#but this was getting incredibly long so i decided to cut it off there

[sweetshuga]

MS ✰ String you out ✧ CS

───~𓆩♡𓆪~───

Warnings⚠︎ Smut!, Suggestive remarks!, strong language!, threesome!, size kink, lowkey breeding kink, pet names, p in v, dp, unprotected sex (do not), oral (m! receiving), squirting, vibe, slight intoxication (but full consent), etc.

Word count. 3k

Note. English is not my first language! Not proofread!

Psa. Matt refers to reader as "pretty" and Chris refers to reader as "ma", just so you don't get confused with the dialogues.

Sum. Everything goes south when you show up at the campus Halloween party in a tiny black witch costume; becoming their prey for the night.

You weren’t prepared when your best friend came knocking at your door with a big duffle bag, trying to convince you to come to the annual Halloween party, but you had already decided to stay in your dorm room and continue doing your assignments.

"C’mon, don’t be like that, I even bought us matching costumes," she stepped inside, letting you close the door behind her. "I can help you do your make-up, please?" Your friend begged, plopping down on your bed. You sighed and rubbed your temple, "I told you already, I’m not going, that Halloween party will probably be just like a frat one and you know how I am about frat parties."

Your friend crossed her arms with raised eyebrows, "no, it won’t be like a frat party, but I guess there’ll be those fraternity guys there since you know... Campus party, everyone’s gonna be there–" you cut her off, "except for me," causing her to collapse back onto your bed.

"Pretty please?" She pleaded again, jutting her bottom lip out dramatically, making you laugh. "No, like I said–" she cut you off with a groan, "c’mooon, Halloween happens only once a year..." her voice trailed off as a grin made its way onto her lips, "if you go this once, I won’t bug you again, like I promise I won’t ask you to come to frat parties with me."

You couldn’t help but be tempted with the deal, clearing your throat as you looked at her, "you serious?" She nodded vigorously, "yeah, I am, I am dead serious, so? will you?" You sighed and nodded, eliciting a happy "yay" from her.

She immediately spilled the contents from her huge duffel bag, tons of make-up products and two matching witch costumes. You picked one up, inspecting it. The costume was incredibly short and could almost pass off as a long shirt.

"Are you serious? This is what you picked?" She gave you a deadpanned look, "it’s Halloween! You know what they say, the only time of the year to be as slutty as you want." She nudged your arm, grinning, "plus I bet guys would go nuts when they see you in this."

𓆩♡𓆪

Your friend helped you with your make-up, and as you looked in the mirror, you felt like you were someone else, in a good way. The costume was short, but it made you feel a bit more confident than usual. The black heel boots you had lying around – that you’ve been wanting to wear for so long – seemed to match the vibe of the dress.

The long sleeves and overall style of the costume had already started to grow on you. "Not too bad," you said as you curled your hair, "yeah? told you so," your friend grinned triumphantly, making you roll your eyes in a playful manner.

The moment you arrived at the party, your ears immediately rang at the loud music, "fuck, why is it so loud here?" you shouted to your friend, trying to get your words across the short distance, but the music drowned out your voice.

"It’s always this loud, you’re just not used to it, c’mon, let’s get drinks!" She dragged you towards the table of drinks, expertly weaving through the crowd. Alcohols that you didn’t even know the names of were stacked in an oddly neat way along with soft drinks, water and way too many solo cups.

A girl standing by the table, dressed as the grinch, offered to make you and your friend drinks, halloween specials. As you were sipping on your drink, you noticed a pair of guys, almost identical looking.

"Holy fuck, you know who they are?" you nudged your friend, jerking your head at the direction of the guys dressed as vampires. She followed your gaze and looked at them, "yeah?" she chuckled, "you don’t?" Shaking your head as you kept your gaze on the guys, unable to take it off of them.

"Of course you don’t, you’re always buried in schoolwork," she clicked her tongue, "they’re quite famous around campus you know?" You let out a huff, taking another big gulp of your drink, groaning at the burn of the mixed alcohols. "So? Who are they?"

"The one with the cap is Chris and the one that doesn’t have a cap is Matt, obviously, they’re identical triplets, but I don’t think Nick’s here today." You let out an "oh" sound of understanding before you took another sip of your drink.

"Heard they got a bro code or whatnot, like they wouldn’t hit the same girl," your friend shrugged, telling you all she knew about them, "yeah... couldn’t care less, c’mon let’s just dance or something," you said pulling your friend away from the table of drinks and onto the dance floor. You couldn’t help but feel interested despite your words.

After one too many drinks and a few stolen glances later, you found yourself in a bathroom, two pairs of hands roaming over your body while you shared a kiss with one of the guys—the one with the cap.

The other one kissed your neck, trailing it down to your collarbone and leaving love bites there before going back to your neck. The one with the cap broke the kiss, "you know our names ma?" He breathed out, "uh... you’re Chris, and he’s Matt, right?" you asked hesitantly, the slight intoxication making your mind a jumbled up mess.

"Mhm—bingo, pretty," Matt whispered, his lips grazing just under your earlobe, causing a shiver to run down your spine. Butterflies swarmed in your stomach as they continued to kiss and caress your body, your body reacting to every word and touch from them, making their faces light up with smirks.

Their fake fangs nipped at your skin, causing you to gasp softly each time. "Say, let’s go to a more comfortable place?" Chris suggested, "Yeah, can’t really do much in a bathroom," Matt chuckled as he added.

They led you out of the bathroom and weaved through the crowd of people dancing. You tried to find your friend to tell her you were going but you couldn't find her in the crowd. Suddenly, you got a message and a photo from her apologizing saying that she was gonna head home with her boyfriend since it was getting late. How convenient.

You sighed and let the guys lead you out of the party, your costume rode up ever so slightly as you tried to balance on the heel boots in your slightly tipsy state. You were very much aware of your surroundings and the two fellas, dressed as vampires, leading you towards their car.

"Where are we going?" You asked, a bit puzzled but willing. Matt and Chris both chuckled in unison at your confused state, "oh yeah, we’re gonna go to our place, you mind?" Chris asked as he looked back at you, "I mean, if you don’t feel comfortable with that, we could always hit up a hotel," Matt shrugged.

You hummed, looking back and forth between them before making your decision, "no, yeah, i’m good with your place," they both visibly relaxed and grinned, "alright then, hop in, pretty," Matt said as he opened the backseat door.

𓆩♡𓆪

The drive to their place was fairly fast, accompanied by small talks and laughter, but that quickly turned into heated kisses and breathy moans once you got inside their house. Stumbling into one of their rooms, they started to strip you out of the skimpy costume.

Gently pushing you on the bed before they started to strip themselves, your gaze raked over their bodies as you waited on the bed, biting your lip in anticipation. Once they were matching you in nakedness, they sat on either side of you, starting to lavish attention to your body once again.

"Fuck, you’re so beautiful ma, so fucking beautiful," Chris murmured against the swell of your breast, "mhm... so pretty" Matt whispered an agreement in your ear before kissing along your jawline, his hand caressing your body, slowing inching down to cup your mound.

You hissed softly when his fingers made in contact with your swollen clit, slick with arousal, and throbbing for attention. The brothers quickly picked up on your growing need and desperation as they saw just how wet you had become.

Your folds glistened in the dim light of the bedside lamp, the obvious need evident in your tone when Chris plunged a finger inside your tight heat. "Fu—ck," you moaned softly, your breathing a lot more ragged now that he was moving his digit in and out of you, slipping in a second finger and smirking at how you seemed to suck in his fingers.

"Someone’s eager," Matt chuckled, his voice a bit deeper than usual, betraying his arousal. The pads of his fingers started to circle your sensitive bundle of nerves, eliciting slightly louder moans from you.

The feeling was already so pleasurable, and you didn’t know if it was the alcohol making you feel more than usual or just the brothers themselves, either way you knew you were incredibly turned on.

They adjusted your position, easily manhandling you, but their touch was gentle– almost tender if you will. The new position gave them more to work with. You were on your hands and knees and they stood on their knees on either side of you, still squeezing and caressing every inch of skin they could touch.

They were big – huge even – it made you feel a bit nervous. They were easily 10", and who knows how thick, standing tall and proud. You gulped softly when Chris gripped your hip with one hand and led his length towards your aching pussy. The tip of his cock slid up and down your slit, making you whine and push back against him.

They chuckled at your needy gestures and sounds, "you’re so responsive ma, ’s intoxicating," Chris emphasized his words with a slap on your ass, causing you to jolt and whine, his hand gently caressing the reddening skin.

Matt, being the one in front of you, caressed your cheek and made you look up at him by lifting your face by your jaw. Smirking when he saw the desperation in your eyes, "what’s up pretty? Can’t handle a little teasing?" He spoke with faux sympathy, making you all the more desperate.

Before you could open your mouth to speak, you felt the sudden stretch, causing you to move forward—trying to get away from the sensation, only to be held in place by two pairs of hands. Chris clicked his tongue, "relax ma," his hands squeezed your ass, sinking his fingers in your plush flesh as he moved forward, filling you completely.

"Oh fu—ck, Chris too big–" your moans got muffled when Matt fed you his length, groaning at the sensation of your mouth on him and the vibrations from your moans as Chris took you from behind.

Chris’ pupils dilated when he saw the way your ass recoiled against his hips with each deep and slow thrust, he gripped your hips tighter and surged forward with increasing fervor. The force of it pushed you forward, each thrust making you involuntarily deepthroat Matt, making them both groan at the pleasure.

Chris suddenly pulled out, and stood up, "I think I’ve got something nice." Matt chuckled when he understood what Chris implied and pulled out of your mouth with a wet pop. You looked at them confused, feeling empty and still aching with need.

A few minutes later, Chris came back with a vibrator and a bottle of lube in hand. You blinked rapidly as your gaze flickered between the brothers, making them chuckle, "don’t worry pretty, we’ll make you feel good, ’promise." Chris sat on the bed behind you, getting in position again.

"Alright ma, up," he playfully slapped your ass before helping you back in the position you were in moments ago, but this time you were facing Chris with Matt behind you. Your moans filled the room once again when Matt entered you, stretching you deliciously.

Your moans were quickly muffled by Chris’ cock, which you eagerly let in your mouth, and the pleasure was already bordering on too much. Your body tensed when you felt vibrations on your clit. Matt groaned loudly when he felt you clench around him like a vice, his hips picking up pace in response.

Your moans vibrated around Chris’ shaft, making him buck his hips faster, fucking your mouth as he gripped your hair in a makeshift ponytail. Your eyes rolled back briefly as Matt hit that spot deep within you, the one that made sparks dance behind your eyes, the one that made you moan louder.

The vibrations of the vibe increased, making your legs shake as you tried to ground yourself from the intense pleasure that you wondered if you could take any more of. That was when Matt held you by your waist and started to target a specific spot—your g-spot.

The feeling of him hitting your g-spot with such precision and the vibrator doing its job on your throbbing clit, made you squirm, trying to get away from the intensity of it all, but their hands kept you in place. With a loud muffled moan you squirted, unable to warn them due to Chris’ cock in your mouth. The brothers let out breathy chuckles when they saw the mess you were making, but didn’t stop nevertheless.

They followed you soon after, their releases filling up your holes. You couldn’t even keep yourself steady on your legs and arms anymore, it was all threatening to buckle under you any second.

Carefully, they laid you down, and seeing the wrecked state you were in just seemed to fuel their desires further. Their semi-hard lengths hardened once more as they gazed down at you. Your disheveled hair, the hickeys adorning your body, Matt’s release trickling out of you and Chris’ dripping down your chin.

Matt’s hand came up to caress your side, causing a breathy sigh to escape your lips, "you think you can go one more round pretty?" Chris chuckled softly, "mhm—ma, don’t think we can get enough of you, think you can take us both?"

"Both? like at the same time?" you whispered, your voice already hoarse from overuse. They nodded, chuckling as they helped you into a sitting position, "yeah, we’ve got lube, but it’s fine if you’re not up for it, pretty—" you cut him off, "well, I don’t mind, i mean... if it can fit that is..." your voice trailed off as you looked down at their laps.

"Don’t worry, ma, we’ll make it fit," is all you heard before they got in position. Matt laying with you on top of him and Chris behind you. The pop of the lube cap made your body shiver in anticipation, the mildly cold oil jolting every nerve as it ran down your slit, making you shudder.

Matt slowly pushed inside, eliciting a soft moan from you, and as you finally adjusted to his size, Chris nudged himself on your already full pussy. "Shh— ’s alright, pretty, just relax," Matt cooed from under you, his arms holding you in place as Chris entered you from behind. You squirmed under their touch, moaning loudly, and the stretch being too much, too big.

Chris grunted at the tightness as he pushed inside, stilling when he bottomed out inside you, "shit ma, so fuckin’ tight," he hissed through his teeth. Matt chuckled, his voice huskier, "yeah, you like how we stretch you, pretty? how fuckin’ big we are?" You could only mumble a "yes" that sounded more like a whimper.

They let you adjust to their sizes—the fullness and the stretch. Their hands caressed your body soothingly, whispering sweet nothings in your ears, and kissing your shoulders and neck.

You finally relaxed around them, moaning softly at the sudden pang of pleasure from being filled to the brim. Your pleasure didn’t go unnoticed by Matt and Chris, chuckling to themselves as they started to move. Your world blurred as you felt an immense pleasure you’ve never felt before.

Your body moved on its own, meeting their thrusts, wanting more of that delicious feeling. And all that only made them move faster – harder – thrusting into you with renewed fervor. Your hands clutched whatever you could hold, grounding yourself so you wouldn’t get consumed by the pleasure.

"Fu—ck pretty, so fuckin’ tight," Chris mumbled an agreement, both of them holding you in place as they took what they wanted. You could only hold on, and moan for them. "Shit, gonna fill you up so good— swell you with my cum, ma," Chris groaned, "Yeah, fuck— you ready for us pretty?" Matt added, muffling his sounds of pleasure on your shoulder.

You mumbled a plea for them to cum inside you—to which they gladly did, groaning and moaning as they filled you up. Their combined release spilled out from the sides, making a mess.

Gently pulling out from your well-used hole, their chests heaved with exertion. In spite of their softening cocks, they couldn’t help the feral, almost animalistic, feeling when they saw the sight of their mixed release trickling out of your pussy.

They both groaned under their breaths before exchanging knowing glances, a silent conversation between them, and slowly alerting you about their insatiable desires for you. "You okay, pretty?" Matt’s hand caressed your cheek while Chris squeezed your ass, "we’re not done with you ma, not by a long shot."

They chuckled as they saw you look at them surprised, but didn’t protest or say no, instead pulled them closer – a silent plea for more. "We’re gonna fuck this pussy so good," Matt whispered in your ear, "and fill you up with our spend until you swell with our babies," Chris added, whispering in your other ear.

Their words were filled with promises, and that alone made you feel immense pleasure, a need for more.

The next morning, you woke up with a bad headache, and sore all over. It wasn’t a surprise that you had a hangover but it was a surprise when you became aware of your surroundings. You were in an unknown room, entangled with not one, but two guys. It didn’t help that they were brothers, identical brothers.

"Heard they got a bro code or whatnot, like they wouldn’t hit the same girl." Your friend’s words echoed in your head. Guess it wasn’t true after all, their bro code.

𓆩♡𓆪

wc. 3,086

Isa's notes. I've never written a Chratt fic before, or anything with two love interests, or a threesome in that matter so like... my bad if it's shit.

xoxo 𓆩♡𓆪

Masterlist 𓆩♡𓆪 Taglist

Taglist: @strnilolover @mattsfavoritestar @sophand4n4 @tpwktahlz @lilyyliloo @slut4angstt @pvssychicken @poolover123 @loud-sturniolos @inlovewchrissturniolo @queenshet @chrisstopherfilmed @grace-sturnz @billiesbabya

© sweetshuga

[our-lady-of-mcr]

everytime i think im done ranting i remember something else LMFAO this one is extra long i hit tag limit god mf damn

[adelheidvonschicksal]

The Love and Deepspace Boys Trying to Get You to Sleep ⋆｡°✩

Tags: Fluff, teasing, needy boys, mild sexual content, gender neutral reader (I had to re-write so please let me know if I messed up.)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Xavier is surprisingly softer than you expected when you first met him on your mission together. He’s an incredibly powerful hunter but possesses a quiet and gentle, almost oblivious, aura when navigating everyday life, like a ghost floating through the space he takes up. It should also be understood that this very nature of his makes him affectionate, so much so, that he won’t unwrap his arms around your waist and stop pressing his head to your shoulder as you sit at the kitchen bar, typing on your laptop.

“Are you planning on staying up later than the stars?” he mumbles.

There’s a gentle yawn against your skin from the sluggish man, highlighting just how long he’s been trying to coax you into going to bed.

“I wanted to finish this report for work.”

“The report will be there tomorrow,” he says. You swat away his hand that reaches for the power button on the laptop causing him to pout. He grumbles. “You should go to bed. Otherwise, I can’t sleep.”

Smiling to yourself, you decide to tease him. “Oh, so you’re really trying to get me to go to bed for your own benefit?”

“Well, you can’t very well expect me to do it by myself anymore.” Xavier nuzzles his head into the slope of your neck, cuddling you. “It’s your responsibility since you ruined my sleeping habits.”

“Ruined?”

“Ramshackled,” he repeats quietly, causing you to giggle. With an airy sigh, he presses his weight into you more. “How do you expect me to sleep when I can’t hold you?”

Defeated, you save your work and close the laptop. You swivel in your chair, enough to meet his eye, and cup a hand to his cheek. It never stops being endearing to you how he cutely closes his eyes and angles his head to snuggle your palm.

“Alright, alright, you don’t have to beg.”

His eyes flutter open, and the smile on his face grows as he wraps his fingers around yours. Carefully, he pulls on your hand to bring it up enough to begin to lace your wrist with affectionate kisses, tracing your pulse.

“I thought you enjoyed my begging.”

“That’s different.”

“It isn’t,” Xavier mutters into your skin, pressing another light kiss.

“It is.”

“So, you're resolute about that position?” he questions “innocently”. There’s something mischievous about the glint in those arctic eyes, which makes your face warm. You find yourself breaking eye contact, or else you’d lose it.

“Yes.”

Xavier chuckles then begins to lead his kisses down your arm. “In that case, care to explain the difference in detail, love?”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

“Sleep.”

“But—”

“Sleep.”

Zayne narrows his eyes at you from his side of the bed. You can’t blame him for being a little annoyed right now but the movie you put on to fall asleep was much better than you expected; and instead of falling asleep, you were more awake than ever at a very late one in the morning.

“I’m almost done with the movie,” you tell him, hoping he’ll cut you a little slack this one time.

“Everyone dies at the end of their own stupidity,” he bluntly states and grabs the remote. The television turns off with an overly loud click, and you pout. “Now, sleep.”

Crossing your arms over your chest, you huff. “You’re the worst.”

“I’m fine with that title if it gets you to rest,” he explains with a smooth yawn. “Poor sleep habits lead to bad decision-making later. You’re more likely to develop high blood pressure, and with your heart in particular—”

“I get it. I get it,” you say, wanting to be spared the lecture. Zayne is a good person and a better doctor, but you wish he didn’t worry about you so much just because you might have a little big heart problem. Sighing, you squiggle onto your back and pull the sheets up to your collar, kicking them a little childishly in the process (totally not to let him know that you were not pleased with his spoiling). “I hope you’re proud of yourself.”

“Very.”

Zayne turns over onto his side, away from you, and you frown at the loneliness. Softly, you poke him in the back, once, then twice then a third time before you finally get a hum in response.

“Am I really not getting a good night kiss?”

“Do you need one to sleep?” he asks, his voice deeper from the lack of sleep, urging you to convince him to kiss you even more.

“Duh,” you explain. Slowly, he turns back over to look at you, propping himself up on one arm with a look that says “Is that so” as you continue to ramble. It makes you a little flustered when he watches you so intently. He’s always had this silent dominance that makes you obedient, but you could get what you want from him just as easily with the exact opposite strategy. Cutely, you puff your bottom lip out at him. “There has to be some health benefit to it. Kissing makes people all happy. Happy is good, right?”

It takes a second for him to take in what you say, those smokey eyes closing in on you with thought before he climbs over you. He places both hands at your sides and quickly boxes in your upper thighs with his knees.

“You’re thinking of dopamine,” he says.

“Huh?”

“That makes you “all happy”,” he explains and presses a deep kiss to your lips, leaving you thoughtless and breathless all at once. He moves to your jaw, and you begin to squirm from the pressure of his impassioned lips.

“And Serotonin.”

Another kiss, lower.

“Oxytocin.”

He’s at your shoulder when he starts to nip your skin, and one of his hands moves to ski up the back of your thigh.

“Reduced cortisol.”

Flustered, you grip his arms.

“Zayne, stop, it tickles,” you whine, but it’s the last thing you actually want as he readjusts his position and hovers above you.

His usually neat hair is messier and his breathing a little heavier judging by how his chest laboriously rises and falls. Groaning, you bite your bottom lip as he knowingly leans in and whispers,

“You need it to help you sleep, isn’t that what you said?”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

“Why don’t you just say you don’t love me anymore?”

You look up from your phone screen at the sudden accusation. You’re resting on the couch, your back propped up by the armrest and legs splayed out on the other cushion while Rafayel looks down at you with crossed arms and a less-than-pleased scowl on his face. You’re entirely confused as to what you could’ve done to make him think something like that.

“Huh?”

“You’ve been playing video games for what—the last two hours?” he says, uncrossing his arms to grab your phone. It’s too late to warn him as he glances at the screen, clicking a few times. “What are you playing anyway? An…otome? Sheesh, go ahead and say you want me gone. Come on, tell me you actually hate me.”

Holding in your smile, you shake your head and affectionately roll your eyes. It takes an enormous amount of effort to not laugh as he continues to rant. “So, it’s one of those things. I thought I was actually in trouble.”

And by those things, you mean his dramatics.

“Hush, my complaints are perfectly legitimate,” he demands as he pushes your legs aside and sits on the couch. Leaning over, he flashes the screen at you to show the evidence he has that you’re completely unfair, unfaithful, and downright mean. “What’s this game giving you that I’m not? Are my dashing good looks and even better personality not enough? Is that it?”

Gently, you take the phone from his hand and set it down on the end table. “You’re plenty, perfect even.”

He scoffs and refuses to look at you. “Apparently not. Don’t you ever think about anyone else? What if I want to cuddle with you one day but you’re too busy to notice because you’re playing silly games?”

Ah, there it is. His real want. You never know why he can never just come out and say it.

“Rafayel, do you want me to come to bed and cuddle with you?”

“Want is a strong word,” he remarks but you can see his resolve (can you call it that when he planned to give in all along?) crumbling as he slowly turns back to meet your gaze, “but I wouldn’t be opposed to it. Not that you deserve it or care.”

Humming, you sit up, wrap your arms around his shoulders, and pull him down onto you. Lovingly, you snuggle him, stopping to only take in how red his neck and ears start to get when you squeeze him and start to stroke through his hair. You’re not sure if Lumerians can blow happy bubbles like he claims, but he definitely hums and relaxes his entire body weight to lay on top of you like he wants to sink into your skin.

Teasingly, you coo at him. “You’re so needy.”

“I’d rather say you humans aren’t needy enough,” he fires back as he wraps an arm around your waist and kisses the corner of your lips. “Ah, the sweet taste of victory.”

Giving out a gentle and short laugh, you lightly tap his back. “Go to sleep.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

[jinwoosbabyboo]

In My Little Black Dress

The LADS Men have seen you in your long flowing dresses, but there was something about the way you looked in this particular dress that hugged your curves ; showing off those legs that they dream about being in-between. Artist @/osk_purinnumee on twitter

‼️MDNI MDNI MDNI‼️

Zayne ♡

Storyline: He couldn't help himself after seeing you in that dress.

"Can you zip me up?" Such an innocent question.

Zayne sat frozen starring at you; his expression giving away nothing. His intense stare caused you to start second guessing whether or not you should wear this dress. "I can change"

"No!" He cleared his throat after his sudden outburst. "No you look beautiful" He stood from his seat on the bed raking his gaze over your body continuously as he circled around behind you. "Just ... perfect" His breath ghosted over your neck as he planted a soft kiss while his hands slowly zipped your dress up.

He spun you around, taking your hand and stepping back to admire you. "I love this dress on you" His voice as soft as silk. Your stomach immediately erupted with butterflies. "Thank you" you whispered back looking away to avoid his piercing gaze.

Before you knew it Zayne was leaning down placing the softest kiss on your lips. His kiss quickly grew hungry as he moved lower, grazing his teeth along your jaw and planting wet kisses down your neck.

"Zayne..." your voice nothing more than a breathy moan. "Hmm?"

"We ... we have to go the award ceremony starts in thirty minutes" He continued his assault on your neck littering kisses as his hands roamed your body. "I need you now" He couldn't help himself seeing the way that dress perfectly hugged your curves while propping his girls up just right.

He backed you against the wall before dropping to his knees and throwing one of your legs over his shoulder. You shot a hand out pushing his head back. "Zayne we can't we have to go"

His breath was ragged as he rubbed his nose against your already wet panties before looking up at you through his lashes. "Please" He begged; his breath ghosting over your pussy sending shivers up your spine.

You couldn't help but give in giving a subtle nod and soon after he pulled your panties to the side and took his time with a long languid lick before devouring you like a man starved.

Rafayel ♡

Storyline: No self-control when it comes to you. He has to have you now in the middle of his Art Exhibit.

Rafayel swore you were teasing him with the dress you decided to wear tonight for his latest Art Exhibit. He couldn't take his eyes off you; watching your hips sway and the way you pulled the hem down when it rose almost giving him a nice view of your ass.

He refused to let you leave his side. He was either holding your hand or wrapping his arms around you from behind. "You look so beautiful baby" He whispered in your ear as he slid his hands up and down the front of your dress. "We should get out of here, go somewhere less noisy"

"This is for you Rafayel we can't just leave" He pouted at your answer as he dropped his head into the crook of your neck. "I don't like that answer" A quiet gasp left you as you felt him grind his hardening length against your ass.

"Rafayel!" You whisper-shouted whipping around to glare at him. As soon as your eyes met his you were shocked at how red his cheeks and ears were. You rolled your eyes and exhaled hard; looking around to make sure there were no prying eyes you turned back to Rafayel as a smile stretched across your face. "There's a private room-"

"I know ... I'll be quick .... I don't want to be, but I will be" He cut you off and swiftly tugged you out of the packed venue making his way to the back stairs. Rafayel yanked the private door open pulling you in slamming it behind the two of you and claiming your lips in a heated kiss.

His kiss was breathtaking; you gasped as you felt his hands bunch up your dress and quickly slip into your panties. Rafayel was incredibly skilled with his fingers. He dipped two fingers into you making you tremble as he massaged that spot. "Right there" you moaned between kisses; he moved to you neck as you threw your head back against the door in bliss. It didn't take him long to coax an orgasm out of you.

He smiled against your neck as he pulled his fingers out making you whine. He fumbled with his belt and zipper quickly pulling out his dick that stood hard & red. You were always shocked at how big Raf was it almost seemed like it wouldn't fit.

Not giving you time to catch your breath he slides his hand down your thigh lifting it up and hooking your leg over his hip as he sunk into you with an audible whimper. He lifted your other leg as well; you instinctively locked your legs around his waist as he pounded into you at a ferocious pace.

"Raf- ah!" He slaps his hand over your mouth. "Shhh you have to keep quiet beloved"

Xavier ♡

Storyline: Made it all the way to the Annual Hunters Ball (Yes I made it up get off me) never even made it out of the car.

Xavier had top tier self-control unless it came to you. The minute he saw you in that tailored gown with a slit to show a little leg he was a goner.

"One more just one more" Xavier whimpered against your soaked cunt. He was currently buried between your legs in the backseat of his car. Thank goodness his windows were tinted otherwise everyone would see you splayed out for him with tears running down your face.

"Xav I can't" You whimpered trying to push his head which only caused him to hold your thighs tighter and flick his tongue faster on your overstimulated clit. "You can do it cum on my face"

Such a dirty mouth for someone with such an innocent looking face. Those deep blue eyes gazing up at you watching your every reaction to his tongue had him so hard he could cut diamonds. You arched into his mouth feeling another orgasm crest letting out the sluttiest moan that didn't even sound like something that would come from you.

Xavier continued to lick and suck catching every drop as you came down from your high. Flattening his tongue so you could grind out the last bit of your orgasm before slumping against the door.

Xavier sat up freeing his painful hard-on from his freshly pressed slacks that were now ruined with his pre-cum. "You can't go in with stained pants"

"That Hunters Ball is the last thing on my mind right now" He said as he lined himself up running his tip through your slick before sinking into you slowly. He shivered as he sheathed himself in you inch by inch "Fuck you have heaven between your thighs babe"

Sylus ♡

Storyline: He has to keep one hand on you or .... maybe two fingers in you.

Sylus was doing great. He held his composure from the house all the way to the auction. Which wasn't easy watching your hips sway, ass bounce, and tits jiggle as you ran around putting on your last touches of makeup, jewelry, and redoing your hair twice because you didn't like how your edges looked with the first style.

The dress you had on left just barely enough for the imagination while simultaneously being classy. Sylus couldn't help but at least keep one hand on you.

Long tablecloths were draped over every table giving Sylus the perfect idea. You two sat at a table towards the back of the venue and as soon as the lights dimmed to begin the auction you felt Sylus hand slide up your left thigh. "I'm right handed Sylus my knife is on the other side" You whispered to him.

"I wasn't looking for your weapon Princess" He whispered as his hand inched towards the apex of your thighs. You took a sharp inhale as his fingers brushed against the lining of your panties. "You're already wet sweetie ... in a place like this? How scandalous" Your breathing became ragged as he slid your panties to the side and dipped two fingers into you. He stroked your G spot causing you to cover your mouth with your fist to keep from making noise.

"Sy-Sylus" You moaned as you leaned forward pretending to be interested in what the auctioneer was saying. "I'm gonna cum if you don't stop"

He flattened his palm giving your clit more stimulation. "Then go ahead ... cum on my hand" He leaned over making it look as though he was just whispering in your ear when in reality he gave your ear lobe a soft nip before sucking it between his lips. That sent you right over the edge. Soft whimpers fell from your lips as you dripped all over his hand.

Sylus pulled his fingers out giving you a cheeky smirk before stirring his glass of whiskey with his fingers that you just came all over. "Now that's a one of a kind drink"

[imaginedisish]

Dare (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

A/N: Hey guys. Just wanted to say thank you for all the support I got this morning. All of your comments really warmed my heart. Thank you so, so, so much. I ended up getting this done pretty fast. Went with "Dare" by Gorillaz for the title. Made me feel better to write. I like this one. Hope you do, too. Enjoy!

Summary: Logan finds out you've never been eaten out while playing a game of "Truth or Dare," and he's more than willing to change that.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI!!! SMUT!!! Oral (f!receiving), Fingering, softdom!Logan, pussydrunk!Logan (he does not let up, he is starving for you), older!Logan, implied aged gap (reader is in her 20s/old enough to teach at the institute), cocky!Logan, he is an absolute service dom in this, friends to lovers, mentions of mental health/self worth, fluff, some hurt to comfort, some angst, afab/fem!reader, cursing, def some grammatical errors, I think that's it.

Word Count: 4,235 wowza didn't expect that and oh my god this gif

You’re lying on your floor—the door to your room wide open. Everyone is out anyway. It’s Friday night at the mansion—no one will see you like this. Students’ papers are scattered around you. You stare up at the ceiling, feeling choked up. It had been a bad day—a bad week. Maybe even a bad year. You feel like you’re slipping, losing yourself. 

Teaching the older students had become beyond challenging—possibly because you aren’t much older than them in the first place. Most days, it felt like everyone expected greatness from you, given the strength of your powers, which naturally comes with responsibility, and that can be incredibly overwhelming. It had all been—if you were being brutally honest—an absolutely terrible time. 

So, you’re lying on your floor, feeling numb. You stopped grading papers at least an hour ago, and simply decided to stare at the ceiling, your head spinning. You wanted to calm the noise, to take a breather. Luckily, you’re alone—everyone is on a mission or out given that it’s Friday night. 

Or so you thought. 

“What on Earth are you doing?” A familiar voice cuts through the silence like a knife, jarring you, and forcing you to look up. And there he is, in a white t-shirt and denim jeans, arms crossed tightly against his chest, leaning in the doorway. Logan. You want to roll your eyes at how good he looks. You want to slap yourself for thinking it in the first place.

He smirks at you, his brows furrowed playfully. You let your head fall back to the floor. “Grading papers,” you mutter. You can hear his footsteps as he walks into the room, drawing closer to you. 

“Doesn’t look like you’re grading papers to me,” he teases. You can hear the smile in his voice. “Why aren’t you out with Jean or Rogue?” 

He stands next to you, and you look up at him. “Didn’t feel like it,” you mumble, forcing yourself to sit up. You draw your knees into your chest. You decide to turn the question around on him. “Why aren’t you out?”

He sits down next to you, stretching his long legs in front of him, his shoulder bumping against yours as he settles in. He shrugs. “Somebody’s gotta keep an eye on you, right?” He jokes, nudging his elbow into your arm. You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. It’s impossible to fight it when he’s next to you. Your eyes meet his, and his smile quickly turns into something else—concern. “You’ve been off lately.”

You swallow harshly. “Did Jean or Rogue say something?” You ask. They’d notice, maybe they told Logan. “Did they ask you to stay with me or something?”

But Logan shakes his head. “No. I could just tell,” he says, worry clear in his voice. “Thought I’d hang back with you. All my idea.” He tilts his head, his jaw working, his brows furrowing again. “Is something going on?” 

You take a deep breath, turning away from him. You’re suddenly overwhelmed by his presence, by his kindness and his care. He stayed home for you. “I’m okay,” you mutter, avoiding the truth. 

“Hey,” Logan whispers, tentatively reaching his hand to your knee, waiting for you to shove him away. His palm is warm against your skin, calming and stabilizing. You turn back to look at him, his brows raised incredulously. “I know that’s not true,” he says. He has always been able to read you like a book. “What’s going on?”

You swallow harshly. “I’ve just been having a tough time lately,” you say, distracted by the way his thumb brushes across your knee. “I…” You trail off, letting your eyes fall closed. “Things are hard.”

“You can talk about it if you want,” he says, his voice deep and steady. “I’m here.” 

You sniffle, struggling to keep yourself in check. “I just…” you pause, looking off to the side. “Everything sucks.” You take another deep breath. “And the students are so hard.” You point to the piles of papers scattered around your floor. “And then there’s me, and all my shit. My powers. The responsibilities we have. I’m young, and I’m still learning. And fuck, Logan, this all just feels so impossible sometimes. It…it…” You trail off, finally running out of words, out of steam.

“It hurts.” He finishes your sentence, taking the words right out of your mouth. You turn back towards him, your eyes instantly meeting his. “It hurts a lot.”

You nod. “Yeah, exactly.” He squeezes your knee comfortingly. “You get it,” you murmur. 

“It’s gonna be okay,” he soothes, his hand lifting off your knee, his arm wrapping around your shoulder instead. “I’ve got you.” You let yourself lean into his touch, resting your head in the crook of his neck. “Let’s take your mind off things, yeah?”

You nod against him, not wanting to move away, not wanting to separate from him. He feels so nice, so solid. “What did you have in mind?” You ask, hoping it doesn’t involve getting up.

“Wanna play a game?” He offers, turning his head to look down at you. You smile widely, almost mockingly. “What?” He chides. “You think I don’t know how to have fun?”

You laugh softly. “I just don’t see you as a game guy, Lo,” you confess. He chuckles, and you can feel his laughter reverberating through his chest. “Can you even think of one to play?”

Logan’s still laughing, shaking his head. “What about truth or dare?” He ever so slightly pulls you in closer, his lips pressed against the side of your head. 

You giggle, feeling light for the first time in a long time. “Are we in seventh grade?” You ask teasingly. You felt like a teenager, honestly—being next to Logan always made you feel like a love-sick schoolgirl. But you know you and him could never be. You were younger than Logan—everyone was—but you, being in your 20s, assume that Logan doesn’t see you the way you see him. 

He just shakes his head and laughs, pulling you back to reality. “Truth or dare?” He asks, ignoring your middle school comment and officially starting the game. 

You don’t want to get up, don’t want to move an inch, so you answer: “Truth,” hoping it isn’t anything too crazy. 

Logan thinks for a second, his head resting on yours. “Why’d you pick truth instead of dare?” He finally asks. 

You roll your eyes. “Boring!” You tease. “I only picked it because I don’t feel like moving.” And then you realize…perhaps your answer is more revealing than you previously considered. Your heart thunders in your chest. 

Logan hums. “And why don’t you want to move, exactly?” He’s onto you. 

“You asked your question, you got an answer,” you protest, trying to shut him down. “No follow-up questions.” It’s your turn now. “Truth or dare?” You ask. 

“Truth,” he says. “Because maybe I don’t feel like moving either.”

You smile, and you can feel him looking down at you. You’re too nervous to meet his gaze. You think for a moment, racking your brain for a question. “Did you really stay home for me, and was it all your own idea?” You finally ask. You regret the question almost immediately, fearful of the honest answer. 

“Yes,” he responds without a beat. “Jean said you were staying in, and said she didn’t know why, so I stayed too.” He pauses, and you can hear his steady breathing amidst the silence. “I was worried, princess.” The pet name burns a hole through your heart. “Needed to know that you were okay.”

You can feel tears building behind your sinuses. “Thank you, Lo,” you whisper. “That means a lot.”

He presses the ghost of a kiss to the crown of your head—almost not quite there. But you can feel it, hesitant and tentative. “It’s nothing, no need to thank me.” You finally find the courage to look up at him and find him smiling down at you. His lips part. “Truth or dare?” He asks again. 

You can feel some sort of tension brewing, building, thick and heavy. You try to ignore it, try to brush it off. Your heart hammers in your chest. “Truth,” you pick again. “But get a little more creative this time.”

He pauses, the gears in his head turning. And then finally: “Why’s your heart beating so fast? It’s loud, too.” 

Your eyes widen, suddenly remembering Logan’s heightened senses. He can hear everything. “Uh…” You trail off, not sure how to get out of this. “I-It’s not…”

He laughs. “You’re a terrible liar. You know that?” His voice is deep and honeyed, smooth. “You gotta answer the question, or I get to ask another.”

“Those are not the rules!” You protest, lifting your head to look at him. He’s got that shit-eating grin on his face, the one that makes your stomach drop. 

He tugs you into his chest again, his lips at the shell of your ear. “Then answer the question,” he whispers, his breath warm against your skin, sending a chill down your spine. He’s so close. Too close. Your heart is only beating faster, louder now. 

“I don’t know,” you whisper. But of course, you know. It’s all because of him. “Just anxious, I guess.” It’s a half-truth—you’re certainly nervous, but you can’t bring yourself to tell him why. 

“No need to be nervous, sweetheart,” Logan coos, his thumb brushing circles into your shoulder. “It’s just me.”

Yes, exactly, you want to say. It’s you. But you don’t. You try to steady your breathing, try to calm down. “My turn,” you force yourself to say. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” he says darkly. “And make it good.” You can hear the cockiness in his voice—a sudden shift in his tone. 

“We should just call this truth or truth,” you say, mulling over a question in your mind. It’s hard to think with him this close—hard to breathe. You want to rile him up, to find out what makes him tick—to make him itch the way he makes you. And then it hits you: the perfect question. “When was the last time you…” You stop yourself, suddenly too nervous to ask. 

“When was the last time I what, darlin’?” He asks, cocking his head to the side, raising his eyebrows. 

You huff. You’ve fallen into your own trap. There’s no backing out now. “When was the last time…” You pause again, biting your lip. You close your eyes. “…somebody got you off?” 

“Been a while,” he says simply. Your eyes flutter open, and Logan is completely relaxed, his eyes trained on you. He isn’t annoyed. He’s unbothered, unprovoked, as if you had asked him what the weather was going to be like tomorrow. “But it depends on how you mean. So, what do you mean?” He finishes. 

You’re slightly frustrated by how easy it was for him to answer. “I don’t know,” you mutter, shrugging your shoulders. “Whatever the last time was.”

“Few years back, not particularly proud of it,” he huffs. “Girl took care of me in a bar. That was it.” 

You nod. “Must’ve been nice,” you whisper, suddenly feeling a bit disheartened. You catch his drift; you know it didn’t mean anything. You likely didn’t know Logan at that time, having only arrived at the Institute two years ago. You know you shouldn’t feel jealous, shouldn’t care that he was ever with someone else, even for a fleeting moment. You’ve had boyfriends. You’ve been with other people. 

“It was fine. Just a blowjob.” He says it nonchalantly. “Didn’t mean a thing.” You look straight ahead, waiting for him to elaborate. But he doesn’t. “Truth or dare?” He finally asks. 

“Truth.” Your fake, plastered-on smile becomes real when his eyes meet yours. It’s just what happens when you look at him. “And make it interesting.”

The corner of his mouth turns up slyly, and you know he has something up his sleeve. “When was the last time somebody did that to you?” He asks. 

You cock your head to the side. “What do you mean?” But you already know exactly what he’s asking. And you desperately do not want to give him the answer.

“Got you off, like that,” he husks. “With their mouth.”

Fuck. “Uh…” You trail off. You can feel heat spreading across your chest and up your neck, your skin prickling. “Never,” you say honestly. 

“What?” Logan’s voice cuts through the tension like a knife. “Never?”

You’re suddenly embarrassed. Your skin feels tight—so do your shorts and tank top. “Never,” you repeat, looking down at your knees, still pulled in tightly to your chest. Your heart beats rapidly. “Just hasn’t happened yet,” you choke out. “I’ve been with people, but…”

“Hey,” he whispers, suddenly grabbing your chin and angling you up to face him. “It’s okay,” he soothes. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, princess.”

You smile shyly, reveling in his touch. “You didn’t,” you insist honestly. “Just a little embarrassed.”

Logan shakes his head, his eyes softening. “Nothing to be embarrassed about,” he assures. “You deserve to be taken care of.” His hand slides across your jaw and cups the back of your neck. “Deserve to feel good.”

Your eyes flutter closed at his touch. “Lo,” you whisper, struggling to keep your composure. Heat pools between your thighs. “Tr-truth or dare.”

His forehead presses to yours. “I think we’re done with the game, pretty girl,” he rasps, the arm around your shoulder slipping down to your waist. “Unless I get to give you a dare this time.”

“What’s the dare?” You ask, your eyes fluttering back open. His lips are so close. Your noses touch softly.

He works his jaw, licking his lips. “Let me eat you out, pretty girl,” he pants, his chest heaving against yours. “Let me take care of you like you should’ve been already.” He hates the idea that you’ve never been touched properly, the idea that those younger guys didn’t know how to treat you right. But he can fix that. He can make you feel good.

“Fuck,” you curse, his breath fanning across your lips. “A-are you sure?” You ask. “I don’t want you to do it just because you feel bad for me or—” “You think that’s what this is about?” He cuts you off, pulling you closer so that your body faces his, your thighs slotting together like puzzle pieces. “You think I want this just because I feel bad for you?”

“Well…” You search his eyes. “Yes,” you say. 

Logan’s face falls, and he shakes his head. “I want you, pretty girl,” he pants, his knee rubbing against your aching core. “Wanted you this whole time.” His palm presses firmly against your back, his other hand gripping your neck tighter. He wants, no, needs you closer. “You ruined me the second I saw you. Haven’t been with anyone since then.”

“Logan,” you whisper, bringing your hands up to his neck. “I want you too. Always have,” you confess.

He smiles, his lips pressing a chaste kiss to yours. “Then let me do this for you,” he rasps, almost begging, like he needs this more than you do. “Need to make you feel good, beautiful.” “Please,” you breathe. “Want you so bad, Lo.”

He curses under his breath, his lips capturing yours, harder this time. This kiss is starving, all-consuming. His tongue swipes across your lower lip, and you open your mouth, inviting him inside. He lowers you down carefully, sure not to break the kiss, guiding your back to the wood floor below. 

His thighs rest on either side of your hips as he hovers over you, bracing himself with his forearm. His free hand trails up your body, exploring your curves, hiking your shirt above your breasts. He smirks against your lips at the realization that you have no bra on. 

“Look at you,” he mumbles, rolling a nipple under his thumb, palming your breast. “Fucking perfect.” His fingertips drag to the other side, massaging you gently, taking your nipple between his thumb and forefinger and pinching softly. “Can smell you, you know,” he grunts. “Know you’re soaking for me, darlin’.”

His hand slides between the valley of your breasts, trailing down your stomach, until his fingertips bump into the waistband of your panties. He hesitates, looking down at you, waiting for you to change your mind, to tell him to stop. “Please,” you beg. “Need you, Lo.”

Logan smirks, his hand slipping under the hem of your shorts and inside your panties. “Love it when you call me that, sweetheart,” he groans. His fingertips flick your clit gently before finding your folds, feeling your arousal. “Barely even touched you,” he tuts. “And she’s already crying for me.”

He prods your entrance, spreading your slick, teasing you. He bites your lips, sucking so hard he might bruise��might draw blood—and you hope he does. You want proof that he was here, proof that he wants you—needs you this badly. You moan as his fingers find your clit again, drawing a few soft circles before pulling away, his hand slipping out of your shorts. 

You grab his biceps needily, impatiently, your nails digging into his skin. “Don’t stop,” you cry out. “Please, Logan.” 

He swallows your moans with another kiss, his lips trailing down to your jaw, then your neck—that sensitive spot just under your ear. “Don’t worry, pretty girl,” he soothes, biting down on your pulse point, licking the hollow of your throat. “Don’t think I could stop if I tried.” He nips at your collarbone, shoving your tank top further up your chest as his lips drag down the valley of your breasts. 

He kisses his way to your stomach, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your shorts, tugging them down your legs. His palms spread across your inner thighs, yanking them apart. He settles between them, his face just inches from your heat. He presses a chaste kiss to your clit, still all too clothed, hidden behind your panties. 

“Lo,” you whine. He breathes you in, pressing another kiss to your clit. He digs his fingers into the hem of your panties, slowly pulling them down your legs. 

“Wanna take my time with you, sweetheart,” he grunts, finally throwing your panties to the side. He spreads your legs wider, his face settling back between your thighs. You can feel his breath against your cunt, warm and teasing. “Wanna take care of you.” His lips finally find your clit again, and he licks at you. 

His tongue is soft, warm, wet. He laps at you again, harder this time, and you moan his name. “Fuck,” you curse as he licks a long stripe through your folds and back up to your clit, flicking the bud. Your legs twitch, your hips backing away involuntarily at the newfound pleasure. Logan’s hands slide under your ass, yanking you back to his face. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” He mumbles teasingly against you, the vibration of his deep, bassy voice rocking your core. “Not letting you go until I’m done with you, darlin’.”

You curse under your breath as he licks another long, slow stripe through your folds before settling on your clit. His tongue draws gentle circles around the bud, and you can’t hold back the loud moan that falls from your lips. 

“Yeah?” Logan husks between laps. “Feels good, pretty girl?”

“Y-yes,” you stammer, looking down at Logan, his face buried against your cunt. His eyes are trained on yours, watching your every move, taking in the way you’re squirming for him. “D-didn’t know it would feel this good, Lo.”

“Gonna try something, okay?” He says, his eyes searching yours. You nod emphatically, bracing yourself. His lips wrap around your clit, his teeth lightly grazing the bud as he pulls it into his mouth. And then he sucks, hard. Your eyes roll into the back of your head, your back arching off the floor.

He releases the bud, and does it again, sucking harder this time. Tears brim at the corners of your eyes, pleasure coursing through your veins. “Logan!” You cry out, your nails digging into the floor below, searching for purchase. “Fuck!” He laps at you soothingly, drawing tighter, faster circles around your clit. 

“You okay?” He coos between laps, his tongue swirling rapidly. 

You swallow, meeting his gaze again. The sight of him between your legs, working your clit, his hair a disheveled mess—it’s overwhelming. “Yeah,” you heave. “More than okay.”

He smirks against you and wraps his lips around your clit again, sucking on the bud like hard candy. His right hand slides out from under your ass, trailing up your inner thigh. Your heart thunders in your chest as his fingertips find your folds, spreading your slick, your walls clenching down around nothing. 

“Know you need ‘em, pretty girl,” Logan croons, two fingers nudging your entrance. “Beg for it.”

But he’s sucking on your clit again, making it impossible to say a word. You whimper, your legs trembling. “P-please,” you stutter, choking on air. “Need…” You trail off, your eyes fluttering closed. You swallow harshly. “Need your fingers, Lo,” you finally manage. 

“That’s a good girl,” he praises, shoving two fingers deep inside you, down to his knuckles. 

“Fuck, thank you,” you whine, moaning his name as his fingers stretch you out. You suddenly feel so full, so warm, so close. He pulls out, only to plunge back in, deeper this time. He’s lapping at you with reckless abandon—a man starved, like you’re the air he needs to breathe. Your walls flutter around him, the liquid heat in your lower belly threatening to burst. 

“Tastes so good,” Logan mumbles against you, his long, thick fingers thrusting in and out. He hits that sweet spot deep inside you with every pump. “Such a sweet little pussy. Tastes better than I imagined.” You’re crumbling underneath him. His words alone might push you over the edge. “Nothing compares to you, you know that?”

Your walls flutter again, his fingers sinking deeper inside you. “You like that?” Logan husks. “Like knowing how much I want you? How much I need you?”

“Yes,” you groan, his fingers fucking into you, faster now. His teeth graze your clit as he pulls the bud back into his mouth and sucks roughly. “N-need you, too. Always.” 

“I know, pretty girl,” he soothes, scissoring inside you, dragging along your walls. He laps at you, his tongue stroking your clit. “Not going anywhere. I’ve got you.”

You curse under your breath. You can feel yourself melting, your walls contracting and releasing. “Lo,” you call. “I’m so close. Wanna…” You trail off, unable to finish. 

“Can feel you squeezing me, sweetheart,” he breathes. “Don’t hold back. Let it happen,” he coaches, rocking into you. “Wanna taste you, wanna feel you come on my fingers.” He laps at you between sentences. “Come for me. Know you can do it.” And then everything is white-hot and blazing.

It’s earth-shattering—better than anything has ever felt before. The tension snaps, heat boiling under your skin. Everything is blurry, hazy, dizzied as you let go, and let go hard. You cry out Logan’s name, your thighs shaking as waves of pleasure drag you under. Your bones are burning, scorching. Everything is on fire—overwhelming and greedily all-consuming. 

Logan’s pumps slow, and he carefully pulls out of you. He laves at you, his tongue pushing through your folds, milking you dry, savoring every last drop. 

“Logan,” you whisper, your hands reaching down to his head, digging your fingers into his scalp. 

He hums against you, unwavering as his tongue laps at your folds, tasting your release. 

You’re still shaking, still coming down from your high. “Logan,” you call again, and he looks up this time, lifting his face from your cunt. Your release glistens on his chin, and he licks his lips clean of you. His eyes are dark, his palms squeezing your thighs possessively. 

“I’m not done yet, sweetheart,” he says, demand clear in his voice. 

Your heart flutters in your chest as he climbs up your body, hovering over you again. His lips find yours. “You taste that?” He mumbles, kissing you again, harder this time. “You taste how sweet you are?”

“Y-yes,” you answer, his hand sliding down your body, slipping between your legs, finding your overstimulated clit. 

He pinches the bud lightly, your back arching off the ground, your breasts pressing to his all-too-clothed chest. “Need more of you,” he husks, his hand dragging back up your body. He sits up and pulls you into his chest, taking all your weight as he hoists you up and stands. You instinctually wrap your legs around his waist. 

He places you in the center of your bed before striding across the room, closing and locking your bedroom door. “They’ll all be home soon,” Logan says, walking back towards you, spreading your legs and settling between your thighs. “Might have to be quiet for me, darlin’.”

“W-what do you—”

And then his face is buried deep inside your cunt, his tongue lapping desperately at your clit. “I told you,” he rasps. “I’m not finished with you yet.”

tags: @wittyjasontodd @wolverinesslut @galacticglitterglue @silversprings-mp3 @zxaera @spiderset @figsnpassionfruits @alastorssimp @alsoprettyinpink @prettyseaveins @ilysmdovie12 @evasmlp @derbygracie @rammakela @honeyfewr @ricefordays-blog1 @manipulatour

[angorwhosebabyisthis]

i feel like i should add: all of these are good and important points to discuss, but in both this case and in general, i keep seeing people say variations of 'NTA for ending the friendship, but.....'

scorching hot take here, but if you would abandon a rape survivor for engaging in bog-standard therapy that in no way involves you you are a piece of fucking shit and should be censured for it. end of.

like on the one hand it's awful to do to anyone, and i don't want to give ground to the idea that trauma therapy is The Only Valid Reason Someone Would Like Dark Fiction. but that's what it comes down to. if you'd YTA someone into the sun for the bizarre, petty cruelty of doing this to a so-called friend who does breathing exercises to cope with flashbacks to their rape, rip people a new fucking asshole for doing this.

I (26, NB) dropped a long-term friend (23, not disclosing gender, I'll call them X) for being a proshipper, and now they're trying to get in the way of my other friendships.

A little more than a month ago, an old friend from when I was an itty bitty teen on the internet (we met when they were 12 and I was 15 or so) messaged me on twitter asking if we could share discord since they're more active on that platform, and they missed hanging out. Ok, no prob!! I missed talking to X and life was going kinda icky for me at the time. We exchanged discords and started talking more frequently, before we would talk through twitter dms maybe one day every few months, and we went from almost no contact to talking every single day. It was like being a teenager again; we still shared similar interests and we really fast clicked over old and new fandoms we were in. We talked about college and how they're starting to get the hang of their new job but needed support, talked about our family lives, etc., and in general I felt really comfortable and happy to be chatting again with someone I've known for so long. We were inseparable for weeks.

However... of course, as adults, and having known each other for YEARS, we started talking about fandom ships and fics we enjoyed. We didn't have the same taste in pairings, but that was okay. Until it wasn't anymore.

I shared my NSFW twitter with them, and they followed me. A few minutes later X told me, "I see you have "proship DNI in your bio, I just want to let you know that I am a pro-ship and enjoy some things in fandom that you might think is gross. I hope that's okay."

I was kind of weirded out, and told them that as long as they didn't like anything that would be criminal in real life, that's fine. They told me they *did* enjoy things in fiction that they "wouldn't condone in reality" and even though they "don't talk about it publicly" they still wanted me to know. For some reason. ?? Even though they KNOW that I have an irl history of abuse as a kid, they still told me this.

I was so fucking uncomfortable and really, really sad, and honestly I felt betrayed? I stepped away from my account for like, an hour before messaging them back and saying I didn't want to continue talking to them anymore. That I didn't know they were that kind of person and I'm not comfortable being their friend. I didn't read their response to me because I soft-blocked them.

While I was getting over that and trying to move on, a few days later I was talking to another mutual friend of ours when they asked if I was still friends with X. I got chills remembering how I broke off with them, and said no, we weren't talking anymore. That they were the kind of person that made me really uneasy and uncomfortable to be around. The mutual friend, I'll call R, said that X was "feeling kind of down about losing a friend recently" and talked about it in a discord server they share. X didn't mention my name but R wondered if it was me who dropped them since I was really touchy about boundaries online. I freaked out a little thinking about them talking about me, and asked what else they said, and R told me "not much, just that they felt sad but it was your choice in the end because you two were different" and I don't know why but it left a bad taste in my mouth. Were they trying to make people seem like I was the bad guy or something?? Idk.

I told R the reason why I stopped talking to X, and that X is a proshipper who likes things like inc*st and rape, and R wasn't as supportive as I thought he would be, saying that he understood how I felt but if X was being honest and open about their interests, it probably meant they trusted me and didn't want to "lie" to me. I don't understand how that's even relevant if X is a fucking proshipper. I don't want their trust in the first place if that's who they really are, and I felt betrayed that someone I knew for so long was hiding that for me until we were bonding again. R basically dropped it there and said "idk then" and I told him I was going to shut off my notifs for a bit. I really don't want to talk with him again right now especially since he didn't seem THAT bothered by X being a proshipper who's into really criminal shit.

Since then, friends of mine who are also friends with R (because he's a friend of X still, for some reason), haven't been replying to me as much anymore and I'm super sensitive to noticing these things, at first I told myself it was nothing, but there's an obvious decrease in our interactions. I can't help but think that X actually said bad stuff about me, and R didn't want me to know, or maybe X convinced R that I was a terrible person or something. I still haven't read X's reply to me because I genuinely do not want to interact with them ever again, but for the past few days I've been so angry and hurt by my other friend's actions that I can't help but want to blame them, since this all started when I left them.

AITA for dropping a friend because their interests made me SEVERELY uncomfortable? I don't know what to do.

What are these acronyms?

[lovelivision]

BAD ROMANCE.ᐟ

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: gojo satoru/reader

𝐖𝐂: 9.4k

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: your love life is in a tragic state, all your dates go poorly and just when you think you found a nice guy you could like, that ends poorly too. good thing you have your best friend gojo to look out for you !

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 18+ only, smut, f!reader, she/her pronouns used, cheating (not done by reader or gojo), dirty talk, cunnilingus, fingering, spitting, praise, p in v sex, creampie, multiple orgasms, big dick!gojo, tease/mean!gojo (he likes embarrassing reader), jealous!gojo, gojo is down BAD, use of pet names, that's all !! (i think :3)

Checking the time again, you sigh, it’s bordering on an hour since you first sat down to wait for your date. The thought that you had been stood up entered your mind maybe half an hour ago but now it’s practically been cemented.

Maybe you should just cut your losses and leave but this is a nice place, it’d be a shame to waste the reservation. Hope that your date is going to miraculously show up has left you though. Opening your texts, you think of who to message, the idea to message Gojo briefly crossing your mind before you decide he is the worst possible person to tell about this.

Instead, you message Shoko, asking if she’s free and telling her of your failed date. It takes her a few minutes to reply and when she does, instead of a straightforward response, you receive a cryptic and ambiguous saluting emoji. Deciding to take that as confirmation of her presence, you begin waiting… again.

You think you’ve reached your waiting quota of the year, no more waiting on people. Why do people never seem to value your time? While lamenting to yourself silently, you don’t notice the arrival of someone incredibly familiar, someone incredibly exasperating.

“I’m hurt you know.”

The words startle you and as you look up to find the source of them, you’re confronted with Gojo standing beside you. Pouting like he’s feeling extremely slighted by you for some indiscernible reason.

You almost sputter at him, his presence completely unexpected, “What are you doing here?”

He ignores your question, continuing with his faux pain, “My best friend gets stood up and instead of messaging me… she messages Shoko? That stings.”

Sighing off his dramatics, you ask again, “What are you doing here, Gojo?”

“What else would I be here for?” He smiles big at you, moving to sit in the chair opposite you, flopping down and making himself comfortable, “I’m here to be your date!”

Propping your head up on your hand, you grumble at him, “How did you even know I was stood up?”

“I was with Shoko when you messaged her,” he shrugs easily.

You squint at him, “Why are you here and not her?”

“Because it is my duty as your best friend to be there for you.”

So stubborn about the weirdest things, you’ve known each other forever and sure, maybe he is your best friend, but this is something that has bruised your ego a bit. It’s silly, but for some reason… you don’t really want for Gojo to see you like this.

Sulking, you huff, “It’s not a big deal, I just didn’t wanna waste the reservation.”

“Don’t lie, you dressed up all cute and the dude couldn’t even be bothered to show up?” He frowns like he’ll get angry if he thinks about it for too long, “It’s a big deal.”

“You’re more upset about it then I am,” you play at indifference and while you don’t really care about your failed date, you are thinking really hard about how he said you dressed cute.

“That’s just ‘cause you’re always settling for less than what you deserve,” he grows a little more irritated, like his observation annoys him more than it annoys you.

Defending yourself with a grumble, “That’s not true.”

“Whatever you say, sweetheart,” he smiles in a manner that exudes disbelief. Because it does, Gojo has witnessed you settle for less nearly every single day of your lives and every time he has to grit his teeth and cope.

Crossing your arms, you snark at him, “Don’t patronise me, Gojo.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he still has that smile plastered on his face.

You glare at him from across the table but sit in silence, not really having anything else to say to him right now. Annoyed at yourself for losing the back and forth between the two of you for not the first time and definitely not the last.

Gojo, however, is not capable of sitting in silence for too long and so, he whines at you, “Anyways, I thought I was always your first call when things went wrong.”

Looking away from him, you scratch at the back of your neck awkwardly, “You are… for other things.”

Catching onto your meaning, he asks, “So, you never call me when things go wrong on dates?”

“…Correct.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not really something I thought would matter to you this much.” The truth is, you’ve been on much worse dates, dates where they actually show up but prove themselves to be some of the worst people. You always call Shoko though… that or you just brush it off.

Telling Gojo about your dating life feels weird, it’s not like he tells you about his.

His mouth downturns at your remark, “Anything that involves you matters to me.”

“It’s not like you tell me about your dating life,” you counter, starting to feel somewhat badly.

“I would, if I had one,” he leans back into his chair more, “I’m not currently dating though.”

Sheepishly, you say, “Oh…well…I am.”

“I know that now,” his eyes focus on you, “Just how many dates have you gone on recently?”

“Recently?” he nods at you, “Uhm… a few every couple of weeks, not heaps but… frequently enough that getting stood up isn’t the worst thing to happen to me lately.” You laugh slightly at a memory, “You know, on one of them, the guy actually got back with his ex during our date, like he–”

You cut yourself off when you realise Gojo isn’t experiencing the same amount of enjoyment at the recounting of your date a few weeks ago. “Why is this bugging you?”

“It’s not,” his tone is certain but the expression he’s wearing is anything but. Clearly annoyed by something.

Challenging his logic, you ask, “Do you want me to tell you about my dating life?”

He thinks on it for a second, “No.”

Tilting your head at him, “See? That’s what I thought–”

“–But I want you to call me when things go badly,” his gaze even on you, unwavering.

“You’re annoying,” you huff out a breath.

His face brightens up again, “And yet I’m still your best friend.”

You can only roll your eyes at him because he’s right, he’s completely annoying and also completely your best friend.

★

After that failed date that turned into you having dinner with Gojo, you decided you would listen to him and call him whenever a date goes south. He seemed actually bothered by the fact you weren’t relying on him more, so you decided that if something does go wrong, you’d tell him about it.

However, your dating life has been going pretty swimmingly the past couple weeks. You’ve actually found someone you wouldn’t mind being with, having gone on a few dates with him now. You’ve pretty much been exclusively seeing him, he’s taken you out for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Previous dates barely made it through one meal, but this guy managed to appeal to you enough to take you out multiple times.

It’s your fault that you got your hopes up, thinking that maybe he was different but as you sit on the couch in his apartment, his assumed girlfriend yelling at him, you can see he’s just like everyone else in the dating scene these days. It’s that or you just have really bad luck when it comes to your romantic life.

For the third time, you try to leave but he holds you back, “Wait no, please don’t go, this is just a misunderstanding!”

You shrug him off you, his touch making you feel disgusting.

Going to say something in reply, but his girlfriend speaks first, “So now you’re cheating on me and trying to keep her here?”

He sputters, like he forgot she was here for a moment, “No! Babe, I’m not cheating on you!”

Awkwardly, you scratch at the back of your neck, “Listen, I’m going to be so honest, I think you’re a bad person and any interest I had in you is gone. I’d just really like to leave now.”

He’s wearing an annoyed look on his face, “How do you even expect to get home? I drove you here.”

She scoffs at him from by the door, foot tapping impatiently, “Now you’re offering her a ride home? Are you fucking serious right now?”

Walking to the front door, you shuffle around his girlfriend, “I’m just gonna… slide right past you.” Pausing after opening the door and turning back to address her, “Uhm… Just in case he tries lying to you… we went on multiple dates over the past couple weeks.” Standing awkwardly for an extra moment as her face twists in realisation, “Bye!” You rush out the door, speed walking to the elevator.

The screaming and yelling gets louder from their apartment, able to hear them until you finally get in the elevator and start heading down to the ground floor. In the lobby, you pull out your phone and sigh dejectedly, scrolling for Gojo’s contact, you need a ride home.

He picks up pretty quickly, “Hello?”

You get straight to the point, not feeling particularly great right about now, “…I need a ride home.”

“Well, good evening to you too,” he replies, voice full of mirth, “You know. people normally exchange pleasantries over the phone before immediately asking for things, I’ve been told – by you actually – that just asking for things straight up can be read as rude, so–”

“–Satoru.”

The use of his name has him going quiet, stopping his tangent instead to ask, “Where are you?”

You’re tired, your mood travelling through the phone as you answer, “Some apartment, I’ll text you the address…”

“You okay?” He checks.

You can’t help the pause before your reply, “…Yeah.”

His concern for you growing at your seeming uncertainty, “You gonna tell me what happened?”

It’s a little embarrassing, you think, but yeah, you’ll tell him about it, “Later… I just wanna go home now.”

“Alright, I’ll be there soon.” He hangs up before you get to thank him.

You text him the address and then head out the front of the building, waiting for him to get you. While you’re waiting, you find yourself wondering if that girl will stay with him, you hope she doesn’t, she deserves better than him.

When Gojo pulls up, you silently slip into the passenger seat, you’re expecting him to immediately drive away but he turns and looks at you. His eyes examining you carefully, scrutinising you.

Turning your head to the side, “What?”

“Just making sure you’re okay.” His hands reach out and for a second you think he’s going to touch you, but he pulls on the seatbelt and clicks it into place for you.

You mumble out at him, dismissive, “I’m fine.”

He hums at you, in that way that tells you he doesn’t believe you even a little bit but he’s letting it go for now. Instead focusing on getting you home.

Back at your apartment, Gojo follows you all the way inside, you thought maybe he would just drop you home and leave you alone, but he’s followed you into your living room. You don’t know if you have the energy for him right now, feeling so drained. Probably feeling this way because you’re incapable of finding a decent guy to date.

Couch looking so inviting, you flop down onto it face first, mumbling out, “Gojo, will you just be my boyfriend?”

He seems taken aback by your sudden ask, choking on his own spit, coughing out a confused, “What?”

Sighing, you cryptically answer, “I don’t think I’m built for the dating scene.”

When he finishes hacking up a lung, he taps your legs, to which you hold them up so he can sit down. His hand tugging them back down once he’s sat, “What happened, sweetheart?”

Your voice is still muffled by the couch cushions, “Been seeing a guy for a couple weeks now–”

“–The same one?” Gojo cuts you off.

Humming out a, “Yes and–”

Again, he cuts you off, “–That’s pretty serious…”

I know but­–”

“–Why didn’t you tell me about him?” His tone growing slightly alarmed by the apparent seriousness of your dating life.

Becoming somewhat annoyed, you push yourself out of the cushions and sit up to face him, your legs still resting in his lap, “You said you didn’t wanna hear about my dating life.” You point an accusatory finger at him.

“Yeah, but casually dating and actively seeing someone is different–” He’s not really sure if he’s making a fair point or not but sticking to it like he is.

“–Does it matter?” You’re looking at him incredulously, not sure if there is a difference.

He’s steadfast in his opinion, “Of course it matters.”

“I don’t think it should, especially since–”

“–If you’re seeing the same guy multiple times that means you were actually interested in him­–” He’s annoyed at himself for not realising you were seeing the same guy, for not asking questions, not realising how serious you were getting about one guy. So caught up in this one fact that he’s lost sight of his original purpose of being here.

“–Can you stop cutting me off!” You raise your voice at him, getting sick of how much he’s been interrupting you, “I’ve been trying to tell you that he had a girlfriend the whole time,” you purse your lips and look away from him, feeling embarrassed, “That’s why I asked you to come get me.”

“Oh…” He feels bad now.

“…Yeah, she showed up while I was there, and it was really uncomfortable, and I didn’t exactly feel safe.” You sigh, slumping, “And now I just feel really bad about dating.”

Completely serious when he suggests, “Maybe you should stop.”

“Stop dating?”

Consistent in his confirmation, “Yes.”

Meeting his gaze again, “How else am I going to meet someone?”

He rolls his eyes at your question, irritated for reasons unknown to you, “Why do you need to date someone now anyways?”

You don’t really see his point, what does he mean ‘why?’… why else do people date? “Maybe I’m lonely, maybe I seek companionship, maybe I’m like every other normal person?”

“You have me though,” you’d think he was joking if he weren’t so straight faced.

Unsure how to go about answering when it seems pretty straight forward to you, “Gojo… that’s not the same thing, we’re friends, we don’t look at each other that way.”

“Says you.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I’d date you in a heartbeat,” he folds his arms over his chest, “In fact, you’re the only person I want to date.”

You can’t tell if he’s teasing or not, “Get real, that’s not what I meant.”

His head tilts at you, “What did you mean then?”

“I’m talking about romantic and sexual attraction,” you’re avoiding his gaze again.

So casual in how he bluntly asks, “You think I’m not sexually attracted to you?”

His question catches you off guard slightly, “It’s not just about sexual attraction, Gojo,” you shake your head, “if that were the case, I’d just be having one night stands all the time, I want a relationship with someone…”

He nods his head like he suddenly understands, “Ah, so you think I’m not romantically interested in you?”

“You shouldn’t be.”

“Why not?”

Disbelieving when you look at him, “Are you serious right now? We’re friends.”

“Yeah, we are friends, but I also happen to be romantically and sexually attracted to you.”

How do you even respond to a confession like that? He’s not even flustered, completely nonchalant in how he’s just told you that he’s interested in you. “I don’t think–”

“–Are you going to tell me you’re not interested in me? Even a little bit?”

“We’re friends.”

“Is that the only thing stopping you?” He doesn’t wait for your answer, “Because if it is, then it’s a little arbitrary, no?”

The beginning of a frown settles on your features, “What are you trying to get me to say? That I’d date you if we weren’t friends, that I’d fuck you?”

He smiles at you, “Sure, but if you would if we weren’t friends, I’m saying you should even though we are.”

Frown deepening, “You’re being serious?”

“I’m being so serious,” he leans in slightly, hand moving to your face, thumb smoothing over the crease between your brows.

Looking at his lips before catching yourself and turning your head to the side, away from his touch, away from his enticing lips.

He sighs at your reaction, “You know, I’ve been interested in you from the beginning, and maybe I’m an idiot for not saying anything but watching you seriously try dating someone else might just kill me.”

You had no idea he liked you, you’ve liked him at different points in your life too, but he always seemed so out of reach from you, and you never wanted to ruin the friendship, so you forced yourself to move on. It feels a little unfair that you’re finding out now he’s liked you the whole time, “What are you asking of me?”

“I’m asking you to give me a chance,” his hand gently guides your face to look at him again, “I’m asking you to seriously try dating me.”

You’re trying to make a decision, trying to figure out how to answer him, if you should even give him a chance but the way he’s looking at you, how his gaze flicks between your eyes and your lips is distracting you.

Brows pulling up, voice quieter than before, “Gojo, you need to stop looking at me like that if you want an answer.”

“Like what?” He plays dumb.

“Like you really wanna kiss me,” you murmur back.

“Can’t help it…” he leans in a little bit more, “Maybe if you let me kiss you, I’ll stop.”

“Satoru,” you warn.

“Hmm?” His eyes meet yours for a moment, trying to see what you want.

He’s making you dizzy, “I can’t make a choice when you’re this close.”

Humming at you, “Why not?”

“Can’t think,” you blurt it out before really thinking about how it will come across.

He’s smiling smugly, “Then don’t.”

You don’t know who leans in first, all you know is his lips are on yours and they’re soft. Kissing you gently, trying to learn how you like to be kissed. Growing more insistent the longer you let him kiss you, the years of his need bleeding into it.

One of his hands traveling down your body, resting on your hip, the other cradling your face. He’s leaning into you more, pushing your body down into the couch, him following behind it, never parting from your lips very long.

Hand now holding himself above you, kiss growing urgent, tongue licking into your mouth, meeting yours in a way that makes your body tingle. If you thought his proximity was making you dizzy before than his kiss might have you actually passing out. Skin growing hot at how his hand on your face angles you, how he deepens the kiss effortlessly.

If Gojo were more aware of himself, of the precarious position he’s put himself in, he might be a little bit more careful with how feverish his kisses are and how needy he’s getting but when he’s finally getting to kiss you after years of not being able to, he can’t really control himself. The little control he does have, slipping when you moan into his mouth, his own moan shared in the kiss.

It's you who parts the kiss, it had to be because he certainly wasn’t going to be able to do it. If he had his way, he’d have his mouth on you until he died. In the back of his mind, he knew that kissing you would be good, but he didn’t think he’d get so lost in it. Somewhat embarrassed at himself for how aroused he’s gotten over your lips on his.

Your huffed breaths are intermingled with how close you both are to each other, Gojo hovering over you, speaking into your mouth, “Have you made a decision yet?”

You’re having trouble thinking still, especially with how his lips brush ever so slightly against yours, “I…uhmm…”

When he realises how dazed you are, two things happen. One; his ego grows about ten times bigger and two; he pulls back from you, still close enough that if you tugged on him, you could kiss him again but enough to hopefully give you room to think.

“Come on, don’t keep a guy waiting,” he’s taunting you lightly, taking joy in how hazy your eyes are as you look up at him.

“Okay,” you nod.

“Hmm? Okay what?”

Taking another moment to clear your brain fog, you answer again, “Okay, I will seriously try dating you.”

“Can’t date anyone else while you do,” he conditions.

“Okay,” agreeing easily.

He adds, “Have to seriously think about me being your boyfriend.”

Again, agreeing, “Okay.”

“Have to keep kissing me right now,” smile growing on his features.

“Ok–” frowning at him when you realise, “–Hey.”

“You don’t want to?” His hand tilts your head up by your chin, looking down into your eyes, “Because you look like you want to.”

Pouting at him, “Don’t be cruel.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, sweetheart,” his smile evil as he continues to look down at you.

Leveling him with an even stare, you state, “I don’t sleep with guys on the first date.”

“Got a dirty mind, huh? All I asked for was a kiss.”

You glare at him and then try to avoid his gaze, voice smaller than before, “You don’t kiss like that’s all you want.”

His smile is crooked as he asks, “And how do I kiss?”

Feeling your skin flare at his taunting question, at how he leans in again, his mouth right over yours, “Dizzyingly.”

He breathes out an amused laugh before he’s slotting his mouth back over yours, how you described his kiss is accurate. He kisses you in such a way that you can’t think straight even if you really want to, which is why it’s probably a bad idea to keep letting him kiss you if you don’t want to sleep with him before you even get a first date.

Abruptly parting your mouth from his, gasping out, “Wait,” taking a second to catch your breath. Gojo groans softly at the loss of your lips, his forehead resting on yours waiting for you to speak.

“What’s wrong?” He asks when you don’t continue.

“You need to stop kissing me.”

“Oh?” He hums at you in thought, his lips now trailing down the side of your face, only to rest right by your ear, “And why’s that?”

His voice has goose bumps raising on your skin, “If you keep kissing me like that…” your volume gets quieter as you mumble out, “…I’ll wanna have sex with you.”

He has the fucking audacity to laugh at you, “That worked up by a few kisses, huh?” Taunting you like he isn’t the hardest he’s ever been, cock twitching at your confession.

“Shuddup.”

His words are dripping with delight, “At least we know you’re sexually attracted to me.”

He licks lightly at your ear, and you feel like you almost jump out of your skin, gasping at it. Hands reaching out to push back on his chest, “You’re a mean man, Gojo.”

“At this point…” He looks you over, unmoved by your hands, “…I think it would be meaner to deprive yourself.”

“We are not sleeping together for the first time on my couch before we even go on a date,” you’re trying to stay steadfast but he’s making it hard when he keeps looking at you like that.

“So… you’re saying I should take you to the bedroom?” When you look at him in exasperation, he smiles softly, “I’m just kidding, we won’t do anything you don’t want to, but I will point out – for the last time – that you look an awful lot like you want to.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t want to… I just feel like if you’re gonna make me seriously consider you then I should date you properly too,” you avoid his gaze, feeling unusually sincere.

Abruptly, he states, “It wouldn’t be our first date though.”

“What?”

He’s a little distant when he answers, having trouble concentrating on the conversation when you’re pouting your lips at him like you are, “I count a couple weeks ago as our first date.”

“When I was stood up?” You scoff, “That does not count.”

“Why not?”

“Because it wasn’t even planned.”

“No but we ate dinner together and you were dressed awful cute, I count it as a date,” smirk present on his face as he continues to hover over you.

Ignoring his compliment, you continue to try and reason, “We were still just friends then though.”

“So, we aren’t ‘just friends’ now?” He’s being a smart ass, he knows what you mean but he’s not going to let up on this, taking it as a small victory in making you think of him as more than just a friend.

You return earnestly, “I don’t wanna count it.”

“Why not?”

“Because it wasn’t meant to be you on that date…” before he can get hurt over those words, you clarify, “…don’t get me wrong, I had fun and I’m glad you showed up, but it wasn’t planned to be you… when we go on our first date… I want it to be meant for you.” You’re unsure if you verbalised yourself in a way that makes sense, feeling much more nervous all of a sudden.

He’s looking at you so intently and you’re worried you’ve upset him somehow, “I know you said I need to stop kissing you, but that’s what I want more than anything right now.” He leans in closer, pausing just shy of your lips.

His words make your heart stutter, throwing caution to the wind as you close the distance between the two of you again, kissing him fully. Letting his mouth consume your ability to think critically, all too happy to fall into him.

Your control of the situation is slipping more and more away from you and so is the ability to care, not minding at all how you’re becoming more and more okay with how hot your body is starting to feel.

Hands reaching up and fisting the material of his shirt, pulling him down into you, his hips colliding with yours. Almost entirely instinctually – and somewhat purposefully – your legs wrap around his lower half. One of his hands reaches for your thigh, gripping the fattest part of it harshly.

You both moan into the kiss and he parts his mouth from yours, voice straining when he speaks, “Sweetheart, if you really don’t want to do anything more than this then you need to tell me to get off you right now.”

Looking at him through your lashes, you play coy, “But I like having you on top of me.”

A shiver runs down his spine, “You’re evil,” he grunts, fighting the urge to grind down into you.

He’s been pining after you for years and it feels like torture to be this close to you, pelvis pressed up against yours, having you so pliant and needy under him. He can feel his sanity slipping from him the longer you stay like this, and your words make it harder for him to pull away.

“Satoru–” when you say his name his hips jut into yours, making you gasp against him.

He hisses an apology through his teeth, “Sorry – fuck – sorry, what’s up?”

Deciding to be forward, “Take me to my room?”

Trying to hide the excitement from his face, he checks with you, “You’re sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” you give a small nod, feeling shy.

You really do want to though, more than anything. Only initially so hesitant because this doesn’t feel like the right way to do things but then again, your whole relationship with Gojo is a little less than conventional at times.

When he determines that you’re sure of yourself, he’s off you in the blink of an eye. Quick in his movements as he pulls you up along with him. Before you can even really register that you’re off the couch, you’re thrown over his shoulder as he walks hurriedly to your room.

“Someone’s eager,” you laugh at how ridiculous he’s being.

The chuckle he returns is humourless, “You have no fucking idea.”

You’re dropped down onto your bed unceremoniously, bouncing slightly at the force of it. Your arms reach out behind you to support yourself, palms splayed against your bedspread. Gojo is already tugging his shirt off and over his head, thrown and lost to some corner of your room.

“Gojo, breathe.”

“Don’t need to breathe,” he smiles large at you, “Do need your pants off though.”

Listening to him, you shimmy your pants down your legs, mumbling to him about how bossy he is.

“You know… I’m hearing a lot of complaining but I am also seeing a whole lot of direction following,” he teases.

You grumble at him, “If you’re going to be like this the whole time then I’m changing my mind.

“Don’t lie to yourself, sweetheart. You’re not fooling anyone, especially not with how you’re rubbing your thighs together.” His large hands grip your thighs, “Feeling horny?”

You don’t really want to answer him honestly but denying it feels like a trap, like he’d do something to prove you wrong and the last thing you want is for him to torture you. You’re already so pitifully slick from kissing him.

Fighting with your embarrassment, you give him your best pleading face, “Mhm, really horny.”

The smugness drops from his face, hands suddenly tugging you down the bed as he drops to his knees. Mouth leaving kisses from your knees to your inner thighs, your breath catching in your lungs. Not expecting him to be so forward, though you don’t know what you were expecting if not that.

“Gojo, you don’t have to–”

“I want to,” his eyes flick to yours, “Plus, if you wanna take me, you’re gonna need the prep,” smile growing at how your eyes grow wider.

Disbelief clear in your expression, accusing, “You’re full of it.”

He’s not worried about your scepticism, “You’ll find out for yourself in a bit.” He shrugs easily, “Now, can I put my tongue on your pretty pussy, or do you have more to say?”

He asks but his attention is already completely on your covered cunt, a single finger moving under the elastic of the waist band just to snap it back against you. A small noise of shock leaving you, “Ah! Do what you want…”

Oh, he looks so excited by your words, “You mean it?”

You’ll be honest and admit you weren’t really paying attention to what you were saying, brain hazy with how close he is to your core, skin pricking at how you can feel his hot breath against you. Feeling so unusually exposed and sensitive and you can’t tell if you’re that worked up or if he just has that effect on you.

“Mhm,” you’re nodding your head at him, giving him a green light, for what, you’re not entirely sure, all you know is that you want him to do something – anything.

“These are some really cute panties…kinda bothers me,” he’s still playing with the edges of them, annoyed when remembering you were with another guy tonight. Were you going to sleep with him tonight?

Pulling yourself up onto your elbows, you question, “What?”

Eyes flicking towards yours, “I’m a bit of a jealous guy.”

“I know this,” he always has been quick to get worked up over things regarding you, though it makes a little more sense after learning he’s liked you for so long.

He smiles at you, but his eyes are humourless, “Of course you do,” he fists at the material of your panties, “But the idea of another guy getting so close to seeing you in these… has me feeling really annoyed.”

The sound of fabric tearing fills your ears, he’s just ripped your panties off you completely. There is no salvaging them, completely useless as he throws them over his shoulder.

“Hey! those were my good pair!” They were one of the nicer pairs you own.

“Who cares about that?” His tone is dismissive, hands spreading your legs obscenely, eyes greedily looking at your uncovered pussy, “Your cunt is much cuter.”

God, you feel like you might pass out, face suddenly extremely hot, “Don’t be crude.”

“Hmm? …but I think you like it though…” his thumb swipes through your folds and you gasp at him, “Got so much wetter when I said it.”

He’s quick to begin rubbing circles into your clit, thumb giving even pressure. The stimulation has your arms shaking, threatening to give out from under you. Biting your lip to stop yourself from moaning, feeling embarrassed at how intently he’s shamelessly staring at your cunt.

Continuing to speculate, he says, “That or you like being praised…” he smirks evilly, “You like being praised, sweetheart? Being told how good you’re being for me?”

Your heart leaps in your chest, brows upturning, trying to hide your outward reaction to his words, “Hah– No…”

“Such a bad liar,” eyeing your face, “Wearing a really great expression right now though.”

Fighting the urge to grind down, you deny, “Not lying.”

He ignores you, “Could be both though,” he’s continuing to ponder on what you react most to, “Which is it, sweetheart? You like how crude I am, or do you like the praise?”

You don’t plan on answering him, eyes closing harshly against his intense gaze, feeling way too exposed. His touch leaves you and you open your eyes in alarm, trying to see what he’s doing. You see his smile before he’s leaning in and licking up the length of your pussy, eyes locked on yours the whole time.

Surprised moans slip from you, arms almost giving out completely, head rolling back. His arms wrap around your legs to hold you steady, face pushing closer into you, tongue flicking at your clit before pressing into your pussy hole.

He’s relishing in your sounds, in how wet you are, how you taste and smell, almost forgetting why he did this in the first place. Pulling away from you with a lewd smack of his lips, smiling big at the whine you let out from the loss of him.

Huffing slightly as he says, “Asked a question, not licking your pussy again until you answer it.”

“I don’t know,” your head lolls forward, eyes wet.

Head moving to the side to nip lightly at your thigh, “Shall we find out then?”

You jolt at the sensation, face twisting in confusion at him.

“You don’t gotta do anything, sweetie, just stay like this,” his hands push back on your thighs though, opening you up to him even more. “Been doing so good for me, sound so pretty,” he coos at you.

Brows furrowing at his words, heart skipping beats at his sudden praise, feeling fuzzy all over.

He hums in thought, “So fucking wet for me, dripping everywhere, creamy fucking pussy.”

You twitch at the switch, wanting to crawl away from him.

“I think I’ve just realised something,” he glances up at you, “Got such nice reactions to both things I said, do you know how much wetter you got, cunt twitching and drooling for me.”

You try pulling from him, but his hold is firm, “Gojo!” You warn.

He might be enjoying this too much but learning about what gets you going is way too enticing, especially when he doesn’t have to do much to have you looking so pathetic. “Trying to run away from me,” he tsks, “But you’re fucking dripping, so reactive, so sweet.” His eyes are glazing over, working himself up.

“‘Toru!” You call for him again, you feel like you’re on fire, beyond embarrassed.

He groans at the nickname, not hearing it from you in so long, you used to always call him that. He liked it a little too much, cock leaking for you. He feels as wrecked as he looks when he looks up at you, “I think you like both,” is his conclusion.

Reaching up, he grabs at your hand and pulls it down to your cunt, his fingers guiding your own through your slick. You gasp at it, not expecting for yourself to be so soaked. Biting at your lower lip when he moves your fingers over your clit, teasing you.

Dazed when he asks, “Ever been this wet, pretty?”

You shake your head, “No… I didn’t know I…”

Fingers moving yours to your entrance, “Poor thing, didn’t know how slutty her pussy was.” Feeling the way your cunt clenches at his words, his face bright with it, “Fucking great though, in love with it,” and again, your brows raising in realisation, “Yeah… you know now, don’t you?”

“You’re making me feel embarrassed,” you pout, head dizzy.

“No, I’m making you feel so fucking horny, not my fault that you like being embarrassed and praised at the same time,” he pulls your fingers away from your core, moving them to his mouth, sucking them clean.

You remove your fingers from him, coming to rest back in the bed, feeling breathless as you look down at him. “What do you want from me?”

“Want you to admit it, want you tell me how much you like when I talk to you,” his hand tickles up the skin of your inner thigh.

“…Like it,” you mumble out.

Humming in thought, “Hmm, not good enough, don’t think I believe you.”

Repeating, louder, “I like it.”

Tilting his head at you, “You like what?”

“I like when you talk to me,” you say with more force, brows furrowed.

He pretends to be unsure of your answer, “Are you sure?”

“Yes!” You try again, but as his expression remains unchanging, you add, “I like when you talk to me, I like how hot and fuzzy your words make me feel, I like just the sound of your voice, makes me want to squirm. Love it even! Is that what you wanted to hear?” You huff.

“Holy fuck, yes,” if he weren’t already on his knees, he would’ve fallen to them again.

You let out a squeal at the way his mouth is already back on you, tongue pushing into your hole insistently. Fervent in his actions, clearly worked up by your words. If he were on the bed, he’d be shamelessly grinding his hips down into it, cock so fucking hard it’s aching. Pulsing so pitifully for you and if he weren’t so completely distracted by how you taste he’d throw caution to the wind and fuck into you right now.

“Gojo! Oh–” His name comes out all broken, ruined and shaky from how he laps at your cunt, drinking down all your slick.

Your elbows officially give out and you’re flopping back onto the mattress, fingers digging into the bed. Struggling to hold in all the little noises he’s pulling from you, hips trying to desperately rut into his pretty face with no luck, locked in place by his strong hold.

Gasping out at him, “M–more. Gojo – hah – more, please.”

Grunting against you, vibrations running up your spine, wanting desperately to kick your legs against the stimulation but unable to. He’s worked you up so much, so fucking desperate for release that his touch is making you crazy.

A finger presses at your hole, slipping inside easily, both his finger and tongue fucking into you. Another finger added, opening you up, scissoring them, tongue sneaking deeper inside your cunt.

He feels drunk, head heavy and brain foggy, tongue fucking you deeply. Delighting in the sounds of your sloppy pussy trying to suck him in deeper, he’s losing his mind. Tongue leaving you only for him to spit onto your cunt, thumb rubbing it into your clit, third finger added to the first two. Determined to have you ready for his cock.

“Need you to cum,” he sounds wrecked even to himself, “Before I do in my own pants – ffffuck –” Can’t help the way he curses at how you tighten around him at his words, “Must’ve been telling the truth about liking my voice, huh?” He teases, laughing breathlessly at how you react to him again.

Pressing out a simple, “S–so mean,” in response.

“You fucking like it,” eyes watching how your back arches off the mattress, “Love it even,” he reminds.

A series of moans leave you unabashedly at how he crooks his fingers just right, consistently hitting the one spot, thighs twitching at it. Stomach pulling tight and toes curling, head moving from side to side, so fucking close now.

“That’s it, sweetie,” he encourages, “Doing so good, just let go for me.”

You’re cumming suddenly, the abruptness of it shocking, like your body skipped the rest of the build up at Gojo’s words. If it didn’t feel good how he was fucking you through it, how his thumb kept rubbing at your clit, you’d feel beyond embarrassed at how you came just because he asked you to.

It’s not lost on him how quick you were to finish after he spoke, his ego big before and now fucking massive. Absolutely thrilled by how you continue to prove your responsiveness to him, if he were ever worried about you not being attracted to him, he can’t possibly remember why. Not when you’re squirming under him, tears threatening to slip from your waterline.

“Such a good direction follower,” he mocks, repeating his earlier sentiments.

His fingers keep stroking at you until your body goes limp, only jerking every now and again with your come down. Pulling them from you and parting them, looking at the way your cum connects his fingers together with white strings.

“Look at that,” his voice dripping with glee, “I was right… got such a creamy pussy,” he hums, shoving his fingers into his mouth.

He wipes his spit covered fingers on your thighs before standing, tugging off his pants and boxers before crawling up the mattress, leaning over you. Fingers skimming at your sides, pulling your shirt along with it, “Can I take this off, pretty?”

Eyes bleary when they meet his, giving a small nod, “Mhm.”

“You okay to keep going?” He checks, leaning in closer to you.

His concern makes you unreasonably happy, feeling genuinely cared for, “Yeah.”

“You sure–”

Cutting him off, “–Yes.”

Shock present on his face before smiling endearingly at you, completely smitten with you and has been for a long time now. It all feels a little surreal to him, being able to hold you, be intimate with you. Leaning in more, pressing soft kisses all over your face.

Showering you in affection as his hands continue to pull your shirt up. Only parting to pull it from you fully, thrown to some corner of your room, joining the rest of your clothes. Shuffling back so he can look at all of you, hands delicately tracing over you, like he’s memorising how you feel under his palms.

“You’re so soft,” he mumbles, hands smoothing over you. He drops onto you, face pressing between your tits, breathing in your scent.

Confused as your voice calls for him gently, “‘Toru?”

“Fuck,” he nips at your skin first and then moves to get back on his knees, “Alright, spread those pretty legs for me, sweetheart.”

Feeling placid from the intensity of your orgasm, you immediately listen to him and open your legs, moving them to the outside of his. Gojo feels like his heart grows in size at how quick you are to listen to him, so docile you don’t even talk back to him.

Your head cocks to the side at him, confused by his stare, “What?”

“Nothing,” he shakes his head at you, “You’re just really cute.”

He grabs your face, sandwiching your cheeks between his fingers, his lips leaving behind a big and sloppy kiss on yours before focusing back on your cunt. Grasping his cock and groaning at the pressure, squeezing himself to alleviate some of the need crawling desperately up his spine.

You can’t help but stare, he wasn’t full of it, he really is that big. Long and thick and looking so painfully hard, dripping precum so messily down the length of himself, dribbling down onto the bed sheets.

“It’s rude to stare,” he hisses, hand now stroking himself, clearly not even a little bit put off by your shameless staring. If anything, completely aroused by it.

Looking up into his eyes as you apologise, “‘M sorry.”

“Hah,” he huffs in amusement, “So polite all of a sudden, orgasm that good, pretty?”

“Yeah,” you nod, staring at him straight on, aiming to work him up more.

It works, “Fuck– alright,” his hips stutter into his hand and he stops fisting his cock, “‘Bout to give you an even better one,” guiding his dick to your core.

Swiping the head of himself through your folds, letting it collect the slick leaking from you. Teasing you like this for a bit, moving himself up and down before dipping into your hole, only to pull away again.

You whine at him over it, “Please.”

Smile large as he coos, “Don’t worry, pretty. I’ll take care of you.”

Keeping his word, he slowly presses the tip of his dick into you, hissing at the stretch, worried he didn’t give you enough prep. You bite your lip as you begin to take him in, fisting the sheets below, looking up at Gojo. His brows are upturned, and his jaw clenched, focusing so hard on being slow and careful. He pauses when you clench and flinch around him.

“I can take it,” gaze determined as you try to assure him, “You can keep going.”

“Oh, sweetie,” his hand grips at your inner thigh, squishing it under his hold, “I appreciate that,” he smiles, “I do… but you’re gonna want to pace yourself.”

You pout up at him, sulking, wanting to be full and not appreciating his probably – definitely – sound advice.

“Hah, don’t pout,” his thumb moves to your clit, “You’ll take it, know you will,” rubbing circles into it, “Cause I’m gonna make sure of it, but you gotta pace yourself.”

Under his touch, you relax again, and he pushes his hips forward, starting the slow process of opening you up on his cock. His control astounding himself right now, wanting nothing more than to fuck into you completely, feeling your pussy swallow him whole.

He’s not quite half-way yet and already pressing up against the most delicious spots inside you, with that and his consistent pressure on your clit, you’re suddenly so fucking close to cumming like this.

Reaching out to him, your hand lightly slaps at him, trying to warn, “I’m gonna – hah –”

Gojo realises when you clench down on him what you’re trying to say, the small noises you make getting louder, he almost blows his load the second he realises. Ripping himself from you suddenly, you cry out at the loss, cumming around nothing, gasping into your hand.

“Why? Why?” you’re almost incoherent as you ask him.

“I’m so fucking sorry, sweetheart,” he keeps his thumb on your clit, trying to make up for the loss of his cock, “Would’ve cum if I hadn’t pulled out, wanna at least fuck you before I do.”

You glare at him, trying to convey how slighted you feel but he only seems to find it endearing, smiling at you over it. “I’ll make it up to you, don’t worry.”

Wasting no time, he fucks back into you, to where he was before he pulled out. Giving shallow thrusts as he keeps pressing forwards, breath stuttering at the small way he’s getting the friction he’s desperate for.

“Such a greedy cunt,” he murmurs, dick slipping deeper, “So quick to cum for me, sucking me in.”

“Gojo–” you whine at him, his words back to embarrassing you.

His voice cracks at how you refer to him, “–No, no, nono, what happened to ‘Toru?” Fucking deeper, so close to being balls deep.

“‘Toru, you’re–” cutting yourself off with a moan, he thrust the rest of the way in when you called to him, “–so deep.”

“Don’t I fucking know it,” he chuckles breathlessly, moving to press his body up against yours, craving the contact.

He’s pressed up against you completely, warm and strong, your legs loop around his waist and he slips in deeper. He groans at it, holding himself back, wanting you to adjust to all of him first. He nuzzles into your neck, leaving kisses and love bites against the sensitive skin there, relishing in the way your pussy jumps around him over such a small act.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you liked me or something,” he jokes, referencing how sensitive you are to him.

Without thinking, you admit, “I have – mmph – I’ve liked you mm–multiple times ah– at different points in – hah – our lives.”

His head snaps back as he twitches inside you, “Seriously?” When you nod, he grinds down into you, “Fuck– had me so stressed, liked you all this time and you’re telling me I could’ve had this pretty, little pussy so much sooner?”

You’re feeling a bit dazed, two orgasms deep and stretched so obscenely around him, cunt making wet noises just from the small way he’s grinding into you.

“When,” his words are hurried, when you look at him like he’s just said something in a different language, he asks again, “When have you liked me?”

“I don’t remember that, too many – hnn – different times,” you shake your head, you don’t even know if you could recount all the times you had feelings for him resurface even if you weren’t split open on his big dick.

He moans, starting to move his hips in shallow thrusts, “Enough that you – mmph – can’t remember specifics,” he groans, “Feels like a sick joke, been pining after you our – hah – whole lives.”

His mouth is on yours, kissing you deeply, sucking your tongue into his mouth, licking at you. The kiss so dizzying, you’re barely able to catch up to him before he’s talking again, “The most recent time– can you – hah – remember the most recent time you liked me?”

He’s desperate to know, wanting to know how small or big of a window he had missed. Failing to realise it doesn’t really matter all that much right now.

“Not – hah – not that long ago,” you’re almost panting now, wanting for him to move with more urgency but he’s still only thrusting into you shallowly.

“When, sweetie, tell me when, please,” his forehead pressed to yours, eyes imploring.

Struggling slightly as you press out, “B– before I started – hah – going on all those dates,” you’re trying really hard to think, “Beginning of the – hng – year?”

Smiling at you, big, happy, “Not that long ago, just gonna make you like me again.”

He’s a little annoyed that you went on so many dates right after having liked him, not completely lost on him that the two are probably connected and feeling frustrated that he hadn’t just told you about his feelings ages ago.

“Gonna charm the fuck outta you, take you to nice places, shower you in compliments, tell you how cute you are,” he’s rambling now, about your theoretical future dates, “Remind you every day how much I like you, how perfect you are, gonna make you like me again.”

“I’d like it if you moved, ‘Toru, please,” you beg, tears in the corners of your eyes from being teased.

“Since you asked so nicely,” he quips, kissing your cheek before complying.

Finally starting a pace that has you going crazy but in a different way, fast and deep, weighted thrusts that make you struggle to maintain focus. Pulling out almost completely before fucking back into you, hammering his hips into yours, lewd squelching filling the room at it.

Your whimpered moans have Gojo’s skin pricking, so turned on he feels insane, like you might kill him, “Got such a great pussy, fucking soaking wet, taking me so well, could die like this and not complain, fuck–”

Clawing at him now, at his forearms, his biceps, shoulders, back, anywhere you can reach, desperately scrabbling for purchase. “Gojo–”

“–No, I don’t know who that is,” he ignores your cry of his name.

Trying again, “‘Toru, want– I want–”

You’re not even entirely sure what you want or are asking for, but Gojo seems to know immediately. His hips moving faster, pelvis slapping into your clit every time he meets yours, cock hitting against your cervix in a way that hurts so fucking good.

Eyes rolling back in your skull with the pleasure, fat tears running down your face at it. Sex has never felt like this, is it meant to feel like this? Have you been doing it wrong? Or maybe he’s just insanely good at it, or maybe you just like him more than you were aware of.

“Feels– feels good, I–”

“Again? Fucking perfect, so perfect for me,” he sounds so excited, “Want it, want you to cum on me, cum all over my cock, fucking coat me in it.” It’s almost like he’s begging you for it.

Luckily for him, you really do like his voice, love how he talks to you and at his borderline begging, you’re cumming all over him. Cunt clenching down on him, sobbing out pitiful moans of his name as you cum. It’s coating him, just like how he asked for, creamy white ring at the base of his cock.

“Fuuck, that’s it, such a good girl,” your cunt jumps around his cock, and he laughs, “Oh? You liked that, should’ve called you a good girl sooner.”

Too dazed to fight him on his teasing, corners of your vision blurry and ears ringing, twitching pathetically under him. He doesn’t stop his thrusts, fucking into you harsher, more shallow, getting close to finishing himself.

Orgasm on the tip of his tongue, the thing that sends him over the edge is how you look up at him. Eyes fucked out and cheeks tear stained, whining out a small, “‘Toru, want it, please.”

“Whatever you say, sweetheart,” his words are choked out, almost whining himself, balls heavy with how badly he wants to cum.

Thrusts faltering as he fucks into you the last few times, suddenly slamming his pelvis to yours, releasing all his cum inside you, painting your walls a pretty shade of white. Hips grinding into you as he finishes.

Fucked out whimpers of your name leaving him as he presses his head into the side of your neck. Biting down onto you, shocking you slightly, the pain unexpected, he lathes over it with his tongue.

He slumps down onto you, his weight too much, your hands push at him, “Too heavy.”

He hums out at you noncommittally but gets up, carefully slipping himself from you, not shy in how he stares at your pussy. At the way his cum gushes from it, the urge to fuck it all back inside you strong. He withholds though, seeing you’re clearly beyond fucked out. Next time, he promises himself.

Gone from you but not for too long, only leaving long enough to clean himself up and bring stuff back to clean you up. Wiping softly at your legs, cleaning you of his spend, “You look cute dripping with my cum,” he singsongs.

“Lewd,” you accuse, too tired to think of something more to say.

“Yeah…” he gets into bed by you, “But I’m certain you like that.”

You snuggle into his side, letting him cuddle you, “Not sleeping with you again until at least the third date.”

“I bet…” he looks down at you, lips hovering over yours, “…You’ll sleep with me after each of them.”

You go to scoff at him and deny it, but he kisses you, deep and imploring. Effectively shutting you up and as you let him kiss you how he likes, you realise, he might be right.

𝐀/𝐍: this got away from me, like it so often does, it was only meant to be a couple k of only smut but i am not normal so it turned into this! i hope you enjoyed <3 thank you for reading!

[⚠︎] — 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: do not reupload / repost / translate / plagiarise my works © all works are the intellectual property of unheavenlyvision

[just-some-random-blogger]

Tin Soldier

Gwayne returns from Rook's Rest to King's Landing where his wife has been patiently waiting for him, knowing he would need stress relief.

Gwayne Hightower x Reader | 2k+ | cw: fem!reader, wife!reader, pwp idk what to tell you, ok nvm porn with feelings, gwaynes BRATTY, smut (piv, bdsm, pet play??, biting, marking, scratching), fluff can you believe that, typos, etc.

A/N: inspired by this post. i wish @barbieaemond and @targs-on-zorses a very much i hope you suffer

"Oh, praise the gods," I mutter under my breath once I spot the two knights entering through gates of the Keep. I dismiss my handmaiden and head towards them.

Gwayne and Criston spot me, the former's hardened face softens. I offer them a smile and clasp my hands, "very good. The Mother has delivered you whole." I nod in regard, "ser Criston."

The said man nods, "my-"

"You would greet another man before your husband, woman?"

I turn to Gwayne. His jaw clenches. I hold back a grin and pucker my lower lip instead, "I only wished to thank the Hand for returning my love to me with no missing limbs."

He scoffs. His horse trots in place. Gwayne does not enjoy that. He very much did not enjoy that.

"I should thank your husband for doing the same for me, my lady," Criston replies, making me turn back to him.

I smile. Gwayne dismounts. "Then I rejoice in knowing you both will return safely so long as you have each other."

A stable boy comes to get my husband's ride. He spares me no glance when he walks passed me. I turn to my feet with a chuckle, rubbing my belly that bubbled in excitement, "welcome home, ser." We share a nod before I chase after my lord.

He is walking incredibly fast.

I gather my skirts, "my lord!"

Gwayne does not stop. He only continues to storm to our shared chambers. When he reaches the stairs, I break into a sprint, laughing as I did, "lord husband!"

Needless to say, my calls fall deaf on his ears. I have to catch my breath once I enter the room.

"RETURN ME?!"

I close the door behind me, eyes not leaving my armored lover as he paces around the room. My breath hitches at the sight of him. Oh, how I missed the clanking of his steel uniform.

Gwayne turns back to me, pointing a harsh finger to the ground, "WOULD THAT I BE THE ONE RETURNED-

My eyes sparkle at his vexed expression.

"OH! IF YOU ONLY KNEW HOW COLE WAS-"

I reach for his breastplate, "twas a jest."

"Well, you jest wrongly," he glares, swatting my hands away. I press my lips together to suppress my smile. He charges towards the vanity, "you now not how insufferable that Dornishman is."

He begins to undo the cuffs on his forearm. Oh, by the Seven, he was actually upset. He never removed his own armor, not when I was present. I sigh, "Gwayne-"

"Do not-" he pulls roughly on his sleeve "-address me, woman."

I purse my lips and grab his shoulder plate. He shrugs me off dramatically and I reel back in momentary shock, only to huff and grab him by his steely collar.

He glares at me.

I raise my brows, mouth opening to start a new argument. But his face, marked with hurt, though dramatic, makes my heart tinge. I decide not to pursue it.

He recognizes this and lifts his nose. His brows quirk in challenge.

I tilt my head and sigh, "begging your pardon, my lord," I brush my hands down to the sigil on his heart, "tis distasteful to speak on matters I know not of."

Gwayne stares at me for a moment. I peer at him through my lashes, absentmindedly drawing shapes on his chest, "I submit. I wish not to quarrel."

He does not reply, but he visibly relaxes, save for the way his brows knit, "my lips."

My eyes fall to his mouth where a cut laid on the bottom corner, "yes. You've been cut." I pull away to grab some ointment for it, "we shall treat your lip again after your bath."

He watches as I go through the vials on the table. Just as I open the lid of the salve, I feel his rigid body press against my back. I look over my shoulder, gazing up at his face as he embraces me.

"You have not kissed them," he mutters, "you insult me twice, wife."

Oh, what darling. I pretend to think, "I thought I was woman."

"Wrong again," he takes the vial from me, setting it down with little attention. He turns me around and traps me against the vanity, "my woman."

He wastes no more time keeping our lips separate. Gwayne picks me by the waist and sits me on the table as his lips reacquaint themselves with mine. My body melts against him, my legs part to welcome him between and my hands sneak their way into his nape.

He pulls away, "damn this helmet."

I giggle but stop him when he tries to rid himself of it. He raises a brow then sighs, "not again."

"What?" I laugh innocently, "it suits you well."

He shakes his head but makes no further move to rid himself of his steel hat. He does however begin to bunch my skirts up. I mumble, "my tin soldier."

He groans. "Perhaps I'll fuck you in my helmet, vixen," he wraps my legs around him, "see how you like it."

I gleefully retort, "so long as you fuck me, ser-" he begins to kiss my neck, "I will be- OH!"

Gwayne sharply pulls away, face concerned.

I cover my mouth with my hands, "I'd nearly forgotten!"

He can do nothing but watch as I wrangle out of our position and shoo him away. He grumbles as I go through a drawer, "I got you a gift."

"Must you give it to me now?"

I laugh and turn back to him once I have it in my hand, "I find you will regret it if I do not give it to you sooner."

His brow quirks in interest.

I grin and motion with my head, "to the bed with you."

Gwayne is sat on the side of the bed in an instant. He eagerly looks at me. I saunter over with a look of mischief. His eyes widen when I kneel by his feet. At this point, he knew exactly what my surprise was and he simply reaches a hand out to me.

I place a bell in his palm. Gwayne releases a deep breath that breaks into an excited chuckle, "oh, my girl, you might regret this."

I simply look at him with a smile.

He stares at me, knowing then that our game had started. His lips part infinitesimally as he basks in the power he now had. He rings the bell, "you may speak your mind, pet."

"Thank you, ser."

Gwayne rings it again, "get me out of this fucking armor."

"Yes, ser," I say, coming to my feet to undo his top. I feel his eyes on me as I do so.

He releases a breath, hands coming to my side, "I have free rein on your body, do I not?"

"Of course, ser."

"Mmm," he rubs my ass then smacks it, "strip for me," he rings the bell.

I turn to him, "after I-"

"Now," he blurts.

I pull away from him and begin to undo the ties of my dress. It is a slight struggle but not impossible. Once my dress drops to the floor and I'm left in my shift, he rings his bell, "stop."

I still where I stand.

"And your smallclothes," he rings.

I oblige, pulling them and letting them drop to the floor. He reaches a hand out, ringing again, "come to me."

I take his hand and he spreads his legs. I sit on his lap and he rings, "you may proceed, pet."

I continue to undo his armor, "of course, ser."

Ring. "Kiss me as you do so."

I do not speak, only follow the command. I kiss him intermittently as I finally remove a shoulder plate. It is considerably harder to do than undoing my dress because of all the latches. I decide to prioritize undressing him, but it seems that was a mistake.

He snakes his hand up my skirt and squeezes my inner thigh, "my lips are wanting yours, pet."

"I am doing my best, se-"

"Well, try harder."

Gwayne thoroughly enjoys my struggle and unabashedly complains when I am not kissing him. I begin to grow increasingly frustrated when I prioritize kissing him yet finds it in him to complain about how hot his armor is. At some point, I begin throwing the metal I do get off him angrily to the ground.

His chuckle is deep, "careful, pet. That is your lord's armor."

"Fuck your armor," I grunt, chucking his cuffs to the floor.

He laughs and licks his lips.

"I was given permission to speak my mind, was I not? I mutter, sliding off his lap to undo the cuffs on his legs.

"I did not give you leave to leave my lap," he stares at me.

I glare at him and sit back down. He examines me for a moment, rings his bell, and chirps, "get off."

I sigh and stand.

"Uh-ta-ta-ta-ta," he grabs my arm and raises a finger. He looks up at me, shrugging, "what do we say?"

I suck in a breath and force a smile, "of course, ser. Thank you, ser."

"Good," he raises the bell before ringing it, "proceed."

I drop to my knees and continue to rid him of his wretched armor. He brushes my hair back and rubs my lips, "indeed again, you you are not kissing me."

I huff, looking up at him. His eyes sparkle as I say, "a thousand apologies, ser." I attempt to do the impossible, kissing him while undoing the cuffs on his shins. Amazingly, I eventually complete the task and do so with another huff.

Gwayne rings his bell and knocks on his helmet, "you missed one, pet."

I sit on his lap and place my hands on his shoulders. He watches me as I frown. I look at him pleadingly but he allows me no satisfaction. I have no choice but to take his helmet off. He snakes an arm around me, "hard, that one, was it?"

I place his helmet on the night stand and kiss him, "I wish to please my lord."

He smirks, "then shall you be rewarded." He carelessly chucks the bell behind him, causing me gasp, "Gwayne!"

"I enjoyed our little game but find I no longer have the patience for it," he grabs my thighs and turns me on him.

"That's why we keep losing the bell, you keep throwing it!"

"Fuck the bell," he quips, making me straddle him, "I want to fuck my wife."

The next thing I know, my dress is being ripped off and he's hastily undoing his breeches. I cannot help my laugh as I shift atop him to free himself, and once he is, I grind on his hardened cock, making him grit his teeth. I bask in the feel of him after removing his shirt. By the gods, how I've missed the feel of his chest on my palms.

He allows me to dote on his scars and freckles. I could weep at his beauty. He then sinks his head into the crook of my neck and I wrap my arms around him.

"My wife," he licks a stripe to my jaw, "I dream about your skin."

I brush my fingers up his hair and tug gently, "Gwyane."

"I miss your taste," he mutters in between kisses. He tightens his hold on me, "I miss your taste, miss your skin, miss your lips, my love," he rakes his fingers up my back, "did you miss me?"

I moan as I sink myself down on him. He squeezes my shoulders and drops his jaw.

I grab his cheeks and press our foreheads together, "missed you so much— missed your touch, missed having you inside me, missed your smart mouth."

He chuckles and kisses me, "missed yours." Gwayne begins to buck into me, arms tight around my waist.

I grunt and bring his face into my chest, throwing my head back as I ride him. He sucks on my skin, intent to leave evidence of him on me. I tangle my fingers into his hair then pepper kisses on his forehead. He smelled of sweat and dirt and ash; I relish every bit of him.

I whimper when he sinks his teeth into the side of my throat before suckling. I clench around him in response. I pull his hair and speak his name. He replies with a moan, grazing me with his teeth once more.

My riding becomes harder. The sound of our breath and the utterance of each other's names mingle with the creak of the bed and the wet sound of slapping skin. He grabs my hips, flesh spilling between his fingers, and bites his nails into me. He huffs, guiding me into faster and rougher pace.

I lean my forehead on his once more, darting my tongue to his lips. He chases my tongue, catching it between his teeth, then does the same to my lips. I whimper when I taste blood. He licks the iron off and trails kisses to my ear, "come on my cock, baby, want you to come with me."

I whimper out and nod, "Gwayne."

"Come on," he mutters, "come, my love."

Pressure builds inside me, and we soon both grow erratic. There is a thick silence before guttural cries reverberate through the room. My body comes alive. The thick, hot, pleasure is so intense my breath is knocked out of my lungs and I quickly feel myself seize up.

My husband, ever dutiful, sinks his nails into my thighs and fucks out every last bit of the melting sensation from the both of us. A hoarse noise rips from my throat and makes my toes curl into my soles. Gwayne even overcompensates and plows into me until I'm reeling. I knew it was too much for him too, and so I supply him with the shaky whimpers I knew he desperately craves.

I feel lightheaded by the time he stops. He rests his head on me before finally collapsing on his back, taking me down with him. His chest rises and falls rapidly, our skin now sticky with sweat.

His hands rest on my thighs. I bring mine to both his shoulders. I pant against his jaw, "that was intense."

He hums, "well," he huffs, "you missed me too much."

"No," I nuzzle into his neck and draw shapes on his skin, "you missed me too much."

He brushes his nose against my head, "I hate to be the bearer of bad news but I didn't miss you at all."

"Good. I didn't miss you either."

He rubs my skin, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Out of nowhere, he whines in a high pitched voice, "OH Gwayne- OH! You feel so gOOD- AH AH-"

I swat him and with a dropped jaw. I lift my head and glare at him, "I did NOT say that!"

Gwayne's eyes fall on me, lips pursing. He brings one arm behind his head and takes the other to my cheek. My belly flutters at the sight of him. He was beautiful like this, shining after our love making. His rough thumb rubs my face, "pity." He brushes my hair back, "I'm going to have to fix that."

I roll my eyes at him but I am unable to fight back my smile.

He smiles back. His eyes soften and his voice is careful, "... did you miss me, my love?"

"Gods," I nearly roll my eyes at the back of my head, "oh, my sweet boy. My sweet pathetic boy who I so terribly missed."

He grins. The lines by on his cheeks only deepen when he laughs.

My stomach rolls again. I speak in earnest, capturing his cheek, "every day, I thank the Seven that I bask in your beauty."

Gwayne's eyes rove over me. He rubs my arm, "we should have another babe."

I scoff, "Gwayne-"

[osarina]

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

FEATURING: dazai osamu

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I love you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He does.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then you ask: 

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dazai’s chest suddenly feels heavy again.

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

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

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

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

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

“You did,” you confirm.

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

“Truth,” he murmurs.

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

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

He voices his first lie, “No.”

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

He refrains, if only barely.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dazai barely withholds a frustrated sigh. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you enjoying yourself at the Agency?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Good,” you say quietly. “I’m glad.”

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

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

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

He knows his next question.

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

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

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

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

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

He halts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We were never even dating, Daz-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He was,” you confirm.

Dazai’s glass of whiskey is empty. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dazai snorts.

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

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

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

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

No. Dazai refuses to believe it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you happy?” you ask quietly

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He forces it out anyway.

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

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

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

Your lashes flutter before you speak.

You lie for the first time that night.

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No.

“Yes.”

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

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

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

You don’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was a very lonely four years without you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

12:35

He looks back at you, eyes swimming with desperation.

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

He doesn’t waste any time on that.

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

Then, he ruins the moment.

“Tell me how you fucked Chuuya.”

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

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

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

Dazai gags.

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

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

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

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

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

“It was,” you agree, too genuinely.

Dazai squints at you hard. 

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

“You don’t need to sound so wistful.”

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

“How-”

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

Okay. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Unfair, he thinks mournfully. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A trick. 

Dazai knows it. 

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

He knows it.

He falls for it anyway.

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

“Yeah?” he says, voice rough. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The rest of our lives.

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

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

Of course, you know.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(I love you, he means)

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

(I love you too)

[cloudwisp]

𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮 𝐠𝐨𝐣𝐨 · 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬

contents: fluff. established relationship. found family. megumi takes up baking and it takes you back to your teenage years when a certain white-haired someone pined for you. 1.4k wc.

Nine year old Megumi has a crush on someone. You were pleasantly surprised when he asked you to take him to the grocery store to pick up some ingredients, and you inquired if there was a special occasion or a school cooking project as you both walked along the aisle and collected the items on his list that he prepared beforehand.

Your heart melts when you learn that he was planning to gift the pretty girl in his class something homemade, and he decided on butter cookies because she mentioned in passing that it was one of her favorite snacks. You think it’s incredibly sweet that Megumi came up with the idea himself, and even more so that he wanted to set aside a weekend to create something completely from scratch with his own two hands when purchasing a square tin would’ve been much easier.

It certainly reminds you of an insufferable yet equally lovable sorcerer that’s way too tall for his own good with too bright blue eyes that make you forget everything around you if you stare into them a little too long. When you both were just two young teenagers pining after each other and he showed up with a white pastry box hidden behind his back on a summer day, with the strawberries in season and nurtured and harvested to perfection. You smile at the pleasant memory before forcing yourself back to reality.

When you are getting ready to pay for the things you and Megumi placed on the conveyor belt, he stops you and pulls out his Digimon wallet (courtesy of Gojo’s taste in presents) and explains he wants to purchase it with his own savings and be able to say that this gift is entirely by him without receiving any help from others.

You almost had to hold back a tear because when did this boy become so sweet? You suppose he always was this sweet and thoughtful, it just took a bit of time and some trust for him to fully warm up to you and Gojo despite the circumstances with his family and almost being sold off like a pawn to the Zenin clan. And now he has a home where him and his sister could feel like they belong and be surrounded with people that he could depend on because at the end of the day Megumi is just a boy much too young to be growing up too fast.

You announce your return home to Gojo and Tsumiki with the soft thud of the grocery bags being placed on the kitchen counter, and Megumi scurries into his bedroom to fetch the printed recipe he tucked away in a drawer. You carefully take out each item from the bags to place on the surface for him to get started, and white tufts of hair come into your peripherals and Gojo greets you with a cheeky grin.

“Angel, you’re back.” His hand falls on your hip and he softly pecks your lips when you turn your head toward him. He does a quick scan of the contents in front of you, and he decides you must be some kind of mind reader or his telepathic messages have finally reached you after several days now. “Aw baby~ Don’t tell me you’re baking something for me? How did you know I was craving—”

“Not me.” You shake your head and cut him off promptly. “Megumi.” And at the mention of his name, the young raven-haired boy enters the kitchen with a loose paper in his grip. You offer him a polite smile before addressing that everything he needs is on the counter and point to where the baking equipment are, and if he has any questions or concerns then you’ll be in the next room with Gojo as you drag your boyfriend by the arm to give Megumi his privacy.

“You see, Satoru, our Megumi here has a crush on someone. And he’s taken it upon himself to bake her cookies!” You say just above a whisper, a proud smile lining your lips and Gojo arches a curious brow. You catch a peek between the threshold that separates the kitchen and sitting area with Gojo looming behind you and find Megumi checking off the ingredients and looking over the instructions. He’s being thorough, that’s a good start.

“Megumi, eh? You know, I’m a little surprised he’s crushing at all. He’s quite the serious kid.”

You huff at him softly. “Well, serious or not, I think everyone is allowed to have crushes. Besides, doesn’t this remind you of something? Like that time you baked me a strawberry shortcake because strawberries were my favorite?” You look back up at him, and in your gaze there was always a sort of sweet and dreamy expression that never fails to make his heart swell three times too big.

“Ah.” Gojo chuckles, and his mind drifts back to the fond memories of his own youth, when he too used to try his hand at baking sweets in the hopes of impressing you. He remembered how long it took and how many attempts he made since he had no prior experience. There was a lot of flour and eggshells, and maybe he did set the oven on fire… but the moment he saw your face light up with your beautiful smile it was worth all the trouble and the mess. “That was the cake that changed it all for us, huh?” His arms move to your waist and he presses a kiss to your forehead.

You nod and hum affectionately, your hands reaching up to wrap around his neck though with his height he had to bend down slightly. “That’s one way to put it. But as much as I appreciate the sweet gesture, I am so glad you left the baking to me since then.”

“You’re still teasing me about that to this day?” He playfully nips the sensitive spot on your neck causing you to giggle and lightly shove him away. “But hey, I never claimed to be a master chef. A little bird told me that maybe a homemade cake from me would be the thing to win your heart.”

“Well, I hope you know it was more than the cake that won my heart.”

“Yeah, I know it was my good looks and charm, you can’t get enough of me.” Gojo teases, peppering kisses over your shoulders and neck before pulling back just enough so his smirk comes into your view. “Enlighten me then. Since I still don’t have a clue why an Angel like you fell for a great catch such like myself.”

You playfully roll your eyes at his jokes, and you mull it over for a long moment to purposely keep him in anticipation. There are so many reasons that made you love Satoru Gojo back then, and every day you find new things to love about him. But for now the two qualities that come to mind should suffice for an answer. “Maybe it’s because I found you funny. And cute sometimes.”

“Sometimes? Cute most times, I think.” Gojo quips, and he gently pinches your cheeks. “And of course, my sense of humor is legendary. Who else can make you laugh like I do, hmm?”

“Alright, I think that’s enough flattery for you in one day. Any more and I’m afraid your enormous ego might burst.” There’s a teasing lilt in your voice, and suddenly the air around you feels sweeter as Gojo brings you closer to him and kisses your cheeks before resting his forehead against yours.

“But you know I love you, right?” He says in a much softer tone. “I might tease you a lot and act like an idiot sometimes, but I do appreciate you still being here with me through it all. Without you, I don’t want to imagine what my life would be like without you. You make me a better person, you know that?” He tenderly cradles the side of your face and gazes lovingly into your eyes before there’s a flash of his dimples and a boyish giggle. “And the fact you think I’m cute is icing on the cake. Pun intended.”

You groan softly but the laughter that came shortly after is one of genuine affection. “I'm gonna go check on Megumi.” Before you turn on your heel, you plant a big smooch on his cheek then you’re gone the next second. He stands there, grinning from ear to ear as he rubs the spot you kissed like he still was (and he still is) the lovesick boy just a few years back.

꒰ note ᰔ the idea where megumi takes after gojo in some ways really squeezes my heart and that’s what inspired this little piece. ꒱

[thinkinonsense]

MY HAIR𑁍

old man!logan howlett x housewife reader

cw: fluff, minor nsfw content, soft logan

wc: 800+

part one

next part

you aren't an insecure person by any means, but that doesn't mean you don't have insecurities. whenever you even attempted to explain them to logan he always hushed you up with a kiss and whispered how he loves you no matter what. he never understood why someone so angelic would fixate on the smallest of imperfections?

the main insecurity that logan could never wrap his head around was, your hair.

growing up, your hair was always long, thick and curly. people either loved it or hated it but you always hated it. kids at school were so incredibly cruel that every summer you would cut it short. getting rid of all the heat damage caused by the constant abuse of your straightener.

logan and you met during the winter months when you usually let the curls be free, not caring much to do anything with it until the heat came again.

during the beginning of your relationship, he didn't seem to be bothered by the barrier you created around your hair. he questioned all the straightening products and asked why you always had to cut it come summertime.

over time it became logan's main obsession. he knew you were possessive of it, always smacking away his hand anytime he tried to wrap a pretty curl around his finger. he could always smell your shampoo lingering which only added to the obsession. the absolute worst was when you rode him because all he wanted to do was tug at the ends until your mouth hung open.

at every chance he could, he would offer to wash your hair or style it for you. it was painful for him to see how soft and full of volume it looked; bouncing as you walked.

for god's sake, logan learned how to do a fuckin' french braid, that's how badly he wanted to know that part of you.

yet, your walls never crumbled.

one night while the two of you were watching an old western in bed, logan decided that he had had enough of it.

"sweetheart?" logan asked, looking down at you as your head rested on his chest.

"hm?" you peer up at him through your lashes.

"can i ask you something?"

"anything."

logan took a deep breath and then asked, "why won't you let me touch your hair?"

the question sounded silly, and he knew it but at this point, logan was desperate. even now, seeing your hair caged up with a claw clip was torture for him.

"i-i didn't think it was a big deal." you stutter, caught off guard by his forwardness about the topic.

"it's not." he looks longingly into your eyes. want you to appreciate it the way i do."

there's a look in your eyes that is debating whether or not to give logan what he wanted seemly badly. you trusted logan, he would never make fun of you. maybe it was silly to keep that part of yourself hidden from him. the two of you are married after all.

logan watches as you sit on your knees in your silky navy pajamas. he can hear your heart beating rapidly in your chest as you exhale then reach up, touching the clip in your hair. it felt borderline erotic to logan as he watched your hair fall effortlessly over your shoulders.

"i'm going to give you instructions, alright?" you warn him.

logan wanted to roll his eyes as you inform him to not tangle your hair. he knew how to be gentle, but he wasn't going to blow this opportunity.

"want you to touch softly just like how you do my mind." your voice was barely a whisper as you watched his hand lift up to your shoulder.

he nods, stroking the soft follicles from your earlobe to your waist. it was smoother than silk. every curl fit perfectly around his finger.

"it's beautiful, sweetheart." he complements, watching as a blush rises to your cheeks. "can't believe you've been hiding it from me all this time."

you climb onto his lap to kiss him when something snaps deep inside of logan. the shampoo.

"fuckin' lavender..." he groaned against your lips. "could smell it a mile away."

"love you, lo." you pull back to say. "i'm sorry that it took so long to-"

your words fade in your throat as he tugs at the hair resting near your ass while grinding up against you.

"don't apologize, just want you to love yourself the same way i love you." he says in between leaving marks on your jaw, inhaling your scent.

a moan falls from your lips, leaving logan to wonder if it was his words that caused it or the fact that he was now tugging a fist full near your neck. either way, it didn't matter because he would never stop touching your hair. at least not while you sing like a hummingbird for him.

[qroier]

now that the olympics are officially over, i wanted to share some more of my favorite moments from the second week of these games:

Rebeca Andrade finally got her gold in floor!!!!

the kayak cross course in canoe slalom is wild, it starts with a huge drop into the water and ends with a required barrel roll

the entire men's pole vault final was awesome and had everything! Armand Duplantis of sweden broke the olympic record and his own world record while his fellow athletes cheered him on. Emmanouil Karalis won bronze for greece and gave Mondo (duplantis) a bandaid after he hurt his hand. Sam Kendricks, who won silver for the U.S., also cut his hand and wiped it off on his arm. Mondo's mom filmed his record breaking jump on an ipad. after making the jump, Mondo posed like Yusuf Dikeç (turkish shooter guy) and ran off to kiss his girlfriend. incredible. iconic. showstopping.

actually, posing like Yusuf Dikeç became the go-to pose for a bunch of athletes

Mijaín López from cuba won his 5th CONSECUTIVE gold medal in greco roman wrestling. that's 20 straight years of being the reigning olympic champion

Arisa Trew, the 14 year old aussie who won gold in women's park skateboarding, is getting a pet duck from her parents for winning

a whale decided it wanted to try its fin at surfing during the surfing semi-finals

UK's skateboarding team looked like a middle school field trip with the class' favorite math teacher, except that teacher just happened to be 51 year old skating legend Andy Macdonald. just to put it into perspective, Andy Macdonald is on the same legend level as Tony Hawk. they're close friends and used to compete in vert doubles together. Tony Hawk cheered him on from the stands with Snoop Dogg, and he got a huge ovation after his run. also shout out to Sky Brown, who's 16 and got bronze again this year, even with a recent dislocated shoulder injury.

Alice D'amato's reaction to winning gold on balance beam <3 the first gold women's gymnastics medal for italy

Tara Davis-Woodhall and her husband's reaction to her winning gold in long jump for the u.s.

there were so many proposals. sooooo many proposals

Guatemala and Botswana also won their first ever gold medals, with Adriana Ruano Oliva winning women's trap shooting and Letsile Tebogo winning men's 200m

and, of course, Imane Khelif winning gold after all the harassment against her

[burreauxsworld]

Ours To Keep (2) | Joe Burrow

Angst/Fluff

Summary: Joe doesn’t have the best reaction to your news, and it causes some tension between the two of you.

••••••

You stared at Joe in confusion as he laughed.

“Good one, Y/N” he says, still laughing. “But if you’re going to play a prank on me, at least come up with a better joke” he adds as he calms down. “Joe, I’m not joking” you tell him quietly. “The acting was seriously top tier. How have you never shown that to me before? I mean the tears looked so real-“

“Joe I’m not kidding. I’m not trying to play a prank on you” you cut him off. “I’ve been nauseous all week, my boobs are incredibly sore, and I missed my period over a week ago” you explain, and he lets out a sigh. “There’s no possible way you could be pregnant. You’re on birth control. You have that thing in your arm” he reminds you, smiling again. “I think you’re being paranoid” he says causing you to scoff.

“Joe, this is serious-“

“You’re not pregnant. You sound crazy” he says pulling back from you. “Have I been working you too hard? Maybe it’s stress. Take the rest of the day off-“

“That doesn’t explain the positive pregnancy test on my bathroom counter” you argue starting to get aggravated. “I’ve been ignoring it for weeks. Hoping maybe I was a little bit crazy. But we weren’t exactly the most careful-“

“So you’re turning this around on me?” Joe asks, his jaw clenched. “No, I’m not-“

“That’s how it sounds. You were irresponsible and now you’re paying the price for it and taking it out on me” he spits with his eyes full of anger. “Last time I checked it takes two people for something like this to happen. I didn’t have sex with myself” you retort and he scoffs. “How could you let this happen? Do you know how much shit this is going to cause? I don’t need this right now. I have to go back to practice, and to be honest I’m not sure I even want you here right now. You’re dismissed for the day” Joe walked out of the office leaving you stunned.

You knew he might not have the best reaction but you didn’t think it would be like this. Joe has never spoken to you that way, even when he was at his worst. With tears in your eyes, you gathered your bag and slowly began to make your way toward the parking lot.

You had a lot of things running through your head, but one rash thought lingered and it made you sick to your stomach. It was going to be a long night.

•••

Later that night, you’re sitting on your couch with your laptop open in your lap. You decided to throw yourself into work, and Joe had a foundation event coming up that Robin asked you to help organize. Even mad at him you couldn’t let this go undone. His foundation was one of the most important things to him, and you kept telling yourself you were more so doing this for his parents. You’re about halfway through editing the announcement picture that would eventually be posted to the foundations instagram, when you heard a knock at your door.

Furrowing your brows, and setting your laptop on the glass coffee table, you walked over to the door and looked through the peep-hole. Your heart lurched at the sight of him. You open the door, and the two of you stare at each other for about a minute.

“You’re not here to throw me down the stairs, are you?” You ask, half joking.

Joe rolls his eyes, “can I come in?”

You move to the side and let him into your home. He kicks his shoes off, knowing you don’t like shoes on your light colored carpet. “What’s up? Why’d you stop by?” You ask, a sigh escaping your lips. You know exactly why he’s here, but you wanted to see what he had to say for himself. “I went home today after practice and had some time to think. The way I treated you was wrong and just absolutely disgusting” he says, stepping toward you, and you take a step back.

“I deserve that.” He says running his hand through his hair. “I never should have blamed you for this. This is just as much my fault, if not more. You did your part being safe, I’m the one that decided not to use condoms. That’s on me. I want you to know how sorry I am about today,” Joe says. You guys never breaking eye contact.

“You’re probably terrified, and I didn’t make it any easier-“

“That’s for sure.” You mutter. “Joe, I never meant for this to happen. And I’ve done a lot of thinking myself. I’m going to keep this baby. I’m not asking you for any help, I’m not asking you for any money. I’m fully prepared to do this by myself. I’ve started looking for another job-“

“Hang on a second-“

“You can sign your rights away. We don’t even have to tell anyone that the baby is yours. You’ll have no ties to it” you ramble, and he shakes his head. “That’s not what I want.” He states, his voice firm. “This is my kid, Y/N. Not just something I can pretend doesn’t exist. I want to do this with you, if you’ll let me” he pleads, reaching out to grab your hand.

“You really hurt me today, Joe.” You told him. “You made me feel like I ruined your life”

“I know, and I regret everything I said to you. I can’t even put into words how sorry I am. You didn’t ruin my life. Neither one of us could have anticipated this happening” he assures you. “I am so so sorry” he says, pulling you into his arms, wrapping you in a tight hug. “I’m still very upset with you. It’s going to take some time to fully forgive you” you tell him, and he frowns, but he understands.

“I have a doctors appointment in the morning, if you’d like to come” you offer. “It’s just to confirm everything and get a due date and all that fun stuff”

“I’ll drive and buy you breakfast” he says, looking down at you. “Speaking of food, I’m starving” you groan, and he lets out a laugh. “Alright, I guess I’ll feed you” he jokes, making his way to your kitchen. “Ooh, can you make that pasta that I like? I’m pretty sure I have all of the ingredients” you ask with pleading eyes.

“Yes, I can make you the pasta. Pick a movie, and shut that laptop. Work is over for the day” he orders.

“Sir, yes, sir”

•••

The Next Day

“Well congratulations, Y/N. You are indeed pregnant,” the doctor says, entering the room after your test results finally come back. “Both the urine and blood test came back positive. Judging by the numbers on your results it’s looking like you’re around 8 or 9 weeks pregnant, that’s around 2 months and a week.. Which would make your due date sometime in February, but we can’t be sure until we do an ultrasound” the doctor explains.

“The next course of action is going to be removing your nexplanon and doing an ultrasound” she explains.

You look over at Joe, who’s listening intently. He hasn’t said much since the two of you got here, but you’re giving him time. He wants to be involved, but he processes things a different way. You respect that.

“We can schedule the ultrasound for about a week from now. I don’t have any available ultrasound techs today. So I have a list of appointments, and you can choose what works best for you and your schedule. All of them are on Monday. There’s a 9am, 10am, 12pm, 3pm, and 4pm-“

“We can do Monday at 9am” Joe says, and you look over at him. “You have practice on Monday” you remind him. He shrugs. “We only watch film for the first two hours on Monday, you know that. They’ll be fine without me for an hour” he assures you. “We’ll do Monday at 9am” you tell the doctor, knowing Joe wasn’t going to let up.

“Perfect. Stop at the front desk to check out on your way back out. See you Monday. Congratulations, again” she smiles as she leaves the room. You look back over at Joe. “You okay?” You ask, and he nods. “I’m good. Now let’s go get you guys some breakfast,” he says, and a warm feeling spreads through your chest. You slip your hand in his and he leads you out of the room.

•••

“What can I get you guys to drink?”

“I’ll take a coffee with extra cream and sugar” you say, and Joe protests. “You can’t have coffee. Caffeine isn’t good for the baby” he says, and you shoot him a glare that’s strong enough to cut. The waitress looks between the two of you hesitantly. . “I can have a little bit of caffeine,” you argue, and look back at waitress. “Ignore him. I’ll have a coffee” you say with a smile. It’s Joe’s turn to roll his eyes, as he orders a water for himself.

Once the waitress walks away, you kick Joe’s shin under the table. “You’re not going to be one of those overprotective fathers who dictates what I eat, drink, and do. I’m an adult. I can handle myself”

He lets out a sigh, knowing not to argue because your hormones are high right now. “Please do your research before acting like a control freak. I can have up to 200 grams of caffeine a day,” you tell him, and he sighs. “I just want to keep the two of you safe,” he admits, and you start to feel bad for going off on him.

“I appreciate that, Joey, but we’re good. We can handle a little bit of caffeine” you assure him, a slight smile on your face. The waitress returns with your drinks, and the proceeds to ask if you’re ready to order your food. “Can I have two over medium eggs, with hash browns, and toast?” The waitress writes down your order, Joe looks confused, but orders his blueberry pancakes and the waitress goes to put the order in.

“You hate eggs,” Joe comments.

“The baby wants them.”

Joe laughs, tossing his head back. “What the baby wants, the baby gets”

~~~~~~~

Ahhh our guys won yesterday!! I’m so proud of them :)

[dontbelasagnax]

I wanted to participate in Mermay. It’s now October. Alas. Codywan makeout session forever 🙏

[prints available]

My process is under the cut if you would like to see how I made this :3

I'd been feeling a little dried out and beaten artistically in May so I didn't do much art. However, I really wanted to do something for Mermay so one night before bed I quickly scribbled some quick concepts in the notes app of my phone with my finger.

On the 28th I realized the month ran away from me and was quickly escaping so I knew I had to get started on drawing something for Mermay. My bathroom concepts, as cool as they are and despite how much I like them, had to be discarded because drawing a bathroom and rendering everything to the degree I envisioned wasn't feasible. Unless some miracle happened, it's the kind of artwork that, at the absolute minimum, would take 15 hours. More realistically we'd be looking at 25-30 hours. Really not doable on a time crunch. That's not to say I won't ever return to it!!

So to start off on the other idea I had, I looked through Pinterest for around ten minutes for some inspiration (mainly at photos of pretty underwater shots and also some photos of people swimming underwater) and then sketched for maybe 20-30 minutes.

A while ago, while I was mulling over what fish I would base mercodywan off of in a potential au, @happybean17 recommended the epaulette soldierfish for Cody and once I googled it and discovered it is also called the kuntee soldierfish... well, quite honestly, how could I resist? It's the perfect colors and Cody, my beloved, is soooo cunty.

I initially wanted Obi-Wan to be based off a shark of some sort but when I started drawing it just felt right to make him frilly like a betta which I rationalize is because he wears robes with some swoosh. I then googled and quickly found a betta that's very Obi-Wan colored.

Soooo after looking at the photos I put my sketch in my tablet and started doing lineart.

I drew a big fanned out tail for Obi-Wan but after I had spent all that time on it I decided it was far too static and flat. It didn't feel like it was swishing in water.

I made a copy of the tail and minorly edited that to be Obi-Wan's swooshy butt fin. And to make his tail swooshy I used liquify and also redrew a bunch of it.

And then I began the loooong process of painting.

I've hit the image limit so pretend I've added the finished product here.

All in all, this took me over 14 hours and--due to some hiccups in my life--many more months than planned. Going so long without finishing a single artwork was incredibly demoralizing so I'm relieved to finally finish this and have an actual artwork to show for my hard work. Oh, and thank you for reading my rambles and I hope seeing the process was interesting!

[no-144444]

the grid: meet-cutes!

Day 2 of fic-tober! fic-tober masterlist

Featuring: Oscar Piastri, Lando Norris, Max Verstappen, Alex Albon, Lewis Hamilton, George Russell, Charles LeClerc

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

Oscar Piastri: 

Oscar Piastri was an easy child to be around. He was sweet, polite, and didn’t kick up a fuss about anything. 

That was, until you sat beside him in Ms. Smith’s Grade 3 class. You were the quiet, shy, new girl who didn’t really want to make new friends. You were in Australia for one thing, your skating career. Even at age 8 you were incredible, there was even talk of you going all the way to Russia to train with the best of the best, but all that would come later. 

“Hi,” the boy beside you smiled. 

“Hi,” you mumbled back, not exactly looking at him. 

“I’m Oscar,” he held out his hand to be shook (much too formal for an 8 year old boy, but whatever) and you shook it. 

“Y/n,” you answered simply. 

“Where are you from?” he asked. 

You didn’t answer, uninterested in making friends. You had friends, even if you only spoke to them through a phone screen, you still had friends back home. 

“Where are you from?” He asked again. 

“Why do you care?” you asked. 

“I want to be your friend,” he answered simply. 

“Why?” 

He went quiet and a slight blush appeared on his cheek. “I think you’re pretty.”

“Well, that’s-”

“Oscar! Y/n! What are we talking about?” Ms. Smith scolded. 

“Nothing Miss,” you answered. “Sorry for interrupting.”

“Oscar just told Y/n he loves her!” Ryan, the boy sat to the left of Oscar, shouted. The classroom was soon full of ooo’s and aww’s, and you were left shaking your head while he hid his head in his hands. 

You two did become friends though, then best friends, then boyfriend and girlfriend. Then you two got married, and he spoke about that very moment in his vows.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

Lando Norris:

Clubs weren’t your thing but when it was the second last night of the family holiday, you somehow got away for long enough to find yourself in one. Your little brother was driving you insane, and you genuinely couldn’t keep up the fake smiles anymore with your parents constant bickering. This was supposed to be your holiday, where they celebrated your graduation. You’d just finished aerodynamics in Cambridge and you were sick of the numbers, and your family. You just wanted to get away. 

Suddenly, your dancing was cut short when a guy decided to spill his drink all over you and not notice. You huffed as you dragged yourself to the bathroom, only to find the longest line ever. Quickly, you looked around, then dipped into the empty men’s bathroom. 

You lined your top up with the hand dryer, and waited as it slowly dried. 

Empty men’s bathroom, or so you thought. Then, the door to one of the cubicles opened to reveal a very tanned, very pretty, and very confused man about your age. 

“Oh shit did I go into the women’s bathroom?! I-I’m so sorry-” he immediately began apologising but you cut him off with your own embarrassing truth.

“Nope,” you sighed, accepting your fate as the ‘strange girl who went into the men’s instead of the women’s to dry her stupid top after some stupid guy spilled his drink on her’ “This is the men’s, I just… needed to dry my top.” 

“Oh, alright, carry on,” he nodded, relief filling his voice. You chuckled at the absurdity of this moment. 

“You’re not going to ask me to leave?”

“Should I?” he asked. 

“Probably,” you informed him.

“I’d just be worried about you to be honest,” he finished washing his hands. “Guys are creepy. Just be careful.”

You nodded. “You’re an actual gentleman,” you laughed. 

He smiled shyly. “Thank you.”

“Do you wanna dance?” You asked. 

He nodded, biting his lips to stop himself from grinning like a little boy. “Yeah, that’d be nice.”

“Then let’s go,” you smiled, taking his hand and dragging him back out to the dance floor. Wet top long forgotten…

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

Max Verstappen

You weren’t exactly supposed to have run out of your father’s office, nor were you supposed to have ended up at the media shoot for the new Toro Rosso drivers, but you did anyway. 

“Y/n!” Carlos smiled, wrapping a hand around your waist in a hug. “It is so good to see you!”

“Hey Carlos,” you smiled. You’d met Carlos already, at one of those boring galas your dad had sent you to. I mean, you were only 17, what was he expecting? You to enjoy spending time with rich old dudes who couldn’t keep their hands to themselves? I don’t think so. “How are you?”

Behind him stood Max Verstappen, no him, you’d heard about. Though, he didn’t seem as intimidating as you’d imagined him to be. He seemed kind of… normal. Just like any other random teenage boy your age. Kind of awkward, kind of annoying, and pretty good looking. 

“I’m good hermosa, you?” Carlos smiled. You caught Max staring at you, and offered him a soft smile. His eyes darted away from you both. 

“Good thanks.”

You took the initiative and went up to him, holding out your hand. “Hi, I’m Y/n Horner.”

“Max Verstappen,” he shook your hand, avoiding eye contact. 

“Max thinks you’re pretty,” Carlos smirked, drawing a laugh from you, and a harrowing look of betrayal from Max. 

“Carlos! Why don’t you even shut up?!” He whined, making you laugh harder. 

“What? It is the truth, no? You think she is-”

“Carlos!” Max scolded. 

When you’d finally stopped laughing, the pair of them had been called to go back in for photos. Before he walked away you slipped your number into Max’s hand with a smile. “I think you’re pretty too,” you whispered, leaving him flushed and flustered. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

Alex Albon:

You weren’t exactly privy to all the goings on of an F1 garage, but you knew well enough to not touch the cars, or get in anyone’s way. 

Somehow, you failed both of those things within about 5 seconds, all because of one man. James Vowels, that stupid idiot bumped into you as he laughed and sent you flying into one of the engineer’s desks. 

“Sorry!” you immediately rushed out as someone helped you up, telling you that it was alright and there was no harm done. 

“To be fair, that was James’s fault,” Terry, one of the engineers, pointed out. 

“Excuse me?” James’s voice went up four octaves. 

“You knocked right into her mate!” he laughed. 

“It’s impressive that you missed someone that beautiful,” Alex chuckled at his boss, then stopped after he realised what he’d said. “Oh my god I’m so sorry-”

The garage was alive with laughter as Alex stuttered through an apology, and you chuckled along, desperately trying to end the whole ordeal. 

“It’s alright,” you cut him off. “Thank you for the compliment.”

“You’re welcome,” he smiled, blushing madly. “And I’m sorry- again.”

“Ask her out!” One of the engineers shouted. 

“I’m so sorry, I absolutely won’t-”

“Yes,” you agreed in a split-second decision. 

“Yes?” He confirmed with you. “Alright then!”

“How did you manage to accidentally get a date?!” James laughed. 

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George Russell: 

“George, this is your new race engineer, Y/n Y/l/n,” Toto announced. George’s other race engineer had just taken maternity leave after his wife had given birth to a beautiful baby boy just days prior. 

“Hi,” you smiled, holding out your hand. He stood there, just staring. 

“George?” Toto nudged his arm. “George.”

“Yes? Oh-umm, sorry, very rude of me, I’m George,” he was flustered. Lando watched from the other side of the room with a smirk on his face. His friend was in love, how sweet?

“George?” Lando called over. “Did Toto matchmake you?” 

Your professionalism was already thinly wound because of the hoops you had to jump through to get the job in the first place, and now two men who were being fucking annoying and dickheads were testing you. “I’m his new race engineer,” you explained with a pleasant smile. 

“Really? You’re pretty enough to model,” Lando smirked, playing up the sleeze so that George could swing in and be your ‘knight in shining armour’. Well, knight in… black and turquoise armour. 

“Lan, what the hell are you saying?” George gawked. 

“I’d love to ask the same question,” you nodded. 

Lando broke character and laughed in your faces for a solid minute. At least he’d broken the ice. 

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Lewis Hamilton:

You walked into the room with your head held high. Your client was nowhere to be seen, probably busy doing cocaine in the bathroom, but you didn’t care. This was the afterparty. No cameras, no inhibitions, and no babysitting. 

You sat at the bar, ordered a martini, and fell back into one of your favourite past times, people watching. You watched as celebrities you used to idolise,  danced on each other the same way horny teenagers did. You watched as the time ticked by before you could leave. 

“Long night?” he asked, a kind smile on his face. 

“You have no idea,” you chuckled. “Celebrities aren’t easy to deal with- no offence,” you smiled. 

“None taken,” he chuckled. “I find them all pretty difficult to be around too.” 

You rolled your eyes, smiling. “I don’t know if you get to say that when you are a celebrity.” 

“Sure I do,” he shrugged. “At least I can keep my hands to myself, unlike Mr. Styles over there,” he chuckled, ponting out some of the most awkward pairs out on the dance floor. 

You laughed, trying to hide it with a sip of your drink. “We probably shouldn’t say that,” you chuckled. “Even if it is true.”

“Why not?” he smirked. 

“Not all of us are celebrities Mr. Hamilton, some of us may lose our jobs,” you smiled. 

“Who’s your client?” he asked, catching onto the fact that you weren’t a glitz and glamour-y actor or singer. 

“You don’t even want to know,” you sighed, chuckling lightly. “He’s the actual worst.”

“Oh, so it’s one of the old ones?” he guessed. 

“I’m not answering that,” you shook your head. 

He smiled at you. “How about a bet? If I can guess who it is by the end of the night, I get your number.”

You smiled. “Deal.” 

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Charles LeClerc 

Charles may have been one of the most well-rated drivers in Formula 1, but his parallel parking was… abysmal. It was embarrassing, to be honest. 

You walked out to your car after another 12 hour day at your gruelling office job, already on the verge of crying thanks to your asshole boss screaming at you for getting her coffee order wrong, and apparently the dickhead who parked beside you, decided today would be the day to back up into your car. 

“Fuck!” you groaned as you watched him do it. “What the hell are you doing?” You asked, going over to the window. 

“I am so sorry!” he immediately apologised. 

“Holy shit, you’re that Formula 1 driver,” you stated, taken aback. 

“I am so sorry about your car, it was a complete accident,” he explained. “I’ll pay for the damages.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry. Here’s my number, and my insurance’s number,” you started writing down the numbers on a piece of paper, then handed them to him. 

“I’m Charles, by the way,” he introduced himself, a soft smile on his face. 

“Cool,” you nodded. “Give me a call.”

You turned to go back to your car, it wasn’t bad enough to not be able to drive it home, just a few scratches. 

“W-wait!” he called after you. “I didn’t give you my number,” he stated. 

“I know,” you nodded. “I doubted that you gave out your number to random people.” 

“Well… for the insurance, right?” 

“I don’t care mate,” you sighed. “Sorry, it’s just… it’s been a very long day.”

“It’s alright,” he smiled. “Here’s my number, I’ll give you a call, yeah?”

“Yeah, thanks Charles,” you nodded, taking the piece of paper out of his hand. 

“Sorry again,” he smiled. 

“It’s seriously alright,” you nodded. "Just... one question?"

"Sure," he shrugged.

"Shouldn't you be a better driver? Like you're an F1 driver, right?"

He chuckled. "Parallel parking isn't exactly covered in the super liscense."

"It should be."

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Daniel Riccardo

You sighed as you walked through the paddock. Being Adrian Newey's protege was slowly sucking the soul from your body ever since he'd left. You were now the saving grace for everyone, and you had no idea what you were up against next season. Aston Martin would be throwing money at the wall, and you were unsure of whether you could build the fastest car.

"Y/n, for fuck's sake," he demanded. "I needed these numbers done yesterday and you didn't finish them! That's just plain disrespect!"

"Sir, I finished what I could with the data you gave me, I can't make equations with no universe to place them in, it doesn't work like that," you explained, done with this 2 hour long meeting.

There was a knock on the door and you internally blessed whoever it was to end this hellhole of a meeting.

Daniel's head popped through the door. "Christian, what did you want me for?"

"We're in a meeting right now," Christian growled.

"Not anymore," you deadpanned. "I have some maths to do, goodbye Christian."

"We need to talk about this!" he called after you.

"No, you want to complain to someone, and talking to a brick wall would be easier than trying to explain how fucking impossible your 'dream scenario' is. Goodbye Christian."

With that, you left the meeting room, making a reminder in your phone to send Daniel a bouquet as a thank you gift.

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navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

fic-tober masterlist

taglist: @anotherapollokid @theseerbetweenus @simbaaas-stuff @5sospenguinqueen

[evilminji]

*slams the door open, eyes manic* Sovereign State!

A Sovereign State: "International law defines sovereign states as having a permanent population, defined territory, a government not under another, and the capacity to interact with other sovereign states."

The USA already HAS several that exsist within its boarders? And there was that Gay Island of Australia (no really, look it up.) There is a LONG history of humanity going "well fuck you too then, I'm leaving. But also I refuse to leave. I am METAPHORICALLY leaving." *leaves your country and makes their own*

And??

Where's the FUCK were you? Mr. President? During that INVASION by Pariah Dark??

No, really. Social contracts, my dude. That is WHY you have AN ARMY. For INVADING FORCES.

You ALSO have declared us, your citizens, non-sentient and stripped of us our Constitutional Rights WITHOUT hearings, studies, or any due processes. Not to mention just desecrating the dead like it's NOT a well known religious and moral taboo. AND attacking out dead family members! The list goes on!

Why do we pay you taxes, if YOU are the active threat to us AND you offer us no social services?? You've all but cut Amity off anyway!

.......*Takes our ball and goes home* FUCK IT.

They are literally Limnals. It's a TOWN OF METAS. Can you honestly tell me that they WOULDN'T look at the Ecto-Acts and just think: "Yeeeeeah, how about No. Hard Pass."

You can have your INCREDIBLY stupid and offensive law. In OUR country, that's illegal. "We can't do that?" Yes. We can. We informed you in a Formal Document, which you received, you had the opportunity to STOP us, you did or could not, AND we got Regonized by another government.

It's a Ghost Goverment. We, the city state of Amity, were recognized by like... going on 23 at this point. We have a list. All Ghost Goverments, too. Sucks for you that you don't recognize those, they've decided not to recognize YOURS back until you do.

Politics, baby~

Aaaw D:> Does the Upset Baby wanna call, Superman? Boo Hoo. Somebody's forgetting the Justice League serves EARTH, not AMERICA. Suck on a lemon and die mad about it. Better not come back as a Ghost though! Your Goverment will declare you a lab specimen!

Now if you'll excuse us, WE have interplanetary trade routes. Because WE can use alien tech from our Ghost Buddies. And the Fenton Anti-Creep Barrier means you can't do SHIT. So *large crowd of teenagers making rude noises at frustrated government officials*

*Justice Leauge taking picture in the background* You're doing great sweeties! Aquaman is? So proud of the younger generation? They really are the future, you guys. Can he come in?

Oh of COURSE, your Majesty! *somehow ONLY Aquaman is able to get past the barrier, much to the impotent fury of the GIW and various officials*

@hdgnj @stealingyourbones