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crushmeeren · 2 months ago

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in love with these boys

if you love me right then who knows? ✧.*

bnha various x pop star! reader

ya! pro-hero characters (teacher! izuku for his section), a little nsfw but mostly cute/fluff headcanons, as always please read responsibly🤍 i love you ms carpenter

song (album, technically): short n’ sweet

KATSUKI BAKUGOU

- katsuki at the height of his career, may possibly be the most famous person in the country. men and women alike adore him, and its rare he can go out without cameras in his face and people asking for autographs. he, of course, doesn’t filter any of his annoyance. his pr team works overtime for him. he’s learned that being famous is fickle and fleeting. he’s made up his mind that if the world only gives him 15 minutes, he’d light it up so bright no one could forget it. its who he is ˗ˏˋ ´ˎ˗

- he’s already very popular. so when the news of pro-hero dynamite and rising star [y/n] [l/n] had allegedly begun seeing each other? they freak out. ��

- he doesn’t bother to hide it, anyway. you meet at some fancy gala. you’re both there for publicity, and by the time you run into him, he’s ready to go home. but there’s something about your voice, the way everyone seems to adore you, that reels him in. somehow, he finds himself in your good graces, and now he’s thought of you every night since then.

- before you, he’d only listen to hard rock, and was kind of an asshole about it. that doesn’t change, but now when he hits shuffle one of your glittery girly songs will play. and yes, he listens all the way through. ꕥ

- theres video compilations of him bringing you up during interviews. its second nature to him, being wrapped around your finger. but he’s also quick to bite anyone who even thinks of talking bad about you. he’s yours, and wants the whole world to know it. he’d never admit this, but he’s scared of messing up. he doesn’t want to give you reasons to him, or to be a motherfucker that embarrasses you. if he can help out, he never wants to be the reason for your next breakup album.

- he’s your biggest supporter. he often gets fed up with the paparazzi and their invasiveness, especially when all he wants to do is watch his partner perform. however, he has a soft spot for your fans, the ones who have supported you and gotten you all the love you deserve. he claims friendship bracelets and hats are dumb but doesn’t hesitate to receive bracelets your fans make at concerts. most of the time, its brightly coloured beads with song lyrics or little inside jokes from your fandom. he once got a bracelet that was dynamite-themed and he keeps it on his dresser. he loves being accepted by you and the people that love you.

- he has 100 reasons to be cocky, and the fact that theres songs you’ve written about him is one of them. you’re out here singing about good bed chem and making tongue paintings and everyone knows he’s what inspired it. makes sense when you look at him.

- oh, and speaking of concerts? he can’t be there every time- hero work is demanding- but for you? he’s flexible. watching you perform makes his entire week. he’ll watch from the wings, nodding along with the beat, his heart swelling when he hears you belt and hold the note. the best part is what the audience doesn’t get to see- him catching you as you run to him, kissing your head and spinning you around, telling you how proud he is.

“i’m glad you made it.” you gleam, almost forgetting to turn your mic off so no one else gets to hear. he wipes a little sweat off your head, almost a little envious at how good you can look after a 2 hour show.

“of course, idiot.” he smirks. “wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

- that night, he gives you 8 inches and 3 new song ideas ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

SHOUTO TODOROKI

- fun fact: shouto is voted most handsome pro-hero of the year, right after hawks ᢉ𐭩

- despite his massive popularity, he’s the most private on this list. he knows what its like to have to smile for the cameras, to keep things looking neat and pretty, all for an act. so as much as possible, he tries to keep the good in his life to himself. he’s never seen an ugly truth that couldn’t be bent into something that looks better.

- he worries he’s making it hard for you to love him. you’re always patient, saying you can take it, that you also want something very private. but god, do you make it hard for him. even when the rumours of your relationship swirl, he’s tempted to just come out and confirm it so he doesn’t have to feel the uncertainty.

- all of his worries wash away, however, when he hears lyrics about him. it makes his heart ache, even when it’s something simple, that you want him to miss you or want him to think of you when he holds someone else (not that he’d be holding anyone other than you). people can speculate who you’re writing about, but its little gift to him that he’s privy to it.

- he will not miss a single award show with you. because you two are so private, the fans go crazy or even small interactions between you two. theres grainy footage of you two talking and holding hands with everyone crashing out in the comment section (😭)

- his siblings loveeeeee your music. them, living more normal, less famous lives, have the privilege of seeing your concerts without being bothered or questioned. fuyumi streams your album’s religiously and drags natsuo and his girlfriend along as well. you tossed her a guitarl pick once and she hasn’t emotionally recovered from it, let alone the fact that her little brother is dating you ৻ꪆ

- he takes it as a blessing everyday that he gets to see your process. he specifically loves creating album covers with you. you asked him if, hypothetically, he wanted to be on the cover for the deluxe version and he blanked out. you have to remind him that he’s literally the entire package, that he fits perfectly, and that you can’t resist that face of his, and that you both arrive at the same time.

- like katsuki, he also enjoys attending your concerts. he happily embraces you, knowing that while the audience got you for an entire show, he gets to have you for as long as you’ll love him. he makes sure to hold you on his right side in case you’re overheating from the performance.

“here, let me grab these for you.” he says, helping you undo your performance outfits, unzipping the chunky glitters and fluorescent fabrics. he thinks that there isn’t a single colour that looks bad on you, but can’t imagine what its like to wear these for hours at a time.

“thanks, shouto.” you hum happily, already looking at the tweets.

[randomfan1]: guys i swear i saw shouto at [y/n]’s show tonight

IZUKU MIDORIYA

- unlike the other two on this list, he’s not famous. he’s spent a few years now teaching, and its a job he’s learned to love. its humble, and quiet, but he can’t help but feel like some part of it is missing. he started to entertain the idea that he’d end this life alone.

- he meets you at a party. you’re a friend of a friend, and he still can’t believe that he has a real, breathing famous singer in front of him. not only that, but you notice him in a room of other celebrities. he was bound to fall for you the moment your eyes made contact.

- much like shouto, he keeps it private. even if he did, he wouldn’t have very many people to tell. his friends were the reason he even met you. his mom adores you. who does that leave, his students? he’s humble, even when he’s dating the most gorgeous and talented person to ever breathe.

- he loves being in the studio with you. it started out with just little sessions, kissing while talking, watching you tune your guitar and play little notes on your piano. then he became the first person to hear your demos and rough drafts. now? he has song writing credits in your newest album ❤︎₊ ⊹

- his ideas give you so much more than just butterflies. he has this way of finishing your sentences, knowing and feeling the exact vision you had for a piece. every now and then, he’ll flick through your notebook and find verses that sound awfully familiar. he wonders if he’s the guy who’s “jacked and kind” and who “talks sweet when you’re doing bad things.” he won’t say anything at first, but he’ll nestle his head between your legs and give you more things to write about.

- he’s an empath. he knows how exhausting it is sometimes, having all your moves watched and studies and scrutinized. he sees you always acting, always trying to be beautiful, and it kills him that its such a natural part of fame. for that reason, he makes sure his apartment is a safe house for you, and that his bed is a secret oasis. he’d do anything for you. ❦.

- he attends when he has the time, standing in the crowd alongside your other fans. he always feels a rush to his cheeks when he hears you belting those lines, knowing their for him. its a secret he loves having, and one that he’d love to talk about when you’re ready. he always puts you first.

“stuck?” he asks, wrapping his arm around you, watching you as you tap your pen against the paper.

“yeah, i keep thinking of you instead of the song.” you groan, laying your head back on his bicep. he just laughs.

“i thought i inspired you?” he kisses your cheek. while normally nervous around others, you bring out the side of that’s comfortable teasing and playing with you.

“you do inspire me.” you smile. “but its not helping right now.”

he cups your face in his calloused, lips ghosting over yours. “maybe i need to give you better ideas, then.” he says, before kissing you deeply.

“yeah, maybe.”

#bnha x reader #bnha x y/n #bnha x fem!reader #bnha x self insert #bnha x you #mha x y/n #mha x you #mha x reader #katsuki bakugou x female reader #katsuki bakugou x you #ffwc.🪻

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crushmeeren · 2 months ago

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honey good god 😩 katsuki being rough when he’s tired is hitting me too hard UGH

BABY, YOU UP? 彡 Bakugou, Shoto, Dabi, Aizawa

| MDNI - 18+ | WARNINGS :: bakugou x fem!reader, hawks x fem!reader, dabi x fem!reader, x fem!reader, shoto x fem!reader, slight somnophilia!, pet names 'doll' 'baby' 'good girl' 'slut', voice kink, hair tugging, implied d/s in aizawas, praise, oral -> male recieving, possession + more? MINI ONESHOTS. total wc :: 2.7k

⋆·˚ ༘ *REQUEST :: Could you please write a headcannon about you wake the mha boys in the middle of the night because u are horny and wanna fuck but they have a mission in the morning. But reader is being a needy slut and they cant resist her. (pls with dabi,katsuki,Aizawa and maybe shoto or anyone you like). Could u please write is very nsfw/suggestive👉👈🙂‍↔️Thaaank u so muuch! - @carokitten

DABI

This man is knocked out, when he says he is going to sleep, he is going to sleep and not waking up unless it's important. What's important right now for him? Waking up for his mission tomorrow which (to him) is an ungodly time in the morning (7am). What's important to you? Quenching that heat that's blooming in your lower abdomen as you had just woken up from a particularly nasty dream with Dabi. He's dead asleep—sprawled shirtless, half the blanket kicked off, scarred chest rising and falling steadily.

You couldn't help yourself crawl over him, straddling his waist, kissing his neck and tugging at his pants, whispering, "Please, Dabi... I need you."

He groans, cracking one eye open with a lazy smirk. "You’re fuckin’ serious right now, doll? Got a raid at 7 AM."

Your hips grind against him and your voice turns breathy, whispering, "Can’t help it… you’re so warm and I just wanna be full of you…"

His hand grabs your throat gently, lips curling up. "Tch. You’re lucky I like when you beg."

He flips you over, mouth hot on your skin. "Guess they can wait a little longer for me, huh?" And his didn't waste a second longer pulling up your black silk night gown and pulling your thong to the side, arousal connecting to the cotton. The smirk on Dabi's face deepens, "Needy slut, you are," he murmurs against your neck. "Good thing you're all mine."

All you could do was helplessly nod as a whimper spills past your lips when you feel scared hands tightly hold the backs of your thighs, pushing your legs up beside your head, folding your body into a tight mating press. It didn't take him a second longer to take his semi hard cock out. and to push it into your sopping cunt.

A loud moan emits from your throat from the sudden contact, and feeling his cock grow hard inside you, pressing immediately against that soft spot inside your cunt, making your silky walls clench tight around his length. "Fuck," you whimper, trying to squirm away but you couldn't, you were to tight under him.

Your poor body being folded in such a position this early in the morning was not ideal.. but you did ask for it, so you can't do too much complaining. "Ah ah ah," he tuts, slowly thrusting into your pussy, a lewd squelching noise sounding through your shared room. Your knees were already beginning to ache but you can't move, not until he gets off you. "You're going to take all of it, doll. Every single inch of me."

"M'kay," you mumble, whines spilling in with your words, your hair sprawled out on the bed as you could feel a coil tighten in your stomach as he continued to make an absolute mess of you.

Dabi lowers down to your trembling body, tingles were getting sent all throughout your body from the kiss, he was being so rough yet deep. The breath was stolen from your lungs every time he moaned into your own, and you had the same effect on him.

"Such a good slut," he hums against your skin, inhaling your naturally sweet scent.

"Feels s' full though, Touya," you sob. "Don't think I can anymore."

"You asked for this, so you're going to take it all."

BAKUGOU

Bakugou is out cold, his face buried in the pillow and his hair is a mess as he snores very softly, only just a little bit. While you have tried to get yourself to finish, twice, but you haven't even gotten close to how your man does it to you, your fingers don't compare to his own and you weren't going to come down from your pleasure. You weren't, not until you had your release. Katsuki has ruined that pleasure for you because now you can't even do anything yourself anymore, you need to have him help you.

You couldn't take it anymore as a frustrated whimper softly escapes your lips, pressing your bare chest against his back, hand slipping under the covers to palm him.

He jolts awake, confused as he rolls onto his back. "The fuck you doin’? It’s—" Katsuki checks the digital clock on his bedside table and he lets out a sigh. "—3 in the fuckin’ morning, baby."

Two of your fingers hook around his boxers, a pout rising on your lips as you tug gently on the cotton. "I’m sorry... I just... need you... so bad, Kats'."

His breath stutters when your fingers move from the hem, going lower, and trace his semi hard cock causing sparks to flow through his veins at your gentle touch. "You tryna kill me before this goddamn mission?" he says before letting out a deep breathy sigh, his dick fully hardened under your hand.

You were about to say something in reply before you were quickly grabbed by the hips, throws you under him, your breasts squished up against the bed and your legs spread my Katsuki's knees, leaving you completely immobile as you couldn't even attempt to squirm out the position. "Hope you’re ready to take responsibility then, baby."

If there was one thing you knew, it was that Bakugou is rougher when he's tired, less patient with you and he will not stop until you're crying out his name. And that's exactly what he was doing.

Fat, hot, tears stream from your eyes and all Bakugou could do was smirk at the sight. If you wanted to be needy and get fucked, that is exactly what he was going to give you. The only gracious thing he had done so far was putting a pillow under your hips before letting your body rest fully down on the bed. This was more so for him rather than you... he needed a good angle to fuck you good.

Bakugou's mass pressing down against your back. His abs were flush against your back, hands gripping the backs of your own, pressing them into the bed. Bakugou's breath tickled your ear and you wiggled your head at the warm sensation, your core getting wetter, your body trying to squirm away from the imposing hold that he had on you.

Bakugou's hands moved slowly, changing his grip so that one of his hands held both of you over your head, being cautious not to get your hair entangled within the movement. A content sigh leaves your mouth when Bakugou raises his body ever so slightly, trailing his free hand down the expanse of your smooth back before his fingers meet your slick entrance, filled with his cum from previous rounds.

"I'll make sure you're filled up real nice," he mutters against your ear before taking a nibble at the collagen, you let out a gasp at the sudden action.

Then you felt a heavy, throbbing tip press against your clit once more and you moaned from the small touch. You tried to squirm away from the pleasurable cause but couldn't as Bakugou knew your body more than you did yourself, he knew you were gonna try to run from his body due to the pleasure. So, he pressed his weight against you once more.

You held your breath when Bakugou sank his throbbing cock into your spongey walls, his length getting squeezed by every ridge within your soaked cunt. A moan left both of your mouths as Bakugou's length nudged the deepest spot within you.

"That's it, your cunt knows me so well," Bakugou moans, relishing in the way your walls clench him, how could he not want to cum inside, you feel so good. "Still taking me so good, baby." The praise makes your brain go fuzzy, numb from the pleasure. Yes, this is exactly what you needed.

SHOTO

If Shoto is anything, he is 100% a light sleeper, so you can't even get out some enjoyment, so the second you shift from his hold and place your hands onto his chest, he doesn't miss it, slowly he blinks open his eyes. The first thing he can register, is the lusted gaze that has coated your face and the arousal soaking his body, yours and his own.

"Is something wrong?" he asks groggily. You look up at him with flushed cheeks and teary eyes.

"No, I just… I can’t sleep. I need you so bad, Sho'…"

His breath hitches, and his hand instinctively cups your cheek. "You… want to do that right now?" You lean down closer to him, lips barely grazing his own as you nod, grinding hard against him through your panties. Moans string from your moan when you feel him grow beneath you and Shoto closes his eyes, strewn in pleasure an his thoughts about the mission he has tomorrow.

His cheeks tint a soft red as he pauses his thoughts—mission? what mission?—he thinks sarcastically as he pulls your hips down harder. Number 2 heroing can come later...

"Okay. I’ll take care of you. Just try not to scream too loud… we still have to wake up early."

Shoto flips you around, pinning you to the bed with your arms and spreading your legs with his knees before capturing your lips into a deep and heavy kiss. He can feel your chest stuttering against his own with every breath he steals from you, along with the whimpers that escape your lips. Whimpers not only from the kiss but how his clothed cock perfectly slots against your bare cunt.

You didn't know how long you were going to hold out for...

But lets just say he definitely didn't disappoint you.

AIZAWA

With Aizawa, you have to be careful around him, or else it wouldn't be a surprise, you have to be sneaking around to catch him off guard. So here you are, carefully straddling him, pressing slow kisses to his chest while he breaths deeply, still taken over by sleep, completely unaware of your advances.

You suck gently over his abs, then go lower, peppering kisses around and on the tuffs of his happy trail. A sigh of satisfaction leaves your mouth, if you had to do anything for the last time, this would be it because lord, you love his cock (and him).

A shift is felt beneath you and Aizawa's cock jumps beneath your throat before you felt fingers lacing through your hair. Aizawa tugs your hair, lifting your head up from his lower abdomen to meet his eyes, a moan falls past your lips at the gesture, your panties getting further soaked with arousal.

"And what are you doing?" he asks slowly, his voice rough and slightly scratchy from sleep which just made the heat grow bigger. Gods, you love his voice.

A sweet, sinful smile coats your lips and your hand trails down to his sweats, palming his semi-hard bulge through the fabric, "Just want you. Just for a bit. I’ll be good, I promise."

He sighs, already getting hard at the sight of you kneeling between his legs, eyes wide and needy. He desperately wanted to say he had a mission in five hours but he couldn't because he can't resist you, not at all. Aizawa lets out a sigh, mumbling, "What am I going to do with you?" before sitting up, back resting against the headboard.

A sharp tug of your hair from Aizawa caused you to let out a pained moan, sending a pleasured shock to your heated core. Your face only a few mere inches away from his clothed, hard cock. "Fine. But I'm using you. You started this—so you better not cry when I ruin that pretty throat of yours."

"I won't," you say, thighs clenching together, trying to relief the ache in your pussy, arousal slicking your thighs. As your doe eyes stare up into Aizawa's deep slate iris' you couldn't help but a pout befall your lips. "I promise," your fingers playing mindlessly with the hem of his sweats.

Aizawa lets a gentle smirk rise before his free hand cups your jaw, thumb rubbing your bottom lips sensually before slipping his digit inside your mouth. Your tongue immediately wraps around his thumb, sucking slowly. "Such a good girl."

"Now get to work, sweetheart," Aizawa huffs, removing his thumb from your mouth.

Lowering your head, per your control and Aizawa's as his grip tightened around your hair, you pepper slow kisses over his hard cock, feeling the twitch come from his length after every kiss. "Don't tease," he grunts.

The roots of your head began to sting softly but it made you feel so good, and pleasuring Aizawa was more than you could ask for. Taking one last glance up, you watched him swallow the lump in his throat, eyes shut, waiting. You knew that if you pushed his too far, he'd use you in a way that have your neighbours worried from your screams.

The position you were in now, though, is perfect to suck him dry. You tug down the hem of his pants just enough to let his cock loose, long and thick, hitting just at his belly button. Gently, you grip his base, your free hand cupping his heavy balls, squeezing softly causing a a deep groan resonate from him.

Angling his throbbing length towards you, you place a wet kiss on his tip, making sure your saliva drips down, wetting his cock. "That's it, good girl," Aizawa praises, and it only fuels your desire, your lower abdomen fluttering in response, pleasuring him makes you feel pleasured as well, because your oral fixation goes crazy.

Dragging the flat of your tongue up the underside of his shaft, feeling the veins that sprung up to the head of his cock, deep groans are the only noises you hear, along with the wet slicking noises from the contact between your mouth and him. You spread the pre cum spilling from his slit before taking his throbbing length into your mouth. Your tongue swirled around his swollen pink tip before you took his cock further into your mouth.

"Deeper, sweetheart," he says, his hips trying not to thrust into your face. Aizawa was trying desperately not to fuck your mouth, wanting to see your lashes well with tears. A hum is muffled by his dick, the vibrations causing him to let out a deep moan. "Shit," he sighs, fuck.

Aizawa couldn't handle it anymore. If you're going to wake him up in the middle of the night, then you're getting what he gives. You gag on his length when he pushes your head down all the way to his base, your nose tickling his hair around his cock, your hand quickly makes contact with his thigh.

"That's it," he praises, moving your head at a pace he enjoyed, letting him take control. Aizawa started moving more quickly, which made you start crying even more. When you hollowed out your cheeks, he let out a stifled sigh that made him hesitate to approach further. He pulls away from you, his load spilling into your mouth. "Let me see."

You lift yourself up from his cock and stick out your tongue just for him, he lets two of his own fingers massage his cum on your tongue. "Good girl," he praises. "Swallow."

You nod, doing what he says.

"Are you feeling better?" Aizawa asks and you nod.

"Yeah!"

Do not copy, steal, modify, etc. Relogs and like are appreciated.

honey's a/note:: i hope this was okay lmao, there def is grammar and punc mistakes in this but oh well, 3am is peak writing time for me, i should be working on my presentation thats due in a fornight but oh well. if anyone has any other characters for this idea lmk :) or maybe the reverse role 👀 i know that some of these were half asses but ill get back to them i swear

#mha x reader #mha smut #bakugou x reader #dabi x you #bakugo x reader #bakugou smut #bakugou x you #dabi x reader #bakugo smut #dabi smut #todoroki shouto x reader #shoto todoroki smut #todoroki smut #ffwc.🪻

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crushmeeren · 3 months ago

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i love these, they are hilarious LMAO “i’d rather die than become a hero duo with him” “people love this twink” IM SCREAMING

𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒 .ᐟ

synopsis: pro-hero au with touya! (x pro-hero reader)

notes: sabrina carpenter was the reason i made this anws warning for mentions of being drunk & nsfw (very light mention😭) also joking mentions of misandry 💗

SHIMMER AND SHINE OHHHH idr the rest

#touya todoroki #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha #mha #bnha smau #bnha x you #mha x you #mha smau #touya todoroki x reader #ffwc.🪻

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crushmeeren · 3 months ago

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yandere sae 👀

i give an unending dream to you

men who can't fathom a future without you - so they refuse to let it happen ft. sae itoshi, sunday, malleus draconia

this is from @saetiate's post that she was kind enough to let me write a piece based off of

notes: yandere vibes (i'm back to my roots), fem reader, mildly unhealthy relationships, heavy possessiveness on the boys end, title is from this please listen to it and i'll give you ten thousand kisses

༄ sae:

“it’s like i’m fucking talking to a brick wall. the same shit keeps happening and it feels like you’re not trying at all,” you spit out with vitriol, slamming the cabinet shut in the kitchen as the wood splinters beneath your force.

if sae is even hearing you, he shows no signs of it. the entire time you’ve been screaming at him, throwing things, making accusations - he’s just been sitting atop one of the chairs at the island. his demeanor seems rather bored, if anything. you almost wish he’d fight back just so you know your words are reaching him in some way.

it’s only once tears of frustration begin to well in your eyes that he finally sighs and has the gall to ask, “are you finished?”

the sheer audacity of the question causes your tears to fall with anger, spiking your temper once more. you’re half a second away from cursing him out again but you know it’ll get you nowhere. instead, you clench your fists and huff before grabbing your car keys and silently making your way to the front door.

sometimes you forget just how fast sae is, because it’s as if he teleports in front of the door. he stares down at you with what seems to be indifference, but you know him well enough to sense the quiet fury behind his eyes - waiting to break free from its confines.

“you’re not going anywhere,” he tells you with no room to argue, his fingers wrapping around your wrist. “not until your little temper tantrum is sorted.”

even though you try to tug away from him, it’s clear he’s not letting this go. sae is both the unstoppable force and the immovable object in everything he does.

he brushes his lips against your ear for a brief moment before kissing beneath it. his voice is nearly a whisper when he speaks, “if you’re done being a brat, i’d like to at least get a word in before you leave and do something stupid.”

you narrow your eyes at him and scoff. well, at least he’s finally acknowledging you. “and if i hear you out, then can i leave?” his lips twitch in amusement.

“not a chance.“

༄ sunday:

the parlor car is eerily silent, the rest of the express having sensed the incoming argument and opted to retreat to their rooms. sunday’s wings are twitching anxiously as he hovers close enough for you to be in his reach but not enough that you’ll freak out on him again.

“my dove,” he says in that soothing voice of his, “don’t you feel you’re overreacting just a bit?”

you want to crush his windpipe for even suggesting it, but something seeps into your brain as his words wrap around the depths of your psyche. it tells you to relax, let yourself be held in your lover's embrace once more. it’s peaceful, calming, alluring in its desire for you to submit yourself into what you know so well.

it’s not your voice at all.

“i should’ve known a control freak like you would try some shit like this,” you manage to get out through gritted teeth. forgive him, he loves you so dearly, echoes in your mind. the words nearly spill from your lips if not for you putting all your willpower into keeping your lips shut.

his expression goes from concern to disapproval in an instant. the sudden invasion of your personal space as he makes his way over isn’t lost on you. it’s his pattern - guilt, control, smother.

“it seems i’ve underestimated you, my little rebel,” he muses, bringing your hand to his lips for a gentle kiss. “denying the harmony’s influence so easily - it seems you’ve gotten strong without mentioning it to me.”

the implication of his words is clear ; if you can escape his honeyed words, what else will you do to slip from his grasp?

“no matter. you could do with some more training, wouldn’t you agree?”

༄ malleus:

the library is dead silent as you flip through one of the beginners magic textbooks crewel had given you. not that it’s odd for a library to be quiet, but the reason it’s more empty than usual is a rather odd occurrence. “can you linger a bit less menacingly?” you murmur in an irritated tone.

malleus simply blinks owlishly at your request from the other side of the table. you’re used to him following you around out of sheer interest for your ‘human tendencies’ (his words, not yours), but you underestimated how annoying it would be when you’re in the middle of a disagreement.

after a few more moments you slam the book shut with a huff, fully aware you’re not going to get any meaningful studying done with him staring you down in your peripherals. when you stand from the seat he echoes your movements. the students part and scamper away from his path as he follows behind like your shadow.

there’s honestly a good chance you’d be less angry with him if he just gave you some space like you desired, but he’d rather have his horns ripped from his skull than leave you alone for more than thirty seconds.

“have you found it within your heart to forgive me yet, beloved?” he asks calmly, as if it’s somehow your fault that you’re even upset to begin with.

your head whips around in a flash, rage contorting the usually delicate features of your face. he’s either a bonafide manipulator or completely dense, and both of the options seem to piss you off equally at the moment.

“give me a fucking break, malleus!” you yell, not missing the way his eye twitches from your lack of using his nickname. “i put up with a lot of your shit, but i’m seriously sick of you treating my friends like they’re criminals-”

“spade does have a charge on his record, my love,” he counters smoothly, which does nothing to satiate your anger. you pull back when he tries to reach for you, but the swirling clouds beginning to form in the sky make you think twice.

“i care a great deal about your safety and wellbeing. it’d do no good for my future betrothed to be involved in something that endangers your reputation or, sevens forbid, your health.”

out of sheer pettiness, you mutter under your breath, “keep acting like this and there won’t be a betrothed for you to marry.”

his self control snaps like a twig as lightning strikes the bench nearby, making you scream and instinctively leap towards him for protection. his arms quickly wrap around you like a python, trapping you against his body.

“there will be a wedding, and you will soon see the error in your ways. i simply pray you one day come to understand that everything i do is out of my endless love for you,” he coos, but it feels more like a death sentence. whatever his ‘love’ entails, you’re not sure if it’s something you want to stick around for.

not that he’d ever give you a choice.

#yandere #itoshi sae #sae itoshi x reader #blue lock x reader #ffwc.🪻

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crushmeeren · 3 months ago

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MEGUMI!!! my baby, my baby, my baby!!!

Jjk smau request for the plus size girlies where they just talk about how much they love our thighs? 🤭

JJK BOYS react to you feeling insecure over your thighs.

in which they yap about how much they adore your thighs..

authors note: i rly hope i did ur request right?? anyways this is my first jjk smau, and i alr suckkkk at smau's so bare w me.. also i did not know how to go abt writing nanami like at all. content suggestive! m.list includes s!gojo, s!geto, y!itadori, m!fushiguro, k!nanami.

p.s i spelled megumi's last name wrong in yuji's so ignore that pls. also it was not letting me lay the texts out how i wanted at all?? so its like one long list lmao.

#ffwc.🪻#crush’s queued posts ⋆ ☆૮꒰•༝ •。꒱ა ⋆#megumi fushiguro x reader #fushiguro megumi x reader #jjk #jjk x reader

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crushmeeren · 2 months ago

Text

stop it this is so cute !!!

starting over ᖴOᖇ ᗪᑌᗰᗰIEᔕ

✎ᝰ a scrapbook of memories from yours and tomura’s new life, from ex-villains to totally normal citizens

“i don’t think i’ve ever had this much stuff in my life,” tomura remarks, staring at the pile of boxes sitting in the living room. a living room. the last time he had a proper living room was probably in his childhood home.

you huff, blowing a strand of hair out of your face as you drop a box onto the couch. joints pop in your back when you straighten, stretching your arms above your head with a wince.

“your gaming crap probably takes up half of it,” you reply, cracking a grin when he fixes you with a glare.

“it’s not crap.”

“whatever,” you snicker.

you think the league has stayed in hideouts nicer than this apartment. the roof leaks, the back door doesn’t lock, and your neighbors are a nightmare. the wallpaper is stained and peeling in places, you constantly have to guess whether you’ll have water or not, and when you had gone to unlock the front door, you nearly dislocated your shoulder trying to dislodge the key.

still, it’s yours. a place just for you and tomura, where you don’t have to be constantly looking over your shoulders wracked with paranoia. you were lucky to get a place at all, given your hasty departure from japan after the war. giran's american contacts had been rather useful there. it may not be a big city penthouse, but it’s yours.

and besides, just the view of the waterfront just a little ways outside makes it all seem worth it. you lean against the spindly balcony railing, pressed up against tomura in the cramped space as the two of you gaze out at the ocean. the world seems so much bigger like this, the waves stretching out endlessly into the horizon. so much room for possibility…

“say cheese!”

tomura gets no warning other than your evil giggle before he’s awoken by the bright flash of the camera you’d shoved in his face first thing in the morning.

he yells out, burying his face back in the covers to hide from the excessive light. you hear his grouchy whine, muffled beneath the fabric. “fuck was that for?”

“first morning in the house,” you reply, climbing back atop the bed to sit beside the tomura-shaped lump of blankets. you prod his shoulder, shaking out the polaroid while you hand him the camera with a smile. “now take mine.”

his face appears from the blanket, scowling in disbelief at you. he takes the camera, though, and snaps a quick picture of you before tossing it back and flopping back over to sleep some more.

those two matching polaroids are the first decorations you put up on your dingy little fridge.

“bill, mortgage, ‘nother bill…jury duty? what the fuck?”

tomura stares in bewilderment at the various papers strewn about the chipped kitchen table. “how did we get jury duty? we haven’t been here even a month!”

“are we even legal citizens…?” you wonder, taking a seat beside him. the chair creaks the second you put any weight on it.

“i think villainy was easier than this. sure as hell was less expensive too,” he grumbles.

“yeah,” you agree, with a nervous laugh. “uh, tomu?”

“yeah?”

“would now be a bad time to mention the puppy i brought home?”

“the WHAT?!”

“all normal people have dogs! i was trying to help our cover!!”

the puppy wanders out of you room as if on cue, trotting on chubby legs all the way up to tomura. it nudges his leg with its big head and whining.

“i passed the shelter on my way home from work and i just wanted to see but then she was looking at me with those giant eyes and i couldn’t just leave her and the lady at the counter said she was abandoned in a park and how sad is that! so i brought her home. please please please can we keep her?”

you wait breathlessly for his answer, leg jittering, and watch the way his eyes go big and then soften when he leans down to scratch the puppy behind the ears.

“yeah,” he whispers, more to the dog than to you. “we can keep her.”

you know something is wrong when you enter the apartment and hachi is barking. she’s normally rather quiet, aside from the goofy yips she makes when you play with her or the occasional woof during a seagull chase.

she comes running out of the kitchen when you dislodge the key from the lock, and that’s when you see the smoke.

“what the hell—”

you’re about to dash in when tomura comes bustling out, looking like a mess. strands of wispy white hair that managed to escape his ponytail hang in his flushed face, his hoodie is rolled up to his forearms (which are both covered in various sauce stains), and there’s a soot smudge on his cheek.

“don’t go in there!” he instructs, breathless and blocking the doorway with his body.

you stare at him, dumbstruck. “tomura, is something on fire?!”

“not anymore,” he replies. you both jump when a loud metal clanging echoes, what sounds like a bunch of pots and pans toppling over.

there’s banging on the far side of the wall (probably your godawful neighbors) and you and tomura both yell “fuck off!” in unison.

when your gazes meet again you both burst out laughing (well, you’re laughing. tomura snorts and then watches you giggle with a fond little smile).

“i know i said i’d make dinner tonight, but i fucked up your favorite,” tomura admits, scowling at the nightmare you see peeking out of the kitchen. “sorry for the mess.”

you hum, coming forward to brush the soot smudge off his cheek. “that’s okay. i was gonna say i was craving pizza anyway.”

“god, i love you,” he whispers, trailing after you as you roll up your sleeves and head into the kitchen to face the unholy mess.

it’s some time in the middle of the night when tomura shakes you awake. you squint into the dark, feeling around until you find his hand.

“tomu…?”

“wake up,” he whispers softly, giving your hand a gentle tap. “c’mon, let’s go.”

your heart sinks for a brief second, memories of fleeing with the league rising to your muddled mind. “what happened? are we in trouble?”

his soft chuckle eases the fit of panic that had been rising in your chest. “no, not in trouble. just wanna get out of here for a little while. let’s go somewhere, yeah?”

you yawn, sitting up to lean against him. “mm, m’kay. where to?”

he leaves his hoodie in your lap, nudging his head against yours affectionately. “no idea. c’mon, get dressed. i’ll grab our stuff and meet you out front.”

tomura lets you sleep in the car, the hum of the engine and the quiet, staticky radio lulling you to sleep until the sun is rising in the sky. when you wake, the ocean is no longer is sight. you’re surrounded instead by miles of empty desert, the occasional cactus and — is that a tumbleweed?

“where are we?” you ask, sitting up in the passenger seat. you’ve never seen the sky in such vibrant reds and oranges, lit up by the rising sun.

“the middle of butt-fucking-nowhere,” he replies, squinting from the brightness of the sun. “we can pick up a map once we come across civilization again. figure out where we’re going before this car gives out.”

“good idea.”

‘civilization’ ends up being a tiny gas station where you pick up snacks, breakfast burritos the size of your heads, an unholy amount of energy drinks (mostly for tomura), and of course, the map.

you sit on the hood of the car while tomura leans against it, shading his face and grumbling about the sun.

“you were the one who drove us all the way out here,” you tell him, snorting to yourself as you study the map. you’re somewhere near nevada, apparently. your eyes find the little star at the bottom and your grin widens.

“oh, i know where we’re going.”

of all the things tomura thought he’d do in his life, getting married to you in vegas and having elvis officiate was not one of them. but here he is, at two in the morning in the city of lights downing a shot with you in the parking lot of a drive-thru chapel, officially a married man.

and he’s looking at you, laughing, with your hair half in your face and bright eyes and cheeks flushed just a little from the alcohol. there’s a lot tomura might have changed in his life if he had the chance. but not this. not you. and if he had the chance to do it all again? for you, he’d do anything.

★ -> smau + bonus lore !

you and tomura send the league a postcard from vegas that says “just married!” and receive a variety of bizarre “wedding gifts” back

your puppy’s name is a NANA reference and you end up naming the cat “nana” to match

tomura works from home (bc he’s antisocial and also more recognizable than you in the event anyone were to find out your identities) so he makes you lunch frequently

^ generally househusband material

having free time is weird for you guys now so you decide to take up a bunch of new hobbies together including but not limited to:

jigsaw puzzling, birdwatching, assembling lego sets, crochet, baking, and the list goes on

your mention this to your coworkers and they call you an old married couple….

you’re not technically allowed to have pets in the apartment so you’ve had to come up with some insanely elaborate shenanigans to hide hachi and nana around your landlord

dividers by @/aquazero and @/strangergraphics — this got away from me :) i hope this isn’t like,,,, ooc but wtvvv let me liveee 🫶🫶i really like the patchwork layout of it, tho i hope its not likeee off-putting or choppy </3 i missed writing for him. anyways much love from kitty !

#kitty.writes!#mha x reader #mha #bnha #mha fluff #shigaraki x reader #tomura shigaraki #shigaraki tomura #shigaraki fluff #tomura x reader #ffwc.🪻

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crushmeeren · 2 months ago

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everyone visit reid for all your dazai needs.

⊹ DIGITAL BATH

TONIGHT I FEEL LIKE MORE . . . ft. Osamu Dazai

wc: 4k

cw: NSFW—MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, gn!reader, switch!Dazai, mentions of scars, cock worship, finger sucking, spit, oral (m!receiving), anal fingering, nipple play (m!receiving), dirty talk, cum eating, itty bit of Dazai-typical mindgames, just feeding fruit to tired spoiled Osamu and then blowing him like he deserves

reid: i wanna fingerbang this mfker so good it makes him believe in love

“Such a long fuckin’ day.”

Osamu’s grumbling, wrapping himself around you from behind.

On any other evening, you’d be inclined to mock that it’s always a long day for him when he’s throwing balled-up paper at Kunikida's head, guilting Atsushi into doing his paperwork for him, and slipping out of the office under the guise of fetching snacks for Ranpo just to go lean against the railing of Bankoku Bridge and gaze longingly at the water—but frankly, there’s two factors at play keeping you from doing so.

One: his regular dramatics are nowhere to be seen. You hadn’t even realized he was on his way in until the door shut behind him—he’s normally sing-songing your name before he even opens it, before he’s bouncing over to you to ask what’s for dinner while he complains about the long day he had in that all too-spry voice of his. This evening, he’s subdued. Quiet complaints, quiet shuffling, quiet breath on your ear as he latches onto you. The second is that, when you turn around from the counter to face him, he looks like he’s had a long day.

His messy hair seems messier. His eyes aren’t so wide and sparkly, and he’s got a nasty bruise blossoming on the apple of his left cheek—you bite back, too, the instinctual urge to tease and ask if it’s Chuuya’s doing.

“Baby,” you coo, bringing your hands up to cup his face (pointedly avoiding the bruise). “I didn’t even cook. Was just cutting up some fruit.”

“That’s okay,” he sighs, seemingly content to be under your grasp. He really does look exhausted as he grins weakly and slumps into your hold, faltering down to brush a kiss against your lips. “Cut up some strawberries, too, please.”

“Mhm.” You kiss him back, short and sweet—not entirely pleased with such a concise request, but happy to indulge it regardless. “Go get comfy, I’ll be there in a sec.”

So he does. He wanders off; you dump your fruit into a bowl, fetch the (thankfully not moldy) strawberries from the fridge, and toss those in, too, also preparing a glass of ice water for him for good measure. No guarantee he’ll drink it, but at least it’ll be there.

When you pad to your bed, he’s sitting, pulling a shirt over his bare torso—the local bandages lay at his feet. A rewrap for tomorrow, you think absently, hopping like a cat onto the opposite side and kicking the covers back; not that he’ll have any use for them—the beginnings of stirrings in your brain will come to fruition more beautifully, anyway, should he leave them be.

His quietness always spooks you a little; you hope nothing too terrible happened today, because if he wanted to talk about it, he undoubtedly would’ve started by now.

There are very few things a bowl of cut fruit and your gentle fingertips can’t begin to mend, though.

You flick the light out, turn the television on, lean over to abandon the water on his side table; Osamu plucks a strawberry from the bowl you nestle in your lap and cuddles up to your side. Half a fat cherry gushes between your teeth; you peck the crown of his head.

Even if he is uncharacteristically quiet, you do always find a bit of joy in fussing over him. You might not draw from him what exactly is on his mind, but you can hold him while it simmers, take care of him—it’s one of the things you do best, after all, and you’re well aware Osamu likes being taken care of.

He’s painted soft, staticky colors from whatever sitcom plays. You curl the arm that’s fallen behind his head to twirl his hair between your fingers, toy with the shoulder of his shirt; you can feel the tension in him. But before you move, you let the fruit in the bowl dwindle. Better if he eats.

When his eyes flutter shut and he nudges you, mouth open like some sort of sultan, you shake your head (chuckling) and place a few halved grapes on his tongue.

You don’t know if he knows how proud you are of him; you tell him plenty, sure, but thinking back to the quip you’re relieved to have held back today, you wonder briefly why he only ever complains gratuitously about the easy days and never the ones that leave him like this. It fills you with a certain sorrow—one that shapeshifts swiftly into determination.

“Last one’s yours.” You pan back in, referring to the sole strawberry left.

“Mm.” Again, wordlessly, he demands you feed it to him. You concede, of course, with a sleepy grin of your own.

It’s when his tongue flicks out to lick the remnants of sweetness off your fingertips that you strike; only when you fiddle with his bottom lip do his owl eyes flicker open to peer up into yours.

Juxtaposition is a fascinating thing. You don’t know what happened today. You don’t know what’s happened on most of the darker days he’s left trailing behind him—you might never know all of it, other than it’s been horrible, scarring, gutting both for him and those staring down the barrel of the gun that is Osamu Dazai—but he looks so innocent before he takes your finger, all the way to the second knuckle, into his mouth to swirl his tongue around.

You can’t help biting the inside of your cheek.

As his jaw flexes around you, you press your middle finger in, too. Those brown eyes never falter from yours, nor does the quiet smile in them; any remaining strawberry is long gone, swallowed down, but Osamu sucks on your fingers with fervor, nearly nodding like he’s drawing some other sort of elixir from you—one that will compel him to keep moving forth another day, perhaps, and as he does, his ankles knock against yours.

“Needy boy, huh.” It’s a statement, not a question, which he needn’t deny or confirm; the attention you shower him with after the days that drag him to hell extends to all the vulnerabilities he doesn’t allow another soul to see—the ones that stem from a depth left neglected by any previous excuse for a caretaker he might’ve had.

Whereas, you’d be damned if you casted aside a single inch of that void.

So you poke a kiss to the corner of his mouth before you latch onto his neck—an I’ll be back here later—softly, with just lips first, then tongue, and finally teeth. You find his pulse point and bite, dragging spit-coated fingers down his chin, past his throat to his nipple.

The exhale from his chest prompts your knee into his lap like the kickback of a gunshot. Rolling equally into you, Osamu tugs you by your arms on top of him, across his hips so you can hunch over him and kiss, bite, kiss, bite, worship from above in the little rhythm you have that's so familiar to his fatigued body.

Fingers flitting, you creep up his shirt.

You work his sleep shirt off, too slow for his liking. Something he loves about what you do, though, is how you never even mind the scars; you look at the exposed, marred flesh of his chest, shoulders, arms, and abdomen like it’s empty and pristine only until you mark it up yourself. There are fading bite marks, ones from maybe a few days or a week ago, across the curves where his pectorals slope into his collarbones, and you take it upon yourself to retrace, refresh them as you caress up and down from his shoulders to his hips and back again, doting and unhurried. He sighs for you.

The empty bowl’s lost somewhere outside the searing kiss you land to his panting mouth (one of you has likely tossed it, kicked it, or pushed it to the floor), and his hands wander, eager to offer fair exchange—but you’re quick to stop him, slow him, lick his bottom lip and pin one of his wrists to the headboard beside him before you mutter, “Let me take care of you, ‘kay?”

In true Osamu fashion, he whines, not unlike a cat being denied a treat; after all, for him, half the fun of fucking is getting you off—but tonight, you smell insincerity in his protest, have sensed the smallness that silently begs yes, please, take care of me, and you find yourself grinning into his mouth. Osamu’s rarely straightforward; he gets what he wants anyway.

So, in equally as true Osamu fashion, he’ll sit pretty and let you send him to the clouds.

You creep with lips and fingertips back to his chest, to his nipples, where you both know he’s so sensitive; you could make Osamu cum just from your tongue on those pretty, pink buds of his—you have before—but you feel determined to work him up thoroughly, take your time with all of him, all of his distress, right now.

“Want that pretty mouth on me, baby,” he confesses, quieter and meeker than usual. He keeps drilling home how tired he is—here he is, telling you what he wants so soon.

You finish sucking a particularly harsh mark into his sternum. “It is on you.”

“Mm—no, on me.” And then his hand, the one not held hostage by you, is pushing yours down to his cock, beginning to stiffen in his sweatpants.

“Be patient.” You rise back up to kiss him again, swatting him away just to toy with him over his pants; Osamu chases your breath with his own, hungrily, fingers flexing and relaxing in your grasp when you squeeze him, circle your thumb over his tip, nip at his mouth. “I'll make you feel good.”

It’s when you sit yourself down fully on his growing erection and begin to grind back and forth that he starts whining against your lips.

You hold his face to yours, smile into him reflexively; it’s so easy to make him mewl. For as much composure as Osamu holds in every other corner of his life, your bed is the one place it tends to escape him, and you live to watch him crumble for you. You live to feel his jaw work into your kiss, to trace adoration into his skin, to hear the little whimpers he lets out rise in decibel the longer you drag him out. You love it most of all because he deserves it—to let go, retreat from himself into your touch.

“Please,” he whispers into you, so quietly you almost don’t hear it. It might be nothing to make him whine, but it’s no small feat, reducing Osamu Dazai to begging. That you didn’t even have to try tells you he needs this—he needs you; no matter how much he might’ve lied if you asked or banked on you missing it, you know the outline of that word on his lips, and he knows you know it, too. So you grind, not faster but harder, slipping your tongue into his pliant mouth.

After letting his wrist go, after he grabs your hip and presses you onto him feverishly with a few more of your undulations, you work your way down him again—stopping not at his chest this time but between his hips, waiting to peel the waistband of his sweatpants down and off until you've first circled his belly button and the gradual path of hair that disappears beneath the fabric with kisses growing more intense from one moment to the next. You seek out the little layer of fat stretching across his tummy and bite there, too; he grabs your hair and snickers, watching you through squinted eyes while he tells you hoarsely to stop, it tickles! And you relent with a giggle of your own only to kneel, shove his pants down, and settle on your stomach where you urge each of his knees over your shoulders.

You look up and think, god, you wish you could photograph him right now. Gazing down at you, lips parted with breathlessness, Adam's apple bobbing as you tease him; he's a quiet image of ecstasy as he curls his hands around your face, only because he trusts you to let him be. When you pause and admire for a moment too long, his lithe fingers take root in your hair; he's wiggling, saying please with his low-lidded eyes and desperate hips only so he won't have to subject himself to verbalizing it again.

You wrap an arm beneath his thigh to seek out his cock, finally, sweetly; you hold him up, lick a slow stripe from base to tip up the underside, and Osamu croons.

“Uh—yeah, was wondering when you'd get to the whole making-me-feel-good part.”

Just when you thought you had him.

With your free hand, you swat his leg—impatient and sassy, even while he's running on fumes. Roguish in every sense of the word, still, while you’re taking such good care of him. His spark wants to have you grinning; you try to hide the inevitable reaction by burying your face in him, lapping sweetly, diligently at the spot between his base and his balls that should shut him up.

“You're so mean, you know?”

You can tell from his tone he's smirking.

“Ngh—telling me to be patient wh—while I beg for you—”

Really, it should have shut him up. But he keeps going.

“—Mhm—yeah,” he exhales, one heel digging into your back—telling you he's going to fall apart faster than he's letting on. “You always know just—uh—just where to... t’—”

In a rarer display of force you reach behind yourself for his shin, gripping it, bending it up close to him and freeing your other arm; with this, you reach up, stuff your pre-cum dabbled fingers back in his mouth—to which he can only respond with a muffled mph! and widening eyes.

Your patience to have him drop the facade is thinning.

You prop yourself up on your elbow to shove your fingers deeper and look up into his face.

“How about you be quiet, Osamu?” you pose gently; your fingerpads on his tongue are anything but, and he's squirming at the loss of pleasure. “Get my fingers nice n’ wet while you’re at it.”

Osamu’s teeth are in your knuckles a little too harsh to be considered polite, but you thrust them toward the back of his tongue anyway; he holds your eyes, you shoo his legs open further so as not to have to work around them as you resume stroking him lazily, and you tilt your head, admiring again. He hums around you, sighs through his nose while he laps you up, so you pick up the talking.

“So cute when you shut up.”

You retract your fingers momentarily to squish his cheeks—the face as well as the sound he makes is nothing short of adorable, less in the contrived sense and more in the literal as his nose scrunches; you want to adore him by making him come, and you will, but not before thrusting your fingers back into his bratty mouth immediately.

“When have I ever left you unsatisfied, huh?” You don’t wait for an answer. “When have I ever not given my good boy what he needs?”

It’s rhythmic, how he echoes the cadence of good boy with his body—first in the way his hips buck into you, and next in the groan you don’t let pass his teeth.

“That’s right. You're smart enough to know by now when I want you to shut up and take it.”

Pushing yourself up—leaving him squirming again—you leave hardly a second between replacing your fingers with your mouth, sloppy, all breath, nipping at the tip of his tongue; Osamu loves when you kiss him hard, like you need him. Loves feeling needed more than he needs. But you know—maybe better than he does.

You smear his spit down his chin, wasting it for what you're planning next; it's a good thing you know just how to work him into a pliable mess. There’s one more thing he’ll do for you, and you'll get him there; you’ll disarm this unshakably smug and prodigiously self-controlled man and turn him into your lover, like you do so often.

For what it's worth, this is the least he's made you work for it in a while.

Osamu chases you when you leave his kiss, but you pin him down, cradling his bottom lip with your two fingers like a spoon.

“Aht—” You shove them back in, across his tongue, just the tips of them. Only until he settles, and then you hold them out for him again. “Spit.”

And he does.

“Good boy, Osamu.”

You love watching the power leave his body when you utter those two words in combination with his name. As if conditioned, his cock jumps; you notice this as you reach down, dollop of spit beginning to drip between your fingers before you circle them around his hole and oh, you're rewarded with the prettiest gasp that trails off into an even prettier whimper—yes, a whimper, because he breaks so pathetically beneath you.

You smile into Osamu’s mouth when his breath picks up, evermore unsteady as you tease the rim of his ass. Without having to ask, he pitches his hips up for you, knees bent and feet bracing when you traverse back down his jugular with your lips and teeth.

You’re fast now, eager yourself; your line's barely straight, but you meet your own hand again as you return.

“Please,” followed by your name, huffy, totally realized this time.

How can you do anything but oblige?

Curling your fingers back around his cock, collecting the leakiness at his weepy tip to stroke him fully, he throws his soft brown head back into the headboard, gripping the sheets. No free hand to use, you hum and hope silently for his legs over your shoulders once more, and like a mindreader, he obliges you now—good boy, you’d be saying, if your mouth wasn’t occupied with one of his balls, rewriting the meaning of triple homicide with the suction of your tongue.

When you’ve switched your mouth and your hand and you’re a knuckle deep in him, Osamu starts to get demanding.

“Deeper,” he growls through his teeth, and you’re unclear whether he means he wants you deeper inside him or his cock deeper down your throat. “C’mon—I want it, baby.”

No please—and definitely no thank you when you give into his whims both ways, thrusting your finger deeper to curl up and apply pressure to the exact spot you know will have him crooning and gripping onto your hair, and that he does—to shove your face further down on him nonetheless.

And then he really starts talking.

“Thought you’d be all nice n’ be in charge—n’ take care of me? Hah—”

You still your head while Osamu holds either side of your jaw and humps upward, drawing wet, smothered heaves from the back of your throat as his throbbing tip hammers it.

“That’s sweet, honey.”

You really, truly do know why he doesn’t complain about easy days, and the bulb flickers only once you’re choking on him—only ever once he has you right where he wants you—that when you fuss over him, it always gives him a leg up to take that control he thirsts for so deeply with all the more force.

He licks his lips as honey drips from it, cradling you with the same gentleness you talked to him with earlier and employing the same ruthlessness in contrast. Your eyes roll back in surrender to his brutal pace and the air he cuts off from you so cruelly—but god, if you had the faculty to, you wouldn’t even be able to deny that you love letting him use you, love letting him take what he wants from you, so you focus your swirling consciousness on pressing up, deeper into his ass, worming your ring finger next to your middle one to stretch him open, have him gasping, holding on loosely to control.

It’s always a little push and pull between you; you always let Osamu have his fun, but he knows who he belongs to at the end of the day, because you always have him sounding like—

“God—fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck—”

—while he leverages his heels in your back to fuck your throat meaner, harder. You gag, and you know it spurs him on—you know the ring of drool at his base and the sweet, nasty sounds you make involuntarily for him keep him chasing that pretty fulfillment you inspire in the pit of his stomach.

“‘m not the only one who’s cute when I shut up,” he drawls on, pushing your hair away from your forehead to watch the way he possesses you when he’s in you like this; wheezing, whimpering in between, the dominator in him wants to laugh at you—but his taunting throttles almost violently back to strangled groans and cries of your name while tears bead on his lashes. For every take it, take it, take it, there’s an equal please, please, please.

Osamu grunts in a certain vocal register higher than when he talks sultry but lower than his usual speaking voice, and each byte you draw from him by sitting and being his good little toy is reminding you how much you want to make him feel good, how much it gets you off, too—you grind against the mattress helplessly while he has you pinned in place and you squeeze his balls while you keep his hole full, keep him moaning and sobbing for you through his little semblance of authority because you know all of his tells. You know when he’s about to fall apart, you can always tell by the way he twitches fast, abrupt—when those grunts get higher than his speaking voice and he starts breathing almost panic-like, enough to make himself a little dizzy while he unloads in you but you don’t give him the satisfaction of that this time, because he beat you too easily—you have to take something back, and so when he’s cursing with his eyes screwed shut and tears slipping down his face you wrestle yourself off of him so he can shoot spurt after spurt of hot, sticky cum across your fluttering lashes, the bridge of your nose, your raw lips, your cheeks that shine with tears of your own, all while you milk it out from inside of him—he cums so fucking heavenly when your fingers are in him.

And you accept it with a closed-eyed grin and hoarse, bubbly giggles at the way you cautiously keep one eye open to watch Osamu’s gorgeous face, jaw slack as it yawns the euphoria only you bring him just to recover into scrunched-nose, furrowed-brow satisfaction as he opens his eyes and sees you licking up your spit and his cum from around your own mouth.

He's grinning toothily as he swipes the mess away from your eyes and draws you up with a soft come here—he’s not about to let you have it all for yourself, licking his spend off his thumb and pulling you in with great delight to flick his hot tongue across each splatter he’s left on your face. Your fingers slide out of him and he hums against you, cleaning you up diligently—because he never won’t reward you for taking care of him exactly how he wants to be taken care of.

Osamu giggles, too—also hoarse, as if he’s the one who just got his throat fucked.

“You’re so good to me.” That sharp tongue disappears behind a coy smile, and you collapse into him, a little delirious and fully in love—he’s a fucking dog.

“Trust me,” you sigh back, pressing that promised kissed to the corner of his mouth again, wriggling on his thigh.

He’s going to tease you so bad for getting worked up by letting him use you, you know.

“I know I am.”

#icymi #happy friday #with love—reid #if there are typos no there aint #dazai smut #dazai x reader #bsd smut #bungou stray dogs smut #osamu dazai smut #mha x reader #ffwc.🪻

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