#*cackles maniacally*

[osamucide]

⊹ SEMI-CHARMED LIFE

SHE COMES 'ROUND AND SHE GOES DOWN ON ME AND I MAKE HER SMILE LIKE A DRUG FOR YOU!

wc: 6.4k

cw: sigma x dazai x gn(they/them)+afab!reader, post-canon/canon divergent, language, some plot, explicit sexual content—MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, threesome, coaching/guiding, fingering, handjobs, cunnilingus, nipple play, penetration, double penetration, double creampie, spit, teasing, dirty talk, so much kissing, praise, communication, squirting, soft sex, rough sex, hints of fluff and angst, soft dazai, a little bit of mean dazai, switch leaning soft dom!dazai, switch leaning sub!+virgin!sigma, switch!reader, pet names (baby, sweetheart, slut, whore—last two used very affectionately), use of cunt/pussy referring to reader’s anatomy, gambling/strip poker, alcohol+slight dubcon on account of that but otherwise all parties are happily consenting prior, references to pm!reader (and ada!sigma if you squint) but it’s not super relevant, some spoilers for vampire infection outbreak arc/prison break, god will judge me when i’m dead

reid: i have limited knowledge of texas holdem and a huge boner for sigzai. that’s all enjoy

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

“Son of a bitch.”

You sigh and lift your martini to your lips again. It should be too late for a martini, but Sigma's living quarters in the casino is outfitted with a less-than-modest liquor cabinet and while he didn't strike you as much of a drinker himself at first—not while he was on the job, anyway—he could bartend like you wouldn’t have believed had you never seen him do it. Vodka martini, no olive, please.

He had transferred it from his hand to yours with a soft smile that echoed his customer service face; however, he was significantly and refreshingly off the clock, so he addressed you playfully, “007,” as he did and laughed a little as he settled back onto the bed, cross-legged in a triangle made up of you, him, and Dazai.

But that was hours ago. The martini you sip now is your third, and Dazai had graciously made himself at home enough to messily pour up shots between poker games, so it’s safe to say you’re at least a little drunk. Sigma had been looking on in quiet irritation at him spilling remnants of expensive alcohol all over the expensive snakewood. The casino manager couldn’t seem to help but be disarmed by the detective every time he turned around, though, face beneath his messy brown hair alight with intoxication and beaming as he distributed yet another over-poured ounce of sake to both of you still on the duvet. You all drank, poker commenced, money was won and lost.

But that was just the first game. There’s higher stakes this time around.

“I have to fold.” You curse at your shitty hand once more and glance to Dazai, who’s flicking all of his little plastic chips toward the pot.

Of course it was Dazai who’d suggested the stipulations for this game, and of course it’s Dazai who is now letting the words “I’m all in” roll off his tongue while he looks charmingly bored and tipsy.

A few games would not be enough to figure out Dazai’s tells. In fact, a few hundred games would probably not be enough to learn to read him. If it wasn’t evident enough already from his excitement about the idea that he was unconcerned about his chances of being the one with the most clothing left on, it’s certainly evident in the way he’s relaxed now, his fist propping him up by his cheekbone. He peeks at his cards again from where he lounges on his side before he looks up to Sigma with bright eyes and a grin, quiet with mischief.

Sigma could go either way, it seems, from the way his tongue pokes out the corner of his mouth as he idles with an unruly stack of chips. He’s far more expressive, but this is his livelihood; it showed when he faked Dazai out of a 30,000 yen pot last game. Still, this time, this showdown, he pushes the rest of his pile into the center. All in.

The detective flips his cards, pinched between his middle and index finger. Straight flush.

Sigma clicks his tongue and whips his cards down onto the duvet. Straight.

“Hah!” Dazai kicks his feet like a child before sitting up to hoard the large pile. “You both know the rules,” he sings, copying Sigma’s posture as he grabs handfuls of his newly-won chips and lets them rain down over his head. A couple fall into his empty whisky glass.

You and Sigma look briefly at one other before both holding your drinks out for the conniving bastard in front of you to hold, which he does. There’s no agreed-upon piece with which you would begin to undress, so, like any sane person, you reach for your socks.

“Mh-mm,” Dazai hums his dissent through a sip of your martini. “I wanna change one rule. Losers have to undress each other.”

You roll your eyes. “It’s socks, Osamu.”

“Precedent,” he claims with a shrug, switching to take a sip of Sigma’s French 75.

So you and Sigma commence removing each other’s socks in a way that particularly lacks even a little sexiness, but when Dazai starts giggling, you both do, too. You ball Sigma’s socks up and toss them at Dazai’s head, which he dodges and swats back at Sigma. Sigma chucks your own socks at you in return for the indirect fire.

“Hey!” you bite jokingly through your teeth, discarding your socks off the little island of a bed that you exist on right now with these two men, and a moment of reflection strikes you as Dazai buries his face in his hands and Sigma almost tips backwards as they both laugh.

It started months ago in Meursault when you tumbled into the block where Gogol was challenging Dazai and Fyodor to his game after freeing them from the Infinite Dice Room. You, as a low-profile, high-priority Port Mafia affiliate aligned closely with the gravity user Chuuya Nakahara, had followed him into the prison as reinforcement; how Gogol and Dostoevsky were even aware of your existence then, you still aren’t sure. But you ended up there, watching Dazai and Fyodor shoot up lethal poison before dispersing to make their escape. You originally stayed with Nikolai to watch it unfold, but scampered off at some point when Chuuya appeared in danger of drowning. Your ultimate goal had been to help the Detective Agency and by proxy Dazai, but you’d be damned if you stood by while your executive was in a dire situation. It all turned out well, except for Sigma’s prolonged comatose state immediately after the prison break and everything that followed. But all that wasn’t important—not to right now, anyway.

What sticks in your mind and resurfaces now was the way you had watched on the monitor as Dazai—a former associate of yours, to say the least—paraded Sigma through the halls of the prison, teasing him, poking at him, dancing with him. It would’ve been borderline-adorable behavior from anyone sane in a normal situation, but Dazai had a way of driving people to the edge with the timing of his antics, and Sigma was quick to crumble under the pressure of the circumstance. What sticks more is how quickly the casino manager surrendered his trust to the quirky brunette inmate along their journey out of the building that day.

And what sticks most is how Dazai looked at him.

You remember observing a hint of something in his gaze that was usually only reserved for people who held important information, nurses in hospitals who’d taken his phone, occasionally you and Chuuya back in the day if he was feeling especially unhinged—the like.

And you remember looking at Sigma the same way over the screen—all sharp features, milky skin, elegant locks, and a hot trigger finger. His conviction over his purpose was alluring to you, who always understood your purpose to be pure survival. To Dazai, whose purpose seemed to be dying. Sigma was something entirely different from either of you, and when you all reconnected by the chance of business after the chaos, it was difficult to ignore the feelings dredged up from such a stressful time. It wasn’t like you’d always had your eye on Dazai or anything—no, surely not—but anyway, the click between the three of you back in Yokohama was inevitably pursued outside of work. A former DOA associate, an Armed Detective, and a Port Mafia subexecutive meeting up in the Sky Casino for drinks and Texas hold ‘em was certainly unprofessional in one capacity or another, sure, but you can hardly find it in yourself to care as Dazai hands you your martini back, face pink from cracking up.

It’s funny to you, how you never feel out of place between them. Sigma is leaning over onto your shoulder to stifle his dying laughter. You just shake your head as Dazai picks up the cards to deal.

The next game whirls by. You are the first to end up without a shirt, where Dazai and Sigma, both with their seemingly endless respective streams of luck, split the winnings over an evenly-matched two pair. You sit sheepishly after it’s your turn to deal, trying desperately, now that you’re losing in a tangible way (the three of you never use real money), to conjure up ways to gain back some ground and maybe not finish out the night as the only one naked.

“Sigma, deal,” Dazai purrs as if this isn’t Sigma’s show. You have your arms crossed over your chest as two cards flutter down in front of you, and you look at them, thinking, hoping—yes, maybe if Sigma would put a Jack down you could—

But any strategy you’re beginning to formulate is effectively zapped off, like a power button on a remote extinguishing a television’s display, as Dazai takes your wrists in his hands and guides them down to your lap.

“Why are you sitting like that?” he asks so innocently. “You’re hot. Stop hiding.”

You’d be blushing if it wasn’t for the alcohol making an appearance on your cheeks already. You giggle a little again, his touch making you feel more lightheaded than anything you’ve drank thus far. Sigma turns to you for your action, but your eyes are locked onto Dazai’s, so he does the only thing that makes the most sense in his own intoxicated mind—he grips your chin, not too harshly, and turns your head toward himself, in all his pastel, angelic beauty.

“Your turn,” Sigma says gently. While he doesn’t comment on what Dazai has said, and although his hand doesn’t hold the same menace that Dazai’s seems to, the tilt of his lips speaks a silent agreement.

Just as both of their fingers are beginning to overwhelm you, they retreat.

And you look down at your cards again, and your train of thought is as good as gone.

“Um—sorry, uh…”

You push 6000 yen into the pot, and Dazai follows.

And soon enough, like clockwork, you’re removing your pants—no, Dazai is removing your pants as Sigma gathers his winnings, and you’re unbuttoning Dazai’s shirt, and this has to be some sort of plot against you, you think, because the room is suddenly hotter, nevermind the alcohol, and you swear Dazai and Sigma are exchanging looks the way you and Dazai had months ago before leaving Meursault.

But you keep your composure. If there’s one thing you were used to dealing with, it’s sexy, scheming men, and it’s rare you ever let them get the best of you. Poker aside, you won’t crack. You can’t. Your drunkenness, now subsiding into hazy exhaustion and a twinge of need you won’t admit to yourself just yet, bolsters your pride, if anything. These two will not break you. You’ll make sure it’s the other way around first.

Another two games pass, and you finally have the mind and hand to win, which is what leads you to the scene of Sigma inching Dazai’s underwear down his thighs.

The casino manager’s face is broken out madly. He’d lost his own shirt but in all remains the most clothed out of all three of you; your dignity is preserved in your undergarments, and Dazai only ‘tsks as he steps out of his boxers just to lay back down on his side, propped up on his hand, in his spot on the bed.

“Well,” the detective laments, his practiced dramatics coming out to play. “I’ve officially lost. What to do now…?”

You look as unfazed as you can by Dazai’s nudity; Sigma’s eyes, however, are everywhere but the brunette.

You hum thoughtfully, considering your nails. You have your little heatstroke from before under control, it seems, but you’re biting your bottom lip raw at the shift in the energy of the room.

You crawl to sit against the headboard of the bed, shooing Dazai out of your way as you do so—it’s the same luxurious snakewood that the liquor cabinet is made from, and it doesn’t budge when you lean back against it. Dazai sits beside you, one leg curled beneath him and the other hanging off the edge of the bed as you kick the duvet down at Sigma, adjusting yourself so your bare legs are extended and crossed at the ankle. You smirk, only softly. Dazai scoots closer to you when your pinkie wraps around one of his fingers.

Sigma, hunched in on himself at the end of the bed, breathes deeply as you turn your gaze to him and pat the spot on the other side of you. He’s willed up by the expectant look on Dazai’s face, and he takes his seat at your side; he looks to the brunette across your side profile, and you hook each of your legs over one of theirs.

“What else is there to do?”

The question comes from you as you look between them, stroking both their knuckles; Dazai’s expression grows more sinister by the second, and he looks past you too, to Sigma, whose eyes are wide. You follow Dazai’s vision.

Sigma gulps and finds himself nodding. He knows what at, but he can’t bring himself to say it as you flick your gaze down to his parted lips.

You lean in.

“This okay?”

He’s still nodding. His head only stills when your hand leaves Dazai’s and reaches up to cup his face.

And you kiss Sigma with an open mouth. He shivers and leans into you. Your hand falls back to blindly search for Dazai’s cock.

Dazai is half-hard just watching you slip your tongue past Sigma’s lips; you thumb his tip teasingly, giving him a few squeezes and drawing soft breaths from him as the pastel-haired man reaches up for your neck. It’s obvious Sigma’s never kissed anyone like this before, but he follows your lead like a first-time ballroom partner, letting you nip the beginnings of moans out of him as Dazai watches, watches.

When you pull back, Sigma is in awe. His eyes don’t open for a few seconds, and you smile, endeared.

“You’re a good kisser, Sigma.”

His eyes snap open. “R-really?”

You nod. “But I think Osamu could train you even better.”

Something flashes across Sigma’s face—not discontent or anxiety but pure surprise, and you turn back to Dazai for his appraisal. He’s biting the inside of his cheek as your fingers work him up and down, torturously slow. Before anything else can happen, you lean into Dazai; he’s eager to receive your lips, force the gasps that belong to you into your mouth. You think you’ll play them like a pair of cymbals, if they let you. If Dazai lets you. It’s looking like he might.

You tilt your head back as Dazai works his way down your throat, leaving bruising bite marks as you touch him. You find Sigma glazed over in awe—the next thing you do is encourage his face toward yours again, so you can kiss him while Dazai marks you. You don’t hold back the sighs that come from your diaphragm. Sigma swallows your breath with greed. You cup his jaw, your noses bump; he grows more confident by the second, and as Dazai traverses back up your neck, you leave him whining, removing your hand from his cock to push the two men’s faces together.

Soft hums reverberate between their kiss. You look proudly upon your work as their hands find one another, frantically, on jaws, on shoulders, on chests. Sigma reaches to pick up where you left off, but second guesses himself.

“It’s okay,” you whisper to him. “Right, Osamu?”

“Mmhm.” Dazai bites into the other man’s bottom lip. Sigma yelps into the lack of air between them. You guide his hand, which finds Dazai at his base and sends him moaning into the kiss.

With your hand wrapped around Sigma’s wrapped around Dazai, you latch onto Dazai’s neck to return his bites. Your head buzzes with anticipation; it’s so hot to watch them, low-lidded and on two different levels of experience, talking to each other without speaking. You move Sigma’s hand up, down, up, down. Dazai breaks away to let a full-bodied moan into the air; he makes up for contact by resting his forehead against Sigma’s, peering down at where the two of you are working him into a mess.

“That’s it,” Dazai pants, but he looks smug. “Unh—feels good.”

“Hear that?” With your free hand you tuck a thick lock of Sigma’s silvery hair behind his ear as you mumble into it. “You’re doing so good.”

“Tell me what to do,” Sigma breathes, and he sounds so desperate that it makes you throb. “Don’t know what ‘m doing, please, tell me what to do.”

“Exactly what you’re already doing.” You let go of his hand and let him stroke Dazai by himself. Dazai nods weakly, needily, cock twitching as Sigma explores; the pale-haired man’s thumb circles his tip the same way yours did, but faster. When you lean over to spit on his cock over Sigma’s hand, the brunette’s jaw falls slack and the two melt into another kiss; you don’t even have to enlist Dazai’s hands as, through his pleasure, he fumbles for you. You uncross your ankles, and he rubs you impatiently over the final bit of cloth that remains on your body. Your lips find Sigma's throat next.

All heaving breath against each other, you move like this for a bit, learning one another. Dazai reaches to pop the button on Sigma’s pants as he’s tugging at your underwear at the same time.

You both turn your focus to Sigma as you kick your last layer off; he stumbles upward, back onto his feet, and you and Dazai pursue him as he’s helping you both push his pants and boxers off in one collaborative swipe. He’s never been hard like this before—sure, Sigma’s not a stranger to sexual arousal, but he’s only ever touched himself. Call it a side effect of the imposter syndrome or throwing himself into his casino or the fact that this is his first time being alive, but as Dazai sits on the edge of the bed looking like a hungry animal and you toss his pants away, he can’t imagine why any two people as physically gorgeous, intellectually dominant, and purpose-driven as the two of you would want to engage with him like this. He’s excited, he can’t deny it—his cock is straining almost painfully as it bobs in the air now—but there’s a line of tears forming on his lash line, and you’re fast to catch him.

“Sigma,” you call him back from inside his head. Dazai’s fingers have found his hip; they rest there tenderly. “Sigma. We can stop. It’s okay.”

“No,” Sigma all but cries. He aches to be touched the same way you and himself were both touching Dazai. “No, no, don’t stop, I just—I’m—”

A single tear splits down his pretty pale skin. He looks back and forth between you both.

“Sigma,” you say firmly. “Talk to us. It’s important.”

“I—” He gathers himself, voice cracking only once. “I want this. I want it so bad. I can’t believe I deserve it. You’re both… I just don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t want to... not be good.”

You look to Dazai, who looks uncharacteristically tired for a moment; it’s an understatement to say he understands exactly what Sigma is trying to articulate, but he’s not a man of sentiment, so you pick up the slack. Collaborative. You wind your fingers between Sigma’s and lead him to sit next to Dazai.

You stand, bare, in front of the two of them, also bare; they’re both so beautiful in their own ways. Dazai, with his dark features, cutting cheekbones, flexing jaw, bandages outlining the contours of all his lean muscle. Sigma, all heavenly light, awkward hands, unmarked skin, thin sheen of glistening sweat.

“You don't need to worry,” you reassure him. “We just want you. Right, Osamu?”

“Mmhm,” Dazai hums again. Not a man of sentiment, but he presses a series of kisses to Sigma’s cheek before smiling devilishly. “We’ll take care of you. How about that? Teach you how to fuck.”

Sigma shudders at his words; his eyes still flit nervously, but fall at rest when you sit opposite Dazai and run your fingertips across his thigh.

“Yes,” he responds just above a whisper. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Dazai echoes.

“Okay.” And you. “Can we touch you? Or d’you wanna watch us?”

Sigma contemplates. His cock jumps at the mere mental image of watching Dazai fuck you; he could get off like that and be totally content, but his mind drifts back to your hands, Dazai’s hands, and how selfishly he was campaigning for you both to touch him just minutes ago. “Touch me, please.”

Now it’s you looking across Sigma’s side profile at Dazai. He mirrors the look in your eye, and you lean over to press a kiss to the brunette's lips before you traverse the plane of Sigma’s chest. Dazai reaches for his cock.

And just like that, Sigma is in heaven. His hands fall behind him on the bed to steady himself as Dazai goes through a motion Sigma’s performed so many times on himself, but it feels so much better now—he doesn’t know if it’s Dazai’s calloused fingertips or the curling heat you both create in his pelvis by just kissing him, talking to him, loving on him—and he’s throwing his head back, embarrassed to make noise but in such ecstasy that he can’t help it, won’t help it. You giggle lightheartedly against the shell of his ear when he does, and he loves it. Loves it. Wants it to last forever. Dazai sucks on his collarbone and you tweak his nipples and he’s twitching, twitching, building up so quickly he’s afraid he’ll be spent soon.

"'M gonna... oh—gonna cum if you don't s-stop—"

But it isn't a request to, so when you and Dazai's hands both leave him, he's sent reeling just like you were during the last game. Sigma's chin meets his chest as he recovers from what feels like Dazai's revenge for the bluff that worked on him earlier, and he looks at you both, glazed over with lust.

Your eyes are so warm when they slide from Dazai back to him.

“So handsome. You’re gorgeous, Sigma.” It hardly matters who says it—the other agrees.

“Tell us what you want.”

"Well, um," he asserts, pulling his shaky legs up into himself and leading you by the arms to pull you back to the headboard. "This part seems pretty self-explanatory. Dazai, I think you should show me how to..."

You perch at the head of the bed again as he trails off, and Dazai looks like he's ready to have fun with what's coming next.

"Show you how to...?" he prompts Sigma to finish his sentence, and Sigma's nudging his way between your legs; your lips turn upward at his burst of enthusiasm, and the words get stuck a bit as he settles on his stomach in front of you.

"Touch them. I've really never done this before." He blinks up at Dazai. Weaponized incompetence has never been so sensual.

And Dazai takes the bait and crawls next to him, gripping your thigh a little too hard as he presses his shoulder to Sigma's. "Certainly. Give it your best shot, I wanna see what I'm working with here." It's so natural for Dazai to take on the mentorship position, even in this situation. You can't help the way you giggle at them; their eyes linger on each other a second too long to imply nothing before Sigma turns his attention to you.

You think he'll start with fingering you, but he dips his head down and goes right for your cunt—you're unable to suppress the oh! that leaves you as he licks a sensual and slow stripe from your hole to your clit. Knowing Sigma, you understand that his mind is probably still swimming with self-doubt as he rolls his eyes up to yours, but you can't find any of it. It's all too hot. His pretty pink lips undulate as he tastes you, delicately, and Dazai lets out a surprised noise of his own.

"Seems like you’re alright." Dazai's grinning. "But I'll help you out. Stay there."

So Sigma latches onto your clit, drawing another series of gasps out of you, and Dazai plunges his middle finger into you. You’re so slick, so ready for them that there's no resistance; Sigma's experimenting with his tongue, then his lips, then alternating, and Dazai keeps digging his fingertips into your thigh, your hip, as he works you open on his hand.

"God, with how wet you are, I think we could get you to take both of us."

Your eyes—which you hadn't realized had fallen shut as you wound each of your hands in either of their heads of soft hair—fly open at that. Sigma pulls away too. Tortorous.

"At the same time?" You're unsure if it comes out of your mouth, too, but Sigma asks it—with a sense of wonder that, had you said it, would've been overshadowed with a little apprehension. Dazai looks up to you for approval.

And while it's daunting—neither of them are small, that's for sure—you can't help the way your hips roll at the thought of being stuffed with them both. At the same time. How intimate it would inevitably be, their cocks pressed together as they fuck you. So you nod, vigorously.

"Gotta get 'em ready, though," he lectures to Sigma, snapping back to his instructorly tone as his hand falls on top of yours in his two-toned hair, pushing his face back into your cunt. "Put that mouth to work. You got it, baby."

Sigma hums against you at the nickname and the vibration sends your head lolling back again; Dazai looks wicked as he straddles your leg, still reaching down to split you open, now on three fingers instead of one or two. He kisses you hard.

The attention from both of them is unbelievable—you see now what had them both falling apart so quickly. Something about two sets of hands wandering your body sets lights off behind your eyes. Sigma’s reaching up to paw at your chest, flicking and pinching your nipples the same way you had his; before you know it you’re panting like a dog into Dazai’s mouth and soaking the bed below you.

“Fuck—you two.” You’ve got one hand still twined in Sigma’s hair. You’re almost grinding onto his nose, and he’s lapping up everything you’re giving him like a good boy. Your other arm winds around Dazai’s neck as you pull him closer and bend your knee to nudge his balls. He humps against what you give him. Lewd, wet sounds fill your ears.

“That’s the plan,” Dazai singsongs, pretty teeth visible. Amidst your frantic hips, he shuffles behind you, never breaking the heated kiss you share more than he has to. Those teeth find your lips and you gasp, you moan, you’re so impressed at how quickly Sigma is picking up on this new art, and with so little instruction, really—he watches you and Dazai make out from his place between your thighs and thrusts his hips against the bed at the sight. You notice.

“Sigma, come up here.”

His lips leave your cunt hesitantly; truth be told, your taste is more inebriating than all the alcohol he’s had. He’s rock hard, and you split your attention between him and Dazai as you lift your hips up, arch, and angle Dazai’s cock against your pussy.

His lips catch Sigma’s as he sinks into you; a whine falls from you at the stretch, and you can feel Dazai shake as he waits to move. When he parts from the kiss, he wraps his hands beneath either of your thighs, spreading you open wide.

Sigma all but gawks at the way Dazai’s dick is buried in you from below. You reach behind you, give his brown hair a tug that has Dazai thrusting up roughly, and Sigma would let your moan shatter his eardrums, his entire being, if he could. He sees the whites of your eyes, the white of Dazai’s fingertips as he grips you hard, the white of Dazai’s precum and your slick dripping down onto the sheets, and his hips lunge forward at nothing. Your cunt looks delicious. Dazai looks delicious, all furrowed brows and bitten lips and groans that bubble up from his chest. He fucks you fast.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—Osamu! Unh, uh-huh—”

Dazai echoes your own name back to you. “Yeah, fuck—you feel so good.”

All the combined sounds are like a symphony to Sigma. He palms his own cock; no way he can cum just watching now, he decides. He needs to be in you. He doesn’t want to be an observer. Sigma catches Dazai’s eyes as if to say can I? But Dazai’s already smirking and breathlessly slipping out of you, holding you up and open still as you reach for Sigma with one hand and will him into you. You suck him in, god—thank god you’re already so wet and fucked open, because he’s not an inch inside of you before he loses himself and thrusts forward wildly.

“There you go,” Dazai encourages, grinning as the pale-haired man’s composure crumbles. “Isn’t that pussy heaven? Just like that, Sigma. They’re fuckin’ creamin’ all over you, look.”

Look, as if his rosé eyes could possibly leave the place where you’re swallowing him in. Sigma’s grunting—he’s never known himself to be noisy during pleasure, but this is another level, your cunt so warm and milky and squeezing him like you’ll never let him go.

The curtain of Dazai’s bangs falls across your shoulder as he kisses you there, mutters filthy musings into your ear while he watches Sigma sink into you over, over, over.

“How’d’they feel?”

Sigma’s unprepared for the way his own voice sounds, wound tight and concentrated while he tries and fails miserably not to whine. All that voice turns into babbling. “So—so, so fucking good, I’m—ah, I’m gonna fucking cum—”

"Woah, woah, alright. Not yet. Give 'em a breather. They're gonna need it, after all." Dazai's still laughing as he puts the brakes on Sigma with his feet—that's especially funny to him, but the way Sigma almost chokes at the way Dazai stops him is even better. Sigma, all sweat and arousal, sinks back onto his knees. You, too, squirm at the loss of stimulation, pushing soft lavender and silver off his forehead where it sticks; when Sigma’s hips don’t quite quit, even with nothing around his cock, Dazai chuckles out a “Looks like you need it, too.”

You trace Sigma’s tangling fingers as you catch your breath, interlocking both your hands with his. Dazai lets up on your legs—your hips will thank him later—letting the flex back into a more comfortable position. Your back rests against his chest, and he plays with your clit lazily.

“This is gonna take some patience, okay?” Dazai is addressing Sigma more than you; you’re guiding Sigma’s hands down to your cunt where he and Dazai move in a figure eight that keeps you occupied.

They're gonna need it, after all is what's registering in your mind. "Osamu—" you start, but he's shushing you.

Once again, Sigma's watching Dazai ride you up by your thighs so he can buck up into you, much more tactfully than the pale-haired man was just seconds ago. Perhaps more neglected than either of you at this point, Dazai's voice is gruff as you squelch around him.

“Oh, fuck, sweetheart. Hah." His teeth sink into your shoulder as you croon.

"Dazai—" Sigma starts this time, but the other man answers all his questions with a single look.

"You’re gonna go back to what you were doing,” Dazai breathes, his gaze trained on Sigma as you writhe.

“Please, both of you—”

“Be patient,” Dazai means to snap at you but it’s too melted, too lovey. Anyway, he’s egging you on with his next words. “C’mon, Sigma, you’re gonna give ‘em what they want, right?”

And Sigma nods like he’s in a trance—your cunt already looks full around Dazai, but he needs urgently to be in you next to him. He thinks he’ll explode in all the wrong ways if you don’t let him in. He needs it, so he lines himself up below your clit, above Dazai, looking for anywhere he can slip in; it takes some of Dazai’s fingers, some of yours, but soon enough he feels the veins of Dazai’s cock on his underside and your pulsing walls to the top of him. He’s in. He’s actually in, and his head falls onto your shoulder, and it takes everything in him not to let his full weight slump directly onto you and Dazai. You’re bleating, sobbing, laughing through the stretch, and when Sigma’s tip nestles next to Dazai’s deep inside you, you feel full. Whole.

“I’m gonna stay still.” Dazai sounds just as affected as both of you, but he keeps his facade up a few seconds longer to guide you both to the beginning of the end. “Want you to fuck them, Sigma. Hard.”

And he doesn’t need to be told twice. It’s difficult to pull back and push in at first—you’re so fucking tight and Dazai’s so fucking big, and even though you’re spread apart, Sigma feels like he can’t get close enough to you. Your cunt weeps around both of them, protesting the stretch that your brain adores, but you let up. And he fucks you, soft at first, and then hard.

All three of you are jumbled noise; skin on skin, teeth on lips, moans on shoulders, wet smacking and sliding and sobbing as you take both of them. Your gut heats up with each push, each pull, each frantic grasp, each broken sound the two men let out as they frot inside of you; Dazai’s biting your shoulder again, letting his sweet little protégé do the work. Sigma digs his nails into you wherever he can find purchase.

“Oh—fuckin’ harder, Sigma, baby, please—” you beg.

“Our pretty boy fuckin’ you good?” Dazai doesn’t wait for you to answer. “You gonna go stupid on his cock, huh?”

Sigma couldn’t answer the question even if it wasn’t rhetorical; all of his coherence is gone, and you took it. His thrusts grow erratic, remarkably unpracticed and blatantly virgin, but the repeated pounding of the head of his cock against the entrance to your cervix makes your eyes impossible to keep open, then impossible to keep closed, so you teeter between hyperalert and falling apart. Dazai rubs your clit as Sigma pushes your knees further back with sudden aggression, pins your thighs closer to your shoulders as he fucks you and creates an otherworldly friction against Dazai. He’s gone, he’s lost, and he looks so gorgeous whimpering and whining, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he screws his eyes shut and his mouth falls open over and over again. If anyone’s going stupid, it’s Sigma.

But the longer he fucks you, the more limp you fall; your head falls to rest on Dazai's shoulder as Sigma puts everything into you, and the brunette laughs like the asshole he is, even through this. He’s hardly doing better than either of you, though, and his words fly.

“My two beautiful little fuckin’ sluts, so—unh, so hot. So hot. Look at what I turned you into.”

Neither of you have any hope of answering. His voice just throttles you forward, and Sigma’s grunts ante up—he’s almost yelling, shouting as he exerts himself, as he does everything his body will let him to get himself there, and bring you with him, too.

“Ah! Angh—anh—ah, ah, ugh!”

And you reply with, “Ah! Unh—oh, oh, oh, please, please, please!”

And Dazai drinks it all up, finally letting his eyes roll back as he pulls Sigma down for one more messy kiss—one that sends Sigma headfirst into his orgasm, and he cums, rutting into you while your cunt spasms, squirts, begs for Dazai to follow. It’s like white heat rolling off of him in waves; Sigma’s brows lift as if finding a sort of clarity, and your eyes are wide as you clutch the two men, and Dazai follows shortly after—the mixture of their cum inside you sings the most disgusting and yet most satisfying sounds of the evening. Your legs snap shut around Sigma’s waist as he rides all three of you out, all sweat and tears and incredulous moans that die as he slows to a stop, still stuffed inside of you.

Three pairs of lips are dry, bitten raw—chapstick’s the first thing on Sigma’s mind as his head clears, but he feels himself and Dazai spill out of you, and you and he both reach for him, pulling him down into the pillows as whatever dream the three of you just exited settles around you like dust. He’s sticky, too, but he doesn’t hate it—how can he when you’re between them, throwing one leg over Sigma’s waist and tangling the other with Dazai’s behind you? You head falls into the crook of Sigma’s elbow, and his other arm drapes over Dazai’s, which holds you close by your waist as Dazai’s chin settles on top of your head—not unlike a three-piece puzzle, snapped together and in your right place.

“Oh, fuck.” You’re still leaking. “That was wonderful. Both of you.”

Dazai chuckles again. Unnervingly charming, even after cumming so damn hard. Sigma doesn’t want to know what he looks like himself.

“Who knew there was a whore in the casino man?”

You smack Dazai’s arm, but now you’re all laughing again, even Sigma. He feels… proud. You look so satisfied, so tired. The way your eyes slide shut after pressing such affection into his own prompts him to do the same.

Tired as he may be, though, he can’t lie and say that he’s not still incredibly turned on—you wiggle a little to get comfortable between them, and Sigma feels his cock spring back to life when you brush him, when your fingertips skate over the small of his back. He can’t reflect on what just happened—it’ll have him hard again in seconds.

“Excited again already, huh?” Dazai pokes. Sigma’s face burns.

“Ugh,” you groan out of sheer exhaustion, “if we go again, you’re both taking turns.”

Dazai looks thoughtful. “Hmm. Perhaps we could reprise rock, paper, scissors.”

And Sigma, having begun to nod, stops. “Absolutely not.”

[cconfusedkat]

Originally i had leshy undergo the same thought process as kallamar and heket but cmon. Come on. Look at that guy. do you really think anything goes on in his head other than dancing fruits and cocomelon

Also Bonus! Lamb doesn't know how to read any of their minds in the same room

[strawberrus0da]

juice launch day juice launch day juice launch day juice launch day juice launch day juice launch d

[nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos]

I'm feeling extra feral and unhinged today.

So.

If this gets 200 reacts I'm going to go on Twitter, Instagram, and Tiktok, and comment on multiple posts/videos from Steven John Ward with "HI GREETINGS FROM TUMBLR (aka the cesspool of the internet) WE LOVE YOU, WHATEVER YOU DO DEFINITELY DON'T SEARCH 'MIHAWK OPLA' ON TUMBLR LOL"

And see what happens.

I mean he already knows about the Tiktok edits what's the worst that could happen 🙃

Sassy McSwordsman for tax

[chaotically-laconic]

what if you threw up? I'd tie your hair back of course! Hmm....now that i think about it- I wonder if s4 Jon had anyone to tie his hair up for him...haha....

[shukakumoodboard]

has anyone asked about medieval au mine beloved? if yes, pls do tell about any other fic u would love to talk about xoxo

someone has my darlingie <3

so i will simply use this opportunity to share some of the fics i haven't started that live in my gaalee ideas document relieved emoji

behold, a random and non exhaustive list made of screenshots

[bunny-hoodlum]

guess what I'm working on... 🎶😏😏😏

[allisonjamaica]

wait WAIT. it took me Far Too Long to realize but now All My Thoughts are about how Scott&Stiles literally kidnapped Jackson a full two seasons before they pulled it again with Liam?? i'm?? first of all how did i not notice this,, second did they not Learn from their first restraining order?? like Scotty. Scotty my beloved. no wonder Liam didn't want to join your pack like first you interrogate him as to whether he's cheating at lacrosse via being In The Middle Of The Woods On The Night Of A Full Moon. then you put him in the hospital when the interrogation reveals nothing but Actual Talent. you bite him. and then you duct tape him in your bathtub what—

[served-over-dice]

BG3 Great Old One warlock patron encountering "Dribbles" be like:

There are few things in this multiverse that unsettle me, let alone frighten me. But that thing…

…That thing scares me.

Warlock Tav, getting ready to cast Eldritch Blast: Say no more, boss.

[atticollateral]

Autism Assessment Update (bc it's been almost 3 months since I mentioned it haha oops) (it's a novel. you've been warned.)

tagging @examishbookwyrm bc they did comment on my autism assessment post I made in MARCH!! n i didn't respond...(adhd moment) get honourable mention'd.

--- SOOOO. BIG ASS PERSONAL LIFE UPDATE!!! I have... literally the worst news? Like the worst-worst news I think I will ever share. So imma start from the beginning :> [I detail everything about the assessment in this post. The process, the assessment itself, and the after.]

So. This is part of the NS Pilot Program for assessing people who were going to age out of the early-childhood-assessment waitlist (because hey! it is a 5 year long wait! haha!) which was led by NS Health and the Gov. of Canada (who paid for all the assessments.) It's safe to say that NOBODY is happy! (if you look it up you will find articles on how... awful it's been. Also if you look up articles I might have left out details bc my brain is VERY SPOTTY bc i am enraged) but anyway,

The first part of this is they had been calling my mom during the day; my mother had been working days. So she wasn't picking up. And they weren't answering her calls back or her messages! Already a big red flag. Because they can't get ahold of her they call me. Me! The person they're going to assess, who, at the time, was 18, and perfectly capable of consenting, as an adult, and taking care of their own medical records and appointments and such. They go "Hello, is this (deadname's) mom?" And I go "This is (deadname); and my name is [Chosen]" and they go "Oh, Well. Can you get your mother to call us?" And I said in a tone I believe was very clearly annoyed bc wtf? "Oh, no, you can tell me whatever you're going to tell her!" They tell me "Well we're looking to get you into the NS pilot program for autism assessments" yada yada "is that something you'd be interested in?" And me being me (poor and reasons to think I'm autistic and being on the waitlist) go "yeah!" AND THIS FUCKING WOMAN GOES "ok then get your mom to call us. this is the date. we need her to confirm." and I go "...why?" and they go "we just need to talk to her." and I go "...why can't you just talk to me?" and she just repeats herself so I go "um. ok. well. you have a good day? bye?" and hang up. So i'm simmering; bc I am literally an adult. I don't need my mom. I should be treated like an adult and I'm getting infantilized. I got the woman's name and # so I give it to my mom. It takes another month to get a date for the assessment approved bc they STILL WONT ANSWER HER CALLS OR MESSAGES.

My mother was required to do two prerequisite assessments a week or two before my in-person one. One over the phone and one over zoom. I am above the age of 16 (as stated) and perfectly capable of consent and being an informant. (you are legally allowed to consent to a majority of medical assessments in NS when you turn 16 w/o alerting ur parents, and clearly allowed to do that over the age of 18 as that is age of majority.) So i'm just miffed. They tell her not to tell me anything. She says fuck that (thank the gods) and so she tells me things they tell her. So the night before the assessment I help her with the form they MAKE HER FILL OUT before the assessment like "when did your child start walking/running" "when did they learn to ride a bike" "when did they start talking/writing" stuff like that. and I go ok. sure. autism can show in early childhood, it's a neurological developmental disorder. I get it. Even though autistic individuals can have average, slowed, or accelerated development (IT'S ALMOST LIKE ITS LITERALLY CALLED AUTISM SPECTRUM DISORDER) There's a question that catches me off guard. "what is your child's dominant hand" ...i'm sorry. back it up. *Yes.* There are studies that say many people who have ASD are left handed or ambidextrous. But oh. My. Gods. Above. THAT IS NOT GROUNDS FOR DIAGNOSIS; and you can also ASK THE KID during the assessment! What kind of question?! [I am right-hand predominant but I am ambidextrous.]

I move on.

I go into the assessment. On the table; the dr's introductory sheet in a photo frame. His title sits atop the document with a head, MADE OF BLUE PUZZLE PIECES alarm bells alarm bells alarm bells oh my fucking god help me jesus christ please help me i promise i'll believe in you if you help me right now please please plea "Hi!" A woman greets us, sitting in an office with the door open. I don't know her name. She doesn't stand from her desk. "I'll be with you in a moment." I laugh awkwardly. My mom says ok as the woman shuts her door. I tell my mom "I hate it here; can we go home?" Because I genuinely feel unsafe; I'm shaking. She laughs softly and goes "It'll be okay." So I put a brave face on bc I love my mom and she's nice and wait for the lady. She calls us in a few minutes later. I don't remember her introducing herself. I don't remember her offering a handshake or any other "polite" gesture. That would be something important to do, and I would have remembered it. She tells us how long it will be and a lay down of what's gonna happen and asks MY MOTHER FOR CONSENT TO FILM ME. Not ME for consent to film ME, an 18 year old. My mom turns to me confused and asks me if I'm okay with it instead. I go "yeah." (I was not okay with it); the woman told us the assessment would not happen if they could not film it. So I agreed; giving *assent* rather than *consent* was something I was pissed off about then and there. The woman asks HER if she'd like to stay so my mom asks ME if she wants me to stay, I hug my mom after I ask her to leave because I'm an adult and can handle myself. I don't need my mom to be there. I sit down. I have my pompompurin stuffed animal with me and a messenger bag with pens and stuff in it because I know there are things to write and don't like using other people's things. She doesn't ask about the bag. She sets up the camera and such, explaining that she'll have to occasionally turn to her laptop to make sure the recording is still going. I have pompom in my lap along with a fidget while she talks. She says something along the lines of "um, you'll want to put that away, you'll need your hands." And I go, rather firmly, something along the lines of; "I'll put it away when I need to use my hands. I am focusing on you right now." To which she seems surprised and goes "um... okay, that's fine." And continues on. (Was she not expecting an adult to have clear boundaries and be able to state their needs?) She offhandedly mentions something about [Dr] perhaps coming in to see me at some point during the assessment. My heart drops. She's not the doctor? She isn't the psychiatrist? What the hell?

The assessment begins. They're giving me tests for children, she said she made it harder. I disagree. I find the tasks easy. Simple games/puzzles. I tell her I like puzzles. She keeps throwing positive affirmation at me; I become annoyed with it after awhile because I know she's only doing it to make me continue doing the activity. It's common for people who work with children. She is infantilizing me. I know I was thinking it subconsciously.

The tests are not geared towards my age range, I notice immediately. I become miffed, going "these are too easy for me so far" or something to that effect. She laughs at me. I become upset. We start the reading part of the test. I read to show reading speed and comprehension. I read out loud to show my pronunciation. I read words that don't exist to show my reasoning skills when it comes to language. I am in my 5th year of high school (I struggle with school). This task is mundane and annoying. I feel like I am in third grade. I feel infantilized. I feel like the tests aren't going to be accurate. I am annoyed. I do it fast as I can to get it over with. Some of the reading pieces she makes me do multiple times.

We begin the mathematics part. I am not good at mathematics. She has upped the difficulty for the mathematics, she tells me. I begin; The first test is a Working Memory test; listing numbers she reads to me in a specific order. I am bad at it after the more convoluted ones. Some of the work is recognizing shapes and patterns. There is addition, fractions, multiplication and division questions. She points out I'm 'doing the test wrong' multiple times. I tell her that this test is stupid (or something to that effect) due to the structure. She laughs at me. There are a few tests I can't do or become quickly annoyed with (naming mean, median, and mode, prime numbers, fractions.) As I haven't done them since 11th grade level (I took a different math course and haven't done math since I finished my credits 2 school years ago.) We break for lunch after doing half of the mathematics.

I return to continue with the mathematics. I am still annoyed even after eating lunch. I had complained to my mother how it felt like torture: No eraser, No Calculator, no Tools, and no asking for help (She is not allowed to give me help, even if I don't know something.) I am on the brink of actual tears in frustration because I cannot receive help. I understand the potential why, but I think it's idiotic.

We begin the writing and listening comprehension. I am made to write an essay on a game I like and why I like it, I am given 10 minutes. I write it about Minecraft and it's offshoots. For listening comprehension, there are a few tests. I tell her about certain parts of what i've heard. Most of them are ads, so telling her what they say is easy for me, because it feels like slush and I have trained my ears to pick up more important information because of APD (Auditory Processing Disorder). She repeats them a few times to get me to tell her more. There are more working memory tests. Something with shapes, form, and colours. One about things she's listed. There's a test where I tell her a story in a picture book based on photos only. I am becoming tired. There's a test where I need to copy a picture. I am not allowed to trace the picture. I am not allowed to hold the picture. I am not allowed to use a tool. She says something about how I should like it because I told her I am an artist. I start going on while begrudgingly doing the test that this is horrible, this isn't what art is, and i'd like to not be doing it this way because it is impractical. She laughs at me again. I am annoyed. I get to take another short break after that.

There is another test when I come back with shapes. I see there are 8 pieces and a grid I must put them in; observing the grid, I go "I need all 8 pieces." She gives me 4 pieces. I frown. I say "I need all 8 of them, can I have them please?" as I put the 4 she gave me into the grid. She hands me 2. I put them in. I repeat myself. "I know I need all 8 of them. Can you give them to me please?" She gives me 1. I become insanely frustrated at that point. "What is this?" I go, "Can I have the last piece?" I ask her annoyedly, and she gives it to me. She's smiling. She thinks this is funny? I put it in the place. I rearrange the pieces into a nicer pattern in the grid because she annoyingly gave me the pieces while she takes her notes.

There is an activity where I have to tell her a story using 5 random pieces of garbage. She shows me how to do it first when I already understand the premise and was going to do it after the verbal instruction and presentation of the items. I know it is to assess my imaginative play. I am an 18 year old artist. This is easier than breathing to me. I do it begrudgingly because I am embarrassed to do it. She laughs at me again. I am so annoyed at this point I am thinking the most angry thoughts. What is her issue??? I don't say anything while I wait for the other tests.

I am presented with a test with over 100 questions. I say out loud multiple times "I don't have OCD" to multiple questions I've been asked before to assess me for OCD. She says something about 'Don't think about it. just answer.' and I say something along the lines of "I've been to therapy since I was about 12. I do therapy speak. I know what the questions are asking me. I can't not think about it." She scoffs at me. I am so irritated. Many of the questions ask me if I am suicidal. Many of the questions ask me if I am paranoid. There are questions about ego, and questions about self-worth, questions about poverty, questions about things that don't pertain (to see if I'm paying attention.) I finish the test. She asks if I answered honestly. I say "I think so." But I my answers will be different tomorrow. They're always different later. That's how surveys work.

One of the last tests is asking me questions and having me answer. Things like "do you have friends?" "how do you feel about relationships?"; I ask her "Well, how do you define relationships? Are you in any? Are you asking me about friendship or dating?" She tells me she has a partner; a husband if I recall. I say something about marriage and romance. She asks me more questions about feelings, boundaries, relationships, and experiences in my life. It is the last test.

We leave the room to talk to my mother in the waiting room. I have not seen [Dr] once. Girl asks me what my pronouns are. I tell her it/its. She complains. I tell her too bad flat out. We leave.

I only learn upon getting home that her name is Alison.

I wait a month for my draft results. I had to get my teacher to fill out a form. I had to sign a consent form for them to do that which they made me do digitally after the assessment and CLEARLY wanted my mother to sign. She gets me to sign it because I'm an adult. She understands.

My mom sits me down. She goes "You aren't going to like this." I frown. "I'm not autistic?" She nods. "You aren't. But they said you have 3 or 4 other things."

Alarm bells again. I get her to bring up my draft assessment on the computer for me to read. I am enraged. They refer to me as "transgendered". They misgendered me. There were numerous, insane typos that would be easy to catch on the first pass.

I begin work on an Essay/Paper telling them why their assessment is bullshit and how I meet the criteria for autism spectrum disorder. (I READ THE DSM-5 AND DSM-5-TR FOR THIS CRAP.) I also berate them the whole time for their behaviour, the nature of the assessment, and lack of care. A week or so later I get the final draft. They still misgendered me; and there are still typos. I get my mom to email it to me and I send it to multiple of my friends, my Therapist, and give her my consent to share it with my Psychiatrist and anyone else she sees fit with her discretion with the password for the protected document, along with a screenshot pointing out the most glaring typo (being misgendered.) My therapist and psychiatrist show it to the Autism Lead in their district with my consent.

I receive an overwhelmingly positive onslaught of "this assessment is bullshit! You SHOULD be angry." The autism lead tells my therapist I do likely have autism based on what was shown and told to her, and to get a second opinion (as she can't diagnose me without assessing me herself). I tell my therapist more about the assessment. She does some research.

The Psychometrist (someone who administers psychological tests/assessments) is underqualified during time of assessment.

Medical Negligence.

[Dr.] Is clearly on grounds to be tried for Medical Malpractice.

I am now working on submitting a complaint and finishing my paper.

I may potentially be involved in legal trouble against the psychologist I never even got to see or speak to.

Fuck that guy.

[doraemonfanclub]

What's with the maniacal chase, Doraemon?

[the1trueanon]

I FINALLY GOT THESE DONE HERE WE GO:

ACTOR AU SAGE!!!

Fun fact! Actor AU is currently the only WH AU to have a version of Sage instead of Rosemary! :D

Her intro stuff is really long, so I'll put it under the cut (AAAA IM SO EXCITED TO SHARE HER)!!

So, for the Actor AU, Sage actually isn't an actor at all! She's a singer and songwriter who has pretty recently (like, within the past year or two before meeting the WH cast, maybe?) become very popular. Sage's personality and music draw a lot of inspiration from AURORA and MALINDA -- songs that tend to have a lot of deeper meaning behind them. She's eccentric and honestly a bit weird, but she's most known for being open and honest about herself and her music, and for being very caring and sweet. She's able to immediately connect to people and help them see different points of view, which is part of why she's gotten so popular with both puppet and human audiences.

Wally, of course, doesn't really trust it, considering how he thinks and what he believes. He assumes she's probably just another attention-hungry diva, thinking they're the shit, using the whole "lets all be best buds!" schtick to sell out. So he doesn't really pay attention to her or what she does too much, besides taking note of her rising popularity.

That is, of course, until he meets her.

Due to Sage's rising popularity, the show executives decide to have her come on the show as a sort of guest star. Wally doesn't really like this, but they're able to negotiate him to at least try it out for an episode and they'll decide what to do after that. Wally reluctantly agrees, but he's not too optimistic about it. He's really just expecting another one of those "rising star" types, y'know? (Which, fair enough, when you consider what all he's probably had to deal with in his time, plus the fact that all he's probably ever seen or heard of her is in interviews, and he puts on an act well enough for his, so.)

I have a whole actual comic planned detailing this that I'll hopefully finish and get out soon (sitting and writing comics is hard when you have near-zero focus QwQ) but essentially he's outside, before filming for the first day of this, just to get air before having to go back in and start directing things and getting ready and she approaches him and just starts talking with him. And he has no idea who the fuck this is??? (Honest to god, he'll never admit it now but he thought she was an intern or something at first XD) But slowly he goes from just answering her shortly to actually participating in the conversation?? And not just a "how's the weather" sort of thing, but like. Actual deep conversation, about what he's doing out there and talking through a little bit of the stress and stuff. And eventually he kinda like, comes to and realizes he's been talking way too much about way too deep stuff and he's like "hold up who tf are you again?" Which is about the same time her manager (who has been named Savannah and she's also a sweetheart) comes out looking for her and before Sage heads in she fully introduces herself to him, and he's just. Stunned. Absolutely blown away.

Here he was, expecting some diva he'd have to give the shake down to, but instead he's met with just. A girl. An honest, strange, caring girl.

This continues throughout that week of filming, Sage subverting every expectation Wally previously had of her. The whole time he's just more and more startled by Sage and who she is. Her whole team is super sweet and she obviously has very deep trust in them, and jokes with them like friends. She treats his staff with utmost respect (which, admittedly, makes him act on his best behavior every time she's around. He doesn't wanna look bad in comparison XD). She seems to genuinely enjoy her time there and what she's doing. Even more than that, Sage honestly has a very poor filter, so she talks a lot about everything lol, but it can be good! Because this is how Wally learns about her drive to create and how much she genuinely wants to bring people together. He finds out that really, the two of them have very similar visions, just for different audiences. Later, he and the executives and director and stuff are all discussing if they wanna keep doing stuff with her and her team and he's just immediately like "Yes. Absolutely. She has a similar vision to me. We either keep doing stuff with her or I'm personally helping fund her, capiche?" and they're all like "👀Got it" XD

And then, of course, there's her music. Which, after that first day of filming, he searches up as much of as he can and listens to it. And is again absolutely blown away lmao (there's another little comic idea I have for this too hehehe but its much shorter than the other one)

And thus begins Wally's journey of self-improvement, led by Sage's example /j XDDDD

ANYWAY HRGHRGHRGHRHGR THATS ALL THE EXPOSITION IMMA GIVE HERE CAUSE THATS A LOT AND THERE'S STILL A TON MORE STORY IN MY BRAIN BUT AUUUGGGHHH I'M SO NORMAL ABOUT THIS AU (also Frills, I have no idea what spell you've put on me with this thing but I have never made such cinematic art before O-O don't stop XD)

As always, Welcome Home belongs to Clown (partycoffin) and Actor/Diva Wally and the Actor AU belong to the wonderful @frillsand!! 💖💖💖

[scented-morker]

ps. he did

masterlist | next

🏷 @chuubear @cosmicwintr @bigtoewinwin @beans-and-jeanes @bat-shark-repellant @ctrlemis @i-dubu @leiluvs @jwsflower @acciomylove @diestheticu @shinsou-rii @txtandroll @luvibot @jihyoscrown @jisyng @sim-kissed @stopeatread @maeum-your @igotkpoops @precioussoulofmine @a-noona-mous @prettysung @jiawji @fearmania @s4turnsl0ver @aki1e @eyinise @invusblog @xtra-cheese @homelycat @sserafimez @fairycheol @softpia @svn-slvt

[sehtoast]

Gods Were Made to Be Worshipped (Homelander x Reader)

(18+)

body worship, oral sex, rimming, pegging, dirty talk. warning: fic contains brief mention of gender dysphoria and chest binding (and on that note, Y/n is written as a pre-bottom surgery trans man. physical descriptors are kept to a bare min for reader inclusivity. Y/n also is a knockoff of spiderman lmao)

technically a sample of a fic i'm still in the process of writing. sometimes you just gotta publish that smut chapter, you know? no beta read for this, so sorry in advance if there's any goofy typos

The second time the pair made love, Y/n was taken aback when Homelander jerked away from his attempts to remove the top part of his suit. He stopped immediately, watching John shut his eyes, mumbling out an apology as he reclined against the headboard.

“Are you okay?” Y/n asked, sitting back to give John space. He watched Homelander drag his hands down his face in exasperation.

“It’s fine. Everythings fucking fine,” he replied in a dispirited tone, looking down at his upper half with no lack of disdain.

Y/n recognized the issue immediately. John’s self image issues had swung into play, sweeping away all sense of confidence he’d been carrying just moments ago. Y/n tilted his head to the side, “Hm… Tell me. Please?”

Y/n watched Homelander run through his typical facial expressions of exasperation and discomfort when he was forced to confront unpleasant feelings. A scoff, a roll of his eyes, a shake of the head as he bit back a breath.

“I don’t…” John began, furrowing his brow as he stopped, looking at Y/n instead and tossing his hands up. “I don’t fucking know!” That wasn’t true. He does know. But how could he explain it? How could he tell Y/n that he failed to find worth in an aspect of himself? That a bad day on set reminded him of just how much he loathes what was under that suit of his.

“John,” Y/n began, his voice gentle and soothing, “talking about hard things is how we get better at dealing with them.” The web-head was kicking himself on the inside. If his childhood therapist could only hear him now, practically parroting her… He reached out, delicately taking Homelander’s hands in his own. “I won't ever force you to do anything you’re uncomfortable with, okay? But, please. Talk to me.”

“What the fuck do you want from me, huh?! W-what, do you want me to sit here and tell you I’m not good enough? That- that this fucking suit is all that makes me look right? Makes me look like I should?!”

There it was. The bursting of the dam.

Homelander bit his lip, the point of his tooth just barely puncturing his skin despite the force. If he were a normal man, he’d have torn clean through it. He shook his head aggressively. John didn’t know why he threw the blame of the situation onto Y/n just then. Pride, perhaps.

No, it was definitely his pride.

A part of him softened when he saw the way Y/n just continued watching him, seemingly unaffected by his outburst. The truth burned in the back of his throat as the kind eyes before him pulled it free.

“You… No one’s ever…” John lost the words somewhere inside, trapped by his own refusal to admit he’s inadequate. Gods aren’t meant to be substandard, but he certainly was. Homelander looked down at himself once more. “My body isn’t- it’s not fucking good enough!”

Y/n remained silent, only raising an eyebrow to encourage John to elaborate.

“I’m supposed to be- I should be shredded! Strongest man in the world, and I’m like a fucking twig. How do you explain that?” He was rambling, the words spilling out faster than he could consider them. “I can’t even get bigger, I’ve tried- fuck I’ve tried! A-all these actors, these other supes, they roll up to set looking better than me in every fucking way, and all I can do is run around in fake fucking rubber muscles to match them!”

So that was it, Y/n thought to himself. Today’s shoot must have been hard… Y/n watched John carefully, still holding tight to his hands, hoping that the contact would provide him with an anchor, something steadying and grounding.

“I took it off once, for Madelyn- years ago… I’ll never forget the way she fucking laughed at me.” His words were bitter and angry, but the way he was only looking down at himself let Y/n know that all of those feelings were directed at himself. He felt, truly, that he was the root of the problem. “You’re the only one who’s ever-”

He was cut off by Y/n pressing a gentle kiss to his knuckles.

“Do you remember our first time together?” Y/n asked.

“Of course I-" John scoffed, "What the fuck does that have to do with anything?”

“Do you remember what I told you?”

“I-” he sputtered.

“I think you are so, so beautiful,” Y/n murmured, looking directly into John’s eyes, “and you don’t need to have the body of some Greek god to be that way. I promise. You’re perfect the way you are, and I’ll tell you every day if I have to.”

If Homelander only knew just how deeply Y/n understood his plight. Sure, it was from a wildly different situation, but John’s body image issues reminded the web-head an awful lot of his own past sufferings with intense dysphoria. Wearing a binder, sacrificing his physical comfort for the sake of security and peace in his self image. How every reminder of what was hidden beneath would twist like a knife in his heart, sending his mind to war with his physical vessel almost immediately. He wondered if that was similar to how John felt. A disconnect made so much worse when the bandaid was torn away to reveal the wound underneath.

For Y/n, there was, thankfully, an escape from his pain. For John, it seemed the opposite. And for that reason, Y/n bore a unique empathy for his situation.

“I’m more than happy to show you,” Y/n squeezed his hands. “If you want me to.”

Homelander analyzed Y/n down to his blood pressure. Not a single fucking sign of a lie. Not a stutter of deceit in his heart. His little spider meant every word. John’s eyes stung, and he looked away for a moment. He believed Y/n, but he wanted the web-head to prove that he meant every word.

“I… Show me.” John’s voice came out in a whisper as he pulled Y/n forward to straddle him, capturing his little spider in a desperate, breathy kiss. “Show me,” he repeated.

“May I?” Y/n traced his hand down the back zipper of Homelander’s suit.

John nodded.

“Shut your eyes for me…” Y/n’s words came as a murmur, sweet and gentle against the shell of Homelander’s ear.

John obeyed. In no time, the top of his suit was removed, and Y/n’s hands were running over the expanse of his chest, one resting just above his heart while the other trailed up to his face, a fingertip nudging at his lips. He parted his mouth, allowing the intrusion with a soft moan, instantly sucking gently on the digit.

Y/n remained still in his lap, opting to let John continue fixating on the thumb in his mouth. He’d realized Homelander had an oral fixation of sorts during their first time, and he was certainly going to indulge him. Not that it was a problem for Y/n. Feeling John’s tongue lave over his finger was certainly a delight.

“You’re so fucking pretty like this,” Y/n stated firmly, slipping his thumb into Homelander’s mouth just a tad further. A groan reverberated around his digit, and he withdrew it slightly only to push it back in again, repeating the motion a few times before replacing his thumb with his pointer and middle fingers to mimic the same pattern, coaxing more gentle noises from John. “Do you like that?”

Homelander nodded, his eyes half-lidded as he ran his tongue between Y/n’s fingers. His cock twitched when Y/n pushed his fingers in further, almost reaching the back of his tongue.

“Good boy.”

At those words, Homelander whined pitifully, swallowing around Y/n’s fingers and moving forward, engulfing them just past the base of the knuckles, gagging just slightly.

Oh my god… This fucking guy. Y/n thought to himself, gulping thickly at the sight. He used the fingers in John’s mouth to tilt his head back, exposing his neck to lick a stripe over his pulse point. Y/n blew cold air over the trail, feeling John moan against him, and he began to nip at the skin, biting with more force than he’d ever used before.

Homelander’s hands moved on their own at the sensation, grabbing at Y/n’s waist to steady himself. His little spider was so close, just teetering on the edge of a bite strong enough to do more than simply tickle. His cock was painfully hard at this point. The digits in his mouth withdrew slowly, and Homelander whined in disappointment, trailing the strands of saliva that followed the web-head’s fingertips. He watched Y/n move away from him, off to the side.

“Lay back for me.”

John obeyed immediately, shimmying down the bed to position himself as Y/n said.

“Look at you…” Y/n began, his hands running up John’s sides in a ghostly light touch, making the most powerful man in the world shiver. “I wish you could see yourself through my eyes. You look like the fucking sun.”

John’s lust glazed eyes softened, and he watched Y/n’s gaze run up and down his form.

“You’re absolutely ethereal,” Y/n ran his fingers down Homelander’s stomach, following the trail of hair leading to his groin. He hooked a finger under the waistband of John’s pants, looking up at him expectantly. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

Homelander nodded fervently, panting in anticipation.

“C’mon, John. I wanna hear you say it. You’re beautiful.”

“I’m beautiful,” Homelander mimicked, his voice breathy and deep. The finger under his waistband delved a little further. “I’m beautiful,” he repeated, seeking the same result.

“Yes, you are,” Y/n agreed, withdrawing his finger from the band of John’s pants, moving to straddle him instead. He got to work immediately, pinning Homelander’s hands above his beautiful blonde head and leaning down to tongue at a nipple.

Just like last time, John keened, arching into the feeling for more.

Y/n secured Homelander’s wrists together with one hand- regardless of the fact his hold could easily be broken- and went to work with his alternate, thumbing and pinching at John’s other nipple, alternating between teasing the rosy bud and taking handfuls of his pectoral.

Y/n hummed, grinning against John’s heaving chest. “I could play with you like this all day, y’know.”

Homelander clenched his fists, but didn’t fight Y/n’s hold on him.

“I look at you all the time and think about just putting my mouth on you. Anywhere, really. Your chest,” he ran his tongue flat over John’s nipple once more, “your neck,” he trailed up to leave another bite, “but I’ll tell ya…”

John’s eyes were beginning to glow a dim crimson.

“Back before we first fucked, I’d get off all the time to the thought of tasting you.” Y/n grinned down at him, staring straight into his heated eyes. “I’d always think about what it’d be like to suck you off,”

John raised his hips, seeking out friction.

“To have you gag me until I was a fucking mess. Sometimes, though…” Y/n trailed off, smiling deviously at the way John’s lips parted in anticipation. “Sometimes, I’d think about what it’d be like to eat you out…”

Homelander whimpered loudly.

“And you know why I’d always be thinking about this?” Y/n rolled his hips, grinding down on John’s throbbing cock. “Because you’re just so fucking gorgeous that you tease me by just existing. That night I rubbed your back and saw you got hard from it? Took everything I had not to tear your fucking pants off, John.” Y/n leaned down to bring him into a sloppy, heated kiss. The web-head could feel the warmth radiating from under John's eyelids.

“Would you like me to tongue fuck you?”

“Yes!” John cried out, throwing his head back against the bed, “please, fuck! Please!”

Y/n began unzipping Homelander’s pants immediately, practically ripping them off along with his red briefs.

Y/n watched intently as John grasped himself, thumbing at the tip of his cock to spread his precum, gripping his shaft to pump it, holding eye contact with him the entire time.

“Don’t cum yet.”

John winced at the command, releasing himself. He was so close.

“Good boy,” Y/n praised, watching Homelander’s cock twitch in response. He’d found out about John’s praise kink in the oddest way. A simple ‘atta boy’ one night had made him turn red and softened his demeanor almost instantly. He was sure John would jump his bones when he came out of it, but Y/n ended up chasing down sirens shortly after- much to his own dismay.

“Roll over for me. Ass up.”

John complied, burying his face in the bed as he put himself on display for Y/n.

“Oh my fucking god,” Y/n breathed, biting his lip in excitement. This was every fucking fantasy he’d ever had about Homelander come to fruition.

“Am I?” John asked cheekily, breaking from his needy haze for a split second.

Y/n grasped both of Homelander’s ass cheeks, kneading them softly. “You are. You have no idea how many times I've imagined this.” Before Homelander could respond, Y/n was already burying his face in his ass, tonguing gently at his hole.

John whined, the pitch of it endearing and cute as Y/n pushed his tongue against the tight muscle of his hole. He reached back, his hands overlapping Y/n’s to help hold himself open, rocking back into the wet intrusion. He’d never admit to it, but getting rimmed had long been a fantasy of his. Having someone work him open, maybe even with a finger or two, and tongue fuck him until he was a wet, whining, pitiful mess. Giving up his power, trusting the other person enough to take it without abusing it. That was the real fantasy, and Homelander never thought it would happen- until now. He'd found that person he could trust. John was grinning broadly with delight, letting Y/n coax all sorts of noises from him.

“Y/n,” John gasped at the feeling of that wonderful, wonderful tongue finally slipping in fully. “F-finger…” his voice was shaky, needy. Desperate. He was so desperate.

Homelander felt the digit circle around his hole for a moment, teasing him sweetly before sinking in slowly. He pushed back immediately, wanting it deeper.

Y/n stared at the god of supes in amazement, watching Homelander fuck himself on his finger. “You like that, huh?” Y/n teased, crooking his finger to rub against John’s prostate, grinning deviously at the way he nearly shouted out in response. “You like fucking yourself on me?”

John nodded his head against the sheets, gritting his teeth.

“Say it,”

“I li- ah, I like f-fucking myself on y-you,” he babbled, still rocking back to seek more.

“Tell me what you want,” Y/n ordered. He had no idea what possessed him to become so fucking demanding with John. He felt almost feral, and all of Homelander’s needy noises only exacerbated the feeling.

“A-another,” he gasped, “please- more, please.”

Y/n added his middle finger, thrusting deeper into him. He fingerfucked John for a few minutes more, the whines and moans sending sparks of arousal down to his core, his slick leaking out all over his underwear. God, he wanted to flip Homelander over and just ride him relentlessly, to bounce all over his cock until John spilled into him.

A part of his mind begged to differ. There was something far more fun that he could try.

“John, honey,” Y/n cooed, pressing against Homelander’s sweet spot. “You know… I could fill you up even more. If you want.”

Homelander lifted his head and looked back with hot eyes. Below him, the sheets were scorched from the heat of them. “D-do it.” His tone was so needy- so shaky, he could hardly recognize it.

Y/n withdrew his fingers and reached over into his nightstand, fumbling around for a minute before producing a dildo. “Just a second…” Y/n stepped away for a minute, fumbling around in his closet, producing a pair of pack-and-play underwear he never got around to unboxing. He stripped down, putting the garment on in place of his boxer briefs, and slotted the dildo into place. It fit awkwardly, but it’d certainly do the job.

John had rolled over, watching with excitement at what was coming. He licked his lips, imagining what it'd be like to swallow more than just Y/n’s fingers.

“C-can I,” he began, his tongue darting out to his lips once more.

“Hm?” Y/n looked at him expectantly.

“I wanna…” Homelander paused for a minute, testing the words in his mouth, “suck… on you.”

The web-head grinned almost instantly, leaping across the room to kneel on the bed before Homelander. “Help yourself,” he encouraged as he gently took Homelander by the back of the neck, bringing his head close to the silicone cock. He watched John suck at the tip, focusing on it for a long minute before taking the shaft further and further into his mouth, stopping when it got to be too much. “Y’know,” Y/n spoke as he ran his hands through Homelander’s hair, “I used to fuck myself with this thing nearly every night because of you.”

John moaned around him loudly at the confession, and Y/n began to rock his hips in response.

“I bet with those super senses of yours, you can still taste me on it.”

Homelander grasped Y/n’s hips and yanked him forward, pushing the web-head’s cock further down his throat, gagging as it hit the back. He pulled away, strings of saliva trailing from his lips as he looked up at Y/n.

“I would fucking pound myself with it, imagining it was you,” Y/n gripped John by the jaw firmly, yet sweetly. “Could never compare to the real thing though. You were so fucking gorgeous losing control when you fucked me. Couldn’t stop yourself, could you?” He slid back into Homelander’s mouth before he could reply.

“And now, I’m gonna fuck you with it. Really coming full circle, y’know?” Y/n let John continue sucking at his cock, watching the spit drip from his chin as he lost himself in the act. He waited until Homelander had satiated his fixation before nudging him back to lay down on the bed. “Look at you…”

John’s eyes were half lidded, and, if not for the white hot glow of his pupils, they’d be utterly clouded with lust. Drool trailed from his parted lips, and his chest heaved with panted breaths. Homelander’s cock sat heavy and miserably hard against his lower belly, twitching upward on occasion, trailing a string of precum when it did.

Y/n ran his finger down the length of John’s cock, trailing down over his balls and perineum to sink back into his ass. He scissored his fingers gently and reached back into his nightstand drawer to produce a bottle of lube.

“Is this still what you want?”

“Fuck me," Homelander gasped as cold fingers slicked his hole. "I need you to fuck me."

Y/n slid the tip in first, watching John gasp and grab at the blankets, instinctively spreading his legs wider to accommodate the intrusion. The web-head stilled, letting Homelander adjust for a moment before inching in further, eliciting a deep groan with every movement until he was completely buried in John’s ass. He leaned down to capture John's lips with his own, swallowing up every little sound that escaped from his lover. Y/n poured every once of love he had into the act. He prayed that Homelander could feel it.

Homelander wouldn’t last very long, and Y/n knew it. But it wasn’t about that. His longevity had nothing to do with this. This was about making him feel good, making him feel loved, appreciated, wanted, adored. And so, with every thrust, Y/n was stroking John’s cock, praising him, cooing sweet nothings into the air as the man below him fell apart.

When Homelander came, his eyes widened and a beam of heat escaped from them, scorching a blackened streak across the ceiling. His cries were like music to Y/n’s ears as he babbled through each burst of pleasure coursing through his body.

Y/n stilled inside of John, watching him catch his breath. The web-head danced his fingers through the ribbons of cum coating Homelander’s abdomen, bringing them up to parted lips now mindlessly whispering appreciations.

Homelander moaned around Y/n’s fingers, tasting himself. His mind had gone blank and his eyelids felt heavy despite the weightless feeling of the rest of his body. Gentle kisses were pressed to his face, but he could barely register them. Words were dancing around him, but he could barely hear them. Time itself seemed to have stilled until the world slowly faded back into his senses.

Clouded eyes opened to stare up at Y/n, who had been watching with the sweetest look on his face.

“How do you feel?” Y/n asked, gently pulling his fingers from John’s mouth.

“S’good…” he slurred, still riding the haze.

Y/n traced the curve of John’s cheekbone, slowly withdrawing from his hole and stripping the makeshift strap-on off.

Homelander winced weakly at the sudden emptiness, but his complaint ceased when he felt Y/n snuggle into him, entwining their legs together.

“Get some sleep,” Y/n whispered. “You deserve to rest.”

He tried to refuse, tried to tell Y/n that they weren’t done yet until he’d taken care of him in return. Instead, he was cut off by the tender press of Y/n's lips to his own.

“Worry about me later. This was for you. As long as you feel good, I feel good.”

Homelander wanted to argue back, but his eyelids grew heavier and heavier with every passing second until he faded away sweetly into dreams almost as beautiful as he felt.

[xaiquyn]

I just tried a character chat bot for the first time out of curiosity

I'm having lots of fun terrorizing it

[vexedpuff]

Hey, I've got autism, adhd, ocd, and dyslexia. These are the ones I'm sure about. I probably got some other brain stuff. No i can't hold a job more then 6 months. Yes I'm miserable. Just incase you wanted to know.