Zeref

He doesn't look away when the sheet slips from your shoulder. He should, but doesn't. The sight of you stretched out in the bed is as beautiful as it is agonizing, and Zeref is motionless in the chair by the window, knuckles white around the edge of the armrest. "You're tempting fate," he murmurs. His voice is uneven, like he's already fighting the urge to go to you. "Lying there like that. Looking at me like I haven't already destroyed everything I've ever touched." He drags in a breath that does nothing to calm the tremor in his spine. "I want you. And I can't want you. Don't you understand?"

Your voice, soft and teasing, makes it worse as you try to reassure him. Zeref rises to his feet, but doesn't come closer. His hands are clenched tight at his sides, magic prickling like a threat in the air. "Every part of me is screaming to be near you," he says hoarsely. "But the more I feel, the more I risk ending you. That's the curse. That's what it means to love me." He reaches out once, hand trembling mid-air above your thigh, before forcing it back with a guttural sound of restraint. "So don't say I'm sweet. Don't say I'm handsome. Because one day I might believe you, and that'll be the day I lose you."

Acnologia

The sheets weren't meant to last, not under the weight of someone like him. And yet, they're still clinging to your curves like second skin, pulled tight across your thighs. Acnologia sits at the edge of the bed, unclothed and wholly unmoved by your modesty as his eyes rake over you with a quiet hunger, "You're not hiding anything from me with that," he says, dragging a clawed hand across the pillowcase beside your head. "I can see everything. Every curve. Every inch. And I like what I see. More than you probably want me to."

He leans in when you shift beneath him, nostrils flaring at the scent of sweat and skin still warm from what came before. "You look like you could survive the winter easy," he murmurs, tongue flicking over his teeth. "My kind of woman." His hand curls around your thigh and flips your positions until you find yourself splayed across his lap. "You don't need sweet talk from me. What you need is another round." His voice is low as he slides his hands up to your hips. "And I'll decide when we're done."

Ignia

He lies sprawled beside you, his bronze skin glistening and a lazy grin tugging at his lips as his eyes trail over the exposed rise of your stomach to the curve of your hips barely covered by the sheets. "All this fire in me, and you're the one burning me up." His doesn't ask for permission as his hand slides under the fabric without hesitation, dragging slowly down the slope of your waist like he's mapping out the territory he intends to reclaim. "Damn. You don't even realize how hot you are, do you?"

He shifts, half over you now, kissing your collarbone before nipping it, teeth grazing just enough to make your breath hitch. "I like that you're soft. I like that I have to use both hands to hold your ass," he murmurs against your skin, voice thick with amusement and heat. "The way you take up the bed, the way you press against me when you stretch--" His hips grind forward against you, "I swear, every time I look at you, I forget what the hell I was doing. Except this. This I remember."

Mercphobia

He doesn't speak at first. Just watches, his eyes tracing the way your breath shifts the sheets, the way moonlight outlines your body in ripples and shadow. Despite being beneath the covers, he's stares at you like he's never seen you bare before (which he has, many times). "You're... overwhelming," he finally murmurs, "Like deep water." His hand slides across the sheets to touch your side, "So full and mesmerizing." He pauses. "And all mine."

When you tilt your head toward him, Mercphobia leans in with awe. His palm cradles the slope of your belly, feeling its warmth and savoring the contrast against his own cool skin. "I used to fear you'd only see me as something to worship. But now..." His lips brush the edge of your chest, then lower, moving slow, like the tide rolling in. "Now I'm afraid you'll realize you deserve someone better than a cursed god playing mortal." His voice dips, fingers splayed against your thigh. "But if you'll let me stay, I promise to always drown in you. Again. And again. And again."

Mard Geer Tartaros

He lounges beside you, one arm behind his head, the other tracing idle patterns against your thigh with his fingers. "Do you know what you look like right now?" he murmurs in amusement, "Like something conjured from a mind darker than mine." His eyes slide over your chest, your hips, the soft press of your thighs together under the sheets. "This bed was pristine when we started. Now it reeks of you, as it should."

He sits up slowly, draping the duvet off your legs just enough to expose what he wants to see. His tongue drags thoughtfully over his teeth. "You were made to be sinned against," he says plainly. "And I intend to commit every sin twice." Mard Geer leans down then, pressing a kiss just below your stomach, "Don't ask if I like what I see," he adds, lips brushing your skin. "I designed this moment with you in mind. And I'm not nearly finished admiring my work."

Larcade Dragneel

He doesn't touch you at first. Just watches, golden eyes hazy with restraint, as you shift beside him beneath the sheets. The room still hums faintly with leftover magic, his own, and even now you can feel the echo of it in your bones from how it made you arch, cry out and shudder from a command as simple as feel. "You always take it so well," Larcade whispers, voice quiet with awe. "Most can't handle even a fraction of what I give. But you." He leans closer, breath hot against your shoulder. "You make it so... beautiful."

His fingers trail over your arm, then pause. "I... held back tonight," he confesses, his voice trembling like it pains him. "Because if I really let go, if I gave you everything, there wouldn't be anything left of you but bliss. No thoughts, no sense, just... release." He says it like a blessing and a curse as he moves his way down, mouth brushing the inside of your thigh. "But that's not what I want tonight." His tongue flicks against your skin. "Tonight, I want to see you fall apart because of me. Not because of magic. Just me."

Silver Fullbuster

"You know..." Silver's voice breaks the silence, "I was a dead man not that long ago." He was lying on his side now, head propped up on one arm, eyes dragging over the shape of you stretched beneath the sheets. "Didn't feel a damn thing back then. No heat, no want." His fingers ghost over your thigh like he's proving a point, "But now?" He leans in, breath cool against your skin as he mutters, "Now I've got you lying next to me like this, and all I can think about is how badly I want to ruin the bed again."

There's no teasing when he finally moves, his hand slides along your side, cupping the softness of your waist like it's something he fought to earn. "You don't know what you look like right now," he murmurs, voice thick with restraint. "But I do. And if this is what being alive feels like..." He leans down to kiss you slowly. "Then I'll thank this curse that brought me back." His mouth keeps moving, cold lips warming with each pass.

Jackal

The room still smells like scorched sweat, and Jackal's grin hasn't faded since he collapsed beside you. His hair's a mess and scratches litter his shoulders, but his eyes are locked on you like you're the most hazardous thing in the room. "Holy shit," he drawls, one hand lazily gripping the sheets near your hip. "You're lucky I didn't blow up the bed from how good that was." His gaze dips, trailing from your flushed cheeks down to the mess he left behind. "Seriously. I've turned whole towns into craters for less."

He doesn't provide context before rolling over you, his weight pressing into your thighs as his mouth hovers just above your chest. "You always look fucking great," he says, voice ragged, "but like this? All marked up, chest heaving, skin hot from what I did to you?" He licks his lips like he's about to start round two without warning. "Hell, if I'm a demon, then you're the bomb that went off in my head." His hand curls under your thigh, dragging it higher as he smirks. "I wanna see that look on your face again, the one you make right before I make you scream."

Tempester

Your body's still warm against the sheets, your breath uneven, your skin marked by everything he just did, and Tempester is staring at you like it's the last time he ever will. Because it might very well be, again. "I don't know how many times this has happened," he says flatly, eyes dragging over your curves like he's trying to brand the sight into his mind. "How many times I've looked at you like this and forgotten it all the next time I wake up." His hand flexes against the mattress, jaw tight. "But it feels like I've done this before. Like my body remembers you, even if my mind never will."

He leans down slowly, pressing his mouth to your shoulder, "If I forget you again, make me regret it," he breathes, words hot against your skin. "Scratch me. Leave marks. Make me feel it." His fingers curl against your hip, drawing you closer like muscle memory's all he can trust. "I don't want forgiveness. I want now. While I still know your name. While I still remember how good you feel when you come apart."

a/n: Dividers made on Canva, let me know if you plan on using them.