shadycrowengineer

[shadycrowengineer]

[shadycrowengineer]

Something about Simon having a river rat girlfriend.

It's not that he doesn't like the States, it's just unbearably muggy, makes the gaiter he wears more of a task than it needs to be. The sun seemingly swirling around him akin to the enemy from Mario, determined to sear him alive.

But his bird loves it. Skips around all morning making a little picnic basket, braiding her hair. Makes sure he has an extra magazine tucked away amongst the sandwiches and sunscreen.

Get's his input on songs for their portable speaker.

He doesn't understand what some of these men are whingeing about.

This shit is easy.

All he has to do is stand patiently as she lathers him up with sunscreen, standing on the footrest of the truck so she can reach his shoulders. Delicate fingers brushing beneath his eyes, making sure to get the back of his ears so they don't blister like last time.

He finds them a secluded area, plopping his chair in shallows under the easy shade, a nice vantage point to watch the opposite woodline, and cuts her loose, calves resting in the cool rush of water.

She plays and plays, neon goggles making imprints on her face as she paddles around looking for shiny rocks. It's a show every time she comes back to him, big soft curves glistening in the summer sun, as she offers her treasures up for inspection.

He watches her splash, deadman float a few feet down river and scramble back again. Watches her flip rocks for bugs and promptly squeal and run when one has the audacity to startle her back.

His favorite is sunscreen time, wrangling her back to him all warm cheeked and smiling, smearing her down in coconut scented lotion, making sure his paws slide under all the margins of her swimsuit, rough palms gliding over the plush of her rear, the sensitive sides of her breasts.

It's another feat to get her to sit still long enough for it to soak in, tugging her ass in his lap and plying her with a chip laden sandwich. She munches away happily.

So no, the mosquitos and damp heat are not his favorite. But sunscreen kisses sure are.

[shadycrowengineer]

Hmmm...price and artist!reader who loves to draw price.

He's ur husband, ofc ur obsessed with him. Ur studio is full of paintings of him in various scenes, some posed for and others done from memories or quick sketches. Theyre mostly wholesome, but more than price would like to admit are more...explicit. all done from memory, because price almost choked on his breakfast when u last asked him to sit on a vibe and let u paint him lol.

This usually isnt a big deal, ur studio is private and its only u and john who see it, right? Well, his men come to visit one day and Johnny mentions in passing that he draws and ur eyes light up. You drag him to ur studio without thought, chatting with him abt what mediums he prefers the entire way until

"Steaming jesus- captain?!" Ah. U forgot to toss a drape over ur recent painting. Well, soaps lucky he got to see how good ur hubby's cock looks when u jerk him off, not many people get that pleasure.

[shadycrowengineer]

About Dark Fiction/Fantasies:

(I'm probably going to get death threats from this post)

Some of you are getting too comfortable with shitting on and harassing dark fiction writers and leaning towards a anti-kink mindset which I've seen lead people down a SWERF, Anti-Kink, Pro-Censorship, or Alt-Right pipeline; all because they weren't well informed or well researched.

I need some of you to take a step back and realize how similar some of the shit you guys say sounds terrifyingly similar to the type of shit SWERFS say.

TW: Rape, Discussions of Rape/Non-Con fantasies, mentions of victim blaming, discussions of taboo kinks and kink in general, links to articles on the discussion of Rape/Non-Con Fantasies are at the bottom that you should check out before commenting or reblogging.

The "My kink is kink shaming!" was funny at first (and not that much) until it wasn't.

There are people in these spaces saying Anti-Kink shit without even being well informed on the kinks they're demonizing, and that only creates a more hostile and uninformed space that does not encourage learning (dare I say it even creates pro-censorship spaces as well that SWERFS thrive in? And how SWERFS use those spaces as "recruiting grounds" under the guise of being pro women/feminist spaces despite the fact that being anti-sex work and anti-kink only hurts women AND queer people?).

Honestly, I've seen people demonize Non-con fantasies while not even knowing what "CNC" (Consensual Non-Consent) means, making it even clearer that they didn't even bother to learn more about the topic at hand.

All of this comes back around to punishing women and queer people in general for daring to explore their sexuality (unsurprisingly).

No, I am not saying you suddenly have to be into rape/non-con fantasies/kinks (or any other such as incest, kidnapping, abuse, etc). That is not what I am saying.

If you somehow thought that was the message then please think as to why you interpreted it that way.

You have the right not to be interested, you have the right to be personally squicked, you do not share the same kinks/fantasies as others, and that's okay.

"You fantasizing rape in the first place must mean you want it to happen in real life!" (1), "So your a rape apologist???" (2)

"Decades ago, psychologists believed that dreams and fantasies (daydreams) were subconscious wishes, therefore, women who had rape fantasies actually wanted to be coerced into sex. That view has been thoroughly debunked. Fantasies don’t necessarily reflect wishes. Among those in long-term relationships, one of the most common fantasies is sex with someone else, even when the daydreamer is happy in the relationship and has no real desire to jump into another bed. Plenty of men fantasize about saving damsels in distress without the slightest real wish to face a raging fire on the 23rd floor. Wishing plays a role in some fantasies, notably dreams of striking it rich or losing weight, but having an erotic fantasy in no way means you want it to come true." (1)

"Women who have rape fantasies don’t want to be sexually assaulted. They feel comfortable with their own sexuality and are happy to embrace their erotic fantasies—wherever they may lead." (1)

"This study in no way condones or tries to justify rape, which remains a violent and reprehensible crime no matter what the research on sexual fantasy of either gender might turn up. While some may even believe that publishing results such as these is going to assist some rapists in justifying their actions, the reality is these violent criminals are not scanning erudite academic research searching for justifications for assault. The editors and armies of academics who consider research submitted for publication in academic journals such as Archives of Sexual Behaviour also clearly believe this kind of study deserves publication, and wider dissemination in the field." (2)

(1) https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/all-about-sex/201508/why-do-women-have-rape-fantasies

(2) https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/slightly-blighty/201508/womens-sexual-fantasies-the-latest-scientific-research

And here are a few more links that I already know half of the people reading this aren't going to bother looking at:

(3) https://www.bustle.com/articles/106720-what-do-rape-fantasies-mean-the-psychology-behind-the-common-fantasy-explained

(4) https://cfe.torontomu.ca/blog/2025/02/treading-lightly-why-we-tiptoe-around-womens-rape-fantasies

(5) https://aeon.co/ideas/fantasies-of-forced-sex-are-common-do-they-enable-rape-culture

(6) https://graziadaily.co.uk/life/opinion/rape-fantasy-s-ok/

(7) https://www.vice.com/en/contributor/djanlissa-pringels/

(8) https://www.vice.com/en/article/when-rape-survivors-have-rape-antasies/

I'm making this post because I am seeing way too many writers being harassed over the fiction they write.

Mind you, some of these writers are victims of sexual assault as well (a few who have been forced to out their own traumas because they didn't fit someone's picture perfect example of an victim).

Do you understand how fucked up it is to tell a writer (or anyone in general), who's a victim, that they are romanticizing something terrible they've been through? As if they don't know what it already feels like to go through it? That they are a "Sick fuck" or a "Degenerate" that needs to be jailed?

"And anyway, as the Californian sex therapist Susan Block puts it: ‘Most human fantasies are acculturated by our culture. They’re not just natural.’ Even if these fantasies might not exist in a sexual utopia free of gendered hierarchies and widespread sexual abuse, it is OK, as M argues, to feel and explore them – because they are vastly different from rape itself."

"The majority of rape fantasies involve someone the fantasiser actually desires, often despite persistent resistance to them, and sometimes only without clear consent. These fantasies ultimately give the fantasiser power, whether that means total control of one’s own daydream, or the more limited but still potent control of negotiating a lived sexual scenario with a trusted partner." (Link 5)

(Therapy repeatedly says it's okay, you dork.)

You guys can do better. You guys can learn. Please learn. You are only demonizing others. Curate your online experience and block the damn tags. Holy shit.

[shadycrowengineer]

I don't normally write commentary for the fics I read, but I will make an exception.

-This is my raw opinion after reading, if you don't like it, too bad. (I do care, please don't harass me about it. It is just something I want to talk about.)

-Also, probably will delete this in the morning. I'm writing this at 2am and I feel the need to be insufferable about the soup that's slipping around in the noggin

This series is honestly tragic. I've read a lot of fictions, and this series handles Dead Doves in a tasteful way. It really isn't like others that I have seen where it romanticizes and shows a very... "Rose colored glasses" version. This gets into the grit and rot that lies in these topics. Its difficult to write about certain topics as is, but to frame it in a way that still shows it in the deserving light and not in a romanticized way is a talent.

Now onto the Reader's role as the victim and how it is portrayed. Chefs kiss, no notes. Beautiful and Tragic.

It is so nice to see T.S. get his karma and to watch as R untangles themself from the strings that he had wrapped around them. I often find it difficult to read stories where our view point is that of the abused due to my own history, I wasn't abused by any means, but I was groomed in my younger years during a difficult time by people I thought I could trust. I have been taken advantage of by people older than me when I was just too young to understand what was happening. So to see a character go through something similar and feel things similar to myself is in some odd way validating.

Back to the note about untangling strings, the way things unravelled honestly made that moment of when they decided to leave so much more impactful. Them having second thoughts because they in some ways believe that there is still room for change in T.S. I mean the sheer amount of lovebombing (and yes, I would consider some of those moments, especially in Ch. 5, lovebombing.) from someone that was essentially supposed to play a guiding role in their life. I mean, Father is the wrong word, but for someone that just swooped in and took them, deceiving them kindness, and then once he knew he had her, started down the horrible path, THAT AS AN ADULT he should have never taken. The idea that, "well he's back to the way he was when I was younger, before he got addicted, " is so hugely hinted at through the entire chapter. Seeing them detach themselves from him more and more, and then the moment they catch their chance to leave, they suddenly wonder that maybe, just maybe, he is turning around and being better. Which of course outside reasoning makes them take the step to leave. Which is damn near exactly what happens in life.

I honestly believe most people deserve second chances, but in some cases, the crime committed doesn't warrant a second chance. In this case the crime committed could never be paid back.

Even though this is fiction, I can't help but relate to some of the things that R is put through. It portrays real life issues in a masterful way. I honestly enjoyed reading this. I loved how much thought was put into the character's relationships and how it correlates to the storyline. The story takes time to view how the events affect each character.

Anyways I am gonna cut this here. I don't expect anyone to read this before I remember to delete it.

Remember, this is just soup that I decided I had to spit out onto a post so I would quit thinking about it, it's not meant to be insightful, it's really just for me to talk about how I feel.

── STANDING NEXT TO YOU ; dazai osamu x fem!reader

synopsis ;

╰─▸ ❝ he is someone you should truly stay away from because every smile of his drips with danger, every laugh is coated with mystery and every touch has tragedy lingering yet that's the only thing you can't bring yourself to do -- staying away from him. especially when he seeks you out himself. ( 51.8k wc). ❞

warnings ;

╰─▸ racer!zai. age gap. dazai is twenty two while reader is barely in early twenties, nineteen to be exact. angst. romance. tragedy. illegal racing and illegal activities. port mafia is in here too. dazai has smoking addiction. drug addiction. toxic workplace. reader works at a club. sexual harassment. abuse. prostitution though it's mentioned lightly. uses of whore, slut etc in a derogatory way. pedophilic behaviour and pedophilia, rape, mentions of grooming.

sincerely.

01. i push up on this funk, give me miracles 5.5k wc

02. all night long we rock to this 9.07k wc

03. it's deeper then the pain 12.1k wc

04. something they can't take away 14.2k wc

05. standing next to you 10.6k wc

[shadycrowengineer]

brattysubbydazai:333

cn: dom/sub undertones (switch), dirty talk, cuff bondage, blowjob, overstimulation, rough fuck

pairing: dazai x reader

fandom: bungou stray dogs

The karakusa pattern on your bookmark had been covered by the other half of the book just as they approached the bar where you were currently working. The Bar Lupin.

Bar Lupin had a cozy, somewhat hidden interior with a counter, stools, and a bartender in a crimson vest. Though, you’d secretly altered that vest; the crimson corset suited you far better. Taneda had no reason to complain.

This bar was a haunt for writers and artists. But not only them. Men with hidden truths gathered here, too. You often wondered if Dazai and his friends had sensed anything about you though.

Still, you’d expected more from Dazai.

The Special Operations Division was an overall mysterious organization, said to be quite powerful and influential. But Dazai’s name wasn’t famous for nothing, was it?

“Hello, darling. What a beautiful sight to behold.”

His bangs framed his face as his narrow, dark brown eyes locked with yours in a moment that felt frozen in time. His smirk mirrored yours, but his gaze alone travelled slowly over your body.

Sakunosuke Oda and Ango Sakaguchi nodded politely, and you returned the gesture.

“Oh, hi Dazai.” You rinsed the whiskey glasses once more, making sure they were spotless. Turning your back to them, you smiled over your shoulder. For now, his attention was only on you, his chin resting in his hands, drinking you in with that excessively unfriendly stare of his. “The usual?”

“You know us well, love.”

“What kind of day is it? Namazaki or Nikka?”

Oda sighed, leaning back in his seat, exhausted.

“Nikka, definitely. Less ice.”

Ango threw him a glance that was nearly approving, while Dazai patted his back sarcastically, his usual smile plastered on his face, eyes still closed in that mischievous way.

Nikka Yoichi whiskey offered a bolder, peatier experience. So their night had been rough. For you? A flavored night, ripe for catching whispers of news.

They often gathered like this to talk, especially during dark times.

Sometimes, it’s hard to be the observer.

A dangerous foreign syndicate called Mimic would soon surface, further complicating things for the Port Mafia. So basically, anything that might sound like a threat to public safety, Taneda would know.

“All three are ready, gentlemen.”

The glasses, two with large king cubes and one with a smaller one, were set in front of them as they continued talking. Your hands moved smoothly, reaching for the book behind the bar, but Dazai caught it before you could slide it under the counter.

An Encouragement of Learning – Fukuzawa Yukichi

⸻

At the end of the evening, as you quietly washed the last round of glasses, Oda and Ango gave Dazai a frowning look but didn’t press him further.

“See ya. I’ll stay for another drink with this wonderful lady. Right, darling?”

Your heart skipped for a second.

Did I miss something? you wondered. But maybe it was just an excuse to sit alone with his thoughts. It was a clever move because once the bar door shut, the rest of the patrons had already disappeared. No noise cluttered the space now. Only the quiet sounds of your every movement remained.

“You alright, Dazai?”

Dazai clasped his hands together, stretching them over his head before letting out a yawn.

“Could be better.” He leaned an elbow on the counter. “Aww, do you actually care how I feel, bella?”

You poured yourself a plain, straight shot and knocked it back, chasing it with water before turning back to him, swallowing fast. When your eyes met, Dazai was almost caught off guard by the fire in your gaze. He didn’t know exactly what you were hiding, or what kind of truth it was. Intriguing.

“Just making conversation.”

He gave you a subtle nod, ignoring the edge in your tone.

“Quite the optimistic book, wouldn’t you say?”Your hesitation wasn’t subtle, nor the way your muscles tensed. “Ordinary people learning and educating themselves to earn autonomy and respect.”

“You don’t agree, Dazai?”

He tapped his lower lip with a finger, stalling. Still, his childish behavior didn’t fool you.

“Oh, but I do, love. Of course I do. Who would I be to argue with hopeful little people?” His gaze grew more serious, though his smirk returned. “I just don’t have that hope anymore.”

“It’s just a reminder to think and act for oneself.”

He took a small sip, then swirled the drink in his glass, letting the liquid roll gently over the still-whole ice cube.

“Don’t you ever want to stop doing that?”

Now you were the one leaning on the counter, resting your chin in your hand.

“And what do you propose?”

⸻

Your plans were on a tight schedule, but I think you still managed to squeeze in a makeout session with Dazai between alleyways, behind the bar.

Dazai was leaning against the wall, head tilted slightly to meet your lips, while his bandaged hands got to work. One lifted your leg, resting it against the right side of his hip, and the other mirrored yours, cupping your cheek.

You could feel his arousal, his cock straining against his black, cloth pants. You pressed into him to give some relief through friction, rolling your hips into his. Dazai moaned into your lips, and the sound sent a thrill straight through your body.

“Tell me, bella,” he dragged his lips over yours before moving to your earlobe, leaving wet kisses down to your neck. “Doesn’t it feel good to lose control?”

Your lips lifted slightly, dragging his between your teeth, kissing him softly like a sweet reward before whispering against him.

“I think you misunderstood me.” Your gaze shattered his unsheathed bravado, punctuated by the way Dazai’s breath hitched when your hands slid down his chest, your fingers brushing the taut skin beneath his elegant shirt until they landed on his bulge, stroking him slowly through the fabric. “I’m not the one who’s going to lose control tonight.”

Dazai’s smile was wicked; tempted to argue, but his curiosity weighed heavier.

The clothes were thrown off quickly once you reached your apartment, and while your fire was focused elsewhere, you missed the subtle way Dazai scanned your room for any trace of spilled information, clues that might support his probably-true theories.

Dazai’s gaze, aside from lustful, was also intensely mysterious like it was warning you that you didn’t really know who you were fucking, and maybe you should be afraid. The bandages hidden beneath the shirt he hadn’t removed were a morbid curiosity of yours that only deepened the fear, but his voice contradicted it all.

“Just as beautiful as I expected, bella.”

Dazai didn’t get much of a chance to touch you though. You let him kiss you again, his mouth soaked in whisky and cigarettes, with a lingering sweetness from the flavored alcohol invading yours. His hands cupped your breasts, fingers pinching your already-hard nipples until he made you moan this time. Your hands found the back of his head, tugging his wavy brown hair until you pushed your palms against his chest and shoved him onto the bed.

He chuckled, sitting up near the edge and spreading his legs to make room for you as you climbed on top of him.

“What are you trying to prove, my darling?”

His hand grabbed your loose hair at the back, tugging until your neck was exposed for him. His bites were exactly the push you needed to flip the dynamic. For now, you let him touch you however he wanted, his other hand slipped between your bodies, and his middle finger began to move over your clit.

You thanked him with a moan, but nothing more. Resisting the urge to ride his hand, you tried to coax him into doing more about the wetness between your legs. You both inhaled sharply, Dazai watching your parted lips as your breathing grew unsteady.

“Mhmm, I’m flattered.” His hand in your hair pushed your face toward his lips, but he didn’t kiss you. His fingers sped up, then stopped suddenly, edging you on purpose before he shifted to your entrance, pressing but not quite punishing. “Now, are you going to stop trying whatever it is you’re doing so poorly?”

He didn’t wait long for a reply, savoring the way your body struggled not to tremble against him. But he was a gentleman, so he couldn’t possibly leave you without his fingers fucking you. You buried your moans into his shoulder as Dazai pulled you closer, holding you steady while his fingers pumped in and out aggressively.

Your sounds distracted him and that was exactly your intention. Your hand slid subtly behind the headboard, retrieving the handcuffs from your improvised stand. You kissed him, keeping him from noticing what you held, though he probably suspected. Your hands moved smoothly, securing his wrists behind him with a soft click once the cuffs locked.

He let you believe you’d done it all on your own, just so he could show you that you weren’t going to get what you wanted. Dazai had it on his bucket list to be tied up by a beautiful lady in this lifetime, especially one as pretty as you. But he’s convinced it’s not going to play out the way you intend.

Your hands moved slowly across his body, yet Dazai didn’t betray himself because not a single sound escaped his lips. Still, you could see his muscles tense beneath your touch, especially between his thighs.

His soft sighs were music to your ears, but the smirk on Dazai’s face needed to be erased.

You gripped his thighs abruptly and pulled him closer, drawing a gasp from him as your hand returned to his cock after you’d undressed him.

“Pretty.”

Dazai smiled through shallow breaths.

“Yeah? It’s all yours, baby.”

“Mhm. I know, Dazai.” Your tongue traced slow, deliberate circles across his abdomen. You exhaled softly against the base of his cock without touching him. “Want me to keep going?”

“Of course, my lady.” He still felt in control. In fact, he even spread his legs a little wider to make it easier for you.

You wrapped your hand around his cock, stroking him languidly up and down. You quickly found the rhythm that made his moans louder, and just when his body began to tense in that delicious way, you pulled away, resuming your slow pace. Dazai let you do as you pleased for now, at least he was being touched by someone as lovely as you.

His hips jerked when your thumb brushed over the tip, smearing the bead of precum that had leaked out. He fought the urge to thrust into your hand, legs trembling from your consistent teasing.

“Y/N.”

Dazai’s voice was strained with irritation, though his moans continued. His eyes told you he could break free whenever he wished. You smiled wide, determined to prove him wrong, then dragged your tongue slowly over the head of his cock. You pressed teasing kisses all over the length of his shaft, then gave a single wet stroke down and back again.

His veins stood out starkly beneath skin that was soft like silk. But what you loved most was the taste—despite the faint hint of cigarettes, he tasted clean, almost deliberately so, as if he’d prepared for this. The thought made you jealous, so your lips finally wrapped around the head of his cock. You pushed forward, taking more of him into your mouth, feeling him slide over your tongue and deep into your throat.

Dazai groaned, resisting the urge to buck his hips because he knew you would stop if he did. That wasn’t obedience, he thought. It was self-interest.

You sucked him for several seconds before pulling away, a thin string of saliva stretching between your lips and his cock. You kept a firm grip on him as you dragged your tongue slowly up the shaft again, teasing, languid. You licked up to the tip, flicking your tongue over his slit, playing with it.

“You’re so talented, bella. The best I’ve had.”

Dazai thought he’d won you over with that, hoping to coax more pleasure from you. But when he realized he’d made a comparison, your look told him he’d fucked up.

Your mouth found his cock again. Halfway up the length, you plunged forward, taking it deep. Again. And again. Using your mouth to stroke him. You settled into a rhythm, gagging yourself slightly as you worked. Dazai’s lips were full of praises and moans, drunk on the sheer ambition with which you sucked him.

Until you stopped.

His eyes widened when you stopped just before he could come. His trembling limbs and whispered pleas were not part of his plan. He twitched and whimpered beneath you, fighting the wave of overstimulation and pleasure. He wanted this, he needed this so badly it drove him mad.

“Would you like to cum now, Dazai? Do you think you’ve earned it?”

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t. His mind was primal now, overrun by your control. Your control over his body and his pleasure.

You hummed as you continued stroking him, tightening your hold. Precum dripped steadily from him, slicking your hand as you focused your movements on his sensitive tip.

“Can I finish now?” Your mouth was no longer warming his cock, only your hand stroking him slowly. Exasperated, he gave you what you wanted “Let me cum, sweetheart. I’m a good boy now, aren’t I?”

You smiled darkly at him, eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

“Please, bella.”

His toes curled into the sheets, warmth flooding his chest, spreading like fire. You chuckled at the sight of him.

“Aww, poor Dazai finally broken? Please what, baby?”

You’re going to pay for this. That thought bloomed in his mind, but the logical part of him was long gone when he repeated himself.

“Please make me cum, bella.”

You began working your way back up his cock, your lips wrapped tight around it until your nose was pressed to the soft hair at his groin. You looked up at him with tearful eyes.

His face was flushed, hands straining against the restraints, that usual smug smile nowhere to be seen. He throbbed in your mouth from the sheer sight of it. So erotic, so beautiful. That he spilled down your throat within seconds.

The thick head of his cock pulsed against the back of your throat, releasing wave after wave as your nose flared with the effort of sucking and swallowing.

“Ah! Oh my fucking—Bella, it’s enough—”

His cock began to soften as he caught his breath, but you weren’t done. You kept stroking him, overstimulating him until he hardened again.

“Y/N, alright, fine—I’ll do what you want, just stop—”

You rose, settling onto the bed beside him and giving him a short break, until one of your hands locked around his throat. You kissed him, squeezing the air from his lungs as you began to lower yourself onto him, holding his cock in your hand and easing it inside you.

He slid in with little resistance. Both your mouths fell open. His body trembled beneath you from the overstimulation, but Dazai found himself liking it, surprisingly so. And the way you squeezed his throat? It only aroused him more.

You felt so good he lost his filter.

“I want to touch you, my beautiful girl. Let me. I promise I won’t—”

You whispered against his lips while riding him harder and harder.

“Promise?”

His pupils were wild, but they matched yours.

“Yes, bella. I promise—”

You paused your movement, untying his wrists.

Dazai immediately broke his promise.

He leaned over you, darker eyes glinting with threat in the best way. His breath grew heavier as he slotted himself between your legs, raising them and thrusting his cock into you in one swift, punishing stroke.

Finding his rhythm which was slow and deep, yet punishingly hard each time his hips snapped, Dazai slipped his fingers between your lips and dragging it gently. He pulled out completly, but he successfully silencing your mewls as he thrusts his cock back inside of you. You cried out, hands instantly darting out to his shoulders when he leaned over you to hold on for what's to come next. His lips placed to your ear whispering absolute filth just drove you insane. .

“You happy, bella? Happy with what you’ve done to me?”

His fingers found your clit, circling fast enough to steal your breath. His thrusts grew violent, shaking the bed, but Dazai didn’t care anymore.

“Dazai, fuck. You’re so deep—it’s too much—”

He let out a breathless laugh, hot air brushing your face.

“Too much, baby? Funny, it wasn’t too much before.”

His relentless thrusts made your eyes roll back as his fingers moved faster and faster. You came so hard, screaming his name that you barely remembered the moment after. You wrapped your legs around him, desperate to keep him close.

“Dazai, cum in me. I need to feel it.” You groaned. “Pills. I’m on the pills—”

“And how do we say it, bella?”

He sucked on a tender spot of your neck, making you hiss.

“Please, Dazai.”

His wicked smile returne, happy to give you what you asked for.

You locked your legs tighter around his waist as he drove into you harder, grinding deep. You shook beneath him, thighs twitching, hands tugging at his hair like you didn’t know whether to pull him in or push him away.

Dazai held your face still, cupping your cheek, his forehead resting against yours. His jerking as his dick throbs deep inside you, the head swelling just before he spills, moaning into your open mouth like he's losing his mind.

And both of you knew this wouldn’t be the last time.

His lips brushed yours, wet and messy, then he leaned in again, tongue hungrily invading your mouth after that shattering orgasm. You panted into each other, your bodies trembling.

He pulled back, slowly sliding out until the tip caught at your entrance, slick with your release and his. Dazai exhaled deeply as he lay down beside you on his back.

After a few minutes of silence, Dazai didn’t look at you. His eyes were fixed on the ceiling.

“I hope you know you’re not leaving this room until you tell me why you’ve been following me.”

You turned your head toward him, studying the seriousness in his eyes.

“What makes you think I’m only following you? Got something to hide?”

He turned his head toward you, his slender fingers gently brushing your cheek.

“We all have something to hide, bella.” His gaze returned to you. Not just any gaze. The kind that made your breath freeze, like one wrong step could kill you. “You’re dear to me. Don’t make me change my mind.”

[shadycrowengineer]

I’ll Bark and Bite

Dark era dazai and chuuya x reader

Yokohama's underbelly stank of sweat, gunpowder, and betrayal.

You'd just killed a man in broad daylight.

Well—technically speaking, he wasn't really a man. More like a rabid dog with an identity. One of the gang that used to "own" you. Sold you, conditioned you like a weapon, then cast you aside when they believed they'd broken you.

Big mistake.

The street behind you was a battleground of bodies, and the sole one living was you. One bullet in your shoulder, bruises breaking beneath your skin like pus, blood clotted on your jaw. But you were standing. Again.

You breathed and glanced at the clip in your gun. Almost gone.

"Should have stocked up," you muttered. "Shit."

You stepped to move away.

And someone was there.

Not just a man—but him. You didn't know his name yet. You only saw a smaller-than-you imagined man dressed like a hellborn mob boss. Red hair. Gloved hands. Funeral director hat like a damn thing.

He was standing over the dead corpses like he didn't care.

"Got a permit to kill on our turf ?" he asked smoothly.

You blinked. "Your what?"

He stepped in close, and you could feel the atmosphere shift—like gravity was heavier around him.

"This is Port Mafia territory. That crew you just murdered? Dumb enough to step over a line. You?" He tilted his head. "Dumber for not knowing you were in the middle of a war zone."

Your mouth went dry. Port Mafia?

You knew that much. Everyone did. You didn't want to be here. Not anymore.

"I'll leave," you growled, shoving your gun back into your waistband. "Didn't know. Wasn't seeking trouble."

He laughed harshly. "Oh, you found it."

You glared and tried to shove past him.

A blur.

A fucking blur.

The next thing you knew you were being pushed against the brick wall of the alley, his arm around your throat. You struggled him—he didn't flinch. He was muscular, as if his bones were rock.

"I'm going to leave," you growled, picking up your gun again.

"Go on," he replied in a dead voice. "I'd like you to."

And another voice came back at us down the alley.

"Easy, Chuuya. Don't hurt her until we get to the paperwork."

You both turned around.

A man stood against the fire escape, tan bandages, trench coat behind him blowing back like he pictured himself in a noir film. His eyes were half-lidded, in a warm smile. Dazai.

"Look who finally crawled out of whatever sewer he sleeps in," Chuuya growled. "Don't you have a bridge to jump off?"

Dazai gave a tough smile. "Still compensating for being five foot nothing, I see."

Chuuya's eyes flashed.

You were stuck between a wall and a mafia executive about to lose his temper, and even you winced.

"Say it again, asshole."

"I would, but I don't speak small dog."

"I'll kill you."

You coughed, still wheezing. "Uh, hello? Dying here."

Chuuya released you with a growl, taking a step back as if you weren't even worth the trouble. "She's cocky."

"She killed six men with great shot placement," Dazai replied, now kneeling to examine one of the bodies. "All center mass. No hesitation. That's not cocky. That's trained."

You rubbed your sore throat and scowled. "I'm not trained. I was owned.".

Both of them looked at you now. Dazai's smile faltered. Chuuya's face contorted into something unreadable.

You spat on the ground. "They bought me. Broke me. Fed me bullets and threats until I started shooting for them."

Chuuya rolled one of his cigarettes. "And now you're trying to kill yourself out?"

"No. Already did it."

You started walking again, stepping over a corpse. "I don't want your gang. I don't want anyone. I just want the rest of them dead. Then I'll vanish."

Dazai was in your way this time. "Doesn't work that way."

You glared at him. "Why? Gonna shoot me for trespassing?"

"No," he said. "We're gonna make you an offer."

You tensed up.

Chuuya's voice deadpanned. "Join the Port Mafia. Or become part of the pavement."

".Seriously?"

Dazai shrugged. "You can go. Sure. Just not breathing."

You slowly grasped your gun again.

Chuuya stood stock still. "Draw it, and I'll break every bone in your arm."

You paused. Then slowly put it away.

"I don't bow to anyone," you said.

Chuuya moved forward, cigarette orange in the dim light. "Good. We don't want dogs. We want monsters."

You seethed at them both, anger roiling behind your ribs.

"…What do you want me to do?"

Dazai grinned again, all jagged edges. "Trial run. One night. One job. You survive, you stay."

"And if I just leave now?"

Chuuya dropped his cigarette, crushed it.

"You won't."

⸻

Twelve Hours Later – Port Mafia Trial Grounds

You were issued a new gun. Sleek. Heavy. The clip was full. You fired once.

Clean.

Chuuya stood in front of you, arms folded, trench coat blowing in the wind like a damn movie poster.

"These guys?" he said, nodding toward the warehouse across the lot. "The same gang sold you out to. They never learned. Camped out on our turf."

You blinked. "Wait. These fucks?"

He grinned. "Consider this a present."

"Fuck," you gasped. "You should've begun with that."

You didn't request permission. You ran.

The warehouse had been lit dimly—perfect. You took out the first sentry with a silencer to the jaw. Then two more inside. Quick, clean.

Then it all went crazy.

Shouting. Gunfire. You crouched behind a crate and fired back—quick, brutal, pitiless. You hadn't killed out of necessity. You killed to show.

When you came out, your hands shaking and spots of blood showing on the sleeves of your jacket, you'd got twelve kills.

Chuuya was waiting.

"So?" he asked.

You dropped the unloaded gun at his feet. "When do I get paid?"

He smiled.

Dazai, appearing out of nowhere beside him, chuckled quietly. "Told you. She's fun."

You gave him the finger.

Chuuya shoved something into your palm.

A black ring.

"Welcome to the Port Mafia."

You stared at it. Then set it on your finger in silence.

You didn't grin. You didn't say thank you.

You just stood a little taller.

And for the first time in your life…

You belonged.

(Cooked this up when coming home from school, call me Shakespeare) also repost because I didn’t proofread!

[shadycrowengineer]

Leon kennedy you'll always be our pretty boy

[shadycrowengineer]

smaller!reader

thinking about how the more time you spend with john (price), the more you notice he's so much like a damn bear.

during winters, the time on leave he gets for christmas is predominantly spent snoring with you tucked under his arm. if you even attempt to get up, price'll groan and whine about how you can sleep in just a few spare minutes with him. once he's finally up and out of the tangle of blankets and sheets, he'll pester you about taking a nap on the living room couch with him.

or how he uses the door frames around the house to sate his constant need to itch his back. pressing the between of his shoulders to the trim, letting out little grunts that sound suspiciously close to a bears huffy growls as he rubs back and forth against the wood.

the man is also a brute. broad shoulders that roll like the hills of moors; a chest that flexes and softens with nearly every breath. when you press your hand to him, your nearly stunned that you two are the same species solely based on how he's built.

but most of all, his forests of hair on nearly every expanse of flesh. the downy fur that adorns his chest, or the dark blankets that wrap around his forearms like armored cuffs.

it's part of his charm, you suppose.

[shadycrowengineer]

simon “ghost” riley is so fucking blunt with his words

you’re not even trying to be sexy. just sat on his couch in that worn old tank top, the one with the frayed strap and no bra underneath. your legs are curled under you, hair damp from the shower, picking at your nails and talking about some show you half-watched.

he’s not listening.

"y’re tits sit nice in that top f’yours," he says, eyes on the tv. voice low, almost lazy, like he’s commenting on the weather.

you blink at him. "what?"

"didn’t stutter, love," he says, finally turning to look. eyes dragging down your chest, slow and shameless. “reckon you wear shit like that on purpose.”

your face goes hot but he just huffs a laugh through his nose, leans back further. spreads his thighs a little wider like he’s settling in.

“saw a porno the other day. girl looked like you. sweet thing, bit mouthy. got fucked face-down in a stairwell.” he pauses. shrugs. “thought of ya.”

your jaw drops.

“what?” he says, tilting his head. “should be flattered. ain’t every day i get off twice to the same fuckin’ video.”

he grins when you throw a pillow at him. catches it. holds it in his lap.

"gonna keep wearin' that top, or y’gonna come sit here and gimme a better fuckin’ view?"

[shadycrowengineer]

[shadycrowengineer]

moving to New York so that a vigilante can stumble into my apartment and slowly fall in love with me.

[shadycrowengineer]

Twirling my hair at the thought of Leon doing hookups but he has one rule and one rule only.

No kissing.

And you're a nervous thing, took all of your strength to even get the courage to talk to him, let alone get in bed. And each time Leon would near your face you'd try to pull him in and he'd refuse.

You'd just straight up start crying, putting your own fingers in your mouth to calm down, to pacify yourself like a baby. And god, the sight was so pathetic he just couldn't resist breaking his own rule. He'd pull your fingers out of your mouth, intertwine it with his despite the wet feeling of your saliva, and lean in to kiss you so softly.

He practically almost busts a nut and has to pull out early

[shadycrowengineer]

[shadycrowengineer]

"We have a new AI feature!" "With the power of AI..." "Our AI..."

I am going to abandon technology and start only inscribing things on clay tablets

[shadycrowengineer]

simon didn't even say anything when you asked, he just complied.

"shh– 's okay, baby," he sushes your cries, hand brushing your cheek but his eyes are glued to where you two are connected. "i'm– shit— i'm halfway in already."

"halfway?!" you whine, and both of you giggle at the notion. well, nobody told you to ask your best friend to fuck you with his huge dick. "hate you, simon," you gasp, all bark and no bite.

he kisses your pouty lips, moaning at the way the movement makes him slip a bit deeper in you. "hm, tha' so, luv?"

no, you don't. he knows it and you know it, it only gets more obvious when he's bottoming out with a thumb on your clit and you're coming around him. he can only coo at you, "fuckin' hell– hate me, ya said?" slowly fucking into you. "don't think–" he's cut off but his own moan, you're still clenching around him as you come down from your orgasm. "don't think so, baby."

[shadycrowengineer]

based on this, in which reader gets herself a pet. human reader x fae poly 141

Masterlist

It arrived on the windless night of a blood moon, when the palace gardens groaned beneath the weight of twilight and the fae refused to speak its name.

Hooves like thunder cracked through the sacred grove- guards scattered, maids screamed, and even the birds took flight. A monster, they had called it. An omen. A curse carved in flesh and antler.

It stood twice the height of a man, its coat the color of grave-ash and bone. Its antlers, sprawling, twisted branches, curved like cruel iron and dripped with a red too thick to be dew. And its eyes- gods, its eyes. Hollow pits of starlight and sorrow, as if someone had scooped the soul clean out of it and left only the husk of judgment behind.

A nightmare. A spirit of the dying woods.

And you- of course, you- had followed the trail of unease and found it standing alone in the frostbitten clearing, still as stone.

Simon was the first of them to find you. The maids had burst into his chamber in a flurry of panic, dresses half-tied, hair undone. “She’s in the gardens- with it!” one had shrieked. And though he would later claim it was the sense of duty that dragged him down the hall and into the trees, it was something more base that curled in his gut.

Fear.

He had thought it might be too late.

But there you were, soft and quiet and terribly unafraid.

The creature loomed before you, its head dipped low, antlers mere inches from your throat- and your hand… your hand was stroking its snout like it was nothing more than a skittish hound.

“There now,” you whispered, thumb rubbing a slow circle just below its glowing eye sockets. “You’re alright. You’re not so scary, are you, sweetheart?”

Simon’s body went taut, every muscle locked as he stepped from the trees, blade drawn, breath like winter in his lungs.

“Step. Back.” he’d have barked- only he didn’t; the words curled up and died in his throat.

Because the stag didn’t move.

Didn’t growl.

Didn’t even blink.

It merely stood there, regal and terrible, allowing you to fuss over it like you were some holy creature instead of a too-small, too-human queen with a ribbon loose in your hair and your gowns flowing freely.

And your voice- gods, your voice- was the softest he’d heard in months. Not the clipped elegance of the court-mask you wore, not the sharp-tongued wit you wielded to hold your place among serpents and silver smiles.

Just you.

Calling the monster a good boy.

The bestest boy.

After that, it never truly left.

The court howled. Lords and ladies twisted their pretty lips into horror, whispering stories of famine and madness wherever a Hollow Stag appeared. It had been centuries since one last walked beside fae- or anyone. But this one did.

It followed you, and you named it Thrain, and Simon wanted to curse you for you did not know that by naming such a terrible thing, you had allowed it close.

He huffed at the guards, growled at the courtiers, and once kicked a sconce clean off the wall when Johnny whistled at you from across the hall.

He tolerated your husbands, but only just.

Simon couldn’t look at it without remembering your hand brushing over death’s brow like it was silk. Kyle swore the thing glared at him every time he touched your elbow. Johnny made jokes, tried to offer it dried fruit, only to have Thrain snort directly in his face and blow his mohawk-braid loose.

But never you.

Never once did it bare its fangs to you.

Thrain was silent at your side, looming like a second shadow in the throne room, ever behind your chair, because no one had the courage or audacity to say it shouldn’t be allowed inside. When you took solitary picnics- because even with jewels and titles and sharpened fae smiles, you were still lonely- he followed.

You’d sit beneath the weeping trees, skirts spread across the moss, fingers tangled in the vines as your voice hummed old, human songs, and he’d curl his massive body around you. His head, crown of dripping antlers and all, would lower into your lap. You’d scratch behind his ears, resting your cheek against the dry velvet of his muzzle like he wasn’t made of nightmare and ruin.

Sometimes you’d whisper to him.

Your secrets.

Your weariness.

The truth you wouldn’t dare breathe to your husbands.

Because even now- even with John’s gaze growing hungrier by the day, even with Kyle’s hand brushing yours too long beneath shared parchments, even with Simon’s brooding presence lurking protectively near and Johnny’s restless, nervous laughter softening when you were tired-

You didn’t know if they loved you.

The human you; the one who had no glamour in her blood, no ancient fire in her bones.

But Thrain did.

And sometimes, that was enough.