#I'll post an actual sex scene next

[heyimkana]

This translation may not be 100% correct, I'm sorry for the mistakes, both English and Japanese are not my first language 😭

A little context: studying abroad, you and your boyfriend live in different countries and it's been a while since you've last seen each other. Missing you terribly, he calls you very early in the morning.

00.02 Listening to your voice like this, it really feels like you're here beside me so for me not being able to touch you directly is... really hard.

00.15 Hey, right now... You're in your room right? Is there anyone else there?

(You tell him, "I'm alone.")

00.24 I see... Well then... For now, why don't you replace me with your hand instead?

(You say, "I don't get what you're saying.")

00.35 You don't get what I'm saying? *chuckles*

00.38 I mean, the hand that you're not using to hold the phone right now... It's free, right?

00.42 Think of it as my hand.

00.45 Let's see...

00.47 For starters, try touching your own lips.

(You hesitate.)

00.54 Come on, don't be so embarrassed, hurry up.

00.59 Your soft lips... Touch them. *kisses*

01.07 Hehe, didn't it feel like I just kissed you? (referring to both the kissing sound he made and the way you touched your lips with your hand)

(You say, "Yes.")

01.14 Right? Then, next is... Try touching your neck.

01.22 Try to imagine that that's my hand, okay? If you think of it like that, you'll feel a little sensitive.

01.28 Do it more gently. Touching it or not, you can do whatever you like.

(You say, "It's embarrassing.")

01.39 It's not embarrassing. It's only me who sees you like this.

(You argue that he's not really looking because he's not there with you.)

01.46 No, I am looking at you. It's shown vividly, the way your face goes all red from the way I'm touching you.

01.59 When I close my eyes, I can really see you.

02.03 Listen, try to remember the day when we first got together.

02.10 That time, I carried you to the bed.

02.16 Come on, you do it too. Lie down on the bed.

(You ask him, "Are you on the bed right now?")

02.20 Yeah, I'm on my bed too.

02.27 You're already on the bed?

(You say, "Yes.")

02.30 Then, close your eyes. Slowly, start unbuttoning your shirt. Imagine it that I'm doing it to you.

02.40 That's right, you're so good...

02.44 Aah, look. I can see your beautiful skin. Your skin is so white, so smooth and soft...

02.57 *breathes in, sighs* You smell so good...

03.04 You can imagine it, right?

03.06 I'm right in front of you now.

03.10 I'll be gentle.

03.15 Keep your eyes closed.

03.18 I'll kiss those adorable eyes.

03.26 Then your neck...

03.32 Your ears too...

03.39 Ah... I want to touch your chest...

03.45 Try to touch your breast in my place.

03.48 Come on, there's only me who sees this.

03.57 As I thought... They're really soft, aren't they..?

04.02 Your nipples... How do they look now? Are they hard?

(You tell him, "It feels embarrassing to do this.")

04.13 It's not embarrassing. It's okay.

04.17 I'm also... hard.

04.26 Hey... Try touching your nipples too.

04.31 Come on, hurry up.

04.36 Is it still soft? Try doing it harder.

04.47 Your voice is so cute... That's right, this is what I've been wanting to hear.

04.57 Hey... I'll kiss your ear so... Try and play with your breasts some more.

05.10 Just like the way you did before. Harder.

05.26 Your cute voice... I want to hear it more...

05.32 Take off your panties next.

05.35 Actually, I'll be happy if you can take everything off.

(You ask him, "Why?")

05.39 Well, because I want to see everything.

05.45 Come on... Hurry...

05.53 Just by listening to those rustling sounds you make, I get so turned-on. I'm wondering if you're naked now...

06.01 You've taken your clothes off?

06.05 Then... So I can see more of you, try spreading your legs.

06.11 Wider. Make it so I can see you clearly.

06.16 Liar. You're not really spreading your legs 'cause you're too embarrassed to do it, are you? I can tell.

06.29 Hey... Show it to me... I haven't touched you down there in a while, so at least, even if we're just imagining it, let me touch you.

06.45 Then... Do it gently.... Even if it's only for a little, it's okay... Try touching yourself...

07.02 Don't put your fingers inside just yet, okay? You can't do it until I say so.

07.12 You can only touch yourself around the edge.

07.16 That's right... Just slowly... rub yourself...

07.31 Hmm? What is it? Don't tell me, you already put your fingers inside...

07.42 What should we do... *chuckles*

07.54 It can't be helped, huh? Well then, gently put your fingers inside...

08.11 Such a cute voice...

08.16 I'm close too...

08.21 Should we cum together then?

09.06 Sorry, it's morning over there, isn't it? I'm sorry for making you do such weird things so early in the morning.

09.16 Yeah, it felt so good... Thank you...

(After this part, there's a conversation where you're telling him to just use your pictures if he wants to jerk off next time and he says, "No, I can't use those precious pics I have of you to masturbate, that's crazy!" but inwardly he admits, "Sorry, truth is, I already used them before." He's worried that you'll start thinking of him as a pervert but you say, "We literally just had phone sex, what are you worried about?" Then the track got cut short here because Tumblr won't let me upload the full track, but what happens next is you tell him it's okay to use your pictures and you even offer him to send some lewder ones like pictures of you in your underwear and he gulps, "S-seriously?" and you reply, "What, you don't want them?" and he answers, "Yes, I do want them. Very, very much." But then he gets worried if the pictures got stolen and posted online, so he tells you not to do it.)

spoiler for the next track: You send him some pics of you in your underwear, along with a toy... you know, like a fleshlight... and then he uses it while looking at your pictures 😳

[deaith]

rysir companion guide, but i feel bad for all the hypothetical fans in my head who got his first sex scene, and were under the impression that that meant they had initiated a romance with him, and subsequently they thought he was 'easy' to romance and didn't understand until later that they did not, in fact, romance him

[vorestarr]

i love when Astarion is mean, and i mean like genuinely mean, saying shitty things and lashing out specifically to hurt someone or push them away. i think it really says so much about him and about the specific situations when he feels the need to lash out. i love seeing it with Durge/Tav, but i'm playing a Karlach origin to romance him right now and he's so mean during his first romance scene when he can't even kiss Karlach.

after playing it, i went to look at the parsed dialogue for that scene because i wanted to see if there were any dev notes, and oh boy are there dev notes. walk with me here while i go through them all. (i didn't add alt text to the images below, but i did transcribe the lines i'm referencing in the images below, so all the important information is in the text of the post itself.)

it's the typical Astarion scene, but after his "i've been waiting to taste you" line, he diverges with: "Although your condition means tasting you could be a risky proposition. You're quite the forbidden fruit, aren't you?"

the player (as Karlach) has a few choices in reply at that point, but as long as they pick one that progresses the scene (i.e., not the one where you reject him last minute), he goes down the same dialogue tree. this tree starts with:

Astarion: All denied to us because of what Zariel did to you. [devnote: subtext, thinking about Cazador]

so right off the bat he's upset because Karlach's situation is reminding him of his own with Cazador.

but then his next line is:

Astarion: I - you know, I have no idea what to do with you now. [devnote: Astarion's mask as the flippant libertine is cracking a bit here. He's frustrated but vulnerable here. Because he can't physically seduce or touch Karlach, his usual means of interacting with a person is punctured. He's faced with the reality that he might not know how to handle a situation where he can't bite or seduce his way to the finish line.]

wow. that's a lot in that dev note.

at this point, the player has the option of a few responses, but two options to continue the encounter. the choices to continue it are: "You don't have to 'do' anything. We can just be." or "After the life you've led, I'm not surprised."

if you choose the first option, Astarion is frustrated but less mean. he says:

Astarion: 'Just be' what, exactly? Frustrated? Bored? What do we do, if not... that?

if you choose the second option, he's a little meaner. understandably so, since the player just poked at his painful past:

Astarion: You think you know the life I've led? The experiences I've had? You've no idea the stories I could tell, sweet Karlach. But you - you're just -

then, both the paths converge to the same final statement, which is mean no matter what Karlach has said to this point:

Astarion: Urgh! Why is this so difficult? I'd have already bedded you twice if you were normal.

importantly, there are dev notes for all of his lines here, but the notes are all the same:

devnote: Masking defensiveness with offensiveness. In truth he really does want what Karlach is offering (to just hang out without having sex) but now that it's within grasp he's floundering.

again, at this point the player has two choices to continue the encounter, and one to end it. i'll go down each continue path separately, since they can diverge quite a bit.

path 1

the first choice is to say: "Twice in this short space of time? Doesn't sound very satisfying."

he gets mad. and mean.

Astarion: Karlach! You know what I mean. [devnote: Frustrated] Astarion: Or maybe you don't. Astarion: There may be an inferno in you, Karlach, but at the end of the day you've been frigid for a decade, isn't that right? [devnote: Being mean-spirited in an attempt to drive Karlach away, even though he doesn't actually want to do that.]

the player again has two response options to continue the encounter, and one to end it.

the first choice to continue the encounter is: "You want to try that again? Without being a jackass, maybe?"

in response he says:

Astarion: This is impossible - you're impossible! [devnote: Masking defensiveness with offensiveness. In truth he really does want what Karlach is offering (to just hang out without having sex) but now that it's within grasp he's floundering.]

(at this point, the path diverts to merge with the dialogue tree from the previous branch where Astarion complains about Karlach not being normal. so we'll pause here, and continue down that dialogue tree with the path 2 header below.)

the second choice to continue the encounter after Astarion says that Karlach has been frigid for a decade is to say: "What's really going on here, Astarion? Suddenly you're so vicious."

he replies:

Astarion: Suddenly? Darling, you haven't been paying attention. [devnote: Seething and mean.] Astarion: Listen, it's just - ... I'm sorry, all right? Is that what you want?

again, at this point, he diverts to the same shared dialogue tree as the other response option. that merges with path 2, so we'll continue there:

path 2

to go BACK to the previous branch we went down, where Astarion said he would have bedded Karlach twice already if she was just normal, the other response option for the player is: "I am normal. 'Fucked up' is the height of normalcy."

instead of being mean, Astarion immediately apologizes:

Astarion: Oh no - don't you tar me with your 'normal' brush. My demons keep me extraordinary. [devnote: Karlach has punctured Astarion's bad mood with a joke.]

and then he apologizes, like he does in the other paths, saying he doesn't know what to do without being able to touch her.

Astarion: I - ...I'm sorry, Karlach. It's just, not being able to touch you - having to slow down, it's... I'm just not used to it. [devnote: subtext here is on the slowing down. That IS what he wants. But it's hard for him to see that clearly.]

Astarion: So, can you -... I don't know. Help? Show me what to do? [devnote: First breakthrough. He's asking for help knowing what to do when you can't jump into bed with someone.]

again, at this point, the player has two options to continue the encounter or one to end it.

for the first response to continue, the player can say: "We can just talk. As long as we want. Then we can sleep. Near, but not too near."

Astarion responds to this one pretty positively. he's still a little mean, but it's in his fond teasing way, and not his biting, cruel way:

Astarion: Karlach, champion of the Hells, wants to talk and then fall asleep? [devnote: Incredulous] My dear, you're much more boring than I gave you credit for. [devnote: Teasing] All right, Karlach. Let's try it your way. [devnote: Gently. He's feeling vulnerable, but sees that this might be a chance to feel safe.]

the second response option from the player is: "I don't know either. This is all just as new for me as it is for you."

he doesn't respond quite as well to this one, and goes back to being mean:

Astarion: Well. To quote you: 'Fuck.' Astarion: Why don't we put ourselves out of this misery and just sleep? If I can at least look at you, I won't have wasted my whole evening. [devnote: Peak of Astarion sexy toxicity.]

then, the scene fades to black and it transitions to the morning-after scene with Astarion, where the player first sees his scars.

i also think as a whole, this scene is just so representative of Astarion's early-game state of mind. he's following a comfortable script with all his interactions, but when he's confronted with something new, he flounders.

especially when it comes to sex, which is a touchy subject for him, his first reaction to any vulnerability is to lash out and hurt people. in this scene:

if Karlach brings up his past experiences, he lashes out. ("You think you know the life I've led?")

he blames Karlach for the situation because that's easier than addressing that he doesn't know what to do without his script. ("if you were normal")

if Karlach jokes about him ("Doesn't sound very satisfying") he lashes out even further, calling her frigid and impossible and then even doubling down if she calls him out ("you haven't been paying attention").

but if Karlach jokes about HERSELF ("'Fucked up' is the height of normalcy"), it snaps him out of his toxic bullshit and he's able to take a step back and apologize to her.

then regardless, he's also able to recognize that this is an opportunity to get what he wants without having sex, and recognize that he wants that too.

and then to me, Astarion being mean in that last response choice ("I don't know either") makes perfect sense, given the context of his other lashing out earlier in the conversation. even if the player didn't make those previous choices where he lashed out at them, he can still get mean and toxic on this choice.

crucially, with this choice, he's taken that step of hopeful vulnerability where he recognizes that maybe he does want to just spend time with Karlach without having sex, but he doesn't know how to do it. he asks for help.

if the player says they don't know how to do that either, he immediately puts those defensive walls back up. he doesn't want to flounder around, he wants an answer. he wants to know that it's actually possible to have a positive experience with someone without the script he's always used. the player saying they don't have that answer just pisses him off.

wow okay this post got really long, but i really vibed with the dev notes for this scene, and i think you can see exactly these toxic behaviors from Astarion in other scenes and in romances with other characters as well, but it's just so so clear with the Karlach scene and the dev notes just really highlight that.

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 ICARIAN

FEATURING: beast dazai osamu

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

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

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

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

SEE: UNREAL UNEARTH SERIES MASTERLIST READ: BADLANDS SIDE A

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

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

Something isn’t right.

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

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

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

He’d think that Tolstoy and Nabokov were stalling.

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

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

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

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

Unless it’s being jammed, that is.

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

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

The one with the overcoat. The clown.

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

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

Dazai had missed a critical piece on the board.

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

Dostoevsky is going after you. 

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

This is it.

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

This is it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You.

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

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

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

He thinks he might throw up. 

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dazai is about to lose you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh. He’s going to throw up. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Look at me,” you say quietly.

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

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

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

And you do. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I-hah-shit, I’m gonna-fuck-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” he murmurs, “okay.”

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

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

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

He isn’t sure if he wants to know.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He won’t let it happen. Not again. 

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

[mintaikk]

Moments I think Blitzø realized his feelings for Stolas

I really don't think that Blitzø had an "Oh" moment. I think it was over a period of time, where he slowly realizes it, and then it comes unleashing out in either The Full Moon or Apology Tour.

Anyways, here

Seeing Stars (S2, ep2)

This was Blitzø's reaction when he saw Stolas's human form for the first time. God, I love his subtle expressions here sm. Read this post, they explain it well, and it's also the post that made me want to make this post.

In the first pic, Blitzø looks surprised and confused, probably from the shock of seeing Stolas's human form for the first time. Probably didn't even consider he ever had one, lol

The second image, we see a small blush appear, and as @ifwebefriends said, it's the "I'm fucked" face, as he is filled with complicated emotions as he realizes he likes Stolas in every form. He looks really worried by this.

The third image, hid pupils are fully dilated. Instead of confused, he looks genuinely worried and vulnerable. His expression doesn't show lust, but more like a mix of someone who is nervous to be around someone they like and genuine fear. He is realizing that it isn't just lust, but that he genuinely likes Stolas, and that's scary to him.

In the fourth image, he quickly turns around, slightly hunched over and rubbing his hands together; both behaviors indicating nervousness, probably at his own emotions. He also asks Stolas if he can somehow give them human disguises, which yes, is relevant to what's going on, but it can also be him being like, "maybe I'm just interested in the human disguise," so he can believe that instead of dealing with his own emotions.

(Also, have this gif of Blitzø checking Stolas out in his human disguise)

Then that scene in Seeing Stars that, when I joined the fandom, was the first thing I saw fans losing their shit over

Nothing much to comment on here. He's actually smiling at Stolas's advances. The other times Stolas flirted with him, it's always been overly aggressive ("jelly sandwiches all night~"), and this time, it's more subtle and intimate, which clearly worked for Blitzø.

Oops (S2, ep6)

In this moment, Fizz hit Blitzø with the allegations, and this was Blitzø's reaction to it. Look at his expressions! The first image looks confused and scared and heart broken, like he knew he fell, but he's either in denial, ignoring it, or doesn't think it's reciprocated; perhaps even all 3.

The second image, he looks sad, angry, and confused, like he doesn't know his emotions and can't name them, but he's hurt. He's frustrated at how complicated things are, and he hates it.

The 3rd image is now just full denial. When lying, people often look to the side or avoid eye contact, which is exactly Blitzø is doing right here. He knows that its more than sex every month, but he's lying to himself, because he can't get hurt if it is just casual.

Alright, imma have to do a part 2 to this cuz I ran out of space. I'll try to go in episode order next time lol, I just go excited with these 2 lol

Part 2

[chiibinomonodamon]

WHO WANTS TO HEAR ME RAMBLE ABOUT GAY FURRY DEMON SEX? XD

(damn, there's a sentence I never thought I'd say....)

Okay...so I see some Stolitz confusion and bashing online and I need to type up a defense here because I won't be able to sleep otherwise lol

I consider myself to be a Ship Critic and someone who takes shipping rather seriously.

What I mean by this is, I like to analyze and break down romantic relationships between fictional characters because it's just interesting to write for me. I especially take delight in friendly debating with opinions that I strongly do *not* agree with.

Let me start off by saying I am NOT a "this ship is awesome because gay furry sex lol" type of girl.

FAR from it. I'm generally more passionate about hetero ships between human characters (because I can relate to them more) among other reasons. So if you wanna dismiss my defense as "shallow fangirlism", you can forget about that lame excuse.

I fell in love with Hazbin Hotel when it was finally released in February and suffered waiting for each new two-parts per week. During that time, I decided to watch Helluva Boss as well, after a friend showed me a particularly soul-crushing clip (Moxxie's childhood trauma about his mother).

Yes, I like funny sex jokes as much as the next goofy adult but scenes like this, scenes that carry a very heavy emotional weight are what really get me in the end, even moreso when VERY little dialogue is exchanged. I knew I had to watch the entire episode run after seeing that the creators had a talent for this.

I saw people asking:

"How did Stolas go from using Blitz as a sex toy to being painfully in love with him?"

Oh I can tell you. I can tell you the EXACT moment this is revealed. But it's not spoon-fed to you; it's quite subtle actually and this is why lots of people miss it.

See, one of the strongest talents Vivenne has shown me is that she REALLY knows how to get her characters to communicate their feelings to the viewers JUST from their expressions and body language. These can be 'blink-and-miss-it' teeny little scenes and it may require a couple rewatches.

But since people demand time stamps for all information others post here, I'll rewatch a few scenes from S1 E7 'Ozzie's' as I'm typing this.

'Ozzie's' remains to be not just my favorite episode of HB...but probably my favorite episode of any adult-targeted animated show outside of Japan (aside from S2 E7's Mid-Season Special)

It has this huge reveal for both Blitzo and Stolas.

We'll first address Blitzo's irrational, stalkerish behavior of Moxxie and Millie.

He's obsessed with them. He finds both of them very attractive, fantasizes about threesomes with them and is constantly inserting himself into their personal lives.

Why?

Because they have everything that he badly badly wants for himself.

They have the perfect marriage and he is trying to live THROUGH them.

This was hilarious to me at the beginnning of the show but it's slowly revealed that it's one of the most tragic and depressing things I've ever seen. And it's scarily realistic too.

But you know this already so let's move on...

Blitzo follows the couple to Ozzie's but he can't get in without a date. So he calls up Stolas and yes, this is very low but he doesn't realize how much this means to Stolas (hell, I'm not sure even Stolas realizes it himself!) but the owl man is giddy with joy, he rushes over and they enter Ozzie's.

When Ozzie and Fizz mock Moxxie for being so sappy towards his wife, this strikes a chord with Blitzo (because they're his IDEAL relationship) and he speaks up to defend them.

NOW PAY CLOSE ATTENTION; THIS IS THE IMPORTANT PART:

Fizz, still holding onto his past grudge turns on Blitzo to humilate him:

"Some nerve you got commenting on a relationship"

Time Stamp: 11:37

As Fizz says "-ship", Blitzo VERY QUICKLY makes eye contact with Stolas who has a look of panic on his face. Blitzo is seeking VALIDATION from Stolas in this sharp, subtle second of screentime, as if to ask

"Well, ARE we in one?"

And then what happens next...Stolas remains silent, Blitzo's ex joins in to announce how selfish Blitzo was in bed with her, tearing him down further. Stolas stands up like he's going to put a stop to it but then Ozzie notices him and interrogates him about sleeping with Blitzo.

Blitzo looks incredibly ashamed and guilty as Stolas blushes with similar feelings...and hides his face behind his menu; HIS BIGGEST MISTAKE IN THE SERIES SO FAR.

Time Stamp: 12:24

The look on Blitzo's face as he grits his teeth and darts his eyes away basically says

"Yeah, I should have known...boy am I an idiot for trusting him to stand up for me".

(look how SHOCKED he is...wow, this hurts fr ;_;)

This is a silent betrayal on Stolas's part. Afterall, his reputation is on the line, so if he were to defend Blitzo, it confirms they are in fact, dating. He chose his pride over Blitzo and Blitzo is crushed by this betrayal.

Moxxie finishes his song and kisses his wife tenderly. Stolas watches this and also wants to have an affectionate moment with Blitzo (who is rightfully glaring daggers at him) and tries to reach for his hand.

Blitzo rejects his touch and suggests they leave. As they do, Blitzo still looks furious and hurt. Stolas is now realizing how badly he screwed up with a "What have I done?" face (13:41)

He even looks disappointed with himself.

After Blitzo drops Stolas off, he thanks him and tries to smooth over the awkwardness with sweet talk but Blitzo just rolls his eyes in disgust and pulls on his face like "I don't want to hear this bullshit".

He responds coldly and curtly, "Yeah." Stolas makes more suggestions to spend time with him, which just makes him even angrier and he snaps

"I'm not fucking you tonight, okay!

I'm really just..." (14:28)

he pauses to wipe a tear because at this point he can barely hold it together (top notch voice acting and animation directing btw)

"...not in the mood, Stolas."

Stolas still tries to talk him into doing couple things unrelated to sex.

Blitzo's face switches back to anger and frustration because Stolas isn't getting the message so he goes for the blunt tactic;

"Stolas, don't act like what we have is anything but YOU wanting ME to fuck you, okay?"

(14:42)

"You make that really clear all the time."

(again his voice sounds like he's about to break down)

"But I-I just can't do it tonight, okay?"

(Finally meets his eye)

"...I'm sorry."

I believe this is code for "I'm sorry we're even in this situation and how your reputation got damaged. " Or, more painfully, "I'm sorry I'm such an embarrassment to you".

Stolas replies "Okay" and takes a deep breath to compose himself. They say goodnight and depart.

An important note here is that Stolas calls him "Blitzo" instead of "Blitzy" to show more respect.

As Blitzo zooms away coldly, Stolas looks up at the sky with tears in his eyes, surprised at how much it hurts.

He then sits down with his head in his hands in anguish...because he's getting that

"Oh...no. These feelings are real" epiphany.

And as if this wasn't enough angst, Blitzo collapses onto his couch at home, goes through the memories on his phone and starts sobbing.

I'm going to be real with you; this is the most heart-breaking shit I have ever seen in an adult show of this type. It's also the first time a show of this type got me to cry.

The last six minutes have revealed so much information without spoonfeeding it to the audience because the show RESPECTS its audience.

To recap:

*Blitzo takes Stolas on a first official date to use him

*Stolas is extremely happy about it

*Blitzo gets humilated and looks to Stolas for validation

*Stolas betrays him and breaks his heart

*Blitzo snaps that their relationship is nothing more than lust-driven sex

*Stolas realizes he's actually in love with Blitzo and it's a huge problem because (he believes) that it's unrequited.

*Blitzo breaks down because the ONE person whom he thought would protect him didn't do so.

So these two are convinced that neither one loves the other...while the irony is, it's quite the opposite.

Because if Blitzo REALLY didn't feel anything towards Stolas, he would not have gotten this emotional.

Yes, they are both lonely...but I really don't think that's all there is between them.

So..........we know WHEN they started falling...now the question is why;

I think the answer's quite simple; single-target affection.

It was mentioned in S2 that Stolas and Stella did sleep together ONE TIME...but Stolas didn't enjoy it at all. He is stuck with a wife who hates him so much that she put a HIT on him...and a daughter who thinks he's a loser. Blitzo is pretty much the one person in his life who is able to make him happy. That one small, bright spot. He enjoys the sex with him but he also simply enjoys his company, as shown in Ozzie's episode. He is thrilled to simply talk to him about his day...and do anything else that couples do. They're complete opposites. Stolas is an intellectual but naive and sheltered. Blitzo is poorly educated but cynical and street-smart. Opposites attract...though this is likely more from Stolas's POV than Blitzo's.

In other words, Stolas is into bad boys xD lmao

In Blitzo's case, Stolas is the only character who shows him physical affection which he desperately craves. He's pretty tsundere about it most of the time...but I think he actually does enjoy that attention...especially when he's always getting disrespected by Moxxie and Loona..and quite a lot of people around him. BUT he's too scared to get serious with anyone because of past trauma and he also believes that no one could possibly love him as a person. :(

Reasons I Think This Love is Real

Aside from what I pointed out in the Ozzie's episode...there's quite a lot of evidence, esp from Stolas's POV.

After he realizes he's in love, he goes to Asomodeous for an ALTERNATIVE method for Blitzo to use so they will no longer sleep together. He wants to set Blitzo free. Which means he DOES truly love him because love is about being generous to the other person. He COULD be totally selfish about it but he isn't.

Asomodeous mentions how against love potions he is and Stolas agrees. He thinks that's out of the question.

'Look My Way' music video. Lol I don't have to say anything more.

In S2 E6 OOPS

This exchange at 16:57

Fizz: Seems your taste has gotten more 'regal', lately?

Blitz: Yeah, well unlike you, I fuck who I want WHEN I want. I'm not gonna be tied down to some big blue-blood asshole.

Fizz: You coulda fooled me the way Prince was cozying up to you at Ozzie's.

Blitz (gets very defensive) HEY! Stolas only cares about have a rugged peasant raw-dog him into his mattress, okay!

It's nothing...(gets hesistant and looks away)...you know...

(Fizz gives him a 'bitch please' look xD)

"it's nothing else."

Fizz: Then why were you even there?

Blitz: OTHER very important reasons of course.

Fizz: Whatever. I don't actually care.

Blitz: Stolas is just a loud, thirsty BITCH!

(Fizz is rolling his eyes again)

Blitz: He loves feeling the thrill of getting dicked by the lower class.

It's a novelty to him.

Fizz: LITERALLY just said I don't care!

Blitz: And then he'll call me and try to see how my day was!

And he'll pretend to care about me and comment on my photos laugh at my jokes...

Fizz: (Smirking) OH! That's definitely your clue right there that it's all bullshit!

Blitz: I KNOW, RIGHT??

Fizz: (Making a 'What in idiot' expression, shaking his head)

Blitz: HE'S JUST A FAKE, PRIVELEDGED ASSHOLE...

Fizz: Sounds like you just hate him for being a prince!

No one (laughs) and I mean NO ONE pretends to care that much just for a cheap lay.

All right. IF ANYONE knows what real love is like, it's Fizzaroli...who is in a very HEALTHY relationship with Asomodeous. He recognizes the signs because he's IN that place. He sees it...and he's annoyed that Blitzo keeps denying it and brushing it off...yet clearly can NOT stop talking about Stolas (amusing irony)

To sum up (this freaking essay lol) 'Stolitz' ABSOLUTELY has the potential to be pure and true...these two just need to communicate...or Stolas has to PROVE to Blitzo that he's serious about his feelings in another way.

There is no doubt that this ship is 100% endgame and is a case of the 'Earn Your Happy Ending' Trope. I look forward to the rest of the journey. Ron is putting my feelings about Stolitz in a perfect phrase:

[just-some-random-blogger]

Okay so here’s my request for a blurb…💕

Think of that one scene where Tormund is talking to the hound about Brienne but instead of Brienne it’s the reader (fem Y/N). The readers a hard woman and hasn’t given in to Tormund because she’s secretly with Sandor.

So basically the hound being jealous that tormund is into his woman.

Preferably NSFW if it’s too long to get to NSFW no worries.

⭐️( PS: i love your writing for the hound, barely anyone else gets it right!)

Save Me A Bowl

"A pretty thing for a pretty thing," Tormund says, holding up a small flower, not yet bloomed. I raise my brows at the white bud, "do I look like a thing to you?"

Sandor Clegane x Reader x Tormund Giantsbane | 1k+ | cw: fem!reader, jealousy, whipped!Tormund, fluff?, casually implied sex, typos, etc.

A/N: UR NOT ABOUT TO CATCH ME SLIPPIN ON MY POST STREAK. Once I post this, I'd have finished all my requests which is such a slay for this girl 🥹🫶. It has been quite a while since I got this req tho, so I hope you enjoy it nonnie 🫶 also.... I haven't actually reached this part of GoT yet HAHAHAHAHAH it's fine tho I think I know enough to write it lmao

Sandor was not very affectionate, at least not in the noticeable kind. In truth, neither was I, though I suppose it's because you don't really have the time to think about such things when there was a war at hand.

However, I would say I didn't shy from checking on him, nor from asking him to accompany me. I definitely didn't shy from going out of my way to sit next to him, nor from leaning into him when it got too cold. The same could be said about him, I think.

In my opinion, my relationship with Sandor was rather obvious, though we never spoke about it, especially on the multiple accounts I've announced I'd be heading back to my tent and have the Hound immediately follow after me. If anything, I thought it was at least crystal clear what we were up to after the fact.

This was why I turned to Brienne when Tormund began harking nonsense. She and I had been huddled by the fire, finishing a bowl of soup when he came around.

"Is he trying to seduce you?"

"Don't look at me," says Brienne in between spoonfuls, "I am not the one he directs such gaudy poetry to."

I raise my brows as I turn back to Tormund who immediately smiles at me. I find myself sparing a smile back just to get his oration over with.

Ever since then, Tormund went out of his way to tire my ear with the sound of his voice, telling me tall tales of his life and his people. To be honest, I didn't mind it. In fact, I was partially entertained by some of his stories.

Showy as he was, he was harmless for the most part, and so I just let him do what he wanted. Eventually, his yapping would earn him a bowl to head and a threat to shut his trap. It worked out for me the men had much less patience for him than I did.

Little did I know, Sandor just about lost his patience with him.

I have to stop eating so I can get a laugh out of my system. The orange haired man laughs with me and concludes his story. He sighs, "you're the only fun one on this side of the fucking wall."

I shake my head and continue eating my food, "you mistake my tolerance of you as solidarity with your humor."

"Yet you laugh," Tormund raises a thick brow.

I shrug and swallow a mouthful before replying, "because you are fool."

"Fool enough to make you laugh," he says, standing from his seat beside me. He seems to look for something in his pocket.

I barely spare him a glance as he tells me, he's forgotten something, "I'll be right back."

Just as he runs off, I see Sandor and smile at him. He seems not to notice me and sits in a spot across from me. I immediately stand and come up next to him. I sit next to him, "took you a while."

Sandor ignores me.

I nudge him when he does not respond.

He side eyes me then begins to eat.

I raise a brow at his ignorance, "has something happened?"

He grunts then snaps, "why don't you ask that ginger fuck."

I frown.

"You seem keen of his company," Sandor glare, "you even laugh at his rancid jokes."

I furrow my brows.

Just then, Tormund comes back. He looks for me a moment, then beams when he spots me.

He runs up to me and Sandor; I feel Sandor stiffen against me.

"A pretty thing for a pretty thing," Tormund says, holding up a small flower, not yet bloomed.

I raise my brows at the white bud, "do I look like a thing to you?"

"The prettiest thing in the south," Tormund grins.

I release a breath.

I look over my shoulder and realize Sandor has stopped eating in lieu of glaring at Tormund. I'm about to speak, but I'm beaten to the chase.

"Fuck off, filthy minge," Sandor growls.

Tormund turns to him. His upper lip curls, "I wasn't speaking to you, smelly mutt."

Sandor stands and the two impose upon each other.

I immediately set my bowl down and step between them. I push them both on their chests, but neither budge. I hiss, "enough."

"You heard the woman," Tormund says, "get lost."

"I-"

"She was talking about you, you yapping fuck," Sandor snarls.

Before they can jump at each other's throats, I step back and yell, "ENOUGH, I SAID."

Sandor and Tormund stare at me.

"It's been a long day," I snap, "I'm not in the mood to soothe two whining bitches."

Tormund nods, "right!"

I narrow my eyes, "Tormund-"

"Yes?" he immediately retorts.

"- fuck off."

He opens his mouth but is too taken aback to say anything.

"You've been too busy picking flowers to notice that I'm with Sandor."

Tormund stares at me blankly.

"He's the one warming my tent."

He is aghast.

Sandor's face is blank, but he seems otherwise pleased as he sits back down and continues to eat.

The ginger steps forward and reaches out, "but I-"

"Keep your fucking hands to yourself," Sandor stands again, "if you know what's good for you."

Tormund glares at Sandor.

I sigh, "I told you you were a fool."

Tormund deflates. He walks off silently.

Sandor pulls me by the arm as he sits, sitting me down next to me, "good fucking riddance. Finally some quiet."

I roll my eyes at him, "you know," I pull my arm away, "this wouldn't have happened if I-"

"Fucked you harder?" he says in between chewing, "aye. I know better now."

[maniculum]

Bestiaryposting Results: Miscellaneous Sea Creatures

It's the penultimate* Bestiaryposting, and we have sea beasties! Yarrr... okay that's as much as I'm doing of that.

*Strikethroughs explained in the Aberdeen Bestiary section.

Anyone not sure what this is about can consult https://maniculum.tumblr.com/bestiaryposting, which I have fallen terribly behind on updating, but at least after next week I can't possibly fall any more behind.

To read about these Sea Beasties, click here:

For our next and, as I've alluded to repeatedly (assuming I've been counting correctly), last Bestiary Post, click here:

Without further ado, art below the cut.

@silverhart-makes-art (link to post here) has all eight here, and has made the majority of them Not Fish to give us a good oceanic variety. The reasoning behind the Alrittraes (see the linked post) is pretty good, I think, and I'm fascinated by the design of the Radwahrekh.

@cheapsweets (link to post here) has given us a similar top-to-bottom oceanic scene in a different style -- these are making me nostalgic for those big illustrations of All The Different Sea Critters I enjoyed staring at as a kid. The Alrittraes is very good in this one too -- I swear I've seen that critter on an old-fashioned Map of the Ocean somewhere. I also like the verging-on-draconic design of the Blochmokan.

@strixcattus (link to post here) has drawn all eight and attached naturalistic descriptions, as is their wont. Honestly I'm always impressed by how well those descriptions scan as Probably Real Animals. I think the designs of the Alrittraes and Blochmokan are particularly charming here, which is becoming a theme.

So, the Aberdeen Bestiary. No illustrations at all in this section, which is extremely disappointing. Probably due to the author's terrestrial bias. After the above list of creatures, the author goes on an extended digression about fish in general, their feeding and mating habits, and... and apparently Past Me was lazy enough to just skim this whole section on account of each folio just being labeled "Of fish, continued".* Which was a mistake, because it does transition back into talking about specific animals (a number of which are 100% not fish).

*I believe the folio labels are based on the manuscript's rubricated headings, so I can't pass off the blame on them for not making note of this.

So next week isn't the last one, because some of these critters are pretty good, and I can't let Past Me's laziness deny them their time in the spotlight. Once I've typed up this post, I'll go queue up another one to be the actual final Bestiaryposting. A Bestiarypostscript, if you will.

Anyway, the critters from this post.

Alrittraes

I think the water-spout thing flagged to many that this is the whale. Here's the unredacted end of that entry:

Whales are beasts of huge size, so called because of their habit of drawing in and spouting out water; for they make waves higher than other sea creatures; the Greek word balenim [balein] means 'to emit'. The male is called musculus; for it is alleged that the females conceive by intercourse.

In fact, the Ancient Greek phállaina just means 'whale'. (Its original etymology is apparently obscure.) I checked into what balein and balenim might mean just to be sure -- the former is Dutch for 'baleen', which makes sense. The latter is apparently the Czech word for 'package' in either the singular instrumental or plural dative form. So... I don't think this etymology is correct, is what I'm saying.

The bit about conceiving by intercourse, I think, is because they're mammals. Someone either made some observations about genital anatomy or actually observed whale sex out on the high seas somehow, and this was noted as unusual because fish aren't supposed to do that. (The medievals were fully aware of the external fertilization process, they just didn't think it counted.)

I have no idea why this means it is called musculus, and the Oxford Latin Dictionary is not helping.

I was about to continue with this and make some suggestions about the specific design of a mantlet, but honestly I think it's just the author (or, more likely, Isidore of Seville) making up nonsense etymologies.

Update: here I present the entirety of the entry for "mussel", from several pages later, which I think sheds some light on this:

Musculi are small shellfish; oysters conceive from their milk. They are called musculi, meaning, so to speak, masculi, 'males'.

So... maybe. Still weird.

Blochmokan

So this one confused me a bit, because the translator of the Aberdeen Bestiary simply calls it "flying-fish", but that seemed wrong to me because the heading says:

De belua que dicitur serra: Of the monster called the flying-fish.

And I think to myself, (a) why is it a monster? and (b) there's no way serra translates literally to 'flying fish', what is that word?

In an obvious-once-you-see-it moment, serra means 'saw' (whence English serrated). The definition 'sawfish' is also presented, but this is clearly not the same animal we call "sawfish" in English. Nor is it, I strongly suspect, the same one we call "flying fish". (Not least because bestiaries often have a very hierarchical order to them, and why would the flying fish be number two right after the whale?)

Hoping there is an explanation available on the great wide Internet, I Google "serra" "flying fish", and... who should I see as the number one result but the inestimable @a-book-of-creatures. They explain it better than I can.

Kearmoltir

So this is the dolphin, which is quite odd because apparently it means the "certain kind of fish" described here is not actually this guy like we assumed but instead a species of dolphin. Which is wild.

Meldilragg

The translator just renders this as "sea-pig", which I'm not really sure about, because as far as I know sea-pig or mereswine is an old word for 'porpoise'. Maybe they didn't translate it that way because they know something I don't.

Olnranming

This is of course the swordfish.

Radwahrekh

This might be the sawfish, but it does say serra again, so... who knows.

Shikwaewik

This one is the pike, which tracks; I don't think that needs to be elaborated upon.

Gurnwatlea

This one is the mullet, which I was surprised to see. I'm not sure why, maybe it's just because it seems like such a mundane and commonplace fish. But of course we also had some pretty mundane and commonplace mammals in that miscellany, so it's not really that weird.

Anyway, that's... a portion of our sea creatures.

[kpopsexstories]

NSFW Series: Most Memorable Sexual Experiences of TXT

That's right, following my k-pop smut series Most Memorable Sexual Experiences of NCT I'm now starting the next installment. And the new group you'll get to follow is, of course, Tomorrow x Together! If you've read my other non-NCT smut the choice is probably not surprising 😉

UPDATE: This series officially ended on October 28, 2024. You can now read all the stories below!

In the original series I posted one story per member of NCT and WayV, depicting their most memorable sexual experiences. It's fiction of course, but the goal was realistic stories and sex that isn't too far-fetched. Things that could actually have happened to our boys.

The TXT edition is no different. In this post you'll learn more about the series and find links to the stories. The series ran from Monday September 16, to October 28, 2024, with one story per member and one story featuring all five.

My Goals

➕ Each story should have a backstory/context. The stories are not super long, but there is fluff around the sex.

➕ Each story should be realistic. Though fiction, they should be sexual experiences that aren't too far-fetched.

➕ No two stories should be the same. The plot, setting as well as the sex should be unique to each story, or at least varied enough.

➕ Each story should bring a surprise or twist, to keep you interested.

➕ Stories should be relatively consistent, and loosely tied to real life. This means references to songs, plot points inspired by real life things members have said, and a consistent timeline. Each story can be set anywhere from present day to pre-debut.

Identifiers

To make it easier for you to find the stories you like I'll include identifiers at the start of each post/story:

🍆 TYPE: Refers to the sex scene and is either VANILLA, MEDIUM, WILD or UNCONVENTIONAL. No stories are "hard core" due to the criteria of being realistic (there will be no bondage, fetishes, etc.), but the "Unconventional" stories can include more than one member.

📦 CONTENT: Key words describing the sex, like Missionary (position), Riding (position), Cumshot, Jerk off, Blowjob, Outdoors, etc.

🧑🏻‍🤝‍🧑🏻 FEATURED MEMBERS: Stories might mention other members, but I've listed those that are directly involved as more than just background characters (whether sexually or not).

The Schedule

Each member got one story – their most memorable sexual experience – though Taehyun's was split in two parts. A new story was posted every Monday starting on September 16th (2024):

1. September 16, 2024 – Tomorrow x Together The five boys of TXT go skinny dipping in Hawaii.

2. September 23, 2024 – Yeonjun Yeonjun’s adopted cousin rides him in a barn.

3. September 30, 2024 – Hueningkai Huening Kai has sex on a beach with his sister’s best friend.

4. October 07, 2024 – Taehyun Pt. 1 Taehyun walks in on Soobin having sex with Jessica “Jessi” Ho.

5. October 14, 2024 – Taehyun Pt. 2 Taehyun’s dreams are realized when he has sex with Jessica Ho.

6. October 21, 2024 – Soobin Soobin spends a day naked on a yacht.

7. October 28, 2024 – Beomgyu Beomgyu loses his virginity without realizing it.

8. November 4, 2024 – Tomorrow x Together (gay bonus story) The five boys of TXT hook up with a (male) stranger in a locker room.

My Other Smut Series

Want more smut and k-pop sex stories? Check out my Master List post for an overview of all the stories I've published. Or, visit my external website Story Finder where you can browse all stories on this blog by content, idol, word count, popularity, requests, and more!

Buy Me a Coffee

Writing just a single "Most Memorable Sexual Experiences" story takes 12-24 hours of active work, including rewrites, edits and proofreading. I do this as a hobby in my spare time. Please consider buying me a coffee to support my work ❤️

[sassykattery]

Mentoring

This is a little smut fic I wrote for Diavolo's birthday, but since I have two fics now and this isn't a "birthday-themed fic," I thought I'd post it now.

CW: MC is AFAB and nameless, uses she/her pronouns. Piv sex, creampie, roughness, harsh language.

WARNING: This fic is centered around the CNC kink. I will explain what that is, but if it's something you may not enjoy due to trauma or other issues, please don't read!!!

CNC: Means consensual-nonconsent. The premise of a cnc scene is that beforehand, both partners agree to certain types of rough or aggressive sex that is of "nonconsesual" nature during the scene. The consensual part is the agreement before the actual sex occurs, where safewords, boundaries, and other parameters are in place. Some people call it rape play, I don't necessarily agree with using that as a blanket term for CNC. This is risky and should not be taken lightly, just like BDSM.

Minors and ageless blogs DNI

Third person POV, reader insert

18+ only

Enjoy

"So we are in agreement. We're doing this?"

"Yes... I think so."

"You can't just think so. This is something that could go poorly for both of us if we aren't both on board with it."

She was quiet for a moment, deciding what to say next. Diavolo lifted her chin and gazed into her eyes, a softened but serious look in his.

"I want this. We have our rules, we agreed to the rules, and we know our way out should we need it," she answered confidently.

"Then... so it shall be."

She sighed as she gazed at her test score. It was fine, but she wanted better. Quietly, she folded it and set it aside so she could focus on class. That was, until she saw Diavolo walk in, making a beeline for the teacher's podium.

"Good morning everyone. Your professor had to take leave today, so I will be filling in for the day. His message to you all is to work on your assignments due this week. You may ask me questions if you need to. No lesson for today," Diavolo explained.

The class became quiet and got to work as instructed.

Except her.

She stared up at Diavolo for a solid minute until his eyes finally landed on hers. She raised an eyebrow. The corner of his mouth barely tipped up.

Today was the day.

She began to work on her homework for the next hour, counting the minutes and seconds until class was over. It was so much more distracting to have him there, just steps away from her own desk while he sat at the professor's. The anticipation was building, and all she could do was organize in her head how this would go. Her thoughts were consumed with running each scenario, every word, every single movement they could make. It was so important that this went right, and maybe–

"And that's class. Thank you all for coming. Have a good day," Diavolo announced, standing at the podium. Everyone was already up and leaving, having packed their things while she just sat there daydreaming.

Once the room was cleared out, she cleared her throat quietly and got up from her desk, her test in hand as she walked up to the podium.

"Hey, I had a question," she stated confidently but softly, trying not to intrude. She saw the papers on his podium and knew he was likely busy.

"Yes, what is it?" He replied in his usual candor, golden eyes gleaming and bright white smile beaming.

"I got this score on my test, and I really thought I did better... Is there any way I could... get some help?" She answered, handing him the sheet of paper. He looked over his nose at her and nodded, taking the paper and setting it down to look at.

"I'll see what I can find."

He scanned it over, reading every question and answer. If there was any skill he mastered, it was looking at anything unfazed and replying in a similarly unaffected manner.

"I see. So, you seemed to have not totally understood this concept here, and this one could have been better here," he explained, pointing out to her what he meant. She came closer and nodded, listening carefully. "I think this one could have used a few more examples to drive home your point as well."

She sighed. "Yeah... That's what I thought, too. I wish I'd done better..." she murmured to him.

Her mind became distracted again, thinking about how good he smelled, the amber and musk filling her head with ideas other than this test.

"Are you listening?" He asked quietly, bowing his head to look at her.

"Oh, sorry..." she mumbled.

Finally, she turned her own head up to look at him, and she swallowed thickly at the idea buzzing in her skull, the one making her question every fiber of her moral being.

"Is there... anything I could do to improve my score? Anything at all?" She asked carefully and slowly, bringing herself closer and peering up at him with slightly widened eyes, her expression maybe a little innocent.

"Did you have something in mind?" Diavolo asked in reply, his voice pitching lower in his tenor range smoothly.

She mentally took a deep breath, centering herself. I want this. I want to try this, she thought to herself.

"I mean... What are my options?" She asked, her own voice stepping just a hair lower in pitch as well, leaning into the intensity of the moment. Her body moved closer intentionally, now just mere inches away from his.

"Don't be coy, I think you and I both know what you're implying," he answered, a bit dominantly. "I saw how you stared at me all hour. You can't stand here now and tell me you don't know what you're asking."

Here we go.

"Surely I don't know what you mean..." she stated, sounding slightly shocked.

His arm snaked around her waist, and he snatched her closer, a little roughly, and bowed his head down to whisper in her ear.

"Don't lie. You want me to improve your grade in return for something, right? A little mentoring? Well, I know what it is you want, and I know what I want, so why don't we skip the rest and get to the point?"

She nearly trembled then, with excitement and nerves from how he spoke to her so harshly but still yet so seductively.

"I... I don't understand. I just wanted to see–"

"Shut up, and come here," he snapped quietly in her ear, grabbing her by the wrist and pulling her over to the desk. He pushed her against it, wrapping an arm around her when she became off balance from the sudden movements to hold her up. "You asked for it, now I'll make sure you get what you want, and I'll get what I want," he murmured in her ear before biting on the shell of it.

"But–"

"But nothing, now am I going to take these off, or are you going to help?" He interrupted her again, pushing her to sit on the desk and slipping his thick fingers into the belt loops of her slacks with a hard tug.

"No, I really didn't mean–" she tried to insist.

Riiiiiiiiiiiip.

"I guess I'm doing all of the work," he mumbled, quite literally ripping her slacks off with his inhuman strength like the material was paper.

"Dia–"

She started to yelp, but he slapped a hand across her mouth to cover it and keep her quiet.

"Now, are you wanting your classmates to know you want your headmaster to change your grade in exchange for sex?" He challenged her, his gaze piercing her soul. She shook her head. "Then be quiet."

With her torn slacks on the floor in pieces, his hand skimmed up her warm thigh, and he roughly opened it out wide so he could stand between her legs. He looked down and smirked as her underwear peaked out in the creases of her thick thighs and soft tummy.

"You were anticipating this, weren't you? Wearing just a black little lacey thong today. Were you going to ask your professor for this too had he been here?" He mocked her, snapping the band of her panties against her, making her flinch and moving his hand from her mouth. "Answer me," he snapped.

"No, I wasn't asking for this! I–"

She clamped his hand on her mouth again while tutting her. "I said be quiet. Do not yell again unless you want this to get much worse for you," he commanded. She nodded. He smirked at her panicked expression, tears welling up in her eyes. "Now, there's no need for that. I'll give you what you want. Besides, you're going to be good for me, right? This is all for me, and I'll make sure you enjoy it too."

She shook her head, and he ignored her as he slid her panties down her thighs. When she started to fight him, closing up her legs and pulling away, they met the same fate as the slacks. His eyes dilated when he started to see his prize, and instantly got more aggressive.

"Don't. Fight. Me," he barked at her, grabbing both her thighs and throwing them open wider so he could see her perfect little wet pussy on display for him. She still tried to fight against him, pulling away and shaking her head while she whimpered. He sighed and rolled his eyes. Finally, he pinned her down against the desk with his massive hands on her shoulders, papers flying everywhere. "Are you done?"

She stopped for a moment, looking up at him. Her hands had gripped onto his elbows, trying to hang on as he pinned her. She tapped her finger once against his elbow before saying, "Stop! This isn't what I meant at all!" She pleaded with him.

"Oh, but I think deep down it is what you wanted, pet. I think you were waiting for the perfect moment to use your little charms to win me over, but now you have cold feet. You know you want this. Don't worry, I'll take good care of you," he answered menacingly. "I'll make sure you enjoy it, at least a little."

She shook her head and sobbed. Seeing that she wouldn't stop making noises, and he found them to be rather adorable, he snapped his fingers to block sounds within the room from being heard outside.

"What a mess..." he mumbled with a sigh.

He began kissing her on her lips, hoping to shut her up just for a little bit. He ground himself against her body and let his hands wander her body. His fingers made short work of her uniform jacket and blouse, quickly loosening her tie and gaining access to what was beneath it all. He gave a purr of content as he got a glimpse of her. She laid there, still squirming and whimpering, trying to push him off, but that was like pushing on a brick wall when it came to the prince of hell.

"You are beautiful," he murmured in her ear before licking the shell of it a little obscenely. He ducked his head down and left hard kisses, little bites, and trails of his saliva on her chest.

"Stop," she whimpered, turning her head away from him, but he just chased her down with his lips hot on her exposed skin.

He chuckled darkly in her ear and groaned. "I'll even do you a little favor," he told her while he slipped a hand down her exposed form to her pussy. He danced his fingertips along the slit before sliding them past the crevices to reach her clit where he rubbed it generously.

"Noooo..." she groaned, finding it harder to fight against him. "Please don't do that."

"Ohhh, but you're so wet, pet," he murmured to her, and even she couldn't deny how much more slick she became down below. "You're loving this no matter how much you want to deny it."

He trailed his kissed lower and began feasting upon her breasts, sucking and laving his tongue over her perky nipples with elation.

"Finer than any forbidden fruit, sweeter than any sugar," he mumbled against her flesh. "I can't wait anymore."

Diavolo brought his head up to kiss her with his tongue bullying into her mouth. His hands began to unbuckle his belt and send his slacks to his knees. He quickly shed his uniform jacket and loosened his tie.

"You ready, dulcis? I need you," he said huskily in her ear.

Just after he spoke, she felt something warm and hard pressed against her thighs. Pre-cum started to coat her thigh as he rubbed it against her.

"Please don't, please," she pleaded with him, with a tear rolling down her temple.

"Shh, it'll feel good, just enjoy it," he whispered to her.

The demon pried her legs apart again and stood between them, leaning on one hand on the desk while the other grasped his cock to start rubbing the fat head against her little clit.

"Just a perfect little pussy, and all for me," he mused, feeling her slick coating his length. He bowed his head again to murmur in her ear. "Don't fight me. This will go a lot better if you just take it," he warned her before kissing her temple again. All she did was squirm again beneath him.

After pulling his hips back and angling himself, he slid his cock into her, groaning at the overwhelming tightness of her walls.

"Oh god," she whined, trying to worm away from what was bullying its way into her depths.

He chuckled and kept her in place with little effort on his part. "There's no god here to help you now. It's just you and the Demon Lord," he rumbled darkly in her ear.

It took a few more moments for his cock to be fully seated in her. He took the moments after to breathe in her scent, the glistening light sweat on the sides of her neck, and her sweet, sweet arousal. It was fuel for his fire to keep going.

"You're mine. You're all mine, and I'm not letting go," he stated with a malicious chuckle.

The first thrust was rough, and she cried out at how harsh it was. She couldn't help but cling onto him, her little hands gripping the fabric of his shirt along his elbows. He went back to planting a field of dark blooms, hickies and bites galore. With every thrust, he grunted, fighting the urge to completely lose it. Little squeaks and groans fell from her lips as well, signing conjuction with the rattles of the desk.

"Hells, darling, you're going to make me let go too early," he murmured against her neck. "You can't tell me anymore that you didn't want me to fuck you raw on this desk, not with you dripping down your ass and my thighs."

"I didn't," she insisted weakly, knowing she was losing the fight to stop him and now trying to win the fight to make it through to the end.

He grunted again as he made another hard thrust into her. His pre-cum and her wet walls made it such easy glides in and out, but there was something so cute to him about how she squeaked and whined with every pounding he gave her.

Diavolo chuckled again. "Right, and you don't want me to release inside you too, hmm? You don't want to feel me finally fill you up properly, to give you what you've wanted for so long? You wanted to be fucked, and now you're simply getting the best."

"Oh god," she whined again, clutching onto his shirt along his chest.

"God doesn't save whores like you who beg to be filled so deeply," he replied in her ear, his voice much more serene for someone who was doing this.

He kissed her neck and wrapped his arms around her body, trapping her entirely as he made the last few thrusts count. Using the desk as leverage, he leaned forward more to bring her hips up so he could penetrate her deeper. It took all of just mere moments to start moaning and crying with relief as he hit that sweet spot deep inside, and only that many more moments to make her body lock up as the most intense orgasm of her life befell her. The hot sparks of pleasure bloomed from her abdomen and spiraled out to her limbs. The chasm of pleasure was a deep one, and when the Demon Lord felt her walls contract around his cock and pulse, he was pulled down with her into the abyss of carnal bliss. Hot jets of his cum filled her in waves as his hips rocked forward with each one.

When it was over, the pair lay there, heaving and trying to catch their breath. Diavolo was the first to relax and gain his bearings again. He looked down at his human lover, feeling a wave of passion and simultaneous anxiety.

"My love... My love, look at me, please, baby," he cooed to her, stroking her cheeks with his hand.

Her eyes fluttered open. She looked relaxed at peace.

"We're done... Finis," he softly whispered to her, his hand rising up to pet her hair back. She nodded in understanding and let go of her iron grip on his shirt. "Are you okay? Does anything hurt?"

She shook her head and reached up with a trembling hand to touch his cheek next. He smiled and kissed her palm, reaching with his to grasp her hand gently. He bowed his head slightly to prompt her.

"I'm okay. No pain," she finally verbalized it for him.

"That's good. Shall I take you home so you can rest?" He asked her in a throaty murmur. She nodded. Standing upright, he reached for his red uniform coat and wrapped it around her as he pulled her up right. It was already long, and on her, the coat looked like a blanket and kept her decent. He then put himself back in order, slacks up and buckled, and shirt back in place.

He slid his arms beneath her and picked her up effortlessly in a princess carry.

She laid her head against his shoulder and asked him softly, "What about the rest of the day? My classes?"

Diavolo chuckled and shook his head, carrying her out of the door, snapping his fingers to use magic to reorganize the desk they just laid waste to with their fornication. "After that, you deserve some pampering and all the care I can give you." He then bent his head down to whisper to her, "Besides, those are the perks of being the lover of your headmaster, no? I make the rules, I say what goes."

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed.

Post made by sassykattery. Do not repost. Reblogs and comments appreciated

Tags: @delphidreamin @biteable-pink-pixie @itsmeninerz

[trespresh]

let me go, don't you ever

The first time he drinks from you while fucking you, he’s otherworldly.

+ reader: afab, no pronouns used partner: amab, he/him word count: 7.1k rating: explicit. very explicit. tw for basically anything you'd expect with deep nasty vampire sex: primal play, blood play, blood drinking, biting, rough sex (but with feelings!)… and a little cockwarming, as a treat

+

idk man I just write the fic I want to read about the sex I want to have.

This ended up being one of the big primal scenes I've always wanted to write but never had anywhere to put it. It is purely a fantasy put to words. This is a real plug-n-play style fic. It's xreader but the partner is not specifically described. You can copy and paste your favorite little guy in there, or just use this as a blank canvas and go to town!

This xreader style of fic is a first for me, and I'm still tbd on whether I'll post it to ao3. I think about scenes like this a lot just for my own uhhhh enjoyment, and I’ve just never actually written it down in this format before. I’m a little nervous but taking my own advice about no shame and no judgment ✌️ but also be nice to me lol

(tl;dr - It’s deeply self-indulgent pov primal vampire sex. There will be blood.)

+

The first time he ever drinks from you, he’s a little crazy-eyed and desperate, a few hours too many past the last time he drank anything. 

You’ve talked about this before: how you’d like to try it, how he would too. Never specifics, never how or when. But right now, the air seems to crackle in the space between you, magnetic and intriguing, and you realize that you really want this now. Even as your eyes catch on the flash of his fangs when he licks his lips, you think, yeah. 

You want this, and you trust him, and you want to help him if you can, so you ask, “Would it help?”

You can tell he’s trying hard to keep his eyes on yours, but he can’t catch himself before glancing down at your throat a few times. You watch him watch the pulse in your neck before he drags his eyes back up to yours. When he takes a step forward, you can’t help it—your heartbeat kicks up a notch.

“Easy, it’s just me,” he murmurs gently, like you’re a skittish animal, and you’re suddenly aware that he’d heard your heart leap. His eyes finally drop to your neck and hold there. “Yeah sweetheart, it’ll help. Like you wouldn’t believe.”

Your next breath is shaky. You know he hears that, too.

“Will it hurt?” You ask, quiet.

His eyes flick up to yours long enough for you to see a wave of red flood through them completely until they’re so dark they’re almost black. He steps close enough to lean down and nuzzle against your throat. 

“A little,” he breathes, his lips brushing your skin in an apologetic kiss. His tongue comes out to lick along your pulse when it jumps at his words and touch. “At first. God, I’ll make it good though, I promise, please just—let me. Let me.” 

His voice has a tiny, desperate whine to it, and you can only shiver when you feel the points of his teeth come to rest against your skin like he already knows you’ll say yes. When you finally nod just enough for him to feel it, you barely get the word “yes” out before his hand is coming up to the other side of your neck to hold you still, and then he’s biting down.

He’s right. It does hurt at first, but in a strange, subdued way. Like two small blades sinking into your neck, except they’re so sharp you barely feel it as they split your skin. The pain is almost sweet, somehow. 

His teeth withdraw and then you can hear the soft, wet noises of his mouth and tongue on your neck; it’s hard to reconcile what’s happening with the pull under your skin, the strange suction as the blood is pulled from you. It’s like he’s working you from the inside and out—the hot slide of the blood in your veins before it passes through the holes into the equally hot slide of his tongue and down his throat.

It’s far more intimate than you expected. Visceral and primal, somehow, this new way you’ve given your body to him.

You can’t help the strangled gasp you make, and when your hand raises up to grip his arm, he pulls away immediately. That shadowy pool-of-blood color fades until you can see the sharpness with which he watches you, scanning you over. You feel a trickle of blood trail down your neck; when you lift your hand to wipe it away, he snags your wrist out of the air, threads his fingers through yours, and brings your joined hands around to rest at the small of your back. It’s a gentle way of holding you in place, firm enough for you to relax into.

He ducks his head and licks over the skin on your neck. The idea that he’s cleaning you up should maybe gross you out but it doesn’t, it doesn’t, it sends something swooping through your gut, fever-hot, and you realize—oh, fuck, you like this.

When he pulls away from you, you stare up at his face as you’re hit with a strange sensation on your neck—as if the skin is knitting together somehow, closing up and scabbing over. You raise your free hand up to check your neck only to feel half-healed skin instead, as if the pin prick holes are already days old. He grins when you look back up at him in confusion.

“The venom has, uh, healing properties,” he answers your unasked question. “Apparently it's how enough venom can turn someone. Healing the body before it can ever break down enough to die or something, you know?”

You swallow hard at the casual tone in his voice. You don’t want to think about him dying but you don’t know what to say, so you just nod. He watches you carefully for a moment before sliding a hand up to cup the back of your neck and pull you in for a kiss.

“Are you okay?” He asks against your mouth.

Again, you nod. “I’m okay. It was—” you search for the right words, trying to ignore the way you feel the healing wound pull slightly when you swallow hard. “—nice. It felt… not good, but uh. Intense, I guess. Deep.” 

Your cheeks heat a bit but he only smiles and hums in understanding. 

“For me, too,” he agrees. While he tilts his head to kiss under your jaw, you wonder idly what it must be like for him, to bite into flesh and drink the hot liquid lifeforce underneath. You’re thinking about what the texture of blood might feel like, when he sighs into your skin and adds, contemplatively, “You’re sweet.”

You flush happily with the endearment. “I just wanted to help.”   

He meets your eyes again, smiling wickedly. “You did help. Very much. But I meant you taste sweet.”

Your heart pounds again at that, and he hums and taps a finger against your pulse to the beat. 

“Yeah,” he says thoughtfully, distractedly, more to himself than to you. “Like burnt, melted sugar.”

You don’t know what to say to that, and he seems to know that. He leans down to kiss you again and says, so quiet you barely hear him, “Thank you.”

And you can’t help but relax into him.

+

The first time he drinks from you while fucking you, he’s otherworldly.

“This seems like overkill,” you say, trying not to laugh as you sit on the bed, watching him line water bottles, a bowl of fruit, and a package of your favorite cookies on the nightstand. He’s already put a towel down next to the bed. “You’re not a blood donation center, you don’t have to give me cookies.”

He throws you a grin and shrugs. “I don’t know what this’ll be like. I’ve never done this before and I just, I don’t know. Need to make sure you’ll be okay.”

“I’ll be fine,” you say, fond despite yourself. “I trust you.”

It was you who finally asked for this but he hadn’t taken any convincing, so you get the feeling he’s just been waiting for you to bring it up, to make the first move. Now that it’s going to happen, his need for preparedness and eagerness to do this right for both of you is endearing. The pillows are soft when you lean back against them, letting your knees fall wide and enjoying the way he watches the movement. 

“Come here.”

He pulls his t-shirt over his head and tosses it aside before crawling over you; you get your arms around his neck and pull him down. He meets you easily for a kiss that doesn’t take long to turn filthy with your gasp when he gets a hand into your hair and tugs gently, and his tiny moan when you nip at his lower lip and meet his tongue with yours.

Without pulling away from your lips, he snakes a hand down to the inside of your knee and pushes your leg open to make more room for himself. He settles his hips just under yours and thrusts up, and you can’t help but rock down in return just to feel him start to harden and press against you through his sweatpants. A gasp escapes you into the kiss when he nudges against your clit through the layers of clothing. 

When he pulls away, his hand falls from your hair to rest at your throat.

“Here,” he says quietly, tapping two fingers on your pulse there. His other hand trails up your knee and stops at the top of your inner thigh, where he taps two fingers again. “And here. Okay?”

Your heartbeat picks up immediately and you know he hears it but you don’t care. You swallow hard against the lump of anticipation lodged in your throat, meet his eyes, and nod.

“Good,” he says in a low, pleased tone that sends a happy little shiver down your spine.

His hand leaves your throat so he can lean up on that hand like he needs a better angle—and then he kisses you again like that will distract you from the way his other hand slides up from your thigh to dip under the waistband of your shorts, like it’ll stifle the little noise of surprise when he cups you with his whole hand, curling his fingers down and into you only to the first knuckle. You arch up into his hand as he flexes his fingers to tease between your hole and clit. You’re wet enough already that he can gather some of it on his fingertips and drag the wetness up over your clit, where he circles lightly a few times before dragging his hand from your shorts. He smirks at the way your breathing goes high and quick just from the brief feel of his hand on you.

“Tease,” you huff, and his smirk widens into a grin.

“You think so?” He says, mock thoughtfully, as he sits up and tugs your shorts off your hips, all the way down your legs until he can throw them off to the side. And then he’s shuffling back on his knees, dropping both hands to the insides of your knees, and spreading you wide for him. He spends a few moments just looking at you while you try not to squirm.

It’s uncomfortable, and yet somehow it sends fire through your gut. You can feel his gaze like a tangible weight. You’re not sure if you like the way he’s openly studying you or not, but you want to be what he needs, so you hold still and let him look. You shift a little when he runs a finger lightly right down the very center of you like he just wants to test what you feel like. You shiver, and then he leans down, presses a kiss to the inside of your upper thigh, and lowers his mouth to you. 

Your skin is so heated that his mouth feels almost cool, and you moan when he tongues at your clit in a touch so gentle that you writhe up against him, seeking more until he weaves his arms under your thighs to clutch up at your hips and hold you down on the bed. No matter how hard you arch up against him, it doesn’t change the fact that he’s stronger than you. If he wants you held down and open for him, then that’s what you’ll be. 

You know you’re lucky because not only is he good at this, but he enjoys it. You laugh breathily at the reminder of that fact when you feel his fingers at your hole—only for your laugh to cut off in a sigh when he slides a finger into you. He immediately crooks his finger up and pets right over your g-spot, as if it’s second nature for him to make you feel good with how well he knows your body by now. As if it’s his goal and his right to watch you throw your head back against his pillows.

And then he buries his face against you and groans softly like you’re the best thing he’s ever tasted. 

You gasp at the vibration of the enthusiastic noises he makes. Your hands drop to stroke through his hair, pushing it back from his face so you can watch the way his eyes go half-lidded up at you, his mouth working, forearm flexing as he works another finger into you. The way his nose is crushed against you sends the heat of his heavy breaths in waves over your skin and you are so lit up, up, up for him that you just know you won’t last long with his fingers in you like this.

Or his teeth, you realize as you become aware of the feeling of him rubbing two fingers into the skin of your upper thigh. Your clit throbs between his lips when your heart hammers, remembering what’s about to happen, and suddenly you want it so badly you can barely breathe. Either your anticipation is contagious or he’s already as eager for this as you are, because he licks a final, slow stripe up from where his fingers are pressed inside you up to the top of your clit, which he sucks briefly, humming just for the way it makes you arch up and moan—before he finally lets go to trail kisses over to your inner thigh instead, his fingers still moving inside you. 

It’s thrilling, the way he nuzzles against your thigh like he’s savoring the feel—or smell?—of you.  When he starts to suck a bruise into your skin, it’s like a tiny electrical current fires up your thigh and into your clit, down through to where he’s still fucking you on his fingers. He curls them up to drag against your g-spot so perfectly that you sob and try to twitch your hips up every time.

By the time he licks over the new bruise and shifts his mouth just a little lower to a clear patch of skin, you’re feeling dizzy in the face of your looming orgasm. You’re so ready for his bite, so eager to find out what it feels like, that when he scrapes his teeth over your skin and looks up to meet your gaze, you’re nodding before he even asks the question. 

He asks anyway. “Are you sure?”

“Do it. Please, I’m ready,” you say, because you think you are. 

When he bites through the thin, sensitive skin into the flesh of your inner thigh, though, you can’t help the whimper that escapes you or the way your fingers tighten hard in his hair. It’s the same razor-sweet sharpness you’ve felt in the past when he’s bitten into your neck or your wrist—only here, while you’re naked and spread wide for him and already close to coming on his fingers, it’s like lightning jolting up through you. Like that thin electrical current that had formed alongside the bruise he gave you has now been amplified to a sparking livewire between your clit and where his fangs pierce your skin.

His head jerks a little in your hold when you tug on his hair, and his fingers freeze inside you when he pulls his teeth out, seals his mouth over the wounds, and sucks hard. There’s a breathless, still moment while he gets his first taste of you, and then his eyes glaze over with that eerie red-black color and he whines into your skin; he scrambles to get his free hand under your thigh and pulls you harder against his face.

With every heartbeat, you can feel the blood thrum through your groin, then down your thigh to pulse in thick rushes against his lips and tongue when he sucks on the holes he made in your skin. It’s a hot, liquid feedback loop that has your head spinning, and you clench down around his fingers because you’re close, you’re so close—

“Please, god, I’m so fucking—,” you babble through your open-mouth panting, so caught up in the way he’s playing with your body like he knows just how to curl his fingers and exactly how to twirl his tongue over your skin to make you moan and fall apart for him. 

He sucks one final mouthful of blood from your inner thigh before pulling away, panting for air while your eyes catch on how red and wet his lips are. He licks a flat strip over the punctures—and then without waiting to make sure the holes have begun healing, he presses his face between your legs again. His lips close around your clit, sucking messily at the same time he fucks his fingers in and out of you, urgent and deep like he’s frantic to get you there, desperate to see you come.

It feels so deliriously good that you’re already teetering on the edge of your orgasm when he eases down onto his stomach between your legs; between one thrust and the next, he slides a third finger in alongside the other two, dragging hard over your g-spot with each stroke. After that, all it takes is one glance down at him to see the way his hips are grinding down against the bed like he’s so hard right now that he can’t help but seek friction—and then he’s pressing his free thumb to the healing puncture wounds on your thigh and you are launched over the edge into your orgasm.

It explodes through you so violently that you arch off the bed, gasping around a high moan and pulling him into you by your hold in his hair, grinding against his face as he moans and curls his fingers inside you and stares up at you, rapt, like he would rather die than miss this. 

You can feel his heavy gaze the whole time you ride down the peak of your orgasm, his fingers slowing into long strokes that ease you through it. Finally, you tug on his hair when you’re twitching through the aftershocks and he pulls away from you, panting. He rests his forehead against your thigh while he catches his breath; finally he says, “Fuck,” and looks up at you with his normal, clear eyes.

“Yeah,” you agree faintly, reeling from the intensity of your orgasm and the memory of his teeth in you, his tongue working against you in such different ways.

You glance down at him, gently stroking your fingers through his hair. His eyes are lazy and satisfied from where he looks up at you between your thighs. His cheeks are flushed a pretty pink, his lips red and swollen, and his hair is growing messier by the minute from your wandering hands. You can’t stop staring at the way his mouth and chin are still wet with your slick and a little bit of leftover blood. 

He looks good like this, you decide. Really good.

Movement catches your eye over his shoulder, and when you lift your head to look down his body, you see his hips still working against the bed like he’s not even conscious of it. It sends a strike of need through you so strong that you can’t help but tighten your grip in his hair and tug him up. He goes easily, crawling up your body to get his mouth on yours, and when you deepen the kiss, his tongue tastes sweetly metallic.

“Fuck me,” you say.

He nods eagerly, pressing his hips against yours so you can feel his hard cock through his sweatpants. You push at the waistband, tugging them down his hips demandingly, and he shifts back to pull them down and kick them off the bed. Then he’s naked and hard and kneeling over you, looking at you the way a starving wolf must look at an unsuspecting bunny.

It’s a heady feeling, having that intensity turned on you, so you bask in it and let him take over.

He flips you over with a hand at your side, then pulls you back toward himself and tugs at your hip insistently enough for you to understand—you lift up just enough for him to shove a pillow under your hips. He takes a second to position you how he wants you, hitching your hips up and back toward him. He pushes your thighs together and throws a leg over you so his knees are against the outsides of your thighs and he can really lean over you. You expect the feel of his cock nudging at your hole so you’re surprised when he slips two fingers into you instead, like he just wants another feel. It’s an easy slide; you’re slick enough, wet with his spit and your blood and how much you need him to fuck you right now, come on. 

He pulls his fingers free, strokes that slickness over his cock a few times, and lines up. Even though you’re so keyed up and ready for him that you might spark and explode, you immediately clench down when you feel him press against you, throwing a smirk over your shoulder at him. 

You know he likes it when you make him work for it, sometimes, and this definitely seems like one of those times; you know you’re right by the way he murmurs, almost playful, “Let me in.” He presses a little harder against you until you feel yourself start to give. “Come on baby, let me in, let me—fuck yeah,” he groans then when he pulls your thighs open just a little and thrusts against you just enough for his cockhead to finally pop in and he can slide in, smooth and sudden.

It’s so good you both moan with it. Fucking finally, you think, once he’s as deep as he can get and rocking his hips just a little to let you both get used to the feel of it. Then he’s slowly pulling back, back, back—until he’s all the way out again and huffing a low laugh when you whine at the loss. He presses his cockhead against you again, so close to pushing inside that it’s cruel, the way he’s holding you down by the hips when you try to rock back onto him.

“Easy,” he murmurs, and you’re about to snap back at the amusement you can hear in his voice when he eases back into you, slower this time like he wants to make you feel every inch. 

You gasp and drag his pillow toward yourself, clenching your fists in it just to have something to hold onto. Once he’s fully inside again, he leans down to press a kiss to your shoulder. It’s sweet and still for a moment before he sits up, gets a tight grip on your hips, and starts to fuck you.

You drop your head and moan into the pillow that smells like him, arching your lower back just a little bit more off the pillow under your hips; you can’t help the high moan that escapes, louder, when he drags directly across your g-spot with every thrust. Just like that, you sink against the bed, loose-limbed and pliant in his hold, and let him make your body feel good.

It’s always easy to get lost in it with him—tonight is no different, but it’s more. You can’t stop the gasps and breathy moans that fall from your mouth; not now, not when you’re surrounded by him like this. Even when you turn your head on the pillow and stare to the side, you’re still surrounded by the smell and feel of him. 

You’re aware, distantly, that he’s still holding back, and that he’s still so much stronger than you even know. But even so, he’s rougher than normal, fucking you in long, harsh strokes that jerk you forward each time. It’s not long before his hand slides all the way up from your hip into the back of your hair so he can yank your head back. He leans low over your back to nuzzle his face into your exposed neck, and when he breathes in heavily you realize—holy fuck, he’s smelling you. Your already-pounding heart starts to hammer against your ribs and you rock your hips back to meet his thrusts, and you can’t focus on anything except himhimhim—so ready for him to bite down that it makes you throb around him—

But then he’s slamming in hard once, holding for a few agonizing moments while you squirm against him, seeking friction with a desperate whine—before he’s pulling all the way out with a gasped, “Fuck!” and flipping you onto your back.

It’s urgent, now, the way he shoves the pillow under your hips and tugs you toward him. He shifts forward on his knees between your legs so he can pull your thighs over his, and then he’s leaning forward and burying himself inside again with a groan like even those few seconds were too long to not be inside you.

This new angle forces him to drag insistently across your g-spot with almost every thrust and you know immediately that you won’t last long like this. Your eyes roll back but you can feel his gaze on you anyway, watching while your brows curve in and how your jaw drops open on moans growing louder by the second.

He slows his thrusts into long, smooth rolls so that you’re held steady when he leans down to get his lips on your neck. It’s all you can do to hold onto his shoulders, and when your nails scrape down his back again, he shivers against you with a low moan. 

“Tell me again,” he says, licking at your pulse.

You don’t hesitate. “Do it, please do it, pl—” you cut off in a strangled whimper when he gets one hand in your hair, tugs your head to the side to make room for himself, and bites down.

It’s blindingly, stunningly euphoric. His teeth split the skin of your neck so gently—such a drastic comparison to the way he’s fucking you—and you feel the way he sucks hard over the wounds all the way down into your clit. Your hand flies down to circle frantically over your clit, listening to his heavy breaths and the messy sound of his mouth on your skin, the wet noises his throat makes as he swallows your blood. 

It’s too much, it’s all too much, it’s beautiful and horrible and deep and intense and you’ve never felt anything like this before as he fucks you hard and drinks from you and you love it—but then he licks over the puncture holes and pulls back from your neck to gasp against your collarbone. The holes on your neck ache as they stitch together, and you gasp against the sensation. 

You can tell he’s close by the way he slides both arms up under your back to get a grip on the top of your shoulders and hold you secure against him. He ducks his head and his fangs re-pierce your neck through the half-healed holes—you’re surprised when it hurts more than the first time he bit you a few moments ago. You gasp and squirm against him but his hold on you is tight. He sucks at the holes for a brief moment then presses his tongue against them like he’d only needed a taste, before he drops his forehead against the pillow next to you and slams his hips against yours so hard you can hear it. 

He wastes no time in launching into a brutal rhythm, and with his face down by your ear, you can hear every noise he makes—a breathy gasp when you dig your fingers into his ass to urge on every thrust, a choked moan when you tilt your hips up and clench around him. You turn your head enough that you can get your mouth on his neck, licking over the sheen of sweat there before you bite him back. Your teeth do no damage, of course, but the heartstopping little whimper he lets out nearly sends you over the edge right there.

He’s never fucked you like this before, so desperate and fevered like he wants to put you through the mattress—and you can’t think, can’t do anything but choke on each breath and dig your nails into his back and scrape them down his sides and shiver at the ragged, guttural edge to his responding groan against your neck. You do it again and his hips twitch; his breaths are coming high and quick and you can feel how close he is, so all you have to do is tilt your head to the side so your bloody throat is bared to him and let a soft, shaky moan out against his ear so he can hear how good he’s making you feel, and that’s it. 

He presses his face into your neck with a choked-off groan, wet and filthy and smothered against your skin. His hands fly down to grip your hips and pull you down on him at the same time his hips jerk forward until he’s so deep it almost hurts—and he holds there, his hips just barely moving as he comes inside you.

Every tiny thrust is punctuated by breathy little moans while he uses you to ride out his orgasm, grinding in slowly like he can’t get close enough to you. Like he would crawl his way inside you if it were possible, if you’d let him, and you’re close—you’re so fucking close with the way he’s still rocking against you like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, and you’re right on the edge of your orgasm when suddenly his mouth is at your throat again; he chases a trail of blood sliding down your neck with his tongue before his lips close around the wound again and then he bites gently and sucks hard and your orgasm hits you like a tsunami, and you are gone. 

You think maybe you scream a little, because he groans in response and starts thrusting a little harder to fuck you through it. It’s good, it’s so fucking good that right at the peak of it, your vision whites out and you wonder, far off and detached, about what this must do to your blood.

It’s clearly something great, you think dizzily as you start to come down from it all, because he’s still buried against your neck, licking slowly over the blood leaking from the bite.

“Fuck, you have no idea what it tastes like when you come like that,” he rasps, voice wrecked and with a faint whine that would sound like he’s in pain if it weren’t for the way he closes his mouth over the holes and sucks again.

You hum in relaxed satisfaction and bring your arms up around his shoulders, luxuriating in the skin contact and the grounding weight of him. You scratch lightly over the back of his head until he shivers against you. Your skin thrums, lit up and abuzz everywhere you’re touching as you breathe against each other.

After a few moments, his hands trail up from your hips. One gets a hold on one of your wrists from around his neck and pushes it down against the sheets; the other hand rests heavily across your collarbone.

He’s leaning on you just hard enough that breathing starts to take some effort, so you say, “Okay,” and tug on the back of his hair with your free hand.

He doesn’t pull back. You can feel the tip of his tongue working against one of the holes in your neck, dipping in just a bit until the sensation teeters on the edge of queasy pain. You make a strangled little noise but still, he doesn’t pull away from the messy wet heat on your neck. 

“Hey, okay,” you mutter again, tugging harder on his hair and at the back of his neck, but it’s like he doesn’t even hear you. “Baby please, enough, you—you gotta—” your voice trails off in a weak slur and your grip loosens in his hair. 

He’s been hesitant to bite you while fucking you ever since he drank from you for the very first time, and you wonder maybe if this is why. If this is what he meant when he’s always said, it’s… overwhelming. But you’d meant it when you told him you trust him with this—and even now when your mind wanders and your body thrums lazily while his mouth works at your neck, you still trust him to get himself under control.

After all, this is him. You trust him—you always have. You’ve known him for what feels like a very long time, both before and after he changed into what he is now. You’ve been figuring this out together: what works and what doesn’t, what he needs and how much he can take from you to satiate that need without endangering you. There have been a few moments of trial and error that led to learning where the line crosses over into him taking too much from you. 

You like him like that, though, after those few rare times when he’s accidentally taken too much, leaving you woozy and exhausted. He gets sweet. There’s something protective and reassuring in the way he dotes, and in how he doesn’t let you lift a finger for a day or two after while you recover. He’s always kept himself under enough control before that it has never occurred to you to feel worried around him.

But now, while he’s got one hand flat across your collarbone and the other holding your wrist down to the sheets—now, while his lips work at your throat, the rush of blood so close under your skin as he pulls it from you and rhythmically swallows—now, as you realize you’re a little lightheaded, and wondering, huh, when did that happen? 

Now, a traitorous little flicker of unease settles in your gut.

You push weakly at his shoulder but it does nothing; it’s like he doesn’t even feel it. His hips are still absently grinding against yours like he can’t help it, like despite the fact that he’s half-soft at this point, it hasn’t even occurred to him to stop moving. The hand on your collarbone trails up to grip your jaw, two fingers sliding into your mouth to rest on your tongue and hold your jaw open like a reminder to breathe—or maybe it’s just another way he wants to be inside you. 

His fingers or cock, his tongue or teeth—it’s like he doesn’t know how to hold back from pushing his way inside anyway he can.

A stifled whimper escapes you as he hums into your skin and sucks unhurriedly. He���s holding you tightly, pressed down against the bed. Twisting under his grip does nothing to throw him, and trying to get your wrist free is a useless attempt. He’s strong—you sometimes forget just how inhumanly strong he is, when he usually touches you so delicately, with such control and care. 

Right now, while you’re held down under him, still on his cock and with his teeth in your neck—you are forcefully and viscerally reminded that he is not human. He really could kill you like this, if he decided he wanted to. 

The thought sends a rare jolt of curious fear through your gut. You’re well and truly caught under him—all his to do whatever he wants with. It’s an alarming, confusingly heated realization that has you twitching your hips up to meet his lazy post-orgasm ruts at the same time your heart starts to pound with instinctual panic. 

You wonder distantly if maybe fear does something to your blood too, because only a few heartbeats after the thought crosses your mind, he’s ripping his mouth away from you with a curse and leaning up on his elbows to look down at you with rapidly clearing eyes.

He must see something on your dazed face because he curses under his breath again and his hand comes up to cup your chin. With his thumb on one side of your jaw and his callused index finger on the other side, he gently tilts your chin up and over to expose your neck fully to him. He hums and ducks close to lick flat and warm over the holes in your neck. To heal, not to taste. 

You feel the same strange sensation as every other time—that same tickle of the skin knitting together and the blood flow stopping under the sore, healing skin. He keeps licking at you, cleaning the last of the blood from your skin before pressing a gentle kiss first to what’s left of the wound, then up under your jaw, then leaning up even further to press his lips to yours. You’re still a little faded and sluggish but you kiss back as best you can, and you know that when he pulls away with a soft red smile, you smile back at him with blood on your lips.

Your thoughts are fuzzy around the edges, your vision tunneling on him like he’s magnetized, your mind pleasantly blank as you watch him like you couldn’t look away even if you wanted to. He kisses your forehead, your cheek, your mouth again. When he pulls back, he seems a little dazed too in the way his mouth is open and pink, his eyes half-lidded and only half-focused like he’s high on whatever was in your blood.

“I’m sorry,” he rasps, an odd plea to his voice. “That was—fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t know how it would be. I could have—“ he cuts himself off and swallows hard. He ducks to check the healing wound on your neck like he’s making sure it’s still working. “Are you okay?” 

You hum absently. He starts to pull out but you’re quick to tighten your legs around him, holding him close. “Don’t,” you mumble. “‘M okay, just… stay.”

He watches you for a moment before kissing you again. He could easily break your hold on him and pull away, especially with how weakened you are right now, but he doesn’t. He lets you keep him close and returns the favor, holding you tight and rocking his hips to push all the way back inside you. You sigh and settle back against the pillows to bask in the feeling of him holding you down, grounded and safe. 

He leans up onto his elbows and reaches for one of the water bottles he’d lined up on the nightstand, cracking the cap before holding it gently against your mouth for you to drink. The berries from the bowl come next, and after feeding you a few, he settles back over you and sighs.

With his thumb running over your cheek, you drift. 

Maybe it’s the blood loss and two really fucking good orgasms, or the way he’s still inside you, your legs hitched up around his hips while he takes care of you, but your fear is gone as quickly as it started. This is still him. He still looks like himself, tastes like himself, smells and feels and acts like himself. Still in control of himself, even if belatedly. It’s him, and you know you’re safe. 

But in that single moment, that instinctual awareness shifted something aside in your gut. Yes, he is still himself, but that brief flicker of prey instinct was an unexpected, immediate reminder that he is not human. There is something other about him. 

You knew this already, but now you know it. You’ve felt it in the strength of his grip around your wrists  and in the close, fleshy sound of his teeth in your neck.  And, startlingly, it’s intriguing. You are safe with him. You know this in your gut. You have no reason to be afraid of him, but… what if you did? 

Flashes of what-ifs begin to crash through your mind: thoughts of him holding you down with all his strength, letting you thrash and fight against his grip until you’re too exhausted to hold him off from tugging your pants down and using you however he wants; the network of bruises his fingerprints could leave on your throat and arms and thighs, and the way they’d ache deliciously for the next few days; the way his back would look scratched bloody from your nails, and the sounds he might make—guttural growls and savage snarls against your neck as he fucks you like you’re both nothing more than animals.

What it would feel like if he looked at you with eyes red-black with wicked intent and said, run. How your heart would pound as he gave you a thirty-second head start as if you had any chance of outrunning him, as if he knew that the desperation that would build within you in those thirty seconds would flavor your blood so sweetly. 

What it would feel like for him to hunt you down like prey.

It’s like the door to something dark and primal in your brain and your gut is slowly unlocking as you consider the possibilities of what could happen if he leaned into his natural instincts. If he acted like the apex predator he is.

You shiver. He notices and presses a gentle kiss to your hair.

“Your heart’s racing,” he says curiously. “What’re you thinking about?”

And really, how could you ever ask him for something like that?

You file it away to think about more later. For now, you simply squirm against him contentedly and say, “Nothing.”

He leans up on his elbows and says playfully, “I don’t believe that for a second,” but he leaves it alone in favor of giving you your favorite of all his smiles.

It's the big grin that always makes you smile and laugh in response. It’s a cheesy smile, overexaggerated and goofy, but you love it. It’s cute, how he squeezes his eyes shut and his nose scrunches up, but there’s something sweeter about this smile in the way he’s showing you all his teeth, the fangs prominent and obvious. Almost as if it’s to make you laugh as much as it is a show of comfort and gentle vulnerability. It’s an “I trust you to see me” reminder that makes your heart feel huge as your eyes soften on him.

You pull him down again to kiss the smile off his face, and again, you relax into him. Again, and again, and again.

[whiskey-bumblebee]

classified

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/Reader

Accessibility/Diversity notes: Gender neutral reader, reader has multiple previous sexual partners (essential to the plot). Reader is a receptive sexual partner (i.e. a bottom)

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: No active sex but the start is immediately post-sex, the whole storyline is based on reader having a sexual history so MDNI. Aaron smokes a cigarette. Haley doesn't exist.

A/N: Dividers and postscript designed by @saradika (thank you! they're so cute!!)

Tagging: @ssamorganhotchner @hausofwhores @hotchsdoormat @cr1minalskies <3

Sweat is cooling on Aaron's back as he slips out of bed. You're still catching your breath, and you can't help but laugh to yourself, totally satisfied.

"You fuck like an FBI agent," You tease.

You move so that your back is against the headboard, and you watch as Aaron lights a cigarette and cracks the window in your bedroom. He doesn't usually smoke, but it's been a hard couple of weeks. You figure if he's going to smoke, it's better if he smokes while you're with him, so you know he isn't sneaking off to do it.

He'd dragged one of the barstools from the kitchen into the bedroom, and he sits on it now, still naked. It's a hell of a scene, Aaron propped up on this wooden stool, one foot resting on the crossbeam of the stool, the other on the floor, his elbow on the windowframe, a lit cigarette between his fingers as he's careful to blow his smoke out of the window. It's rare for him to be at ease like this, just existing in his body.

"Can I take a picture?"

He's surprised, and he glances over his shoulder at you.

"Okay. Do you want me to-"

You shake your head. "Just as you are."

He turns away from you again, assuming his previous position. He has the tact to tuck his cock beside his leg so it won't be visible. Through your camera's viewfinder, you notice that you can still see his pubic bone and a bit of hair there.

"Are you okay with some of your pubic hair being in it?"

Aaron glances at you again, a small smile on his face.

"I'm assuming this isn't for the christmas card."

You smile back and shake your head.

"Just for me."

He nods again and looks out of the window. You snap two photos in quick succession.

Soon enough, he finishes his cigarette and slips back into bed, sitting beside you. He slings his arm over your shoulder.

"You were saying?"

You kiss his cheek, then rest your head on his shoulder. "You're an excellent sexual partner."

"That's not the wording you used before." He's teasing you back.

"That you fuck like an FBI agent? Yeah. I stand by it."

"And how exactly does an FBI agent fuck?"

"You know, the three S's," You ad-lib, holding up three fingers. This piques his interest, and he raises his eyebrows, egging you on. "Strength, stamina, state secrets."

He laughs at that, his eyes crinkling wonderfully.

"Do you feel like elaborating? Stroking my ego?"

"Oh, you know I'll stroke you anytime," You grin.

You interlace your fingers with his, deciding what to say next.

"Well. I guess it's hard to describe, actually. Physically, it's incredible, because you have this endurance that's just..." You bite your lip, your train of thought giving way to the many, many memories of being in bed with Hotch.

"Which means you can fuck slow. And hard. I don't feel like there's some amateur on top of me. And you really pay attention. If something isn't working, you notice. If I'm faking it, you notice. Maybe that's a BAU thing. But you fuck like someone with top secret clearance."

The sheet over Aaron's lap shifts without his hands moving it, and you gasp softly, delighted. "So I am stroking your ego."

He chuckles. "Hearing the love of your life compliment your skills in the bedroom will do that."

You lapse into silence for a moment, wondering whether you should slip your hand under the sheet and-

"So... How many FBI agents have you...?"

"Oh my god," You laugh. "That's classified. Unless you actually want to know."

Aaron shrugs. "I won't be offended. I'm assuming they all pre-date me."

You scrunch your eyebrows together, surprised. "Yeah. I haven't slept with anyone else since we started dating, if that's what you're asking."

Aaron winces. "Sorry."

You shrug, lightening the mood. "I'm not offended, just surprised. I figured you'd realized that I was yours from the first night."

You lift your head from Aaron's shoulder and sink into the headboard behind you.

"I am curious," Aaron starts. "About how many FBI agents..."

He reads your expression, and you decide you'll beat him to the punch.

"Three, including you. When I was living in Fredericksburg, there were a few of them around."

It's your turn to guess what he's thinking.

"Now you're wondering how many people in total?" You posit.

He nods.

"Seven. Three were serious. Four were... Temporary."

"Three were serious, and three were with the FBI?"

You laugh. "No overlap. You're the only one in the middle of that Venn diagram."

He nods again, his expression serious.

"Hey," You nudge him, holding his face between your hands. "You okay?"

"I'm fine. Do you want to know about mine?"

You nod excitedly, and slip under the covers so you can rest your head in his lap as he talks. He traces your hairline with his index finger, then rests his warm hand over your cheek. It's rare that he opens up about his past, especially sexually, and it's so wonderful to hear his voice telling his story.

"I was a virgin until college, which I think you know. I was waiting until marriage. Then there was a girlfriend in undergrad. She only loved half of me, but we... She was my first. After that it was better."

"That's when you kind of... this sounds cliche, but when you got to know yourself better, right? When you started going to concerts and listening to the music you like?"

Aaron nods. "And I realized I liked men. So, forgive me, this is crude, but there are some that it's difficult to count because I was drunk, or because I never saw their faces. And then there was George."

"The one in your grad cohort?"

"Yes."

"And you slept together?"

He hums affirmatively. "He said... He always said that it didn't count if it was oral sex. So, until I met you, I thought all of the times I..."

A blush comes over his face, and he smiles.

"I thought it didn't count. So when I was studying law, it was mostly me and George. I don't know how nobody realized. If this hurts your feelings, you can tell me and I'll stop, but there were a lot of women trying to date me. George would always just laugh when they asked for my number."

"It doesn't hurt my feelings," You smile, reaching up to touch Aaron's face. "I'd love to meet him."

Aaron smiles sadly, his voice lowering. "He died in 1995."

You frown, your eyebrows pinching together. "Oh my god, Aaron."

He nods. "They granted him an honorary degree since he was so close to finishing his JD. Then I left Seattle and there's been one or two women since then, but nothing serious. I thought I was too old for one night stands."

"Lie down with me, baby. I want to hold you."

"It was a long time ago, honey."

"That doesn't make me want to hold you any less."

Aaron acquiesces and lies on his side so you can be the big spoon.

"It was hard, losing him," Aaron murmurs. "I loved him."

"But he told you that he was straight?"

Aaron nodded. "And maybe he was. Though we had a lot of sex for two straight guys."

You huffed a laugh into the space between Aaron's shoulderblades.

"So I have three FBI agents and you have-"

"George," Aaron finishes.

You smile and press a kiss to the back of his neck.

"And it sounds like you were a bit of a whore in college, if I can say that," You whisper.

"You can. Just not to anyone else, please. I don't need anyone finding out how much time I spent on my knees in bathroom stalls."

"Is it bad that turns me on?"

"I'm too tired to profile you. Let's say no for now."

"Good."

You wrap your arms around Aaron's middle.

"I love you," Aaron murmurs.

"I love you too. I hope you feel like I love all of you."

He hums affirmatively. "I don't think you're the kind of person who loves in halves."

You sigh, somehow feeling lighter despite the turn the conversation had taken. Knowing Aaron was a privilege, and you'd always be glad to carry anything he gave you.

"I only have confidential clearance."

Aaron's voice is gravelly; he's slipping towards sleep.

"Hmm?"

"You said earlier that I fuck like someone who knows state secrets, someone with top secret clearance. I only have confidential clearance."

"So you can't tell me any state secrets?"

"There are things I could tell you which would get me into a lot of trouble. But if you want state secrets, you'll have to ask Garcia. She's the only one with top secret clearance."

"Really? Penelope?"

Aaron nods. "To use the systems she uses, you need confidential clearance. A few months after she started, Strauss realized it was pointless to keep her at confidential clearance, since she's smart enough to find anything she wants to find."

"Good to know."

"I know you have questions about things. But Garcia can get into a lot of trouble even if she doesn't tell you anything."

"Okay." You stroke your fingers over Aaron's torso. "I'd only want to hear state secrets from you anyway. Your voice is sexier."

Aaron huffed a laugh. "Thank you. I don't think you want to hear any of the secrets I know. State secrets are only fun when you don't know them. Once you know... You lose a lot of respect for some people."

You hum and kiss the side of his neck.

"Tell me one? Just enough to get you into trouble."

Aaron rolls over to face you, and whispers into your ear, nipping your earlobe once he's finished.

"Now you can blackmail me," He whispers.

You wrap one of your legs around his hips, grinding into him.

"You're setting a dangerous precedent. Now you know that telling me state secrets turns me on."

Aaron kisses your neck, nipping at the spot he knows you like. "Good to know."

[nikitaxlee]

All Yours?/ Possessive/Obsessive Felix X Fem! Reader

Warnings: Obsessive/Jealous/Possessive Felix, Smut, kinky sex, Mentions of murder. Light breeding.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Please feel free to request anything for I am new and need ideas.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You were plagued on felix's mind 24/7. He constantly thought about you, and was inextricably obsessed with you. "Fuck, baby, just like that. Right there- Holy shit, Fuck I'm cumming all over those pretty tits."

Felix had his phone in his right hand as he jerked himself off to a picture on your Instagram. You had a nice top with a lower neckline but not to much. You had tagged Felix due to the fact he had taken the photo. How could he not jump at the chance to have a photo of you. Especially in moments like this when he craved sweet release.

"Shit, Mommy, I can't, I fucking can't hold out any longer, I-I Need it I need you, baby." Finally he released his load all over his hand and phone.

As he came down from his high, Post-nut clarity hit him hard. He realized he had a date with you this afternoon and needed to shower and get ready. He put on an nice white, linen button up, unbuttoning the first few buttons enough to show his defined collarbone. He grabbed his phone, which he had cleaned off, and wallet and walked out the door to his car.

As he drove to the cafe he played one of your playlists while imagining blowing your back out to one of them. As he arrived to the cafe he noticed your undeniable beauty sitting at a table with a guy.

Wait... With a guy? That couldn't be right. Felix was the only guy who could speak to you. Make you smile. And even just look at your sexy features. Felix rushed to the scene. 'I'm about to kill this fucking asshole, who the fuck does he think he is? He should know a pretty girl like my Y/N is taken.'

"Y/N? Ready to go?"

"Oh! Hey babe! Meet Salomon, he's from Australia as well! Brisbane actually!" You said as you shot Salomon a smile.

"Oh, cool. That's really cool. But we should go now. We have a date planned." Felix said as he gave Salomon a fake sincere smile.

'I don't know how much I can fucking take before I snap.'

"Bye Salomon! I'll talk to you later." You said as you waved goodbye.

Later. What the fuck does she mean by later. There is no later.

And you too continued walking

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

4 Hours later

Felix walked into the scene of you sitting on the couch tapping away on your fun happily. He enjoyed seeing you smile in his presence. He wanted you to be happy with him all the time.

"Whatcha doing babe, Playing a game?" Asked Felix.

"Yeah, Something like that."

Felix went to cook dinner for the 2 of you to finish up such a wonderful day. He heard you giggle in the next room over. Then he heard it again, then again, and once more, again. He finally decided to check on you to see what was so funny. He silently crept up from behind in hopes he could see what you were doing

He noticed you were texting someone and at first he thought it was one of your friends. Until he noticed the contact name.

'Salomon <3'

He snatched your phone out of your hands as rage overcame him. "What the fuck Y/N, What makes you think you can just go about texting another man when you have a boyfriend right here that would love to talk to you." He sounded genuinely hurt and offended that you would even think about another man around him. So you felt bad.

"I'm sorry babe, I didn't know you would be so offended, I was just bonding with-"

"NO, this is our time together." With that he grabbed by the neck and pulled you in to kiss him. The kiss hushed some of his terrible thoughts about killing Salomon but he could still feel the jealousy.

Felix laid you down onto the couch as he took off the tanktop he was wearing. He let out a deep whimper as you caressed his abs.

"Mhm- Fuckkk please touch me Y/N, Show me your mine, Show me I can put a baby in you. Show me I can fuck you better than he would ever. Show me I'm all yours."

You slipped your hand into his pants as you felt him up. You moaned as you felt his cock pulsing waiting to be used.

"Baby, please, I can't wait. Let me just put it in, Let me fuck a baby into you so everybody knows I'm yours as you are mine. So Salomon knows he will NEVER get you as long as I'm around."

You nodded as he pulled down his sweats and boxers and started jerking off his cock. He honestly felt bad he didn't eat you out or at least finger you, but this was you punishment for even thinking of another guy.

As he pushed in, inch by inch, you let out a high pitched moan. He started fucking deep and slow.

"Yes babe, yes take it. Take it all. Suck up all my cum with that tight, needy hole. I want you to be pregnant by the end of this month."

He picked up the pace and kept waves of pleasure moving through you. He know every nook and cranny, every spot, every detail, and he knew that he would make you cum harder than any other bastard that even dared to try. But he knew they wouldn't, because they'd be dead. As you moaned his name you felt him pulse inside of you cueing he was cumming. Suddenly he slammed his hand onto the end of the couch and pounded you.

"Cum, Cum for me, cum so fuckin- ahhh, yes, yes, yes"

He moaned as he released inside of you causing you to orgasm. As you both came down from your high. Felix gave you a deep, passionate kiss before saying, "Mine."

He carried you up to the shower before running it for you and hopping in.

"Y/N, You know I love you so much and I'm serious about putting a baby in you."

"Slow your roll pretty boy, You need to marry me first."

"I guess I will then."

[helluvapurf]

Thoughts on latest HB ep "Ghostf**kers" (*now that I've regained a bit more energy post-Halloween weekend lol*):

So the newest ep of HB has came & went from what I've seen- aaaand naturally feels like the best time for me to finally ramble about it now that its settled in my brain some more .3. Thoughts (+Spoilers) below~ NOTE: Most of this -does- get a lil rant-y below sooo... read at your own risk lol .w.;;

First things out of the way to start things off on a good note, the Pros:

To start off with... FINALLY we got some Millie focus for a major episode plot (-or more specifically, focus that doesn't get revolved back to Moxxie somehow lol)😭👏👏. Even if she still lowkey had to share the spotlight with Blitz, their friendship actually felt pretty sweet & compelling the more I watched them (esp their backstory & how Millie was allowed to stand up for herself + while also acknowledging the good in Blitz, once they talked things out 🥺👏). Which ngl, after these previous episodes reigning down HARD on this dude... idk, just felt refreshingly wholesome to see for this series, yknow?😊

New villain Rolando was pretty cool, and surprisingly spooky to watch as the second-half went on oml- .o.;; While I'm still a teensy bit confused how his powers/demon lore work (at least to what we already know about Hell limitations crossing to the human world, ex. succubi & their crystals), his underwater monster vibe gave some fun visuals to watch up until the climax. I'm not 100% familiar with John Waters' works, but damnnn he should take up voice-acting more often ngl~ 👀

FINALLY MAMA TILLA MAKES AN (on-screen) APPEARANCE 😭😭Her whole vibe & Blitz's clear love and regret over what happened to her... hhhhh my whole heart ;n; 💔

That pink client lady (Rita, I think her name is?) who assigned the hotel mission? I dig her vibe, its cute~ :3

I.M.P. feeling like a legitimate workplace family for once, with even Loona & Moxxie getting a nice lil moment towards the end?? More. Of this. Please. 👌👌

Even with the lil undertones of the Stol*itz drama from the past couple eps, I very much appreciate Blitz (+the show itself) acknowledging that what's been going is NOT a breakup ('cause... yknow, they never actually dated to begin with lol🤷‍♀️). It may not 100% fix how messy that particular narrative's been handled as of late (which I'll get to in a sec-), but eh... its a start in the right direction, I guess? .3.

Enjoyed all the colorful flashback looks given, never would I have thought I needed mercenary!Millie with a fluffy ponytail til nowww hlkjlk😩❤️

Aaaand as for the not-so-good bits (imo), aka the Cons:

Pacing felt kiiiinda all-over-the-place, I'll admit; like one min we're wasting a good chunk on Blitz's whining fest at the start (+some other pointless banter at the hotel), then the next it feels like we're breezing past Rolando's presence as the "big bad" by the end. Which... I guess I shouldn't be too harsh on given the production drama behind-the-scenes (aka: the leaked content that had to be cut & redone awhile back)... buuuut yeah, its just one of those things you can't help but notice either way 🤷‍♀️

Humor-wise wasn't... exactly at its strong point here, mainly just a lil overdone in the sex joke department imo though I guess thats also a bit par-for-the-course in a series like Hellaverse ngl- lol

Now, idk if this may be an unpopular opinion or not; but was I the only one who felt like Blitz's month-long mope fest over Stolas pretty... OOC, all things considered? .-. Like, okay its one thing for Blitz to still be understandably upset over how the last two eps went down (but being the "boss" he is, continues working anyway to keep I.M.P. afloat, as seen in the HB shorts)... but for Blitz of all people to just randomly use ALL his company's funds on useless junk, force his daughter Loona to stay up all night/not go home, drive Moxxie in a panic from all the budgeting issues this past month was just... wut- 🤦‍♀️ ...Mind you, this is meant to be the SAME Blitz who not even a few episodes ago begged Stolas to not take away the Grimoire (aka the key to his + his employee's livelihood), clearly being willing to do anything to not lose all he holds dear. You seriously expect me to believe he'd be the type to throw that all away (for a WHOLE month) to whine over some blue-blooded bird not noticing him? ...Yeaaaaah sorry, but I'm gonna have to call bs on that, chief 🙄

Kiiiinda tying in the last point, but as much as I enjoyed the tense thills gained from the "Rolando enters Blitz' mind to make him see his own flaws/past mistakes" sequence... I do have a few issues with some of these other "flashbacks" added to the mix: 1) Loona's groin kick towards Blitz in "Seeing Stars" (*wasn't Blitz's fault since ALL he did was tell her to be nice to clients... and was right about to apologize to Loona just seconds before the kick 😒*) 2) Blitz pushing Stolas' hand away in "Ozzies" (*which Blitz only did after Stolas hide his face/didn't defend Blitz during the song*) 3) Stolas' hurt expression at the end van scene of "Ozzie's" (*mind you, taking place while Blitz is rightfully standing up for himself/telling off Stolas for being a privileged creep all of S1*) 4) Stolas trying to present the Asmodean Crystal gift in "Full Moon" (*a whoooole mess in of itself I already covered prior-*) 5) Stolas angrily walking away from their pool fight + trash-talking Blitz in the "Motherf**kers" song + drunkenly dumping his problems on him + making out with a whole other dude in front of Blitz (*again, a huge mess I covered prior but TL;DR... most of that WASN'T fully-Blitz's fault in those instances??😑*)

Like... I dunno man, I don't mean to sound like I'm just ragging on Stolas per-episode as of late... but these last few points just keep giving me mixed signals than any genuine idea as to WHY Blitz even has these "feelings" growing for Stolas, atm?🤨For any canon couple in fiction, I WANT to see reasons for why they work best together, what kind of interests/aspects they've got in-common, what special "spark" is there that helps them stand out above all the other dynamics in-canon... but from what I see so far on Blitz's end (& the narrative continuing to dogpile on him being the "problem"), it honestly feels more like he's only now fallen for Stolas out of guilt... not because Blitz actually wants him for him, y'know? :/ Which... ngl, sounds like a really sad precedent to send for a main-endgame couple, imho... 🤷‍♀️

-------

Soooo yeah, all that rant-y rambling aside... not a bad ep in the grand scheme of things! 👍👍Here's hoping the last few remaining eps (+possible shorts) for S2 keeps up the good work! 🙏

[koreandragon]

Final thoughts about love next door? Both the show and the main romance? I thought it had a lot less depth than it wanted to think it did and one of the most underwhelming romance I've ever seen I don't know why I was supposed to root for them since one of them came off like an obsessive weirdo and the other one came off like she was barely invested in this relationship which for a supposed romance is not a good look.

i was just about to make a post gathering my thoughts so i'll just write them here. i agree with the things you said.

it started off so well, i really liked their dynamic, the writing was witty and fun and it had great potential for that friends to lovers angst. then it fell into the mistake so many dramas seem to fall into and it's that it seemed to lose sight of what it was supposed to be, which was a romance/family drama. it definitely didn't have the depth it thought it had although they made some good points in the beginning with the overworking and depression. i still don't know what the point of seok ryu's stomach cancer was aside from bringing tension between every single character and to have the conflict drawn out for a few more episodes. it was basically a plot device to speed up the romance and to have her family realize how much they've mistreated her.

which brings me to seok ryu's family in particular. i know that no family is perfect and it's natural to have flaws but seok ryu's mom specifically was getting on my nerves. all she cared about was herself, her reputation, what people would think of her and what's bad in her life. like what do you mean it took your daughter getting cancer for you to realize you've been treating her like shit? the whole side story with seung hyo's parents was of no interest to me either, too much time wasted on his parents rekindling their romance and the mom's fake dementia and cheating.

haein and somin seemed to have great chemistry only when they were still friends, after the romance started to develop it felt forced and uncomfortable which was heightened by the fact that the show was content with having minimal intimacy and chaste kisses. seok ryu said she ignored her feelings for 30 years and that she actually liked him first which they have shown no proof of, she didn't even think about him like that until he confessed which is where the show took a nosedive for me. their initial chemistry and bickering just disappeared and instead there was this weird tension and energy between them which can be attributed to the fact that there was this thing hanging between them, seung hyo made things awkward by confessing. but even after they got together it's like they haven't been friends for 30 years and they switched into full couple mode, talking sweetly and romantically which just felt out of place and not how we got to know them and their dynamic. they brought it back briefly only in the last episode with the headlocking and the fighting at the end.

my main issue with the show was that i was Bored. boring. too many plotlines and characters and relationships i did Not care about. episodes and episodes (with an average runtime of 1h 20m btw which was unnecessary) of the main couple suffering after seung hyo's confession because he kept pushing her for an answer and she didn't know what to answer him so episodes just went by with basically no development in their relationship.

the two exes taking up the air for several episodes was mind numbing.

mo eum, dan oh and yeon du did not interest me at all, they were basically as exciting as a saltine cracker. the only compelling thing about that relationship was that he was a single father which they backtracked on and revealed he's actually her uncle, nothing to see here. i was bothered by the chasteness of the main couple (who got one implied sex scene) but this couple were driving me up the wall with how sanitized and underwhelming their romance was. i have more electricity between me and my carpet when i rub my socks on it. kim ji eun was wonderful i like her because she's very lively and funny but watching yun ji on act was like being waterboarded. not trying to be a hater but i don't know if he was directed so badly or he's just Like That. every time we got a pre schooler level peck on the lips i took psychic damage.

there were things i was uninterested in but i still appreciated like the lavender group, i think it's cute that there was a similar friend group as the main one but with older women and it's important to represent that. or the dad's struggle with wanting to provide for his family and feeling inadequate and coming to terms with his retirement to make place for his daughter's dream. although me liking this had a lot to do with how much i like the actor who portrayed the dad because he made me feel very sympathetic towards him.

this was one of those dramas that felt too sanitized and polished for me, the romance was underwhelming because it was so tired and overdone that it didn't make me feel any tingles. just a very forgettable drama all in all

[greenygal]

Due South s1 recs, part 4

The Blue Line

Thirty-Seven Percent, by Luzula (Fraser/Mark Smithbauer, one-sided)--In which Mark causes a sexuality crisis in teenage Fraser, which he addresses by secretly reading the research of Alfred Kinsey. Because Fraser.

Astray, by Sproid (Fraser/Mark Smithbauer)--In which teenage Mark is very enthusiastically into Fraser.

Five Times Benton Fraser Hugged Someone and Meant It, by jaywright (Fraser/Victoria, Fraser/Ray K)--The Mark section of this is so sweet.

Special, by DesireeArmfeldt (Fraser/Mark Smithbauer, unrequited)--In which Mark feels guilty and therefore does not sleep with Fraser in Chicago. Angst and woe!

On the other hand, in these stories Mark absolutely does sleep with Fraser in Chicago:

Old Friends, by Ultra_Chrome (Fraser/Mark Smithbauer)

Our Track Record, by Luzula (Fraser/Mark Smithbauer)

Second Chances, by Lomelinde (Fraser/Mark Smithbauer)

What We're Thinking, by Sproid (Fraser/Mark Smithbauer)

In which Ray just wants Fraser to be happy after Mark leaves:

Hockey Night in Chicago, by dmarley

Too hot for this kind of thing, by belmanoir (Fraser/Ray V)

Five Things Benton Fraser Lost in the Apartment Fire, by ifreet--So...all those carefully collected trading cards? Yeah. I'm so sorry.

Interlude, by china_shop (Fraser/Mark Smithbauer, unrequited)--A vacationing Fraser asks Mark to look over a promising local kid; there's a little reminiscing--Fraser’s grandmother has the best line in the story and she’s not even in it--a little hockey, but no actual sex. Sorry, Mark.

Hawks and Hands, by Dira Sudis (Fraser/Mark Smithbauer, Fraser/Ray K)--A lengthy Fraser/Ray K AU in which most of the characters are in hockey (although Ray V is still a cop). Filled with sex, hockey, and a slow-growing mystery about the death of Fraser's father.

Ice, by twistedchick--So this is my recs list, and if I want to rec a Sports Night crossover about a romance between Dan Rydell and Mark Smithbauer, then I will! Fraser does turn up in one section to be very charming, but I am genuinely here for the Dan/Mark.

***

The Deal

Father Confessor, by Keerawa (Ray V/Angie, Ray V/Fraser (one-sided), Ray V/Stella)--This is an outside POV fic that runs from Ray's childhood through post-canon; I'm putting it here because it has a fair bit about Zuko, including Ray talking about what happened to Marco Mitrani. (Warnings for Catholic homophobia.)

All the other recs deal with the events at the end of the episode (no Frannie, that's for next ep)

Weight, by sdwolfpup

Most powerful is he, by mercuriosity

Regret, by sdwolfpup

Odd-Numbered Nights, by MSSalieri

****

Heaven and Earth

(note: I feel that “Heaven and Earth” should be before “An Invitation to Romance”, and it’s my list so it will be!)

Layaway, by Keerawa--Frannie discovers why she's not what Fraser wants.

During Frannie’s confrontation with Ray, she hears what’s underneath the words:

Conversation, by Aimee (Fraser/Ray V)

Heaven and Earth, by amosanguis (Fraser/Ray V)

Conviction, by china_shop (Fraser/Ray V)--“Ray was forced to admit that not only did he have a type that included guys but, even worse, he had the same taste in guys as his little sister Frannie.”

Long, Slow Drift, by Belmanoir (Fraser/Ray V)—An amazing look at Ray's POV on this episode, placed in the context of his history and family relationships, and of course his feelings for Fraser.

“All he knows is that when he tries to think about dreaming, he gets a sudden urge to duck.”

***

An Invitation to Romance

subatomic particles bursting in the air, by facingthenorthwind--A look at some things Fraser might have been thinking in the garbage truck scene.

A Searching and Fearless Inventory, by Nos4a2no9--A consideration of a different reason Fraser might not drink. Not otherwise related to the episode, but it's an interesting idea and I'll take this excuse to include it.