✢♡ 𝒟oli ‧₊˚

You didn't expect that to involve you lying on the floor with him looming above you, arms extended in a perfect push-up form.

"That was twenty-three," he said smoothly, a smirk playing on his lips. "And, as promised..."

He leaned down, planting a soft kiss on your lips.

You blinked, speechless—again.

"Twenty-four." Push-up. Kiss.

"Veritas—" you started, only to be silenced by another kiss on the twenty-fifth rep.

"I find this method more efficient than chemical stimulants for motivation," he mused.

You sighed, tilting your head. "And what, exactly, am I? A glorified dumbbell?"

"No," he replied with mock seriousness. "You’re a reward system. Perfectly engineered to trigger oxytocin release and reinforce success. Efficient. Elegant. Undeniably enticing."

He paused at push-up thirty, locking eyes with you. "I’d do a hundred more if it meant one more kiss from you."

Despite yourself, you laughed. “You’re lucky I’m too intrigued to walk away.”

"Correction," he said, kissing you again. "I'm lucky you never do."

Aventurine was doing planks.

Not just any planks—one-armed planks on a polished marble floor, his torso gleaming faintly with sweat, and you, stretched languidly across his back like the most luxurious weighted blanket known to man.

"Keep still, sweetheart," he said through gritted teeth, flashing that signature grin. “You wobble and I fold. And if I collapse, you owe me dinner.”

“Pretty sure this counts as your punishment for bluffing about taking me on a ‘relaxing evening,’” you deadpanned, flipping the page of your book.

“Darling, you sitting on my back while I do core work is the definition of romance. Why else would I be showing off like this?”

You rolled your eyes. “What are we at now?”

“Sixty seconds… and counting.” He grunted, then added in a singsong tone: “Unless you want to make this harder for me.”

“Harder how?”

He smirked. “Slide a little forward.”

You gave a dangerous grin. “You’re insane.”

“Maybe. But I’m charming, strong, and balancing a whole library on my back. I’d say I’m worth the gamble.”

You shook your head, trying not to smile. “I’m not budging. I like this book.”

“Oh good. I like it when you're on top.”

You dropped your book on his head.

He didn’t even flinch.

The training deck of the Astral Express was quiet—save for the soft thuds of Caelus’s push-ups and your occasional page-turning.

You were seated cross-legged on a bench nearby, book open in your lap. He was on the floor beside you, bare arms flexing with every descent.

At first, you thought he was just working out. Until he shifted.

Now he was doing push-ups directly above you.

With you lying beneath him.

You stared up, stunned as he leaned down and—kiss.

“One,” he whispered, lips brushing yours.

Another push-up. Another kiss.

“Caelus,” you breathed. “You can’t be serious.”

“Dead serious,” he replied, grinning between reps. “One push-up, one promise.”

“And what promise is that?”

He lowered again, slower this time. Kiss.

“That I’ll keep choosing you. Every day. Every mission. No matter how heavy things get.”

You reached up, hand resting on his cheek.

“Even when the world’s falling apart?”

Push-up. Kiss.

“Especially then.”

You laughed softly, heart melting as he kept going, counting quietly, his voice like a steady rhythm.

Somewhere around push-up twenty, you stopped him by holding his face in your hands and kissed him.

“One kiss, one promise,” you whispered. “That I’ll never let you carry it all alone.”

He stilled.

Then smiled.

“Deal.”

The deck of the ship swayed beneath your feet, but Brant’s rhythm remained flawless. You were lying flat on your back on the wooden floor, book in hand, while your flamboyant captain (or boyfriend) hovered above you—literally—doing push-ups.

With every dip, he grinned, his face mere inches from yours.

“Thirty-four… Thirty-five… Mwah~” he whispered, punctuating each push-up with a dramatic kiss to your forehead, nose, cheek—once even the tip of your ear, which had you flinching and nearly dropping your book.

You didn’t react much at first, pretending to be deeply invested in the page before you, but your smile betrayed you.

“You know,” you murmured, without looking up, “some people train without turning it into a stage performance.”

“Darling,” Brant purred, pausing at the peak of another push-up, “every heartbeat is a drumroll. Every drop of sweat, a crescendo. And every time I kiss you like this—” he dipped again, planting another kiss, this time on your lips, “—the audience goes wild.”

You laughed softly, cheeks warm.

“I think the ‘audience’ went home hours ago.”

“Then all the better,” he said with a wink, dropping to his elbows beside you. “This scene’s exclusive. One night only. No understudies allowed.”

Jiyan didn’t believe in unnecessary distractions—except, apparently, when it came to you.

You sat cross-legged with a cup of tea, quietly watching as he performed sit-ups with mechanical precision. Every time he came up, he stopped just short of your face, eyes steady on yours.

And every time, you offered a quick kiss.

“Fifty-eight…”

Kiss.

“Fifty-nine…”

Kiss.

“Sixty…”

You paused. “Aren’t you getting tired?”

“No.”

His tone was calm, almost too calm. You narrowed your eyes.

“You’re only doing this so I’ll keep kissing you, aren’t you?”

He didn’t answer immediately—just came up for another rep, forehead nearly touching yours. You sighed, leaned in, and kissed him again.

“I knew it.”

“Incorrect,” he replied with that ever-serious expression. “I’m building endurance. You’re simply… an efficient motivator.”

Despite yourself, you smiled.

“You’re impossible.”

“Then keep testing my limits.” He smirked—yes, smirked—before resuming his sit-ups.

You were lying across the couch, engrossed in a paperback, while Harumasa planked directly above you.

Not beside you. Not in front of you.

Above you.

You are gonna use his back as a headrest laterwards.

“Still alive?” you asked without glancing up from your book.

“Wouldn’t die doing this,” he muttered, holding perfectly still, only the occasional twitch of his arms betraying any effort. “Not when I’ve got the world’s comfiest couch under me.”

“That ‘couch’ has opinions.”

“Shhh. Pillows don’t talk.”

You snorted, nudging his ribs lightly with your elbow. “You’ve been at it for five minutes. Impressive. I’m surprised you haven’t turned into a puddle yet.”

“I would,” he said, face dangerously close to yours as he shifted an inch lower, “but I figured the reward was worth it.”

“Reward?”

He tilted his head until your lips were almost touching. “A kiss per minute, wasn’t it?”

You rolled your eyes. “That’s not how this works.”

“Then I’m quitting.”

You laughed, catching him in a kiss before he could collapse. “Fine. You get one. For being a surprisingly stubborn slacker.”

He grinned lazily, resting his cheek against your forehead. “Best workout of my life.”

- 𐙚⋆. choso ˎˊ˗

fucking you under - choso's favorite position to see your beautiful face

special delievery: tub rubbing - gentle rubbing to help soothe you after a horrible day

sub choso - give that boy his reward, he was nothing but a good boy for u <3

camping gone sexual - seeing that ur isolated with your bwf, he couldn't help himself from eating that cute cunt, especially after u tried to end off the "relationship"

cum in me!! - dont want that pretty cum anywhere else but in you

- 𐙚⋆. ryomen sukuna ˎˊ˗

so rough! - sukuna has to test how much your body can take of him before you become obsessed.

hair pulling - sukuna told u to be back before 7 pm while you're out for ur girls' night. but you forgot! nothing a good hair pulling wont help fix

ripping fishnets - dont think fishnet's are going to stop him from eating his dinner

outfit turn on! - you knew this outfit would get sukuna to whip that cock out every time

size kink - who wouldn't develop one when fucking sukuna?!

- 𐙚⋆. nanami kento ˎˊ˗

use you as a stress reliever - he needed to relieve his stress somehow! why not use his darling wife?

hand off! - nanami can't keep his hands off you

toys - nanami wants to experiment toys with you, seemed he had a little too much fun

dinner fun - the idea of getting caught and letting him control your vib made it an exciting night

anal + toys - it's time for both your holes to get ready for a honeymoon night

- 𐙚⋆. geto suguru ˎˊ˗

pussy slapping - you knew better than to piss him off, but you couldn't help it

long dick geto - what started off as a funny argument between 2 friends turns into him impaling you on his cock.

face down - remember girl: face down, ass up!

sneaking into your room - you missed him! you didn't care if your roommate could probably hear

sharing is caring - why fight over you when geto and gojo can share you

♡ :: bonus!! (older) maki zenin ˎˊ˗

boob obessed

morning fingering

your hand moves from your robe to your stomach, pressing against the plane of your belly. you're small. you know this. delicate in a way that makes people underestimate you. and blind. gods, the blindness. the one thing that has sent every single suitor running in the opposite direction.

princes would see your face first—the one they called ethereal, otherworldly, beautiful in a way that seemed impossible—and they'd fall to their knees.

they'd whisper sweet words, promises of devotion, declarations of love at first sight. and then you'd speak, and they'd realize your eyes didn't track their movements, didn't meet their gaze. and slowly, painfully, you'd listen to them pull away. hear the hesitation creep into their voices. feel the distance grow until they were gone.

you were used to it.

but sukuna? sukuna had looked at you once, for a single moment, and said yes. the entire empire had been shocked. the king of curses, the ruthless murderer, the emperor who had never shown interest in any woman, accepting a blind bride from a neighboring kingdom? it was scandalous. impossible.

and you'd felt hope.

you hate yourself for that hope now.

because three months of silence have taught you the truth. he doesn't want you. he tolerates you. and honestly? you'd almost prefer cruelty. at least cruelty would be a reaction. at least cruelty would mean he saw you as something worth acknowledging.

but this nothingness? this endless, suffocating nothingness?

it makes you feel like you've already disappeared.

the servants guide you through your days with practiced efficiency. they dress you, feed you, lead you through the palace halls. you've memorized the layout of your chambers, the path to the gardens, the number of steps from your room to the dining hall. you've learned to navigate this world without sight, just as you've always done.

but you can't navigate him.

you don't know where he sits at meals. you don't know if he watches you. you don't know if he even notices when you're in the same room. his presence is a void—a massive, oppressive absence of warmth that you can feel but never touch.

tonight was bad.

you'd been led to the gardens by a new servant, someone who didn't know your habits. she'd taken you left instead of right, and you'd walked straight into a hedge, thorns scratching your calves before she'd yanked you back with a flurry of apologies.

then you'd almost fallen down a staircase—the grand staircase with its uneven steps—your foot catching on the edge, your heart lurching into your throat as you'd pitched forward. a guard caught you just in time.

and the whispers.

you can't see their faces, but you can hear their voices. the concubines. the noblewomen. the servants who think you can't hear them.

"the blind empress."

"does he even notice her?"

"i heard he hasn't touched her once."

"what a waste of a pretty face."

"she must be so lonely."

"she must be so pathetic."

you'd smiled through all of it. kept your head high, your shoulders back, your voice steady. you learned long ago that showing weakness only invites more cruelty. so you'd walked through the halls with your practiced grace, your cane tapping against the marble floors, your face serene.

but inside, you were crumbling.

and now, lying in this massive bed, with your hair spread across a silk pillow and the scent of incense curling through the air, you can feel him beside you. he's so close. you know he's sitting up, his back probably against the headboard, his presence a heavy weight in the darkness.

does he ever sleep?

you've never heard him snore. never heard him shift in his sleep. he's so still, so silent, you sometimes wonder if he's even real.

a long, long time passes. the candles burn down. the incense fades. the night wraps around you like a shroud.

and you can't take it anymore.

"ryomen?"

your voice comes out soft, barely above a whisper. you hate how small you sound. how vulnerable. you'd wanted to sound strong, confident, demanding. instead, you sound like a child calling out in the dark.

silence.

you wait. count your heartbeats. one. two. three. four. five.

just when you're certain he's ignoring you, just when the familiar ache of rejection settles into your chest, a voice cuts through the darkness.

"what."

it's gruff. low. a single word that rumbles through the air like distant thunder. and it's the most he's said to you in days.

you swallow. your throat is dry. your fingers twist in the sheets.

"i...i want to ask you something."

more silence. you can feel him staring at you. you can't see it, but you can feel it—the weight of his gaze, heavy and unreadable.

"ask."

you take a shaky breath. this is it. this is the moment you've been building toward for three months. the question that's been eating you alive, consuming you from the inside out.

"do you hate me?"

the words hang in the air between you. they sound so small. so pathetic. you wish you could take them back, but it's too late. they're out there now, exposed and raw.

"hate you?" his voice is strange. almost...confused?

"because of...because i'm...y'know, blind." the words taste like ash in your mouth. "i know it's...i know i'm not what you expected. i know i'm not the best option. i know i'm—"

"stop."

the word is sharp, and you flinch. your breath catches in your throat. you brace yourself for anger, for cruelty, for him to finally confirm what you've suspected all along.

but instead of harsh words, you feel movement. the bed shifts. his weight moves closer.

and then, without warning, a hand wraps around your waist and pulls.

you let out a frightened shriek as you're yanked from your position, your body colliding with something solid and warm. your hands fly out, grasping at fabric, at skin, at anything. you're on his lap, straddling his thighs, your chest pressed against his. he's so big—so impossibly large—that you feel like a doll in his arms.

"ryomen!" your voice is high, panicked. "what—"

"quiet."

his hand settles on your thigh. it's huge. calloused. rough in a way that sends shivers down your spine. but the touch is gentle. impossibly gentle. he strokes your thigh once, twice, a soothing motion that slowly calms your racing heart.

"you really think," he says slowly, his voice rumbling against your chest, "that i hate you?"

you can't speak. your throat is too tight. you settle for shaking your head against his chest, even though it's a lie.

a low sound escapes him—not quite a growl, not quite a laugh. his hand slides from your thigh to your chin, tilting your face up. his thumb brushes across your lower lip, feather-light.

"open your eyes."

the command catches you off guard. "what?"

"your eyes. open them."

you blink, confused. your eyes are already open. you can't see anything, but they're open. you tell him as much.

"no." his voice is strange. softer. "i mean...look at me."

"i can't see you."

"i know." his thumb traces your jawline. "but i can see you. and i want to see your eyes. please."

please.

the word catches you off guard. the king of curses, saying please? to you?

you don't move. don't breathe. just let him hold your face in his massive hand, his touch devastatingly tender.

"i don't hate you," he says, and his voice cracks on the words. "gods, woman. i could never hate you."

your heart stutters. "then why—"

"because i'm fuckin' terrified."

you blink. "what?"

"do you know what i am?" his hand slides from your face to your hair, fingers threading through the strands. "i'm a killer. i've been killing for centuries. my hands are stained with blood i'll never wash clean. i'm rough, and violent, and i don't know how to be gentle."

"but—"

"but when i saw you..." he trails off. his fingers tighten in your hair, just barely. "when i saw you, i couldn't breathe. you were so beautiful. so small. so... perfect. and i thought, 'she's too good f'me.' , 'i'll break her.' , 'i'll hurt her.'"

his voice drops to a whisper.

"so i stayed away. because every time i look at you, i want to touch you. and every time i touch you, i'm afraid i'll destroy you."

tears prick at your eyes. you don't understand. you can't understand. this entire time, you thought he hated you. you thought he found you repulsive, broken, worthless.

but he was...

...afraid?

"you don't hate me?" you whisper.

"no." his forehead presses against yours. "i love you. i've loved you since the moment i saw you."

a sob escapes your throat. it's ugly and raw and you can't stop it.

"but you never—you never talked to me—"

"because i didn't trust myself." his other hand comes up to cup your cheek. "because i knew if i started, i wouldn't be able to stop."

"then don't stop."

the words leave your mouth before you can think. they hang in the air, bold and desperate.

"don't stop," you repeat. "please. i don't want you to stop."

sukuna goes still. so still that you wonder if he's stopped breathing.

"you don't know what you're asking."

"i do." you reach up, your fingers finding his face. you trace the planes of his cheeks, the sharp lines of his jaw, the curve of his lips. "you're my husband. i want you. all of you."

"i'll hurt you."

"i don't care."

"i'll break you."

"i don't care."

his breath hitches. and then, finally, finally, his lips crash against yours.

the kiss is desperate. hungry. it tastes like three months of longing, of confusion, of aching loneliness. his hand fists in your hair, pulling you closer, and you gasp against his mouth. his tongue slides against your lower lip, asking for entry, and you give it willingly.

he tastes like sake and power and something darker. something that makes your toes curl and your heart race.

he pulls back, breathless.

"tell me to stop, and i will."

"don't," you say immediately. "don't stop."

he groans. his hands slide down your back, gripping your hips, and he lays you down on the bed. you fall against the silk sheets, your hair spreading around you like a halo. you can't see him, but you can feel him—his weight on the bed, his heat surrounding you, his breath ghosting across your skin.

"m'gonna show you," he says, his voice low and rough. "m'gonna kiss every inch of your body. gonna taste you until you scream my name. i want to make you feel so good that you forget every single doubt you've ever had about yourself."

your breath catches. "ryomen—"

"let me." his lips brush against your neck. "let me show you how much i love you."

you nod, unable to speak.

his hands find the tie of your robe. he undoes it slowly, reverently, like he's unwrapping a gift he's been waiting centuries to open. the fabric falls away, cool air hitting your skin, and you shiver.

"beautiful," he breathes. "so fucking beautiful."

you feel his lips on your collarbone. soft. worshipful. he kisses down your chest, his tongue tracing a path between your breasts. his hands cup your breasts, thumbs brushing across your nipples, and you gasp.

"sensitive," he murmurs. "good. i'll remember that."

he takes one nipple into his mouth. his tongue circles the peak, slow and deliberate, and you arch into him with a desperate moan. he laves at you, sucking gently, nipping with his teeth until you're writhing beneath him.

"more," you gasp. "please—"

"patience." his voice is a dark promise. "i haven't even started with ya' yet."

he switches to the other breast, giving it the same attention. his hand slides down your stomach, fingers tracing patterns on your skin, until he reaches the apex of your thighs. you're already wet—embarrassingly wet—and he lets out a low growl when he feels it.

"fuck," he mutters against your skin. "you're soaked. f'me?"

"yes," you whimper. "only you."

he groans. his fingers slide through your folds, collecting your wetness, and you buck into his touch.

"tell me what you want."

"i want—" you gasp as his thumb circles your clit. "m'want your mouth."

his laugh is dark and breathless. "demanding little thing, aren't ya'?"

"please," you beg. "ryo, please—"

"shh." he kisses your stomach. "i'll give ya' what y'want."

he moves down your body, his lips leaving a trail of fire. he kisses your hips, your thighs, the inside of your knees. by the time he reaches your core, you're trembling, desperate, aching.

and then his tongue touches you.

you cry out, your hands flying to his hair. he laps at you like a man starved, his tongue sliding through your folds, circling your clit, dipping inside you. he moans against you, the vibration sending shockwaves through your body.

"taste s'good," he mutters against your skin. "could eat ya' forever."

he sucks your clit into his mouth, and you scream. your hips buck against his face, but he holds you down, his massive hands gripping your thighs. he alternates between sucking and licking, building a rhythm that has you climbing higher and higher.

"that's it," he praises. "let go f'me...lemme taste ya'."

his fingers find your entrance, sliding inside you without warning. two fingers, thick and long, stretching you. he curls them, hitting a spot that makes you see stars, and you shatter.

you come with a scream of his name, your body convulsing as waves of pleasure crash through you. he doesn't stop. he laps at you through your orgasm, drawing it out until you're sobbing from the intensity.

when you finally come down, he crawls up your body, his lips finding yours. you taste yourself on his tongue, and it's the most intimate thing you've ever experienced.

"m-more," you whisper. "m'want more."

his eyes—you can feel them—search your face.

"are you sure? we can stop. we can—"

"i'm sure." you reach for him, your fingers finding his chest. "i want you...please."

he hesitates. you feel the tension in his muscles, the restraint he's barely holding onto.

"m'bigger than ya'," he says, matter of factly. "a lot bigger. and i have...i have two dicks, woman. i don't know if—"

"i don't care." you pull him closer. "i trust you."

he groans, pressing his forehead against yours.

"if it hurts too much, tell me. and i'll stop."

"okay."

"promise me."

"i promise."

he shifts above you, and you feel something heavy and thick press against your thigh. and then another. two cocks. the thought should terrify you, but instead, it sends a thrill through your body.

he aligns himself with your entrance, and you feel the tip pressing against you. he's huge—so much bigger than his fingers—and you wonder if you can actually take him.

"relax f'me," he murmurs. "breathe."

you inhale deeply, and he pushes in.

just the tip, and you gasp. he's stretching you in a way that's almost unbearable. it hurts. there's a burning sensation, a pressure that's too much and not enough.

"shh," he soothes. "you're doing s'well. so good f'me."

he pushes deeper, inch by agonizing inch. you feel your body struggling to accommodate him, your walls clenching around his length. and then—

a sharp pain.

fuck...you forgot.

you cry out, your nails digging into his shoulders. he stops immediately.

"did i hurt ya'?"

you can't answer. the pain is fading, replaced by a strange fullness. you feel something wet trickle down your thigh. warm. sticky.

blood.

his eyes slowly flicker down, and you can hear his breath stop. he's tense. too tense.

"fuck," he hisses. "you're—you're a fuckin' virgin?"

you nod weakly, biting your lip. your heart is pounding fast. loud. "is that...bad?"

"no." his voice is strained. "no, it's not bad. i just—fuck—i didn't know. i would have been more careful, woman."

"you are being careful," you whisper, fingers pressing into his shoulders "keep going."

"you're fuckin' bleeding."

"i don't care. please. i want to feel you." you sniffle. god, the pleasure is making you bold. too fucking bold.

he lets out a shaky breath. "you're going to kill me."

but he pushes deeper, slower this time. gentler. his lips find yours, kissing you softly as he sinks into you. the pain fades, replaced by a deep, aching fullness that makes you moan.

when he's fully sheathed, he stops. lets you adjust. his forehead presses against yours, his breath ragged.

"y'feel incredible," he breathes. "so tight. so...fuck...perfect."

"move," you beg. "please."

he pulls out slowly, then pushes back in. the friction is delicious, the stretch exquisite. he sets a rhythm—slow, deep, deliberate—each thrust hitting a spot that makes you see stars.

"ryomen," you gasp. "r-ryo—"

"i know," he murmurs. "i know, doll. feels s'good, doesn't it?"

"yes—yes—"

his hand slides down your stomach, pressing against the slight bulge where he's buried inside you. the feeling makes you moan.

"look at that," he says, awe in his voice. "you can feel me, can't ya'? right here."

he presses down, and you feel it—the outline of him inside you. it's obscene. it's incredible.

"more," you gasp. "harder—"

"y'sure?"

"yes—please—"

he obliges. his pace quickens, his thrusts becoming more urgent. the bed creaks beneath you, the sound mixing with your moans and his grunts.

"gonna come," he warns. "where do you want it?"

"inside," you gasp. "please—i want to feel you—"

he groans, his hips slamming into yours. and then he's coming, hot and thick, filling you so completely. you feel it—his release pouring into you, painting your walls, claiming you from the inside. his cum is already trickling down your thigh, oozing out of your cunt.

at the same time, he's stroking his other cock. you feel the wet spurts hit your stomach, warm and sticky.

he collapses on top of you, careful not to crush you. his face buries in your neck, and you feel his breath, ragged and uneven.

"i love you," he whispers, gruff. it's funny. you've always thought the word love doesn't exist in his vocabulary. but here he is, saying it over and over again. "i love you so much it terrifies me."

you wrap your arms around him, pulling him closer.

"i love you too."

a long moment passes. then another. and then—

"we're going to do that again."

you laugh, breathless.

"right now?"

"after i clean you up." he kisses your neck. "and then again. and again. and again. until ya' can't walk."

"promise?"

he pulls back, and even though you can't see him, you know he's smirking.

"promise."

you're already half asleep when he pulls you against his chest, his arms wrapped around you like he's afraid you'll disappear. his lips press against your hair, your forehead, your eyelids.

"my wife," he murmurs. "my perfect, beautiful wife."

you smile against his skin.

"my husband."

"forever."

"forever."

2026 ── 𝓦𝐎𝐑𝐊 𝐎𝐅 @atelphobist 𝜗ৎ

ᥫ᭡ | © 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘱𝘩𝘰𝘣𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘳. 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘥. 𝘯𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘱𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘳 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘪.

You hummed softly in response, naked and sweaty beneath him. Your thighs were aching from the past 20 minutes of “foreplay” which he loves so much. Burying his face between your thighs while striking his cock but edging himself so that he could finish inside your warm, sweet hole.

“I’m not letting any of it go to waste, m’kay?” He had told you, before filling you up repeatedly with his sticky white seed.

His hand shifted from your thigh, warmth spreading to your tummy when his large hand pressed down gently. Eliciting a soft moan from you, your hands clawing into the silk sheets, curling your toes and squirming. As if you weren’t already on edge. “Mmm… s-stoppp.. don’t press there,” you whined, left eye closed from the twitching pleasure.

“No?” He raised an eyebrow, smirking, before lifting his hand obediently and staring at your abdomen. “S’hard not to… can see my cock bulging from inside your cute belly,” he hummed lowly, hips slowly pulling back.

It’s almost like you could feel what he was about to do, already watching your back and holding on a breath. His hips slamming forward, knocking the air out of you, a loud moan passing unfiltered through your soft lips. “Fuck… you sound good with me in you, you look incredibly good with me inside you, you smell so good when I’m in you… wanna marry me, doll?” He breathed out, his hand moving from above your abdomen to grab your chin.

“We’re already marriedddd.. stop talking and just fuck me..”

He chuckled, moving to push his index and middle finger into your mouth. “Don’t even need to ask twice…” he grinned, eyes half lidded with blissful pleasure. He blinked, watching you instinctively suck on his fingers with muffled soft moans, before he pulled his hand back, pushing your thighs down against your chest again. Lifting his hips, and slamming back into your again.

Plap. Plap. Plap.

Your breathing had quickened, your head lolling to the side, moaning out loud between every thrust. The room was loud and lewd. A fwop here and a shlorp there. “A-ah.. ah… mmh..!” You moaned out for him, mouth agape, eyes squeezed shut. While he was groaning shamelessly and moving his hips with a desperate pace.

“F-fuck yeah… you love this, don’t you?” He chuckled between his own gasps at your mindless nodding, “love being fucked dumb by me,” he punctuated dumb with a sharper thrust, pressing the gummy head of his cock against your cervix. Before focusing on the quicker, more shallow thrusts.

His pace quickened when he felt the tingle at the back of his spine, that euphoric sensation buzzing through him, before he stuttered and slammed against your hips for the last time.

Cum spurted from the tip of his cock, painting your walls in his warm white seed again. Filling you up for the nth time that night. His body blanketing yours in a warm hug, kissing the tension and stress away on your face. “Y-yeah.. just… a little more, angel..” he breathed out, muscles tightened and sweating all over. Nose nudging against your cheek.

“Just… a few more rounds, I need to see your tummy all big, whether that be from our babies… or just that cute bulge from my dick.”

── 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐚

could probably sleep anywhere, as long as she has you by her side. it’s very relaxing for her to have the soft accompaniment of your heartbeat as she’s humming to tire herself out. head on your chest, she is the biggest fan.

prefers to have the room be cold, by a long shot. maybe some lavender essential oils to calm the space down? only if you’re willing and not allergic. she wants nighttime to be a relaxing time for both of you. getting a skylight is definitely on her bucket list — ah, pretty stars…

── 𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐨

as fascinating as it is, nighttime is the major cause of conflicts between you and arlecchino. she just won’t go to bed. her strictness with herself makes it difficult to retire before everything on the task list is checked of. so, if she’s never in bed, the preferences are all yours. 

also not the biggest on affection once she’s laying down. arlecchino considers her nails too sharp to allow for uncontrollable handholding, same with embracing you from behind. I guess sleeping close side-by-side it is. 

── 𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐞

if we’re speaking technicalities, sandrone does not need much. perhaps a little bit of cushiness to have her joints not lock up, that’s all. on the other hand, her preferences have resulted in you having one of the most delightful of beds in the whole wide world — pillows, blankets. you name it, it’s there — including a tiny pulonia plush.

it’s actually quite heavy for her to scooch over during the night. as unfortunate as it is, she simply has to resort to you doing all the work. please do, she requires it as much as her morning coffee. 

── 𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐞

the obvious maximalism of bedding choice aside, the bigger mystery is how pantalone cannot fall asleep unless there’s some sort of noise in the background. he’ll entertain any of your wishes in regards to proximity  preferences, but you’re dealing with a record player in the corner of the room in exchange.

retires to bed early and stays in there as much as possible. he’ll stop you from getting him up in the tightest of hugs. if you can’t get up, neither can he… or something like that.

── 𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐚

honestly, kind of a nightmare. ajax is quite the vivid sleeper and he moves A TON. not to mention he’s constantly too warm. turning the heating down did nothing, same with getting that special bedding that has the cold side. 

well, the second one might’ve failed because ajax will snuggle you like his life depends on it. handholding is simply not enough, he has to breathing in the scent of your shampoo or else he won’t fall asleep ever… and tired childe gets even more unhinged than his usual self.