#fyodor x reader

[moomuzan]

‘til ⠀the───misery do us “apart”

arranged marriage⠀ req. ft. fyodor ⸝⸝ dazai ⸝⸝ chuuya warnings. forced relationship ⸝⸝ angst wc. 1.8k

f.d.

Like a silent threat, its silver strands delicate yet unyielding, glimmering with the kind of beauty that concealed destruction, the necklace gleamed in Fyodor’s hand. You stood before him in his dimly lit study, a statue carved from defiance and fear, yet his gaze made you feel like glass — fragile, transparent, breakable. With an eerie calm, he stepped closer, his shadow reaching you before his body did, the weight of his presence enough to still the air in your lungs.

“For you,” he said, the words brushing against your skin like frost. His voice was soft, almost reverent, but every syllable carried a quiet cruelty. He reached out, his fingers cold as they grazed the curve of your neck, and clasped the chain. The weight of it was slight, but it sank deep, an anchor tethering you to him. It wasn’t jewelry—it was a sentence. A final act of obedience, a symbol of submission, and you couldn’t tear it away even as your entire being screamed to fight.

You didn’t dare speak. Silence had become your armor, though it was one Fyodor pierced with ease. His lips curled into a faint smile then, the kind that spoke not of joy but of quiet triumph. “It suits you,” he murmured while his fingers lingered a moment longer than necessary, tracing the silver as though ensuring the chains were secure. “A symbol of what we are to each other.”

The words twisted in your chest like a dagger. You weren’t anything to each other. You weren’t partners, weren’t lovers, weren’t equals. He had taken that possibility from you the day he sent that letter—the one with pristine handwriting, promising union or annihilation. The marriage was not a choice. It was a strategy, a transaction written in ink and sealed with your silent screams.

At first, you had fought. You were born into power, raised to lead, and rebellion had coursed through your veins as naturally as blood. On the day you were told of your engagement, you had stormed through the halls of your father’s office, your anger loud and blistering. The letter sat on his desk like a gravestone. Fyodor’s terms were clear: marriage would forge an alliance, but refusal would mean war—war your organization could not survive.

Your father, always a man of control, had looked tired in a way you had never seen before. His hands trembled as he passed you the letter, his voice weak when he said, “You don’t understand. If we resist him, it’s the end of us.”

And so, you had been handed over, a lamb to the slaughter. The man you met on your wedding day was everything you feared he would be. Fyodor Dostoevsky, the enigmatic leader of the Rats in the House of the Dead, was a vision of contradictions. His face was elegant, his voice velvet, but his eyes—God, his eyes—were endless voids, bottomless pools that swallowed light and spat out despair. From the moment you met him, you knew he was a man who moved through the world unchallenged, untouchable, as though every soul he encountered was a pawn waiting to be played.

Of course, you had tried to resist. In those early days, you refused to meet his gaze, refused to play the role of his obedient spouse. You pushed back at every turn, but Fyodor was patient. He didn’t demand your submission outright—no, he dismantled you with the precision of a craftsman.

Slowly, precisely, he turned your silence into a weapon against you. He took your rebellion and reshaped it, twisting your anger into futility. He unraveled you piece by piece, his manipulation a quiet, creeping thing that seeped into your mind until you began to question your own thoughts. His control was suffocating yet intangible, a noose you couldn’t see but always felt.

“You think you’re still free, don’t you?” he had said to you once, his voice soft, almost pitying. He had stepped closer then, much as he was doing now, his presence overwhelming as he brushed a stray hair from your face. “You mistake your stubbornness for strength. But all it does is amuse me.”

Now, as he took a step back to admire the necklace, his grin sharpened, his satisfaction cutting through the air like a blade. “You’ve come so far,” he said, tilting his head as if observing a masterpiece he had carefully crafted. His dark eyes glinted, and you shivered beneath the weight of his gaze. “Though I must admit, I do miss the fire in your eyes. It was… entertaining.”

As he stepped forward again, his movements were slow and deliberate, a predator circling its prey. His hand rose, pale fingers brushing your cheek, tilting your face toward him until his presence consumed every inch of your vision. His touch was cold, calculated, and unbearably gentle. It was the kind of gentleness that spoke of power, of control, of a man who knew he didn’t need to raise his voice or his hand to destroy you.

“You’re trembling,” he whispered, his breath ghosting against your skin. His lips curved into a smile so cruel it felt like a knife against your throat. “Do you fear me that much? Or is it something else entirely?”

When your breath hitched, his grin widened, sharp as broken glass. He leaned in, so close you could feel the chill radiating from him, and for a moment, you thought he might kiss you. But no—Fyodor Dostoevsky never granted anything so human.

“You’re mine,” he murmured, the words coiling around you like chains, binding you tighter than the necklace ever could. “Body, mind, soul. And you will learn, дорогая, that there is no escape from me.”

The moment he finally stepped away, the room felt emptier, colder, as if he had taken all the air with him. The necklace burned against your skin, its weight a reminder of what you had become—a piece in his game, a pawn bound to his will. And as the door closed behind him, you realized that the chains weren’t just around your neck—they were inside you, woven into every corner of your soul.

c.n.

Gilding the air with an unnatural warmth that mocked the cold weight in Chuuya’s chest, the chandelier’s fractured glow cast delicate patterns across the room. Here, the hum of murmured negotiations and polite laughter filled the space, a symphony of half-truths and manipulation dressed up as civility. He sat beside you, his polished image immaculate, the perfect embodiment of devotion, his every movement orbiting around your presence as if it was the only truth he’d ever known. And you—you were stunning. Draped in shimmering silk, you moved like light itself, effortlessly drawing attention to your every gesture. The world seemed to revolve around you in that moment, and Chuuya, against his better judgment, let himself fall into its gravity once again.

Soft and melodic, you laughed, as though you truly found joy in his words, yet the sound was merely a blade twisting between his ribs. He felt the faint brush of your fingers against his arm, light as a whisper, and for one foolish second, he almost believed it. Believed you. But then his eyes found yours, and the illusion shattered.

Those eyes—unwavering, sharp, and devoid of the warmth your laugh so convincingly promised—were the heart of your performance. No one else saw it. To the room full of strangers, you were the doting wife, perfectly attuned to the man at your side. But to him, your gaze was ice, a silent reminder that every touch, every smile, every soft word was nothing more than part of the facade. And in that moment, the bitterness surged, hot, cruel, because Chuuya knew he had no one to blame but himself.

He hated how his heart still leapt when you leaned closer, how his breath hitched at the faint scent of your perfume, or the way his chest ached with longing for something he’d known from the start was never his to have. Though, most of all, he hated himself for falling in love with you. This wasn’t supposed to happen. It was never supposed to be more than a duty, an arrangement dictated by the cruel logic of no one else but the Port Mafia. You were his spouse in name, his partner in deception, nothing more. Yet somehow, against his better judgment, against every warning he’d given himself, he’d let his heart betray him.

From the moment you’d stood beside him on your wedding day, your hand cool and distant in his as you exchanged hollow vows, he’d understood the nature of your bond. Yes, it was a means to an end, a calculated move to consolidate power, to present a united front to the world. Yet, clinging to the depths of his heart, there had been a part of him—a small, foolish part—that had hoped. Perhaps it was the way you tilted your head when you were lost in thought, the faint crease in your brow that appeared when you believed no one was looking, or the rare moments when the mask seemed to falter, revealing the faintest glimpse of something raw and unguarded beneath. Those moments had been his undoing, and now, sitting beside you in this gilded prison of duty and pretense, he couldn’t decide wether he despised you for giving him those glimpses or himself for clinging to them.

Ghostly so, the meeting dragged on, your laughter weaving seamlessly with his as you leaned closer, your lips brushing his ear as you whispered something for him alone. Chuuya didn’t hear the words, though, couldn’t focus on anything but the pounding in his chest and the bitter truth echoing in his mind: it was all a lie. Intertwined in a game he surely didn’t know how to win, he played the fool, and every moment he spent beside you only deepened the ache.

When the meeting finally ended, you stood gracefully, slipping your arm into his without hesitation as he guided you toward the exit. To anyone watching, you were perfect together, the embodiment of a partnership built on unshakable trust and devotion. However, the truth was a cold, unyielding weight between you, a chasm he could never hope to bridge. Spiralling like a lie—a cruel mockery of the intimacy he longed for but could never claim, his hand rested lightly at the small of your back, a gesture of possession and protection.

Only then, he finally spoke, low and sharp. “You’re good at this, aren’t you? Playing the perfect partner.”

“And you’re good at pretending this means anything.”

Chuuya stopped in his tracks, his jaw tightening, as you continued walking ahead, then. Letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, he stared at your retreating figure. wondering how he had allowed himself to become this. How had he, Chuuya Nakahara, a man who had carved his way through blood and chaos, been brought to his knees by something as simple, as cruel, as love?

He pitied himself for it, for the way his heart still reached for you despite knowing it was futile, for the way he let himself dream of a future where you might look at him with something other than indifference. It was a tragedy of his own making, and he bore it silently, playing the role of the devoted husband to a wife who would never be his, locked in a story that was never meant to have a happy ending.

d.o.

The night you discovered the truth about Dazai Osamu, the fragile scaffolding of your carefully constructed reality collapsed in on itself, leaving nothing but a cold, hollow emptiness in its wake. The marriage, the smiles, the fleeting moments of tenderness—they were all a facade, a cruel play in which you had been cast as an unwitting participant. At first, you convinced yourself he was just another victim of circumstance, bound to this arrangement as unwillingly as you were. He played the part of the devoted husband effortlessly, his easy smiles and warm laughter drawing you into the illusion he so carefully curated. You almost believed it. Almost. But now you realized how deeply you had underestimated the man who had promised you nothing and yet had taken everything.

That evening had been unremarkable at first. Draped in an almost serene stillness, broken only by the soft ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall, the house was quiet. You had wandered to his study, intending to retrieve a book he’d borrowed—a trivial task, an innocent excuse to enter the space he kept so meticulously private. You hadn’t expected anything more than shelves of leather-bound books and perhaps a glass of unfinished whiskey on his desk. But what you found instead was a different kind of story, one written in blood and shadows, laid bare beneath the sterile glow of a desk lamp.

First, your eyes wandered to the photographs spread across the polished wood, stark black-and-white images of faces you vaguely recognized—politicians, businessmen, people whose names carried weight in hushed conversations. Then to the documents, dense with codes and schematics, annotated in Dazai’s elegant handwriting. And finally, to the symbol stamped in the corner of the pages, dark and unmistakable. The Port Mafia—a dark, ominous emblem you recognized from whispered rumors and hushed conversations.

Shallow and panicked, your breath caught, while your mind scrambled to process the enormity of what lay before you. This wasn’t just a secret; it was an entire life, an identity, concealed beneath the surface of the man you had called your husband. The realization was like a blade slicing your very own flesh, slow and excruciating, as the memories of his quiet smiles, his light teasing, his unshakable composure rearranged themselves into something darker, something insidious. Every moment with him suddenly felt tainted, every glance laced with a hidden agenda. Still, worst of all was the crushing weight of your own blindness—how you had let yourself be lulled into a sense of safety, of trust, when all along, he had been playing you like one of his carefully chosen pawns.

It was the soft creak of the floorboards that snapped you out of your daze, and as you turned sharply, the room spun with the force of your movement. Dazai stood in the doorway, his figure framed by the dim light from the hallway behind him. His expression was unreadable, those dark eyes fixed on you with a calm that made your heart race in fear. He stepped inside, then, the door clicking shut behind him, sending the sound to echo in the heavy silence between you.

“You weren’t supposed to see that,” he said softly, his voice devoid of its usual lightness. There was no humor in his tone, no playful edge. Just quiet inevitability, as if this moment had been preordained and all you had done was stumble into it.

Although your lips parted, no words came out. The knot in your throat was too tight, the emotions too tangled—shock, betrayal, anger, fear, all warring for dominance. Finally, you managed to force out a single, trembling accusation. “You lied to me.”

Tilting his head ever so slightly, his lips curved into a faint, almost wistful smile. “Did I?” he murmured, his voice as smooth as silk. “Or did you simply believe what you wanted to believe?”

The question struck you like a physical blow, your chest tightening with a fury that burned hotter with every passing second. “How long?” you demanded, your voice breaking under the weight of the question. “How long have you been using me? Was it all a lie from the beginning? Every word, every touch—was any of it real?”

For a moment that, ultimately, felt like a lifetime, Dazai said nothing, his gaze steady, unyielding. Then he stepped closer, his movements deliberate, almost predatory, until the space between you was suffocatingly small. “What does it matter?” he asked, his voice low, each word dripping with a cruel, almost philosophical detachment. “Reality is nothing more than perception. You wanted to believe in the husband who smiled at you, who made you laugh, who held your hand. That was real to you, wasn’t it?”

Your breath hitched as his words twisted in your mind, tearing through the last fragile threads of your composure. “You bastard,” you whispered, the tears burning hot against your cheeks. “You ruined everything. You—”

Silently, his hand reached out, and for a moment, you thought he might touch you, might offer some kind of explanation or apology. But instead, he brushed past you, gathering the documents from his desk with the ease of a man who had nothing to hide. “I never promised you a happy ending,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “And you never asked for one.”

With a growing sense of despair, the full weight of what he was sinking in, you watched him. This was who he truly was—a man who danced on the edge of chaos, who played with lives as if they were pieces on a chessboard. And you, unwillingly, had been drawn into his game. The room felt colder now, the walls closing in, and as you stood there, staring at the man who had become your greatest fear, you realized you no longer knew where you ended and his web of lies began.

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A/N: this req. has been sitting in my drafts for SO long and due to me being stupidly self-conscious i didn’t want to finish / post this fic but well, here i am. writing for fyodor enhanced my spirits. will definitely do that again ! oooo ! back on my angsty bullshit

ahi don’t even know if this is what yall want to read huh

[literatureloverx]

imagine you’re out on a rare outside date with fyodor at a museum of vintage/renaissance architecture/art, and a man comes up to you and starts flirting with you IN FRONT OF THEE FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY, and then he tightly grabs his wrist and says, “you can’t have her. she belongs to me, and me only.” with genuine, deep possessiveness literally carved into his eyes. and then the man is either:

pissing himself out of fear, or two;

running for the hills. but, either way, that man will be dead by midnight, and his merciless death will be by fyodor’s hands, and fyodor’s hands alone— because not a single man will ever lay even the smallest, harmless finger upon his sweet, delicate housewife.

You know what I find both very funny and intriguing about the scenario you’ve described? That it could very well be a canon scenario.

Fyodor is anemic and weak, so the idea of someone bulky and taller than him (for example) ignoring him and flirting with his darling could definitely fit. I’d love to introduce a third option:

He doesn’t take Fyodor seriously and loses an arm, followed by his life shortly after.♥️

Thank you so much for sharing this! I absolutely love these types of scenarios with me and Fyodor—they always make me genuinely happy. Feel free to share more like this anytime; they’re always welcome! ♥️

[heliosunny]

Fyodor with a reader that he grows to be a fond of and that turns a little bit into an obsession 👀👀

HOW ABOUT... A LIFETIME SIDEKICK

You had been by Fyodor's side from the very beginning. In his opinion, you were borderline suicidal. There wasn’t a mission he assigned that you didn’t face head-on, no matter how dangerous or reckless it was. Loyal, graceful, and unwavering, you embodied everything he could ask for in a partner.

“Sacrifice yourself for me.” Fyodor’s voice was calm, devoid of emotion.

Without a second thought, you leapt from the 20th floor of the building, clutching the critical document he needed. The wind whipped past you as you plummeted, your only concern ensuring the document remained safe.

It wasn’t for him, not really. You didn’t care about Fyodor as a person. The only reason you stayed by his side was your unwavering desire to see his goals achieved. He had saved your life once, pulling you back from the brink when no one else had cared enough to try. That act had shackled you to him, binding your existence to his whims.

You owed him your life. And for that reason, you would endure anything, no matter how harrowing.

Despite the countless brushes with death, it was nothing short of a miracle that you always survived. Maybe it was luck. Or maybe, deep down, Fyodor’s plans never truly involved losing you.

As your body hurtled toward the ground, you felt the inevitability of death closing in. Yet, at the last moment, a strange sensation enveloped you—a sudden suspension, as if time itself had bent to spare you.

When you opened your eyes, you found yourself lying on the ground, unharmed. A soft, golden glow surrounded you, quickly fading. Standing nearby was Nikolai Gogol, one of Fyodor's closest allies. He twirled his cane, his usual mischievous grin in place.

“Well, that was a close one” Nikolai mused, his tone laced with mockery. “You almost painted the street red. What would our dear Fyodor do without his precious sidekick?”

You sat up, clutching the document tightly, your body trembling from the adrenaline. Before you could say a word, Nikolai tapped his cane against the ground, opening one of his portals.

“Let’s not keep him waiting~” he said, and with a flick of his hand, you were whisked back to Fyodor’s side.

When you arrived, Fyodor was seated in his usual spot, his fingers elegantly poised on the keys of his cello. He stopped playing as soon as he saw you, his dark eyes scanning your form. You handed him the document without a word, expecting a curt acknowledgment or even a reprimand for nearly failing the mission.

But instead, something strange happened. Fyodor’s expression shifted—just for a moment, so quickly you almost missed it. Was that relief? Concern?

“You’re reckless.” he said, his voice colder than usual.

You shrugged, brushing off the comment. “It’s what you asked for. The mission is complete.”

Fyodor stared at you for a long moment before turning away. “No more.”

The words hung in the air, unfamiliar and heavy. You frowned, unsure if you’d heard him correctly. “No more... what?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he stood, his movements as graceful as always, and placed the document on his desk. “No more dangerous missions. I won’t send you out again.”

You blinked, taken aback. This wasn’t like him. “Why? Did I do something wrong?”

He glanced at you, his expression unreadable. “No. You’ve done everything perfectly. That’s precisely why I’m putting an end to it.”

His words only confused you more. “I don’t understand. Isn’t this what you need from me? Someone to carry out your plans without hesitation?”

Fyodor moved closer, his presence suffocating. He reached out, his hand brushing against your cheek. The gesture was almost tender, but his eyes carried the weight of something far darker.

“You’re more than a tool.” he said softly, his voice unnervingly intimate. “You’ve proven your loyalty time and time again. But you’ve also shown me something else, your value. And I won’t risk losing that. Losing you.”

His admission sent a chill down your spine. This wasn’t the cold, calculating man you had followed for so long. This was someone else, someone whose obsession ran far deeper than you had imagined.

“Fyodor...” you began, but he cut you off.

“I saved you once” he murmured, his fingers trailing down to your neck, resting lightly against your pulse. “And I’ll save you again if I must. But you won’t need saving anymore, because I won’t allow you to put yourself in harm’s way.”

His grip tightened slightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to make his point clear.

“Do you see now?” he asked, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You don’t owe me your life. I’ve claimed it. You’re mine.”

----------

Back when Nikolai saved you, you had thought it was just another mission, another brush with death. But later that night, as you tended to your wounds in silence, you overheard Fyodor speaking with Nikolai in a hushed, calculated tone. You were hidden behind the door, listening intently.

Their discussion revolved around a new plan—a dangerously elaborate scheme that would leave Fyodor exposed in its final stages. A specific detail caught your attention: the risks he was willing to take. He was so focused on the end goal that he disregarded the possibility of his own demise.

Your chest tightened. Fyodor’s ruthlessness had always been part of his charm, or his curse—but this time, it felt different. You couldn’t explain why it mattered so much, but the thought of him dying unsettled you in ways you weren’t prepared to face.

So, you made a decision.

Without a word to him or anyone else, you acted on your own. You followed the threads of the plan, inserting yourself at critical points to ensure everything would go smoothly. You intercepted threats, dismantled traps, and rerouted danger away from Fyodor.

But in the end, you couldn’t avoid everything.

The moment came during the final phase. A sniper’s rifle was trained on Fyodor from a hidden vantage point, the assassin waiting for the perfect moment to strike. You didn’t hesitate. Throwing yourself into the line of fire, you shielded him, taking the bullet meant for his heart.

The pain was blinding, and as you collapsed to the ground, you barely registered Fyodor’s voice calling out to you, sharp and filled with something you’d never heard before -panic.

When you woke days later, you were in an unfamiliar room. The stark walls were suffocatingly plain, and the heavy silence was broken only by the faint hum of distant machinery. You tried to move but found yourself too weak, your body weighed down by exhaustion.

It didn’t take long for Fyodor to appear. He entered the room with his usual grace, his piercing eyes locking onto yours. But there was something different about him.

“You’re awake” he said, his voice calm but cold.

You managed a weak smile. “Looks like I ruined your plan.”

Fyodor didn’t respond right away. He stepped closer, his fingers brushing against your cheek. The touch sent a chill down your spine.

“You didn’t ruin anything” he murmured. “But you came dangerously close to ruining yourself. And that, I cannot allow.”

His tone was unsettling. It wasn’t anger or disappointment—it was something darker, something possessive.

“Why did you do it?” he asked, though his expression suggested he already knew the answer.

You struggled to find the words. “I... couldn’t let you die.”

Fyodor’s lips curled into a faint, humorless smile. “So loyal” he mused. “But you should have known better than to act without my permission.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but he silenced you with a single gesture.

“From now on” he said, his tone firm “you won’t be leaving my side. No more missions. No more reckless heroics. You’ve proven you’re incapable of protecting yourself, so I’ll do it for you.”

His words felt like a prison sentence. “You can’t just isolate me” you protested weakly. “I’m not some fragile thing to keep locked away.”

Fyodor leaned closer, his dark eyes boring into yours. “You are mine,” he said softly, his voice dripping with possessiveness. “And I’ll do whatever it takes to ensure you stay by my side, alive and unharmed. You’ve played the hero for the last time.”

His hand lingered on your face for a moment before he stood. “Rest,” he commanded. “This is your new life now. Accept it.”

As he left the room, you felt the weight of his obsession settle over you. Fyodor Dostoevsky had always been a man of control, but now that control extended to you in ways you never imagined. You had saved him, but in doing so, you had unknowingly sealed your own fate.

-----------

You knew it was only a matter of time before Fyodor’s suffocating control became unbearable. His obsession, once subtle, had grown into something oppressive. The isolation he imposed wasn’t protection, it was a cage. You could feel yourself losing pieces of who you were, and you refused to let that happen.

It was with quiet desperation that you turned to an old acquaintance from the team, someone who had always harbored doubts about Fyodor’s methods. They agreed to help you, knowing the risks but willing to defy him for your sake.

The plan was simple yet perilous. Your friend created a diversion, slipping you out of the facility during a chaotic moment. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, you breathed the open air, your heart pounding with a mix of fear and exhilaration.

Freedom was fleeting.

It didn’t take long for Fyodor to discover your escape. His network was too vast, his reach too far. And when he learned of the betrayal, his retribution was swift and merciless.

You were hiding in a safe house when he found you. The door burst open, and Fyodor entered with his usual eerie calm, though the storm raging in his dark eyes was unmistakable. Behind him, two of his men dragged in your friend—bloodied, beaten, and barely conscious.

“You thought you could run from me..” Fyodor said, his voice a chilling whisper. “Did you really believe I wouldn’t find you?”

Your heart sank as he turned to your friend. “And you” he continued, his tone laced with venom. “Betrayal is such an ugly thing.”

Before you could intervene, Fyodor gave a subtle nod to one of his men. A gunshot rang out, and your friend collapsed to the ground, lifeless.

“No!” you screamed, tears streaming down your face.

Fyodor stepped toward you, his expression unreadable. He wiped a stray tear from your cheek with his gloved hand, as if to mock your anguish. “You made me do this” he said softly. “If you had stayed where you belonged, none of this would have happened.”

The next thing you knew, you were back in Fyodor’s domain, locked in a room with no windows and a single door that never opened unless he willed it.

Fyodor visited often, his presence both comforting and menacing. He brought you food, books, even flowers, as though these small gestures could erase what he had done.

“You forced my hand” he told you one evening, sitting beside you with a calmness that belied his actions. “I didn’t want to hurt anyone, but I couldn’t allow such betrayal to go unpunished. And I couldn’t allow you to leave me.”

You glared at him, anger boiling beneath your grief. “You’re a monster...” you spat.

Fyodor tilted his head, his lips curling into a faint smile. “If being a monster is what it takes to keep you, then so be it.”

He reached out, brushing your hair back gently. “Don’t you see? You belong to me. You can try to run, but I’ll always find you. I’ll always bring you back. You’re mine, and nothing will change that.”

You turned away, the weight of his obsession crushing your spirit. Fyodor had always been meticulous and unyielding, but now you realized the extent of his madness. You were no longer just a part of his plans, you were his plan.

And in this prison he called protection, you began to understand the true cost of your loyalty: your freedom, your choices, your life.

[fatimazainab]

Margaret Atwood, The Blind Assassin

[osamucide]

⊹ I AIN'T NOTHIN' BUT A NASTY DOG!

. . . BSD MEN AS OVERUSED PORN PLOTS!

wc: 5.3k

cw: MINORS DNI—explicit sexual content, gn!+afab!reader, a lot of anonymous sex, dirty talk, BIG DICK MEN, probably a good amount of ooc, some questionable dynamics/dubcon that can be read through the lens of roleplay and/or prior consent. character-specific warnings—chuuya: public sex, penetration; dazai: penetration, riding, creampie; kunikida: professor/student, oral (m!receiving); fukuzawa: secretary/boss, office sex, oral (m!receiving), facefucking; atsushi: HEAVY DUBCON WARNING, stuck, perv atsushi, penetration; akutagawa: blackmailing if you squint, degradation, choking, penetration; oda: penetration; ango: public sex, penetration, riding; nikolai: dubcon, home intruder f!masturbation, penetration; sigma: a tiny bit of perv sigma, oral (f!receiving); fyodor: priest!fyodor, religion/blasphemy kink, christianity-specific, oral (m!receiving)

reid: putting my dual major in journalism to work by subtitling these like bad porn videos. little not so thought out drabbles many with no definitive ending just silly whore thoughts. some are more stupid than sexy but either way i hope you enjoy because this was a blast to write HAHAHAHA

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

⊹ CHUUYA NAKAHARA—HOT GYM BUDDIES CAN’T WAIT UNTIL AFTER THEIR WORKOUT TO FUCK!

“Yeah, that’s a lot better. Look at you, you got it,” the pretty redhead mutters, his hands still firmly on your hips as he spots your squat. “Give me one more, I know you can.”

The praise prompts you to draw in a deep breath that has nothing to do with your next squat; anyway, this gorgeous man, kind enough to help you with your form, believes in you. So you bend once more, squatting down, down, and pushing back up—until on your way back up, you feel your legs begin to buckle.

“Woah, woah.” It’s sweet how concerned he sounds as his hands fly up to the bar and his feet nudge you forward to help you replace the weight on the rack, but his hips end up pressed to yours, and you’re gasping. “You okay?”

You’re fine, caged between him and the bar as he leans over your shoulder to glimpse your face that’s flushed from exertion. Only exertion, surely, even though your ass is pressed firmly to his pelvis. He doesn’t seem hard, but you can still feel it, and it feels big.

“Yeah,” you breathe, moving to duck under the bar, but it’s low and you’re feeling a little dizzy, so you teeter backwards into him, and as his hands find your waist again. “Yeah, I’m about to be done anyway.”

“You should really stretch after maxing out like that,” he suggests, turning you around. “Don’t wanna be hurting, do you?”

But you can only look into his intense eyes and shake your head lightly before he’s easing you to the ground on your back, settling each of his knees over one of your thighs, and slotting his shoulder beneath your hamstring. He pushes forward, gently, slowly, looking to you for anything wrong; and there isn’t.

There’s nothing wrong, except for the fact that you can feel his huge dick against your pussy through both of your shorts.

It’s all you need to start moving blindly, reaching down for his waistband, pawing at his neck, mashing his lips to yours, and he doesn’t hesitate to do it back—he lets up on your leg only to slip your shorts off before your ankle is back over his shoulder and he’s grinding the head of his cock into your wetness.

“You gonna let me in, baby?” he pants hotly, looking down at you squirming beneath him. “Yeah, I know you will—you’re strong, you can take it.”

His tip catches on your clit, and you gasp before he’s plunging into you, setting a brutal pace. “Oh, fuck!”

“Oh, fuck, yeah,” he groans. “So fuckin’ tight.”

He hits the inside of you perfectly, his soft ginger hair falling loose from its low pony—you wish you knew his name so you could scream it, but you settle for moaning, panting, cussing, as he throws your other leg over his shoulder and drills into you on the gym mat. ⊹

⊹ OSAMU DAZAI—MY OLDER BROTHER ALMOST CAUGHT ME FUCKING HIS BEST FRIEND!

“Shit—I’ll be back, gonna go shower this off. Asshole.”

That was what your older brother, Chuuya, grumbled at Dazai before scurrying off to the bathroom. The three of you had just gotten back from getting ice cream, and Dazai had the brilliant idea of snatching Chuuya’s cone from him and sticking it in his hair. Cursing ensued the entire walk home.

And Dazai popped the tail end of his cone in his mouth and grabbed for your wrists as soon as your brother was out of sight, which leads you to now—in the living room, on the couch, bouncing furiously on his cock as he grunts.

“Osamu—be quiet!” you plead with him, but you’re moaning, too.

His lips fall into a grin. “Don’t worry, cutie, I can still hear the shower—fuck! Just keep—keep doing that, you feel so fucking good.”

So you reinforce your grip on his shoulders and slam your hips down to meet his, over and over, drawing sinful sounds from both of your bodies as you’re separated by a single thin wall from your brother—Dazai’s best friend, who would probably murder both of you if he found out you were fucking.

And then the water turns off. You muffle the choked cry you let out into Dazai’s shoulder, so damn frustrated that you won’t get there, not before Chuuya comes back—but Dazai’s flipping you onto your back, grabbing you by your hips, pulling you into him with such fervor that you almost shout.

“Need it, baby, I need to cum in this pussy—”

“Osamu!”

But even you can’t tell if you’re egging him on or warning him to stop—with no sound buffer and Chuuya undoubtedly coming back any minute, your body decides for you that you need it, too, you need to cum and you will, no matter how much your mind protests; your eyes flick nervously up to the hallway when they’re not rolling back from how Dazai’s rearranging your guts.

“He’s gonna come back—unh—and you’re gonna sit here with my cum in you, and he won’t even fuckin’ know.”

He’s digging his nails into your hips and ass, making you twitch, reaching down to rub your clit hard, and when you cum, clenching around him, he shoves his palm over your mouth and spills into you with a last few wet smacks.

Dazai’s scrambling back into his pants as footsteps pad down the hall; he all but throws himself at the other end of the couch as you curl up, dressed but fucked silly, focused on not letting the evidence of what just happened gush out of you and leak onto the couch.

“Fuck was that noise?” Chuuya mumbles, sauntering out as he’s tying his wet hair up.

“Hm? I don’t know, I didn’t hear anything.”

When Chuuya turns toward the kitchen, Dazai tosses you a wink. Your face burns as you feel yourself leaking. ⊹

⊹ DOPPO KUNIKIDA—COLLEGE HOTTIE SUCKS DICK FOR EXTRA CREDIT!

"You do realize I'm going to have to fail you," your professor informs you, looking into your eyes with a little regret. Truthfully, you've always been personable in class and shown promise as a student, and he's disappointed. Not in you, just in your poor academic performance during your final semester.

"There has to be something I can do to make up for it," you nearly plead, hands clasped together on the edge of his desk as you look to him with hope. You know you've been slacking, but you need this class to graduate.

"I don't know—" He sighs your name, clearly confliced. Your attendance record is less than impressive these days, and Kunikida's enforced a strict class participation policy throughout his years of teaching—as well as no extra credit—something he makes clear to all of his students in all of his classes, and you especially should know better after taking his classes for four years. "I don't know. Like what?" Maybe you can do a few credits in the summer and still walk at graduation, or pick up an internship. But he wants you to take the initiative and accountability.

He doesn't really know how to protest when you're slipping out of your seat and sinking to your knees as a spark starts to gleam in your eyes. You rattle off a few academic ideas for posterity, but ultimately find your hands sliding up his thighs and fiddling with his belt.

Fuck it, you think, you'll be out of here soon enough. Plus, Kunikida's always been kind, compassionate, understanding, and sexy—too invested in his field to even notice that handfuls of students on campus would throw themselves at him given the chance. Maybe he'll finally understand, you muse to yourself, as you work his hardening cock out of his dress pants.

He chokes out your name when you take his length in both of your hands; he's all the way gone when you're swirling your tongue over his tip, giving in to your little idea for extra credit sooner than he'd ever admit to himself.

"Oh, fuck—" He's staring up at the ceiling of his office in pure bliss because his student is working hot, sloppy kisses down the underside of his cock. His hands twist into your hair, and you gaze up at him, doe-eyed, as his head falls forward and he looks at you through his glasses. "Keep going. Don't fucking stop."

He's trying not to thrust into your mouth when you fondle his balls; his pretty blond bangs are dampening with sweat, and you can't take your eyes off him as you bob your head faster, hollowing your cheeks around him and moaning at the taste of your professor's cock heavy in your mouth. He twitches and jumps at your attention to detail—your fingers raking tracks down his thighs, your frantic tongue, your fluttering lashes and sugary moans, gags, and slurps that are music to him.

You know, as he falls apart more and more by the second, you won't have to worry about this class anymore.

"Unh—uh, yes, oh, fuck, we'll work something out, yeah, gorgeous? Just don't stop—d—don't stop, don't fucking stop, I'm gonna cum down that pretty throat, yeah, and we'll get it all figured out." ⊹

⊹ YUKICHI FUKUZAWA—NAUGHTY SECRETARY SEDUCES HOT BOSS!

You're perched on his desk when he returns from the meeting—Yukichi, your boss, who, lately, you can't stop thinking about climbling like a tree. You're sure your coworkers see it, too, but you're his personal assistant; no one gets to be as close to him as you, and he trusts you.

Which is why you'll put the moves on him today.

He runs a hand through his silver hair—obviously stressed—sighing as he pulls his office door shut and turns to you. He speaks your name, holds a few papers in your direction, begins instructing you on what he needs from you next.

But you know better what he needs. The papers that make their way into your hands are quickly forgotten about on his desk as you uncross your legs and hop down, sauntering up to place on hand on his arm, the other on his chest.

"Sir, you look so tense. Are you sure there isn't anything else I can do?"

He makes his way to sit down in his office chair, disregarding your touch in a way that has you following after him like a puppy in need of attention.

He doesn't answer, but he also doesn't protest when you settle between his knees beneath his desk and push his yukata and haori up to pool around his hips. His dick is thick and veiny, even soft; when you spit in your hand and begin to work him up and down his mouth falls open with a sigh, and he grows at least two inches as he hardens beneath your grip.

You didn't think you'd be able to fit his absolute monster cock in your mouth, but you find yourself, throat open, with your nose pressed to his happy trail as you swirl your tongue and breathe through your nose frantically; he holds your face down, speaking very little but making up for it with the way he grunts hotly in that deep, rough voice as he bucks into the back of your throat.

"Unh—ugh..."

You breathe through your nose as his hips fall into a brutal pace; his hands on either side of your head keep you pinned in place as he uses you, takes his stress out on you. Your fingers massage his balls, and you can't help the way you hum around him when he twitches in your mouth.

Yukichi pulls out of your jaw and you gasp for air, wiping the spit that drips down your chin with the back of your hand, but he's not done. When he does speak, it's demanding, low, and it makes your cunt throb with need.

"Get up. Get up, sit on the desk. 'Need to fuck you."

You do as you’re told, open up for him with no hesitation, smiling as he works his fat cock into you—yeah, his stress will be gone in no time with the way he fucks your hole so hard and fast that you shake with each creak of his desk. ⊹

⊹ ATSUSHI NAKAJIMA—STUCK IN THE ELEVATOR WITH MY SEXY NEIGHBOR!

"Ah! Atsushi, open the door!"

"Um," he frets, punching the button until he's sure it'll break. If it's not broken already. "I—I can't, it's not working!"

Not working? Is he fucking serious? You're trapped in the door—all you did was try to reach back out for your bag you'd set by the elevator and now you're stuck, by the waist, between the two sliding maneuvers, your bag dangling from your hands.

"It's supposed to have a sensor! It's not supposed to even close when someone's on the threshold!" you cry through your teeth as you try to squirm out. Atsushi's mind is already working, though, over the way you're pinned in half, wiggling your ass as you struggle against the industrial strength of the elevator door. "Atsushi, help me, please call someone or something—"

But his hands are on your hips, pulling backward, and you can't help the noise of surprise that slips out of you.

"Atsu', I seriously don't think that will work, please, just call—Atsushi!"

His hands shake as he slides your pants and underwear down your thighs, exposing your ass; he tunes out your protesting as he undoes his belt. You hear the clink of it hitting the ground, you feel his fingers dipping into your cunt from behind, and he cannot be fucking serious.

"I'm sorry," he cries like it's out of his control—he feels like it is. "I'm sorry, you're so hot, you're right here, I've wanted this for so long."

And you feel yourself beginning to drip at his desperate tone. You can't fucking believe it—this is depraved. This is some shit you would've never expected from the sweet, cute boy in the apartment across the hall who helped you drag your bedframe and couch from this very elevator to your room but here he is, prodding at you with his pathetically leaky cock while you're stuck in the damn elevator door.

And you'd be frustrated with how your body reacts, but as he slides his dick along your cunt, drenching himself in your wetness, you can't help but arch back into his touch.

"Atsushi, you have to fuck me, please."

And he does, fast and unpracticed—he whimpers for you, tells you you're all he thinks about when he jerks off; he confesses that he looks through his peephole when he knows you're leaving for work or school just to get at least one glimpse of you everyday to fuel his imagination, and you gush around him, the pain of the door trapping you falling irrelevant, drifting out of your mind, as he buries his face in your shoulder and humps into you like an animal, pounding against your cervix.

"Fuck, that's right, so good, so, so good—better than I could've imagined—agh, fuck, that's right, take it all, take it, take it, take it...!" ⊹

⊹ RYUUNOSUKE AKUTAGAWA—HOT BABE HAS NO MONEY, LETS THE DELIVERY BOY DESTROY THAT PUSSY!

You rifle through your wallet and hum when you come up short. "Um, I... know you said you don't have a card reader, but I don't have enough cash."

The delivery boy looks at you with little more than boredom until you invite him in.

"Here, let me look in my room—I might have more stashed somehwere..."

He stands over you, searching you with his curious gray eyes as you dig through a drawer, a bag, another bag, only to come up short again. You even peek under your mattress for good measure, but you're just out. You turn to him sheepishly.

"I, uh... I don't have enough, I'm really sorry."

"Well, I can't leave without some form of payment," he deadpans, and you try to think of something, anything—you have a few giftcards for other delivery services, some jewelry—but he's letting his bag fall off his shoulder and grabbing you by the hips before you can register what he means.

You end up face down, ass up on your bed as a compromise, his hips rutting into you from behind as he holds your wrists behind your back. Ryuunosuke his name tag read—you're quick to adopt a way around that mouthful, moaning out, "Ryuu, Ryuu, please!" as he splits you open and calls you a whore.

"Fuckin' slut—"

When you're able to glance back for a second you can see his pretty black hair swaying with each rough thrust, and you're sure he's hitting your lungs—he's so fucking deep inside you, and you're gasping, moaning for more.

"—so eager to—unh—take this dick. Probably hiding your cash somewhere."

But whether you are or not doesn't matter; your eyes are rolling back to the hard smack of his hips against your ass and the white-hot pleasure that rolls through you every time he plows straight into your g-spot, and he's throbbing inside of you at the way your cunt grips him. Your pizza's getting cold on the counter in your kitchen, but you don't care—not when he bunches his fingers up in your hair to arch you back up to him so he can wrap his other hand around your throat.

You hold onto him as he bends you, pulling air down into your lungs when you can, and his gravelly voice barrages you with more words that make you gush around his cock.

"Gonna let me cum in this pussy so you don't have to fork over a few bucks for a pizza? Pathetic."

His teeth sink into your shoulder, his other hand reaches down to torture your neglected clit, and you're sure he's gonna break you over this, your hot delivery boy who just so happened to have the idea to fill you up as payment. You pant his name desperately between thunderous moans—you're gonna cum soon. ⊹

⊹ SAKUNOSUKE ODA—THIS PLUMBER FIXED MORE THAN JUST MY PIPES!

"Okay, that should do it." The man stands up, back to a height at which he towers over you, and you lean on the doorframe to the kitchen as he shuts the cabinets beneath your sink. "It's all movin' again."

You were in your robe when you answered the door, but you'd be lying if you said you didn't run to the bathroom to fix your hair and swipe on a little lip balm while he was working. Really, you hadn't meant to try to fuck the plumber. But this man was gorgeous, with his auburn hair, stubble-lined jaw, large hands, broad shoulders. You felt your eyes widen when you first laid eyes on him, and now you'd been throbbing thinking about what those thick fingers could do other than plumbing.

You pull your robe tighter around yourself, hoping to subtly accentuate the outline of your body. "Thank you so much, really, I don't know what I'd have done without the sink."

"Probably used the dishwasher a lot more," he cracked dryly, and your previous words suddenly feel stupid, but it only serves to make him hotter.

"How should I pay you?" You stride over to him. "Cash?"

"You can just pay online." He looks tired, but he has a well-meaning smile on his face.

You look a little incredulous. "Really? I can't—do you accept tips? Seriously, top notch work and super quick. I can't not thank you."

"I'm really not supposed to take tips," he drawls, running a hand through his hair. You find yourself biting your lip; you can't look away from him. You must look like a rabid animal right now, but you can't help it.

He doesn't tear his eyes away from yours.

"I mean, unless..."

Those three words are what find you on your back in your bedroom with your robe thrown open, the sweet and efficient plumber named Sakunosuke standing at the edge as he impales you on his cock. He worked you open with those fingers first, fast and harsh, just how you begged him to, but nothing could've prepared your weeping hole for the stretch of his fat dick—and now he's pounding into you, his hands clutching your waist as you hold your legs open for him to thrust deeper, deeper.

“Oh, shit. Unh—so wet—“

His groans come from his chest, deliciously—he looks a little like he knows he shouldn't be doing this, but your cunt is sucking him in like it was what he was supposed to come here for all along. You spasm and clench around him and he throws his head back, your whole body rippling as his strong hips and heavy balls smack lewdly against your ass with each thrust.

“Mmph—fuck—break that sink of yours more often, alright?” ⊹

⊹ ANGO SAKAGUCHI—I JOINED THE MILE HIGH CLUB (EXTREMELY RISKY)!

The man you met in the airport bar—oh, he’s pretty.

He's even prettier in your mind when the pilot announces phone permissions now that you're in the air, and the first notification your phone receieves is from him.

I have an open seat next to me in first class. Come visit.

You don't hesitate for a moment. You stride forward from the economy section, past the flight attendants who protest at you flimsily to search for his seat number—you see his unmistakably gorgeous hair, his glasses, his sharp side profile as he speaks to an attendant, catches you in his peripheral, and then shoos her away.

There's hardly niceties before one of your legs is slung over his knee and he kisses you with fervor. You don't think too hard about the people around you—none of whom can actually see you but without a doubt will know exactly what's happening in a few minutes—as you grind down onto his thigh, bite his lips, draw soft gasps from him when your knee nudges his bulge.

Before you know it, his cock is free and he slides your underwear to the side so you can sink onto him; he groans shamelessly when your wet heat envelops him completely, causing heads to turn in your direction, but you just brace your knees against the airplane seat and your hands on his shoulders make quick work of milking him of everything he has.

He kisses you, hot, heavy; he smells good, he smells expensive, and you tear his dress shirt open to rake your nails down his chest as he grabs your hips, letting his head fall back and a full-bodied moan into the cramped air of the plane as he does so. You lift up to let him thrust, let lewd smacks resonate throughout first class, and with your chest in his face he rides your shirt up to latch his teeth to one of your nipples; you echo him, moaning unabashedly, running your hands through your hair, gripping him as people look on.

"Fuuuck, yeah, feels so good," he praises from beneath you. "Knew I had to fuck you from the second I saw you." His eyebrows draw up in concentration as he looks down at where your bodies meet and continues fucking up into you hard. "Hah—listen to that cunt cry for me. You like being watched, huh? Gonna let me fuck you 'til the plane smells like sex? Huh?"

You nod, messily, desperately, and he quickens his pace ever faster, pulling you back down into a sloppy kiss.

An attendant awkwardly approaches in the aisle, but the gorgeous man who's destroying your insides just holds up a palm, shoos her away again.

"Fuck—so sexy. Keep takin' this dick." ⊹

⊹ NIKOLAI GOGOL—LUCKY INTRUDER GETS TO FUCK HORNY VICTIM!

You're splayed out on your bed, two fingers stuffed deep in your cunt—and he's just surprised you didn't hear him breaking the lock on your front door.

When you meet his eyes, you're so glazed over with pleasure that you barely miss a beat, your gaze only blowing wide when he peers around your bedroom doorway. His snowy white hair, his sharp features—you can't find the sense to be alarmed at this unfamiliar man, the one holding your laptop and—is that your wallet?

Doesn't matter—they're clattering to the ground, another factor here you can't find it in yourself to care about as his gray eyes are locked onto you fucking yourself open on your sheets. The sheen of sweat that covers your skin, your desperate moans as you grind your clit against your palm, the obscene squelching that comes from your wet cunt—they all serve to propel him over to you, prompt him to dig his already-hard cock out of his pants as you just watch, beg him with your stare to come fill you up. You're so lucky he's here, really—you look like you're struggling to get deep enough with your pathetic little fingers; he guesses it's only fair that he repay you for the material goods he's about to rob you of and pawn off on whatever sucker will buy them for cash, right?

"Right? I'll help you out—" He gives his cock a few pumps as he positions himself between your legs, "—looks like you need it, sweetheart."

You can only bite your lip to supress the moan that leaves you as he enters your cunt and lifts your fingers up and out of you by your wrist to swirl his tongue around them, lick them clean. He's huge—even your third and fourth fingers weren't enough to prepare you properly for the burglar’s dick in your needy pussy, so you let out strained combinations of gasps and screams when he starts to drill into you mercilessly. You can't help the way your ankles link behind his back, the way you reach for him—and he smiles wickedly when your eyes roll back.

"You like having a stranger's cock deep in your guts, huh?" he speaks between deep sighs and grunts. You can only babble your incoherent agreement, your laptop and wallet forgotten, the actions of this man forgotten, everything but how desperately you need to squirt all over him forgotten—you reach down and rub your clit, play with your nipples as your mouth is frozen open as you moan, moan for this man who's just broken into your home. "Uh—yeah, you're gonna like takin' all my cum, too, I bet." ⊹

⊹ SIGMA—MASSEUR HELPS HIS SEXY CLIENT RELIEVE STRESS!

"Oh, yeah—right there," you groan softly as the heel of his palm meets the center of your back. You've been looking forward to this full-body massage the whole week, and this man was not disappointing.

He works his way down your back, twisting knots out as he goes—his lithe fingers feel like heaven against you, overworked from hours at your desk hunched over your computer.

But it's a full-body massage, as mentioned before; when his fingers dig into the plush of your asscheeks, you can't help the groan that leaves you.

"That okay?" he inquires; you think you hear a shake in his voice.

"More than okay," you reply, thinking you could fall asleep as he works you into relaxation. You could close your eyes from how good it feels, or you could peek behind you and see his face burning with blush at your sounds. You do the former, but smirk a little at how sweet it is of him to check in.

He checks in again when his hands are inching your underwear down, and you tell him of course, he's the professional.

He's still the professional when he climbs up on the table behind you and buries his flushed face into your cunt. You arch up and back, crooning, as his hands stay massaging you, spreading you apart, kneading your ass with career expertise and plunging his tongue into you with enthusiasm.

"Oh! Oh—feels good," you breathe, grinding back into his face, onto his nose. He laps at you happily, this masseur you've barely looked upon for a total of twenty seconds, but you can't lie to yourself and say you didn't think he was pretty when he led you back to his room; he hums into you, sending you shivering, twitching. "Please, more."

"Mhm," he mumbles, releasing one of your asscheeks to lay back beneath you and insert a long, thin finger into your pussy; you sigh, you settle onto his face, and his tongue speeds up in this new position in a way that rips a high moan from your lungs.

Not hunched, but arched, the stretch feels heavenly on your back in combination with the way he pumps another finger into you; you graciously sit up, throwing your head back, begging, pleading for more until his tongue settles into a tight back-and-forth rhythm over your clit. "Please, please, please—"

You grind against his nose, your moans become more erratic, and you dig a hand into his hair as your hips move in dizzying circles over his head.

"Cum for me?" he asks, muffled by your pussy; you'll ride him until his face is soaked. ⊹

⊹ FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY—CONFESSING MY SINS ENDS IN HUGE CUMSHOT ALL OVER MY FACE!

“And I’ve been terribly, terribly lustful, Father Fyodor,” you say with regret. “It consumes me. I really never used to be like this."

"Temptation lurks everywhere," the priest sympathizes. You can barely see him through the grate, but his soft, forgiving voice sounds close to you. "The Devil and his army are constantly exploiting our vulnerabilities to try and turn us to sin, but worry not, child of Christ; we're human. I'm here to guide you. Continue."

You shift on the wooden seat in the booth, crossing your hands tighter over your lap. "That's really all. It's been very concerning to me. I think about it... I think about it so much."

"About what?" Father Fyodor prompts, and you bristle even more at being asked to elaborate.

"Sex," it barely comes out as more than a whisper. "I can't help it—it's everywhere. It leaves me feeling so... exhausted and frustrated, and the only thing that helps is... Well..."

But you're met with silence. You know he wants you to go on. You're here to confess, after all.

"...touching myself. I do it at least once a day. It's like a burning within me—nothing helps but—but—cumming all over my fingers." Your voice is laced with shame—the throbbing of your cunt as you talk makes you feel all the more guilty, and you can only imagine how he's shaking his head. "That's all. That's all."

"You'll do penance," he says, comfortingly. "When we bring our sins to the Lord and repent he cleanses us of them."

The grate pops out of the window, and you see the the waist of his alb as he speaks his next words.

"You'll take communion, now—" the cinctures around his waist fall undone beneath his hands, and the alb is hiked up to reveal a leaking cock, pretty and pale and bobbing in the air of the confessional. "—and be saved from the flames of perdition.”

"Yes, Father, please. Anything to be saved." But your mouth waters in a way that you know has little to do with your thirst for salvation.

"Take this; eat. This is my body," he recites the scripture as his length reaches through the window; your hands, eager and already on the threshold, accept him willingly. As you wrap your mouth around him, he groans, and it's like seraphim singing their holy, holy, holy.

"That's it—child of God, follower of Christ; I absolve you of your sins," he gasps as his tip hits the back of your throat which was begging for forgiveness moments ago. His hands reach through the window to stroke either side of your face, and then hold you in place to fuck your throat. "The Lord will forgive you for this." ⊹

[nu11lar]

he would be the type of person to go wayy too far into fucking you, wether it will be during a dinner gathering or... in the balcony. he would either have your stomach pressed against the cold railings or make you hold onto them while he abuses your sopping hole from behind. it doesn't matter if it's too risky, embarrassing, or humiliating, he would not care. not even a single bit.

it will turn him even more on if someone across the apartment building is also out in the balcony, having the chance for the person to see just two people making love at night in the balcony, now that's some murda b shit.

he'll press his chest against your back and place his hands ontop of yours, keeping you still. his lips inches closer to the shell of your ear as his hot breath fans over it. you're practically begging him to slow down and do this somewhere else but he refuses, he just wants to show the world what kind of slut you are for your boyfriend/fiancé.

"hm? you're sayin' that this is embarrassing? then how come you're creaming all over my dick and tightening around me huh? silly girl, you're enjoying this."

"tsk, tsk, what a whore. you enjoy being watched by the people across from us while i fuck you dumb eh? i should do this more- fuck- more often.."

he just loves to humiliate you, doesn't he?

🦢 ㅡ GOJO SATORU, TOJI FUSHIGURO, geto suguru, RAN HAITANI, HANMA SHUJI, manjiro "mikey" sano, izana kurokawa, scaramouche, CHILDE, wriothesley, hobie brown, DAZAI OSAMU, CHUUYA NAKAHARA, fyodor dostoevsky, NIKOLAI GOGOL, sanemi shinazugawa, DOUMA, + any of your faves !

[r3stingangel]

You wanna know what I hate? People who don't tag properly, whether it be on AO3, Tumblr, ECT. Tags exist for a fucking reason.

A great example of not tagging properly is a fic I found that was marked "Dazai/reader" so it must be an x reader, right? WRONG! It was a Dazai x AN OC. AN OC WITH A WHOLE ASS NAME.

It pisses me tf off

[osachiyo]

❛ WHAT'CHA READIN'? ❜

𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 — dazai, chuuya, fyodor, nikolai x fem!reader

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 & 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 — n/sfw content, teasing, edging, getting caught while reading erotica/smut, full nelson, oral (m recieving), cock warming, kolya's is the longest bc yea, squirting, kind of 4th wall breaking in kolya's etc • here it isss !! i didn't expect so many people to want this but im glad i got to write it. anyway, happy reading and i hope you enjoy !! not proofread

ps. reblog to show your favorite writers support, they're greatly appreciated ! <3

𝟎.𝟎𝟎𝟏 — 𝐃𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐈

his hands flew to her neck, squeezing not too hard — but firm enough for her to get dizzy with pleasure. "lily, you're simply ethereal like this," the man on top of her groaned, hips still pounding away, his pelvis slapping against her thighs with each thrust. she moaned, nails raking down the crown prince's back, all while —

"..her pretty cunt squeezed around him at the heartfelt praise,"

you felt someone whisper from behind your shoulder, making you quickly slam your book closed and whip your head towards that direction — only to see your boyfriend, dazai, standing there with a cheshire-like grin on his pretty face.

"i didn't know you were into historical books, babe!" he said with a teasing tilt in his voice, making your right eye twitch. "r-right... ahem — anyway, you really shouldn't sneak up on people like that, osamu," you scowled, clutching said book close to your chest.

"yeah? and you really shouldn't read dirty books at work like this, sweetheart," he tilted your head up to face him, "what if it was kunikida-kun instead of me, hmm?" his voice was playful, and if you knew him, you knew that he was hinting at something — if it's wasn't obvious already by the prominent bulge in his slacks.

"well, aren't you eager?" dazai huffed out a laugh at the way you grinded on his thigh, trying to reach your precious book that was in his hands now. "her back arched like a cat's as the prince pounded away at her — not having an ounce of mercy for the poor maiden," dazai read in a mocking tone — all while flexing his thigh under your cunt, which you were humping for dear life. "please," you pawed at his chest, hips twitching with the need for release.

"please what, baby?" he grinned mischievously, free hand snaking down to land a playful smack on your breasts, before squeezing them. "please let me cum," you whined once more, batting your wet lashes at him in hopes of getting at least a tiny bit of mercy.

"well.." dazai hummed, placing the book to the side, before sitting you fully on his lap and unzipping his slacks — "since you want it so bad, work for it."

𝟎.𝟎𝟎𝟐 — 𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐔𝐘𝐀

you and chuuya were in his office, with him working and you on your phone.

chuuya noticed how unusually quiet you got — and how.. strange you were acting as you scrolled further down on your cellphone.

his eyebrows furrowed as he saw your pupils dilate, your breathing getting uneven and you clenching your thighs.... oh.

a smirk found it's way on his handsome face as realization hit him — you dirty, dirty girl.

"what'cha readin' there, babe?" chuuya raised an eyebrow at the way you flinched when he suddenly spoke up. "um.. just some romance story, you won't like it, chuu," you tried to keep a straight face as your boyfriend got up from his seat, and stalked closer to you.

"oh yeah?" chuuya inquired further, "let me see."

"NO!— i mean — you really won't like it, babe," you smiled nervously and clutched the little device closer to you, which only made chuuya's grin spread further. "riiighhtt."

a gasp tore from your lips when your phone was snatched away from you by the ginger man — he was way too fast and strong for you to fight back, so you just sat there — blinking dumbly as he read the contents of your little "romance story."

"really? a mafia boss x reader? heh," chuuya snickered, voice holding a teasing tilt to it, "ya got a thing for boss, or somethin'?"

"NO! oh god, chuuya — give it back!" you finally recovered from your state of stupor, lunging at chuuya — who caught you in his arms with ease. "easy there, sweetheart. now, how about i give you the real fucking thing instead of this stupid... fanfiction, yeah? bend over f'me, doll."

loud clapping could be heard from outside of chuuya's office — it was so embarrassing if anyone walked by, especially akutagawa, but chuuya didn't seem to care one bit.

your tight little pencil skirt was bunched up, panties pulled hastily to the side as chuuya's narrow hips slammed against your ass, gloved hands gripping your hips so hard that you feared it would leave marks. "you like that, baby? like it when i grind into you like this?"

chuuya slowed his thrusts only to grind his hips in circles — making you see stars as you desperately clawed at the mahogany desk.

a sudden knock on the door sent your mind spiraling from pure pleasure to uneasiness. surely he wouldn't —

"come in, akutagawa."

𝟎.𝟎𝟎𝟑 — 𝐅𝐘𝐎𝐃𝐎𝐑

"don't flip the page, darling, i'm not done yet,"

you flinched at hearing fyodor's smooth, rich voice from behind you — startling you enough to drop the book from your hands, which conveniently landed on your lap. you looked behind to see your husband, who had a smirk on his handsome, pale face — "f-fedya!" you smiled nervously, "you were.. behind me this entire time?"

"why of course, my dear. i was wondering what type of book my beloved wife is into, and i.. certainly didn't expect this."

fyodor's tone was condescending, derogatory even — making your face heat up in embarrassment and shame. "now now," he tilted your chin up to look him in the eye, "there's no need to be ashamed, darling. though i can't deny that i'm a little upset from you going behind my back to read something so sinful," fyodor clicked his tongue, shaking his head gently before narrowing his amethyst eyes at you, "i believe you need to.. make up for this little... mistake of yours. won't you be a good girl and do as i say?"

you gulped before nodding hesitantly, sweat dampening your palms at the sheer nervousness you were feeling.

"good. on your knees."

fyodor held your head down on his cock, the small tuff of black hair tickling your nose —he didn't give you a chance to catch your breath. the feeling of the tight walls of your throat, along with the pretty view of you looking up at him with those teary eyes almost had him going feral. he wanted nothing more than to just pull your head back and face fuck you — but no, he had you cock warming him with your cute little mouth instead. all while he read his own book.

now, you might want to think twice before reading something so filthy behind his back again — unless you wished for an even worse punishment, that is.

𝟎.𝟎𝟎𝟒 𝐍𝐈𝐊𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐈

"dove, can i ask you a little question?"

nikolai wrapped his huge arms around your waist, pulling you back against his chest and resting his head on your shoulder, waiting for an answer with a grin.

"what is it, kolya?" you tried to turn to face him, but nikolai's grip only got tighter — his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, "who the fuck is 'toji fushiguro' and why were you reading smut about him?"

nikolai felt you stiffen in his arms — a shiver running down your spine at his warm breath hitting your skin, along with the embarrassing fact that your boyfriend had seen what you read on your phone. fuck.

"hmm? no denying?" he teased, freakishly large hands skimming over your torso, then settling all the way up to your breasts. "he's just a.. fictional character, love," you winced at how fucking embarrassing that sounded — which only resulted in nikolai letting out a snicker.

"really? you wound me, sweet pea — am i not good enough for you, that you have to settle for reading smut about fictional men?" he dramatically put a hand over his chest, but you both knew that was not true. "i'll just prove myself to you then, mm?" nikolai grinned, planting a kiss on your clothed shoulder.

you groaned, "n-no! baby, it's just —" "full nelson, huh?" nikolai cut you off — his expression dark as a borderline scary grin settled on his lips. "that was the position right? you could've just told me you wanted to try it! come on, little dove — i'll show you full nelson."

that's how you ended up with your legs against your chest, nikolai's huge arms hooked under your knees to keep you secured against his chest — all while his thick cock plowed into your cunt.

your mouth dropped into an 'o' shape, drool dribbling down your chin to your tits — the mounds bouncing up and down erotically as you were drilled into from below.

"god, just look at you,"nikolai groaned — his arms flexing beneath you as he bit the juncture of your shoulder, the soft skin littered in bruises and bite marks. his heavy balls were clapping against your ass with each rough thrust — your pussy felt like it was splitting in half from the sheer girth of his dick.

"oh yeah, baby — cum f'me, a-agh — cum on this cock," nikolai's voice was slurred, thick and heavy with lust as he encouraged you to soak his length in your juices.

and soak him you did — spraying your arousal all over the floor, his cock and balls were dripping with it — as you went limp in his arms. but he didn't stop, no — he didn't stop until he was cumming deep in your womb, the creamy substance leaking from your cunt from just how much there was.

© 𝐎𝐒𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐘𝐎 ��𝟎𝟐𝟒 ─ do not copy/translate/repost and/or recommend any of my works on different platfroms under any circumstances. reblogs greatly appreciated !

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[honeydazai]

୨୧·࣭࣪̇˖ sending them suggestive pictures while they're at work

feat.: Dazai, Chūya, Ranpo, Fukuzawa, Fyodor, Sigma

content: nsfw, female reader, spanking, sexting, oral sxx, masturbation, semi public

It's not unusual for DAZAI to tap away on his phone during work hours, so no one — except for Kunikida, who still hasn't given up on glaring — pays it any mind when his smirk widens at his screen. What remains a secret, however, is that he's not looking at some funny tweet but instead at your tits, the blue lace of your bra making for a pleasant contrast in colour.

He's awfully smug about the whole ordeal, really; also, who is he not to play along? He definitely sends you not only some appreciative words back, but also a picture of his own, featuring either his hands — he does know that you're quite fond of his fingers, after all —, his face — because you can never complain about that! —, or his by now half-hard dick, pressing against his trousers, even though taking soft nudes borders on workplace indecency. Oh, and your pictures are definitely saved and stored away on his phone for later usage.

[new message from Dazai] “someone's needy, harassing me during work hours! just kidding bella!! you're so cute xx stunning too! how am i supposed to listen to kunikida any longer when you're so so pretty? :( ill call out sick, be there in 20 x”

CHŪYA really doesn't expect to see anything but a picture of a dog you saw outside or of a particularly pretty flower when he spares a brief glance at his phone during a Port Mafia meeting. It's already disrespectful, though he doesn't plan on anyone noticing the miniscule action — that is, until he all but chokes on his coffee at the photo of you, legs spread wide, two fingers deep inside of yourself, wearing not only his favourite lingerie set, but also one of his ties.

He tries hard to ignore the way everyone stares at him when he, all too abruptly, excuses himself to the bathroom, his face bright red. In the safety of a stall, he really can't do anything but shove his trousers to his knees, one hand immediately closing around his dick while he types your number into his phone with his free one — and while he might snap at you, oh so flustered, he's also so damn turned on that he can barely focus on anything but the sound of your voice and your photo.

“Fucking Hell, babe—, God, with how Mori was looking at me, I bet he knew what was up. Fuck—, send me another one, please, I'm so damn close, ah—”

Business meetings aren't RANPO'S favourite way to spend time. They're awfully boring, making him huff and sigh when he has to sit through them — though this one gets a lot more interesting the moment he clicks on a text message from you. He raises an eyebrow at the sight of your panties, pure lace and hiding not even the slightest bit just how wet you are, thighs glistening, though that's about all the physical reaction he's going to show. The fact that his dick strains against his trousers is no one's business.

He is, however, quick to text you back, amusement dripping from his messages, and if Fukuzawa wasn't already watching him with sharp eyes, he'd sneak away to the bathroom to call you. For now, you'll just have to do with sexting — this meeting is going to go on for a while, especially if he won't soon start contributing, and he's unfortunately got better things to do.

[new message from Ranpo] “having fun without me? youre so mean. at least send me more pics im dyin g here... maybw bend over or— ooo i know, we bought that toy a while ago, right? why don't you use that one for me, doll....”

FUKUZAWA sucks in a sharp breath the second his eyes fall onto your form clad in nothing but one of his yukatas, and even though he attempts to remain calm, he's already blushing, arousal churning low in his stomach. Really, he was just trying to take a miniscule break from all the paperwork he's facing — besides, the cat ringtone signaling your message did sound rather urgent! —, though now he's not certain whether he can focus on it again.

He ends up typing “This is most inappropriate.” in response, though he never sends it, instead replacing it with a “You look stunning.”, only to never send that one either. In the end, he just quits work a little earlier that day and hurries home faster than he'd ever want to admit, cheeks still flushed with arousal when he joins you in bed, immediately slotting himself between your pretty thighs, long fingers spreading your folds apart and into your cunt to prepare you — only to realise you've long done that yourself. How convenient. He might reprimand you a little afterwards, though both of you realise it's not to be taken seriously. When he's honest with himself, he rather liked that photo — and he'll definitely keep it.

“That was awfully inappropriate. Darling, you know I enjoy getting to hear from you during the day, and yet — what? I didn't mind you wearing my clothing in the slightest. I was worried about someone from the Agency seeing the picture. In fact, wear my clothes again whenever you feel like it. Please do. You looked quite irresistible.”

It's almost unfair just how seemingly unbothered FYODOR is. When checking his phone during a Decay of Angels meeting, aware that you know not to contact him except for important reasons, he merely glances at the photo lewdly depicting your raised skirt and the curve of your behind before putting it back into his pocket. Really, it's downright adorable that you're attempting to tease him — you should know better by now, darling.

While he doesn't bother with a response, he certainly makes sure to pay attention to you when he returns home. And, oh, the next time you want to toy with him, he sure hopes you remember this very moment, of you bent across his lap, his hand coming down ever so often on your butt, on the soft skin of your upper thighs, making you cry out with every slap. The marks, at least, will serve as a nice reminder, especially when you keep forgetting to thank him for every hit.

“There we go, dear. Ah, ah — don't cry now. This is what you wanted, is it not? My undivided attention — and you certainly have it, now. Which number were we on again? Tell me, darling, or we will have to start over, I'm afraid.”

The second SIGMA spares a quick glance at his phone, only to stumble upon a rather revealing picture you just sent him — and, God, 'rather revealing' is an understatement when he's able to see just how wet you are, thighs spread for the camera —, his face heats up significantly, earning him some odd looks from the other men he's currently in a meeting with. In a desperate attempt to regain professionalism, he clears his throat, trying to simply continue, but it's as if every thought has been erased from his mind and was replaced by you.

When getting home that evening, he's calmed down considerably, cheeks still warm with the memory of you being this bold, though his sudden calmness might just change when you expect him in that exact same position, legs wide apart, the smile on your face teasing — and who is he not to end up on his knees in front of you, tongue flattening against your cunt while both of you let out breathy moans? In the end, he's all but begging you to return the favour.

“Ah, God, I'm close. At least finish me off, please—, you were really cruel today, dear. Make it up to me? Please? Oh, fuck—”

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[chuuyrr]

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔’𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐎𝐎 𝐃𝐑𝐔𝐍𝐊 𝐓𝐎 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐆𝐍𝐈𝐙𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃 .ᐟ

feat: dazai, chuuya, fyodor

ꨄ˙ CW(s): gn! reader, mentions of alcohol (reader is drunk)

ꨄ˙ SYNOPSIS: in which you drink too much and don't even realize that your boyfriend is your boyfriend or you might as well be drunk in love

in the dimly lit bar, the air was filled with laughter and the clinking of glasses. you found yourself swirling the remnants of a colorful cocktail, the room around you blurring as the night progressed.

DAZAI sits beside you, and couldn't help but notice your flushed-pink demeanor, fueled by the drinks you had consumed, and giggles to himself.

in your tipsy state, you tilt your head, looking at dazai with a playful suspicion. the room spun slightly, and you sway on your seat, trying to focus on his face.

"you know," you slur, "you're a suspicious stranger. i bet you've got some secret agenda." you point an accusing finger at him, a mischievous glint in your eyes.

dazai, amused by your playful accusations, couldn't help but giggle even more, "oh, do i now? well, i'm just a harmless 'stranger' who happened to find the most adorable drunk person in the entire bar."

you raise an eyebrow skeptically, still not recognizing him, "adorable, huh? well, mr. stranger-fanger, you're gonna have to prove it." you cross your arms, a challenging smirk on your flushed face.

dazai, seizing the opportunity, wraps his arms around you with a mockingly serious expression, "see? no danger here, just a guy who appreciates adorable drunks."

you broke into a fit of giggles, melting into his embrace, "well, you're not that bad for a stranger, i guess."

completely unaware that the 'stranger' was, in fact, your boyfriend, you continued to enjoy the whimsical dance of laughter and teasing, creating a memory that would undoubtedly be cherished in the days to come.

"i'm gonna be serious though, i am your boyfriend," dazai says to you.

you blink softly at him, your tipsy-drunk state had somehow lead you to look at him as such. dazai blinks back before a grin starts to tug on his lips.

"do i have to remind my dearest? well, then. buckle up because you're in for a treat!" he says before he instantly starts peppering your face in kisses as he holds you tightly.

you immediately start to squeal and giggle as you are reminded of the constant kisses that your boyfriend would give you admist the alcohol in your system.

"osamuuu!" you say in a soft whine before he pecks your lips.

dazai grins even more widely at your cute little whine as he cups your face now, "that's more like it. goodness, such an adorable drunk you are, hmm?"

CHUUYA watches with a mix of concern and amusement as your cheerful demeanor transformed into a tipsy state.

as the night wore on, chuuya decides it was time to take you home. he gently placed his gloved hand on your shoulder, trying to capture your attention, "hey, it's getting late. how about we head home?" he suggests, his voice warm and caring.

however, in your inebriated state, you misinterpreted the situation. you gasp sharply before you squirm in your seat and whine softly, "nooo, i'm having so much fun here! plus, you can't take me home! i have a boyfriend!"

chuuya was flabbergasted, but he couldn't help but chuckle at your resistance afterwards upon seeing this, "come on, baby, i'm not a stranger. i'm your boyfriend, and I just want to make sure you get home safely."

now it's you blinking softly, looking at him with a mix of confusion and innocence, "boyfriend? really?" you giggle, completely unaware of the true nature of your relationship.

"you're being so silly right now, i almost can't with you," chuuya sighs, still laughing softly, "geez, i didn't know my baby can be this forgetful with this much alcohol."

undeterred, chuuya continued to coax you gently, his amusement growing as you stare at him in awe as you begin to pat his cheeks in your warm hands, "this pretty face is all mine?"

chuuya chuckles again, a faint blush spreading across his cheeks as he takes your hands in his before leaning in to press a lingering kiss on your lips and whispering, "i'm all yours, baby."

the night unfolded in a blend of laughter, warmth, and the endearing challenge of convincing you that the 'stranger' was, in fact, the person who cared for you the most, and you couldn't help but giggle even more into the kiss.

FYODOR observes your increasing intoxication with a measured gaze, a sense of concern clouding his usually composed demeanor.

as the night unfolds, you continued to enjoy the array of drinks that nikolai had generously provided you two. fyodor, recognizing the potential consequences, decided it was time to intervene. he places a hand gently on your arm, his touch sending a shiver down your spine.

"dear, perhaps it's time to slow down," fyodor suggests, his voice calm and measured as he tries to get you to stop.

you looked at him with a tipsy grin, oblivious to the fact that fyodor was your boyfriend, "but nikolai is just being generous. no harm in a few more, riiight?"

fyodor's piercing gaze held a mixture of concern and determination, "i'd rather not see you regretting this tomorrow. let's enjoy the night responsibly," he insists, attempting to guide you away from the tempting allure of more drinks.

however, in your intoxicated state, you resisted his efforts, misinterpreting his intentions, "oh, come on! live a little, stranger!" you playfully tease, unaware that fyodor was the person you were romantically involved with.

fyodor couldn't help but hide a small smile at your playful antics, though he inwardly feels a twinge of sadness at being referred to as a stranger, maintained his composure.

he observes you with a subtle sadness in his eyes, a fleeting emotion that betrayed the depth of his feelings. still, he wasn't one to give up easily.

with a gentle touch, he cupped your face, making you meet his gaze, "remember, i'm the one who cares deeply for you," he murmurs with a faint smile, his eyes staring in yours.

"i may be a stranger in this particular scenario, but i am not to you," fyodor replies softly, realizing that your drunken state was proving to be a barrier. yet, he didn't relent.

the realization began to dawn on you, your intoxicated mind slowly connecting the dots, "wait a minute... you care about me? really?"

fyodor nods, his eyes holding a mixture of hope and longing, "more than you can imagine."

you blink softly, still processing the situation through the haze of alcohol. before you could react, fyodor leaned in, pressing a soft and lingering kiss against your lips. the touch was tender yet filled with an unspoken depth of emotion, an attempt to bridge the gap that had momentarily separated you.

as the kiss unfolded, a subtle warmth spread through you, and the fog of intoxication seemed to lift momentarily. the taste of familiarity mingled with the hint of sadness, creating a poignant moment that transcended the blurred boundaries of the night. fyodor then pulls away, his gaze searching yours for any signs of recognition.

there was a pause, a moment of suspended realization. slowly, your eyes widened, and a spark of recognition flickered within them. "wait," you whisper, your voice carrying a mix of surprise and clarity as you smile. "you're not a stranger, only my fedya kisses me like that!"

a soft smile tugged at the corners of fyodor's lips as the weight of being called a stranger lifted. the kiss had served as a catalyst, a bridge that connected the fragments of memory scattered in the alcohol-induced haze.

"my, my, how could you forget your fedya, dear?" fyodor sighs, shaking his head before he kisses your lips again and whispers, "traitor.."

ꨄ˙ A.N.: i feel like i might have written fyodor in an ooc-ish way, and if i did, i apologize !! haven't written for him in so long and i don't write for him as often as dazai and chuuya. this is also kinda silly i think now that i've finished writing this lol !! thank you so much for reading until the end (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

[tmrajax]

sugar daddies who buy them and their babies matching red bottoms.

laying on his pristine black leather couch scrolling on your phone with your legs hoisted up on his lap, his pretty hands massaging your feet, you make a comment of how cute you think couples who match shoes are, and he goes all out with it. humming a little with a nod of agreement before immediately going to safari and looking up christian louboutin and purchasing the both of you a pair. letting out a small chuckle when you make a follow up comment on how you two should get matching converse. “sure sweetheart.”

seeing the way a cute little smile plasters itself on your face when he says he got the two of you a matching present days later, sitting you down atop the lavish dining room table and telling you to close your eyes as he gets the box, allowing you to open your eyes once he opens the box and grabs the first heel out, kneeling down and grabbing your foot between his long fingers gently placing the shoe on your pretty foot.

kissing up your legs as he puts the second heel on your other foot, commenting about how gorgeous you make them look, and about how cute the two of you are going to be wearing your matching shoes.

GOJO, geto, TOMURA, DABI, bakugou, HAWKS, CHUUYA, FYODOR, pm dazai, mori, tachihara, giyuu

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 TELLING THEM THEY'RE PRETTY!

FEATURING: dazai osamu, fyodor dostoevsky, nikolai gogol

SUMMARY: telling the bsd boys that they're pretty! (wordcount: 3.5k; sfw; fem!reader)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: i had cute dividers but this won't show up in the tags if use them D: ! i had sooo much fun with this! i hope you guys enjoy! :D

DAZAI OSAMU

You can’t seem to drag your gaze away from him. 

As a long day of work comes to an end, you rest your head on your arms and lean on your desk. Kunikida is still tapping furiously away at his computer, Tanizaki and Naomi are whispering about something together, Ranpo is sorting through his candy, and Atsushi and Kyouka are looking through files. But your eyes are tracing over Dazai Osamu as he leans back in his chair, lazily spinning and bobbing his head to the music he’s listening to. 

The setting sun casts an ethereal glow over him, his lips idly turned up and his lashes brushing his cheeks as rests his eyes waiting for the day to end. Dazai Osamu is pretty—you’ve always acknowledged that—but there’s something about the peace of this moment, the domesticity of the office and the ambience of the lighting that has you utterly enraptured.

He looks so at ease, and Dazai Osamu is never at ease. Even when he throws up that clownlike mask of his and spends his day entertaining under the guise of joy and humor, you can always see the strain in the corner of his eyes and lips. It’s subtle, almost imperceptible really—if you were anyone else, you’d miss it, but you’re not anyone else, much to his displeasure, because you know he hates how easily you can see right through him.

After a few minutes, Dazai peeks his eyes open—and you’re almost breathless, because his eyes are like melted honey beneath the sunset, warm and gentle, glittering with amusement. You think you can stare at him forever and never tire of it.

He rolls his chair closer to you, resting his forearms on your desk so that your arms are brushing and laying his head down on them so that his face is mere inches from yours, matching your position. There's a smile on his lips, soft and teasing as he whispers, "You've been staring at me for five minutes."

"Mhm," you agree, voice just as quiet as if to not disturb the tranquility of the office. You can feel his breath light against your face from the proximity he's laying at and you can smell peppermint on his breath from the candy you’d seen him swipe from Ranpo’s desk earlier when the other man had gone to speak to Fukuzawa.

“Is there something on my face?” he asks playfully, dark eyes glimmering as he waits for your response.

You can tease him back and say yes, as you usually do and is probably what he expects—and you fully intend to do just that but the words that leave your lips are not that. 

“You just look really pretty today,” you say softly, watching as his eyes widen just a bit at your words, pink dusting his cheeks. 

His lips part to say something but no words leave them. He opens and closes them a few times and you marvel because Dazai must know that he’s pretty from all of the attention he gets from women, so you don’t understand why he’s so thrown off hearing you voice it out loud. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him genuinely speechless before now.

“So you don’t think i’m pretty every other day?” Dazai pushes his bottom lip out into an over-exaggerated pout, recovering swiftly from your words, though you expected nothing less from him. But you can’t help but note that his cheeks are still a bit pink and there’s something indecipherable in his eyes.

“Prettier than usual,” you amend and watch as the flush on his cheeks darkens and he instead resorts to completely burying his face in his arms with a frustrated groan.

“I am supposed to be the flirt, bella,” he complains, voice muffled by his arms as he hides his face from your view. He cannot hide the way his ears have gone bright red, and you have half a mind to reach out and tug at them

You lift your hand to your lips to hide the giggle that rises to your lips, scooching your chair a bit closer so you can knock your shoulder against his. 

“I’m not flirting,” you say. “Just stating a fact.”

He turns his head to the side, just enough so that he can give you a heavy side eye—you can only barely see the red hue coating his cheekbone. 

“Not mutually exclusive,” he says grumpily, and you lean down to press your lips against his now exposed forehead, smiling softly as his eyes instinctively flutter shut and his body relaxes as the touch.

Then, you receive a pencil to the side of your head. You yelp as your hand flies to where it had made contact with you, scowling at your assailant who is none other than Ranpo, smiling widely as he waves at you and then motions to Kunikida, who is red faced and staring at the two of you. You can’t tell if it’s in embarrassment or anger.

“Not during work hours,” he snaps, and you realize that he’s definitely embarrassed, so you share a short look with Dazai, who has regained that mischievous look in his eyes as he glances over at Kunikida and back at you.

Without saying a word, or giving any other sort of warning, he leans in to press his lips against yours. It’s a short and chaste kiss, but his lips are soft and taste of candy, and you think you might be able to kiss them forever if you get the chance.

Now you’re the one flustered, you can feel heat rising to your cheeks as you stare at Dazai, who is evidently thoroughly pleased to not be the one uncomposed if the unscrupulous grin on his lips has anything to say about it.

He tosses you a wink before rolling his chair back over to his desk, animatedly complaining about Ranpo and Kunikida being lonely and bitter and getting in the way of Dazai’s chance at true love because of it—you only roll your eyes at his dramatics, as you usually do when Dazai goes off on tangents, but it’s with much more fondness this time. 

•••

FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY

You are not listening to a single word that he’s saying. 

It’s a dangerous situation to be in with Fyodor Dostoevsky, you’re sure he’s noticed by now and he will be petty enough to finish his brief about his plans and your involvement and then ask you to repeat what he said, but you just can’t focus. 

He tied his hair back, you note, still quite a bit awed by the sight. There are two locks framing his face and his bangs are falling between his eyes, but the rest of his hair, which has grown a bit long in the weeks that he’s been ardently preparing for the final stages of his plan, is pulled back into a lax bun. 

He looks so casual, and Fyodor Dostoevsky never looks casual. He’s dressed in a turtleneck and loose pants as he leans back in his chair. There’s a folder resting on his lap that he’s idly flipping through and he keeps glancing up at you occasionally, pale lips flat and violet eyes disapproving, but you just nod along to his words even though you know that he knows that you’re not paying attention. 

And you think, distantly, that you probably should be paying attention because he’s talking about your upcoming mission and what you should expect from it but you figure you’ll be fine—it’s a simple infiltration mission, nothing to worry about. And you’d much rather prefer to appreciate Fyodor’s rare repose than to listen him droll on about boring topics. 

Sometimes, you think if he just kept his mouth shut all the time, he’d be perfect. But you think you’d miss his sharp-witted comments and the lengthy debates the two of you have after a few glasses of wine.

He looks extra pretty tonight, even beyond the casual hairstyle and clothes and his uncharacteristically relaxed demeanor, and you think it’s because of the way the flames of the fireplace are casting an enchanting orange and red glow over his face. It makes the violets of his eyes burn alive in a way that they usually don’t, you’re far too used to the glacial visage they take whenever he puts his attention on someone. Every time he glances up at you, you swear that you can get lost in them.

“… And you are not listening to a word that I am saying, are you?” 

Fyodor is giving you the heaviest side eye as he finally calls you out, expression unamused. His brows are furrowed and his pale skin is taut with thinly veiled irritation.

“Of course, I am,” you dismiss, waving your hand. “Infiltration mission, detective agency, get close to the tiger boy.”

Fyodor looks distinctly unimpressed by your words, brows deepening—you figure you must have spoken wrongly, you probably shouldn’t have been so indifferent, and you bite back a sigh before reaching forward to press two fingers between Fyodor’s eyebrows, as if to forcibly smooth away his annoyance.

He blinks and draws back, out of reach of your arm, and then casts you an even more irritable look.

“You’re not taking this seriously,” he accuses. “This mission will be dangerous, you’ll be at risk of being exposed every moment you are in the agency and if you are exposed-“

“Your plans will be ruined,” you finish, forcing yourself not to roll your eyes. “I kno-“

“You could be killed,” Fyodor corrected, voice cold and sharp, and you look back over to him. He looks unusually intense, and you’re not sure if it’s because of the appearance that the flames of the fireplace are giving him as they flicker dangerously across his face or if it’s because he’s that displeased with you being distracted. Either way, you find your mind drifting again because wow. “Dazai Osamu is not a man to be taken lightly. When he manages to figure out who you are and what you’re doing, we will need an immediate extraction plan.”

“Careful, Fyodor,” you drawl, watching as his violet eyes narrow briefly, “almost sounds like you care.”

Fyodor’s lips twist but he doesn’t respond. You raise your eyebrows, he looks away. Your eyes shoot open.

“You have a bigger role to play,” Fyodor finally says, but he’s no longer looking at you. “You cannot be killed yet.”

“Yet,” you repeat, amused. Fyodor’s jaw tightens, he doesn’t look at you, his eyes are trained on the fireplace to the side of the two of you and you can vaguely see the flames reflecting in his eyes, burning ardently against the familiar violet.

You lean forward again, shifting off of the couch to sit on the coffee table between the two of you so you can reach him. You reach forward to brush your knuckles against his cheek—he doesn’t move away this time, but his eyes cut to the side to watch you carefully.

You don’t say anything for a moment, absently tucking one of the locks of hair framing his face behind his ear. His hair is soft, freshly washed—for once—it smells faintly of lavender and vanilla and you wonder if he stole your conditioner.

“You look very pretty tonight, Fyodor,” you say quietly, and then smile. “It’s hard to focus when you look like this.”

The expression Fyodor directs toward you is extraordinarily blank, except for the faintest specks of pink that glare compared to the pallor of his face. 

He shakes his head, looking away from you yet again. 

“… You cause me much suffering,” he murmurs, and somehow, you know that might be the closest you might get to an admission of love from Fyodor Dostoevsky.

You smile to yourself. “And you to I,” you say, voice a bit teasing, and then you add, “Now, can you tell me again what to look out for?”

The moment is ruined. Fyodor’s eye twitches and he’s giving you that unamused look again, and you think having him repeat himself might be a mistake because now you’re even more distracted, but Fyodor sighs and starts on his lecture again so you force yourself to listen.

It takes about three minutes for him to release a sigh of utter suffering when he realizes that your eyes have glazed over yet again. 

•••

NIKOLAI GOGOL

Nikolai has a wild sort of beauty about him. He’s unpredictable and dangerous, and it’s widely apparent in his frenzied laughter and chaotic behavior. His eye glitters and his teeth gleam sharply beneath the glow of the moonlight as he waves his hands around, animatedly describing to you all of the details of the things he’s been doing while you were away. 

Fyodor’s masterplan has involved Nikolai apparently taken upon an infiltration role at the ministry of defense—you think it’s a bold move for Fyodor to use Nikolai for such a tenuous mission, but he’s apparently been having the time of his life with it. Though he thinks his boss is deplorable and one of his coworkers has evidently pissed him off beyond repair, because now he’s telling you about how he’s been ‘pranking’ the man in righteous vengeance. 

You think Nikolai’s idea of pranking varies from yours, because you’re pretty sure him using his ability to break into the man’s house constitutes a crime not a prank. But you don’t have it in you to make that distinction when he’s so excitedly telling you about how every day he’s been going into his house to move around all of his stuff and hide some of his belongings to make the man squirm. He’s succeeding outstandingly in his ambition, if the videos he’s waving in front of you have anything to say about it. 

You watch as he frantically scrolls to the next video—“this one is the best,” he claims, as he has for every video thus far. You watch with an amused smile as his dark-haired coworker steps into his apartment and nearly starts crying when he realizes that all of his stuff has been moved again, scrambling for his phone to call the police, who have—according to Nikolai—apparently already told him multiple times that there’s nothing they can do about it. The video is shaking wildly, as if the person filming can barely hold the camera straight, and you’re convinced that’s exactly what it is because you can hear Nikolai’s muffled laughter coming from recording.

Nikolai naturally finds it much funnier than you do, half-way keeling over as he wheezes, his laughter shattering the peaceful night. The two of you are sitting at a park near the apartment that Fyodor had leased for you for the duration of the Yokohama operation. The moon is high in the sky, casting a bewitching glow over the lake in front of you and there’s a chill in the air—it’s a nice night all around, you think there will probably some frost dusting the grass in the morning but the cold hardly bothers you now with Nikolai pressed to your side as he laughs himself into a near-coughing fit over his harassment of his coworker. 

“Why aren’t you laughing?” Nikolai suddenly complains loudly, scowling at you, but even then he keeps having to bite back residual laughter whenever he glances back down at his phone. “It’s funny.”

“It is funny,” you agree. Nikolai gives you a look as if he doesn’t believe you. “It is.”

“Then why aren’t you laughing?” Nikolai accuses doubtfully, and then adds, even more accusatory, “You hate me.”

You’re not sure why you aren’t laughing, honestly. Usually you’d be burying your face into his shoulder trying to smother your snickers, because even though you might not entirely agree with Nikolai’s idea of a prank, you can still find some humor in it. Because it is kind of funny. Kind of. 

But then you realize that you’re probably not laughing because you’ve been spending most of the night admiring Nikolai rather than listening to him prattle on about his escapades and watching his poorly recorded videos, so you can’t fully appreciate the humor in the videos. With his cheeks flushed from copious amounts of laughter and his eyes glowing with excitement, you think he’s very pretty tonight—Nikolai is always pretty, but the angle at which he’s sitting leaves the moon haloing behind his head, and maybe it’s just because you’ve missed him the past few weeks when you’ve been abroad dealing with a territory dispute with Tolstoy, but you think there’s something special about tonight. 

“I don’t hate you. I guess I’ve been too busy admiring you,” you finally say, a playful smile on your lips as you tilt your head to the side to look at him. “You look pretty tonight.”

Nikolai blinks, eyes wide and owlish as he processes your words. The longer he goes unresponsive, you acknowledge that a quiet Nikolai is far more unnerving than a loud and erratic Nikolai, you’d expected a more… theatrical response to your comment. A swish of his cape, him leaping to his feet with a twirl and an agreement, even just a wild laugh; instead, he looks away abruptly. He doesn’t even just look away, he physically turns his whole body away from you. 

You blink.

“Nikolai?” you ask, a bit astonished when he literally ignores you. You lean forward, trying to get a look at his face, but then he swivels around even more and your lips part in shock. “Nikolai.”

You’re only met with a face full of his soft white hair, impeccably braided, as per usual—you have half a mind to tug at it hard to try to get a response from him, but you aren’t in the mood for the lewd comment that would likely spill from his lips after. 

“Koly-“

“Poor me, poor me,” Nikolai suddenly cries loudly, “The little koshenya mocks me when all I do is try to make her laugh. Poor me, poor me.”

His hand flies to his face, melodramatic as he bemoans your alleged cruelty. You stare at him, mind trying to piece together what exactly is happening—Nikolai is always hard to predict, but you feel like this is a bit strange even for him, and that’s saying something. 

“… What?” you start to ask but Nikolai has thrown himself into a loud and theatrical tirade about how he doesn’t deserve such injustice and how he was only trying to make you laugh, and how it’s so, so cold-hearted of you to taunt him when this is the first time the two of you have seen each other in weeks. 

Nikolai is impossible to bargain with when he gets like this, so you only sigh and tilt your head up to the sky, his words flying in one ear and out the other as you wait for him to settle down on his own. 

Instead, you swear the world is against you because rather than settling down, he becomes increasingly more noisy and distressed, and his accusations become even more asinine. Now, he’s saying that you’ve always had it out for him and how you weren’t laughing at his jokes because you hate him and want to report him to the police and how he should tell Dostoy about your betrayal, or better yet, he should stuff you in his cloak and leave you there?

You side-eye Nikolai heavily as he continues on, slightly alarmed, but brush off the casual threat as just Nikolai being Nikolai. You don’t know how to shut him up, you think you might be out here all night listening to him, and now you’re the one bemoaning your fate because how did a simple compliment turn into this. 

Finally, an idea strikes. 

You brace yourself, questioning your sanity and your entire existence before you interrupt him with a loud, “Quiz time!”

Nikolai goes silent instantly, head snapping toward you, eye even wider than before. 

You think you’ve hit an all time low as you say, “Was I trying to mock you before?” Nikolai opens his mouth to respond but you cut him off before he can. “What’s that you say? I wasn’t? Ding ding! We’ve gotta winner!” 

You think Nikolai might be having an internal crisis. He’s staring at you as if he’s seeing you for the first time in his life—his lips are parted, his eye void of the usual mischief dancing in it. He looks as if he wants to say something but he doesn’t know what. 

You let out a long breath as you go to speak up again, but before you can, his eye is glittering again, sharp and dangerous, and his lips are curving up into a slow smile. 

Nikolai inhales and then he takes a complete one-eighty as he bursts into loud cackles and says, “Ahahaha! I knew you loved me!” as if he wasn’t just lamenting your irrational hatred for him moments before.

Your eye twitches. He begins a second tirade, this one far more embarrassing for you than the last. 

You regret everything.

[literatureloverx]

Random things BSD MEN would say to you / about you:

“The frills look very beautiful on you, мышка. You look like a divine being sprung from a scandalous rococo painting.”

—Fyodor Dostoevsky, age unknown, secretly drooling over his wife.

“I thought I was going to DIE without you, bella~! How could I let another second pass without your lovely presence blessed upon my very being?!”

—Dazai Osamu, 22, walked in on his girlfriend changing into another dress for the night because he couldn’t (didn’t want to) wait any longer.

“Damn. My girl is so hot.”

—Nakahara Chuuya, 22, the biggest fan of his girlfriend, dumbfounded by his lover’s beauty and currently trying to comprehend why his pants feel so tight.

“I brought you a gift! Would you like to guess what it is, dove?! Guess! What do I hold behind me?”

—Nikolai Gogol, 26, holding a bunch of white roses behind his cape, which he himself painted red with blood (his methods are questionable).

“I did not expect to see you here. What are you holding..? Oh….t—*dry silence*….thank you. It wasn’t necessary.”

—Akutagawa Ryuunosuke, 20, trying to hide the soft blush creeping upon his cheeks and ears. He finds it thoughtful and endearing *cough cough* that you’ve prepared him a bento box.

TO MY OTHER WORKS => HERE

[chuulyssa]

𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐌𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐎𝐍 𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘 !

𝙨𝙮𝙣𝙤𝙥𝙨𝙞𝙨 — bsd men and their favourite part of you

𝙜𝙚𝙣𝙧𝙚 — smut and fluff

𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 — dazai, ranpo, kunikida, chuuya, akutagawa, fyodor, nikolai, sigma x reader

𝗗𝗔𝗭𝗔𝗜 loves your thighs. he loves to lay his head on them and rest, drowning himself in your soft skin, away from kunikida's screams and his piling work. they are his comfort, sometimes he catches himself squeezing them when he's thinking of a new plan or contemplating his existence. he likes the feeling of your clothed thigh, and how you shake his hands away when he does it in the middle of an important meeting. but dazai is dazai, and he reminds you of that by burying his face in between your thighs for two hours straight. poor you.

𝗥𝗔𝗡𝗣𝗢 likes to slide his fingers along the curvature of your waist in his pastime. it feels awfully nice to grab you by it when you're least expecting it, and even nicer to hike your shirt higher when you're not looking. ranpo is usually an unimpressed man because he correctly guesses his way out of everything, but his pupils dilate whenever you wear tops that show your waist. it's as if you're asking him to kiss you all over the magnificent curve. keep going and he might reward you with it :)

𝗞𝗨𝗡𝗜𝗞𝗜𝗗𝗔 has been in a dilemma for long. although his ideals called for liking conventional body parts in his lover like the eyes or the lips, he is very much inclined towards the movement of your hands. just watching your fingers flex around your pen while you filled in paperwork, or the back of your hand resting on your table lazily leaves him stiff in his seat. he can't keep his eyes off your fancy nails, and he likes to pepper kisses around your knuckles when the two of you are alone.

𝗖𝗛𝗨𝗨𝗬𝗔 thinks he can spend eternity staring at your ass. it's perfect from all angles, and even better to touch. the way his fingers dig into the plush skin make his throat go dry, and he wishes nothing more than to eat you out every single time he catches sight of your butt. he's not the best at controlling himself, but sometimes circumstances force him to, such as in battles, when you're fighting an enemy, chuuya decides to take a break and check out your ass for a few moments for good luck.

𝗔𝗞𝗨𝗧𝗔𝗚𝗔𝗪𝗔 fell for you the hardest when he saw the love you held for him in your eyes. they are of the prettiest shade, he thinks. he stares into your eyes whenever you're alone, they bring tranquility to him. he feels he can be lost in them forever. there's something about watching them scrunch up when you laugh, or roll back when he's rutting into you. akutagawa likes that he can tell how you feel just by looking into your eyes. he believes it enhances trust in your relationship.

𝗙𝗬𝗢𝗗𝗢𝗥 won't admit it, but all he ever wants to do to you in his free time is mark your neck. he's a busy man, and it's not always you two end up in bed, so nipping at your neck is one of the few things that seems as intimate to him. he loves it when you recoil under his kisses, and he loves it even more when you have to walk around with the bruises he made because you were unable to hide them. fyodor might have been a vampire in one of his lives, but you're not complaining, are you?

𝗡𝗜𝗞𝗢𝗟𝗔𝗜 buries his face into your boobs at every chance he gets. he enjoys watching your nipples harden at the slightest provocation, and he gets off watching your boobs bounce when he shakes his head into your chest. he always gives you back hugs and leaves his hands suspiciously close to them. nikolai likes to squeeze your boob and pinch your bud, cackling at the frown on your face and kissing it. he has a hand on your chest even in non-sexual moments. the feeling of your skin so vulnerable under his touch makes him high.

𝗦𝗜𝗚𝗠𝗔 thought he was in heaven when he kissed you for the time. the taste of your lips was a luxury to him, and he might have melted had you not held onto him so tightly. he wants to cherish that feeling forever, so he always gives you kisses and quick pecks whenever you're nearby. when he's stressed, he gives you a long kiss to ease it and forget. when you're stressed, he coddles you and gives you small kisses. your lips have become comfort to him. he thinks it will be nice if you were his last kiss too, just as you were his first.

[chericos]

BLOOD SUCKING FREAKS!

your faves as vampires— multifandom headcanons

fandom list— vnc (the case study of Vanitas), bsd, jjk, mha, one piece, aot, kny, csm, genshin impact (brings back memories…), haikyuu, soul eater, hxh + more!

cws: nsfw?, blood, biting, possessive/yandere themes, dark themes, bites can be used as a sort of aphrodisiac, overstim themes, mentions of bruising, chasing, “hunting”, mentions of being tied/chained up, some are darker than others due to the characters being more inherently “evil”, unedited, you can tell who my favs are, sorry if some are short... tell me if I missed anything!

MDNI

He’s so sweet and kind with you, always ensuring you’re fully prepared to take him. His big rough hands toying and prodding in such a gentle manner that you can’t help but cry out for more. Tears prick the corner of your eyes at his slow pace, you’re not sure how much longer you could keep going like this. His hands trail up and down leaving goosebumps across your skin. His eyes sharpen as he peers down at the junction of your neck. He tilts his head down, inhaling deeply as he drags his tongue up your collarbone. He hovers over your pulse point, sharp fangs grazing the sensitive spot and you shiver at the feeling.

“May I?”

His voice is thick and laced with lust. you feebly nod your head, letting out a small whimper. He hesitates slightly before biting down. It is weak, and only just pierces the skin enough for it to bleed. But what did you expect your hunk of a vampire is just soft.

Maybe a little too soft.

— Izuku, Tamaki, All might, Nighteye, Nanami, Higuruma, Ino, Rengoku, Gyomei, Kunikida, Fukuzawa, Jouno, Atsushi, Roland, Zack Fair, Armin, Shiro, Kunigami, Reo, Kurapika, Cyno, Aether, Gepard, Hinata, Sugawara, Yamaguchi + your fav

Your skin is already littered with bruises and teeth marks. Small beads of blood trickle down your chest and he carefully laps at them. He's been at it for hours, marking you up, making sure whoever dares to look at you knows you belong to him. But who could blame him

Your flesh is so soft and tender between his teeth he can’t help but want to take a bite. It's like you've put him in a trance. His gorgeous girlfriend, who's so eager and pliable to his touch. You were practically made for him. And the sweet sounds you make when he pushes deeper inside of you, it's not his fault your moans are so hypnotizing.

He doesn't normally get so worked up, but you've been riling him up all day. Teasing him with your touches, whispering dirty words into his ear, it's only natural he would break at some point.

He didn’t mean to get rough, but you just tasted so good he couldn’t resist. You won’t blame him… right?

— Xiao, Ayato, Zhongli, Diluc, Alhaitham, Aizawa, Shoto, Shinso, Bakugo, Gojo, Noritoshi, Vanitas, Uzui, Giyuu, Zoro, Akutagawa, Chuuya, Aki, Rin, Isagi, Shidou, Sae, Tobio, Suna, Oikawa, Reno, Leon, Eren, Jean, Levi, Dan Heng, Jing Yuan + your fav

He's so messy.

Spending hours in between your thighs, kissing the supple skin, and also leaving his claim in their place. he's basically eating you alive, bite marks indented in the flesh, and he hasn't even touched you yet. You're whining for him to stop teasing, pleading for him to give you what you want. And who is he to deny?

Arms hooked under your thighs, keeping you in place from thrashing around. He buries his face into you, his nose nudging up against your clit, and the sensation has you jolting. He gives a tentative lick, eyes shooting up to look at your reaction. Your hands nestle into his hair, tugging at the roots as a moan slips out from your lips. And after that, he's ruthless, eating you out like you're a 5-star meal (you are). He's kissing and licking and sucking, and god, whatever the hell he's doing it's making your mind blank.

You don't have it in you to care about how loud you're being, and he doesn't seem to care either. In fact, they seem to encourage him to rip those pretty pretty sounds from you.

“So sweet f’me baby,”

Slick is practically covering the lower half of his face, but he doesn't seem to care. His eyes are blown wide, giving you a dazed out stare as he continues to lap at your core.

This was going to be a long night.

— Noè, Choso, Connie, Luffy, Tighnari, Kazuha, Itto, Kaeya, Leorio, Ranpo, Techou, Tachihara, Cloud, Bachira, Chigiri, Nagi, Kaiser, Aiku, Kuroo, Tanaka, Miya twins, Hizashi, Mirio, Jin, Hawks, Tamaki, Sero, Denki, Kirishima, Sampo, Jiaoqui + your fav

You're such a brat.

You're lucky he still puts up with you after everything you've pulled. He glares down at you, the eye contact making you uneasy. Your mewling and whimpering did nothing to sway him. Your hands are still tied behind your back as his thighs continue to spread your legs open. His hands as roaming your body, squealing and pinching in places that make you jump, before he leaves them to play with your nipples.

His touch is light and teasing, driving you insane. Your nipples harden under his touch, embarrassing sounds escaping your throat as he continues to toy with them. You shove your face into the pillows next to you to muffle them. One of his hands leaves your chest to grip your chin, tilting your head back to stare directly at him. He wants to see every expression you make.

The tension between your legs becomes too much to ignore and you begin to discreetly hump his thigh, desperate for any kind of friction to relieve you. At least you thought you were discreet. You don't far before his hands are off you and he's shoving you away. With teary eyes you stare at him confused, why did he stop you?

You're needy and sensitive and you want him to touch you again. You beg for him to continue, but all he does is let out a low chuckle. He doesn't plan on letting you off the hook so easily. He wants to make sure this stays ingrained in your head so that you'll never make the same mistake again.

Because you're his, and he'll spend every second reminding you of that fact.

— August Ruthven, Sanemi, Iguro, Akaza, Geto, Dazai, Mori, Fukuchi, Shigiraki, Overhaul, Blade, Reiner, (s4) Eren, Feitan, Chrollo + your fav

He doesn't know why you keep trying, why you continue to run away. He doesn't understand whatever false sense of freedom you feel when he lets you out. Did you really think you could outrun him? Oh, how idiotic. If he had it in him he would pity you, so dumb and naive. It seems like you still haven't learned your lesson.

Your wrists and ankles are bound together, chained up to the wall. Tears prick your eyes but you know he won't care. He's leaning over you, peering down at your small form as you keep yanking at the restraints in hopes of being set free. You and he both know it's futile, so why keep fighting?

He grips your arms, sharp claws pinching the skin. Without warning he hastily leans down to sink his teeth into your neck. You scream out and thrash at the pain but he holds you still, makes you take it.

It doesn't take long for the venom to enter your systems, an intoxicating feeling clouding your mind and a strange but familiar heat coursing through your body. Your body tensed, heart-beat picking up as you tried to deny what was happening.

He licked the wound closed before stepping back. his eyes never leaving yours as he watched you squirm as the aphrodisiac set in. You scream at him, curses getting mixed in with small yelps as your body becomes sensitive to your clothes. But he isn't too worried about that. He'll break you one way or another.

And then you'll see that there is no way of escaping him.

— Sukuna, Kenjaku, Muzan, Douma, Fyodor, Dabi + your fav

HAPPY HALLOWEEN FREAKS!

Anyway just another disclaimer: I don't romanticize the actions performed in the last one, idk it just doesn't do anything for me, I also (personally) think it's unhealthy but wtv floats your boat ig!! (I say this like it isn't the longest section) IDK, it was just kinda fun to write, I've been meaning to get into darker themes(I have a Douma fic I've been meaning to write) so I wanted to go all out and see how it felt.

I love writing heacanons, ahhhhhhhh, I probably won't edit these so hopefully they aren't too bad!

@ CHERICOS 2024 all rights reserved do not repost, edit, copy, translate or plagiarise my works

[osamucide]

TEXTING THEM “I WANT A BABY” ⊹

. . . ft. dazai, atsushi, kunikida, ranpo, fukuzawa, ango, oda, akutagawa, chuuya, fyodor, sigma, and nikolai

cw: sassy men, suggestive in ango, oda, chuuya, + nikolai's, language lol

⊹ ⊹ ⊹