#And also him saying No i trust you guys but i can make it myself there lwpwowkdkrje no you can’t no offense but there is a reason we went to

[tanoraqui]

Dungeon Meshi Liveblog: Marcille is Not Handling Being In Charge Well

Yeah, that doesn't sound exactly like Thistle at alllll, Marcille!

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[Tolkien fistpumping in the background of the fantasy genre]

We'll know that shit's REALLY bad if Chilchuck ever stops making sarcastic comments.

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lol

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EYES /weeps

Also I just noticed that Marcille's hair has been down since we reunited with her. She no longer cares about the things she used to, she's openly using dark magic with no concern for the consequences, she's not taking care to manage her own mana... I wonder if the demon already ate her desire to style it?

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The Island Lord really is just completely useless, huh. He is NOT getting a role in Laios's new government.

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omg I didn't notice when it was in the dungeon, but it's the Sky Snake! Silver Wings that Race Through the Heavens, Marcille's sky snake!!

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This IS genuinely creepy. It's easy to forget that this whole adventure so far has happened underground, save for a few scant scenes. But we are about to enter, in effect, the real world...

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I remain sooo interested in this secretive paramilitary outfit comprised entirely of conditionally-pardoned criminals who already have their hands dirty with forbidden magic and aristocratic scions from families seeking to prove their loyalty, all of which reports directly to the Queen. Their mere existence is sooo dodgy.

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AIDGHADFC I DID NOT REALIZE THAT THE LION GAVE MARCILLE HER EVIL GOTH MAKEOVER! I thought she chose that herself... This is worse, actually... (And then it ate her desire to stop.)

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You're completely right, Kabru! "They're tripping each other up because you don't know enough about monsters to manage them properly" was exactly Laios's critique of Thistle's dragon horde, too!

Which, I will admit, supports the Elves' position about how incredibly bad it would be if Laios WAS the one leading this army. I do want some good fic about that maybe.

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I always really enjoy the trope of, in a big battle or elaborate plan, things will go bad for the whole extended party at once even though their personal dramatic moments are happening completely apart and unrelated to one another - and, conversely, they'll all rally at the same time, too. It's very basic storytelling, an in-canon "coincidence" of timing required for a compelling rhythm of story, and I enjoy it every time.

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I'D KNOW THAT WING-HILTED SWORD ANYWHERE!!

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I'm going to make a goddamn COLLECTION of every time this woman puts the whole group in Outfits made of other creatures. She should do rabbits next. They deserve to dress like giant dungeon rabbits.

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lmaooo

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I love when characters say shit like this about their friends. I mean, @ Laios don't underestimate yourself, but actually he does mean "smart" in the sense of "unlikely to get manipulated", so in this case he's right.

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This, the first panels and then the next 1, was when I was like, "oh, okay, we're going to win." Laios was JUST saying that he couldn't defeat the demon if he didn't understand literally these things about it. Now, Laios understand it as a monster, and Kabru understands it as a person - so we're good. We've cornered it on two angles of 'guys who can kill things with remarkable efficiency if they understand them through their special interest.' We're going to kick this thing's ass. We're going to be okay.

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And then we're rewarded with a wink! Kabru trust Laios now!! Truly, life is good.

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Lolll at myself, and at this chronic faker. Should've known the Wink(TM) was a lie! The Wink is always a lie, or at least a tease.

It is so fun to watch this boy take charge of situations on sheer merit of quick-thinking, knowing all the factions involved, and confidence in giving commands.

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Hot. Obviously, objectively, this is hot. Walking confidently, unafraid and unsurprised, through a corridor of kneeling dragons? Laios, Lord of Monsters, damn fuckin' right.

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This really is Laios's interactions with collective humanity in a nutshell. They shun him, disdain and fear him, for what he loves (monsters). "It's all right," he says. "The misunderstanding won't last" - he smothers how angry it makes him. They'll understand eventually, he promises himself. (They never have before, but one day...) But also: he really genuinely does love monsters, and loves to be associated with them, even if the cost IS to not be associated with humanity.

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Izutsumi: I could still kick Marcille's ass. I'll kick anyone's ass. I'll kick my own ass.

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Laios, King of Monsters: loves every monster except squids and octopi. Those guys just suck.

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I love how her shout is almost in the black magic font, even as spoken words. That is her gesture for exploding things. This is what she looked like when she killed Mithrun 20 minutes ago.

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I connected the dots. I connected them.

[xoxotaylynn]

gangster kind of lover

warnings: dom!chris, sub!reader, drugdealer!chris, druguser!reader, y/n, abusive!chris, oral sex, unprotected sex, let names

summary- a look into y/n's and Chris's relationship and how his actions affect her life and her drug addiction

i need a gansta to love me better

since i was a little girl i’ve always wanted a disney prince boy, as i got older i learned those boys will only fuck you over and gangsters will love you better.

to always forgive me

a gangster boyfriend will always forgive you with some sex.

ride or die with me

a gangster boyfriend would kill for you.

that’s just what gangsters do after all

i’m fucked up, i’m black and blue

i’m getting ready to go out clubbing with a few girlfriends i’m applying some make up on my bruises that my boyfriend? left i don’t know what we are. i want to be his girlfriend but he “doesn’t commit” little does he know i’m built for it, all the abuse

i’ve got secrets that nobody knows

“omg girl what’s on you’re leg that’s a nasty bruise!!” my friend halle says worried

“oh nothing i just ran into a table REALLY hard and hurt myself it’s fine tho!” i lie i tried to cover that up but my lower body ones are harder to cover.

i’m good on that pussy shit

“nah give me the hard stuff weed is for pussys bitch” i laugh as my hookup is making a line for me currently

i don’t want what i can get

“hey girl you look good tonight” this random dude flirts

“yea no thanks i’m alright” i laugh

“girl you need to get out there stop rejecting guys and live a little

“trust me girl i’m getting out there and living a lot!!” i laugh

“i’ll believe it when i see it!” she laughs

“okay girlll”

i want someone with secrets

“we gotta hurry up my friends don’t know we’re together” my hookup says while sucking in my neck

“do they also know that you sell drugs?” i breathe out

“someone’s got an attitude tonight but no they don’t and they won’t find out” he demands the last part

“are you tryna seduce me even more?” i laugh “next thing i know you’re gonna tell me to call you daddy” i’m PANTING at this point

my freakness is on the loose

we kissing as we walk into his bedroom and he shuts to door with his foot as he leads me to bed, he lays me on the bed and he doesn’t waste any time he strips me if my clothes

“hurry up and fuck me chris” i complain as i throw my head back

“be patient or you won’t cum” he taunts

“yes sir” i smirk

he grabs my jaw and makes me look at him “ill fuck this little attitude right out of you don’t even”

“fine next time i’ll call you daddy” i bite my lower lip and smile

“keep the fucking attitude up and we won’t fuck” he warns

“fine” i huff and he starts kissing down my stomach and to my uncovered pussy.

he starts to pepe’s kisses all over my sensitive cunt and i start to moan already “of fuck chris please give me more”

“patient sweetheart” he says sending vibrations up my pussy. he starts to eat me out and i’m a moaning mess the second he starts i know this is gonna go to his ego

“oh mother fucker don’t stop” i moan he adds three fingers no warning and i’m not going to last much longer now “please chris i’m gonna cum!!!” i whine

“whenever you’re ready baby” he says in my cunt but just like that i’m LEAKING with my juices all over his face “mmm taste so good for me” he says as he finishes swallowing

“just fuck me chris please” i beg

“well sense you said please” he teases and takes his pants off

“no condom i’m on the pill i just want you to cum inside of me” i ask

“just this once” he tells me as he grabs my hips, he then slides me over to him and he aligns his dick up to my wet sensitive cunt

he goes in and with no time to adjust he rams into me.

“OH FUCK!” i yell the second he starts fucking me

he’s ramming into me with no cares making me yell his name out, and i hear slight moans from him, i feel my pussy walls tighten around his dick and it’s twitches inside me

“oh fuck chris i’m so close” i moan

“me to baby cum with me” he basically moans

and then on cue we both cum together with our juices mixing inside me. he lets his cock sit inside me for a minute while we catch our breath.

“oh fuck you did so good today angel” he compliments laying beside me now

“thank you! you did good to i don’t think i can walk anymore” i laugh

“good you don’t need to be walking anyways who are you tryna go see with those legs anyways” he always does this

“no one just you but now i can’t get to you” i respond making him mad

“well you won’t be leaving then” he gets up

“wait what that’s not fair i have a life besides fucking you” i argue

“well to fucking bad” he yells

“no! you can’t keep me here” i yell back

“FUCKING WATCH ME” he screams and yanks me off the bed, he throws me onto the floor and then slaps my face leaving a bright red hand mark

“OW WHAT THE FUCK CHRIS” i yell still on the floor holding my cheek

“STOP BEING A FUCKING SLUT AND LISTEN TO ME AND I WOULDNT FUCKING DO THAT” he yells

“get the FUCK away from me” i grab my clothes hurriedly put them on and run out of his house “whatever we have is DONE” i yell outside

you got me hooked up on a feeling

“fuck i have NOTHING” i scold myself. i try to call my new dealer but he won’t answer “fuck it we’re calling chris

“chris can you get my my usual i’m out.” i say over the phone

“i was waiting for this call you know you love my cock to much” he laughs

“go to hell you know that’s not true you’re not even that big i’ve seen bigger and better dicks” i attack him

“ouch that’s not what you said in bed” he argues

“chris just get over here and get me my shit i’ll have money” he deamand

“if you wanna see me so bad just ask but sure i’ll be right over” he grunts

“great” i hang up

5 minutes later he’s knocking at my door

“hi chris come in” i say coldly

“hi ma” he flirts

“chris is told you i’m done with you” i tell him

“then why am i here” he asks

“for DRUGS” i empathize the last word

“you know we’re gonna end up fucking” he says factually

“whatever you have my shit” i ask

“right here” he pulls a baggy out of his jacket pocket

“here’s some money” i say grabbing it off my coffee table in the living room

“no thanks ill give this one to ya” he declines my money

“oh my fucking god just come here” i say annoyed cause he only does this when he wants to fuck and i’ve learned to just suck it up cause he won’t take the money

“that’s a good girl” he praises and i connect our lips and we start making out.

you got me hooked up from the ceiling

“chris come over i’m hornyyyy” i whine over the phone

“i’ll be right there” he groans and i can here him pick up his car keys this makes me smirk

“see you soon” i moan into the phone knowing that will make him hard

“goodbye ma” he hangs up the phone

got me so high, i’m barely breathing

“are you feeling it” chris asks

“hell yea i think i can hold my breath for ever i like don’t end have to breathe right now” i say laughing

“baby breathe please” he softens his tone

“yea okay i will” i say taking a deep breath

i need a gansta to love me better

chris will always love me better than little disney prince boy, my gangster boyfriend will do what we it takes to make sure i’m his no matter what.

[ashmp3]

I am so pissed awf literally hate working with men WHYYYY do you hire an architect and then say mansplain things wow my stomach started hurting i wish bad things upon you

[girlcrushau]

[moe-broey]

The Maine shooter has been found dead, btw. In case anyone was wondering.

[uzurakis]

jjk men w gf who’s overly sensitive and they said something that hurt her feelings? ^___^

FALLING INTO ARGUMENTS?!

featuring: megumi fushiguro. gojo satoru. itadori yuuji. geto suguru.

n. nonnie, allow me to spice your req a bit by make them getting into arguments which hurts your feelings in the process. sorry it took a longer time to write this cause i really don’t want to mess their characterization on this one t—t you also didn’t say i need to end it with comfort so…

GOJO SATORU.

the atmosphere was heavy with tension, as if every breath you took stirred up a storm of unresolved emotions. the soft glow of the desk lamp cast long shadows across the room, accentuating the lines of frustration etched into gojo satoru’s face. his piercing gaze fixed into yours, a silent challenge hanging between both like a veil of uncertainty.

as you stood before him, the weight of his dismissive words bore down on you like a crushing weight. it was as if every syllable was a dagger aimed straight at your heart, each one leaving a deep, painful wound that threatened.

you cried out, "i can help, satoru," your voice quivering with a mix of hurt and desperation. "please, just let me help you."

however, his reply felt akin to a blow to the face. "i don’t need your help, alright?" he yelled, his voice snapping like a whip. "i've got this covered myself.”

the words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating, filling the space between you guys with a palpable sense of defeat.

you begged, your voice almost audible, "but satoru, we're supposed to be in this together. i thought you trusted me. isn't that what relationships are built out of?”. nevertheless, his expression remained impassive, a mask of indifference that hid the pain lurking beneath the surface. “trust has nothing to do with it," he replied, voice colder than you had ever heard it before. "i do better alone."

with those comments, the abyss between you and gojo deepened, threatening to swallow both whole. then as you turned to leave his room, the weight of his rejection settled like a stone in your gut, leaving only a hollow ache and the bitter taste of regret.

the silence of the room was deafening, broken only by the soft hum of the air conditioning and the steady rhythm of his own heartbeat. every fiber of his being screamed for him to go after you, to swallow his pride and beg for your forgiveness, but something held him back, he didn’t want to pull you into his mess any further.

with a heavy sigh, gojo sank into his chair, his shoulders slumping in defeat as he let out a long, ragged breath. the weight of his actions settled on him like a leaden blanket, suffocating him with its suffocating embrace.

tears threatened to spill from his eyes, but he blinked them back, refusing to let himself break down in the face of his own weakness. he had always prided himself on his strength, on his ability to handle any situation with ease and confidence, but now, in the aftermath of this argument, he felt more vulnerable than ever before.

MEGUMI FUSHIGURO

"are you okay, megumi?" you asked softly as you reached out to touch his shoulder.

his usually calm demeanor was replaced by a tense energy that crackled in the air, setting your nerves on edge as he flinched away from your touch, his expression hardening as he turned to face you.

he snapped, "i'm fine," in a tone that was unlike anything you had ever heard. "stop asking me that."

the words were like a slap to the face, leaving you feeling with hurt and confusion. all you had wanted was to help him, to ease the burden he carried on his shoulders, but instead, you found myself faced with a wall of anger and resentment.

you tried to protest whilst trembling with suppressed emotions. "you know you can always talk to me, right? you don't have to go through this alone." yet he shook his head, his eyes dark with pain as he pushed you away. "i said i'm fine!” insisted, tone slightly went higher. "just leave me alone."

the tears threatened to spill over, but you just held it down and bit your lips. with a heavy heart, you turned and left his room.

as the door closed behind you, megumi let out a frustrated growl, the sound muffled by the empty room. he cursed himself silently, his hands clenching into fists at his sides as the weight of his harsh words settled heavily on his shoulders.

"damn it," he muttered under his breath, very much thick with regret. "fuck you, fushiguro.”

the memory of your hurt expression haunted him, a reminder of the pain he had caused with his thoughtless words. he had never meant to hurt you, never intended to push you away, but in his fear and uncertainty, he had lashed out without thinking, building walls around himself to keep you out.

now, as he stood alone in the quiet solitude of his room, he realized the magnitude of his mistake. he had pushed away the one person who had always been there for him, the one person who had never given up on him, and now he was left to face the consequences of his actions.

with a heavy sigh, the man sank onto his bed, running a hand through his hair as he tried to make sense of the mess he had created. he knew that he needed to apologize, to make things right, but the thought of facing you again filled him with a sense of dread.

ITADORI YUUJI

under the soft glow of streetlights, yuuji and you found yourselves standing at the edge of a heated argument that threatened to consume the bond between you. the cool night air was heavy with tension, each word you and he exchanged hanging in the air like a cloud of unresolved emotions.

"i just wish you would trust me, yuuji." you said, sounding frustrated as you looked for any indication that he might understand.

however, he shook his head, his expression stubborn and closed off. "i do trust you, but this is different. i need to handle this on my own, babe.”

his remarks pierce deeply. it seemed that he was shutting you down even though all you wanted to do was to help him. you looked at yuuji and said, "i can't just watch you struggle."

"just, give me some time alone, okay?”

the hurt in his voice mirrored your own. as you watched him walk away, the sting of his words lingered like a bitter taste in your mouth. just as you turned to leave, you heard him call out your name, his voice filled with panic and regret. "wait! baby, i'm sorry. i didn't mean it like that."

you turned back to face him, the ache in your chest easing slightly at the sight of his vulnerability. in that moment, you understood that beneath his tough exterior, he was just as scared and uncertain as you were.

"it's okay, yuuji," you calmed him down, reaching out to take his hand in yours. "we'll figure this out together."

GETO SUGURU

you couldn't stand idly by as suguru pushed himself into further depression from time and time again, and tonight, you had finally reached your breaking point.

"suguru, you need to take better care of yourself," you begged, tinged with frustration and concern. "you can't keep treating yourself like this."

“is there really nothing i can do to help you?”

only he scoffed at your worries, waving off your concerns with a dismissive gesture, expression stubborn and unyielding. "i'm fine, babe.” with a deep sigh, geto suguru pointed out, "and what would you know about my problems, huh?" he reacted with resentment.

those words cut deep, leaving you mourning with hurt and disbelief.

"suguru..” you claimed, “do you really think i would just stand there as you destroy yourself? when you mean so much to me?”

his eyes softened at your words, a flicker of regret passing over his features before he shook his head, expression hardening as he turned away from you. "i don't need your help," he spat.

“i can take care of myself."

the finality of his words hung in the air like a heavy weight, crushing the last vestiges of hope that lingered in.

"fuck, i'm sorry," he murmured right before you decided to walk away. "i didn't mean to worry you."

“i, i just don’t know what to do with myself. shit, i’m so sorry.”

you turned back to face him, tears welling in your eyes as he crossed the room to pull you into a tight embrace. his familiar arms curled around you, providing comfort and warmth despite the tension. you could feel his heartbeat against yours, a rhythm that expressed both guilt and tenderness. at last, words were unnecessary as you allowed the quiet to envelope both, saying more than any apology could.

@uzurakis — requests are open! <3

[yunnuys]

Choso Kamo

(〃ω〃) jus sweet boyfriend Choso

Choso who has never been in a relationship before until you.

Choso who looks up things like “how to kiss” and “how to pleasure my partner” and when he gets caught you can’t help but giggle but also reassure him that there’s nothing to be ashamed of.

He’s so in love with you too and it’s evident in the way he basically has heart eyes every time you speak.

“Are you even listening to me Cho?”

“Sorry… you’re just so pretty.”

Choso who studies your likes, dislikes, and your body language so he can always be one step ahead of you.

“Why’d you get me flowers, are we celebrating anything special?”

“No.. uh- you just didn’t give me a kiss before you fell asleep last night, thought you were mad at me.”

Choso who drops anything he’s doing to tend to your needs. Whether it’s some food that you want at 3 am or just need him with you.

Can’t ever say no to you so if you want to take silly photo booth pictures or wear those matching “I ♡ my boyfriend/girlfriend” tshirts. He’s agreeing with a dopey smile in his face.

Choso who’s soooo clingy, if you’re somewhere then trust he’s two steps behind.

“Where are you going?”

“Can I come with?”

Do you need me to accompany you?”

“Did you know that couples who do everything together are guaranteed to stay together forever?” (He made that up)

Choso who likes to do your hair so it matches his, he even learns how to make it work if you have a different hair type.

His favourite thing to do is scroll through social media since you made him an account. He likes to tests the phrases he learns on you.

“Baby… you’re so cute I wanna eat you up.”

You look at him like he’s crazy and ask if that’s something new he learned.

“Yes! I learn it’s something called “cuteness aggression” you know? When you wanna squeeze the life outta something cause it’s so cute. That’s me with you.” (*≧∀≦*)

He never raises his voice at you, even when he’s really upset.

Choso who will let you guys switch shoes if your heels start to make your feet hurt. So then you’ll have to suppress your giggles while he struggles to walk. He doesn’t complain at all though.

Talks about you to his brothers alllll the time.. or just anyone who’s willing to listen.

When someone asks how he managed to get with someone like you his answer is always:

“I ask myself that everyday.. I’m so lucky.”

[iluvmattsbeard]

ride (m.s)

master list

dad!matt x mom!reader

warnings: HEAVY smut/car sex/choking/swearing/unprotected sex/creampie

preview: it was rare to have time alone ever since you two had a child. Nick volunteers to babysit, leaving you two to make dinner plans when you get home from work. when you get ready, Matt waits in the car and when you come out, he questions if you guys should just skip reservation.

a/n: DAD MATT AND SMUT. HERE YOU GO. LIKES, COMMENTS, and REBLOGS are very appreciated. - L🤍

while you were at work, Matt has been begging to take you out to dinner.

Y/n

I don't know Matt...

maybe some other time we can go out. who would watch Ellie?

Ellie was your one year old daughter. you and Matt haven't had alone time ever since you had her. you were too busy with work and when you weren't working, you put all your time towards her.

Matt

Y/n we haven't been out. it's just one night.

Nick is willing to watch her tonight.

you hesitate a bit to respond.

Matt

come on please?

Y/n

okay fine. make sure Nick is actually okay with it.

Matt

making the reservation now!

Matt's POV

"me and mommy are going on a date!" I say with a smile, bouncing Ellie on my lap. I think we deserve just one night. as much as I love spending time with our daughter, I miss when I had Y/n to myself. Nick texts me saying he'll be here later and I thank him. he loves spending time with Ellie. he spoils her the most. I don't really trust Chris after what he said about if he had a kid he would chuck the kid in the back seat with no car seat because he thinks it's a fuss. I couldn't tell if he was joking or not.

I'm just glad Y/n agreed to tonight. she deserves it the most. she's a wonderful mom and I wouldn't have it any other way. I sit down Ellie on the bed. she's not walking yet but, she knows how to sit up. as she sits there playing with her toys, I look in the closet for something to wear. I also look at Y/n's side of the closet to pick something out for her. I made reservations for the restaurant she's been wanting to go to. I notice this red dress that I haven't seen her wear before. tonight is the night she will. I analyze the dress and picture her in it.

after, I go back to Ellie and take a photo of her, "going to send this to mommy." I say.

Y/n

are you sure you want to leave that cute face?

Matt

no backing out

later on, Nick arrives and he surprises Ellie with a new stuffed toy. "really Nick? another toy?" I chuckle. he shrugs, "she's my only niece. I just need to spoil her." I shake my head with a smile. "when is Y/n coming home?" he asks carrying Ellie. I check the time on my phone, "she'll text when she's on the way." I respond. we both talk about the plans I have for tonight. "I don't know why you guys don't ask me more often. I will drop everything to watch her." Nick says making me laugh, "well it's up to Y/n." my phone buzzes shortly after, showing a text notification from her.

Y/n

coming home now love

Matt

drive safely!

End of Matt's POV

after a bit, you finally arrive home. you unlock the door to immediately see Matt and Nick playing with your daughter. they both turn their heads to face you, "look, it's mommy!" Nick exclaims making Ellie reach out for you with a squeal. you giggle and walk up to the three, picking her up. you plant a kiss on her cheek, "hello my love." you say with a smile. you look at Nick, "are you sure you're okay with watching her? we can just re-." you were cut off by Matt, "he wants to watch her. now, give me Ellie and get ready." you back up a bit, "I was talking to Nick." you say with a small laugh. Nick nods, "Y/n I literally told Matt earlier that you guys need to let me know more often." he responds. "okay I just want to make sure." you let out, looking at Ellie. "it's just going to be different." you add on.

"well this is why we're going out tonight so that you can see Ellie will be okay without us." Matt says reassuringly. you sigh softly as Matt takes your daughter from your arms. "now, go get ready." he continues. "so eager." you say with a smile before going to your bedroom. your eyes were met with a dress laid out on the bed. you pick it up and shake your head. you haven't dressed it up in a while. your style has changed ever since you had Ellie. you didn't know how you'd feel in this dress. you go to the bathroom and take a quick shower. then, you slip on the dress and stare at yourself in the mirror. your cleavage was very visible and the dress hugged your curves like a glove. you felt like it was too much but, you stick to it since it's what Matt wants. you do your makeup and put on jewelry that compliments the outfit.

Matt

i'll wait in the car

I can't wait to see you all dressed up mama

you read the text and sigh softly. you've been with Matt for a while but, you still felt nervous. your stomach was turning, it was like the first time you went out together. you put on your heels and walk out the bedroom.

Nick's eyes land on you and he gasps, "oh my damn." he lets out. he covers his mouth, "you look fantastic." he compliments you. "it's not too much?" you ask uncertain still of the way you look. Nick shakes his head, "no you look great! it's rare for you to be dressed up so, it's never too much." he says. you walk over to the two and carry your daughter. "mommy will be back later okay?" you say kissing her cheek softly, making sure your lipstick doesn't stain on her. you hand her back to Nick, "okay, please text if you need anything." you say and he shakes his head, "just go Y/n! we'll be good! go enjoy your night." "thank you Nick. we'll see you later." you greet him good bye and walk out the door. you tug your dress down slightly and head towards the car.

you open the passenger door and get in. Matt looks at you with his mouth agape. you were going to put your seat belt on but suddenly stop when you catch his stare, "Matt?" you laugh softly. his eyes were slowly checking you out from your face, down to your exposed cleavage. he looks away quickly and clears his throat, "are you okay?" you speak up again, "are you having second thoughts?" he looks at you again, "a little yeah." you were taken aback from his response, "what? you were literally begging me earlier. I got ready for-." he interrupts you, "Y/n..." he lets out. you stare at him with a confused expression. "look down." he mutters. you look down at his pants to see a visible dent. your eyes widen a bit, "Matt!" you exclaim, "are you serious?" you add on with a slight laugh.

he quickly changes the subject, "okay put your seat belt on." you do as he says as he drives off. the car ride was silent. you still couldn't believe how easily turned on he was. in his defense, you guys barely have time alone to do anything so he couldn't help it. Matt was tense while driving. his jaw was clenched a bit, letting out a breath. you look at him, breaking the silence, "Matt do you want me to go home and change or something?" he doesn't respond. "come on talk to me." you were getting a little irritated.

"we can still turn around." you continue. Matt grips the steering wheel and pulls over. you look at him and try to speak, "what are you-." he puts the car in park and unbuckles his seat belt. he lets out another breath and avoids eye contact, "I don't want you to change, I don't want to turn around, and its hard to speak to you right now." he lets out. "okay well you're acting off and it's confusing me." you respond. he looks at you with a straight face, "if I tell you what I have in mind, you wouldn't want to start something you can't finish." he says. you fix your posture, "what are you talking about?" you question.

"I want you to ride me." your eyes widen by his straightforward response, "w-what?" you stutter out, "right now?" he puts his seat back slightly and puts his hand on the dent of his pants, "right now." he says. you unbuckle your seat belt and take off your heels. deep down, you wanted it as badly as he does. you crawl on top of him, sitting your clothed cunt on his dent. he lets out a groan, immediately placing his lips onto yours. you kiss back with the same eagerness and wrap your arms around his neck. the kiss was intense, you both were acting like you've been starved from each other. he places his hands on your waist as you start to grind on his clothed erection. you earn a groan from him as he run his hands down to your ass.

he grips it and you felt yourself get more wet. you run your hands through his hair as he slips his tongue into your mouth. Matt pulls up your dress slightly, now touching your bare ass. his grip was harsher this time making you moan out suddenly. he pulls away and you were both left breathing heavily, “I need to feel you.” Matt lets out. you look down at his pants and unbutton it. he helps you as he pulls down his pants with his boxers.

you gulp at the sight of his throbbing tip. you don’t even remember the last time you had him inside of you. “wait, how about our reservation?” you ask looking at him. “don’t waste time.” he says pulling your dress up more, sliding your panties to the side. he rubs his tip at your entrance, causing you to squeeze your thighs slightly. “you’re so wet mama.” he says before pushing into you slowly. your mouth went slightly open, escaping a small gasp. his hands were on your hips as he pushes you down on his cock.

you felt him stretching you out, letting a moan out, “fuck Matt. you’re too big.” he grins, “what, you don’t think you’ll be able to handle it?” he teases, stopping his movement. you shake your head, “n-no! I can.” you whine out, moving your hips desperately. Matt groans, “fuck keep doing that.” you shut your eyes, gripping onto his shoulders as you begin to ride him. “you feel so good on me.” he lets out a breath, gripping your hips. you start to pick up the pace, rolling your hips in a consistent pace.

Matt runs his hands down to your ass again as he squeezes, “you’re so fucking sexy riding me.” he says.

Matt throws his head back moaning out low curse words. you run your hands down his chest with your mouth agape. his length filled you up perfectly. you suddenly start to bounce yourself up and down, filling the car with the sounds of your guys’ skin slapping against each other. Matt looks down at the sight of you taking his dick. every time you went back down as you bounced, made Matt want to hold you down and stay deep inside of you, “I-I told you I could handle it.” you mutter out.

he then grips your neck, stopping your movements from his sudden rough thrusts. you hold onto his arm as you gasp, “f-fuck!” you scream out. “how about now?” he grunts. he tightens his grip as you place your hand on the car window. the windows were fogged up as your hand slid down it slightly. “you like when i’m deep inside of you huh?” he asks, continuing his movement. you nod quickly making him speed up. you felt weak, now gripping onto his shoulders, digging your nails into his skin.

“fuck Matt!” you moan out as he starts to get sloppy with his thrusts. you take over and start rolling your hips again, driving him crazy. you were both moaning messes. you love how vocal he is. he bucks his hips as he throws his head back again, shutting his eyes. you were both in sync as you rode him and he thrusts. “I-I’m going to cum.” you manage to moan out. Matt picks up the pace again making your legs shake as you release all over his cock.

he manages a few more thrusts before shooting his cum inside of you, holding your hips down on him still. you collapse onto his chest as you both catch up with your breathing. “h-holy shit.” you stutter out. “what baby?” he asks rubbing your lower back. “I missed this.” you confess as he smiles, “me too. looks like we need to take Nick on his offer to watch Ellie more often.” he says. you sit up still on him as you check the time, “do we still go to dinner?” you ask. he looks at you, “we’re a sweating mess and my dick is still inside of you. what do you think?” he asks. you stay quiet for a bit before giving a sly smile, “another round?” you let out, causing you both to laugh, and he attaches his lips to yours after.

a/n: hope this satisfies your dad Matt craving. - L🤍

Tag List 🏷️ (comment if you want to be added)

@jnkvivi @fuckshitslover @nickgetsmewetter @mwahsturns @jetaimevous @sturniolo-fann @etvar12 @hxnnah24 @strnlxlqve @sturncakez @sturnioloremarker @3lizaluvs @lanaswifeyy

[augustinewrites]

does gojo ever freak out or worry ab reader when she’s alone on missions? obviously she can handle herself & knows what she’s doing, but he gives the vibes that he’d be internally panicking 😭

“hey, welcome back!” gojo grins, quickly shoving a half melted spatula to the bottom of the trash can. 

“hi,” you murmur, tipping the bill of your cap down as you close the door behind you. odd. he doesn’t think he’s seen you wear a hat before. 

“how was it?” he asks, flicking off the stove and closing in to welcome you properly with a kiss. well, he attempts to. you immediately take a step back, avoiding his embrace. he definitely doesn’t remember a time you’ve ever done that.

“i’m all sweaty,” you tell him, toeing your boots off and heading straight toward the bedroom. you say hello to the kids before shutting the door, the lock clicking into place. 

“are you mad at me?” he asks as soon as he warps into the room.

“satoru!” you startle, staggering back into the door. “get out!”

“nope,” he hums, closing in on you. “we sleep in the same room and you know that i don’t respect boundaries.” 

with that, he reaches over and pulls the baseball cap off your head. 

“satoru, please don’t freak out—”

he freaks out. 

he grabs your chin so you can’t turn away, inspecting the sutures lining your temple. “this is deep! are you okay? why were you hiding it from me?”

you swat his hand away, frowning. “i’m fine, and i wasn’t hiding it. i just didn’t want the kids to see. speaking of, did you guys eat dinner yet?”

“what grade curse was it?”

“special. i thought i smelled something burning—”

“you’re only grade one. why would they—”

“only grade one?” you repeat with a scoff. “don’t say it like that. you know the only reason i’m not special grade is because the zenin’s—”

“because the zenin’s are holding you back until you join them. they’re dicks, babe. that’s old news,” he finishes, tapping his foot impatiently. 

“listen,” you tell him, pinching the bridge of your nose. “i just didn’t get out of the way fast enough. it’s just a cut. i’ve had worse.” 

“well, next time they call you up for assignment, i’m coming with you,” he decides. “we’ll get a sitter for the kids and make it like a date night.”

“whoa,” you interrupt. “you’re inviting yourself on my assignments now? “do you think i’m not good enough?”

“well when you come home hurt, yeah!” 

he regrets it as soon as he says it. 

and he hates the way you’re looking at him. you’re hurt, and it shows. “wow. thanks for the vote of confidence.” 

“hey…”

he says your name, reaching for your hand, but you pull away, shaking your head.

_____

freshly showered and changed, you pull your robe on, exiting the bathroom. gojo’s sitting on the bed, waiting with his head in his hands.

“you know i think you’re more than capable,” he says quietly. “i wasn’t making a dig at your skill. you’re incredible.” 

“i know,” you hum, dumping your uniform into the basket. 

he looks up at you, apologetic. “but if anything happened to you, and you were really hurt…it would be my fault.”

“that’s not true,” you say quickly, sitting beside him. 

“it is,” he insists. “and i could never forgive myself, because i’m supposed to be the strongest.” 

(and what’s the point of being the strongest if he couldn’t protect the people he loved most?)

“satoru,” you murmur, smoothing a hand across his back. “you have such a big heart. i’m dating you because of your heart— well, mostly your abs but also your heart. ou already take on so much for everyone. and i need you to trust that i can’t take care of myself. i don’t want to be another burden to you.”

wordlessly, he takes your hand and presses it to his chest, so you can feel his heartbeat. 

“you are my whole heart. if i lost you and i could have stopped it, like i could’ve stopped—” he purses his lips, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. “i just can’t lose you.” 

“and you won’t,” you promise, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “now let’s go have dinner.”

“ah. about that….”

_____

“alright, dinner’s served!”

you the kids exchange a look.

megumi leans close to you, whispering, “can we get sick from this?”

“go on,” satoru encourages, picking up his own sandwich. “it’s a spam sandwich! i used to eat these all the time before i met—”

“you’re really lucky you met her,” the twelve year old grumbles, peeling the bread back to look at the burnt piece of spam.

tsumiki, ever the people pleaser, takes a bite and chews very thoroughly before swallowing with great effort.

“um…the smoke added a nice hickory flavour to the spam.”

“okay, we’re getting pizza,” you decide, shooting your boyfriend an apologetic look.

[notafunkiller]

Bucky Barnes is the best super soldier

How it was subtly emphasized in The Falcon and The Winter Soldier:

He always holds back

With the Flag Smashers and even with John Walker. We could see the difference in the last 3 episodes. Sebastian Stan did an incredible job making it clear in a subtle way.

I want to mention that famous "Stay there" scene, and how it was visible Bucky was not punching as hard as he can in the fight with John.)

This is the thing about Bucky, he isn't after the kill, he just does his part. He doesn't try to show off his skills or that he is a good guy. He doesn't try to play the victim role, either. In the scene where Zemo fake-activates the Winter Soldier in Madripoor, he just makes a point. He's obviously not even trying hard.

If he wanted those in the club dead, they would be. But his self control was wow. Sebastian acted so well, his exes said everything.

*And to be honest, even when he was TWS, he could have killed everyone, but he didn't. He could have killed all of the Avengers in Civil War is they were his mission, but they weren't. This is how Natasha survived when she met him, too. It depended on what kind of mission he had (if he wasn't allowed to be seen, then the witnesses would die too, but otherwise? He didn't bother).

2. His skills

People tend to forget how smart and good at making strategies Bucky is. He's been fighting (even though he hates fighting and never wanted to be in the army) for years before he was even captured by Hydra. And this is the reason why government still want him, after all. They can use his strategies as a leader (*cough* Thunderbolts *cough*).

In the last episodes of TFATWS, we could see how he outsmarted everyone. Karli was so terrified of him.

3. Karli Morgenthau

And talking about Karli, the phone call was interesting:

She asked him if he's not tired of fighting for the wrong side, and then told him she's fighting for something bigger than herself.

"And with all the bodies you've collected, have you ever been able to say the same?"

The first thing I wanna point out is how everyone talks about the deaths Bucky caused when he was controlled by Hydra, but everyone ignores the fact that all the Avengers killed far more, but since we consider them the good side, we just don't care.

Clint, Tony, Steve, Wanda etc. They all cause(d) far more deaths than "two dozen" (known assassinations - to quote Natasha), and neither was controlled. The double standards are something else, especially for Clint. (One of the reasons why Tony was on the other side in CW was because of his guilt, after all.)

The second point is how Bucky's answer says a lot more than we might realize at first:

"You don't think I ever fought for something bigger than myself? That's all I ever tried to do, and I failed twice."

Even as TWS, Bucky had to be convinced he is on the right side, that what they do is to save the world, to give "the world the freedom it deserves".

Even brainwashed and put to sleep all the time, he had to be lied to. Bucky as TWS was a victim too. He is not a victim only because he didn't have memories or control, but also because they lied to him and used him as a toy. That milk scene is so loud. (And I am gonna talk about it in a different post). He had no rights, no choices. He was used to being tortured.

[And I wish they explored it more. We deserved and deserve a WS film - maybe with him in Romania getting back his memories, writing in his journal etc.]

"You think your cause justifies all this death, but in the end, the nightmares won't go away. You're gonna remember all the ones you killed. Trust me. Don't do this. Don't go down this path."

Despite being on opposite sides, Bucky still said this to Karli, trying to help her, to make her see the big picture, sharing how he felt and feels.

He is on "the right side". He is a hero, and Bucky being thanked by that man for saving everyone's life was touching.

4. Baron Zemo

You can see how smart, strong, and rational Bucky is when he decides to break Zemo out of jail (his plan was amazing too), risking so much (his relationship with Wakanda people and his own freedom) to get his help for the mess. He puts the cause above his own (huge) trauma. And this makes that moment in Madripoor even more disgusting (he is treated as an object, as a toy):

Zemo: Tell us what you know about the super-soldier serum. And I give you him, along with the code words to control him, of course. He will do anything you want.

The way he keeps his composure, reacts and manages the situation... absolutely incredible!

This conversation also says a lot:

Zemo: The desire to become a superhuman cannot be separated from supremacist ideals. Anyone with that serum is inherently on that path.

Bucky: Maybe you're wrong, Zemo. The serum never corrupted Steve.

Zemo: Touché. But there has never been another Steve Rogers, has there?

Bucky positions himself below Steve, who's considered a good hero, a good person... like no other. But Steve never had to go through what Bucky did: from being kidnapped like that, to being tested on, to falling off the train, to being tortured, and used, and brainwashed for decades, and put to sleep when he was not needed and having n "keepers".

Also, interesting how all Steve wanted was to fight (for a good cause, but still)... and fighting still means violence, meanwhile Bucky never wanted to fight, not even before becoming TWS, in the army (and yet he is still great at fighting. And he is deadly, even when he holds back.). All he wanted was peace.

Despite not getting the "perfect serum", despite being brainwashed, put to sleep, and forced to fight for decades, he is still himself. He never gave in to the dark side for real. He fought in his own way. The first thing he did when he woke up was to choke the Hydra guy with a whole new arm!

Bucky is so underrated: from his intelligence and fighting skills, to how human he is. Being flawed, keeping his sassiness and charm from the 40s, but getting more mature and carrying his past on his shoulders... he's so relatable and real. And every day, he shows Zemo he is wrong.

The show he makes in his final scene with Zemo is absolutely fantastic. He doesn't just prove the point he isn't defined by the serum and Hydra (AND not even by Steve, thanks to Sam. His speech made him realize the important thing about himself: that he decides who he is, not others - even those who know him before becoming TWS- "And this might be a surprise, but it doesn't matter what Steve thought. You gotta stop looking to other people to tell you who you are." parallel to "Steve believed in you. He trusted you. He gave you that shield for a reason. That shield, that is… that is everything he stood for. That is his legacy. He gave you that shield, and you threw it away like it was nothing. [...] So maybe he was wrong about you. And if he was wrong about you, then he was wrong about me."), but also that he is superior.

When Zemo tells him that he decided to let him alive (probably so he can kill Karli) and basically calls him a killing machine: "programmed to kill", Bucky plays the role, lets Zemo talk him into killing Karli, and then Bucky watches him waiting for his own death.

[Also, Bucky's line: Imagine my relief is hilarious.]

The acting was incredible: the shock on Zemo's face and the amusement and somehow relief on Bucky's after he pulls the trigger and lets the bullets fall... He proved him he's THE standard of the super soldier. Because despite everything he went through, he is the best.

Zemo telling him to cross his name off felt like a fresh start (+ telling Nakajima the truth).

5. John Walker

John, on the other hand, is lucky Bucky is an understanding person. He gets what is like... the pressure, the environment, the loss, and even tries to help.

Bucky: Don't go down that road. Believe me, it doesn't end well.

John: I'm not like you!

Of course he is not like Bucky, because Bucky has control. He is not killing to get revenge in a cynical way.

"That serum doesn't exactly have a great track record."

John kept judging Bucky every time they spoke, somehow placing himself above this "broken" man.

"This is all really easy for you, isn't it? All that serum runnin' through your veins. Barnes, your partner needs backup in there. Do you really want his blood on your hands?"

This is so wrong on every single level, especially because Bucky didn't choose to take the serum, and he always had his friends' back. He's loyal and ready to sacrifice himself.

The "funny" part about this is John ending up taking the last super soldier serum vial. All the judgement, the disgust, the patronizing tone, just to do that. Plus, of course, to kill someone with the shield.

(John proves Zemo's point about super soldiers, and Bucky does the opposite.)

And what is it easy for Bucky anyway?

He's under government conditions (so CACW coded), he has a vibranium arm that I bet the government would try to take after he dies (HOPEFULLY WHEN HE'S 200 YEARS OLD IN HIS BED, as Sebastian wants too) if he isn't in Wakanda, he is haunted by nightmares (which also can mean he is still Hydra's TWS in another universe as we found out from Strange), and he has to learn how to live for real. He's smart, charismatic, has values and principles, and he's incredible.

We need to see his version of TWS going after everyone Hydra helped. TWS is him, a part of him, and doing that on his terms, having control over it would help him heal.

[ericityyy]

Hello dear, i dont know if your tired of young sheldon requests but if you are im so sorry, i promise that for future requests it will be another fandom. But i was just thinking about georgie with a female reader where she is very protective over missy and makes sure she is not forgotten or less than sheldon, which george finds very cute.

Thank you so much

𝐁𝐢𝐠 𝐒𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐲 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭

𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: 𝘈 𝘴𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘔𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘺 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘥.

𝙏𝙧𝙤𝙥𝙚: 𝘓𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴, 𝘎𝘪𝘳𝘭𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘉𝘰𝘺𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥’𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘺

𝙏𝙮𝙥𝙚: 𝘍𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧

𝙒𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝘾𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩: 600

𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

“Y/N, do you think I can join the baseball team?” Missy asked with an insecure look on her face. She’s been meaning to join the baseball team for some time and was about to talk to her father about this, but then she decided to consult Y/N first.

Y/N stopped putting nail polish on the younger girl’s feet to look at her. Missy, although she may always seem fierce, doesn’t change the fact that she’s still a little girl who sometimes doesn't get that much attention from her parents. The attention most of the time is to scold her.

Don’t get Y/N wrong; Mary and George are great parents, but a lot of the time, they don’t have much trust in Missy and Georgie, and for good reasons too since most of the time, the two of them have been troublemakers. However, that doesn't change the fact that they feel inferior to Sheldon due to how their parents treat him. It has always been Sheldon who gets most of the attention.

“I think if that coach won’t let you in the team, I’ll go there myself and give him a piece of my mind.” Y/N finished polishing Missy’s nails, looking proud as ever seeing the girl’s beaming smile. “You are great with the sport, and if he can’t see that, then that old guy must be having some sight problems.”

Missy teared up at her words. She has always treated Y/N like a sister, even before Georgie and she started dating. Y/N always had Missy’s back, when Mary praised Sheldon or when George made comments about Georgie and Missy being less than Sheldon.

Missy doesn’t have a team. Not until Y/N came.

“You always are so kind to me.” Missy sniffled, causing Y/N to coo at her, bringing the crying girl into her arms. “Thank you for being here with me when I need you. You’re my team.”

Y/N pulled away from the hug to wipe the girl’s tears away, giving her a warm smile. She then stood up and grabbed a baseball bat before throwing the ball softly at Missy’s bed. “How about you and I play some ball before you go to your tryouts?”

The two girls didn’t notice that Georgie was at the doorway, leaning, "Well, aren’t you two sweet?”

Missy and Y/N turned at Georgie, the former standing up from her bed and grabbing the ball before running outside her room shouting, “Come on, Y/N!”

Y/N laughed at the girl’s enthusiasm, then turned to her boyfriend, who was smiling at her, and asked, “What is it?”

Georgie shook his head, standing up straight and walking toward the girl, who had a baseball bat on her shoulder and a hand on her waist. Georgie, at this point, decided that he was deeply in love with her. “Nothing.” He put his hands on her waist. “I just love how you’re always there for my sister; you have always protected her, and I love you for it.”

The boy kissed his girl’s cheek, noticing the slight pink hue appearing on her skin as he smirked playfully. He still has that effect on her.

“Well, what can I say? I’m the big sister she never had. I am what you call a sister by heart.” Y/N proudly, albeit teasingly, put a hand over her chest where her heart is, closing her eyes with a smile on her face. Georgie rolled his eyes, despite the chuckle that left his lips.

"Yes, you are, darling. Yes, you are.”

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄

hi, i’m sorry this is short but i can’t really think of anything else. but i hope you like this though :>

i’m also fine with the georgie requests!! but yeah i do wish i get to write other fandoms though… it’s okay though!! i enjoy writing georgie cooper imagines!!

[toxicanonymity]

Pre-tlou Joel being part of a raiding group, coming across reader, and Joel claiming her for himself. Possessive non con 🥵

Raider (Original)

800 words, dark!Joel Miller x f!Reader

RAIDER MASTER LIST | joel master

WARNINGS - NSFW I8+ Noncon (via implicit threat) unsafe PIV, pet names and praise, oral m, dark, posessive. Joel can pick reader up. Obviously do not condone these things irl.

"Drop her," he booms at the men who are dragging you kicking and screaming as they bicker about who goes first. "Now."

"Relax Miller, there's plenty to go around," one of the guys says and beckons him to join. "Ain't that right, sweetie?" The man adds, lifting your chin with the butt of his rifle.

Miller raises his gun. "I said drop her." They don't. Miller fires a warning shot and they finally do. "Tired of you rookies," Miller says. "Show some respect."

"Yes sir." The men compose themselves and disperse.

Relief washes over you. He's saving you. You're going to get out of this unscathed. You stand up and begin to hobble away, sore from being smacked around.

Miller trains his gun on you. "Don't you fuckin' dare."

You raise your hands in surrender.

"Good girl, now c'mere."

You hesitantly approach him and he throws you over his shoulder. He carries you back inside, into a bedroom, and throws you down on an old mattress. Another man approaches and stands in the doorway. He tells Miller "Oooh, nice find." The man starts unbuckling his own belt.

"Did I say I was sharin'? Go do your goddamn job." He aims his gun at the man. The man gulps, buckles his belt, and scurries away. Joel closes the door behind him and locks it.

-

"Alright now, sweet pea." Miller unbuckles his belt. The blood drains from your face.

"Be a good girl and this'll be over quick, okay?"

You nod. At least there's only one of him.

He palms himself over his tactical pants then takes out his raging erection. It's imposing. You're afraid.

His boots thud as he approaches the mattress. He looms over you. "Now, you're gonna suck this cock and you're gonna like it, understand?" He strokes himself and his brow furrows as he looks at you.

You nod.

"Cause you don't want me passin' you to those guys, trust me."

You nod as tears prickle your eyes. You get up on your knees and take him into your mouth - not all of him, it's impossible, but you try. He puts his hands on the back of your head and fucks your face.

This can’t be over soon enough, but you also can’t deny a feeling growing between your legs. Having his cock in your mouth makes you tingle. It’s so hard, and his precum tastes nice and salty.

“Look at me,” he demands. You don’t want to look him in the eye, so you focus on his messy brown hair. It’s nice.

“Doin' great, sweet pea. Now do me a favor and pull down your pants.”

You take him out of your mouth and wipe the slobber off your lips. He half-smiles with a twinkle in his eye and strokes himself as you pull down your pants.

“Where do you want it, sweet pea?” He squats down and fingers you. Your cheeks burn when he smiles at your wetness. “This one?” he asks and enters you with two fingers.

You nod. It’s preferable to the alternative.

“Alright, you want it like this or you wanna turn around?”

You still don’t want to look him in the eye, so you turn around on all fours. He yanks your pants off to make room for himself between your legs.

“Good girl,” he says. He kneels behind you, then you feel the smooth head of his cock at your entrance. He plunges into you about half way with a grunt, pulls back a little, then plunges forward again, bottoming out with a throaty sigh. Your eyes well up in tears, but your body welcomes the intrusion.

“Damn, you’re tight,” he says as he fucks you, hands on your hips, pulling you back with each thrust. “Good thing I kept ya all for myself. They would’ve ruined this pretty little hole.” The tip of his cock pushes a special button inside you with each thrust, and you begin to unravel.

He’s quiet for a minute, save for his grunts. His grunts turn into moans, then you feel him twitch inside you.

He pulses violently, his large hands jerking you back into him as he pumps you full of hot cum. His pulsations send you and you groan as your own climax is pulled from your depths, contracting on his cock.

“Well damn,” he says when you’re both finished. “It’s a good day for both of us.”

He pulls out and you collapse onto the mattress. He comes around and looks you in the face and you look up at him with watery eyes. He cups your cheek affectionately and reassures you he’ll guard the room for you until everyone’s loading up to leave.

-

6 month note: Thank you so much for reading! I know this is old by now, but I still really appreciate your reblogs and comments. 🥹🖤 when I start to recognize raider superfans I try to follow.

You can follow @toxicfics and subscribe to notifications.

[ew-selfish-art]

Dp x Dc AU: Jazz Fenton, after years of fixing her brother’s injuries, becomes a Doctor with an inclination towards behavioral health and psychology- In order to make the difference she wants to see in the world she joins Dr. Leslie Thompkin’s practice. 

Jazz Fenton, M.D. has spent years of her life doing research, doing the hard work and the emotional labor, and finally, finally, she’s joining a practice she can feel 100% confident in. She’s goddamn good doctor and she wants to make the biggest impact that she can. 

Dr. Thompkins (who insists that she call her Leslie as they’re colleagues now), is a kind woman, sharp as a tack and keeps her practice open at odd hours to help the most unfortunate. It took some time for them to bond and trust to be built, but now Jazz is being allotted a few night shifts here and there. 

It’s incredible. Jazz gets to spend time with the kids who come in and really talk to them (in addition to getting them antibiotics, heating pads and pokemon themed bandaids) to help equip them with a few coping skills. Her passion for psychology never disappeared after all, but the expansive knowledge of how to heal the human body has made her find a sense of fulfillment like no other.

Having proven herself and worn Leslie down, Jazz now takes up about 1/3 of all the night shifts in the month. She’s hoping to get to 50/50 by the end of the year but she’s content with what she has. Danny keeps odd hours anyway so calling him after work on her walk home can happen any time of day and he will always answer enthusiastically. 

It’s a particularly busy night before he comes in. The Red Hood. 

He was known for being an ally to Leslie, despite being on contentious terms with the Bats, but Jazz had never asked directly. Never one to turn away a patient with bullet hole wounds, she hops into action to get his wounds cleaned, sewed up and gauze wrapped. She’s handing him a sheet (an Infographic! Dani made it with her! Graphic design is her passion!) on how to care for his wounds when he first seems to recognize that she’s not Leslie. 

“No, Of course not. I’m Dr. Fenton. I can’t blame you for not remembering but I did introduce myself as you bled in the entry way. You’re Red Hood, right?” 

“Hm. Didn’t realize the practice was expanding. Where can I find-” He grumbles before pushing her hand aside from where she had still been supporting his shoulder.

“Hold on there, mister. You’re going home, you’re following this infographic and you’re going to get some sleep.” 

“Lady you don’t know-” His voice modulated ton came across antagonistically. As if he was trying to intimidate her. Ha, Jazz rolls her eyes at the inclination.

“Who I’m talking to? Who I’m dealing with? You’re hilarious. I can eat you vigilante’s hero complexes for breakfast. Tell me who I’m calling to pick you up and then you can say thank you.” Jazz snaps at him. It really had been a long night but his whole dialogue thus far is making her a bit batty. 

“Oh really Doc? You know Leslie’s tough shit, and from what I can tell you’ve got nothing on her-” 

“Trying to make me feel insufficient when I just saved your life? That’s cute. I’m sure a lifetime of abandonment by both of your parental figures gave you that. I’m also sure that you inherited this desire to prove you’re not going to be dependent on anyone who wants to help from whoever got you dressing up in tights to fight crime in the first place. Again, I’d love to talk at length about how predictable you-” 

“Bwah- wait- I’m Predictable? You’re probably some nepobaby who had parents who told her she could have the world-” But Jazz cuts him off with hysterical laughter- he couldn’t be further from the truth. Her parents loved her, but nepotism? With what, the ghosts? If anything she got that from Danny, but he doesn’t need to know about her ghostly titles. 

“You’re just some guy who came back from the dead and made his trauma everyone else’s issue. So shut it. And tell me how I’m getting you home from this clinic.” She seethes though her voice stays devastatingly level with each word. 

Speechless for a moment, he eventually relents to Jazz that he’s already called for help on the comms but it will be hours before they can come for a pick up. The sun had already come up and the night had been over for most of them before Hood had walked into trouble. She groans and the realizes the time for herself and the empty clinic around them.

“Fine. My shift just ended anyway. I’ll get you home in one piece and I swear to all the ancients that you’d better follow the directions on the infographic.” 

And that’s how Jazz ended up calling her brother while supporting the weight of a grown ass man (who no longer wanted to talk to her) on her walk home. 

The next time Red Hood appears in her clinic, he’s brought a dozen roses in addition to the cut on his neck that definitely needs to be pressurized like ASAP. Did he stop for the flowers on his way to the clinic? He’s going to pass out from blood loss! She doesn’t even like roses!

[fyorina]

ᡣ𐭩 ICARION

FEATURING: beast dazai osamu

SUMMARY: dazai had known he was flying too close to the sun, he should have stopped himself while he still had the chance. {wordcount: 11.5k; fem!reader, romance & tragedy}

AUTHOR'S NOTES: installment fiveeeee otherwise known as part 2 of installment four LOL! ugh guys i'm dragging myself thru the trenches right now i'm so miserable - i wasn't even up to posting this today i won't lie but </3 i pulled thru </3 if only barely. fun fact this is actually only a 3 scene chapter but the second scene is just MASSIVE. i wasn't up to restructuring so you guys are just going to get it as it is. this is also unedited because i just wasn't up to it so bear with me regarding mistakes. JUST TO REMIND YOU ALL: the last installment is DELAYED - i have 3 finals next week and haven't had the time to finish it. it will be up by the end of may </3 sorry guys. wow this actually is attempt number three trying to post this correctly - i'm so shot

IMPORTANT NOTE FOR 17 & UNDER FOLLOWING THE SERIES: partially copy and pasted from badlands - if you guys read badlands, you know the deal. y'all knew what you were getting into. this is the smut chapter. but again, i'm not going to ask y'all to not interact/read a whole 12k chapter just because there's 4k words of smut, but i am going to say here the smut is in the SECOND scene. there is very little plot development in the smut itself, so i ask you guys, again, to respectfully scroll past it. i'll make the sentence when the smut starts red like this so you know that's when it starts, and then you can continue reading at the next divider. thank you for understanding! there is NO plot development in the smut, i'll reiterate that at the end where i put the summary in badlands, i restructured to make sure none of it was in it.

SMUT WARNINGS: unprotected sex, dazai cries </3 poor baby, sub!dazai, as always pussy drunk!dazai, bit of overstim on dazai's part too, jfhsuhdfsu i will say it starts on the bathroom floor so that might be a bit gross to some of you but dazai hardly even uses his apartment anyway so trust it's clean. bear with me. it just flowed from there i had to go with it. the story writes itself, i'm only the scribe. LOL let me know if i missed anything, i might have

SEE: UNREAL UNEARTH SERIES MASTERLIST READ: BADLANDS SIDE A

Dazai is hardly listening to the conversation at hand. They’ve been going back and forth for thirty minutes about inconsequential matters. Tolstoy is getting increasingly heated as he goes tit-for-tat with Nabokov, evidently the tripartite alliance between the Russian mafias is not quite enough to quell all of the bad blood that’s simmered between them, but something about the situation isn’t sitting right to Dazai. He can feel it in his gut, swirling in the depths of his chest—something is wrong but he doesn’t know what.

Mishima looks equally put out, gaze trained on Tolstoy and Nabokov’s conversation, occasionally looking back at his executives. Cao seems bored, head tilted back against the red cushions of the round booth as he smokes a cigarette; in all regards, he seems relaxed, but Dazai notices the way the fingers of his free hand are tense on the table, as if he’s bracing himself for something.

Something isn’t right.

Dostoevsky is cunning. Intelligent. He’s been lethally sharp in every universe that the other Dazais have encountered him in. He wouldn’t send Tolstoy and Nabokov into this meeting with them at each other’s throats like this without an ulterior reason. Dazai is missing something critical; he knows it’s not something as simple as wanting to give off the appearance of a divided front as means to get Dazai and Mishima to lower their guard. Nothing is that easy. There’s some ulterior motive that Dazai has to figure out.

Cao’s presence. Tolstoy and Nabokov’s blatant hostility toward one another. Mishima’s words from earlier, warning him that something seems to be brewing, that Tolstoy and Nabokov had been on edge since he arrived at the event hall. Dazai’s head hurts, and he can’t focus, not when you’re in the other room without him.

Already, he feels as if he’s been separated from you for too long, he’d been hoping this meeting was only going to last thirty minutes at most, and it’s been thirty minutes already and hardly any progress has been made. If Dazai didn’t know any better, he’d think that…

He’d think that Tolstoy and Nabokov were stalling.

At once, Dazai starts catching onto the things that he missed. The way Nabokov keeps glancing up at the clock on the wall above Cao. The way Tolstoy’s gaze keeps flickering to his phone. The way Cao’s attention seems to be elsewhere. 

Cao Xueqin. A Dream of Red Mansions. A scrying ability.

His heartbeat slows and Dazai blinks. Once. Twice. Blood roars in his ears as his gaze twists down to where his phone is laying on the table in front of him, on its face. Tachihara should have texted him to let him know that he got to you. Him or Chuuya. He usually reports to Chuuya anyway, so Dazai figured that Chuuya would’ve gotten the confirmation. He turns his head to the side to look at the executive from the corner of his eye, trying to keep his breath as slow and steady and natural as possible when he realizes that Chuuya is frowning with furrowed brows, looking at his phone. Unsure.

Dazia reaches for his own phone, fingers deceptively steady despite the way his insides are curdling with a sudden jolt of anxiety. His eyes zero in on the top right corner of his phone. No signal. Dazai has been to this event hall countless times in this life and dozens of others—there’s always service throughout the building. 

Unless it’s being jammed, that is.

Dazai’s blood runs cold, gaze dragging from his phone to the door that leads to the hallway connecting to the event hall where you are. He feels as if he’s been doused with icy water and lit on fire all at once. For a second, he doesn’t move—he’s not sure if it’s anxiety or fear, or both, but he knows it’s because you’re out there and Dostoevsky is plotting something while trying to keep him out of the picture in this meeting. 

He should have known better. Mishima had assumed that Dostoevsky wasn’t in the building—he had his three best scouts prowling the whole building trying to place the real leader of the tripartite but had failed. Nabokov had apparently told him that Dostoevsky had to stay back to handle residual business in Russia, a blatant lie, one that has had Mishima on edge all night.

The one with the overcoat. The clown.

Dazai stills as he remembers the white haired man who hung around Dostoevsky in some of the other universes. Not all of the other Dazais encountered him—in fact, Dazai thinks there were only half a dozen other universes where he met the man, he can hardly remember his name, but when he did…

Spatial linking. Of course Mishima’s men hadn’t been able to hunt down Dostoevsky. Dostoevsky would’ve predicted that the Sun and Steel would seek out the mastermind with their scouts. He used the clown to enter the building without anyone knowing after the scouts finished their hunt.

Dazai had missed a critical piece on the board.

Dazai rises to his feet abruptly, mind numb, eyes distant, and lips parted to speak but no words escape them. Tolstoy and Nabokov exchange a sharp, pointed look, pausing in their hostilities, and Dazai knows. He knows.

Dostoevsky is going after you. 

He hears Chuuya and Kouyou calling after him but it sounds like a distant buzz. His throat feels clogged, his heartbeat is erratic and uncontrollable, his ears are ringing. His surroundings are blurry, a part of him doesn’t even know where he is: the event hall, your apartment, in the cafe below the Armed Detective Agency, it’s all blurring together.

This is it.

His vision swims and his head spins. The hallway seems impossibly long, much longer than it was to walk to the room. He can hear Chuuya spitting curses, scrambling out of the room, and he’s sure that his other executives and the other mafiosos aren’t far behind, but Dazai’s mind is on a single track. He doesn’t know how fast he’s moving—fast enough that Chuuya is chasing after him but can’t catch him. Something is heavy and cool in his hand—his gun—numb fingers moving to click the safety off.

This is it.

He might enter that hall and find you dead, slumped over the bar he’d last seen you sitting at, blood splattered across your face. Limp, cold. Just like you were on your bedroom floor. In the booth at the cafe. He’s pulling you from the water. He’s screaming for Yosano when he’s with the Agency. He’s screaming for Mori when he’s with the Mafia. Sometimes he’s alone, and he has no one to call for help, so all he can do is hold you and cry. 

It’s his fault. He knew this would happen from the beginning. He knew that being with you would lead you to the same fate that you’ve met in every other universe because of him. He knew that being with you would be your death sentence, but he couldn’t stop himself. 

His vision swims again, the red and gold patterns on the walls of the event hall are indistinct blobs, he feels someone try to grab his wrist—Chuuya, probably—but Dazai rips himself free and pushes himself into the event hall.

He ignores the eyes on him and the way people all instinctively move away from the sight of him with his gun out, he’s sure he must look deranged but he’s hardly even keeping himself grounded to this reality. Pages pile around him, every single one has variations of the same scene that’s haunted him for almost eight years written on it; one is being written before his eyes, he can see the words appearing on the blank sheet. He needs to find you before it’s complete. He has to stop it.

His eyes cut across the room, toward the bar he’d last seen you at, and you’re there. You’re there. It’s almost enough to make him scramble to put his gun away, cover up his steep spiral of paranoia even if you are looking right in his direction and see the gun in his hand. He can hardly come to terms with the consequences of this, how you’re seeing him right now, because his gaze tunnels right in on the person sitting next to you and his world comes to a halt. 

He lifts the gun. He ignores as people shriek and scramble to the edges of the room. He ignores the look on your face as he moves closer to where you’re sitting with Fyodor Dostoevsky. He ignores the way Chuuya and Kouyou and Piano Man have all skid to a stop somewhere behind him, trying to figure out what to do. Dostoevsky’s hand is mere inches away from brushing against your body, it would only take the slightest movement and you would be dead. It would be a game of who’s faster: Dazai’s trigger finger or Dostoevsky’s ability. Dazai’s always been quick to pull the trigger but now, faced with your life on the line, when he should be at his best because of what’s at risk, he finds himself scared and unsteady. 

He can’t lose you. He can’t watch it happen.

He paces toward you slowly, steadily, he swears each step he takes echoes across the suddenly silent event hall. He doesn’t stop until the muzzle of his gun is pressed against the back of Dostoevsky’s head.

“Stand up.” Dazai’s voice is deceptively cold and steady for the rage and fear that’s clawing at his chest, threatening to take control.

Dostoevsky turns his head to the side to look at Dazai, faint amusement in his eyes. “Are you sure you really want to do this here, Dazai?” 

The mocking lilt his voice takes is almost enough alone for Dazai to pull the trigger. And if that wasn’t, the way Dostoevsky smiles at Dazai like he’s won is certainly enough to push him over the edge.

Before he can, he feels Chuuya grab his bicep hard. 

“You can’t do this here,” he hisses quietly. “If you kill him now on neutral territory, we’ll have all of the mafias in the Eastern Hemisphere coming after you and the government on your ass. You can’t do this here and you can’t do it in public.”

Dazai doesn’t care. He doesn’t care how many mafias come after him for killing on neutral territory when invited as a guest. He doesn’t care that the government will come after him for such a blatant murder. All he cares about is getting Dostoevsky away from you.

“Chuuya is right,” Kouyou murmurs, low enough for only Dazai to overhear. “We can cover this up as is. If you pull the trigger, there’s no hiding what happened here. You know better than this, boy. You won’t be the only person this affects if you do this. Think of her. She will be implicated for coming here with you. Lower the gun and let us handle sweeping this under the rug.”

Dazai can’t even bring himself to look at you. He’s scared of what he might find. But he doesn’t even consider lowering the gun, not until Dostoevsky raises his hands and slips off the bar stool to step away from you. Even when he does, Dazai keeps it trained on him, still tempted to blow his head right off his shoulders.

“I meant no harm,” Dostoevsky says smoothly. “I was intrigued, wanted to know the girl who’s managed to capture your interest. I must say, I see the appeal. Beautiful and intelligent, you have quite the eye, Dazai.”

Dazai’s lips stretch into a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. It’s not kind, and it’s mildly feral, and Dazai’s pretty sure he must look entirely deranged from the way Dostoevsky’s eyes widen in a mixture of surprise and entertainment, just enough to be noticeable.

“If you ever go near her again, I’ll put a bullet through your fucking skull, Dostoevsky.”

He should do it now. He should. Fuck Chuuya and Kouyou’s warnings, he should put a bullet in his head and be done with it, move onto handling Christie so that both of the major threats to your life are gone. But he can’t. If he takes this opportunity now, if he kills Dostoevsky so blatantly on neutral territory, the Pale Flame and Three Deaths will come at him in full force, and Dazai is sure the Red Chamber won’t be far behind them with Cao’s recent interest in expanding his business into Japan. And you’ll be caught in the crossfire of all of it, Dazai has ensured that by bringing you here. Dostoevsky must have accounted for all of this. He knew that Dazai would be put in a situation where either way, whether he kills him or lets him go, he’d be throwing himself onto a blade. 

Is that it? Killing you wasn’t the goal, was it? Exposing Dazai was. Forcing him into this impossible decision.

Did he really just fall into Dostoevsky’s hands so easily? Even with all of the forewarning the other universes have given him?

It’s you. You always make him reckless, his mind is never as sharp whenever you’re involved, muddled with thoughts of you, plagued with spirals of paranoia and anxiety that make him double guess himself. It’s like this in every universe—he becomes stupid, he becomes rash, he becomes careless. It’s you.

You.

Suddenly very hyper aware of your eyes on him, Dazai lowers his gun, gaze turning in your direction. Dostoevsky lets out one last snide comment, something toward you, telling you ‘don’t you see’ but Dazai doesn’t even process it, heart in his throat as he looks at you. He doesn’t know what he expects—fear, betrayal, even anger. He’s not prepared for the emptiness. He can’t read a single emotion on your face, your eyes eerily void of any feeling as you stare at him. 

He says your name quietly. His voice cracks. He should be embarrassed, so many people watching the scene play out, so many of his enemies and allies and subordinates, and he’s staring at you like a lost child with an unsteady voice, but he can’t bring himself to care. The fingers of his free hand are trembling, and the ones wrapped around the grip of his gun are so wound so tight that his knuckles are white. 

You’ve never looked at him like this before. Not in any universe. 

He thinks he might throw up. 

You’ve been mad at him before, scowling at him whenever he distracts you from your work and snarling whenever he makes messes that he never cleans up, but your eyes always stay soft in spite of the venom you spit. He’s seen betrayal on your face a few times before, screaming at him through tears when he got a bit too close to a successful attempt, cursing at him for trying to leave you, but you hold him so gently that it makes up for the harsh words. You’ve been scared of him once, when he lashed out so badly during one of his slumps that he nearly hurt you, but even then, you were more concerned for him then you were scared for yourself, speaking to him softly to settle him down.

He’s never seen this. He wants it to go away. Desperately.

“I’d like to leave,” you finally say after a few moments of silence, and your voice is so vacant of emotion that it leaves him feeling even more sick.

Dazai nods, because he can’t bring himself to speak. 

He holds his hand out for you, waiting for you to take it.

You don’t.

You haven’t spoken a word since the event hall, and Dazai doesn’t know what to do. He used to find peace in silence—for years, he’d become accustomed to it, isolating himself from everyone around him, keeping everyone at arm’s length. The most he ever spoke was a few sentences to give out orders to his executives; his voice had become hoarse and raspy over the years of self-imposed isolation, unused to being utilized. But the past few months with you have utterly obliterated any semblance of comfort Dazai had found in solidarity. 

It’s become entirely intolerable, the silence is making him sick with anxiety; he has hundreds of lifetimes worth of memories with you and he can’t even vaguely predict what to expect from you right now. You’ve been tense and cold since leaving the event hall. Dazai tried to open up a conversation in the car once but found himself promptly ignored. Chuuya tried to say something to you but only received the same cold shoulder. Even Albatross tried to lighten the mood when the four of you got in the car, but all you did was stare out the window with your back to Dazai. 

Now, you’re back up in his penthouse with him. You haven’t sat down. You’ve hardly budged from where you’re standing near the elevator—Dazai wonders if you’re scared of him now, if you want to be as close as possible to the only exit in fear of him lashing out at you. The thought makes him even more nauseous.

He doesn’t even know what to do with himself. He doesn’t want to sit down, he’s uncomfortable standing in the living room, waiting for you to say something, and he can’t bring himself to try to break the silence because if there’s one thing he learned very swiftly, it’s that he can’t handle being ignored by you. He’d prefer anger and hate to the stonewall iciness you’re giving him.

He can’t even fathom what you might be thinking right now. You’re not looking at him. You’re staring at the window that looks over the city, he can see the bright flashing lights from Cosmo World flickering faintly in your eyes. It’s so quiet that he can hear the distant honking of horns, police sirens coming from the streets below. 

He just wants you to say something, do something. Yell at him. Scream at him. Hit him or punch him. Anything is better than this. 

It feels like an eternity before you finally move away from the elevator. You still don’t speak, but Dazai watches raptly as you make your way into the kitchen. You fling open the cabinets, searching for something, and Dazai’s lips part to ask what you’re looking for but he decides against it. You stop with your jerky movements when you catch sight of the numerous bottles of sake Dazai has stored in his cabinets—room temperature, because Dazai can’t stand cold drinks, they make his teeth hurt. He watches you struggle to uncap it and his body itches to move toward you to help but he knows it won’t do any good. It’ll probably just piss you off more.

When you get the cap off, you’re immediately bringing it to your lips. One. Two. Three. Four large gulps before you put the bottle back down on the counter and turn to look at him. The emptiness in your eyes is gone, replaced by something caught between hurt and anger and betrayal. It makes his heart sink, but he thinks it’s preferable to the emptiness.

“You lied to me,” you finally rasp out, shaking your head as you pace behind the counter. There’s a whole length of a room separating the two of you and Dazai longs for your touch but he forces himself to stuff his hands in his pockets and keep still. “You lied to me, Dazai.”

“Osamu,” he corrects quietly without thinking, not liking the switch up. He’d finally gotten you to call him by his given name earlier in the night, he doesn’t want to lose it so quickly.

For the briefest of seconds, the hurt and betrayal in your eyes disappears and only fire rages in them. “Dazai,” you spit out pointedly. 

Dazai almost draws back, not having expected that. In all of the other universes, you’ve always been gentle with him even when you’re livid. You speak his name softly, even with a tight jaw and fisted hands—his given name, you’ve never used his surname against him like this before. Probably because most of the major fights he had with you in those other lives, it was months into the relationship; it’s only been a few weeks in this life so of course-

Dazai realizes, a bit dizzy, that he’s about to lose you.

You found out too soon. You found out through Dostoevsky, through Dazai's own loss of control. You found out in the worst possible way and you found out too soon.

Dazai is about to lose you.

“Okay,” he murmurs, not wanting to test your temper anymore, giving in as a means to try to soothe your anger, regardless of how much it might wound him because being wounded is nothing compared to losing you. “Dazai.”

His compliance seems to do nothing to quell your anger from the way you just scoff and shake your head again, looking away from him. You stare out over the city, dozens of emotions cloud your expression but Dazai still can’t predict what you might do next. He feels out of his depth, in murky waters with an anchor tied to his ankle.

“I knew it, you know?” you finally say quietly. “I knew it from the beginning, honestly, but I kept making excuses for you. I mean, the guns. The secrecy. You weren’t really subtle about it. Did you think I was stupid, or something?” 

“Never,” Dazai says honestly, without hesitation. He sees your gaze flicker down to the ground at his words, but you don’t make any move to speak again so he takes the opportunity to, in hopes that you’ll finally listen. “You’re the smartest woman I know. I-”

You interrupt him with a sharp laugh, it’s loud and almost cruel, and Dazai turns in on himself at the sound of it. He feels small and unsteady, like a child who’s being scolded by a parent. When you look at him again, your eyes are wide and wild, half-crazed in sheer disbelief. You don’t believe him. Of course, you don’t. It’s plainly displayed on your face. And why would you anyway? He’s given you every reason not to. 

“If you think I’m so smart, why didn’t you think I would figure it out?”

He tries to say that he knew you would. That he’s been living in fear for weeks that you’d finally see him for what he is but when he opens his mouth to say it, no words leave him. Like he’s frozen in fear, ice crawling through his veins, stones weighing on his tongue; he can’t respond, and he knows that he’s only condemning himself more. He tries to force something out but he can’t even make the barest hint of a sound. The mindkiller. He’s never responded well to fear, much less when you’re involved. 

You click your tongue, as if to solidify that his silence proves your point, or maybe you know what he can't bring himself to say and you just don't believe him. His stomach churns again, and dread spreads through chest when you say: “If I’m so smart, and I was going to figure it out anyway, why didn’t you just tell me?”

“You would have left.” Dazai is finally able to speak, but he speaks the wrong answer, clearly, from the way you let out another humorless, breathless laugh, eyes wide in disbelief. You look at him like he’s the most audacious man in the entire world. Maybe he is.

“Yeah, I would have,” you agree and Dazai flinches. “Without hesitation, without even looking back. And now, I can’t because you made me fall in love with you without even warning me about what I was getting myself into.”

Dazai’s heart should be leaping through the roof at your confession, but if anything, he feels even worse. His throat feels clogged and his chest feels so heavy. You’ve never regretted falling in love with him before. Not in any lifetime.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes out, because he doesn’t know what else to say. The words are still foreign on his tongue, he doesn’t think he’s ever apologized to someone in this life before the last twenty-four hours.

“No, you’re not,” you say bitterly, looking away. “Isn’t this what you wanted? For me to care so much about you that when you finally tell me who you are and what you do, I won’t be able to leave.”

Dazai stares at you, lost. He remembers how just the other day he was finding comfort in the way you could read him so easily, knowing he didn’t have to speak for you to know what he needed at the moment. He thinks he hates it now, because you’re finally reading deeper into his soul and seeing him for the sick, twisted monster he really is. Just like he feared from day one. Manipulative. Selfish. Undeserving. His fingers tremble in his pockets, nails biting into his palm so deep that he can feel blood trickling down his skin, but not even the stinging pain can distract him from the numbness spreading through him. 

“I didn’t-”

“Didn’t what?” you interrupt him. “You didn’t think I’d be upset? You didn’t think I’d be angry? Or maybe you didn’t think it would happen this soon? Is that it, Dazai? You thought you’d have more time to win me over in hopes that I’d take the news in stride. News flash, Dazai, no amount of time or charm would have made me accept this easily. Accept you easily. How could I ever accept any of this?”

Nausea rises to his throat so suddenly that he almost gags. He feels dizzy, taking a step back so that his back is against the wall, keeping him steady. Your last words echo through his head over and over again, he can’t escape them. The one person who’s always accepted him in every lifetime, the only person he was ever able to find a home in—how could I ever accept you? 

His cheeks feel wet, his eyes are wide as he stares at you. He doesn’t know how to respond to that. He doesn’t even think he could if he knew how to respond to that. His lungs are burning and his throat feels so swollen that even just the thought of trying to speak is painful. 

You let out a sharp breath, caught between a hysterical laugh and a sob as you press your hands to either side of your neck and pace across the kitchen. “What am I supposed to do, Dazai?” you ask, voice hoarse. “What the fuck am I supposed to do?”

He thinks it might be a rhetorical question, but he still forces out: “Don’t leave me.”

You scoff again, louder and harsher this time. Dazai’s eyes flutter shut as if to futilely minimize the blow. “I wish leaving you was still an option for me.”

Oh. He’s going to throw up. 

He wants to blame it on the alcohol he drank earlier in the night. He wants to blame it on the stress of the past few weeks. He wants to blame it on anything but this, even though he knows damn well that this conversation is what triggered the bile that rises to his throat. He forces himself to move, nearly tripping over his feet to get to the bathroom because he doesn’t want you to see him vomiting up his guts.

He hardly makes it to the toilet, crashing to his knees and clutching at the seat as he dry heaves. Nothing comes up—he hasn’t eaten enough the past few days to have anything solid in him, too busy with preparations—but he can’t stop gagging, eyes stinging with tears and throat burning. He doesn’t know how long he stays crumpled at the toilet, losing track of time entirely, a part of him just wants to stay there forever so he doesn’t have to go back out and face you. 

Evidently, he doesn’t have to go back out and face you because you come to him. 

He’s gagging again when he feels your hand brush his back, hesitantly at first and then firmly. Your touch is warm, and Dazai thinks he must look pathetic as he turns his head to the side to look at you. Your expression isn’t as harsh now, your eyes are still conflicted but your face is softer. After a moment, you take a seat on the floor next to him—you don’t say anything, but you let out a soft puff of air as you slip your arm around his shoulders once he stops heaving. 

He crumbles into your chest, body collapsing against yours. You wrap your arms around him, and at once, the numbness starts to fade away. His fingers clutch at your dress desperately, afraid that you’re going to disappear, but you only hold him tighter. You bury your face in his hair, forehead pressed to the top of his head.

“You’re so unfair, Osamu.” Your voice cracks, you’ve lost all of your fire, but Dazai finds no solace in it.

“I know,” he croaks out, throat scratchy and voice wavering. “I know.”

And then words are spilling from his lips before he can stop them, jumbled and hardly intelligible and he’s not even sure that you’re understanding what he’s saying but he can’t stop himself: “I tried. I tried to stay away, I tried so hard, you don’t understand. I knew it would turn out like this, I knew I would ruin you so I tried to stay away, but I’m selfish. I’m so selfish, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I knew better, I’m going to-you’re going to-”

The panic is returning, the words he wants to say but can’t push out are too damning: I’m going to get you killed. You’re going to die because of me. Dazai is breathing but the air isn’t getting to his lungs, his chest burns, and now even with your arms around him, the numbness is returning. It’s rapid now, spreading from his chest to his arms, down his abdomen to his legs; it’s going to consume him entirely, he can feel it, he can-

Oh.

Your lips press to his. Tilting his head back to angle his face up toward you, you lean down and press your lips against his, swallowing his words, his air, his panic. One of your hands cup his cheek while the other cradles the back of his head, Dazai can hardly kiss you back, his lips feel cold and prickly, but his eyes flutter shut as your lips move slowly and carefully against his.

Not for the first time, he thinks that he doesn’t deserve this. Especially not now. He tastes something wet and salty against his lips—he doesn’t know if you’re the one crying, or if he is, and he doesn’t want to know, so he forces himself to move. His arm feels heavy and clunky, and his fingers feel stiff, but he’s able to bring them up to your face, palms cupping your cheeks as the tips of his fingers tangle into your hair. He kisses you until his lungs are screaming for air, and even as he starts to feel lightheaded, he kisses you still, because your lips are the only thing able to push away the numbness overwhelming him. 

When you break away from him, you keep your foreheads pressed together, nose nudging against his. You share the same thin sliver of air and Dazai feels dizzy, he wants to kiss you again but he doesn’t think he’s capable of moving yet, so he only stays crumbled in your arms, waiting for you to grace him with your lips again. 

“I wish I still had the chance to be a better man,” Dazai says hoarsely, honestly, gaze searching yours desperately. “I would be. For you.”

Please believe me, he thinks to himself helplessly, because it’s the truth. He would try to be. For your sake. He might fail, he might be too far gone, his soul corrupted beyond salvation and his blood black beyond purification, but he would try. He would try so hard for you. But he can’t, not in this lifetime, not without risking everything he’s strove to protect since coming in contact with the Book. He has to stay the criminal, the monster, the demon so that you and Odasaku can live out your lives here. Until Dostoevsky, Christie, and any other person that could turn out to be a threat to either of you are killed, Dazai has to keep playing this role. He has to. 

You don’t respond. Dazai thinks it’s because you don’t believe him and it makes him feel sick again. His lips part to repeat himself but you only press yours against his, as if to silence him. 

You don’t believe him, the kiss confirms it, and his heart sinks but he can’t even bring himself to protest, to insist that it’s true. Instead, he decides if he can’t prove it through his words, he’ll prove it through his actions. Even though his limbs still feel leaden and clumsy, he forces himself into a better position, sitting up a bit more and bringing both of his hands up to cup your cheeks. He tilts your head back, leaning into you and slowly pressing you back against the floor and distantly Dazai recognizes that this is not the place for this but the thought is only fleeting, he’s too lost in the feeling of your lips against his and your body pressed to him.

And you let him ease you back against the floor. You let him tilt your head back and when his tongue darts out to swipe against your bottom lip, you part your lips for him. He doesn’t have to knock your knees apart, because you spread them just enough for him to slot his hips between them to keep your bodies flush. He wonders if you can feel how clunky his movements are—his fingers still feel heavy against your face and he can hardly hold himself up above you. He hopes he’s not crushing you with his weight, he might be, but you don’t seem to care. 

He pulls back to ask if you’re okay with this but you chase his lips and he lets out a soft, muffled noise when you tug gently at his bottom lip and bring your free hand up to cup the back of his head, fingers tangling with his hair, pulling him back down to you. You drag your lips from his to slide them down his neck to the edge of his bandages. He twitches a bit at the feeling, wondering if you’re going to ask to take them off, but instead, you just trail your lips back upward, nipping at his jaw, and he shudders.

And then he finally hesitates, pulling away and not letting you chase after this time. He weighs his options in his head anxiously. He feels like he should do something, that he owes something—a lowering of a mask, a show of vulnerability, you’re entitled to at least that much after everything he’s done. Aren't you?

You give him a curious look and he tries to respond—he does, his lips part for him to speak but nothing leaves them. He swallows thickly, eyes fluttering shut as he braces himself before trying again, bringing one of his hands to yours and wrapping his fingers around it gently, lifting it from his chest to the bandages covering the left side of his face.

“Take them off,” he tells you, voice hoarse and shakier than he would have liked.

Your eyes widen, and he shudders a bit when your fingers smooth against the bandages, uncertain. “Are you sure?” you ask him softly, bringing your other hand to his opposite cheek, cupping his face in your hands again, eyes searching to make sure he means it.

Is he sure? Dazai doesn’t know. He can’t speak again as he stares down at you; a part of him is nervous, and he doesn’t even understand why. You already know who he is, what he is, but a part of him still fears that once you actually see him, something will change. And it’s ridiculous, so many other universes you’ve seen him without his bandages and you’ve never made him feel uncomfortable about it. But you’ve also never used his surname against him during an argument in the other universes, you’ve never regretted loving him, and you’ve certainly never wished you could leave him. 

So, yeah, he thinks the anxiety of you removing his bandages and then seeing him in a different light might be more of a possibility in this universe than any other one. His body is more covered in scars than not, and he knows it’s not attractive; he thinks if he sees your expression shift in a negative way when the bandages come off, it might shatter him entirely.

Just the face bandages then, he bargains with himself, swallowing thickly as he forces himself to nod. You sit up from where you’re still laying back against the tiles, propping yourself on your knees to shift closer to him. 

Dazai thinks his heart might be in his throat when he feels your fingers unclip the clasp holding the bandages together around the left side of his face, eyes fluttering shut as you slowly unwind them from around his head. He isn’t sure why he’s so nervous for this part—there are no scars on his face, but he still feels distinctly vulnerable, like he’s giving you a window into himself that might reveal more than he means to. He can barely breathe as he feels the last of the bandages fall to the floor, he can hear you push them to the side. 

Still, he keeps his eyes shut, counting each second that passes. He’s anxious, can’t even bring himself to look at you until you cup his cheeks again. 

“Look at me,” you say quietly.

Dazai does as you ask, he always does. He doesn’t know what he expects when he opens his eyes to meet your gaze; he prepares himself for the worst, for a twisted expression or thinly veiled pity, but he finds none of it. Rather, your eyes are soft and fond, tracing over his face, looking between each of his. He can feel the pads of your fingers gently brushing over his cheekbones, tracing absent patterns.

“You’re so handsome, Osamu,” you whisper, one of your hands sliding behind his head, intertwining with his hair. “Why do you wear them?” 

Dazai doesn’t know how to answer that. His throat feels swollen at your words, eyes a bit misty and fingers trembling against your thighs. Instead, he breathes out, “Kiss me.”

And you do. 

God, when you kiss him again, it’s so intense that it has his head spinning. He doesn’t know how long he sits there kissing you, back against the cabinets with you half in his lap. It could be a few seconds, or a few minutes, or a few hours—he has no concept of time whenever his lips are against yours. It’s only when you press your hand against his shoulder, murmuring for him to get up, that he finally pulls himself away from you.

Dazai forces himself to push up to his feet—it’s much more difficult than he thought it would be, nearly tripping over his own feet, but you follow him up to your feet, steadying him when he almost tumbles over. You bring your hand up to rest against his cheek, fingers gently toying with the edges of his hair. He leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut for just a moment before he forces himself to look you in the eye. 

“You’re so frustrating,” you say softly, but all of the fire is gone, replaced by that same soft look you’ve directed toward him—not him—hundreds of times before. “You are so frustrating, Osamu.”

His throat feels tight again, the sound of his name on your lips causing a wave of warmth to spread through him, the numbness slowly subsiding.

“I know,” he whispers, swallowing thickly, and you sigh, gaze averting to the side for a moment before you look back at him. He still can’t fathom what you might be thinking and it scares him.

But then you kiss him again, your other hand coming up to his other cheek and his hands fly to your waist, holding you close. You walk him backward, out of the bathroom and into the hallway. His back hits the wall and you press your body close to his, and this time it’s you whose tongue is darting out to brush his bottom lip, urging him to part his lips for you. He does, and he thinks he might be in heaven when he feels your tongue dip into his mouth, sliding against his tongue. His eyes flutter shut, rolling back just a bit when you trace the back of his teeth with your tongue before sucking gently on his bottom lip.

Your hands slide down from his face to his chest, over his jacket, down to his waist. Your fingers hook in his belt loops and Dazai groans as your lips ghost from his down to his jaw, breath shaky as trail slow, wet kisses to the sensitive spot behind his ear. He can hardly do anything but follow along as you guide him from where he’s been backed against the wall into his bedroom, dazed and entirely consumed by your touch. His head already feels a bit fuzzy, breath hitching as your teeth graze his pulse point, kissing down to the edge of his bandages and then across his throat.

He barely even knows where he is until he feels the back of his knees hit his bed and he topples backward until he’s laying flat on it. His chest is heaving, head dizzy and breath shaky as you straddle his waist. You don’t kiss him again and Dazai wants to drag you down for another but he can’t even bring himself to move. His body refuses to cooperate, nervous that he’s going to make the wrong move.

“Do you want this?” you finally ask after a moment, voice raspy as one of your hands squeeze his gently, as if to get his attention. 

Dazai’s brows furrow a bit, lips parting to respond but for a second, no words leave them. You wait with the patience of a saint as Dazai tries to process what you’re asking and respond to it. After what feels like an eternity, he nods once. Of course, he wants it. You search his eyes as if to make sure he’s not just agreeing to agree, and once you’re satisfied, you continue you with: 

“And do you trust me?” you ask softly, your gaze gentle as it searches his face for the next answer.

Dazai doesn’t hesitate this time, and he speaks as he breathes out, “With everything.”

He can’t tell what you’re thinking, but your expression is still soft and your touch is still gentle as you run your thumb over his knuckles. Dazai doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the gentleness you show him. You lift your hand to cup his cheek and he leans into your touch, throat spasming beneath his bandages as he waits for you to say something. 

“Let me take the lead then,” you say quietly, his eyes widen a bit at your words. “I want to try something.”

He watches you carefully for a moment, guarded and studying you. He thinks this might be another first, and the thought alone makes him feel a bit giddy because he can’t recall any other life where you’ve ever been the one to take the lead like this, especially the first time the two of you sleep together. You look a bit anxious the longer he goes without responding, so he nods and says, “Okay.”

He’s pliant beneath your touch as you lean down to press your lips against his; he lets out a soft, muffled noise when he feels your hips shift, unintentionally grinding down a bit on his straining cock. He’s more hesitant this time in the way his lips move against yours, unsure of what to do with himself. His fingers twitch from where they're resting on the bed, itching to grab your hips but not wanting to make the wrong move.

This has happened every time one of you tries to take the next step, either he gets interrupted or he ends up getting cold feet because he’s scared of doing the wrong thing and making you uncomfortable. And it’s ridiculous because Dazai has so many memories, he should know at least vaguely what you like and what you don’t like but he thinks having the memories are a double-edged sword because he overwhelms himself if what ifs: what if he assumes you like something and you end up not liking it in this universe, what if he does something that you only liked after the two of you have been together for a while and you’re uncomfortable with him doing it because you’re not as comfortable with him. Maybe Dazai is just overthinking it all but how can he not when you’re involved. He wants everything to be perfect for you. 

“Is this okay?” you whisper, separating your lips from his just enough for him to answer your question. Your breath mingles with his and Dazai can hardly think straight; it’s hot, dizzying, there’s something so intimate about it that it makes his body fuzzy.

“Yeah,” he says, eyelashes fluttering as he looks up at you. “It’s okay.”

You kiss him again. His lips move against yours desperately, needy, he’d be embarrassed if you weren’t matching his energy, but you are. He can feel your fingers tugging at his hair, your hips grinding down against his. Every time you start to pull away, he lifts his head from where it’s laying flush against the pillows, chasing your lips. 

He needs you. His hands slide from your thighs to your waist, keeping your body pressed to his. He’s needed you since the day he came in contact with the Book and learned about you, since the day he met you at the club, maybe even since the day he was born even if he hadn’t known it at the time. He thinks his entire life has led to this, to the two of you being together; your souls have been entangled since the moment you were born and he isn’t sure how he ever thought a life without you was possible. 

“I need you,” he gasps against your lips, hips jerking up just a bit to try to alleviate the pressure building in his lower abdomen, desperate to reach down and unbutton his slacks, but wanting you to make the first move.

Whatever nerves that have made him get cold feet all of the other times the two of you have tried to take the next stop are long gone. You don’t give him any time to wonder if he’s doing the wrong thing—the fingers of one of your hands intertwining with his dark locks, just tight enough to make him hiss into your mouth, eyes rolling back at the pleasant sting. Your other hand slides across his chest, even through his dress shirt, your fingertips seem to scorch through to his skin, leaving his body tingling everywhere you touch.

“You have me,” you tell him, breathless, and Dazai can’t bite back the noise that slips from his lips, wanton and obscene, borderline pornographic—if he was any more coherent, he might be embarrassed but he can’t find it in him. Not when he’s finally getting what he’s wanted after all of this time. 

His hands fly down to his slacks, he fumbles with the button and zipper before yanking them down just enough to free his cock and he watches as you sit back on his thighs, eyes wide and lips parted as your gaze focuses in on his cock, watching as the leaking precum dribbles down his length, alongside the vein running along the underside of his cock. 

“Please,” he breathes out, fingers biting into your thighs as he bunches your dress up to your hips, another low moan spilling from his lips just at the thought of what’s about to happen, lashes fluttering.

You don’t even take off your panties, clearly driven by the same desperation that he is as you slide them to the side and position yourself above his cock and Dazai gnaws at his bottom lip when he feels the tip pressing against your entrance. He can feel how wet you are already, so drenched that your slick is dripping down the length of his cock. His hips stutter up instinctively, but instead of pushing inside, his cock slides between your folds and he whimpers, arm flying to cover the lower half of his face. You don’t let him, fingers wrapping around his wrist to pull his arm from his face and pin it to the mattress above him.

“Don’t hide yourself,” you say softly.

Dazai thinks there must be stars in his eyes as he looks up at you. You’re so beautiful, lips parted as you pant softly, an adoring expression on your face as you look down at him. He loves you. He loves you, god, he loves you more than he’s ever loved anything in his life; he thinks that nothing the other Dazais ever felt for any of the other yous could ever compare to how he feels for you.

When his tip starts to push into your tight hole, all he can let out is another loud, lewd noise; his head falls back against the pillows. His ears are ringing, but distantly, he can hear you gasp. His vision is blurry as he forces himself to look up at you but Dazai thinks you look otherworldly with your head tilted back as his cock starts to stretch you out, lips swollen and wet from the kisses you’d shared. He thinks he must look insane, pupils blown wide and eyes wild as he tries to focus on the sight of you. All of the clever wheels that usually turn within his mind are crumbling.

His fingertips leave crescents in your thighs as you sink down on his cock slowly—too slow, it leaves his head dizzy as your warmth slowly envelops his length. He’s imagined this so many times before. Dozens. Hundreds. He has so many memories of the feeling of your body flush to his, thighs over his shoulders as he fucks you deep and slow, swallowing your moans, but he thinks that nothing compares to this, the sight of you above him, watching your body tremble and face shift as his cock stretches you out. He barely refrains from letting out a string of strangled curses, barely able to hold his eyes open to watch you. 

You give yourself a moment to adjust, and when you do, you look down at Dazai. He thinks he must look a mess—chest heaving, breath erratic, eyes heavy and lidded and entirely glazed over—but he doesn’t care, not with the way your hand slides up his abdomen, fingers tracing patterns along the bandages covering his body. You look beautiful—you always look beautiful—but you look extra beautiful right now, and he thinks he could stare at you forever and never tire of it. 

Experimentally, you roll your hips—it’s still slow, agonizingly slow—and Dazai throws his head back, another obscene moan spilling from  his lips.

“Fuck,” he gasps, his fingers falling from your thighs to twist the sheets below him, knuckles white. “Feels so good. So good.”

You let out a hum that’s caught between a moan and agreement as you continue the slow rolls of your hips, hands sliding up and down his abdomen in a way that’s deceptively innocent and soothing compared to how his cock is dragging along your walls. His body shudders at the feeling of it, heat pooling in his abdomen so quickly that it has his whole body tensing as he tries to push it away. 

“You’re so perfect.” Words spill from his lips, more of a babble than anything else as you lean down to ghost your lips over his jaw, nibbling over the bandages covering his Adam’s apple. It bobs beneath your teeth as he lets out another shaky noise. “S’like you’re made for me. I’d do anything for you. Anything. You know that, right? Anything you want, it’s yours.”

He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, clawing at the sheets and occasionally reaching for your thighs, and he doesn’t know what to do with his body, hips jerking up at an erratic pace, like he’s trying to meet your pace but his body simply can’t match the slow rolls of your hips, desperate for more. He doesn’t know how you’re so put together—maybe you’re not, he can see through a blurry vision how your lashes are fluttering with each roll of your hips, breath shaky, but you’re just not as far gone as he already is.

“Anything?” you murmur, and he can feel your lips curve up against his neck.

“Anything.” His breath hitches, fingers reaching for your hips as he rocks his up into you, a desperate attempt to get you to pick up the pace. “‘d give you the whole world, burn it for you, anything you want, I’d give it to you.”

His hands slide up from your thighs to your waist as you lean down to press your lips against his in a deceptively innocent kiss. He tries to chase your lips as you straighten up but you don’t let him, one of your hands curling around his throat—not choking him, but firm enough that it goes right to his cock, lips parting in a silent moan—while the other braces back on his thigh.

He thinks that nothing could have prepared him for the feeling of you picking up the pace. His breath hitches, he chokes over a moan, stars sparkle in his vision as the tip of his cock presses deep inside of you. You sigh out his name and Dazai thinks this might be the closest he ever gets to heaven: you on top of him, cock buried to the hilt in your cunt, the sight of your blissed out face above him as his head spins. 

“Oh, fuck,” Dazai cries out, back arching and hand flying to cover his face again but the hand you have on his thigh flies forward to snatch his wrist before he can, pinning it back above his head. Dazai’s eyes roll back, you’re leaning over him entirely now, leaning most of your weight on the hand that’s pinning his wrist but the new angle adds pressure onto how you’re squeezing his neck, paring his airways just enough to make his lungs burn. “More. Faster, fuck, I-ah-”

His voice falls off into another moan, head falling to the side to press his cheek against the pillow. He thinks drool is starting to pool at the corner of his lips but he doesn’t care, he can’t even think at this point, too lost in the lewd sound of skin-on-skin, the sloppiness of his cock fucking deep in your cunt, your soft moans and gasps, lost in the feeling of your tight walls clamping down on his cock, the warmth, the wetness, your fingers digging into his wrist and the sides of his neck. He wants to tell you that he needs more but the words are garbled, entirely unintelligible. 

He forces his eyes back open, feeling the tears spilling over his cheeks just from the intensity of it all, the intensity of you. You’re gentle with him even when your hand is wrapped around his throat and his cock is splitting you open—he can feel the soothing circles you rub with your thumb, he can see the way you’re searching his face to make sure he’s okay. Dazai is just so overwhelmed that he can’t stop the way his next moan breaks into a sob; acutely realizing just how deprived he’d been of any type of care or love before meeting you, and forcibly coming to terms with the fact that he is never going to be able to go without this again, without you again. He’d known it to some extent before this, the thought of losing you and the light you bring him has made his stomach churn violently but this…

He’s torn from his thoughts when you suddenly stop the rolls of your hips, halting the spreading heat in his lower abdomen desperately. The noise that escapes him is something caught between distress and betrayal, dark eyes wide as he looks up at you questioningly, but the expression on your face makes his breath catch. Your hand slides up from his throat to cup his cheek, your other hand releasing his wrist so that you can hold his face between your hands, thumbs wiping away the tears spilling over his cheeks.

Distantly, Dazai recognizes that he’s still choking over sobs and that’s probably why you’ve stopped and that only rips his chest apart more because of course, you’re still putting him above you—even when you’re mad, even when you’ve just fought, when he’s betrayed you in a way that should be unforgivable, you’re still kissing away his tears and putting aside your own needs to take care of him

He doesn’t deserve you. Not in any universe, but especially not in this one.

He thinks he could stay here for eternity. Fuck the rest of the world. Fuck the Port Mafia. Fuck his plan. He just wants to stay here with you, your lips brushing his, sharing the same sliver of air. He leans into your touch, groaning against your lips when he feels your walls spasm around him.

“You’re beautiful,” he breathes out, unsure if you can even understand him. “You’re so-”

His words fall off into another moan, and he can’t control his hips as they thrust up sharply against yours, another string of incoherent curses escaping his hips as your breath catches and you straighten back up, head falling back as you gasp his name.

Your nails dig crescents into his upper thighs through his bandages as you brace yourself back against them. You move your hips again—faster, this time, harder, and Dazai thinks his head is in the clouds. He’s so deep inside of you that he can feel everything, jaw falling slack as heat spreads through his body too rapidly for him to get control over. He wants to throw a hand over his mouth to muffle the lewd, pitched moans spilling from his lips but he can’t drag his hands from where they’re clawing at your hips, desperately trying to help you meet him with each thrust.

“I-hah-shit, I’m gonna-fuck-”

He slurs out your name and several obscenities, trying to warn you that he’s going to cum when he feels his cock twitching inside of you and his abdomen tensing, but you only lean down to press a lingering kiss to the corner of his lips and Dazai is gone. He wants to watch you, he tries, but he can’t hold his eyes open, they’re half-rolled back as he chokes over moans of your name, hips stilling as he cums deep inside of you. His body twitches, expression twisted as he presses his head so hard into the pillow that he thinks he might permanently indent it. 

His head is spinning, lungs burning, sweat beading at his forehead and hair matted to his face—he thinks he’s never cum so hard in his entire life; all of the nights he spent alone, desperately trying to fuck his hand to the thought of you in attempts to mimic how you’ve made all the other Dazais feel, to give himself some semblance of the pleasure you’ve brought him in other lives to hold him over on particularly lonely nights, they’ve never felt like this.

You don’t stop, even as he squirms and lets out jumbled pleas beneath you, body shuddering at the overstimulation but you’re too lost in chasing your own high now. He spasms beneath you, nails digging into your thigh as you fuck his cum deeper inside of you, bouncing on his cock desperately. He doesn’t care that the sensitivity is pushing his body to the brink, letting you use him however you want if it means he gets to see you like this. 

Dazai’s head feels light, pins and needles pricking his body—he thinks he might pass out but he forces himself to hold on, enraptured by the sight of you on top of him with your eyes half-rolled back, lips parted and throat bared to him. Your tits are half-spilling out over the low-cut of your dress and Dazai thinks you’re fucking divine. The only holy thing in this godless world. He wants to spend the rest of his life worshiping you.

“I’m gonna-” you gasp, head falling backward as one final roll of your hips that has your clit grinding against his pelvic bone sends you spiraling over the edge. 

Dazai wants to sear the image of you behind his eyelids, watching as your nails drag against his thighs, drawing red lines even through the bandages, back arching, head tossed back—your body is trembling violently as you cum on his cock, expression twisted and entirely blissed out, sobbing over his name. He chokes and gasps at the feeling of your cunt tightening around his sensitive cock again, jaw tight and spots dancing in his vision as he’s so abruptly pushed over the edge a second time, the coil in his abdomen tightening and snapping all within the span of a few seconds.

He’s still reeling when he feels you slump forward onto his chest, burying your face in the crook of his neck, shivering in the aftershocks of your orgasm. He’s only half aware as he instinctively brings his hands up to rest on your hips, rubbing soft circles of your hip bones to try to soothe you. 

He shudders when you press a kiss to his neck right at the edge of his bandages, and then tilt your head up to press another on his jaw. One of your hands comes up to caress the back of his head, fingers carding through the dark locks in a way that has his eyes drooping shut. 

“We’re not done with this conversation,” you finally say after a few moments of silence, voice soft, breaking the silence. Dazai stiffens a bit, lips parting to respond but no words leave them. “... but let’s just lay like this for a while first, okay?”

He lets out a shaky breath, still not entirely convinced that he’s not going to lose you, so he lets his eyes flutter shut as he nods. He may as well bask in this for as long as he can, and if you notice the way his fingers dig just a little deeper into your skin after your words process, you don’t mention it. 

“Yeah,” he murmurs, “okay.”

Dazai wakes up the next morning and you’re nowhere to be seen. The bed is frighteningly cold next to him and his heart is instantly in his throat. He doesn’t waste a second before he’s sitting up in bed, looking around, eyes wild and heart racing. He doesn’t settle down, not until his eyes fall upon where you’re sitting curled up on the chair of the desk he never uses, eyes trained on the dark clouds outside the window, the beauty of the sunrise wilted by a morning storm.

“His intention was to make me leave you.” You’re not looking at him, but you must have heard him sit up. “Fyodor Dostoevsky. The things he told me, they were to make me leave you.”

Dazai doesn’t move an inch, throat swelling. He forces himself to ask, “What did he tell you?”

He isn’t sure if he wants to know.

“It doesn’t matter,” you say—Dazai thinks that it definitely does, but he bites back the questions that rise to his tongue because you’re clearly not about to budge on your answer. “Who is he?”

“A monster,” Dazai bites out, bitterness seeping into his tone as he leans back against the headboard, eyes still trained on where you’re curled on his chair, gaze distant. “You have to stay away from him.”

“Well, I didn’t intend on seeking him out,” you say it so dryly that Dazai nearly finds humor in it. Nearly. The smile that rises to his lips is mirthless at best. You turn to look at him, finally, and Dazai finds only cool indifference on your face; the fondness, the softness, the gentleness from last night are all gone. He wonders if you regret it, but he doesn’t let that thought linger, it’ll only make him sick. “... He doesn’t seem like the type to give up.”

“He never is,” Dazai murmurs, ignoring the brief, questioning look you direct toward him, mind drifting off to all of the Russian’s incessant attempts to take you from him in all of the other universes. “Did he tell you what his plan was?”

Dazai doubts it, but maybe there was something he said to you that shed some light to it.

“He didn’t have to,” you say quietly. “He wants Yokohama, for whatever reason—couldn’t figure that out, I think he’s looking for something—and clearly, he has to get through you to get it. He thinks the best way of getting through you is by taking me away from you first. That’s what I’d gathered from how he was talking at least, what he was saying about you, the way he was phrasing it. I’d put together enough on my own during the night to fill in the blanks. He told me things about what you’d done as… what you’d done as boss of the Port Mafia—things you’ve done to enemies… to allies. He told me that I’d see the real you as soon as you realize that the meeting he set up was a farce; that the mask you put up would crumble and I would see you for the demon that you are.”

Dazai doesn’t respond, jaw tight as he averts his gaze to the window—he’d played right into Dostoevsky’s hands. He can hardly bring himself to look at you; he wonders if you do see him differently now that the cloud from the night before has worn off, but he can’t bring himself to ask. Now’s not the time anyway, there are more pressing matters.

“... He’ll come after me again, won’t he?” you ask quietly. “Getting me to leave you willingly didn’t work. If he’s so set on me being the trigger to your downfall, then he’ll come after me again.”

He would. As he always has. Of course, Dostoevsky would try to get to him through you, he’s tried it in every universe, and Dazai hadn’t been careful enough. He hadn’t been smart enough. He’d known this was going to happen and was still arrogant enough to believe he could somehow prevent it. He was a fool, and he was a fool at the cost of your safety. He doesn’t know how to respond to you, he doesn’t want to confirm your suspicions, he doesn’t want to admit that this is all his fault, that he knew this would happen and was selfish enough to pursue you anyway.

“... I’m scared, Osamu,” you finally say quietly, and you suddenly look a lot smaller from where you’re sitting on his desk chair, hunched over with your knees tucked to your chest. “I’m really scared.”

Dazai’s heart claws up to his throat and he pushes himself out of bed, still dressed haphazardly in his suit from the night before. He makes his way over to you and kneels in front of you, hands curling around your ankles as he looks up at you.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he tells you, voice a bit more raspier than he intended for it to come across as. “I don’t care what I have to do to ensure it, how low I have to stoop. I will not let anything happen to you, do you understand?”

Your eyes meet his, and he can’t help but notice that doubt still riddles your gaze as you search his face, as if you want to believe him but can’t bring yourself to. A pit starts to grow in his stomach, wide and gaping as he realizes that this is all really about to happen, and one mistake on his part could lead you to the same fate you’ve met in so many other worlds because of him.

Finally, the doubt slowly clears as you let out a soft breath, nodding, and Dazai inhales sharply, laying his forehead against your shin as he lets his eyes slide shut.

He won’t let it happen. Not again. 

again there was NO plot development in the smut - you guys didn't miss out on anything, pinky swear. i restructured the scene to fit the only notable scene (bandage removal) into the part before the smut, so if that felt a little forced, that was why </3 it wasn't supposed to be there. i was struggling trying to figure out how to move it upward a bit. the only arguable "plot" development was dazai letting go of his control freakiness to let her take the lead

[permanentswaps]

Breaking Eric's Trust - A Year On

Read Part 1, written by vice versa swaps, here.

Read Part 2, written by me, here.

A year has passed since Will and I made the decision to permanently stay swapped, and I've never been happier. It's like living a dream every day, waking up in this body that is this sexy and feels like it was tailor-made for me.

A few weeks after Will and I made our choice to stay in our new bodies, news broke that the body swap lab had shut down. Apparently, there were people refusing refused to swap back, leaving their partners stranded in their old bodies. I guess the police had to intervene in some cases, to force them to switch back. Thank god Will didn’t feel that way and we avoided that whole mess. Looking back on it, I don’t think there’s any world in which I would have given up this perfect face and these perfect pecks.

When I heard about the lab's closure, I couldn't help but smirk as I looked at myself in the mirror. I immediately took out my phone and began recording a video to send to Will. Slowly playing with my waistband, I quickly whipped out my cock and begain stroking. As I stroked with my right hand, I began feeling up my chest with my left hand and said in a low voice,

“Unghhh, yeah. you like that Will? Regretting your choice to abandon this sexy body yet? Too bad, lab’s shut down and I am officially going to be Bryce LaMontagne forever.”

I picked up the pace, making direct eye contact with the camera as I shot my hot, young spunk all across my phone. Licking it off slowly, I then hit send.

Months passed, and I started university, moving in with Eric. To his surprise I decided to pursue a studio art degree. Although he knew about my fellowship, I think he thought that it was more just to keep busy. That said, I really seemed to be excelling and my professors told me that I had the makings of a real artists. But I also took up a double major in business, drawing on my past experience as an accountant, just to be safe.

Living with Eric again has been fantastic – we’ve grown as close as brothers. Sometimes, I hardly remember that he used to be my son. We often find ourselves hanging out and talking late most nights. Together, we've also been hitting the gym hard, sculpting our bodies and enjoying the attention it brings.

Eric's found himself a stunning girlfriend, which is no surprise considering how much effort he puts into his physique. And as for me, well, let's just say I've become quite the catch on campus. Although Eric gives me shit for it, I have a rotating door of guys coming to our apartment to pound me. And how could they not with an ass like this. That said, all of those guys still pale in comparison to the fucking that I used to get from Will. Maybe its just that I can fantasize about having stolen his sexy body from him or something, but I haven’t shot my load like that with anyone else since. And although we promised to link up from time to time, we haven’t been together since that fateful day a year ago. Regardless, I still make sure to flaunt my body when Will comes to town, and lately, I have been openly flirting with him in front of Eric. While Eric has given me some strange looks, I think I'm making some headway in gaining his approval. I can only hope that one day he trusts me enough to be able to fuck his dad guilt free.

[s1m0nth3swag]

More milkman x reader smut but can you do chubby reader?? Please

Yes ofc!

As a chubby guy myself, none of my stories are ever written with a certain body type in mind, BUT obviously, I'm gonna write smth when requested so yeah!

Also I hope its okay that I brought body issues into this because I just think it fit the situation and the idea I had was just immediately "Francis would just be the absolute sweetest when making sure his partner loved themselves as much as he loves them".

Thanks so much for the request, anon!

WARNINGS/ CONTENT INFO; Smut, more soft, GN!Reader, Chubby Reader, Francis being just a tiny bit obsessed, established relationship, mentions of insecurity/ body image issues, Francis being a sweetheart and showing Reader that he loves them no matter what ♡♡

NSFW UNDER THE CUT!!

Nothing annoyed you more than the days when you would feel like you didn't look good. You stared at the mirror, looking at your body with slight disgust and disappointment. You felt like you were too big in all the wrong places, and you can't help but hate yourself for it. You should work out, eat less, all that. Instead, you threw on a wide hoodie - one that belonged to your boyfriend Francis, hid your legs with loose fitting pants, and snuggled up on the couch, determined to ignore the thoughts you were having.

Francis was at work, so you were alone, and honestly, that wasn't helping one bit. You knew he'd help you, he always said that he loved you no matter what, not for your body but your soul, or something like that, but right now you doubted his words a little.

Once Francis returned, he found you on the couch still. You were focused on some random show you had put on to distract yourself, but he noticed the way you hugged your body uncomfortably. "You okay, love?" He asked, walking over and sitting down on the couch beside you. You nodded solemnly but didn't look at him. He immediately knew what was going on. He sighed, wrapped his arms around you, and pulled you onto his lap, cradling you softly. He placed kisses on your cheeks and neck, murmuring softly. "You know I love you, baby.. you're the absolute most perfect being on the planet for me." He tells you, but your insecurities have long taken over. You cling to him desperately, and even though deep down you knew he wasn't lying, you didn't fully trust his words.

After a few minutes of sitting together, Francis telling you that he loved you and peppering your face with kisses, he softly picked you up and carried you to the bedroom - for a simple milkman, Francis was stronger than he looked.

He muttered something along the lines of showing you that he was being honest before pulling the hoodie off of you. You protested, tried to keep the fabric covering your body, but Francis wouldn't let you. He didn't even give you the chance to say something. Instead, he held your hands over your head and placed soft kisses all over your upper body. He paid special attention to the areas he knew you hated most, muttering praises in between each kiss. You were a flustered mess, and though the feelings about your body didn't magically disappear, they definitely weren't your main focus anymore. The way Francis' lips felt against your now feverish skin was almost heavenly, and you swore he was probably an angel sent to you by God just to help you through life. It would explain a lot, actually.

Your boyfriend took his sweet time with you. He didn't pull off your pants before he was 100% sure that you didn't think about your body type anymore. Soft kisses against your thighs, his hand ghosting over the hem of your underwear as you practically begged him to finally take them off. "Promise you aren't thinking lowly of yourself anymore?" He hummed, grinning against your skin. You whined, pouting. "I promise, jus'.. please..?" You muttered, feeling your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. "Wouldn't be able to deny you any longer anyway." Francis chuckles, sliding your underwear down slowly, making you squirm impatiently. You hated that he was still fully clothed, so you did your best to tug at his shirt, mumbling something about unfairness. "Always so needy.." Your boyfriend hummed, but he gave in to your request, his shirt hitting the ground, his pants following soon after. The only thing separating the two of you were now his boxers - and of course, Francis had to be a dick about taking them off.

"You're so stunning... Do you know that baby?" He purred. "Tell me you know that." His hands slid over your thighs, squeezing lightly as he patiently waits for you to repeat his words. You wanted to protest, but at the same time, you knew he wouldn't let you get off easily. "I know.." You mumble, looking away from him. "Ah-ah. Look at me. Be honest." Francis smiles, placing a kiss against your thigh. You grumbled, looked at him, and repeated your words a little more strongly. "There you go." He hummed in answer, leaning up to press a kiss against your lips.

Francis made a point of giving you praise after every thrust. He refused to go faster since he wanted to make sure you fully understood. It didn't seem to bother him that you almost cried while begging him to move faster. He just kept dragging his hips slowly, mumbling a praise with a shaky voice and pressing kisses onto your cheeks or lips. While sure, it was really sweet, you couldn't help but genuinely want him to be a little rougher. You knew this was soft torture for him as well, since you could feel him twitch inside you, eager to chase after release. Francis only gave in after he had made sure that you knew he really wasn't playing around. He loved you. He didn't want you to feel bad about yourself just because of the way your body looked. You were more than attractive to him, after all.

You whined when he finally thrust into you properly, clenching around him as you gripped onto his back harshly. Francis let out a soft groan, snuggling his face against your neck as he finally allowed both of you to reach the high you had been begging for - and he had denied himself just to make sure you were focused. He didn't even care when he came inside you, too lazy to pull out in time as he pressed wet kisses against your neck.

"Promise you believe me, sweetheart?" He hums, resting against you. "Promise. For now." You chuckled, slightly tired after all that. Francis sighs and pouts, looking at you sternly. "Do I need to start all over again?" He asks, smiling as you shake your head and kiss him. "Just cuddling will do." You mumble against his lips.