you whisper how powerful he feels

Spreading yourself open and begging him to “study” you

Moaning his name as you ride him slow, cunt squeezing him rhythmically

Telling him how you want to be rearranged by his cock

Letting him fuck your mouth until your eyes water and you thank him

Urahara Kisuke

Non-sexual turn-ons:

Brainy curiosity and scientific banter

Wearing his hat or clogs and acting like the boss

Fixing his tech for him with a wink

Subtle acts of devotion: tea when he’s exhausted, bandages on his hands

Purring innuendo in his ear while he’s trying to focus

Sexual turn-ons:

Straddling him and slowly sinking onto his cock while teasing his brain

Moaning nonsense while he fingerfucks you with wild precision

Sitting on his face and grinding until you’re sobbing his name

Letting him record your moans while he fucks you from behind. Also letting his try his new gadgets on you

Making him beg for release while you edge him for hours

Unohana Retsu

Non-sexual turn-ons:

Calm confidence, quiet control in a crisis

Precision in combat or healing—grace over brute strength

Obedience without submission; challenge without disrespect

Running your fingers through her hair or over her blade

Speaking softly but firmly, holding her gaze without flinching

Sexual turn-ons:

Letting her take full control—bound, blindfolded, at her mercy

Bleeding lightly beneath her nails as she rides you slow and deep

Moaning her full name while she traces your throat with her blade

Taking her strapon in full, whimpering, and asking for more or when she grinds her pussy on you

Eyes rolling back when she fucks you until you cry her name like a prayer

Yhwach

Non-sexual turn-ons:

Absolute devotion and confidence in your own strength

Kneeling before him without being told, eyes proud and unwavering

Speaking to him without fear, and daring to offer advice

Soft dominance—stroking his hair while he rests against you

Wearing his insignia or colours like a second skin

Sexual turn-ons:

Spreading your legs for him without a word

Taking every inch of his cock while moaning his name

Holding eye contact while he fucks you on his throne

Licking your lips after he cums on your face

Letting him use your body as his reward after war

Jugram Haschwalth

Non-sexual turn-ons:

Quiet authority and strong posture

Wearing long, elegant clothes that match his aesthetic

Obeying his commands with subtle grace and precision

Showing tactical intelligence in a high-pressure situation

Reading or writing near him by candlelight

Sexual turn-ons:

Kneeling between his legs, eyes wide, waiting for his permission

The sound of your moans as he fucks you slow and deep

Cupping his balls while taking his full length into your throat

Letting him bind you to his desk and stroke you with precision

The flushed, ruined look on your face after he’s spent himself inside you

Askin Nakk Le Vaar

Non-sexual turn-ons:

Sarcasm and biting wit delivered with a pretty smile

Watching you experiment with food, drinks, or poisons

Wearing silky clothes that brush against his fingers when you pass

Subtle manipulation that surprises even him

Laughing at his morbid jokes and then one-upping them

Sexual turn-ons:

Sucking on his fingers while looking into his eyes

Licking his cock from base to tip with slow, deliberate flicks

Riding him in lace lingerie while playing with your own nipples

Letting him drip things on your body and lick them off

Playfully threatening to overstimulate him—he’ll beg beautifully

Bazz-B

Non-sexual turn-ons:

Boldness, fire, and being louder than him when you argue

Revealing outfits, crop tops, battle armour that shows skin

Throwing playful punches and getting pinned for it

Cheering him on when he’s being dramatic

Letting him brag and then putting him in his place

Sexual turn-ons:

Groping his cock through his trousers and laughing at his growl

Taking charge and riding him wild until he taps out

Clawing his back while he fucks you against a wall

Sucking on his balls while he tugs your hair

Calling him “hot stuff” while your cunt clenches around him

Ishida Ryuken

Non-sexual turn-ons:

Intelligence matched with calm maturity

Wearing lingerie under a lab coat

Pouring his coffee without asking, quiet domestic gestures

Knowing when to shut out the world and let him have silence

Precision, elegance, and reading medical journals in bed

Sexual turn-ons:

Sucking his cock under his desk while he pretends to work

Letting him finger you with his gloves still on

Whispering dirty praise into his ear with clinical detail

Riding him slow, grinding until he swears under his breath

Guiding his hand over your clit and telling him what you need

Ishida Uryu

Non-sexual turn-ons:

Graceful intellect and sharp wit

Wearing his scarf or coat and fixing your glasses teasingly

Being meticulous in your crafts or hobbies

Challenging his logic just to watch him ramble

Quiet, firm affection—holding his hand while working

Sexual turn-ons:

Licking the seam of his lips before kissing him

Stroking his cock while whispering how proud you are of him

Gasping softly when he kisses your inner thighs

Letting him tie your ankles with his Quincy threads

Telling him he’s perfect while you cum around his cock

Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez

Non-sexual turn-ons:

Arrogant smirks, spitfire sass, and biting back

Showing your battle scars like they’re trophies

Tearing your clothes mid-fight and laughing about it

Challenging him with no fear in your eyes

Wearing nothing but a grin and calling him a pussycat

Sexual turn-ons:

Scratching his scalp while he eats you out with zero mercy

Choking on his cock and crying from the stretch

Letting him fuck you over any surface, raw and rabid

Cumming from just how rough he bites your nipples

Riding him while yelling how good he feels—and slapping his chest

Coyote Starrk

Non-sexual turn-ons:

Quiet companionship and non-verbal affection

Dozing on his chest without saying a word

Wearing his clothes and letting him see your cleavage

Soft eyes and lazy mornings in bed

Listening to his silences and responding in kind

Sexual turn-ons:

Slow, sleepy sex where you grind against his cock until he wakes fully

Letting him suck your tits while you ride him

Whispering “please” while you ride him under the covers

Letting him watch you touch yourself while you straddle his lap

Taking him so slowly he shivers—he never shivers

Ulquiorra Cifer

Non-sexual turn-ons:

Existential curiosity and thought-provoking questions

Crying in front of him without shame—he notices

Gently touching his face without asking

Wearing white, black, or green in contrast to his own shades

Showing emotion just for him—never for others

Sexual turn-ons:

Soft moans while you take his cock inch by inch, eyes fluttering shut

Letting him explore your cunt like it’s a mystery

Kissing him without permission and whispering “mine”

Wrapping your legs around him and pulling him in deeper

Crying out his name as you cum—he won’t say it, but he lives for it

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @stygianoir @spellboundsuguru @cookielovesbook-akie @kennys-partner @sovl-society @villainsrtasty @foxycrafterofgreenwood @carnationdoe @darthwhorecrux @kryptoniteforsale

©satsugacafé 2025: no permission to repost, plagiarise, copy or translate my work onto any other platform or this one.

[humpster35]

Analysis of the triplets hands.

Nick:

-Nick out of the three has the most soft hands.

-His veins show the least

-Because Nick takes pride in taking care of his skin, when he’s giving a handjob to a guy, they’ll be more likely to cum on them.

-His fingers are normal sized

-I feel like if you held his hands it’ll make you instantly feel safe.

-He has pretty nails always and aesthetically pleasing hands.

-I feel like he’s tried to reach his g-spot at one point in his life but gave up because his fingers aren’t long enough for it.

-When he’s gripping his cock, he always stays at the tip and gets whiny when he feels himself close to cumming.

-Nick would pinch the nipples of his boyfriend to tease him.

-His delicate fingers would graze over the lips of his boyfriend while he admires how pretty his nails are.

-Gets his nails painted the same color as his boyfriend’s tip.

-Nick loves running his hand through his lovers hair. There’s nothing greater to him than feeling a good lock of hair after a good makeout session.

Matt

-Matt’s veins show the most.

-Matt is more likely to finger his girlfriend. Although I will say, because his fingers are slightly more elongated than normal, he’s gonna easily find her g spot.

-Matt would hold your entire face in his hands.

-I feel like Matt’s a big hand kisser guy. Like he would greet you this way or even just do it just because.

-The rings do indeed stay on.

-When he’s putting on rings he asks you before hand if you wanna get fingered later on for that day so he knows how to place them.

-The veins on his hand are a replica of how his cock looks.

-Matt’s fingering is more fast paced. He wants you to fall apart under him. He’s not the type to go easy on you just because you beg for it. Once you’re on the verge of tears from overstimulation then he gives in and stops.

-Sometimes he would decide to only finger you for the whole month and not fuck you.

-He edges your clit by tapping at it and then spitting softly on his finger tips and rubbing it in fast, and then stopping when you almost cum.

-His hand lives around your throat. Choking you is so natural to Matt. He would grab you by your neck if you aren’t paying attention to him.

Chris

-Chris has veins on his hands and maybe even more than Matt’s.

-Because of his huge dick, fingering isn’t something that his girlfriend and he would do often.

-When he does finger her, his movements are more deep and slow. You would expect him to be the more fast paced guy when it comes to this but no, Chris deliberately takes his time feeling you.

-He rubs your back when you hug him.

-Chris doesn’t wear rings but he would wear bracelets. The sound of the metal clinking is gonna be the only thing heard as his girl is nearing her orgasm and Chris is chasing her high.

-His hands are fucking huge.

-He picks up basketballs just to show you how much he can hold it with one hand.

-Chris would get your eye color painted onto his nails

-He definitely pinches your tits. He’s so playful so for him it’s like a stress ball

-Chris definitely covers your mouth a lot when fucking you. He would be happy you’re moaning but he likes taking charge in any way possible.

-He rubs your shoulders when you’re anxious about something.

-Chris loves holding you by your waist, you’re his baby.