#they care about each other so so much.........help me

[littlegingerperson5]

birthday ellie head😏-cannons

warnings: oral & fingering e!receiving, use of the nickname mama

fluff and smut

The first words out her mouth when she corners you in your room studying, leaning against the doorframe smugly and holding up the phone screen to you showing the time and before you can even say happy birthday she speaks her mind “birthday sex?” as to which you tell her to “fuck off” because you both are so madly in love.

bday!ellie that wakes up to the smell of pancakes and you struggling to get through the room door “g’morning babe” as she rubs her eyes, jumping out from under the covers, only wearing her dino boxers and a white vest, to help you like the little golden retriever she is “sit down baby” you huff “lemme spoil my girl”

bday!ellie that goes into a silent mood at how much you’re doing for her “let me driveee, please babe” your palm turns the steering wheel, taking you both outta the driveway then lands softly, resting on her thigh “nuh uh, you’re my passenger princess for today” she feints a sigh but the little excited giggle she fails to hide doesn’t go unnoticed.

bday!ellie that finally gets her way, having took her bags from you and waddling behind you through the mall.

bday!ellie that drags you into the Lego store only to disappear a few minutes later and reappearing to dangle a little lego you and her on a keychain that melts your heart “for you babe” she smiles softly, blushing like it’s your first date together all over again.

bday!ellie that can’t tell the difference between a day that’s supposed to be all about her and a day that should be spent spoiling you.

bday!ellie that doesn’t care if its her birthday she still drags you into a side boutique buying you a pretty pink pair of stilettos the second you turn your back “they’re not for you they’re for meee” she whines as you subtlety tell her off, she squeezes your hand tighter and nudges your shoulder with her as you both walk down the street, towards her beat up car to dump off her purchases “but I’ll give you a shot if you’d like” she shoot’s you a wink and you giggle under your breath at the thought of her trying to walk in them.

bday!ellie that practically makes your jaw drop as she walks out your shared bathroom in a black suit with a white button up on, open all the way down to her navel, the freckles on her chest taking your breath away as she mindlessly tweaks her cuff links, pretending to avoid your eyes practically fucking her as she gets ready for your dinner date.

bday!ellie that bursts into a nervous fit of giggles, blushing and dragging her chair closer to you, practically hiding being you as she spots a waiter bringing out a sparking chocolate cake and singing. “babeee” she praises as you nod a thank you to the worker “hm?” you scoop a piece with your spoon and she gladly takes it into her mouth, faking thought as she chews and swallows “it’s perfect, thank you” you lean forward, pressing your lips all over her precious face, inbetween your kisses you promise her “you deserve it” another kiss “and more” your hands are holding her flushed face “I love you, ellie” and she breathes a soft breath through her pout, calming herself before she speaks, she nods softly, holding, her ivy eyes meeting with yours “I know” teary as they are, they never leave yours “i love you too, angel”

bday!ellie that also has a little too much to drink stumbling out the taxi with you, hand in hand with you as you open your front door for her, guiding her inside as she drags you in with her, the taste of her wine on your tongue instantly.

bday!ellie that somehow strips faster than you, both your hands roaming each others warm flesh, tippling onto her mattress, tongues tasting one another’s flesh and soft breaths filling each others ears, making the heat between her thighs grow desperately.

bday!ellies that has her fingers in your messy hair as she spreads her thighs further, your breath on her clit and tongue running through her folds, the taste of her satisfying your every need yet making you insatiable.

bday!ellie that whispers “gonna cum” her voice high and the plush of her thighs squeezing your face, wanting to keep you there forever “im gonna cum mama” she squeaks, eyes closed and back arching “ma-uhh” and with your finger tips playing through her folds and lips wrapped around her shes filled with euphoria, sinking her own nails into the skin of her thighs, pushing herself over the edge and gasping at your fingertip pushing into her.

bday!ellie that’s clamps down onto your finger, throbbing as she coats you in her essence, her heavy eyelids squeezing shut as her face twists in pleasure.

bday!ellie that smiles lazily as she watches you lick up every drop of her like a starved woman, her pussy still throbbing contently.

bday!ellie that hides her face behind her freckled hands as you give a sloppy kiss to her puffy clit, a peck to her thigh and crawl up her body, her limbs encasing you and your arm around her shoulder as you play with her auburn head of hair “happy birthday my love”

bday!ellie that will never forget this birthday hums a sleepy hum of acknowledgement as her fingers trail your bare spine “G’night mama”

@dinaissoprettyoml thanks for the idea like 3 months ago😭🫶

@williamellieslilho @yourelliewillms @bready101 @moonalumi @heygrimace @pascals-doll @infiniteinquiries

[bucks-babe]

Let Me Be of Service

Pairing: Husband!Bucky x Pregnant!Wife!reader

Summary: With your growing belly, it gets a lot harder to take care of yourself. Luckily, your husband is always willing to lend a helping hand

Warnings: Fluff, a little smut, reader is heavily preggo, established relationship, Bucky is down bad, Bucky shaves his girl’s cooch and boot, crack fic, embarrassing stories about each other, implied smut at the end, banter, Bucky calls reader Petal and she calls him Duckie

Word Count: 2.7k

A/N: A little something something to hold you guys over while I’m working on part 2 of Change My Ways For You. Thank you to @buckys-wintersoldier for beta reading; however, any and all mistakes are mine and mine alone.

You hear the clashing of pans in the kitchen followed by your husband’s curse. It brings a smile to your lips, knowing that he is trying to make you breakfast in bed, even though he is probably the worst cook you have ever met. When you first started dating, he made the joke that he was the only person that could start a fire with water. 

You didn’t believe him until he actually did start a fire while boiling water at his first and only attempt to make pasta for the two of you to eat. You still have no idea how he managed to do that, but ever since then it’s either you cook, he ‘helps’ you in the kitchen, which is you giving him the easiest thing to do and hope that he doesn’t blow you up, or you order out.

But ever since you got pregnant, doing everyday tasks has gotten harder. You get out of breath from just standing up. Don’t even start with trying to pick something up off the floor. If it hits the ground, it’s going to stay there until Bucky picks it up if you can’t grip it with your toes. Cooking has become a near impossible task for you. Who knew that carrying a super soldier baby would be so hard? 

Your belly was larger than the average woman’s stomach for how far along you are. It wasn’t just that your belly was big though. It caused so much back pain that it was easier to just lay on your side all day, and your feet ached and pulsed from the shortest walk. 

You felt like a bad wife, not able to help take care of the house, or yourself for that matter. But Bucky was a saint, he doted on you every second of the day. He took his leave of absence as soon as you started grunting while moving around. Bucky loved every minute of it though, albeit he hated seeing you in pain, but every change to your body was incredible to him. He was obsessed with how round you were, how full your breasts are, and the cute little pout that is always on your lips.

So you appreciated Bucky for trying to make you something to eat; although you knew it was going to be disgusting, possibly inedible, you would take it with a smile on your face because he tried and that was something you were grateful for.

You decided to get out of bed, not to take over making breakfast in the fear of burning down your house, of course not, but to watch your man in action. When you shifted, however, it became painfully obvious that you were overdue for a shave. The prickly hairs on your pussy were uncomfortable, making putting your legs together almost painful.

You have no idea when the last time you shaved was. All you knew was that it was when you could still see your feet, and that was a loooonnng time ago. Bucky didn’t seem to mind your body hair. He would still eat you out until you had to roll over from the weight of your belly making it hard to breathe. He never once complained about your public hair and you honestly forgot that you hadn’t shaved in so long, until this moment.

Throwing on Bucky’s henley, grateful that he was so fucking beefy so you could still fit into his shirt, although tight around the belly, and wobbled out to the kitchen. Bucky heard you, your feet heavy on the wood floors. “Petal, you’re going to love this! I made you grilled cheese and guess what?” He spins around, bright smile on his face, a grilled cheese plated in his hands. 

“I have officially made something edible without us having to evacuate the house, AND it’s only slightly burnt.” The early morning sun casts a soft glow on his naked chest. He looked like a Greek god, corded muscles topped with a bit of softness, the result of your cooking and less time with the Avengers. 

“Good job, Duckie. Good thing too because I’m starving. Bug isn’t going to stop kicking my bladder until she gets something to eat.” Crow’s feet bloom around Bucky’s eyes. He falls in love with you harder every day, seeing you carry his baby into the world, keeping her safe in your belly.

Bucky sets the singular grilled cheese at your spot on the table, pulling out the chair for you to sit, strong hands grabbing your waist, making sure you don’t strain yourself too hard. He spins around and gets you a cup of your favorite morning drink and places it in front of you, quickly sitting down opposite you, eagerly waiting for you to take a bite.

“Duckie, aren’t you going to have one, too?” His sweet Petal was too good to him.

“Well, Petal, only one turned out.” He gives you a sheepish smile and you can only giggle at him.

“Do you want half of mine then? I don’t mind sharing.” You were starving your ass off, but you wanted to reward Bucky with something for being so good to you.

He vehemently shakes his head. “Uh, uh, Petal, you and Bug need to eat. I can find something else. Now hurry up and tell me if I meet up to your standards.”

Before you take a bite you reach over the table to grab his right hand, running your fingers over the wedding band there. He couldn’t wear it on his left hand, but you wanted everyone to know that he was yours. “You always exceed my standards, Duck.”

Bucky blushes and gestures for you to have a taste. Your eyes widen as the cheesy snack hits your tongue. “Oh my god, this is actually good!” Bucky leans back in his chair and does a small victory dance, proud of himself for feeding his wife.

His celebration is cut short when he sees you shift in your seat, clearly uncomfortable. “Petal, what’s wrong? Is Bug kicking?” Bucky is by your side in seconds cupping your belly, only to find that Bug isn’t causing a raucous.

“It’s kind of embarrassing.” You look down, away from his prying eyes.

“We have been together for 8 years, Petal. I stood watch while you took a shit on the side of the highway, it can’t be that bad.”

You whip your head around. “Duckie! We don’t talk about that. I told you not to bring that up again. It was one time!” Bucky only laughs and turns his head away.

“Petal, we both know that it was twice and we had to stop by Mcdonalds so you could wash yourself after you wiped with poison ivy.” Bucky was barely containing his laughter, while you were dying of embarrassment. “You know, that was the moment I knew I was going to marry you?”

You scoffed. “When we were stuck on the highway while I popped a squat? That cannot be when you knew you were going to marry me. That is not what you said at the wedding.” 

“Didn’t think that you would appreciate that story being told to all of our friends and family. But your secret is safe with me.”

“Since we are bringing up the past, remember the time you were training with Sam and he hit you in the balls and you pissed yourself. You called me to bring you a new pair of underwear and I made sure no one knew.” You turned your chin up.

“C’mon, Petal, it wasn’t even that much. It was just a dot. And it wasn’t my fault I had a full bladder. Don’t make me bring what happened last week when you-”

You slapped your hand over his mouth, grabbing him by the back of his head and pulling him close to you. “Don’t. You. Dare. We never mention that again, we forget it ever happened, yeah?”

Bucky moans at your dominance, it never failed to get his cock hard. “Okay, okay, I’ll stop, but you have to tell me what’s got you wobbling in your seat. And I know it’s not because my cooking turned you on.”

You took a deep breath before looking into his eyes. “Promise you won’t laugh?” 

“I can’t promise that, Petal, but I won’t judge you.” Of course, Bucky and you always laughed at each other. Never when it was something serious. But you were able to joke around when the other did something embarrassing, but he would never joke about it if you were uncomfortable.

“My pussy hurts.” You squint your eyes, the grumpiest look on your face, and cross your arms.

“Petal, that’s all you had to say. I’m an expert on taking care of my sweet girl. If I lick her bud would that make it better?” You feel your cunt pulse at his words, but the scratching is too annoying to let you get turned on.

“No, Duckie! I mean my fucking hair is too long and it’s poking me and it fucking hurts and I can’t reach to shave because of this huge belly, and it makes me feel like a sasquatch and I just want to feel pretty.” You almost burst into tears, not knowing that you had so many emotions bubbling under the surface, but then again you were pregnant and couldn’t control them.

“Oh, Petal, you are the most gorgeous woman on this planet, shaven or not. And you don’t need to worry about doing anything for yourself, you hear me? If you wanted me to, I would wipe your ass for you.” You sucked your teeth and slapped his chest.

“I’m being serious!”

“And so am I.” 

Without another word, Bucky picks you up like you weigh nothing and heads to your bedroom and sets you down on the soft covers. “Duckie, what are you doing?” He still doesn’t say anything as he walks into the bathroom to get a towel and your conditioner and sets them on the bed. He leaves the room only to come back a minute later with a bowl of water and his razor. “You cannot be serious right now.”

“Oh, Petal, deathly.” He flicks the towel out and lays it on the edge of the bed and sets you there, your feet planted on either side of you and you’re forced to lay back with your belly.

You don’t see what he is up to, but you feel his hot breath fan across your folds and he groans. “Petal, is this making you wet? Your husband between your legs about to service you?” He chuckles as the twitch of your clit. “Fuck, prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen. Makes my cock so fucking hard, could cum in my pants just from eating her.”

“Duckie, don’t lie. I know it doesn’t look pretty. Probably could fucking braid it.” You fight the urge to close your legs. You haven’t had sex in almost three weeks, mainly because your body is so exhausted all the time and you know you wouldn’t be able to enjoy it.

“Petal, when have I ever lied to you? You think I would lie straight to my pretty girl’s face? How could I lie right in front of Heaven?” He leans in closer and you hear the deep inhale he takes. “And about that braid comment, I learned how to braid hair in Wakanda so that isn’t a problem for me.”

He gets a giggle out of you. “I can’t fucking believe you. You’re such a dork.” Rather than hear his chuckle, you feel it, his mouth pressed against your cunt, lapping your juices. “Fuck, oh shit, don’t stop.”

“Mmh, so fucking good. Don’t even need to eat breakfast when I have this meal on a fucking platter.” He dives back in, arms wrapped around your thighs, keeping you in place. With his hands occupied with your thighs, you were able to grind against his mouth, urging him to focus on your clit. Bucky was in his own world, the hairs pressing against his face not deterring him in the slightest.

His groan is deep and sends shockwaves up your spine, unable to stop the jerk of your hips. All at once, Bucky lets go of your thighs and turns away to sneeze. With great difficulty, you sit up and stare at him, perplexed. “Duckie, you better not fucking tell me that my pubes make you sneeze or so help me.”

Bucky falls onto his back, clutching his stomach as his laughter rings out in the room. The obvious tent is his pants still there. “I’m sorry, Petal, just tickled my nose is all.” His entire face is red, each word coming out in a wheeze. 

“Duckie, it’s not funny.” Even at your protests, you feel yourself unable to control your laughter. 

“If it’s not funny, then why are you laughing, Petal?” Bucky is finally able to control himself enough to sit up and rest his head on your thigh.

“Because you were laughing. Don’t you dare try and eat me out right now.” You push his forehead away, much to his dismay. “Are you going to shave me or not?” Your pout has him pressing his lips together to stop the giggle from leaving his lips.

“Of course, my hedge.”

“DUCKIE!”

“I’m only joking.” 

You lay back and prop your feet up again, jolting slightly as Bucky runs his hands, dipped in water, over your folds and mound. While slightly more prepared for the conditioner, it still feels foreign to have his hands touching you like this.

“Fuck, Petal, just one more taste.”

“Duckie.”

“Fine.”

He starts with your lips, using one hand to hold them tight, taking extra care not to knick your sensitive skin. “Hey, Duckie?” The only view you have is of the ceiling so you don’t see the absolute concentration on Bucky’s face, tongue poking out, and eyebrows furrowed.

“Yeah, Petal?”

“Do you think it’s normal that I’m getting turned on by this?” Bucky loved that you were comfortable enough in your relationship to casually talk about random things, knowing that he wouldn’t judge you for them, most of the time he was on the same page as you anyway.

“Probably not, but if it makes you feel any better, I’m solid as a rock right now.” You giggle at his casual tone, almost as if he was asking you how your day was. “Don’t move, I’m performing a delicate operation here.” It only makes you giggle more and Bucky has to pull away, leaning over to the side so you could see his face.

“Okay, I guess I’ll just lay here then.” It was Bucky’s turn to suck his teeth in but doesn’t say anything else.

“Hey, Duckie?” Bucky sighs and begrudgingly answers. “Is that my slick running down my ass or water? I need to know how embarrassed I should be.”

“I could give it a taste and answer you.”

“Ew, no. I probably have little bits of hair everywhere.”

With each stroke of the razor you feel yourself relax more and more. The constant presence of his hands soothing you. Bucky taps your leg to signal that you’re done and picks you up, bending you over the bed. “Duckie, we are not having sex right now.”

“Petal, you know that I am very thorough in everything that I do, and I still have your perfect ass to shave” You groan and bury your face into the covers.

“C’mon, Duck, this is worse than before. I feel so exposed.” Bucky rubs his hand down your spine, his other hand reaching under you to support your belly.

“Nothing I haven’t seen before, and I’m going to make my girl feel pretty.” He lands a light slap to your right asscheek and grinds his hips against your cunt once before pulling away.

He works just the same, using one hand to spread you open while carefully removing all your hair. When he’s done he pulls back, one hand cupping each cheek. You huff when he jiggles your ass to his heart’s content, letting him have his reward for taking care of you.

“Duckie! Did you just bite my fucking ass?” 

“Couldn’t help it, Petal, so fucking sexy.” 

You contemplate if you should kick him or kiss him. Your decision is cut short when he rolls you over again, now looking at your face. “Petal, we still have two legs to do and they both lead to my favorite petals.”

Fuck, you were in for it.

[juniepops]

grabs you by the shoulders fucking listen to me. stories about girls becoming something together. stories about girls loving each other so much that they stick together and protect each other as they become something. stories about girls becoming something that turns others against them but taking care of each other so strongly that they can't be dragged down or destroyed. girls becoming something and loving it so much and loving each other so much that anyone else can't help but want to become something alongside them, to love them and be loved

[mina-saiyat]

Take off from your crotch, Landing on my face (Tzuyu)

'Please look at the camera, Tzuyu xi.’ Tzuyu specially chose a black strapless dress today. This dress showed off Tzuyu's exquisite figure to the fullest, and I couldn't help but feel a little distraught.

What surprised me even more was that Tzuyu seemed to be aware of my gaze. She actually started to show me the most private parts of her body intentionally or unintentionally! Whenever there were no other staff around, Tzuyu would give me a provocative wink, and then slowly lift a corner of her skirt, revealing her sexy and slender legs.

Looking at this scene, I felt the desire in my body getting stronger and stronger, and a wave of heat surged under my lower abdomen. Tzuyu is just deliberately trying to seduce me, this bad girl! Finally, we found an unused VIP room in the airport lounge. Once inside, I couldn't hold it in any longer and pushed Tzuyu down on the sofa.

"Tzuyu, help me! I can't take it anymore!" I gasped, undoing my belt with trembling hands.

Tzuyu 's slender fingers slipped into my underwear, grabbed the already hard and erect cock, and then started working it up and down.

"Ah——!" I cried out comfortably, this feeling was so wonderful! I never thought that Tzuyu's little hands would bring me such blissful enjoyment.

Tzuyu sped up her hands and raised her head to look at me. While looking at me with her blurred eyes, she uttered erotic words one after another: "Do you want to cum on my hand? Manager Oppa~"

Hearing Tzuyu say this, I almost lost all my mind. Tzuyu's hand skills are so good, I feel my semen is gathering momentum. At this moment, Tzuyu suddenly slowed down the movements of her hands, causing my cock to lose the satisfying pleasure.

"How about it? Do you really want to cum on me? Do you want to ejaculate all your semen on me?" Tzuyu asked in a provocative tone, while sticking out the tip of her tongue and licking her lips.

I couldn't resist the temptation and immediately nodded in agreement. So Tzuyu increased the speed of her hand again, and I reached climax in her hand. A large amount of white mucus spurted out, all falling on Tzuyu 's palms and arms.

After the orgasm, my whole body went limp, and I leaned on the sofa and took a deep breath. Tzuyu laughed like a child who had succeeded in a prank. She took the napkin on the table and wiped her right hand which was stained with semen.

I opened my eyes and looked at Tzuyu, and found that she was staring at me, with a sly smile on her lips.

"Want more? Manager oppa~" Tzuyu said softly and took a step closer to me.

I subconsciously grabbed Tzuyu 's wrist and pulled her closer to me. Tzuyu sat down in cooperation, lying on my body, and put her mouth close to my ear.

"I want to eat you..." Tzuyu whispered in my ear, and the breath in her mouth made my heart beat faster. She stretched out the tip of her tongue and licked the shell of my ear. This exciting move made my whole body tremble, when the tip of Tzuyu's tongue slipped into my mouth, I instantly lost myself.

The two of us were passionately intertwined on the sofa, and our clothes were taken off one by one, leaving only the most primitive lust dominating each other. I don't know how much time has passed. I only know that every inch of Tzuyu's lips, breasts, thighs...every inch of her skin is imprinted with my deep kiss marks.

What Tzuyu loves most is seeing me lose control in front of her. And every time, I will be as she wishes, completely under her control.

While I kissed Tzuyu all over her body, feeling her soft skin, I didn't forget to take care of her most sensitive parts. My tongue swirled around her nipples, causing Tzuyu to moan. And when my lips moved to her lower abdomen, Tzuyu's gasping became more obvious.

"Ah... Manager oppa... you are such a genius..." Tzuyu couldn't help but hug me tightly, and her slender legs unconsciously wrapped around my waist. .

I know that Tzuyu has been trained to be very submissive by me, but I also need to be satisfied. So I let go of Tzuyu and focused on tending to my already sunk cock.

Tzuyu understood my preferences very well. Her little hand held my thick member, and her fingers moved up and down skillfully. At the same time, her other hand held up my balls and kneaded it gently. This double stimulation soon made me feel so comfortable that I felt like I was in heaven.

"Tzuyu...you are really good at it..." I moaned in admiration, while Tzuyu smiled proudly. She lowered her head, took my erect cock into her mouth, and then started swallowing it up and down.

Tzuyu's tongue skills are extremely superb. She knows how to please a man and how to push my desire to the highest peak. I couldn't help but increase the speed of her swallowing, hoping that she would go deeper.

Just when Tzuyu was driving me crazy, she suddenly stopped. I looked at Tzuyu in confusion. She blinked at me, then got up and started to put on the black strapless dress that I had just taken off.

"Tzuyu, what are you doing?" I asked in confusion. Doesn't she plan to take the next step with me?

Tzuyu looked back at me with a sly smile: "Manager Oppa, have you forgotten? I love to see you swooning over me the most, but you are always so impatient."

It turns out that Tzuyu wanted me to repeat the process of seeing her dress again so that I could immerse myself in that sexiness again. I couldn't help but smile bitterly to myself, Tzuyu is really an elusive girl.

Tzuyu slowly put her clothes back on, while I waited patiently for her performance. Finally, Tzuyu twisted her slender waist again and walked towards me. She leaned down, stared at me with her blurred eyes, and uttered a seductive word:

"Come on, Manager oppa...fuck me hard with your big cock..."

Tzuyu's words were like a magic spell, making my whole body burn. I quickly unzipped my pants and took out my clone, which was already ready to go. Then, I pulled open the bottom of Tzuyu's skirt and pushed her down on the sofa.

Tzuyu didn't resist, but opened her thighs in cooperation. I rushed forward and bit her white and tender breast. At the same time, I jerked my waist and the whole breast was inserted into Tzuyu's wet pussy.

"Ah——!" Tzuyu screamed, and then twisted her waist to meet my thrusts. I grabbed Tzuyu's waist and thrust into her vagina as hard as I could.

"Well...Manager oppa...you are so fierce...I am going to die..." Tzuyu moaned intermittently, her expression looking like she was about to collapse. But I had no intention of slowing down at all. I wanted to see Tzuyu begging for mercy underneath me.

Sure enough, Tzuyu soon became unsteady and her eyes were a little unfocused. I took the opportunity to insert my fingers into her ass, causing her to scream again.

"Tzuyu, you have to call me daddy... call me daddy..." I ordered, while increasing the speed of thrusting.

Ziyu was almost losing her mind. She cried out: "Daddy...Daddy...please...please...slow down." ..."

Hearing Tzuyu call me "Daddy", I felt a sense of pride as a conqueror. My movements became more and more rough, and Tzuyu 's body couldn't help but tremble as I moved in and out.

"Tzuyu, call me again...scream a little sweeter..." I stopped and played with Tzuyu's clit with my fingertips.

Tzuyu gasped and looked at me with distracted eyes: "Daddy...Daddy...please enjoy your daughter..."

Before Tzuyu finished speaking, I slammed into the deepest part of her, and then quickly withdrew. This was repeated until Tzuyu couldn't bear it any longer and quickly reached a climax.

"Ahhhh——!" Tzuyu cried loudly, and a large amount of juice flowed out from under her body. And I was still pumping inside her, enjoying the tightness of her orgasm.

I don't know how long it took before I finally let go of Tzuyu and let her rest for a while. I looked at the time and saw that we are flying to Jakarta in two hours. Although Tzuyu was exhausted, it seemed that she still longed for more.

So, I picked up Tzuyu's waist, put her on the coffee table, and asked her to raise her hips high. I knelt behind her, held her waist, and buried myself inside her again.

"Tzuyu, daddy isn't done yet... We have to enjoy the rest of the time..." I said with a wicked smile, and then started thrusting aggressively from behind her.

Since Tzuyu was extremely tired, I had to actively control the pace to prevent her from reaching another climax too quickly. However, Tzuyu didn't seem to care about this. She just screamed and let me take all of her.

My palms kept falling on Tzuyu's snow-white buttocks, and every slap made Tzuyu tremble. Tzuyu 's vagina tightened involuntarily and tightly wrapped my penis. This wonderful taste made me unable to extricate myself. I kept accelerating my speed and wished I could indulge in it forever.

" Tzuyu, you are such a little slut... you have taken away all daddy's heart and soul..." I groaned, while increasing the strength in my hand. Tzuyu was in pain, but she felt more pleasure than ever before, and her screams became louder and more urgent.

"Ah——! Dad...you hit me so hard...Tzuyu is going to be broken...I’m going to be broken..." Tzuyu said incoherently. She screamed, and her vagina couldn't help but twitch under my thrusts.

However, all this was not enough to satisfy me. I reached out and pinched Tzuyu 's neck again, making it difficult for her to breathe. This suffocating pleasure caused Tzuyu to fall into a state of near madness. Her eyes widened and tears fell from the corners of her eyes. However, her moans became more wanton, as if she wanted to vent all her pleasure in this way.

"Daddy...Daddy...Tzuyu is going to be broken by you...I’m going to be broken..."

Tzuyu's confession made me thrust harder inside her, and at the same time, I increased the force on my hands. Tzuyu 's expression became painful and twisted, but her expression also revealed great pleasure. Finally, under my fierce attack, Tzuyu climbed to the top again.

"Ahhhhhh!" Tzuyu screamed, and a stream of hot fluid spurted out from her lower body. Her mind was completely out of control and she could only rely on instinct to deal with my invasion. I smiled proudly, released my grip on Ziyu's neck, and then slammed into her deepest part.

"Ah——!" Tzuyu moaned loudly again, and then her whole body fell softly. I don't care whether she can bear it or not, I just want to have some more of her sweetness before I reach my climax.

So, I leaned down and held Tzuyu's breasts through her skirt. I kneaded the two bright spots with my fingertips, feeling them harden and grow under my teasing. At the same time, I also intensified my movements inside Tzuyu 's body, hoping to stimulate more of her sensitive zones.

Sure enough, my method worked quickly. Tzuyu 's breathing became rapid, and her pussy tightened a lot because of my playing with her. However, my cock was still as hard as steel, and there was no sign of ejaculation.

"Tzuyu, daddy hasn't had enough fun yet... How long can you play with daddy..." I gasped and questioned, while inserting my fingers into Tzuyu's anus, trying to further develop her potential to be a fuck doll.

Tzuyu's moans became broken and short, but she still managed to answer me: "Daddy...Daddy...Tzuyu is...ok... .As long as you...want..."

Before Tzuyu finished speaking, I slammed into her deepest part. Tzuyu 's rationality was instantly disconnected, her head tilted to the side, and saliva fell from the corners of her mouth. I grabbed Tzuyu's breasts and thrust in and out of her as fast as possible.

"Ah——!" Ziyu suddenly screamed, and her limbs tensed up. I knew this was another orgasm she had reached. But I didn't stop. I wanted to keep Tzuyu immersed in the pleasure of sex until I was satisfied myself.

I increased my speed, thrusting deeper and faster into Tzuyu each time. Tzuyu 's moans became louder and louder, and her waist kept arching upwards. I simply pulled down Tzuyu's top and kneaded her breasts. Tzuyu's nipples soon became engorged and hardened. I took them between my fingers and rubbed them hard.

" Tzuyu, your breasts are so nice to touch...Daddy loves you so much..." I gasped, while thrusting hard into the deepest part of Tzuyu.

Tzuyu 's expression has become blurred, and her reason seems to have disappeared into an unknown realm along with the pleasure. I held up Tzuyu's waist with one hand, and pinched her neck with the other. This sudden feeling of suffocation made Tzuyu 's body bounce convulsively, and then she fell into chaos again.

At this moment, Tzuyu suddenly woke up. She realized that she couldn't bear any more pleasure, and if I didn't end it, she might really be broken.

"Daddy...Tzuyu can't survive...please...please cum for Tzuyu quickly..." Tzuyu tried to twist her body, thinking to break free from me. But her reason has long been swallowed up by pleasure, and her words and actions are just to suit my preferences.

"Tzuyu, good girl... Daddy likes to hear you aegyo... If you say yes, Daddy will cum for you right away..." I agreed with a smile, and at the same time, I speeded up my movement inside Tzuyu’s body.

Tzuyu understood that I wanted to see her let loose again. She gritted her teeth and began to scream loudly: "Dad...you are so wonderful... Tzuyu has never been so loved by you...you must give all your all the semen on Tzuyu... Tzuyu wants daddy's seed..."

These lewd words really excited me. My body was beating in Tzuyu's body, as if I couldn't wait to spread the seeds of life into Tzuyu's body. However, Tzuyu made a new request at this time: "Dad... can you cum in Tzuyu's little mouth... If you creampie me... ..I am Afraiding that I cannot cleaning up in time...Daddy, please cum in my little mouth first...

Tzuyu's suggestion is exactly what I want. So, I immediately took out my clone, turned Tzuyu over, and made her kneel on the ground. I supported the cock and started rubbing it between Tzuyu 's lips.

"Good girl, take it in your mouth quickly...Daddy is going to cum for you..." I urged, while also adjusting the position of my ejaculation.

As soon as Tzuyu saw my fully harden shaft which is pulsing from the excitement, she immediately understood what I meant. She raised her head slightly and licked my tip with her tongue. This numb feeling immediately gave me a shiver. I held down Tzuyu 's head and inserted it into her mouth without ceremony.

Tzuyu 's lips were wide open by my cock, but she still sucked with all her strength. The tip of her tongue kept teasing me, causing all the blood in my body to concentrate in one place. I grabbed Tzuyu 's hair and started thrusting in and out of her mouth quickly.

" Tzuyu...your little mouth feels so good...Daddy is going to cum...I'll cum for you..." I announced breathlessly, and then thrust in her mouth deeper, pour all the hot liquid into Tzuyu's throat.

Tzuyu 's eyes turned white due to choking, but she still resisted the urge to spit it out and swallowed my semen. I pulled out the cock with satisfaction and looked at the white liquid flowing from the corner of Tzuyu 's mouth, feeling a sense of accomplishment.

"Tzuyu is a good girl...Daddy will definitely cum in your mouth next time..."

Since Tzuyu 's small mouth was too small to completely swallow all my semen, some thick white liquid overflowed from the corners of her mouth and dripped onto her black dress. The liquid slowly seeped into the fabric, leaving streaks of stains.

As soon as Tzuyu saw that her skirt was so stained, she immediately complained: "Dad...how could you cum on Tzuyu's skirt...how can I wear this to meet people?" .....If someone sees it...they will definitely doubt our relationship..."

"Don't be afraid, Tzuyu... If your fans know that you are a slut... they will definitely be more excited..." I chuckled and wiped the semen from the corner of Tzuyu 's lips off with my hands and put it in her mouth.

"But... Tzuyu doesn't want others to know... I just want to share this passion with daddy alone..." Tzuyu muttered aggrievedly, with a pair of watery eyes. She looked at me with her eyes, as if she was about to cry.

I know very well that Tzuyu is not really against letting others share our passion, she just wants more attention and love. So, I decided to train this little horny girl who was not satisfied with her desires.

"In that case... then lick it clean for Daddy... Only if you can do it... Daddy is willing to reward you..." I raised my head from the corner of his lips, he deliberately inserted his semen-stained fingers into Tzuyu’s mouth.

I pat her hair while forcing her to clean my cock.  ‘We still have a whole night at the hotel tonight, I will make sure to feed my baby girl well.’ Once Tzuyu heard she can get more cum after arriving hotel, her whole body jerked from the excitement.

[fyorina]

ᡣ𐭩 I LAUGH LIKE ME AGAIN (SHE LAUGHS LIKE YOU)

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: four years apart and the ultimate question is about to be answered: do you and dazai really still know each other, or are you clinging to a fantasy of the past? you decide to put it to the test with a game of wits and questions when dazai gets back to your apartment—but as the game drags on, dazai starts to wonder if maybe he was wrong. worse, if maybe he would prefer to be wrong.

(wordcount: 14.5k; ņsfw; fem!reader; port mafia executive!reader, jealous!dazai, possessive!dazai, smoking & drinking, unprotected sex, switch!dazai, switch!reader, undertones of angst (happy ending). lmk if anything is missing, im rushing to get this out!)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: guys here it IS - sorry it's late, but TRUST it's worth it. i'm so proud of this fic, genuinely one of the things im most proud of writing. this is technically a part 2 to he's my collar but can be read as a standalone

It takes far too long for Dazai to make it out of the Port Mafia headquarters, with both Akutagawa and Chuuya prowling about like the dogs they are. He wonders if you tipped either of them off—Chuuya, in particular—because the slug had been looking around like he was searching for someone. He thinks you’re entirely wretched for it, knowing that if he got caught, he’d be trapped in that damp and filthy torture chamber until he managed to finagle his way out, and he plans to make it known to you just how entirely displeased he is by the situation. 

The path to your apartment is achingly familiar, and the giddiness in his chest is something he hasn’t felt since the day he left. He knows that he should probably be more careful—he’s still in Port Mafia territory, your apartment spans the top floor of the easternmost building of the five towers—but he also knows that you’re the only one with direct access to the cameras in this building so he’s more reckless than he would’ve otherwise been. 

The floors tick up agonizingly slowly, Dazai swears that there must be something wrong with the elevator because it’s never taken this long before to get up to your place. His fingers thrum against his thigh, and his foot taps the ground impatiently. He paces from corner to corner within the small space like a caged animal. He thinks that maybe he should be taking advantage of the time alone, come up with some better excuses as to why he didn’t say anything to you before he left.

“I wouldn’t have left,” isn’t going to cut it. As true as it might be, it’s not the full truth, and Dazai knows you’ll be able to sniff it out in a matter of a few seconds with a clear head. He’s not walking into a cheerful reunion between old lovers, he’s walking into what’s about to be a stressful game of chess against a strategist whom Dazai has always considered a near-equal, a battle of wits against a woman whose whole life has revolved around political warfare. If he wants to keep his dignity intact and his secrets safe, he’s going to have to be incredibly cautious with what he says to you and even with how he reacts to what you say to him.

Still, he can’t help the giddiness. The excitement. He’s missed you. He’s missed you so much that it hurts. He’d thought that over time, the longing for you would go away, but it never did. If anything, it got worse because, over time, the pictures of you started to lack the soothing feeling they used to bring to the aching in his chest. Over time, he started to forget the sound of your voice and the sound of your laugh.

He’d known that you’d been sent away on foreign business not long after his last call to you, but he didn’t think Mori would actually keep you abroad for three whole years. He’d been hoping, maybe, that he could stumble into you one day. Or maybe just watch from afar, get close enough to hear the sound of your voice again. He’s been grossly denied of you for too long, and he knows that it’s of his own doing but that only makes it worse.

When the elevator dings, announcing his arrival on your floor, Dazai is sorely unprepared for the conversation about to take place. He steps into your penthouse, eyes drifting around the familiar vast space.

Like your office, not much has changed since the last time he was here. Your coffee table is still set down a few centimeters too close to the couch in the living room—the same couch he had his first kiss on with you when the two of you were sixteen and drunk on champagne celebrating a successful mission. You still hang your black jacket over a chair instead of properly on a hanger, it’s why it always has a crease on the back—he’d noticed it when you left your office, and he can’t help but smile slightly at the confirmation as his eyes linger on where it’s draped over one of your kitchen chairs. 

You tried to convince him that you’ve changed in the years the two of you have been apart, but Dazai doesn’t think you’ve changed much at all.

You’re leaning against the windows, looking down on the city—he knows you must’ve heard the elevator, but you haven’t bothered to look his way yet. There’s an indecipherable expression on your face and a glass of wine in your hand. You’re still dressed in your suit and Dazai notices there’s a glass of whiskey on the rocks untouched on the kitchen table. He shrugs off his trench coat and drapes it over yours, hoping that the scent of you seeps into it because he’s gone too long without it.

His fingers curl around the glass of whiskey you’d left out for him, and for a moment, he swears that he’s eighteen again. He’s making his way to your penthouse after a long mission with Chuuya, you’re expecting him—you always are—and he can never push away the fondness that squeezes his chest when he finds you lounging back on your couch, flipping through channels to find something to watch, a glass of his favorite whiskey set down on the coffee table next to where your feet are propped up as you wait for him to show up.

He wonders if you even care to remember what his favorite is. He wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t.

He makes his way out of the kitchen and back into the living room, and he’s reminded that he’s not eighteen and you’re not waiting for him to show up after a mission because you finally look at him, and his breath catches in his throat.

He thinks you look a bit older now than you did four years ago—to be expected, of course—and there’s a coldness to your eyes that hadn’t been there before. Impossibly, he thinks that you’re somehow even more beautiful than you were when he last saw you, and he realizes again, throat tightening, that even after three years of no contact with you, he’s just as in love with you now as he was the day he left.

He knew it back then before he left, even if he never said it. When he was eighteen and could only feel any inkling of pleasure when he was with you; it wasn’t like he’d never tried to have sex with other people, he’d whore himself out for information at any given chance and slept around frequently after you started dating a civilian to distract himself from the bitter jealousy he felt, but he’d never known how good it was supposed to feel until he slept with you for the first time. When he was seventeen and could only ever feel comfortable in your presence, seeking you out at any given chance when he couldn’t handle being around people anymore; he’d curl up in your office with your orange blanket, napping as you did work, knowing that you’d keep people away from him. He thinks he might’ve even known when he was sixteen when the two of you first met on the streets of the Kanagawa prefecture.

He wonders if you even believed him when he said it earlier—he doubts it, you don’t seem too keen to believe anything he says, and he doesn’t blame you for it. 

But whether you believe it or not, it’s yours—that rotted heart of his, shriveled and shabby, riddled with holes and decay, half-eaten by maggots and worms it might be, but it’s still yours. He thinks that it was meant to be yours since the moment he was born, and it’ll be yours even after the two of you are long dead. He doesn’t know how he’s meant to go without you again—he doesn’t think he can. He knows that despite the tentative ceasefire, the Port Mafia and the Agency are still enemies, but he knows in his heart that he won’t be able to leave you again. Even just the sight of you has condemned him completely. 

Then you speak, and at once, his entire world falls apart.

“I’m leaving again in the morning,” you finally say, tone flat and eyes sharp and shrewd as you look over him. He reminds himself that this is not a reunion, that he needs to get his head on straight if he wants to make it out of your apartment in one piece, but it’s hard. “I was only brought back to smooth things over with the government after the whole fiasco with Fitzgerald and his American cronies. I’ll be leaving for Russia in the morning to meet with Tolstoy and Nabakov. Hopefully, gain some intel on Fyodor Dostoevsky’s plans before the man makes another move on the city.”

He… did not anticipate that you’d be leaving again so soon. Something cold and sharp latches to his heart, like jagged nails ripping it apart. He makes sure it doesn’t show on his face.

“Be careful,” he tells you quietly. “Dostoevsky… he’s not someone to underestimate. Just-Just be careful.”

You raise your eyebrows, unimpressed, “I’ve worked with Dostoevsky before. I don’t need you to warn me about him.” 

Your voice is cool. Sharp. Dazai sighs, knowing that anything he might’ve said to you earlier in the night is lost to you, and he doesn’t know if he’ll have it in him to bare his heart again, only for you to scorn it. He’s not meeting with you as he knows you—as his closest friend, as his lover; he’s meeting with you as the Port Mafia executive. Not the version of you that treats with allies, wining and dining them with glittering eyes and playful smiles as you use your ability to ensure they never turn on the Port Mafia; the version of you that sits at the round table with enemies, with a quick mind and calculating eyes as you decide whether or not they’re worthy of being absorbed into the Port Mafia or if Double Black will be sent out to eradicate them. 

“I told you everything I had to say back at the office,” Dazai tries, and he wonders if you’ll let him get away with it—he doubts it, but it’s worth a shot, and it will at least stall for a few moments as he tries to forcibly turn the cogs in his mind to figure out the best way of appeasing you. “I missed you. I… couldn’t say goodbye to you, not if I was to leave. I…”

I love you.

He doesn’t say it; he thinks he was only able to push it out earlier in the night in the heat of the moment, the orgasm-induced haze fogging his brain enough to let it slip out in desperation to make you give him a chance. And it worked because you gave him a second chance when you invited him back to your apartment, but Dazai doesn’t know how to make the most of the opportunity. He thinks he’s a fool for not preparing for this before getting here.

You click your tongue sharply, lip curling up in something close to disgust, and Dazai is glad he didn’t speak his ‘I love you’ because he thinks he might’ve actually cried if that was your reaction to him saying it.

“The only things you told me earlier in the night were half-truths and sweet talk. I didn’t invite you back to my apartment to hear you beg for another chance, Dazai,” you say coolly, and Dazai desperately misses the sound of his given name on your tongue. The corner of your lip curves up into a half-smirk, eyes suddenly glittering beneath the dim lighting of your penthouse as you add, “Although, I wouldn’t be opposed to it after we talk.”

He thinks the fact that you’re already considering an after might be a good sign. He can feel his cheeks flush a bit at your words, but instead of letting himself get rattled, he takes a step forward, well into your personal space, as he dips his face down so close to yours that his lips nearly brush yours as he speaks.

“I’d beg pretty for you,” he whispers, letting his voice drop an octave as his gaze tracks down to your lips. “I’d even get on my knees.”

Unfortunately, you are entirely unbothered by the proposition. “We’ll see, I suppose,” you say, and then raise your eyebrows, signaling for him to take a step back.

He does, and he feels distinctly put out and rejected by your reaction, but he sighs and asks, “What did you invite me here for then?” 

He very much does not like the way your eyes glitter now—shrewd this time, more amused, dangerous, as if you know the two of you are about to tread down territory that he’s going to be unfamiliar with. You nod for him to follow you into the kitchen, taking a seat at the head of the table and motioning for him to sit opposite you.

He does.

“We can play a game,” you finally concede. Dazai settles back against his chair, fingers still tapping rhythmically against his glass of whiskey, a terrible habit that Dazai has accrued whenever he feels cornered. Not a frequent occurrence, but damning when it is. Your eyes linger on them, and he knows you’ve pinpointed the tell. He forces himself to stop, but from the way your lips curl up, he can tell it doesn’t matter. “Ten questions each. Yes or no answers only.”

Dazai notices that you pointedly leave out any rule about the honesty of each answer—intentional, surely, so he probes.

“How do we determine the winner?” Dazai asks. He finally takes a sip of the fine whiskey you’d poured for him, and his question from earlier is answered. His favorite. There’s a warm feeling in his chest at the realization that you’ve remembered it even after all of these years.

Your lips curve up into a sharper and wider smile, teeth glimmering like knives beneath the soft lighting of your kitchen. The glass of wine in your hands is suddenly more reminiscent of a gun being pointed at him than your choice of alcohol, and he feels as if he’s already made some egregious mistake in your eyes.

“After we give our answer, the other has to decide whether or not it was truthful. In the end, we’ll both see how many the other got right. A test to see how well we still know each other,” is all you say in response. You’re mocking him and his insistence that the two of you are still the same, but Dazai intends to prove himself right. You tilt your head to the side and then say, “The prize is to be determined by the winner. I’ll ask the first question.”

Dazai winks, a lecherous comment already on his tongue about the prize, but the withering look you give him is more than enough to make it die before he can let it loose. He pointedly takes another sip of his drink and sinks in his seat.

He thinks that this should be an easy win. You’re quite the adept liar, but you’ve always had a glaring tell. Well, he amends, it’s glaring to him, at least. Not many others would be observant enough to catch it, and even if they were, only someone with an abundance of experience with you would be able to put it together. His gaze flickers up to meet yours, wondering if your lashes flutter right before you tell a lie. It’s such a simple and subtle tell, so casual that it took Dazai a year and a half to put together, but it was hard to miss once he did.

You hum to yourself as you give off the appearance of thinking about a question, but Dazai knows you better than anyone, and he’s certain that you already have all ten prepared, so he rolls his eyes at the faux show of uncertainty. 

“We both know you know what you want to ask,” he finally says. “Do us both a favor and quit with the theatrics.”

Your lip quirks up in amusement. “And here I was being gracious giving you more time to formulate whatever lies you’ll try to get away with,” you drawl, and Dazai nearly flinches.

“You know me so well,” Dazai sighs to hide how disconcerted he really is. “The question?”

You stare at him for a moment, and your lips curl up into a deceptively soft smile that almost throws Dazai off because, god, he’s missed you. And he knows you’re looking at him like this just for this specific reason because you’re a despicable bitch who knows that he’s always been easily unsettled when people show any semblance of affection toward him, but he can’t help the way he falters.

He tries to brace himself for whatever invasive question you’re about to ask regarding his reasons for leaving. Tries to prepare himself to lie cleanly because he’s sure you’re as aware of his tells as he is of yours. 

Then you ask: 

“Did you defect because of something Oda asked of you?”

Jesus. Right for the throat. You really don’t pull punches. 

Dazai’s throat tightens at the mention of his old friend, but he’s able to keep his expression clear of the sudden pain that your question brings on. You’re watching him carefully for reactions, gaze hawklike as you study his face, and Dazai is not about to let you pinpoint any more of his tells so early in the game.

He figures that this is an easy question; you already know the answer but want to hear the confirmation from his lips, so he decides to tell the truth.

“Yes.”

“The truth,” you say, an indecipherable expression on your face. He wonders if you want to ask what Odasaku asked of him, but that’s not part of the game and Dazai has no intention of answering that.

Be on the side that saves people. If both are the same to you, become a good man.

You might laugh in his face—Dazai Osamu, the Demon Prodigy, a good man? The idea is blasphemous, and he thinks it might actually hurt him if you scoff or laugh in response to hearing that, so he keeps his mouth shut and doesn’t give away more than he has to, hoping that you don’t just straight up ask him.

You open your lips to speak, and Dazai braces himself for the prying question, but instead, you only probe, “First question?”

He wonders if your whole first question and the implications of it was just a means of trying to throw him off because now he’s fumbling trying to remember what he wanted to ask you before you hit him with it. He wouldn’t put it past you to play dirty like that—bringing up his dead friend and his last request just to unsettle him to give you the edge.

“Did we meet during my underground years after I defected?” he finally asks, and yeah, he knows the answer to this question. The missing half of his ear and waking up in the old safe house he used to hide out at with you is more than enough evidence for him to come to a definite conclusion, but he wants to hear it from you.

“Yes.”

Dazai inhales sharply and then murmurs, “That’s the truth.” And then, more loudly and far more affronted, he accuses, “I can’t believe you shot half of my ear off.”

He expects you to toss him a wink and a sharp grin, unrepentant and even finding amusement in his offense, but instead, your expression falters for the first time since he’s arrived. Something strange crosses your face; for whatever reason, his words leave you conflicted and Dazai suddenly feels even more nervous than he already was because now he can’t help but wonder what he might’ve said to you in his drunken state. 

He supposes that’ll have to be another question, but first, he’s going to have to figure out how to phrase it to get a yes or no answer first, without being vague enough for it to be a waste of a question or easy for you to misconstrue.

You hum after a few moments, taking a pointed sip of your wine. Dazai watches curiously—you’re bothered still, you’re not even trying to hide it. He knows you have better control over your facial expressions than this, so he thinks maybe it’s a ploy to get him to start spiraling down a path of useless questions. Put off by his sudden inability to discern your schemes, a part of him wonders if maybe you were right because the him of four years ago would’ve seen right through you right now.

“I’m afraid it had to be done,” you sigh with faux regret, but he can tell from the way the smile on your lips doesn’t reach your eyes that you’re not into the banter. “Were you able to fulfill Oda’s request?” 

Fuck. This time Dazai can’t withhold the grimace that spreads across his face. He tries to keep his voice light with a deflecting comment, “My, bella, you’re really hitting with the deep questions tonight, aren’t you?”

You raise your eyebrows, tilting your head to the side as you wait for an answer, not giving him any room to formulate a response to your question. He finally sighs and shakes his head, taking a long sip of his whiskey. He wishes he had a pack of cigarettes on him, suddenly desperately longing for the pleasant burn of the smoke against his throat; he needs the buzz badly right now.

As if you could read his mind, you shift in your seat a bit and stuff your hand into the pocket of your slacks. It takes a few seconds but you fish out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, sliding them across the table over to him. If he wasn’t already so in his head over the question you asked, he’d make a quip over the fact that you still know him so well despite your insistence otherwise, but he only pulls out a cigarette and lights it, looking curiously down at the familiar brand.

“Since when did you start smoking these?” he asks quietly, eyes fluttering shut as he tilts his head back and takes a long drag of it. He exhales slowly and then adds, “Thought you liked the other ones, in the green box.”

“Teal,” you correct, and then frown a bit. “... Switched after you left.”

Dazai’s eyes flutter back open as his gaze focuses on you, wondering if the implication you left up in the air is something he can take at face value or if it’s just another way of trying to get him to lower his guard. But from the way you suddenly don’t meet his eyes, Dazai thinks you might be being honest: you switched because they reminded you of him.

Dazai’s chest suddenly feels heavy again.

“... No,” he finally responds to your second question. “Not yet, at least.”

��... Truth,” you say, and Dazai’s lips curl into a wry smile.

“Unfortunately.” The word slips out before he can stop it.

Your gaze flickers back up to him, curious, but Dazai doesn’t give you the chance to dwell on his comment, asking his next question: “Did I… admit anything to you that night that I wouldn’t have said while sober?”

His fingers tap rhythmically against his glass of whiskey, half-empty now; he’s anxious to hear your response.

“You did,” you confirm.

Dazai grimaces because that’s another truth, and that is not good. But just like how he doesn’t offer any context for his answers, you don’t either. He doesn’t know what he might’ve admitted or how you might’ve taken it—he’s going to have to waste another question on this topic.

“Truth,” he murmurs.

You hum and then ask, “Do you still blame yourself for what happened to him?”

“Come on,” Dazai complains sharply, tossing you a dirty look now. His jaw is tight. He wonders if you keep asking about Oda as some sort of sick revenge for him leaving, ripping open wounds that never properly healed so you can dig your fingers into them and twist around. You don’t look bothered by his outburst, waiting patiently for a response. He lets out an angry sigh, looking away and taking another long drink from his glass and another drag of his cigarette. 

He voices his first lie, “No.”

You let out a puff of air, rising to your feet and making your way over to the opposite counter, you grab the bottle of whiskey and bring it back over to him, topping off his now-empty glass before pointedly holding out your hand. He passes the cigarette over to you, tilting his head back to watch you bring it to your lips—a part of him longs to lean forward, to slide his hand behind your neck and cradle your head as he brings his lips to yours, inhaling the smoke as you exhale it, dizzy off the proximity to you, high off the buzz of the nicotine, just like the two of you would do when before he left.

He refrains, if only barely.

You exhale the smoke, a small cloud billowing around you—Dazai mourns the waste—and then you pass the cigarette back over to him. Your fingers brush his as you do, and a spark shoots through his arm at the touch.

“A lie,” you finally say, looking down at him with a frown. “You shouldn’t blame yourself. There was nothing you could’ve done to save him.”

“You don’t know that,” Dazai says tightly, averting his gaze from you as you make your way back over to your seat across from him. “If I’d been faster-”

“If Mori wants someone dead, then they’ll die,” you interrupt him, a grimace on your face as you look down at your wine glass. “Trust me, Dazai, there was no saving Oda Sakunosuke.”

Dazai pauses instead of snapping again, catching the expression on your face. Haunted, as if you’re speaking from experience. He tilts his head to the side and then asks quietly, “Are you talking about your ex-partner? Itou?”

If Dazai remembers correctly, he died on a mission when you were seventeen. You never told him the circumstances, and he never asked, but it was the first and only time you ever broke down in front of him.

The corner of your lips tightens, “Is that your next question?”

Dazai barely withholds a frustrated sigh. 

“No,” he says quietly, and then asks, “Did I tell you why I couldn’t say goodbye? The real reason?”

He holds his breath now as he waits for your response. One way or another, this question is a double blade: if he did tell you why, then he’s at another disadvantage because he’s going to feel distinctly bare and vulnerable; if he didn’t tell you, he just admitted that he lied back at your office, at least partially. 

After what feels like an eternity, you finally say, “Yes.”

The truth. Dazai wonders when you’re going to utter your first lie, if you will, or if you’re trying to make some sort of point by being honest with him. He voices his answer and then waits impatiently for your next question as his mind races.

He desperately wants to know how you responded to him back then. Would you have come with him had he come to you before he left? Or would you have chosen the Port Mafia? He wonders if he should ask, make it one of his remaining seven questions, but he doesn’t know if he has the guts to hear your answer, so maybe he’ll just change the subject.

“Are you enjoying yourself at the Agency?”

For the life of him, Dazai cannot figure out your angle. First, the prying questions about Oda and now asking about the Agency. He doesn’t know what he expected at the start of the game—you’ve always been unpredictable, but even more so now. He’s never had such a hard time reading you or your intentions before.

He starts to feel even more doubtful, wondering if you were right.

Maybe he doesn’t know you as well as he thinks he does anymore.

But this is an easy question, so he says the truth with little hesitation, “I am.”

Dazai swears the corners of your lips curl up into a soft smile, but it’s gone so quickly that he might’ve imagined it.

“Good,” you say quietly. “I’m glad.”

Dazai’s lips part, a warm feeling spreads through his chest at the honesty in your tone. Desperately, he wants to know what’s going on—where’s the rage and the betrayal he expected from you? The hate? Why do you seem… okay with all of this?

Irrationally, he starts to wonder if everything from the office was just a heat-of-the-moment conversation. If now that you’ve had time to sit on your thoughts, you’ve realized… realized what? That you’ve moved on from him? That you don’t care what he does anymore? That you’ve accepted that he’s no longer a part of your life? The warmth in his chest disappears, edged away by a sudden coldness and desperation because he thinks he’d rather die than go back to a life without you.

Even more irrationally, he remembers the comment you made back at the office, the admission that you’ve slept around since he left. Oh god, what if you really have moved on?

He knows his next question.

“The people you slept with—were they all one-night stands?”

He doesn’t want to know the answer unless it’s a yes.

You raise your eyebrows at the abrupt shift in his line of questioning, and then, to his absolute horror, you say, truthfully, “No.”

“What do you mean no?” he asks angrily—he thinks if he was a bird, he’d be puffing his chest out in irritation. He feels antsy suddenly, he needs to move around. He starts tapping his foot against the floor, his fingers against the glass. And again, he thinks you’re a despicable bitch because you only look amused at his question as if he’s not beside himself with righteous fury.

“It’s not your turn,” is all you respond with, and Dazai has a distinct urge to throttle you. Then you ask, “Do you feel like you belong there?”

He halts.

His fingers freeze from where they’re tapping against the glass, his foot freezes mid-motion. His lips part as he’s confronted with the very question that he’s been struggling with for two years now. He wants to yes, if only to maybe be a little spiteful, to rub in your face that he’s somewhere good and he’s somewhere where he belongs, and it’s not somewhere with you. A cruel dig to get back for the aching in his chest at the thought of you being with other people, but he knows that you’ll catch the lie, and more importantly, he doesn’t want to hurt you like that.

Maybe he has grown a bit because the Dazai of four years ago nearly killed your civilian boyfriend when he found out that you were dating someone besides him and then promptly made a show of sleeping around to try to get back at you.

So, instead, he says quite honestly, “I don’t know.”

You tilt your head to the side. “Not a yes or no answer, but I suppose it works. How curious.”

He hates your cryptic comments. Pointedly, he side-eyes you as he takes another long drag of his cigarette. Already, it’s nearly down to the nub, so he puts it out on your table, ignoring the distasteful look you give him, and then reaches for another to light as he asks: “Were you in a relationship with any of them?” 

You roll your eyes at his prying, and he cannot hide the abject horror that crosses his face when you say, “Yes.”

“That better be a lie,” he complains, and when you look at him as if to ask if that’s really his guess, he makes a show of pushing out his bottom lip and looking away as he says: “I cannot believe you dated other people. Cheater.”

“We were never even dating, Daz-”

“Yes, we were,” Dazai protests instantly, entirely aghast at your words. “We absolutely were. What does that even mean? Of course, we were dating. Everybody knew it. Ask anybody. Ane-san knew. Gin-chan knew. Chuuya knew. Even Mori knew. We were so dating, you-”

“You never officially asked me to be your girlfriend, which is, unfortunately, the most fundamental step of dating,” you interrupt him, and Dazai stares at you in disbelief.

“I bought you flowers, we fucked exclusively,” Dazai complains, aggrieved. “We were definitely dating, and you definitely cheated on me because we never broke up.”

“If we were dating,” you emphasize the if very pointedly, and Dazai is distinctly put out by it, “then we broke up the day you left without saying goodbye.”

Dazai withers. He has no witty comment to return fire with, so instead, he just takes another sip of his whiskey, grateful for the combined buzz of the alcohol and the nicotine to distract him from the overwhelming guilt he feels whenever you bring up how he left you.

“Do you feel like you belong more with the Agency than you did with the Port Mafia?” 

Your next question is an amendment to your previous on, and it leaves Dazai just as lost.

He wants to belong with the Agency. He does. Desperately. He wants more than anything to feel as at home and comfortable in the light as he does in the dark. He doesn’t want to question his place among them anymore, he doesn’t want to wonder if he sticks out like a sore thumb. He wants to enter the office and feel like he doesn’t have to pretend to be someone he’s not, just so he can keep his place with them. He doesn’t want to have to fear at every corner that he’s going to revert to old habits, and they’ll see him for the monster that he is: a monster that should have never left the dark crevices that he crawled out from, a monster with blood so black that it strikes fear in even the most terrible mafiosos.

“No,” he admits the insecurity that’s plagued him to the one person he feels comfortable enough with to voice it aloud. He can’t bring himself to look up at you, wondering if the admission will give you some sort of sick satisfaction, if you’ll be happy that he’s not finding a place he can be comfortable in without you. Instead, he decides to rush to ask his next question: “The one you were in a relationship with, did you love him?”

He thinks that the question came across as far more timid than he meant it to be, and his eyes slide shut as he waits for your answer.

“There were multiple I had relationships with—” Dazai scoffs, of course, there were multiple. “—...but no, I did not.”

He lets out a soft puff of air, shoulders slumping a bit in relief. But his fingers are still tense around his glass, waiting for whatever question you’re going to ask next that’s going to dig deep into open wounds, stripping him of all of his masks and armor to force him to lay himself entirely bare in front of you.

“Did you really blow up Chuuya’s car before you left?”

His eyes fly open at the sudden change of pace in your questions, noting the smirk curling at the corner of your lips and the amusement glinting in your eyes. He accepts the olive branch quickly as he gives you a sharp smile and asks: “What do you think?” 

Your hand flies to your mouth to muffle a laugh, and the smile on Dazai’s lips becomes a bit softer as he watches you desperately try to get yourself under control. “You’re insane, you know that?” you finally say, still trying to bite back giggles. “He was so mad. Raged about it for weeks.”

Another question pops into Dazai’s head at the mention of Chuuya, and before he can consider whether or not he actually wants to know the answer to it, he asks: “Speaking of Chuuya, was he one of your trysts while I was gone?”

Suddenly, you are not laughing, and suddenly, Dazai regrets speaking.

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “Do not tell me-”

“He was,” you confirm.

Dazai’s glass of whiskey is empty. 

He grabs the bottle and drinks right from it, miserable.

“I think I would’ve rather been stabbed through the heart,” Dazai says mournfully, and though he keeps a faux-light tone with you, his throat feels like it’s swollen, and he feels a bit sick to his stomach.

He’s always been jealous of the bond you have with Chuuya. Absurdly jealous, even. You clicked with him quickly—you clicked with both of them quickly, and maybe it was a matter of the three of you being the youngest of the Port Mafia’s uppermost echelon, but Dazai doesn’t want to attribute it solely to that—but the way you clicked with Chuuya was different from how you clicked with Dazai. Two people so completely human locked away in the dark, clinging to one another to maintain some sense of normalcy; your and his casual humanity made Dazai’s lack of it irrefutable and glaring.

Regardless of the why, he never liked how close you were with Chuuya. 

Even before you were dating him—because you were dating him—a part of him had always felt sidelined whenever the three of you hung out together. Not because of either of your wrongdoings but just because it was hard for him to keep up with the two of you. He always felt a bit lost trying to, unable to follow along when the two of you would start laughing at jokes that he didn’t understand even when you explained them to him, when you would share glances with one another that spoke whole conversations he wasn’t privy to. The two of you got along in ways that Dazai would never be able to get along with anyone because there’s just something fundamentally wrong with him at his core. Chuuya, for all of his talk and fear regarding the question of his humanity, has always been so unfailingly human in ways that Dazai, to this day, cannot fathom to understand.

After you started dating him—because you were dating him—it only got worse because he’d see you with Chuuya and wonder if you were better off with someone like him instead. Dazai doesn’t know how to treat you right, clearly. He can’t even treat himself right; and Chuuya has always been the epitome of a gentleman, loathe Dazai is to admit it—Ane-san drilled that into the other boy where Mori only taught Dazai how to be cruel and unforgiving. The line between love and obsession has always been a terribly blurry one for him, and you have always wavered on either side of it—and Dazai, unfortunately, does not love healthily and obsesses so entirely that it would have most people running for the hills. 

For better or for worse, you’re not most people.

In his spiral of insecurity, he doesn’t catch the way your brows furrow as you put together some puzzle pieces. “Dazai,” you say suddenly, drawing him from his thoughts abruptly. There’s an accusatory look in your eyes that he really does not like. “Were you the one that booby-trapped my fucking apartment?”

Dazai snorts.

“You bastard,” you snap at him, and Dazai can’t help but bite the palm of his hand as a means of trying to stifle his laughter. “Mori thought it was a goddamn assassination attempt. He kept me under watch for weeks because of you. I couldn’t leave the towers without half of the Black Lizards with me.”

“Sorry,” he coos, not sorry at all. Dazai, because he clearly doesn’t know when to learn his lesson, then he promptly asks, “Am I better fuck than Chuuya?”

“Jesus Christ, Dazai, get off the topic of Chuuya and my sex life, it’s clearly only upsetting you,” you snap at him instead of answering the question. Dazai wants to argue and retain some dignity; he’s not upset, but then his entire world is shattered by your next words: “I am not answering this question.”

Dazai blanches. He can feel the blood drain from his face. He’d thought this was an easy question to make him feel a bit better. What do you mean you won’t answer? Does that mean Chuuya-

No. Dazai refuses to believe it.

 “No way,” he says, shaking his head. “He’s not a better fuck than me. You can’t possibly-”

“He’s not,” you finally say, and Dazai audibly lets out a sigh of relief. “But if you ever mention anything along the likes of that to him, you will never fuck me again, Dazai Osamu. Do you understand?”

Dazai is too relieved to even argue. “Yeah.”

“No more questions about my sex life,” you say firmly, and Dazai doesn’t respond, but he does agree internally because he doesn’t think his heart can handle any more scares like that. Your eyes sharpen again, and Dazai braces himself. “Were you the one to tell Mori I lied about being sick so I could skip out on the ball Mishima hosted when we were seventeen?”

Dazai’s eyes narrow right back at you and rather than answering, he shoots one of his own questions at you: “Were you the one to tell Mori I had his contact in my phone as ‘ignore’?”

You take his lack of an answer as an affirmative, correctly so. Dazai has no regrets about ratting you out to Mori because he was not about to attend Mishima’s event without you on his arm. He’d rather die. 

“You bastard, do you know the lengths I went to fake being sick? I wanted one night to relax without people breathing down my neck.”

“If I had to go, you had to go,” Dazai retorts petulantly. “I was not about to suffer with only Chuuya as company. You had no reason to tell Mori about the contact name besides to be petty. I fought with Chuuya for weeks because I thought he was the one to do it.”

You choke on a laugh. “Chuuya was so mad, he had no idea what you were talking about.”

“He tied me to a pole and swung me around for three hours,” Dazai complains, but there’s a smile on his lips as you burst into laughter, unable to stifle the giggles that spill from your lips.

“I know,” you wheeze, “I got it on video. We watch it sometimes when we’re bored and can’t find a movie.”

Dazai gapes, and you laugh harder, but for the first time in four years, Dazai finally feels… at home, he feels comfortable in his own skin again. He’s back in your penthouse, he’s drinking his favorite whiskey and smoking his favorite brand of cigarettes, you’re sitting at the kitchen table with him and laughing your head off at his expense, and for a moment, Dazai feels as if nothing has changed: he feels like himself again, eighteen and entirely enamored by the sight and sound of you, and you feel like you again, all of the doubt that had begun to rise to his chest as the two of you played the questions game long gone.

He falls in love with you all over again. Harder this time. Faster. He thinks he’ll fall in love with you again and again every day for the rest of your lives, each time more than the last, no matter how impossible it might seem.

He thinks maybe it’s not that he feels like he belongs with the Port Mafia more than the Agency. He thinks that it’s you. You’re the one he feels at home with. You’re the one he’s comfortable enough to be himself with. You’re the one he belongs with, always has, and always will.

After a few moments, you finally manage to get yourself under control, still giggling a bit as you look back up at him. Your smile is softer now, eyes gentle, more genuine than the smile you gave him before asking the first question. Dazai’s breath catches because when was the last time you looked at him like this—the last time anyone has looked at him like this? A warm feeling spreads through his chest; Dazai thinks he would stay in this moment forever if given the opportunity.

“Are you happy?” you ask quietly

Dazai blinks, startled, and an odd feeling spreads through his chest once your question registers. His lips part to answer, but no words leave them; he draws back as if he’s been slapped, a bit flustered and confused because that’s the furthest thing from what he expected you to ask. He wonders if you’d asked the last three questions to lull him into a false sense of security.

“I-” he starts to say but cuts himself off. “What kind of question is that?” 

He tries to deflect instead of properly answering, frowning, but you only raise your eyebrows, pointedly keeping your lips sealed to let him know that you expect an answer. He shakes his head and then sighs, bouncing the question in his head a few times before going for a cop-out: “When I’m with you? Always.”

You’re not pleased by his decision, frowning as you look away from him—he knows that’s not what you asked, not really, but you should have been clearer with your question if you wanted him to give you the answer you expected. But he doesn’t like the sudden disappointment on your face, it leaves his skin itchy and his chest longing for the soft look to return.

So he sits there, ruminating on the question. Is he happy? He should be, right? He’s saving people. He’s on the way to fulfilling Odasaku’s final request. He has a whole group of people whom he can rely on without having to fear being taken advantage of or betrayed at every corner. He’s happy.

But is he trying to convince himself of it? Why is he still trying to kill himself if he’s happy? Why is there a part of him that feels lonely no matter how surrounded he is by people? Why is it that when he’s at his lowest points, the only two people he wishes he could be with are you and Chuuya? Why does he ache for the days he’d spend dragging the two of you around Yokohama, causing trouble for Mori—the closest he’s ever felt to enjoying life?

“I don’t know,” he finally amends his answer, looking down at the bottle in front of him and the cinders of the cigarette dangling between his fingers. He lifts it to his lips again, taking one last drag of it as he tries to figure out what his last question should be.

There’s only one pressing question he has left, but he hesitates, unsure if he really wants to know your answer.

He forces it out anyway.

“Would you… would you have come with me back then?” His voice is quieter than he intended, cracks over ‘me’, and to your credit, you don’t react to the question, expression as eerily still as it was before, as if you’re considering your words.

A yes or no. It shouldn’t take this long for you to answer. Each second that passes feels like an eternity, and Dazai suddenly feels anxious, he doesn’t know why he asked this question because if the answer is no—if it’s no, then…

Finally, you let you a soft sigh, taking a sip of your wine as if to prolong his agony.

Your lashes flutter before you speak.

You lie for the first time that night.

“Yes.”

Dazai’s voice sounds far away as he says, “That’s a lie.”

“I guess you were right,” you say softly, but you sound so distant, like you’re on the opposite side of a long, empty tunnel and not sitting right in front of him. “We do still know each other decently well; you got them all right.”

Dazai doesn’t care. In fact, he would have gladly conceded a loss in this game, and he would’ve gladly admitted that maybe the two of you don’t know each other as well as you used to if it meant that he got the last question wrong because then he would’ve just given you a coy expression and asked if you’d let him get to know this new version of you too. You would’ve said yes, and he would’ve made quite the pleasurable night out of it for the two of you. Instead, he had to insist that nothing has changed, and now he has to come to terms with the fact that he was right and he had known you well enough back then to know not to ask you to leave with him because you would have chosen the Mafia over him. 

He’s so lost in his thoughts that he doesn’t even notice you approaching him until you’re leaning on the table next to him, index and middle finger coming beneath his chin to tilt his face up toward you. He looks up at you through his lashes, eyes searching your face, but he only finds another blank slate that he can’t read. His breath hitches when your hand slides from his chin to cup his cheek, and he can’t help the way that he leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut.

“I would choose you over so many things, Osamu.” You speak his given name for the first time in years, but he can hardly find any comfort in it because he knows he’s not going to like what you’re about to say. Your fingers card through the tips of his hair, brushing the dark locks behind his ear as your thumb sweeps over his cheekbone. “But not over the Port Mafia. Just like how you didn’t choose to stay for me.”

“It’s not the same,” he says, voice hoarse. “It’s-”

“It is,” you interrupt, voice deceptively gentle, and he thinks you’re entirely unfair because he can hardly focus with your touch distracting him. He’s missed it so much—he’s gone four years without it, without any type of touch that wasn’t him getting his shit kicked in by Kunikida or an enemy. “You didn’t choose to stay for me. I wouldn’t have chosen to leave for you.”

“Why?” Dazai asks tightly, and he hates that when his jaw tenses, you smooth your fingers over it, and he unclenches it immediately.

There’s a sadder look in your eye now as you give him a small smile. “You know why.”

Of course, he knows why. He feels the hatred deep in his gut as his mind draws back to Mori. Because that’s who the issue is. It’s not the Port Mafia. It’s not your friendship with Kouyou. It’s not even your friendship with Chuuya that’s the issue. It’s Mori and your undying loyalty to him. No matter how much you claim to despise him, bashing him every chance you get, sneering at him whenever he tries to treat you like his daughter, Dazai knows that when it comes down to it, you’ll always choose him. You’d throw yourself on a sword if he asked it of you, and not for the first time, Dazai wants to spit in the man’s face for making you feel as if you’re eternally indebted to him for rescuing you from that warzone so many years ago; for making you feel as if you’re nothing without the Mafia, nothing without him.

“You don’t owe him anything,” Dazai says tightly. “You have to know that by now—you don’t owe him anything.”

“I don’t want to have this conversation, Dazai,” you sigh, sounding tired. Your hand drops from his face, and Dazai longs for your touch again instantly. His fingers twitch from where they’re resting on his lap; he only barely stops himself from reaching out for you. You try to smile as you change the subject, but it hardly meets your eyes, “It’s a tie then. No prize for either of us, hm?”

Dazai is not so inclined to switch the subject. He wants to press on this now that he has the chance; he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to rip you out from beneath Mori’s thumb, but he needs to at least try… but you’re leaving again in the morning, and Dazai also does not want to ruin this night with you. He doesn’t know when he’ll get another.

So, instead, he matches your half-assed smile as he looks up at you and says, “I didn’t say you got them all right. You only said that I got them all right.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Did I get any wrong?” you ask, amused.

No.

“Yes.”

“Liar,” you say, but there’s a fond lilt to your tone as you let out another puff of air, the smile on your face finally reaching your eyes as you look down at him. The soft lighting of your kitchen casts a pretty glow over your face, your smile is so entrancing that Dazai thinks he could stare at it forever.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes out, the words slipping from his lips before he can stop them. “I’ve missed you so much.”

He’s sure he must look like a fool right now, entirely enamored by the sight of you, unable to even fathom drawing his gaze away. He wonders if you’ll protest again, call him a liar, and shift away from him.

You don’t.

The smile on your lips falls, and a wrecked expression crosses your face as your eyes search his. Your lips part to speak, and he waits with bated breath for whatever you’re about to say—he thinks that if you deny him again right now, it might completely shatter all of the walls he’d so carefully built to protect himself.

“I’ve missed you too,” you whisper as if you’re scared to speak the words out loud—and how can he blame you when the last time you dared to speak them, he hung up on you, never hearing from him again until tonight.

God, the guilt he feels whenever he thinks of you returns with a vengeance, so intense that Dazai starts to feel sick to his stomach. He can’t handle it, so he does the only thing he knows how to do to distract himself from it.

His movements are clumsy as he pushes himself up to his feet, nearly tripping over the leg of his chair, and his fingers feel clunky as he lifts them up to cup your cheeks. For a second, he fears that you might move away from him, but you don’t, so he leans in to press his lips against yours.

There’s no tenderness to his kiss. Dazai kisses you like he wants to consume you, lips sliding messily against yours, blunt nails indent crescents into your cheeks as he holds you close. Usually, he would be embarrassed by his blatant desperation and lack of finesse—he’s never been a sloppy kisser, when the two of you were younger, you would always let out pleased hums into his mouth, lashes fluttering as he worked his lips carefully against yours, tongue sliding against your own as he traces his name on it. 

All of his finely honed skill is thrown out the window now as he kisses you like a man who has been starved for years. He has been starved for years—the quick fuck in your office did nothing to quell the longing he’s felt for you the past four years. He could kiss you for hours. Days, even, and it still won’t be enough. Nothing short of an eternity with you would be enough to make up for the four years he’s been deprived of you.

He lets out a low groan into your mouth as you nip at his bottom lip, hands sliding from your face down to your hips. He’d take you here. Right now. But he remembers the last time he tried to fuck you on your kitchen table, it ended with him choking on the barrel of your gun as you yelled at him for being gross (“I eat on this table, you heathen!”) and he’s not particularly in the mood to set off your temper now that he finally has you in his arms again, so it’s with much restraint that he grabs you by the hips to walk you back into your bedroom.

He can hardly concentrate as your fingers twist the hair at the nape of his neck, soft moans slipping from his lips, muffled against your mouth. It’s only sheer instinct and muscle memory that has him making his way from the kitchen and down the hall. He can’t bring himself to separate his lips from yours for even a second. And he’s a mess because he’s not coherent enough to force himself to breathe properly through his nose, so his lungs are burning and his head feels a bit light, but he doesn’t care so long as it means he can keep kissing you.

Turn left, turn right, second door from the end of the hall. 

His fingers fumble for the knob of your bedroom door, pushing it open a bit too hard, considering the way he hears it slam against the wall and how you tug his hair hard in retaliation. He doesn’t care, moans a bit louder even when your nails scrape his stinging scalp, and you let out a derisive noise against his lips before biting down hard enough to draw blood.

The taste of iron makes a slow smile curl at his lips, walking you back toward the bed, and it’s only when your knees hit the edge that you finally pull away from him. “If you broke my door, you’re fixing it, Osamu.”

Dazai’s smile is lecherous. “I’m gonna break something alright,” he croons, relishing in the way you immediately roll your eyes at him. It’s all so familiar—he can almost pretend that he never left, that nothing has changed since the two of you were eighteen, dumb, reckless, and in love.

Before he can press you back against the bed, he feels your fingers drop from around his neck to his waistband, curling around his belt loops. In an instant, you’ve twisted the both of you around, and suddenly, it’s the back of Dazai’s knees pressed against the edge of the bed as you push him down onto the mattress. He hits the sheets with an ‘oof’ and a hazy smile, surrounded by the scent of you, drowning in the sight of you. He thinks he might be in heaven. 

You shift on top of him, straddling his waist; Dazai’s hands instantly come to rest on your thighs, sliding up the sides to grab your ass and pull you more firmly onto him. He groans when he feels you grind down against his cock, and god, he’s already hard just from kissing you. He hears you snort above him, but Dazai doesn’t even have it in him to be embarrassed.

His lips part in a silent moan as you lean down to ghost kisses along his jaw, hands sliding up his chest. He feels you wrap your fingers around his bolo tie and tug it, you let out a sharp noise of distaste against his skin before murmuring: “I hate this ugly thing.”

He lets out a huff of laughter that quickly breaks off into a moan when your lips trail to the spot behind his ear that always makes him writhe. His fingers bite into your hips, pushing you down on him as he rocks his hips up into you—shit, he might be able to cum just from this. His cock is straining painfully against his beige pants, twitching as he grinds up against your clothed cunt. He thinks maybe if he fucks his hips upward a few more times, he might be able to push himself over the edge, but as desperate as he is to chase his release, he refuses to cum anywhere but inside of you.

Plus, he thinks he’ll be shamed to hell and back if he finishes in his pants with you hardly touching him. 

“Then strip me out of it,” he gasps, lashes fluttering as your teeth graze his pulse point right above the edge of his bandages. Fuck, he’d give anything for you to bite down—riddle him with marks he can’t cover so he can flaunt them off to everyone who looks at him. Dazai knows that there are countless men and women out there who’d die to be able to be called yours, he wants them to know he’s the only one who can take that honor. “What’re you waiting for?” 

You hum and then sit back on his hips—he bites his bottom lip raw as you unintentionally put even more pressure on his cock. He’s half dazed out, not realizing that your grip tightened on his bolo tie until you straight up yank it off of him, snapping the string around his neck.

“No!” he complains, watching with wide eyes and parted lips as you fling the now-broken bolo tie off to the side of your room. “Noooo, why’d you do that? I’m going to have to order a new one.”

“Boo-hoo,” you say dryly, hardly paying attention to him as your fingers curl around the hem of his vest, pulling it up over his head, snorting when he lets out a puff of irritation as his nose gets caught around the collar. 

“This is so unsexy,” he protests, rubbing his nose. “Shouldn’t you be more gentle?” 

“Stop wearing so many layers of clothes,” you retort, but Dazai is placated when you lean back down to kiss the corner of his lips, lashes fluttering as his eyes slide shut. He lets out a pleased hum as you kiss down his jaw, nimble fingers unbuttoning his final layer of clothing. He wishes he wore an undershirt just to watch you huff in annoyance. His breath catches as you nip at his skin and then murmur, “This better?” 

“Yeah,” he breathes out, voice wavering as you get down to the last button of his shirt, sliding it off of his shoulders and easing him out of it. His body shudders as your hands slide over the bandages wrapped around his abdomen. Fuck, it’s been so long since anyone’s touched him beneath his clothes, even with the bandages still acting as a layer between the two of you, his nerves are on end, sensitive to everywhere your fingers touch.

He wonders if you’ll pull off the bandages—it’s a line that the two of you only crossed once back then, and although the idea of it has him brimming with anxiety, he longs for the feeling of your skin flush to his.

He almost feels a bit embarrassed when you sit back again to admire him as if there’s not a scar-ridden body hidden beneath the bandages. You look at him like he’s beautiful, like he’s not a monster disguised as a man, like he’s human. Dazai has always felt distinctly seen beneath your stare like you can see through all of the masks he wears and see him for him, and that has not changed over the past four years.

He’s missed the comfort of it. He has. It used to unnerve him back then, thinking someone could see him so clearly when he tried so hard and so carefully to hide himself beneath layers of impenetrable masks, but after going four years alone, with no one for him to turn to, no one he could look at and have them just know what he’s thinking… 

Yosano once mentioned offhandedly that to be loved is to be seen, and Dazai thinks the only time he’s ever been seen—truly seen, down to his core, deep in his soul—is when he’s with you.

It was a very lonely four years without you.

“I thought about you every day,” Dazai tells you softly, the grip on your hips easing up as he looks up at you. “Made a list of places I wanted to bring you and then burned it because I never thought I’d get the chance to be with you again. Stared at old pictures of you all the time, couldn’t sleep without thinking about memories with you. Drank your favorite wine just so I could pretend I was tasting it off your lips.”

You bring your hand up to cup his cheek, and Dazai leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut again. He kisses your palm, humming softly when your thumb runs along his bottom lip.

“There wasn’t a single day I went without you crossing my mind,” you admit quietly and Dazai’s breath hitches as he stares up at you, dark eyes wide and lips parted. He thinks he should say something, anything really, but it’s a lost cause. You don’t seem to mind, luckily, because you only lean down to brush your lips against his again.

This kiss is softer than the last, lips trembling against yours as your tongue dances along his inner lip. He thinks his cheeks might feel wet but he doesn’t dare acknowledge it; you don’t either, only using your thumbs to brush away the tears as they spill over his cheeks.

“Are you really leaving again in the morning?” he finally asks, and he hates that his voice cracks over the words.

You hum in agreement, still hovering over him, still running your thumbs along his cheekbone. His lashes droop shut, but he forces them back open as you speak. “I am. Bright and early. Flight leaves at six.”

His gaze flickers to the left, over to where your alarm clock is set up on your nightstand. 

12:35

He looks back at you, eyes swimming with desperation.

You give him a soft, wry smile. “We should make the most of the night then, hm?”

He doesn’t waste any time on that.

His grip on your hip tightens, and in one swift motion, he flips the two of you around, elbows resting on the mattress on either side of your head as he hovers above you. Your eyes glitter as you give him a coy smile, and again, Dazai falls in love.

Then, he ruins the moment.

“Tell me how you fucked Chuuya.”

Your smile drops. “Osamu, what the fuck?”

“Tell me,” he pouts, nudging his nose against your cheek and peppering soft kisses on your cheek and down your neck. His knees drop to the bed on either side of your hips, holding up his weight as he reaches down to unbutton your slacks, sliding them off your body. A smile flickers onto his lips as his fingers graze your panties—drenched, finally, evidence that he’s not the only one so affected by this. “Tell me. Were you on top? Did he take you from behind? Was he rough? No, it’s Chuuya-”

“If you care so much about how Chuuya fucks, Osamu, how about you go fuck him yourself?” you interrupt him.

Dazai gags.

“Don’t ever say that again,” he says and then returns to his mission, fumbling with his own pants now as he tries to yank them and his briefs off, unable to hold back the relieved sigh when he finally frees his cock, unceremoniously tossing them to the floor. “Tell me.” 

“Why do you care so much, hm?” you ask, reaching up to brush his hair out of his eyes. “I told you that you were better.”

You’re only trying to deflect from the question and he almost lets you succeed, partially placated, but he stays strong, leveling an unrelenting stare onto you as he waits for your answer. You sigh heavily, and he knows he’s won.

“Not rough,” you say as if Dazai hasn’t already come to that conclusion. Chuuya’s had a crush on you since the three of you were sixteen. Dazai assumed he had grown out of it, but evidently, he was wrong, considering he took the opportunity to sleep with Dazai’s girlfriend—because you were his girlfriend—the moment Dazai was out of the picture. What a little snake. Dazai needs to vandalize his apartment again. Maybe set up a few more bombs. He’s only drawn back from his mental spiral when you start talking again: “He took the lead. Wanted to see my face the whole time, make sure I was okay.”

“How gentlemanly of him,” Dazai says—he’s not bitter. He’s not.

“It was,” you agree, too genuinely.

Dazai squints at you hard. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” you say. “You asked.”

“You don’t need to sound so wistful.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up, Osamu, I’m not wistful.”

“How-”

“Are we going to talk about Nakahara Chuuya all night, or are you going to fuck me?” you interrupt immediately, looking increasingly incensed. Dazai only raises his chin at you pointedly—you’re the one that slept with Chuuya. “Time is dwindling, Osamu.”

Okay. 

Dazai’s gaze flickers back to the clock and then back down to you, withering a bit under your irritated stare. He sighs and leans back over you to kiss the corner of your lips, fingers curling around the hem of your panties to slide them off your legs.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin, his kisses linger against your skin now as he drags his lips down to your jaw. “The thought of him being with you…”

It makes Dazai want to do terrible things. The part of him that he locked up deep within rattles at the bars of its cage, furious and bloodthirsty. The trigger finger he’s been so careful to tame twitches with a desire he hasn’t felt in four years. The thought of anyone being with you makes Dazai sick to his stomach—Dazai is the only one who should get to see you like this, be with you like this—but the thought of Chuuya being with you is so much worse.

“You’re all I’ve ever wanted, Osamu,” you tell him quietly, fingers intertwining with his hair as he nips at your neck. “No matter how much I slept around, nothing was ever able to fill the hole losing you left. Not even Chuuya.”

Dazai exhales, shaky—the guilt returns, and so does the doubt because what right does he have sitting here being petty about what you did while he was gone when he was the one who left you behind without so much as a word? His eyes flutter shut, he spares a few more chaste kisses across your throat before lifting his face back to yours, kissing you gently.

“Let me make up for lost time then,” he says softly.

He doesn’t hesitate now, one hand dropping down to your thigh, lifting it to wrap around his waist as he presses his hips into you. His breath shudders when his cock slips against your folds, a low moan spilling from his lips. He has to reach down to angle himself properly, tip pressing against your tight hole.

The fingers of his free hands are shaky as he lifts them to cup your cheek. “Look at me,” he says, heat spreading through his abdomen when he realizes you already can hardly hold your eyes open, quick breaths escaping your lips as you try to keep yourself from cumming already. “Look at me, I want to see you.”

Your eyes flutter open, lidded and heavy as you look up at him, and Dazai thinks that maybe he could cum just from the expression on your face alone, inhaling sharply as his thumb drags across your bottom lip. He thinks maybe he should try to get ahold of himself, fearing that if he pushes inside of you now, he might cum on the spot, but his cock is aching so badly that Dazai thinks he might die if he doesn’t feel your heat around him immediately.

It takes all of his strength to keep his eyes from sliding shut as he pushes inside of you, desperate to see the way your face twists and your breath catches. Your lips tremble, chest rising and falling rapidly, he can feel your thighs tightening around his waist, and Dazai groans when your heels dig into his lower back, forcing his hips flush to you, burying his cock deep in your cunt. He chokes, grip on your thigh bruising; his abdomen tightens, and his head feels light.

No way, he thinks, gritting his teeth as he tries to hold back the waves of pleasure threatening to tear through him. He hears you let out a huff of laughter beneath him, and Dazai would shut you up with a sharp thrust of your hips, but he’s still desperately trying to regain control over himself, so he thinks that’s maybe not the best idea.

His forehead drops to rest on the pillow next to your head, lips brushing your ear as he lets out a low moan. He can’t even savor the way you let out a full-body shudder, fingers coming up to toy with the hair at the nape of his neck. Fuck, you’re so tight—Dazai can feel your walls tightening around him, spasming, his breath is shaky, and he tries to distract himself by pressing his lips to your skin, mouthing messily at your skin, sucking and nipping and counting to ten as he tries to settle down.

But it’s hard with the soft sighs you’re letting out, the way your fingers catch on his tousled hair, tugging enough to make his scalp sting. His head is so fogged that he can hardly think straight—god, he’s missed this, he hasn’t had the comfort of letting himself go like this in… since he left, really. His mind is always turning, plotting out ten, twenty, thirty steps in advance in fear of making a mistake, slipping up and letting the rest of the Agency see him for what he is, slipping up and their lives being the price just like with Odasaku. It’s only with you that’s ever comfortable enough to finally let the cogs in his brain slow and shatter, lose himself in carnal pleasures, lose himself in you; it’s been four years since he’s last had a reprieve from his own brain.

But he only lets himself slip halfway—tonight isn’t going to be about him, it’s about you. He has four years to make up for and he intends on getting a good start on it tonight.

He pants quietly as he lifts his head enough to bite your earlobe, tugging it gently before pressing his lips to your temple. “I’ve missed this,” he admits, voice raspy and clogged thick with emotion. “I’ve-”

He can hardly get the words out, and his breath catches when your hands slide from behind his head to cup his cheeks, forcing him to look at you. He thinks he must look wrecked—he can already feel the sweat beading on his forehead, and he knows his eyes are probably glazed over. You still look stunning, a soft expression on your face as you look up at him as if he’s not buried to the hilt inside of you. 

Unfair, he thinks mournfully. 

“What're you still holding onto, hm?” you ask, and Dazai only barely registers your words, sinking into your touch as you brush matted hair out of his eyes. He can finally bring himself to roll his hips—experimental, slow, trying to make sure he can actually move before trying to fuck you. Then you sigh softly, and he’s too out of it to try to make out the expression on your face as you say: “You work yourself so hard… always have. I’ve got you, you can let go, Dazai. C’mon.”

“No,” he hums, but his voice is strained, evidence of his struggle. “Tonight’s about my favorite girl.”

“Favorite?” you tease, lifting your shoulders off the bed to ghost a kiss against his lips that nearly has his hips stuttering—the conversation so reminiscent of one that the two of you had at seventeen it almost makes him smile.

“Only,” he amends quietly, kissing your nose, then the corner of your lips, and then nipping your jawline.

Just when he thinks he’s good to actually start picking up the pace, intent on fucking the thoughts out of you until you forget about your stupid flight in the morning, he catches a suspicious expression on your face, one that has his eyes narrowing.

“What?” he asks dubiously; your eyes are glittering in a way that he knows from experience is dangerous. 

You don’t say anything, just look pointedly at your thighs, then up to his shoulders. Dazai tilts his head to the side, recognizing what you want, and after a moment’s hesitation, he slides your legs up above his shoulders, folding them to your chest, eyes nearly rolling back at the new angle. Fuck, his hips do stutter this time, breath hitching. He has to readjust again, mentally focus on not cumming on the spot, and then-

And then you say: “He had my legs like this.”

A trick. 

Dazai knows it. 

You’re trying to make him let go of the thin thread of self-control he still has. To give in. To let all of the gears in his brain finally fall apart for the first time in four years.

He knows it.

He falls for it anyway.

Dazai’s jaw tightens, gaze snapping down to you only to catch a goading look in your eyes, a sly smile on your lips that Dazai has every intention of fucking right off your face. He inhales sharply, one hand sliding up your body to grab your chin, blunt nails digging a bit too deeply into your cheeks.

“Yeah?” he says, voice rough. 

Your lashes flutter and lips part as Dazai pointedly jerks his hips up. Your breath catches over a moan, and Dazai knows that this new angle is affecting you just as much as it is him.

“Mhm,” you agree, and just like that, the thin thread snaps.

He snaps his hips into you so hard that your bedframe bangs loudly against the wall behind it, quickly setting a steady pace, nice and deep, quick enough that you can’t even get a breath of air to your lungs before Dazai is fucking it right out of you. Already, he’s so fucked out that his mind is in shambles, one hand settling on your hip to hold you in place as he thrusts his hips into you, hitting that sweet spot with each stroke while his other hand, still cupping your face, slides down to your neck.

He doesn’t squeeze—wouldn’t dare to cut off the pretty noises spilling from your lips, moans of his names, choked gasps and cries between each rock of his hips—but the fact that you trust him, him, enough to have his fingers wrapped around your throat is always a quick way make him topple over the edge.

His eyes dart down to your chest, realizing, very unfortunately, that you haven’t taken off your button-up yet. He nearly bites down on his tongue in frustration as his hand comes down to your chest, careful to keep the pace of his hips as he hooks his fingers around the first button just to yank down, popping off half of the buttons of your expensive dress shirt and haphazardly pulling it off of you to toss it to the side before fumbling with the clip of your bra.

“Osamu,” you hiss, and Dazai revels in the way your voice wavers with each thrust, biting back moans. “That’s the second-”

You don’t get to finish your sentence. Dazai tosses your bra over with your discarded shirt and dips his head down to wrap his lips around your nipple, tongue swirling around the sensitive bud before rolling it between his teeth, and you’re gone—Dazai lets out a muffled groan around you as your back arches up into him, crying out his name, walls tightening around him as you cum on his cock.

“Oh-f-hah-fuck,” Dazai gasps as he rests his head on your collarbone, grip on your waist tightening. 

He has to physically force himself to lift his head, bracing his forearm on the mattress next to your head, desperate to see the way your eyes roll back, he can already feel himself teetering over the edge—the lewd sound of skin-on-skin, the sloppiness of his cock driving in and out of your cunt, he can feel your cum dripping down his cock, smeared on his pelvis.

His hand slides behind your head, lifting it from where you have it pressed against the mattress. Beautiful—the only thought that can run through his hazy brain is of you and how perfect you are, lips swollen and bitten raw, parted as pitched moans escape them, tears spilling from the corner of your eyes as he fucks you through your orgasm and right into a second. He’s the only one that should ever get to see you like this, with your clever brain fucked right and dumb, body writhing against the bed as you cling to him.

He leans down again, trailing sloppy kisses against your neck, gasping as he starts to feel his high approaching.

“No one makes you feel like this,” he says, or maybe he begs, he’s not sure if he’s making a statement or pleading for you to tell him it’s the truth. “Tell me. T-shit-tell me.”

“No one,” you sob over another moan, and Dazai can feel your pussy fluttering around him—he wonders if he’s already fucked you into a third. Usually, it takes longer. “No one, Osamu, you’re the only one.”

And that’s the only thing he needed to hear to give him that final push. His steady pace shifts into a more erratic one, sloppy and desperate, as he chases a high that’s just out of reach. His moans are muffled against your skin, teeth scraping your collarbone, mind a jumbled mess of thoughts of you. He feels your fingers trembling as you lift them to his cheeks, pulling his face up to press your lips against his, and that’s all it takes: he lets out a wanton moan against your mouth, pressing your legs further into your chest as his hips still against your ass, finishing deep inside of you.

Spots dance in his vision, head buzzing and ears ringing; he swears his orgasm lasts an eternity, body shaking and shuddering above you, letting out breathy moans into your mouth. He can feel his cum dribbling out of you, pooling onto the sheets beneath the two of you, so much of it that you can’t even keep it all in you. 

He doesn’t let his lips leave yours once—the kisses are messy and sloppy, devoid of all of the finesse that the two of you usually have, teeth nearly clashing, tongues sliding against each other’s. 

It’s only when his vision finally starts to clear and his head feels less on the verge of passing out does Dazai finally trails kisses from your lips to your jaw and down your neck before he finally collapses on top of you, mind entirely gone, like he’s floating on clouds. He pants as he tries to catch his breath, eyes lidded as he absently trails kisses along your chest and collarbone. He thinks the world could be ending around the two of you, and Dazai wouldn’t even have the capacity to notice. For the first time in four years, he really, truly allows his brain to rest.

He doesn’t know how much time passes, eyes drooping shut as he lets himself be enveloped by your arms, drowning in the comfort of your scent.

He doesn’t want to know. He’s scared to look at the clock and check.

“Tonight was supposed to be about you,” Dazai finally complains, burying his face in your chest as he pouts.

You only let out a soft laugh above him. “We have the rest of our lives for that… You deserved a break, Osamu.”

The rest of our lives.

Dazai’s throat tightens, vision blurring a bit at the thought—he can only barely bring himself to respond, and the words that slip out are not what he means to say: “I never thought I’d get to be with you like this again,” he admits, voice hoarse. “I never thought-”

“I know,” you interrupt, voice quiet, a bit shaky. “... I know.”

Of course, you know.

He can’t bring himself to say anything else, so he doesn’t, sinking into your arms and allowing himself the comfort he’s deprived himself of for so long. He almost starts to drift off—and god, he can’t remember the last time he’s dozed off willingly, only able to sleep after drinking copious amounts of alcohol or taking an even more copious number of sleeping pills. It’s not until you speak again does he stir back awake from the brink of sleep.

“What did he ask of you? Oda, I mean,” you finally ask, fingers brushing through his dark hair, lulling him further to sleep.

Dazai thinks that you’re cruel, asking him while his mind is still fogged from the exhaustion following his high, and he’s still half asleep in your arms, trying to regain his bearings. The words slip out before he can think twice, forgetting his fear of you laughing at the idea of him trying to be a better man.

“He asked me to be on the side that saves people… if both are the same to me, he wanted me to be a good man.”

The words dawn on him too late; he can hardly bring himself to look up at you, scared that he’s going to find an amused expression on your face or a derisive sneer. He wouldn’t blame you, he’s thought the same about himself ever since he left the Port Mafia, doubt and self-loathing riddling him with every step he takes in the light. He waits for the scoff, he waits for the laugh, he waits for-

“... I think he would be proud of who you’ve become, Osamu. I think you’ve fulfilled his request.”

Dazai does look up at you now, feeling particularly vulnerable, still scared that he might find a mocking expression on your face but he doesn’t. Only an uncharacteristically soft expression is painted on your face as you look up at the ceiling, a genuine one—a small smile and a look in your eyes that makes his heart feel warm. You don’t notice him looking until he lets slip out:

“I’ve missed you so much,” he whispers. 

(I love you, he means)

“I’ve missed you too,” you say back quietly.

(I love you too)

[avatar-anna]

would you ever write about harry and y/n finding out that they’re pregnant again with charlie 🥺

yes!

(for context: in a recent oneshot in this universe, it is revealed that harry and reader have a seventh and final child when they're in their thirties)

It would definitely be that cliche of Y/n and Harry going to some red carpet event, and Harry sees Y/n all dressed up and is just like...

"Fuck, Mama, must be the luckiest man in the world."

Y/n blushed and looked down at the gown she and Harry Lambert picked out some time ago. Being a mother of six, she didn't dress up much, but when she did, she tended to go all out. Perhaps part of her wanted to relive all the proms, homecomings, and formals she never got to go to, but she appreciated the art in a beautiful garment too.

The one she wore now fit her like a glove, the lace, almost handkerchief-like bodice draping over her shoulders beautifully, and the rest of the black-as-night velvet hugging her hips perfectly.

Harry was never one to shy away from paying his wife compliments, but each time he did, she felt it right down to her core. Every sweep of his gaze over her body, every earnest word, every searing touch, it all lit her up from the inside out.

This time was no different, so when Harry tried to unzip Y/n from her dress, she didn't notice at first, too caught up in his touch. Once she did, she tried to make lame attempts to ward him off to at least claim that she tried later on.

It was safe to say they were on each other all night. Whenever he could, Harry pulled Y/n away, desperate to get his mouth on her. It was no easy feat with the considerable length of the dress, but he never seemed to care or mind. All night, they whispered back and forth to each other, toying with jacket lapels and bare arms.

"You need me again, Mama?"

"Where's the zipper on this thing?"

"Quickly, while no one's looking."

"Keep your hands away from my tits, H."

"Don't act like you don't love it."

All night they went back and forth. Teasing and giving into each other and sharing stolen kisses when the cameras weren't pointed in their direction—though the next morning they found out they weren't as discreet as they originally thought, with photos of them in the background kissing and Harry's hands all over Y/n cropping up online.

At some point during the night, a friend even asked where Harry and his wife kept disappearing to, another if that was a hickey on his neck, and both of them stumbled through a lie as they blushed furiously.

So it shouldn't have come as a surprise when Y/n's period was late, but it does. She thought she had put her pregnancy days behind her, so she went to the doctor thinking she had some kind of stomach bug, only to find out that she was pregnant. Y/n wasn't upset by the news, just caught off guard, though she couldn't help but daydream about having a little baby in the house again now that her other babies were growing up.

Harry found out on accident. Y/n missed a phone call from the doctor's office, and they called Harry's number, which was also listed in her information. Thinking someone got hurt, Harry picked up in a panic, only to hear, "Hi there, Mr. Styles! We're trying to get a hold of your wife to reschedule her ultrasound. Will the following week work?"

Harry answered in a daze, agreeing to an appointment time and date without really listening. Part of him knew he should be excited, but all he could think about was why Y/n hadn'told him yet.

"Anything you wanna tell me?" he asked later that night. They were both watching TV, a show they'd been watching every night before bed the last few weeks. He'd been itching to get Y/n alone all day so he could finally ask what the phone call, and after picking up and dropping off at friends' houses and volleyball practice and study groups and one big family dinner, now was finally his chance.

Y/n hadn't caught on yet, so she just shrugged. "Collette is convinced she's going to Paris Fashion Week by herself, and I don't have the heart to tell her she's not going without one of us."

This was news to Harry, but he tabled that conversation for later. "I got a call from the OBGYN's office. They asked to reschedule your ultrasound."

Harry could feel Y/n stiffen beneath him as she sighed deeply. Before she could say anything, though, he asked, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I was going to," she promised, kissing away the furrow in her husband's brow. "I wanted to tell you and the kids at the same time. And you know how hard it is to wrangle everyone up. Maeve wasn't even at dinner tonight."

"Oh." Harry had spun a number of different answers Y/n might've come up with, but that hadn't been one of them. "Do you...want to keep it?"

Y/n could tell Harry was asking for her sake, not his. He'd been dying for another baby for years, slowly giving up hope every time she turned him down. Now that they faced the prospect of actually having another baby, though, he didn't want her to feel pressured. He never had, but he wanted to make extra sure.

"Honestly? Yeah, I do," Y/n said, resting her and Harry's hands over her belly. "I'm just...kind of shocked."

"Really?" Harry asked. Now that he'd had time to think about it, about which night in question could've been the one, he wasn't that surprised at all.

"Yeah, I—I guess I thought that part of my life was over. But... I'm glad it isn't. I'm excited about this."

"Me too."

Y/n gave him an amused look as if to say, you finally got your wish. But all she said was, "You just like that I get super horny when I'm pregnant."

Harry gasped dramatically, which made Y/n toss her head back and laugh. "That is not even remotely true. Maybe. Sort of. It's perhaps in the top ten things I'm excited for, but not the first."

"You're ridiculous," Y/n said, shaking her head at her husband. "And I love you."

"I love you too." Harry leaned in to kiss Y/n, the feel of his lips on hers more familiar than anything else in the world. He knew every part of her, every inch of her body and soul, and she knew his. It was comforting, it was home.

"Any chance those hormones have kicked in yet?" Harry murmured jokingly as he kissed her neck.

Y/n held her husband by the back of his hair so she could look him in the eye. "Absolutely not. I love you, and I love the twins, but we're not doing that again."

"What? Come on! We're way past that window," Harry reasoned. "And the doctor said it was rare."

"Yeah, so is getting pregnant at my age, but here we are."

"At your age?" Harry asked incredulously, looking down at Y/n through heavy lidded eyes. Her cheeks were flushed, but her eyes were lit as she watched him, the way they always were when they joked around. He was pretty sure no one amused her more than he did, and that was saying something considering the collective craziness their children engaged in regularly. "You're just winding me up, aren't you? You want me to remind you how young and fun we are."

"I don't know if that's—Harry!"

"Shh!" Harry said as a laugh bubbled out of Y/n as he yanked her down until she was lying flat on the bed, her arms pinned high above her. "Do you want them to hear you, Mama?"

That sobered her up a little, her laughter subsiding. Then, she smiled up at him, her hand reaching up to cup Harry's cheek. "We're having a baby."

Harry's grin was immediate, excitement filling his whole body from those four words alone. "We're having a baby."

Young Dad! Harry x Young Mom! Reader Masterlist

[adventuringblind]

The Thrill of It (1.8K Words)

LandOscar x Reader

Genre: Street Racer AU, Smut

Summary: Sometimes the boys come back from races a little riled up, it doesn't help tonight that they get a bit possessive when someone lays a hand on what's theirs.

Warnings: PinV sex, unprotected sex, public sex, exhibitionist Lando, Sub reader, Dom Oscar, Oral, face-fucking, Hair pulling (?), minor degradation, Oscar being stressed after because AFTERCARE IS IMPORTANT OKAY

Notes: I'm back! Did you miss me? I think this is the most lewd smut I've ever done... But reminder that comments and filling my inbox with nice things motivates me to write!!

Side Note: MINORS AVERT YOUR EYES!! ADULT CONTENT AHEAD!!

Masterlist // Request Form // My Website // buy me a Ko-Fi

The lights amongst the crowd flitted about in shades of neon. The people are rowdy tonight on the sides of the street. All of them handing off their cash to each other to bet on which driver they think will win. 

It’s a dangerous game with no medic on scene. She supposes that’s the thrill of it. Knowing there may be no return once they put their foot on the pedal.

Lando and Oscar are practically swimming in the cash now. While she isn’t in the spotlight, they certainly are. These are their streets. They know Woking like the back of their hands now. 

Lando says he drives by feeling where Oscar has a map of the turns memorized. It speaks volumes about their character.  

You’d think these idiots would stop betting so much on other drivers. She’s been here enough times to know they never learn. Always lured into a false sense of hope. She doesn’t mind it, simply finds it funny. 

She finds herself entranced by the sounds of the engines, the people chanting their names. She sees other people oggle the two, hands becoming a bit more than friendly as the night progresses and alcohol is consumed.

A car pulls below her hiding spot. The second car driven, a truck she can sit in the bed of when things get overwhelming and the people too much. 

Those friendly hands tend to slip when they see a pretty stranger. Boundary lines are crossed. Another thing they should know by now: Oscar and Lando are the kings of these streets and it’s best not to mess with their queen. 

The bed of the truck shakes as they climb in with her. Their faces are half hidden in the dark. The other is illuminated by intermittent flashing lights. 

 Lando looks all too happy about the stunt he just pulled. A dangerous thing that could have killed him if not done right. The adrenaline has his pupils dilated. “Don’t think he’ll be coming back again. Gave him a run for his money… Liturgy!” 

“Literally-” 

“Yes, that’s what I meant - Literally!” 

She tilts her head back and laughs. Drunk off the atmosphere of the night and maybe the fumes of whatever people have been smoking all night. “Scared him off then?” 

“You know it baby!” Lando latches right onto her exposed neck with his teeth for all of two seconds before Oscar is dragging him off. It leaves them both whining. “Osc! I’m doing things!” 

“You’re doing our things.” The dehumanizing language should not have her this hot and bothered, in Woking, in October. She’s wearing a skirt with nothing aside from panties underneath and one of Oscar’s zip-ups with a tank top. Not the best choice of clothing all things considered, but she could care less. Not when it gives them easy access when they are all riled up like this.

Oscar drags her into his lap. The feeling of strong thighs underneath her in almost the right spot has her whimpering. “Didn’t realize you’re already so needy for us darling. Forgot how much seeing us drive turns you on.” 

She nearly cries when Oscar pulls her underwear to the side and slips a finger through her slit. “Look at this Lan! She’s a mess already!” Oscar’s free hand grips Lando by the collar and pulls him closer; nearly choking him out in the process. When his fingers are pulling obscene sounds from her, he brings them away. Up towards Lando’s mouth which unlatches to suck on them eagerly. 

The Brits eyes roll back as Oscar jams four fingers down the back of his throat just for the sake of it. “S’pose you’ve earned it tonight, Lan. You’re already a mess anyhow and I think you’ve been leaking since you got out of the car.” 

Lando mumbles something around Oscar’s fingers. It’s unintelligible - or she’s too lost in her haze to comprehend anything. Having slotted down on Oscar’s thigh to get some kind of friction. 

The sound of Lando’s belt buckle coming undone becomes louder than the engines. Then the wet sound of lips clashing together. The hand Oscar previously had in Lando’s mouth is now around his neck. 

The same story time and time again. Lando goes by feel where Oscar exudes superiority in how he has them memorized. 

She clocks the hand on her waist moving to the back of her head. Oscar switches to kiss her instead. The filthy kind - all tongue and teeth. It keeps her occupied long enough for Lando to shimmy his boxers just far enough down. 

“I knew you were leaking.” Lando makes a weak noise at that. Oscar’s words seem to have that effect on him. Both of them - really. “I bet you like showing off for all these people, huh? The possibility of us being caught like this. You get off on the thrill.”

The boys help her reposition her boy. Oscar gets two of his fingers in her, hovering just above Lando’s cock. Which - to Oscar’s credit - He’s not wrong. Lando is leaking like a faucet that has a consistent drip. It is mesmerizing and should be illegal. 

Oscar gets a third in her, dutifully stretching her open despite having to support her weight. Lando thrusts into the air out of impatience which earns a lovely smack to the side of his ass. “You should know better, Love, that all good things come with time.”

She feels empty for all of two seconds before her body is plunging down onto Lando’s cock. She can feel him twitching behind her - trying to remain still until given the go-ahead to move. His hands paw at the slope of her back and curve of her ass. 

In front of her, Oscar is undoing his own belt. She should’ve realized sooner how he had positioned them. How the truck bed is conveniently long enough to let Lando work out his residual energy by thrusting into her while Oscar makes use of her mouth. 

He’s always three moves ahead of them. 

She leans down, ready for him without him even having to ask. “Spit,” He commands. She does it without hesitation. 

Oscar makes use of the makeshift lube and gives himself a few strokes before motioning her forward. She unhinges her jaw and relaxes her throat and still - she gags. 

“See Lando, patience works wonders.” 

“Please Osc, please - I’m dying over here-” 

“Go ahead baby, you’ve earned it.” Oscar chuckles. 

They find a rhythm. When one is going in, the other is going out. She’s drooling all down the exposed skin Oscar is showing. 

“Best. Fucking. Reward. Ever~” Lando punctuates each word with a particularly hard thrust. The sounds are ridiculous and they are lucky that the sound of engines revving is drowning them out. If anyone is watching - well - they are certainly getting a show. 

Oscar’s voice cracks. “Fucking hell, you two look so good.” She concludes the walls of his resolve are starting to crumble. That the grip she has on his waist to ground herself is enough to make him snap and throw him over the edge. 

“You like the show, Osc.” 

“You could say that.” 

Lando likes to be seen and Oscar likes to watch. She likes everything in-between that. To be the object of their affections and an element of desire. Something they covet enough to lose themselves like this. 

Everything gets messier - if that was even possible. Oscar snaps his head back and grips the back of her head so he can hold her stead and fuck her throat. Lando grips her hips and sets an unrelenting pace. Each movement is sloppier than the last. Each moan is more pitched. 

She swallows. Her throat constricts enough for Oscar to growl from somewhere deep and sum without any warning. The tears are streaming down her face as she gags on the new and sudden change of consistency. 

He drags her off and gives her no time to recover. Simply lunging forward and nearly sending her crashing backwards onto Lando. His hand goes back to the Brits throat while his tongue goes so deep into her mouth that there is no way he can’t taste himself. 

Lando is a mess of high pitched whines. “Please - please I’m close-” 

She inhales desperately as Oscar unlatches from her mouth only to find the sensitive spot on her exposed collarbone. “Osc-” 

“I could keep you two like this forever. Desperate and whiny. Leaking with the thought of how good it would feel to cum.” They are both letting out desperate sounds. “I bet that guy from earlier would have stayed away then. So consumed by us that he could smell it on you.” 

“Yesyesyes - please-” She’s going to lose her mind. Lando might be closer than she is and yet he won’t slow down. There is nothing but this until Oscar tells them yes. Because it feels better waiting for it. 

And Lando will always go by feel.

“You’ve earned it Lando, fill our girl up yeah? Make her cry harder.” 

Oscar has to cover her mouth as everything goes white. Her ears are ringing - swimming in the sounds of their voices and nothing else. It’s white hot blissful nothing. No thoughts or anxieties, no worries about some guy making passes at her. 

Here she knows the two men who want nothing but to see her smile and cry for their cocks. Which is a stark contrast considering - but she wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Oscar recovers the quickest. Swiftly jumping out of the truck bed to grab their extra blanket and hoodies. “I can’t really clean you two up yet, but will this do for now?” He shifts his weight between feet. Normally more prepared, ready to meet the needs of physical pains and emotional needs that come with the aftermath. 

They both nod and excitedly wait for him to climb back up. “That… was amazing,” she laughs. Her voice broken and hoarse from her throat being used. 

Oscar winces. “I need to get you some water.” 

“Osc-”

“Yeah.” 

“Relax! It felt good! It was great and we’re okay.” Lando gestures to the two who can barely move. Bodies still twitching from the overwhelming sensations. “Now we shall bask in the glory that is the ridiculous amount of cash we made tonight!”

“What are you gonna spend it on?” 

“You, of course!” Oscar leans her into his side as Lando throws an arm around her shoulders for good measure. 

Cars begin to drive past. Leaving for the night either to wherever they are staying or another race. They wave off some of the familiar faces and flip off the annoying ones. Yeah - she wouldn’t have it any other way.

[tearsofcalamity]

Boothil has me on a chokeholdI want to fuck him so bad.Maybe install a few softwares, up his sensitivity, play with his mind.. Or maybe a lewd virus.. Make him so horny and needy, his head can literally think of you fucking him so good..Or him accidentally plugging the wrong USB, thinking it's his usual data after rebooting, but it's your USB and it messed with him.. I want to fuck his pretty hole so bad

hi anon this is tasty oml

imagine his sensitivity's been all off, some kinda glitch maybe from an incident during one of his missions. one moment it's been too low, and the next (just like now) it's way, way too high. for every other touch it's just annoying, but every time you've brushed past him today, he's failed to mention his issue with just how aroused he feels himself getting. it's different when it's your touch.

when he finally bucks up and admits that he's been having issues, you're so caring, so much more considerate of his senses (he wishes you wouldn't be - he really just wants you to fuck him dumb every time you so much as graze him) as you set out a few USBs and ask him to wait while you go grab some other tools to fix up his sensors. he asks what they're for, and when you tell him they're various types of sensations compiled into USBs to better test each type of touch, he figures he might as well just get a jumpstart with the testing so he doesn't waste your precious time.

he opts for the USB sitting the furthest away. the fool, he hadn't even asked you what sensation each one was before trying it out. it could've been pain, a ticklish feeling, but no, he got arousal. it was like he was overwhelmed like an animal in heat at once, his eyes shooting open as his cock strained against his trousers painfully. images of you involuntarily flashed through his mind, and he had to fight to keep himself breathing normally, but it was no use...

you get back to find him practically humping the air, strands of black and white hair sticking to his forehead as he pants and moans and begs for your help. you're concerned until you see the USB sticking out of his port and realize at once what he's done, lightly chastising him (horrendous torture for him in this state, surely, to have your breath so gently tickling his ear as he suffers) on not touching your tools without asking you first.

unfortunately, it'd be too risky to go in and fix this via his inner wiring while he's this worked up... it might burn you with how much he's overheating. so the only solution is to fuck his brains out until he's at least semi-conscious enough to cool down. good thing you made sure he'd be able to fuck in any way a normal man could when adding his sensitivity! giving him all the facilities is coming in handy.

poor guy doesn't even have the time or mental faculties to ask why the hell you had an arousal USB among the testers present.

ooooh, maybe use a toy on his cock while you pound into him... it'll give you a nice view of his face while he's being completely overwhelmed, his eye filled with hearts, rolling back as his tongue sticks out from behind those pretty lips of his. a nice, slick onahole should do wonders to cool him down after one, three, five... maybe more orgasms, even as he begs you to stop despite his hips continuing to rut into the gadget. the fun thing about fucking a robot is that he can go a lot more than a human can, and as much as boothill tosses his head from side to side, actual tears beginning to spill, you can also see the drool beginning to fall from his lips, his lolling tongue as he groans your name over and over.

he's got a pseudo-prostate that you make sure to nail with precision every time your strap slides inside of him, the impeccable design of his insides allowing you to slip in and out with ease. you remove the onahole from his weeping cock (another feature that aids the toy and your current activities as a whole), pushing his legs up and folding him in half into a mating press, just to see if he can cum only from his prostate. and cum he does - his voice coming out higher and higher pitched as he wails in both euphoria and humiliation at your treatment of him.

finally, you slow when you realize he has indeed begun to cool. his eyes are rolled back, hair messy and splayed across the table, harsh scratches made by his metal nails into the steel table (somehow). he's not quite unconscious, but he certainly can't form any further words, his breathing heaving with small, scattered moans as he tries to regain himself. his emergency cooling procedure had kicked into high gear at last, aiding you in fixing up his sensitivity.

oh, but perhaps leave that special USB lying around. mark it clearly, and pretend not to notice when boothill digs through your messy desk to find it and plug it back in, acting for all the world that he didn't mean to use that special little one on himself again. he's got too much pride to admit it, after all. oh well, it seems you'll have to help him once more!

[yanderestarangel]

Cam you write something about a shy dom Tomas and a shy sub reader?

TW┊soft!dom tomas, unprotected sex, ftm reader, afab anatomy, v!sex, praise kink, size difference, eat out, daddykink, blowjob, creampie, shy!tomas x shy!reader — both have little sexual experience.

♡⁠ You two are a sweet couple. The sweetest in Eathrealm, also at the same time you are the shyest couple of all ── You and Tomas are embarrassed to say what you want or feel to each other.

He is very closed but behind the "ghostly killer ninja" guise he remains a sweet and embarrassed man. You both stuttered with each kiss you exchanged becoming a shaky mess of smiles and awkward words.

Tomas would blush and tell you how much he loved you after placing his head in the crook of your neck to hide the blush on his cheeks — this also applied to sex, with several series of "Please can I touch you here?" Or "Can I cum please?" Or "Am I doing this good? Am I making you feel good, boy?"

And it was another one of those shy makeout sessions where you always sat on his lap while the two of you moaned into each other's mouths like puppies needing the touch and friction of each other's bodies — Tomas in another hand couldn't believe how perfect this moment was, he felt as if he was in a dream. You on his lap, kissing so softly and gentle, as you wrapped your arms around his neck. His hands were already starting to wander around your back, squeezing your soft ass from time to time. He moved his head to the side to taste the side of your neck, licking and nibbling on your skin.

"F-Feels good, doesn't it...?" He spoke in Czech this time, he found it more romantic. "I've never felt like this before, not as strong as I'm with you." He kept kissing you, trying to keep his hands near your ass, not wanting to go further, but he was so damn hard already. "You're so sweet, baby boy... You make me quiver."

Then, clothes are quickly thrown in some corner of the room and scattered on the floor while the ninja was already between your thighs with his head buried in your wet pussy, he leaned in, opening his mouth wide to lick and kiss your folds. He spread your lips apart with his fingers, kissing and sucking on your clit, making you roll your hips, trying to get in deeper.

"Tréba si to, můj, krásný chlapec." ( 'I need this, my, beautiful boy'. ) His nose hit your clit with each lick of his hot tongue as your hole became more lubricated by his saliva and your juices, you could see his face flushed as his eyes were fixed on you — your soft thighs squeezed his head and your muscles trembled, you were unable to say anything due to shyness and mutual excitement at seeing your boyfriend eating so well.

Tomas, on the other hand, felt his dick throb every time you tried to contain a moan and muffled it with your hand going to your mouth. In all his life, he never saw such a beautiful and petite man, He thought about how he could break you in half if he wasn't careful, the comparison was colossal, he was bigger, stronger and taller than you, plus his dick was thick to the point of being compared to your wrist.

"Mhm, such a sweet taste, I could die here... Damn so good..." He moaned softly, shoving his face deeper into your pussy, trying to make you squirm with pleasure. You moaned, gathering your courage as you asked to taste him too, after all, his dick was twitching and smearing his stomach with pre-cum, he was looking for friction with the mattress, just wanting to be relieved too. Tomas chuckled softly, pulling away for a second, looking into your eyes. "Sure, baby boy. But only if you're sure you're ready to handle it..." He said, making you blush even more.

"Come here, Come to daddy." He sat up, adjusting himself, his cock hard and waiting for you to wrap your lips around it. "Remember to use your tongue, I'll help you with it." He continued, taking a deep breath, wondering how it would feel to have his cock in your mouth, something he had dreamt about. You knelt down in front of the man with short silver hair who was already sitting on the edge of the bed — Your knees hurt from the contact of the floor on your skin ; your lips finally met his warm skin, the salty taste of pre-cum fitted perfectly onto your tongue, making you both moan.

Vrbada could feel his cock tingling as you started to play with it, licking the tip and every single vein with your tongue as you pleasured it. He felt his balls tighten as your hands started to play with them, gently squeezing and massaging them, making him shiver in pleasure. He grabbed your head with a firm, yet gentle grip, guiding your mouth up and down his shaft while he watched you, fully focused on satisfying him.

"Keep going, the sound you make when you suck my cock is so enticing." He started to groan even more, his cock throbbing, teasing him to the edge. "You're doing great, keep it up for me, please..." He gripping the sheets tightly, not wanting to move and ruin the experience for you. "It feels so good... I don't remember any blowjob being this perfect." He let out a soft grunt, slowly moving his hips, feeding his cock in and out of your mouth.

His hands started to gently pull your hair, not too harshly. You moaned more slyly in response, bringing your fingers to your neglected clit as you rubbed yourself against the soft pillow beneath you, looking for some kind of relief from the pressure between your legs.

Tomas was getting more and more turned on, watching you sucking him while you pleasured yourself, made his cock even harder, he was fucked, he was yours. And he didn't even think about it as a bad thing.

The Lin Kuei ninja pulled away, he was a jittery mess. He was worried about making the wrong moves, even though he knew that with you, it could never really be wrong.

He felt bad for not being dominant enough, but he was so shy about this kind of stuff. You were new in this, he was new in this, and he knew you two just needed to figure it out still.

"I know, baby, we're both new to this. I'll teach you, and you'll teach me." He promised, moving his hand to rub your cheek soft. "Please, come back, I need you... Can we change positions, right? I want to be on top, fill you up, it's something we've never done before." He said shyly, hoping this was what you wanted as well. "If you're okay with it —of course." He added, once again feeling himself getting harder, eager to please you — wanted you to feel as good as you made him feel.

You soon lay down beneath him, watching his blue eyes stare into your flushed face as his muscles flexed to find a comfortable position for the size difference between the two of you — some routine apologies and nervous laughter were heard from you until the breaking point; Vrbada felt your eyes on him as he approached, the nervousness fluttering inside his stomach. He needed to show you how much he truly loved you, how much he desired you.

So he slowly, but firmly, entered you, feeling your heat engulfing his cock. He was worried about hurting you, so he slowed down his thrusts, getting as far as to only half his cock in you. He stopped for a moment, looking into your eyes.

"Little prince, does it hurt? If it does, you need to tell me right away, I don't want to hurt you." He panting, trying to listen to your body, looks, and moans to understand how you felt about his size. Tomas smiled, staring at the way his cock would pop out of your pussy, covered in your juices. He wanted to see how far he could go, so he thrust a little deeper, noticing how you moaned softly, finding a rhythm with each thrust. He continued kissing you, biting your bottom lip from time to time, his hands wandering around, touching your body, cupping your breasts.

"Sh-shall I fuck you harder, baby? Let me hear you moan for me." He pulled out, only leaving a bit of his cock inside you as he looked into your eyes, the blue penetrating your soul. "So desperate to cum, pretty boy?” Tomas teased, slowly sliding his cock back in, thrusting gently.

"You want your daddy to fuck you? Yes, baby boy, you do." He starting to speed up, really taking control of the situation. He wanted you to feel how much he loved you, and what better way to do so than just fucking your brains out? The thrusts became rougher, he poured out praise for you even though they came out clumsily from his tongue, a mixture of clipped moans and the need to have an orgasm made him roll his eyes of pleasure.

He was the happiest man in the world inside your cunt, filling you to the brim with his cock and making you both a dumb quivering mess, begging each other to cum together. You were a good boy, and he was going to reward you, filling you up with his hot seed, making you feel even more special. He fucked you harder, listening to the sound of you moaning, the sounds your body made while he was inside you, your pussy sucking his cock, needed to fill it with his cum. He loved how you were taking everything he was giving you, never once complaining or slowing down. You were the perfect partner, the yin to his yang. The complement he never knew he needed.

"Oh, fucking hell—. I'm c-cumming. Cum with me, pretty boy." He grunting and thrusting into you as deep as he could while you played with your clit. It wasn't long before he started to fill your pussy with his hot seed, cumming hard and filling you to the brim. His balls slapped against your ass, and he couldn't stop moaning. He felt so relieved and happy, being able to cum inside you.

"Thank you, baby boy, for this moment... You always please daddy, good boy..." He panted, nestling his face into your neck, snuggling as he caught his breath.

˖ ࣪ ˖𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓻𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽𝓼 𝓻𝓮𝓼𝓮𝓻𝓿𝓮𝓭 ©𝔂𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓵. 𝓭𝓸 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓬𝓸𝓹𝔂, 𝓻𝓮𝓹𝓸𝓼𝓽 𝓸𝓻 𝓽𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓼𝓵𝓪𝓽𝓮 ˖ ࣪

[lilislegacy]

It kind feels this fandom babys Percy and forget everyones been through things even Annabeth. She gets treated like shes the cause of some of his pain and therefore they shouldnt be together? When the guy would be depressed without her.

warning: i’m about to thought vomit. a lot.

RIGHT?? i try not to talk about it, but sometimes the way the fandom mischaracterizes and misunderstands percy really bothers me. the fact of the matter is: a lot of people want percy to be someone he’s not. and don’t get me wrong, i love that people have their own headcanons, but percy would hate the way people portray him in the fandom. and yes, it annoys me how people villainize annabeth in the meantime. they make him out to be this sensitive little guy and her this super mean toxic girl. when in reality they are complete equals. which is… the whole point.

percy has his insecurities, and he is super sarcastic and silly (largely in his head), but he’s a super strong and badass guy. he’s canonically very tough and intimidating. he has real human feelings, has big mood swings, and even gets emotional at some times (usually with his dad), but he’s not a sensitive guy, by any means. this is the same dude who’s been kicked out of every school, including military schools. he’s dealt with bullies and monsters and villains his whole life. he doesn’t get hurt or offended easily. and annabeth has been through just as much shit. it’s different, but it not “more” or “less” than he’s been through. and for some reason people don’t like this, but annabeth is the sensitive one in the relationship. she cries easily, she gets offended more easily, she feels and shows her emotions a lot more than percy. and that does not make her weak. and it’s the truth. so when people make her out to be this cold toxic person, who hurts little poor sensitive percy, it’s frustrating. it’s so wrong. they are both extremely strong. annabeth is percy’s biggest source of joy and comfort. she does not abuse him or degrade him.

no, their relationship is not perfect. neither of them are perfect. annabeth can be too prideful, and can tend to feel superior to others, but it’s just because she’s so intelligent. she’s aware of it and she actively works on it. in COTG, percy said whenever she gets excited about her day at school or proud of her accomplishments, she stops herself and asks about him instead. she knows she can be prideful, and wants to make sure percy knows she values and respects him. and percy, along with being impulsive, can be very insensitive. yes, it’s true. he is very loyal, but that doesn’t mean he’s always sensitive and considerate of people’s feelings. we see it so much, especially in battle of the labyrinth when he was an asshole to annabeth. some of it is because he can be very oblivious (no, not dumb), but some is just because of who he is. but he’s aware of it and actively works on it. like when he gave nico that big apology in heroes of olympus, and apologized to leo about calypso.

they are not perfect, because they are real. but they build each other up and love each other unconditionally. percy does not need people to protect him from annabeth. annabeth protects him more than anyone else. she takes care of him - physically and emotionally. and he does the same for her. they’ve been through a lot of crap, and they both help each other through it. they are partners. they are equals. neither are weak, and neither are toxic.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Winter's King 24

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: hey hey.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Before you get too far, Bryce appears from the shadows. You don't know if he was listening or if he's only stumbled on you but it hardly matters. He offers only a sullen look, too meek to mention the tension that stands between you. He left you first to King Geralt, then Lord Vesemir; he's more their ally than your own. But what can a maid expect? 

"I am to return to the queen's service," you state matter-of-fact. 

"So I've been informed," he says grimly. "Perhaps you might quell her restlessness." 

You stop along the corridor as your surroundings grow familiar. You’re halt and sway as the soldier scuffs to a stop a few steps ahead of you. He turns to face you as you unclasp the cloak from around your shoulders. You drag it away from your form. 

“Sir, will you hold this for me,” you fold it over your arm and offer it to him, “I shouldn’t require it during my work.” 

He looks at it and takes it with a frown. He pets the soft fur around the neck as you catch a peek of the wolf’s badge sewn into the lining. You lift your head and look past him. 

“I will make sure it is not lost,” he promises. 

Your dread mounts with each step. You’re weighed down by the last day and all that’s come to light. You cannot shake the shackles newly clasped around your wrists and the links only draw tighter and tighter. For now, the danger has calmed but it will not dissipate entirely. There is only doom ahead, even if now, it remains obscure. 

You will have no safety, not even in the familiar; not even in your duty. How can you keep on in serving when you are at the same deceiving? 

Jazlene, once Lady, now Queen, has rarely been easy to calm. You've come to expect her virulent behaviour, never once forsaking her the habits inherited from her mother. Now, you fear her fiery emotions and what wrath she may rain upon you should your betrayal be discovered. It almost seems wiser to confess and be done with it all, yet your fear restrains your guilt. 

As you come upon the queen's chamber doors, you give pause, as does the soldier at your side. You share a curious look between you. There are no guards at her door.  

"Gods, I beg, do not tell me she has escaped once more," Bryce mutters. 

You step ahead of him and go to the door. You turn your ear to it and lean in, dragging your palms along the wood. You ball your hand and rap upon it, certain you hear some sound from within. There is scuffling and the queen's trite voice. She is within. 

You peer back over your shoulder at your escort as he squints. The door opens from within and you spin back. It's that orange-haired guard; Gilles. It’s odd and the noise that escapes Bryce’s throat says as much. 

“Queen having another tantrum?” The soldier behind you scoffs. 

“Eh, she is your queen too,” Gilles accuses, “it is treason to mock your liege.” 

“Mocking? No, merely the truth,” Bryce chirps, “let the maid in. She’ll do better work of serving our admirable queen, eh? Tend to her lady needs with a softer hand.” 

Gilles grabs your arm and shoves you through the door, “do not worry her--” 

“Eh!” You feel another tug and you’re turned back as Bryce tears the guard away from you, “unhand her. She is but a maid. If you need feel big, you might go squash insects in the stables, yea?” 

“Be wary of crossing me, king’s pet,” Gilles pushes away the other soldier, “I do not fear any old man, no matter his name.” 

“Young twerp like you, I’ve known many,” Bryce stands unflinching, “my name comes from tossing fools like you in the dirt. Don’t think the years have taken that much.” 

“The maid is a maid, as you say. She hardly needs a guard herself,” the carrot-headed man rebukes. 

“And you hardly need the witness, eh,” the soldier sneers and chortles, “heed your own warning, man, you dance in a pit of snakes.” 

“I am the snake,” Gilles makes himself as big as he can but pales against the taller soldier. 

Bryce pokes his tongue in his cheek and smirks. He doesn’t reply, instead looking past the younger man, “maid, attend your duty and I’ll attend my own.” 

“Sir Bryce,” you utter tremulously. 

“Don’t worry for me,” he assures as his gaze returns to the man before him. “I’ve sworn never to draw steel against a man of the crown, and I shan’t, so long as the man in question does not offer doubt to that title. We are allies,” he slaps Gilles’ arm, his other hand on his pommel, “aren’t we, loyal guard?” 

Gilles’ gauntlet flinches towards his own sword but does not finish its path. He raises his chin and backs up against the wall. 

“In the name of the king and the queen,” the guard proclaims. 

Bryce’s eyes linger on the man and he shoos you with a flick of his fingers, “go on, maid. You needn’t worry for the matters of men.” 

You quickly flit inside, your heart fraught and your veins flooding with ice. That look in the soldier’s eyes worries you. He is a man of war and the mere scent of conflict seems to enliven him. Certainly, you know, if the guard gives the merest of reasons, there will be blood. 

Jazlene is within, abed beneath layers of fur. She lays with a hand against her forehead in a constant state of dismay. The door closes behind you and she sighs. 

“I called for a bath ages ago!” She decries, “if I must be imprisoned in this horrid place, I will at least be warm!” 

The mention of a bath disarms you. You waver on your feet before you can reclaim your wits. You ignore the memories stirring in the base of your skull. The king’s heat creeps up your back as the sensation of his touch tickles in your sides. You could sob for the way your chest rents. 

“Your highness, I will fetch the water,” you acquiesce in a brittle voice. 

“Oh, and where have you been?” She bawls, “here I am, with child and miserable and cold, and you are off, a maid, without a care? Abandoning her queen, as my very husband does the same?” 

You lower your chin at the mention of the king, “my apologies, I was bid to... other duties.” 

The lie is like poison in your mouth. You could gag at your own deceit. You keep your head low. You wish she would rise and pinch or lash or kick you. 

“All I wanted was wine,” she babbles at the canopy as she throws her hands up, “and company. He will not allow my own father to see me. He chased him out like some stray dog. The only family I have close and he keeps us apart. I want to play cards and I have no one to win against.” She thumps her fists down on the mattress and kicks her foot, “how can a queen have no power?” 

She sits up, her eyes fiery as her curls puff out wildly from her head. Her eyes are sparkling from her tears and pretty features twisted. The blankets fall away from her torso. She mops her face with the sleeves of her gown; they are wrinkled and her bodice is crooked. 

“And that Lord Ves... whoever he is, he is a nasty old troll,” she blusters, “I hate him. I hate them all, these winter pests. These animals. Beasts!” She snarls, “how can they live like this? I swear, when we reach the king’s castle, this will not go on. I must have my court. I am a queen and I should be crowned!” 

She sneers and shakes her head, closing her eyes as she presses her long fingers to her nose, “why are you just standing there?” She hisses. “I want a bath!” 

She pushes the blankets off of her and like a storm, she blows out of bed and towards you. You flinch but do not shield herself. She grabs your shoulders and shakes you. She shoves you away from her and you stagger. 

“I will fetch the wat--” 

You cannot finish your words as she strikes you across the cheek. You taste blood. The punishment you longed for is not so freeing as you expect. The sear across your face cannot assuage the flames of your guilt. 

“Go before I knock your teeth from your stupid head,” she snarls.  

You retreat and pull the door inward, letting yourself out. Gilles remains and does not look or comment at you. You rush away, your mouth pooling with blood. You swallow it down as you get to the kitchens, a pair of servants in gray working in the light of the stove. 

“Water,” you murmur as you rub your jaw, “please, can I have a pot to boil?” 

A woman, slender and silent, moves to fetch the large vessel. She hands it to you and you thank her. She clings to the other handle. 

“You will need help,” she declares. 

“Yes, thank you,” you flutter your lashes as the sting sticks in your skin. 

You know her. She is the same who welcomed in the king’s party to the castle. She helps you carry the pot down a corridor. You feel cold creeping through the air and your teeth chatter. She doesn’t react to the chill and leads you out a door into the frigid outdoors. She stops at a cistern pump and angles the pot beneath it. 

She takes a small mallet from next to the spout and beats the lever until it dips, ice falling away from it. She pumps without a word as you watch. You offer to take over but she shakes her head. You linger close by, feeling useless. 

“Lift,” she orders as she stills the pump and you grab the handle as she takes the other. You carry the pot together back into the castle. 

The act reminds you of another time. The night you and Merinda carried water to the king’s chamber in Debray. The woman across from you is a stranger and as cold as the winds. You raise the vessel over the flames and leave it to boil. 

She turns to you and nods, “hard work serving strong men. Best us maids work as one.” 

Her words are kind though her tone remains as hard as iron. Your cheeks tense and your lips tremble, “yes, thank you, miss.” 

“Same as you,” she dismisses the title you give her, “let me know when it steams.” 

You agree and turn to face the pot as it sits above a brazier. You are comforted in knowing that not all is changed in the Hinterlands. That camaraderie among servants has not frozen over like everything else. 

As you carry up the first pot of steaming water, the servant offers a name. Ezme. You return your own before you reach the queen’s chamber. You make several trips up and down, between the boil, and fill the large tub nearly to the brim, adding a pot of cool water to mellow the heat. 

Ezme leaves with the empty pot as you remain to attend the queen’s bath. As Gilles pulls the door shut, you notice how his eyes search past you. You turn and go to Jazlene as she tugs at her dress. You help unlace the piece of her gown, then her corset, and lift her shift over her head.  

She lowers herself into the tub, her dark skin flawless and her figure still as sculpted and firm as ever. She must be early in her state as she has yet to show the effect of her condition. She reclines with her arms over the lip of the wooden tub. 

“And what do you suppose the king is about?” She speaks with her eyes closed, frightening you as you stand quietly by the wall. “Hm? Why does he keep my people from me? Not only my father, but those other summer nobles who have accompanied us?” 

You don’t speak or move. It’s best to act as if you aren’t there. She speaks to herself; for herself. 

“First, he forbade my mother to come. Kept her from seeing me conceive her first grandchild,” she sneers, "and now he has banned my father from my chambers. All because he thought to provide me with a bottle of wine.” 

She is back to that. The wine. She is childish in how she latches onto that one grievance and will not let it go. 

“Because he would defend his daughter,” she snivels, “well, who else will keep me company as my husband remains errant? Oh, how bound he is to his kingliness. Oh, the hero he is. He has brought his wintry misery to the summer people and cursed us all to his wretched ways.” 

You stare at the floor, scalded by the dangerous inference of her complaints. She treads close to those things even a queen should not voice. She might be unhappy but she cannot be so unwise. It is like the game with the dice; she does not think of the turns to come, only what she holds in the moment. 

“He must plot against us. It’s what we all believe,” she sits up the water swishing around her.  

You try not to react, especially as the king’s command returns to you. ‘...you will watch and you will listen...’ 

“He has baited us all into his lands, into his snare, and he means to close it on us. He must,” she puts her hands up as if what she says is only the truth. Without a doubt, she must be right, “he speaks of uniting us and yet he means to extinguish us. He will do away with the summer’s blood and invade our lands as he always meant to.” She scoffs and drags her fingertip over the water’s surface, “he gives to all the same empty vows he gave me...” 

Silence, the sort where you can hear your own heart beating. You hold your breath. She needs to stop speaking. You want to stop hearing. 

“We are not as foolish as he thinks. We will be ready,” she smirks and tilts her head, “and he would not hurt his own prince, would he?” She plunges her hand under the water and rubs her stomach. “Even he cannot deprive his people of their future.” 

She hums and the water swishes around her as she lays back again. She snickers and sighs. You tuck your chin down and clutch your hands tightly. In this war of winter and summer, of king and queen, of husband and wife, you will surely be lost. 

[riki-riks-chick]

hi ! can you please write about attentionwhore!reader with tsundere!heeseung?

I was thinking reader teasing her bf (hee) by wearing/trying on skimpy clothes and asks him questions like “do my boobs look nice in this?” or “does this make my ass look big?” just to tease him?

or you could do whatever you’d like ! ❣️

Dressing Rooms ┃L.HS

heeseung x attention whore!reader

reader takes her bf heeseung with her to go shopping w the intent of teasing him.

═════════════

Third Person POV~

Being Heeseung's girlfriend isn't necessarily hard, but it isn't always easy either. He's usually so enamored by video games, not paying much attention to you, but when you have his attention... You have his attention.

You asked him to come shopping with you today, out of innocent intent. At least it was innocent at first.

But when you noticed how shy he got just being around other women who were either looking at skimpy mini skirts or trying on revealing outfits, you simply couldn't resist teasing him.

"Heeseung, will you come help me." You peeked out of the dressing room, watching Heeseung glance up from his phone as he got up, pocketing the device before stepping into the dressing room with you.

"What do you need?" He asks as you turn around, showing the laces of the corset top you were trying on. "Can you lace it tighter?"

He simply nods, tightening it as instructed before glancing at your relfection in the mirror.

"Should I get this? Does it make my boobs look bigger?" You question as he gulps visibly, nodding.

You decide to tease him even more, undoing the top right in front of him as he looked away. "Oh sorry.. I figured it wouldn't bother you since we've seen each other naked before..."

You proceeded to take off the top, setting it in the pile of clothes you were buying before undoing your pants and tugging them past your hips.

Heeseung simply sat on the bench of the dressing room, watching as you practically gave him a strip tease. This whole moment had him question how he was even with you when he was such a loser. He was so boring compared to your overly interesting personality.

He got distracted staring at your ass and suddenly he felt his pants grow tighter around him. You had noticed almost immediately, but decided to feign ignorance and get him even more worked up.

"What about this skirt?" You pulled on the almost belt-sized miniskirt, and Heeseung's jaw went slack. "Fuck." He whispered under his breath, but you heard it. Of course you heard it.

"Doesn't this skirt really do my ass a favor?.." You ask and he nods, trying so hard to keep his mouth shut. He wants so badly to press you against the wall and fuck you right now.

"Heeseung.. You seem distracted..." You take off the skirt, setting it down before turning towards Heeseung.

Except now you're only in your matching undergarments. Pink and lacey. Two things on you that you know always turn Heeseung on.

His eyes followed yours as you glanced at his erection.

Your fingertips met his chin, lifting his gaze to meet yours as you kissed him softly. You could feel him melt against you as he grabbed you by your hips, squeezing ever so lightly.

"Baby.." He pulled away, glancing between you and the tent in his pants as you smiled. "If you want... I can take care of it..?" You suggested.

His eyes went wide, almost scared of the risky idea. "We're in a dressing room.."

"All the better..."

═════════════

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for "forcing" my best friend to break up with his boyfriend?

🧸

I (22 cis m) and my best friend 'A' (21 ftm) have been friends since we were 10 years old and I love him more than anything. He’s genuinely the sweetest, most thoughtful, and funniest person I’ve ever met. He means everything to me and we’ve been there for each other through the hardest times of our lives so far and I plan on staying until the end.

It’s always been us two. Btw, everyone mentioned here uses he/him pronouns exclusively.

A has been with his boyfriend (21 cis m) for about 2 years now, and from what he told me, things were going great. Even if I’m not too fond of his boyfriend. A few days ago, we got pretty drunk at a friend’s housewarming party. A and I live together, and as soon as we got home, he suddenly started rambling about how he wishes his boyfriend cared about him the same way I do.

Legit felt like I was in some dumb romance movie for a moment there. I felt a little uneasy and asked him to elaborate. In short, his boyfriend essentially treats him like a doll instead of a person with real emotions. He feels as though his boyfriend just uses him to get his daily fix of physical affection and sex, that’s it. The only positive thing his boyfriend can say about A is that he’s cute, which boggles my mind. It’s true but there’s so much more to him as a human being.

A is an incredibly talented artist, super kind, super emotionally intelligent, and has a plethora of interests he loves to infodump about. I’m trying my hardest not to make this entire post about how amazing he is. He’s helped multiple friends clean their depression apartments and took them out to get fresh groceries etc. because it’s basic decency to him. He has such a big heart and holds so much love in it for everyone in his life. Being around him is just so easy and makes life worth living.

He’s just an incredible person all around and every single person that has him in their life recognizes that, except his boyfriend. They’ve had issues in the past because they’re not sexually compatible, which led to some miscommunication and made A feel like he was coerced into things he didn’t want to do. He just did them to make his boyfriend happy. He does a lot of things for his boyfriend, actually. He’s constantly buying little gifts, remembering what he likes, and plans cute dates for them to go on. His boyfriend does none of these things.

I want to mention that A has bpd and avpd. He has an intense fear of rejection and will do everything in his power to appease others so they won’t leave him. I always take the time to reassure him that I love him for who he is and not what he can give me. Basically just making sure he feels loved. Keep in mind, his boyfriend is aware of this but he just gets annoyed when A seeks reassurance from him. His behavior has made my blood boil several times in the past already, but I always kept it to myself for A’s sake. If I was vocal about disliking his boyfriend, it probably would’ve caused A a lot of distress and emotional turmoil.

Still, I don’t think this relationship is healthy for A and I know him well enough to know he won’t break it off on his own. It’s just his combo of personality disorders that makes it impossible for him. I told him about my concerns and he agreed, but said he feels bad for his boyfriend since he apparently doesn’t have any friends outside of A. From my POV, it just looks like his boyfriend knows A is out of his league and is grasping at straws to make A stay with him out of pity.

This is where I might be the asshole. I got a little frustrated and raised my voice, which I severely regret. I don’t want to blame it on the alcohol but it definitely had a hand in it. I finally told him about all these grievances I have about his boyfriend, how much I dislike him and how A deserves so much better, etc.. At one point, I essentially gave him an ultimatum. It’s me or his boyfriend. I didn’t really mean it, it was just a heat of the moment thing I spat out. I would never leave him like that.

A started crying and begged me to calm down, at which point I realized how shitty I was being and immediately began apologizing. We hugged, I comforted him, and we spent the rest of the night cuddling and talking about how he could approach the breakup.

Now that I’ve sobered up I feel like absolute shit. I know it’s not my place to tell A what to do with his romantic relationships, even if I’m his best friend. Plus, I want to be 100% honest here and say I might have romantic feelings for A. I think I have for a long time, but I always wrote it off as intense platonic love. So I may be biased in this whole conversation about his boyfriend.

I didn’t say these things because of that. I genuinely think his boyfriend is a huge dick and full of shit, no matter how sweet and loving he pretends to be. It’s all in the way he treats A. He’s one of those guys that paint their nails (nothing wrong with that but you know the kind of guy I’m talking about), pretend to be feminists, and steal their romantic partner’s personality to seem cooler. He even asked A to stop taking testosterone because he didn’t like how hairy A was getting or some shit like that.

He’s pansexual but has only ever dated girls and started dating A before A began medically transitioning. There’s obviously nothing wrong with that and changes nothing about the fact that he’s pansexual, he just pisses me off when he criticizes A for being 'too masculine'. You can have a preference for feminine people but don’t make that shit your partner’s problem when they just want to pass.

I feel like A’s boyfriend just thought A would always stay the smooth, baby-faced twink he was before going on testosterone and now makes him feel guilty for looking like a grown man. Some people don’t know how to appreciate hairy tummies.

Sorry for making this so long but I just want to be as honest and informative as possible to get proper opinions on the issue. A is now dead set on breaking things off because he now knows that I actively despise his boyfriend and he always puts my opinion above everyone else’s.

Was I in the wrong for doing this or am I just protecting my best friend? I’m glad he intends on ending things but I feel a bit like a conniving snake considering everything. It feels like I’m taking advantage of his mental state even if I’m not doing it consciously.

[r0-boat]

Would you be willing to write something about the kings finding out the mc has chronic pain? Specially nonstop headache type of thing, like they find out after a run in with someone from paradise lost. Basically the mc getting called out for hiding something from them

This is so interesting thank you for letting me write this!

Please let me know if I get any thing wrong stuff like this makes me nervous to write, but I still try anyway!

Whb Kings reaction: Mc with a chronic pain

Sfw a little angs

Mc's chronic pain comes from headaches

Terrified. Utterly terrified. He's already scared enough because one day he feels like he will just lose control of his rage and hurt you. Every time he sees you in pain He just wants to take out his rage somewhere else. Rage that he can't do anything, rage because you're suffering, wrath because he knows angels will use this weakness in some way.

Satan

Is he overreacting? Perhaps. But it comes from a place of worry and genuinely cares about you. He acts like a pissed-off cat when he finds out you've been hiding it from him, sitting crisscross, his arms folded, staring blankly at a wall in the corner, not speaking to you until you apologize. He doesn't like that Lucifer is pretty much The only one able to help you, but he doesn't trust anyone more than Lucifer for your health, so he's probably going to get over it.

Mammon

He doesn't quite understand why you kept this from him. His pride is mostly more broken than his feelings. He takes great pride in taking care of you in all your needs. All of them. He cannot take care of your needs when he does not know. You must tell him everything from now on please...

"are you sure there is no immediate cure? I'm sure there is something no matter how expensive I shall cover for it."

A proposal you adamantly declined. Mammon pouted, but thankfully did not pester you further. If it wasn't for Lucifer having all your health care already free Mammon would surely cover.

Salty little worm, but puts aside his salt for the sake of your health. But he must come to all your visits. He has to be in the room with you at all times, glued to your side like your shadow. He must know everything about your health from now on. Your punishment for keeping this from him!! He must know everything that Lucifer knows EVERYTHING. 70% is because he wants to help you when something happens. The other 30% is because he wants to be the closest one in your life and is jealous of Lucifer because he knows more about human anatomy and can be the only one who can help you, but he can't do anything about it. After all, he needs Lucifer because he is pretty much the only doctor who can help you who knows about humans. But that doesn't mean he can't voice his complaints.

Leviathan

And oh he will every visit grumbling something about something about anything.

He understands why you kept it from him. He straight up says "it's okay your secret safe with me I'll forget it 5 minutes later anyway."

Beelzebub

At least he remembers that you need to see Lucifer every now and then, and his subordinates make sure they carry any painkillers or any prescription you need. Beelzebub makes doctor's visits and sitting in the waiting room a lot more fun, anyway. You can't help but laugh when you see him absolutely mesmerized by the fish tank. Bael has all of your scheduled appointments and each prescription down to the milligram memorized, and he will spam your phone if you have an upcoming appointment.

Lucifer

He already knows. He had been waiting for you to tell him. And once you tell him or try, he cuts you off and says, "I know."He knows more about human anatomy and is studying more about human health, mainly because of you. Of course, he would put you under a special microscope and be extra attentive to any signs of your health. You kind of forget that he is technically a doctor, and he can spot your health far better than you can.

Lucifer becomes extremely hovering, especially when it comes to your health. Sometimes it bores on nagging. But he just wants you to be healthy, humans are quite fragile and their life goes away in a blink of an eye He would do anything to make you live as long as you can.

[a-doubleh-x]

Buttonblossom Analysis in TADC Episode 2

(Background rainbows: hint, hint)

Ragatha was so sweet to Pomni in episode 2 🥺💖 Most people caught onto the obvious fact that Raggs is being codependant and leans onto toxic positivity on the way she tries to cheer up Pomni, but I still think for the most part her heart is in the right place.

I liked their dynamic in episode 1, but I liked it so much in 2 I decided to write a little analysis on it (plus the ship fuel 👀) in preparation for the romance fic I'm writing about them.

Without further ado, let's go!

Looking back at Ragatha, on the good side, she made some very strong, active efforts to help her during her transition into the digital realm. She checked first thing in the morning if she was okay, she tried to make her feel included in the adventure at the beginning and showed care for her safety overall.

My favorite scene, though, is when the circus gang falls into the fudge river and after checking in on them, the first thing she says is: "Poor Pomni!" 😭 Girlie is so empathetic she even manages to care for someone who's not even there, while she's in a terrible situation herself!

I think this proves how much of a good person Raggs is. She doesn't just help people to feel good or superior, she does it because she geniuenly cares for other people's wellbeing and I find that very noble 😊

On the negative side, she seems to have some very particular communication issues with Pomni, even though she seems to be the circus memeber she cares the most about at the moment.

For starters, her attitude comes off as a little condescending very often. She hardly asks questions to Pomni and tends to assume for her. She hardly acknowledges some of her struggles and tries to downplay them, like when she degrades their experience as "larping". Also, she makes Pomni feel like a child when she tries to "hype her up" in her own words.

If we take Pomni's nightmare into consideration, it seems she believes Ragatha thinks Pomni is not "cut out for it", which might be a result of her condescending behavior I just mentioned.

This makes sense to me and also sheds a little bit of light on how Pomni sees herself as: small and insignificant. It's unclear at the moment how she was before on the physical world, but I speculate based on this evidence she probably didn't think she had much agency in her life (just how she feels in the circus).

At the end, however, thanks to her experience with Gummigoo and looking at the crew grief over Kaufmo's abstraction, Pomni opens herself more to the crew, which is a very good sign.

I think her current dynamic with Ragatha is wicked cool! ✨️ There's a lot of room for growth, which is good in my opinion. Ragatha clearly cares a lot about Pomni and I think with time she could grow to reciprocate her as well.

Despite her cowardness in episode 1, I always had the feeling that Pomz was deep down a caring individual as well, which was solidly proven in 2 with her interactions with Gummi.

On the fanon side, I saw a lot of fans foaming at the mouth (myself included) over the fact that Ragatha was such a tryhard with Pomni (which was anticipated to be the contrary). Some fans have interpreted their potential dynamics as both being shy, which I really, really like.

I believe I will definitely include that in my future fanfic. Another idea I wanted to explore is Pomni talking to Ragatha about her overbearing issues, while still appreciating her good qualities at the same time.

I think it's going to be great ☺️❤ I already look forward to what the end result is going to be. I love mutual pining and I love sweet lesbians caring for each other (even when they're silly girlfails). I'm planning to start by submitting chapter 1 by next Friday and submit a new one every following one, as I've done before.

Get ready for digital lesbian shenanigans 🎪💙🎀 See ya!

[imloyaltoscoups]

i'm ready | yoon jeonghan

part 1, part 2

ꕤꕤꕤꕤꕤꕤꕤꕤꕤꕤ

After seven long years, you finally find yourself in a place of true peace and contentment. The journey to this point hasn't been easy - the scars of heartbreak and betrayal ran deep, and it took time to heal and rebuild yourself.

But you did it. You persevered through the nightmares, finding strength in your own resilience and determination. With each passing day, you focused on your own growth and development, pouring your energy into your studies and your personal pursuits.

Completing your PhD was a milestone, a testament to your dedication and perseverance. It wasn't just an academic achievement: it was a symbol of your triumph over adversity, a tangible reminder of how far you've come since the pain of your past.

Along the way, you learned valuable lessons about self-love and self-care. You realized the importance of prioritizing your own needs and desires, of carving out space for yourself in a world that often demands so much of us.

The first years were undoubtedly the hardest. You struggled to find your footing, grappling with the weight of your emotions and the uncertainty of starting over. You were cautious with those who approached, wary of opening yourself up to the possibility of hurt once again.

But with time, you learned to trust yourself again. You rediscovered your worth and your strength, and you refused to let the pain of your past define you. You learned to allocate love and care for yourself, recognizing that you are deserving of the same kindness and compassion that you so freely gave to others.

You pause mid-packing, taken aback by your friend's unexpected enthusiasm. They shake the ticket with excitement, their smile infectious despite your initial reluctance.

"Y/N!!! We're going to Koreaaaa!" they exclaim, their voice filled with enthusiasm.

You hesitate, the memories of your past trip to Korea still lingering in the corners of your mind. The thought of returning to the place where so much heartache had occurred fills you with a sense of apprehension.

But before you can voice your concerns, your friend speaks up again, their tone resolute. "You're okay now, right? So it's okay to visit that country again. And besides, who knows when we'll have the chance to see our friends first ever exhibit. If you're worried of bumping with that piece of shit. Don't worry—I'll give him a piece of my mind. Maybe even a punch and a chokeslam for good measure!... I should have been with you when you went there" she pouted.

Their words catch you off guard, but you can't help but laugh at their fierce loyalty. Despite your reservations, their unwavering support gives you a glimmer of courage.

"Alright," you say, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "This is for our girl."

With a newfound sense of determination, you resume packing, knowing that this trip will be different from the last. Armed with the support of your friend and the strength you've gained from overcoming your past, you're ready to face whatever challenges lie ahead. And who knows? Maybe this time, Korea will hold new memories of joy and adventure, rather than pain and heartache.

As you arrive at the exhibit of your best friend, you're filled with a sense of pride and excitement. You rush forward and envelop her in a big hug, a smile spreading across your face.

"Congratulations queen, you did it!" you exclaim, squeezing her tightly. "I'm so proud of you for pursuing your dream of being an artist. Look at the crowd!"

She returns the hug with equal enthusiasm, her eyes shining with happiness. "Thank you so much! I couldn't have done it without you guys. You two kept on pushing me to do this and here we are."

She then shows you around the exhibit, pointing out each piece with pride, you can't help but marvel at her talent and creativity. Each painting tells a story, a reflection of her passion and dedication to her craft.

As you admire her work, she offers you two a glass of champagne, a gesture of celebration for this momentous occasion.

"Cheers to you and your incredible talent," you say, raising your glass in a toast. "May your art continue to inspire and captivate audiences around the world."

She clinks her glass against yours, a wide smile lighting up her face. "Thank you, and cheers to our friendship. I'm so grateful to have you two by my side."

Together, you three sip your champagne and continue to explore the exhibit, basking in the joy of this special moment shared between friends. And as you revel in the beauty of her art and the warmth of her friendship, you know that this is a memory you'll cherish for years to come.

Time pass by and your best friend excuses herself to greet other visitors, you nod understandingly, letting her immerse herself in the moment. Beside you, your other friend suddenly excuses herself to rushed off to the bathroom, leaving you alone amidst the bustling gallery.

As you scroll through the gallery, admiring the artwork, a familiar voice calls out your name. You turn around and are surprised to see Jeonghan standing there, holding a glass of champagne. To your own surprise, you feel no shock or hurt at his presence. Instead, you feel a sense of calm and resolution.

"Hi," he says, his voice tentative as he approaches you. "How are you?"

You offer him a small smile. "I'm doing better than ever," you reply confidently. "I got my PhD and now I'm planning on doing my residency."

Jeonghan's eyes light up with genuine pride. "That's amazing," he says, offering his congratulations. "I always knew you would achieve great things."

You exchange conversation for a while, catching up on each other's lives. Eventually, Jeonghan takes a deep breath and admits once again that he is truly sorry for the pain he caused in the past.

You nod, feeling a sense of closure wash over you. "I've forgiven you," you say simply.

His eyes widen with hope, and for a moment, you see the flicker of longing in his gaze. But before he can say anything else, a commotion interrupts the moment.

A little kid comes running towards you, calling you "mama." You glance down and see your baby boy, and you can't help but smile as you scoop him up into your arms.

"Where's Papa?" you ask, and just then, a voice responds—a man carrying your one-year-old daughter.

Jeonghan stands frozen, his eyes wide with disbelief as he takes in the sight of your family. You introduce your husband to him, and as you do, your baby boy innocently asks who the man you're talking to is.

"He's one of the singers mommy used to love," you reply gently, trying to keep the atmosphere light.

Jeonghan introduces himself to your family, his emotions held back as he struggles to maintain his composure. But as the moment stretches on, you can see the glass in his hand trembling, a silent testament to the storm of emotions raging within him.

"Mama, can we look for Tatie?" your baby boy asks, his eyes wide with curiosity.

You smile down at him and give a nod. "Of course, sweetheart. Let's go find her," you reply, your heart swelling with love for your children.

Turning to Jeonghan, you offer a polite smile. "It was nice meeting you again," you say sincerely.

Your baby boy tugs at your hand, eager to leave. "Goodbye, Uncle!" he chirps before running off with your husband and daughter.

Jeonghan watches them go, his face a mixture of shock and sadness. You offer him a sympathetic smile before turning away to search for your best friend.

As you walk with your husband by your side, his arm wrapped around you protectively, you feel a sense of peace wash over you. You lean into him, grateful for his unwavering support and patience.

"Thank you for being so patient love," you murmur, pressing a quick peck to his cheek.

He smiles down at you, his eyes filled with warmth. "You're very brave, you know that," he says simply, his voice filled with admiration.

You feel a surge of gratitude for the life you've built together, for the love and happiness that surrounds you. And as you continue to search for your best friends, you realize that maybe visiting Korea isn't so bad after all, especially when you have your family by your side.

In that moment, you realize that the greatest revenge you can provide to Jeonghan is finding your own happiness without him. And as you find your own people who cherish and support you, you know that you've already won.

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