#have a wonderful day ᡣ𐭩

[tetzoro]

good morning friendz + happy friday from me and the kitties ! they wanted me to tell you they’re very proud of you for making it through another week! i hope that today treats you kindly, remember to stay hydrated + unclench your jaws ! (๑´>᎑<)~* ෆ

[osarina]

What’s you’re thoughts on femzai? 🤭 I want to know and if you have any fics for her if so would you consider posting them? Sorry if that sounded rude but I was curious. I hope you have a wonderful day!!🫶🏻

my thoughts on femzai are filthy and intense HAHAHAHAHHHH i love femzai, i actually do have 1 fic planned for her but i dont know when ill get to it

[ickyuji]

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 yuji using both hands to fuck himself after you send him what most would consider a casual selfie.

unabashed, head tilting back into his bed- hips canting up and up off the bed over and over the second palms of his hands meet the coarse pink hair dusting his pelvis. tilting his head to catch a glance of your pretty face. lips pouting, something you have a tendency to do in your pictures because you think it looks cute, and god- he prays every day you never stop doing it.

cock so hard it hurts, slipping the angry and red, mean head through calloused palms. wondering if your pretty, manicured fingers would feel better than the burn he feels now.

coughing out sounds of moans trapped in his throat, shaped like your name- hoping his roommates are out for the night. not having the foresight to check before opening your messages and reading over the; which one looks better? :3

text from you, a part of him begging you're sending him such cute images on purpose. at least then, it'd give him an excuse to fuck himself silly over your face- letting out an exasperated keen the second another one comes through.

this one, this one framing your face so pretty- eyes darting down to the fact that it looks like you're topless. a sliver of soft skin like a blessing, dropping one hand off his cock to bring his phone in closer.

panting exceeding their normal, lust driven tempo to groan out noises that sound like 'fuck, fuck, fuck' before he's done for.

his movements sluggish while he poses his phone downwards, just shy of kissing his leaky length. the juxtaposition of your face pouting at him through a illuminated screen and his viscous hand working over his cock just too good.

stomach tensing taught until he's spent- the first rivulet of cum landing right over your image. not daring to see where the rest lands because he's bucked his hips off the bed, squeezing his eyes tight and imprinting your face to the back of his eyelids while he cums over and over.

heart stilling to its normal pace after moments of clarity. dropping his phone off to the side and running a fist over his sweaty, blush hair.

having half the mind to wipe his phone off with his shirt- cringing over that decision later and sending you a message letting you know the last one is his favorite.

heart leaping out of his chest when you call him- happily blabbering about how happy you are he's picked that one. all the while his mind wanders off and wonders if you can hear the slick sounds of his shaky hand palming over his cock through the receiver.

[fairy-angel222]

𝐃𝐈𝐋𝐅 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐃𝐎𝐎𝐑 𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

—in which toji is constantly fucking women and disturbing your peace. your complaints lead to you becoming one of them.

pairing: toji fushiguro x fem! college reader

cw: smut, breeding, daddy kink, size kink, age gap, toji being a cocky prick, unsafe sex, ass slapping, mentions of cervix touching

Ever since you heard about your next door neighbor Mr. Fushiguro going through a divorce, things have been hell. For you.

From the day he first moved into the apartment, constantly arguing on the phone with his ex wife about whose turn it was to watch his son, Megumi.

When Megumi is over, everything’s quiet, and you finally get a chance to rest your head and relax in peace. Doing some studying and cleaning in the quiet atmosphere.

You wished the black haired boy would stay for just a day longer, because Toji is back to his usual self hours later. Bringing in young college girls one after the other. Fucking them hard against his headboard as they let out loud cries of daddy. It was annoying. You could even stay inside anymore to get work done.

At every hour of the day he seemed to be active, fucking through all sorts of women, the shaking of your thin bedroom wall never coming to an end as high pitched moans echoed through.

It was getting to the point where you couldn’t take it. You were so fed up. Didn’t he ever get tired? Tired of promising these young desperate girls to call them back only to throw away their numbers and fuck their friends the next day.

Weeks go by and nothing changes, Megumi coming over for a silent three days then leaving again. Giving his father enough time to fuck any feelings for his ex wife out of his system.

You swore you couldn’t take it, you had barely been able to study, occasionally spending an hour or two in a nearby café between classes. When you noticed your grades slipping, your eyes having prominent bags at the lack of sleep, you groan loudly in frustration. Finding your legs moving before you could even process it.

Your fist raising to knock on the man’s door once, then twice, with no answer. You huffed, going in to knock a third time before the door swung open. A tall, muscular man towering over you with a scowl. “What?”

Your eyes widened as you scanned over his body, his perfectly sculpted face, broad shoulders, defined abs, and the very distinct outline in his sweats.

The man cleared his throat, a smirk gracing his face when he startled you out of your intense drooling. “Now, what do we have here?” he chuckled deeply, tilting his head to the side with crossed arms as he rested against the door’s frame. “Here to get your turn doll?”

You gulped, finding it harder to spit out your words as the Fushiguro man stared you down. “I.. I’m here to ask you to keep the noise down, some people have actual work to do.”

Toji whistled, “Oh? A bold one huh? I like it,” His hand reaching under your chin to make you look fully up at him. “you’re a pretty little thing you know,” he spoke, running his thumb along your bottom lip, “wonder what you’d look like ruined underneath me.”

You ignored the flutter that went off in your pussy, clenching your thighs discreetly as you glared. “Just keep the noise down okay old man? I'm trying to study.”

Toji could feel his cock grow harder, you were just what he needed. “So i’m an old man now? That’s a first, usually girls like you just call me daddy.” he shrugged, “but it’s okay, you’ll get there.”

You rolled your eyes as you walked away from him, annoyance written all over your face to mask the arousal swirling in your stomach. He’d probably fucked the entire neighborhood by now, including the campus, so you weren’t gonna fall for his sick charms. You just hoped he complied and kept the place quiet, you didn’t need that usual noise the day before your big test.

Toji had surprisingly did as you asked, and you sighed in content as you read through the pages of your notes. Your pen in your hand finding itself in between your teeth as you bit down softly. You got what you wanted, so why was your mind running wild with thoughts of the Fushiguro man’s hands on your body as he fucked you like all of those other girls.

You shifted in your seat, one leg over the other to bring stimulation to your needy clit making you whimper softly. You couldn’t let yourself give in.

Another week passed and you once again found yourself in the same noisy predicament. Your mind couldn’t help but wander to the man more than twice your age. Way too old for you yet just so.. hot. Toji Fushiguro had become your fantasy.

And it was unbearable.

Hearing all these moans day and night. Hearing Toji’s loud grunts and groans as he no doubt left them with the best fuck of their lives.

It was Thursday, and Megumi would be coming tomorrow per routine, so you’d finally get a break then. But, you couldn’t deny the fact that you wanted an excuse to go over there. Your face serious as you banged on his door.

You waited a minute, a shirtless Toji emerging into the door frame as it flew open. Toji smirked, “Ah, you again.” His sweatpants hung dangerously low beneath the start of his v line, black hair messy as his tongue darted out to swipe across his lips. “Finally came to your senses?”

His last fuck had left right before you came, coincidentally of course.

“N-no.” you objected sternly. “I’m here to ask you again to just be.. what are yo-“

You swallowed hard when he began stalking towards you, a sinister grin on his face as you were backed up against a wall. His breath fanned your head as he bent his neck. Hands on the walls near each side of your face. “Your face says otherwise, doll.”

“No it d-doesn’t.. you’re just a cocky old man preventing me from getting things done.”

Toji’s brow raised with a deep hearty chuckle, “Back to that nickname i see,” His hand grabbing hold of your cheeks and squeezing them together. “Gonna have to clean that mouth of yours, teach you how to be a good girl.”

You whimpered lowly, feeling wetness pool between your legs as you looked up through your lashes. Toji’s eyes trailing to your glossy lips as he inhaled sharply. “Don’t worry, this dirty old man’s lips are clean”

Pressing his lips roughly to yours, your eyes widening as you gripped the edge of your skirt with a moan. Toji smirked against your lips, his hands hooking beneath your legs as he lifted you up. Your frame so much smaller in comparison to his larger one.

Toji was quick to bring you inside. And you found yourself sitting on the man’s lap, your skirt bunched up at your hips as he hammered up into your wet cunt with brute force. His hands kneading into the flesh of your ass each time you ground your hips onto him.

You let out a loud mewl, his thick cock stretching you out and grazing against your gummy walls as he fucked you deep. Feeling him within your stomach when you cried out. “Fushiguro-san— ah, so- ngh g-ood.”

“That’s not my name doll, try again.” he growled deeply, landing his palm onto your ass in a hard slap. And you whimpered tearfully at the sting. “T-toji—” Another harsh smack burning through your flesh making you let out a cry. “Last chance.”

You moaned loudly, your back arching as Toji slammed into you. “D-daddy, ahh daddy, o-oh fuckk—,”

Toji hummed in satisfaction, “Look at you, thought i was a dirty old man hmm?” His teeth biting softly at the delicate skin of your neck, his pelvis hitting your red puffy folds relentlessly. “Moaning for me like a little slut, so fucking pretty.”

You let out a shaky cry, “Haah— F-fushiguro-san,” Your pussy clenched down on his girth, his rough hand making its way around your throat, squeezing the sides and forcing you to look at him. “Not gonna fucking tell you again.”

You mewled, “‘M sorry— nngh,” Your back arching when Toji bullied his cock deeper into you.

“Still waiting doll.” he grunted, eyes dark as his grip on your throat tightened, your moans and whimpers loud as his thighs noisily met your sticky cunt. “D-addy— ahh- so good,” you cried, feeling his angry tip forcing its way to your cervix, kissing the entrance with each harsh thrust.

“Good fucking girl, you’re getting there” he grinned with a groan. A creamy ring formed around the base of his cock, your pussy gushing messily onto him as loud squelching sounds filled the room. “Pussy’s so fucking tight— better be on the pill cause i’m botta cum in that pretty pussy, shit.”

“Ah— nngh daddy, ‘m close- gonna cum.” you whimpered, your eyes rolling back and your lips parting in a string of incoherent babbles, Toji’s thrusts sloppy as he groaned.

“Gonna cum on this old man’s dick yeah?” He teased cockily, “Had so much talk for someone who’s falling apart on my cock.” Toji grunted, “Bet ya sat there listening like a lil perv, your hand down your panties hmm?”

You shook your head no with a cry, “Uh uh- ahh— wasn’t.”

“Sure about that? Sure you didn’t sit there and fantasize about me fucking you like a little slut?” His hand reached down to rub at your clit, a loud moan escaping your mouth.

Your breathing sped up as you felt a coil buildup in your stomach. Your body shaking with pure ecstasy. You let out a high pitched scream, the stimulation to your g spot making your head go fuzzy. Vision turning white as you clenched down tightly on Toji’s cock.

“O-oh fuck— ‘m cumming— ah, cumming daddy.” Toji’s hand pressed down harder on your throat, the pressure restricting your air flow making you let out a choked mewl. Tears welling in your eyes as his heavy balls smacked against your ass.

“Nngh—” The ring of white thickened at his base as you let out whiny cries. Toji’s hand working small circles on the sensitive bud before he brought his lips to your ear. His voice deep and gruff as he groaned. “Fuck doll- squeezing me so tight, come on and scream for me.” He breathed, “make a mess on my cock.”

Toji’s mean pace became too much, a tight pull in your stomach as your mouth fell open, legs trembling with loud cries as an unfamiliar feeling washed over you.

It was heavenly, your brain going dumb and your pupils disappearing behind heavy lids as you screamed loudly, head falling back and nails digging into his shoulders as you fell off the edge.

Toji never slowing the movement of his hips, still hammering up into you despite the mess you were making on his thighs. Your pussy spraying streams after streams of clear liquid as you arched your hips, grinding back and forth to ride out your squirting orgasm.

“Even fucking louder than any of my previous fucks.” he laughed, “Wonder what the neighbors would say, went from being a whiny little bitch to being the same thing you complained about.”

You let out a whine, Toji flipping you abruptly onto your back, his hand still around your neck as the position allowing him to hit even deeper. “Fuck,” he grunted, his words in between each thrust. “gonna fucking breed that pussy so deep.” Letting out a low groan at the last thrust, his lips meeting yours in a sloppy kiss as he bottomed out.

A whimper fell past your lips into his when you felt him fill you up, his cum shooting in hot thick spurts along the walls of your cunt.

He smirked as he pulled away, watching you pant heavily. “Would make such a good breeding bunny.” Dipping his fingers past your lips and resting them on the back of your tongue. “Might have to keep you around, can’t be disturbed if you’re the one making the noise now can you?”

You shook your head tiredly, forcing your eyes to stay open as Toji pulled out of you. His sticky cum seeping out of your fluttering pussy slowly. Your brain was still so clouded, blinking in and out of blurry vision.

Toji hid the smile threatening to creep up onto his face, his face neutral as he plopped down onto the couch next to you. “Rest if you need to, then leave.” He said nonchalantly, trying to seem like his usual self despite the fact that he had not kicked you out yet. Which was something he never did, let a girl stay any longer than a second after sex.

The man would never admit it, but there was just something about you.

He wanted to make you his pretty little doll.

[raestromboli]

plug!chris catching you riding his pillow ᡣ𐭩

coming to your place after a long day of dealing was a natural thing for chris to do. so when he and some of his friends that tagged along with him had no more clients left, they suggested an evening at some fancy restaurant to spend their money. chris, of course, quickly waved them off because he wanted to spend his time with his pretty little girlfriend after being so busy the past few days.

so imagine the surprise he felt as soon as he heard the most lewd noises coming from your bedroom . . noises that he’d recognise anywhere.

he feels like a perv, but that’s the least of his worries.

chris peeks through the small gap between the doorway and your conveniently opened door; it’s just enough for him to see just how perfect you look. the pillow, the one he usually sleeps on, between your thighs, a wet spot visible on its pillowcase, your tits free from any restraint, with your finger cradling them gently, and your face . . . fuck, your face.

your have the most vulgar expression imaginable. god, you’re better than any wet dream he ever had. your face is tilted to the side, eyes closed with pleading brows pinched upwards. your cheeks were dusted with the prettiest shade of red. his fresh love hoodie is bunched up and being held up by your teeth to expose your pretty tits bouncing every grind of your hips you take, and you’re letting out the cutest little muffled whines and moans.

it’s no surprise that your boyfriend gets hard instantly, hands flying to his crotch with no hesitation as he unzips his pants, sliding down just enough to take his cock out. his bony fingers wrap around his leaky cock and hisses lowly. his eyes were solely trained on printing the beautiful image right into the depths of his mind.

a pitiful pout grows on his lips. he can tell that you’ve been going at it for a while now from how much you’re panting and how you lean forward on your hands every other minute because of the annoying, yet delicious burn in your fleshy thighs, and chris wishes he could be under you instead of that damned pillow, holding you down because he knows how much you squirm on his dick and pistoning his hips into you just right.

there’s no doubt in his mind that he’s definitely not going to do that, but chris wants to savor the thrill of this a little bit too . . . wants to watch you pleasure yourself without him.

you roll your hips so expertly that chris feels even more jealous of that inanimate object, imaging your slick stained on the pillow glistening on his dick instead. the hurried movements, how you know when to push down further and how to keep the steady rhythm, how your face twists in exquisite pleasure with no care for the world—your boyfriend can barely stop himself from cumming right then and there.

chris strokes himself to match the roll of your hips, teeth digging in his bottom lip helplessly as he feels himself getting closer, just like you do. your hips get more erratic, humping the pillow faster and faster while your muffled whines get louder and longer. chris grips the doorway with his free hand to not go through it and disturb you, completely head over heels from how fascinating you look.

the only thing he’s late to realise is that you’re not even watching anything lewd to help you reach your high, and that becomes clear when you start crying out his name in a high-pitched tone that makes him go weak in the knees.

he thrusts into his own fist uncontrollably, but reluctantly gains the ability to stop himself only after seeing your heavenly closed eyes open, the fucked out look taking over your face as he grips his shaft tighter to not cum in the hallway right then and there.

you cum with a strangled cry of his name, gripping the sheets with shaky hands to ground yourself.

you came thinking about him. that alone makes chris wonder if he should kick his feet up high and giggle like a schoolgirl or burst into the room and fuck your sensitive pussy ‘til your cum completely coats his cock. he chooses the latter.

you pant heavily, little moans slipping past your lips as you lazily rock your hips against the pillow. chris doesn’t let you bask in the post-orgasm haze, however, because he’s barging into your room unceremoniously. with zipped pants of course!

squealing in surprise, you yank your blanket over your body, nervously looking at him with big, startled eyes while he casually strolls over to your bed, hands hidden in the pockets of his jeans and keen eyes focused only on you.

“chris. . i-i can explain!” you try to reason, but when your boyfriend simply smirks at you, you know you should stop talking.

“explain riding my pillow?” he’s only teasing, but it still makes you stutter and stumble over your words. you pout for moment, pulling your hoodie over your body before curling further into your blanket in sheer embarrassment. there’s an apology spilling out of your lips, but chris tuts at you condescendingly as he grips onto the blanket and pulls it away from you.

“fuck you lookin’ at? i want you to do it again.” there’s a smirk rising on his lips as he watches your eyes widen and your lips part to protest.

“but!—“

“nah, you wanna be a slut and ride my pillow. all i’m asking is for you to do it again, a’ight? then maybe, i’ll fuck you if you’re good.”

[gibberishfangirl]

Omg I love love loooovvee your wind breaker hcs! Could you do girlfriend reader leaving lipstick kisses on the boys? 😘💋

WINDBREAKER | love marks

Characters ✰ Haruka Sakura, Hajime Umemiya, Hayato Suo, Akihiko Nirei, Kaji Ren, Toma Hiragi, Jo Togame

Contains ✰ indirectly getting caught, teasing, reader did it on purpose in some scenarios, content of the boys getting confronted by their friends

Haruka Sakura ᡣ𐭩

❤︎ unfortunately Sakura failed to realize the stain your nude pink-ish colored lipstick left on the corner of his lip before leaving to meet his friends

❤︎ “oh my Sakura~ i do wonder what you were doing before getting here” Suo immediately teased with a charming smile

❤︎ Sakura looked at Suo and his friends suspiciously as they were all grinning ear to ear at him. the man hated being put on the spot which is something they were painfully aware of

❤︎ Nirei was the first one to crack while letting out a nervous laugh and saying “Sakura you got a little something here.” while pointing at his lips

❤︎ Sakura bolted out of his seat to run into the restroom as his friends all laughed at his sudden movement

❤︎ his face had a furious blush scattered across his cheeks as he spotted the mark on his lips

❤︎ he roughly scrubbed off the make up for about five minutes with water and a paper towel. jeez— who knew removing make up can be so hard?

❤︎ he yanked his phone out of his pocket to send you a message only to find that you already texted him one of your own

❤︎ your message read: hope you enjoyed your little surprised Haru <3

❤︎ why you little—

Hajime Umemiya ᡣ𐭩

❤︎ Umemiya was a different case, this man was so shameless it was actually hard to make him be embarrassed of anything

❤︎ so when Hiragi finally told him about the pink kiss stain on his cheek he didn’t have much of a reaction and continued the meeting as if he didn’t receive such information

❤︎ it was only after the meeting that he decided to wipe off the stain with the palm of his hand

❤︎ update: it didn’t work, he simply just smeared it around with that motion instead of it actually working

❤︎ he didn’t bother to remove it after that, he simply just shrugged and chuckled with a “i guess that’s that.” while Hiragi facepalmed

❤︎ since he couldn’t get it off the first time he just walked around the whole day with the smeared kiss mark on his cheek

❤︎ no one else really dared to point it out so he nearly forgot about it until he had seen you again and you let out a gasp

❤︎ it was safe to say that you were more embarrassed than he was as you began to apologize profusely

❤︎ “i’m so sorry Ume!! i didn’t see that on you before i left!” “it’s okay, i barely even noticed it.” is the only thing he’d say in response before leaning in for another kiss

❤︎ he never really learns, does he?

Hayato Suo ᡣ𐭩

❤︎ Suo was so suave and calm most of the time that it was hard to even imagine that he’d miss something like this

❤︎ you thought about all the ways you could catch him off guard just to see him not be able to smoothly charm his way out of things

❤︎ that’s when the idea came to you; to plant a kiss mark without him noticing. you did it while you hugged him goodbye so the mark landed on his jawline

❤︎ surprisingly enough no one actually realized he had the mark or even caught onto it. not even Nirei saw it despite standing the closest to him the whole day

❤︎ Suo eventually saw it once he saw himself in the mirror at the end of the day. you had left the mark around 8am just for him to barely notice it at 10pm—

❤︎ he almost missed it but then once he tilted his chin higher the mark became more visible

❤︎ he simply shrugged and snapped a photo of it to send it to you as he assumed it was an accident

❤︎ “hey love, i think you accidentally marked me XD” “YOU JUST REALIZED THAT?” “what you mean ‘just’? O.O” “nvm”

❤︎ he took another look at the mark and reconsidered the possibility of it being an accident. the only words he mumbled out was “how sneaky” before a small smile caught his lips

❤︎ he’ll definitely remember this as he plans to get you back another day

Akihiko Nirei ᡣ𐭩

❤︎ Nirei spends a lot of the time looking at himself in the mirror so he notices it pretty fast in comparison to all the other boys

❤︎ it’s hard to catch the man lacking when he spends a lot of the time looking at his outfits for hours. of course he notices every small detail about himself

❤︎ he was glad he caught it in time he most likely would’ve became a stammering mess if any of his friends had been the one to point it out

❤︎ at least he was glad until he realized he couldn’t get the product off

❤︎ he scrubbed and scrubbed but the make up was super strong. it wasn’t coming off even to save his life

❤︎ he unrelectuntaty had to go meet Sakura and Suo with the mark smeared around his lips

❤︎ Sakura noticed it immediately and asked “did you bust your lip??? who did that to you?” already getting ready to find whoever hurt his friend

❤︎ Sakura was a dimwit when it came to these things so he didn’t realize what it was and automatically assumed it was a busted lip

❤︎ Suo let out a sigh and chuckle to Sakura’s reaction since unlike him, Suo was fully aware of what it actually was

❤︎ despite knowing what it was Suo didn’t expose Nirei in the moment and left Sakura in the dark. however, that didn’t mean Nirei was safe. Suo was definitely going to bring this up again some other time

Kaji Ren ᡣ𐭩

❤︎ Ren was always careful about how his appearance looked like. not that he actually cared but mainly because he didn’t need anyone else catching onto what activities he may have been participating in with you

❤︎ he typically made sure he didn’t look disheveled before heading out but today was different since he was in a rush to get to a meeting

❤︎ he had gotten so carried away in his heated make out session with you that he didn’t have enough time to pamper himself and needed to run out the door

❤︎ his hair was a slight mess which he was able to easily fix with his hands as he smoothed out the mess before seeing Hiragi

❤︎ Hiragi quirked an eyebrow up while letting out the smallest smirk. it was so fast Ren almost missed it. keyword: almost.

❤︎ “what’s that face for?” Ren immediately put up a defensive tone. “nothing, just seems like you been having a lot of fun.” Hiragi teased before yanking on Ren’s collar to expose the red mark on it

❤︎ Ren’s face slightly dropped before pulling himself back together. he shoved the collar of his shirt into his hoodie trying to hide it while mumbling the quickest lie he could think of.

❤︎ “i got into a fight before getting here… must be some old blood” “oh yeah, it must be in that case.” Hiragi sarcastically responded sparing his friend the embarrassment

Toma Hiragi ᡣ𐭩

❤︎ his whole group of underclassmen were on his ass as soon as they all spotted the mark on his neck

❤︎ he cursed the day he was born before taking some medication for all the headaches they were giving him that day

❤︎ “tsk. kids. you wouldn’t understand, none of you can even get a partner if you tried.” is the he only thing he would tell them if they continued to pry into getting him to say how he got the mark

❤︎ of course that response gathered an uproar from the kiddos as they took the insult to the heart. some hurt because they knew it was true with their lack of flirting skills

❤︎ the teasing got so bad even Umemiya had to tell them to back off after some time, knowing how stressed and overwhelmed Hiragi can get

❤︎ definitely not one of his most finest days but didn’t dread on it for long since things happen

❤︎ you were very apologetic once you heard about the day he had from others

❤︎ “i’m so sorry Toma!” you’d embrace him in a hug while nonstop apologizing

❤︎ unfortunately for you, your boyfriend could be quite a tease at times so a smirk made its way up to his lips before saying “it’s okay, maybe you can make it up to me by leaving me another?”

Jo Togame ᡣ𐭩

❤︎ it took Togame the longest to realize the kiss stain on his shirt out of all the boys

❤︎ due to his previous reputation, no one knew whether or not they should point it out. they weren’t too fond of the idea of getting beat up by the giant man so no one told him anything

❤︎ the only one who finally pointed it out was Choji as he asked why Jo had a chocolate stain on his shirt (you had been wearing a brown nude shade of lipstick which is why Choji mistakes it for chocolate)

❤︎ “huh? i didn’t eat chocolate today.” Togame would respond confusedly to his short friend while pulling on his shirt to find the stain

❤︎ “oh, then what is it?” Choji was genuinely intrigued by the conversation now as he wanted a response.

❤︎ Jo’s face turned a small shade of light pink remembering the prior events that occurred earlier that day

❤︎ “…nevermind. it’s chocolate. i just forgot i had some before coming here.” lies

❤︎ despite how bold Togame can be he most definitely did not want to have that talk with his longest friend

❤︎ Choji gave his friend a look that read ‘seriously?’ which Togame decided to ignore. he had bigger things to deal with… like finding you and getting more kisses

[jiarkives]

can you babysit our child?

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ summary — you ask nanami if he can babysit your child while you go out.

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ character — nanami kento (jujutsu kaisen)

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ content — fluff, ooc nanami (?), no pronouns used but kinda leaning towards fem

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ notes — i just had an idea and wrote it,,, no edit whatsoever 😶‍🌫️

~

Recently, Nanami’s students showed you an application called TikTok and you had been hooked to it, to say the least. Whenever you had free time, you would scroll on the app for hours on end.

And while scrolling one time, you came across a certain video of a couple and decided to test it out on Nanami to see how he would react.

“Hey, Ken?” You called out to your husband from the living room as you played with your toddler in her playpen. “Can you come here for a sec?”

“Yes, hon?” Nanami stepped into the living room from the kitchen where he had been cooking your lunch for the past hour or so, his apron still tied around his waist and the sleeves of his sweatshirt folded haphazardly up to his forearms.

“So I have an appointment with my nail tech tomorrow, right?” You reminded. “And Shoko and I decided to go out for a girl’s day.”

“The one you told me about over dinner three nights ago?” God help you, he even remembered when you told him. “Do you need something, hon? You know you can just take my card, right? You know where my wallet is.”

“No, no, but that is a tempting offer, admittedly, but no.” You grinned. “But I was just wondering, since I’d be gone the whole day tomorrow, maybe you can babysit our child?”

His eyebrows were immediately drawn together at your words and admittedly, a part of you thought he would turn you down and so you spoke quickly, “It’s alright if you can’t though. I can just reschedule my nail appointment and with Shoko.”

“No, it’s not that. You should go, hon, you deserve a break,” he told you in assurance, but his brows are still furrowed. “But why are you saying it like that?”

“Like what?”

“Babysitting,” he said. “You asked me to babysit our child.”

“Well, yeah, because I’d be out tomorrow and someone needs to take care of our child, you know?” You said, feigning nonchalance.

“Honey, I want you to be honest with me. Have I been making you feel neglected lately?” He asked worriedly, stepping closer to you and even going as far as sitting beside you on the floor. “I know I’ve been working overtime the past few days. Have you been feeling lonely because of that?”

Now, it was your turn to be confused.

“No, why’d you ask?”

“You asked me to babysit our child,” he reiterated. “Hon, I am the father of our child. I will take care of them the way a father should, and not just babysit them like I’mm being paid to do so.”

You were about to speak, but he cut you off, “I’m sorry I haven’t been around much lately, but I’ll make it up to you two, alright? I promise.”

“Ken.” You giggled, throwing your arms around him. “It was a prank. I saw it on TikTok the other day.”

“Honey.” He sighed.

“I know, I’m sorry.” You jutted your bottom lip out as you pulled away. “But I love you so much, oh my god.”

“I love you too.” A small smile grew on his face. “But don’t ever do that again.”

He stood and moved to go back to the kitchen, but paused to turn to you, “And you’re definitely taking my card now.”

Well, your child is definitely going to have a new sibling soon.

[nativegirltapes]

outer banks — drew starkey

pairing , drew starkey x angel!reader (younger!reader)

summary , basically just drew trying to be mean during sex but he’s too nice for that and you’re just too pretty for that. supposed to just kinda be a cute little funny moment between the two :)

warnings/notes , fingering. why am i nervous to post this. i literally just hate how i write smut cuz i literally don’t know how to write it 🍰 feedback is appreciated. <33

after much persuasion, drew agreed to watch outer banks with you. not only did he hate seeing himself on his own living room tv, but he hated how much commentary you always had to add while watching it together. although your little jokes and remarks always made him laugh, he always got embarrassed watching you watch him do his job. but you thought he looked so good, how could he be embarrassed when he looked that hot?

you were cuddled up next to drew, now on season 3 of outer banks, and to be honest you were only really paying attention when rafe came on the screen. you'd be lying if you said you didn't have a little crush on drew's character.

"how do you think rafe fucks?" you broke the silence, looking up at drew, still nuzzled in his chest.

"what?" he looked at you super confused. mentally asking himself if he just asked what he thought you did.

"how do you think rafe fucks?" you asked again, this time with an even more serious expression on your face. you were determined to get an answer.

realizing you were actually curious, drew spat out a boring and not well thought out response. "i dont know. mean probably."

"you should fuck me the way you think rafe would fuck me."

drew's eyes went super wide, you were never this bold. ever. for the first six months of dating drew you'd literally get so nervous everytime you guys were about to have sex he'd have to calm you down. but he wasn't complaining about this bolder side of you. he thought it was hot.

"you want me," drew collected his thoughts one last time, making sure he heard what you actually said. "you want me to fuck you how i think rafe would fuck you?"

"yes."

ᡣ𐭩˙⋆.˚ 🐻

it was a few days after you and drew had your little outer banks rerun binge when you both came home from a fancy dinner, both having drunk too much wine at the restaurant, especially you.

you'd been all over drew the minute you both got back to his place. "you look so yummy." you clung to his arm as he walked you both to his bedroom. you could still feel his huge bicep through the suit he was wearing. "i want you drew." you took a seat on the edge of his bed, looking up at him with your red watery drunken eyes and pouty lips. mentally praying that he'd make the next move so you didn't have to. you felt needy enough already.

"what do you want?" drew stepped closer to you on the bed, his knees meeting yours while standing in front of you on his bed.

"i want you." usually drew got exactly what that meant the first time you'd say it; you wanted some dick. but it felt like tonight he was making you really ask for it.

"lay down." drew's voice was demanding, not in any way he'd ever been before. it was kind of hot.

of course you listened, about willing to do anything for him to just fuck you already.

you watched as drew took off his suit and made his way towards you on the bed. you had a big grin on your face.

before you could even question him he connected his lips to yours. the kiss was rough and full of desperation. usually drew started out with soft slow kisses, which turned into more rough kisses.

in between drew's sloppy kisses, his fingers found their way between your thighs, already sliding in your panties. "damn, that fuckin' wet already?" drew shoved two fingers in without any warning. you squealed at the sudden movement. it was unlike him, but you were too horny too address it.

"drew." you moaned out, but it came out as kind of a whisper.

you wondered where this side of drew was coming from, was he really that horny too? either way you weren't complaining.

"so fuckin' tight." drew watched your face as he added another finger. "letting me finger you right after a fancy dinner? you're so nasty."

you giggled at drew's words. it all clicked in your head, you went back a few nights to when you told drew that he should fuck you the way he thinks rafe would.

your giggling distracted drew, making him let out a little chuckle himself. "what're you laughing for?"

"is this your impression of rafe?" you giggled again, lifting your head up to look at him, laughing again at the realization. you didn't think drew would actually listen. part of you thought it was sweet though, he just wanted you to give you what you wanted.

"maybe," drew got a little flustered, nervous that maybe you didn't like it. "do you like it?"

"i dont know. i kind of miss you just complimenting me."

"okay." drew said with his fingers literally still inside of you.

"that doesn't mean stop."

"sorry baby." drew picked up his pace again, going back to complimenting you rather than trying to degrade you. he liked it better that way too. you were too pretty to be mean to.

[tetzoro]

good morning friendz and happy wednesday ^_^ we have made it to the middle of the week, so yk what that means hehe time for a treat 😋 i hope you all have a great day ! ! ෆ

[osarina]

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

FEATURING: dazai osamu

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I love you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He does.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then you ask: 

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dazai’s chest suddenly feels heavy again.

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

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

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

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

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

“You did,” you confirm.

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

“Truth,” he murmurs.

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

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

He voices his first lie, “No.”

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

He refrains, if only barely.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dazai barely withholds a frustrated sigh. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you enjoying yourself at the Agency?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Good,” you say quietly. “I’m glad.”

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

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

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

He knows his next question.

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

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

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

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

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

He halts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We were never even dating, Daz-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He was,” you confirm.

Dazai’s glass of whiskey is empty. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dazai snorts.

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

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

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

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

No. Dazai refuses to believe it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you happy?” you ask quietly

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He forces it out anyway.

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

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

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

Your lashes flutter before you speak.

You lie for the first time that night.

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No.

“Yes.”

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

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

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

You don’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was a very lonely four years without you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

12:35

He looks back at you, eyes swimming with desperation.

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

He doesn’t waste any time on that.

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

Then, he ruins the moment.

“Tell me how you fucked Chuuya.”

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

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

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

Dazai gags.

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

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

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

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

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

“It was,” you agree, too genuinely.

Dazai squints at you hard. 

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

“You don’t need to sound so wistful.”

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

“How-”

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

Okay. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Unfair, he thinks mournfully. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A trick. 

Dazai knows it. 

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

He knows it.

He falls for it anyway.

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

“Yeah?” he says, voice rough. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The rest of our lives.

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

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

Of course, you know.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(I love you, he means)

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

(I love you too)

[ickyuji]

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 yuji x f! reader. yuji’s your best friend. dry humping. prematurely cumming. overstimulation. virgin! yuji. pretty girl! reader.

ᯓ 1.3k words. ᡣ𐭩

yuji knows he’s loved you since the day you sat pretty, right next to him. watching the way you’ve obliviously wandered right into his heart- wondering if you’ve ever looked both way before crossing his mind.

but he knows you don’t, and that’s okay. thinks the fact that you walk around with your lips curled up into a smile with bright, glittery eyes is the cutest thing ever. his heart hurts looking at you sometimes and the fact that you’re pressed warm and small against his side while the movie that he had failed to really absorb into his brain and only illuminates his face and nothing else has him a little squirmy.

“are you okay, yuji?” your voice, like a bell rips him from his mind. owlish in the way you’re looking up at him while your cheek is pressed to his chest, fingers playing with the hem on the pocket of his hoodie. and he can only, really nod.

doesn’t know how he’s gotten here, how his mind has betrayed him so bad that he’s been picturing your soft thighs clamped around both sides of his face. too dumb to think all of this through, you’re so close to his cock- veiled with nothing but the thin, slippery material of his shorts. slung over one of his thighs, twitching before he has the mind to reel it in.

and he thinks he may die, thinks there’s something wrong with his brain when he sees you tip your head down to look at the movement that had caught your attention. the hand gripping the back of the couch moving to cover his twitching dick- shifting to lift you off him with a pained smile.

“ah, sorry.” yuji murmurs, like it’s your fault. he truly feels like he may die- and it’s all cause his hormone addled brain couldn’t reign it in. but you’re so fucking pretty, and warm, and soft-

jumping when your manicured fingers reach for his wrist, giving a weak little tug like you wanna see what he’s hiding. those pretty eyes looking at him like you wanna pin him down and eat him alive. he can only image what sort of pathetic image is staring back at you. he knows his face is red, can feel the warmth simmer down his chest.

“i wanna see it.” you whisper, and he knows better than to say no to you- eyes shutting tight to roll in the back of his head before he comes back to you. breath restarting to come out in a pant, hand moving with the next tug you give him- and his cheeks flame with what he sees.

he was wearing nothing but a hoodie and grey shorts in preparation for cozying up to you, and he can see the imprint of his cockhead slung over his thigh opposite to the one you’ve claimed for the night.

eyes watching your reaction- preparing to high tail it out of there and fist his cock to your image. and he thinks he may have died and gone to heaven when you sit up and giggle at him.

you sit up and grab at his hoodie and settle yourself warm and perfect on his lap. he has half a mind to shift so you’re not directly on top of his poor, throbbing dick- offering you what he thinks is a more comfortable seat, catching the way you pout and look at him expectantly.

breath caught in his throat when you lean in and lick at the curve of his bottom lip, shaky hands reaching for the dip of your thighs- wondering if it was okay to even touch you. but he was at your mercy, and thinks he’s doing okay when you sigh.

trying to split his attention from his mouth to his hands, hungry when he finally has half a mind to taste you. sitting up straight to slot his mouth against your own- huffing out syllables that sound sort of like your name. hands reaching, bunching up the pretty little top you wore around your waist in his hands. and he’s just too lost to reel in his strength, tugs you closer- fitting you right over the swell of his dick. awarded with a pretty keen, and now he wants more.

“fuck, fuck.” yuji huffs when you pull to breathe, having a better sense than him to actually relent. head teetering back to lay across the back of his couch, eyes pinned down against the warm expanse of skin he’s reveled.

and to you, he looks like sin reincarnate.

it’s easy to start the slow roll of your hips, eyes squeezing tight- mirroring the same reaction he had donned earlier. watching with interest when he cants up to meet the second press of your leaky cunt over him; thrilled when he reacts like you hoped he would.

fingers reaching to hold you down, lifting you clear off the couch with how strong he is; so yuji in the way he’s carelessly seeking the pleasure where you’re joined for the moment. hips supporting your whole weight, and it should have hurt- but the heat of your cunt weighed on top his cock overrides any other sense.

you can feel the way he shakes, fucks himself with every drag- sounds tumbling from his mouth openly, shaped like your name between huffs.

and its sticky, can feel the pool of precum leaking out of the tip of his cock in between the space of his reddened head and hip. but he knows you’re worse, the singular thought has his eyes pinched shut while the wild bucking forces hiccups out of your own mouth.

shoulders bowing in before he sits up- arms reaching up to hold onto you like you’re the only thing keeping him tethered here. hands digging into the swell of your skin, huffing out syllables that sound like your name. but everything feels like its coming to a head and not even you are sure that its what he's saying. head tipped up to bury into your neck, hips fucking up against you over and over. bouncing you over his cock, just a taste of what he would do if he was actually sunk deep inside of you.

the singular thought bringing another surge of pleasure shooting straight through his core, spurt after spurt of leaky cum painting the space between his cock, body, and underwear.

not willing to let go of the feeling, this moment- continues every jut of his hips, snapping up into your body despite the hot chord of pleasure swinging into pain. choosing to grit his teeth through it, until you bring him back with an exclamation of his name.

"y-yuji!" you exclaim, hiccuped words broken with the interruption of his forceful movements.

letting him come down by himself.

your own body tensing over and over, thighs threatening to snap against his hips- poor, neglected and worst of all teased clit throbbing between slick folds.

and that singular thought, conjured up by you- seems to have made its way over to him. watching with interest the way he snaps his head up, eyes lidded- finally seeing you through the haze of lust.

"fuck, sorry. i'm sorry." he keens, hands grabbing at your waist- tugging you in closer to let his face press against the space of your tits.

thinking it was a pretty apology for how soon it all ended, before squeezing out a squeak of surprise with the sudden shift to your whole word.

bringing you down to lay back against the cushions of the couch. sharply realizing the apology was for the rough handling of your pretty body. looking at his movements with interest- wishing he looked at you directly while his thick hand shifted to the waist band of his shorts.

tugging it down, and finally, finally seeing the mess you'd made of him.

"your turn?" he inquires, eyes still settled on the space between your thighs- cheeks ruddy and warm while his hand pumped over the soft skin of his sticky, wet cock.

a smile rivaling yours just barely contained when you nodded in response.

[thewickedjazzy]

Level 2: Senses [mirror sex] for Kinktober.

ᡣ𐭩soft dom! osamu dazai x afab! reader.

ᡣ𐭩Synopsis: an argument with dazai boils over, as he pushes you to your limits, proving with every touch that the café girl has nothing on you—or your trembling legs.

ᡣ𐭩Warnings: nsfw, 18+ mdni, smut with plot, soft dom! dazai, praise kink, mirror sex, power dynamics, mention of cum, rough sex, sweaty sex, slight bondage, aftercare...etc.

ᡣ𐭩Word count: 2.1k. animated dividers by @/toastray.

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“why do you let her hang all over you?” the words spill out before you can stop them, harsher than you intended. but you can't swallow them back. not when the frustration has been building for days.

you stand in the low-lit corner of dazai's bedroom, arms crossed tightly over your chest, staring him down. does he know? does he care? every time you see her at the café—fingers tracing the edge of his sleeve, her gaze shameless and sticky, like she’s entitled to every sliver of his attention—it sets something off inside you. something you hate to admit.

dazai stands a few paces away, his hands shoved into his pockets, staring at you like you’ve just accused him of something absurd. maybe you have. maybe you haven’t. “are you really this upset about her?” his voice is calm, too calm, and the restraint in his tone makes your stomach knot.

“shouldn’t i be?” you counter, feeling the heat rise to your face. your pulse pounds in your ears, “why do you let her act that way? why don’t you stop her?”

silence again. does he even have an answer? maybe he’s not bothered by it because it doesn’t mean anything to him. or maybe—maybe it means everything, and you’re the fool standing here, questioning him like it’s not eating you alive.

dazai tilts his head, his chocolate eyes studying you, and for a moment you wonder what’s going through his mind. is he amused? bored? does he think you’re being ridiculous? after all, neither of you has ever voiced your feelings for one another.

“and why does it bother you so much?” his voice lowers as he steps closer, the calmness giving way to exasperated disbelief. “do you really believe i’d choose her over you?”

his question stings. why is he turning this on you? isn't he the one who’s been too indifferent, too careless, always letting other women linger too close? you draw in a shaky breath, your heart tight in your chest. “you don’t push her away,” you say, voice wavering even though you try to steady it. “that’s why i think...” your words falter, caught in the knot of your throat. “It’s like... she has something i don’t. something you want.”

his laugh is soft, but it feels more like a sigh, like he’s disappointed you even think that. “what could she possibly have that you don’t?” he’s closer now, his fingers ghosting over your wrist, tugging you gently toward him. “no one else gets this close to me. not like you do.”

and there it is—proximity, his words, slipping through your defences like water through cracks in stone. you hate how easily he pulls you in, how effortlessly he makes your doubts feel small. but still, the question remains, the doubt stubborn.

“then why don’t you push her away?”

“because,” his grip tightens slightly, his thumb brushing across your pulse point. “you look so pretty when you're mad”

before you can respond, his hands move lower, tracing the outline of your waist slowly. he doesn’t smile, doesn’t smirk like you’d expect. instead, he leans in close, his breath ghosting over your ear as he speaks.

“you want me to prove it?” he murmurs, his lips brushing the sensitive skin of your neck, making your heartbeat quickens with every carefully chosen word. “you want me to show you why you never have to be jealous?”

you hate how easily he can always dissolve your anger with his touch, how your body betrays you, melting against his as he begins to undo the buttons of your shirt. the soft rustle of fabric is the only sound between you, each button undone pulling you further into the moment, despite the storm raging in your chest.

your shirt falls to the floor, leaving your bare breasts exposed to the cool air. his hands linger on your shoulders for a moment before sliding down your arms, his touch featherlight and you can’t help but shiver under his gaze, feeling his now dark chocolate eyes drink in every inch of you.

“look at me,” he says softly, though his tone is still soft enough to feel intimate. “god, look at how beautiful you are.”

he steps behind you now, guiding you toward the full-length mirror standing across from the bed, its antique frame intricately carved, reflecting both of you in the low amber light—his tall frame towering behind you, hands moving with a slow, possessive ease over your skin.

you swallow hard as his fingers trail over your bare shoulders, down the curve of your spine, before hooking into the waistband of your pants. his breath makes your skin tingle as he slowly pulls them down, leaving you completely exposed.

“do you think i’d touch her like this?”

why does this feel so good when you're still mad at him? the question echoes in your mind as you bite your lip, your eyes wandering to your reflection, seeking answers in your own gaze.

“you’ve always been mine,” he murmurs against your ear, his lips brushing the sensitive skin just below it. “no one else gets this close. no one else even gets a chance.”

his fingers trail down your arms, wrapping loosely around your wrists before letting go. you watch him through the mirror, your breath hitching as he pulls a strip of his familiar white bandages from his pocket.

you open your mouth to say something, but he’s already wrapping the bandage around your wrist, securing it with a tenderness that feels almost too intimate. his eyes meet yours in the reflection, his voice a soft hum. “this is what you don’t understand,” he whispers. “no woman in the world would ever get to see me like this. no one but you.”

he finishes wrapping one wrist and moves to the other, his touch is a soft, golden warmth, like the sun’s first rays after a cold night. “you’re the only one who gets to wear these,” he continues, his tone deeper now, more affectionate. “the only one who gets to see the parts of me that no one else does.”

once your wrists are bound, he slips them behind his neck, pulling you closer to him, your back pressed against his chest, the heat of his body seeping into yours. he holds you there, his fingers exploring the curves of your body, tracing the lines of your stomach, your breasts, teasingly moving lower and with a swift move, he slips off his pants and dress shirt, pressing his hard cock against your ass through his boxers.

“you feel that?” his voice is thick now, his lips brushing against the back of your neck. “that’s yours. i’m yours.”

you tilt your head back, gasping as his breath caresses your skin, mingling with the intoxicating scent of him. “mine?” you whisper, the word tasting unfamiliar yet invigorating on your tongue.

“every inch of me.” his fingers glide across your skin until it rests between your thighs, where you want him the most. you feel your breath catch in your throat, a jolt of ecstasy shooting straight to your core, fueling an overwhelming desire that wraps around your lower stomach.

his tongue teases your bottom lip while grinding his clothed, hard cock against your ass, lifting you slightly with one arm to press your back firmly against his chest, and he devours your mouth, hot soft tongue slipping in to tangle with yours, groaning deeply, utterly intoxicated by your taste.

“ ’sam—ahh-” your sentence got cut by his middle and ring finger dipping between your folds and leaving in an instant.

“fuh-kk” he hisses, “look at you so beautiful.” he tilts your gaze until it locks on the mirror. “never met anyone who’s as beautiful as you, look at your pretty face,” the brunet continues to rasp as his lips drag across your flesh, placing small kisses into the crook of your neck while pumping into your folds gently curling his long slender finger before pushing another one just to slightly brush them against your sweet spot, watching you with half-lidded lust drunk eyes in the mirror as you whimper in pleasure.

dazai groans, fumbling behind you as he hastily shoves down his boxers only to nudge his tip through your slick folds, fingers slip from your cunt to circle around slit to smudging both your juices with his precum, before he pushes deep inside you drawing a broken gasp from you in which he quickly silence pressing his slick-coated fingers between your pretty lips, knowing exactly what you're supposed to do. your tongue swirls around his digits, gladly tasting of both your arousals as you suck on his fingers, mind short-circuiting savouring your combined slick essence.

dazai keeps placing wet kisses along your neck and collarbone keeping your toes off the ground with both his arms placed under your breasts as he juts his cock deep inside you almost reaching your womb.

“umph—fuck..i love your tits,” he coos, catching your reflected gaze and watching how beautiful you look getting fucked by him, with both your arms tied behind his neck as he bounces you on his cock. his eyes lockes on your delicious breasts admiring how they jiggle with each thrust of his hips, “love how soft they are, how they bounce when i fuck you,”

“nngh—hah please- k-keep going fuck—yes mngh,” your eyes roll back, body is all numb by now, completely ignoring the sting in your arms, as all you can focus on is his brutal pace, feeling your slick run down your thighs.

“look at your pretty pussy yeah?—uh fuck-look how it sucks me in, so eager for my cock hmm? i could fuck you—ungh..all the time.” he growls between words, losing his mind, as you struggle to take him at this punishing fast speed.

“fuh-ck yes ’samu nghh, feels so good ahh right there—goddamnit ’m gonna cum gonna cum aah-” you're particularly screaming by now, legs trembling as he holds you tight against his chest and you can feel the droplets of his sweat sliding down your back, your breasts bouncing, eyes crossing in a blissed-out haze.

“yeah? you're gonna cum hmm? my pretty sweet girl is gonna cum? fuuck fuck..yes yes—squeeze me like that—ngh cum on my cock baby...c’mon give it to me.” he keeps chanting in your ears as his tip keeps assaulting your g-spot.

“y-yess—fuck ’samfff” your cry got muffled by his hungry kiss, tasting all of him, too brainless and fucked out to focus on the constant twitching of his cock between your spongy slick walls, hips snapping faster and faster, filling his bedroom with the filthy lewd noises of his balls slamming against your folds as he rides out his orgasm filling you with his thick ropes of white seeds.

your lips barely manage to form a muffled squeal against dazai's wet lips before pleasure shoots through your veins, toes curling from the intensity of your full body orgasm, body trembling and writhing, gushing all over his cock.

dazai finally pulls back slightly, breath unsteady only connected to you by a string of your swapped spit.

one of his hands presses against the mirror trying to steady himself as he catches his breath. he then pulls out of you letting your mixed arousal drool down your thighs and soak the wooden floor. he places a soft, wet kiss on your lips before releasing your wrists from behind his neck, allowing them to fall to your sides.

he gently lets your feet touch the floor, loosening his firm hold around your waist. but just as he's about to let go, you stumble instantly, your legs trembling as you nearly fall. “hey hey baby, you okay?” he quickly catches you again, pulling you close to him with a reassuring grip.

“y-yes just t-ired” you manage to breathe out.

in one smooth motion, he spins you around so you're facing him. “sorry, i might've overdone it a bit,” he teases, brushing a strand of hair away from your flushed face. his hands linger on your waist, keeping you close as your legs slowly regain strength.

“so,” he tilts his head as he leans down a bit, “do you still think I want that girl from the café?” he raises an eyebrow, watching for your reaction, clearly amused by the idea.

his fingers trail lightly up your sides, pulling you closer again as if to remind you exactly where his attention lies. “because, sweetheart,” he adds with a smirk, “if this hasn’t convinced you yet, i can still go for another round.”

TAGS: @a-smol-bean @violetbutterflix @amanoava @falloutjuli @embersweapons @warriordemigosworld @cathias @v15aexe @vasarii @pe4rl-diver @sukidenks @dazaifavbandage @chuuminn @fyodorsprettynun @ace-0fspades69 @irasamu @trippyserval @alyszuha @bittysuguro @writingandmusing @corruptedwrathkitsune @thedamselzelda

[shegetsburned]

❝ he’s fucking in sin ❞ w. kento nanami ⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .

.nsfw.

• — content. professor nanami’s been waiting for your return ever since he committed the inconcevable mistake of fucking his student. • — author’s note. a follow up to archeology teacher!nanami. you guys are stuck with him and this au for a while. not sorry. <3

₊˚ପ⊹ teacher!nanami who wonders where you’ve been. ever since the incident, he hasn’t seen you in his class or in the facility. you had stormed out like a blushing mess, almost ashamed to have let your teacher see you whining and needy under him.

₊˚ପ⊹ teacher!nanami who’s been staying thirty minutes after class every day, hopefully waiting for your potential return but also to prove to himself he isn’t crazy and hasn’t been obsessed for nothing.

₊˚ପ⊹ teacher!nanami who took a look into your file, studying your schedule. he might mention your name once or twice to his colleagues, without any luck. you haven’t been to any of your classes for a whole week.

₊˚ପ⊹ teacher!nanami who has hesitated to call you more than once when he saw your number written under your address in your file. he has it memorized and transcribed in one of his notebooks. he leaves it open on his desk for the whole thirty minutes he’s waiting after class, pondering on the pros and cons of giving you a call. unfortunately for him, he finds far more pros.

₊˚ପ⊹ teacher!nanami who deeply regrets not having stopped you when you stormed out. he should’ve asked you out. he should’ve asked for your number. he should’ve told you how obsessed he is with you.

₊˚ପ⊹ teacher!nanami who finds himself alone at home after an exhausting day. he’s still thinking about these sweet lips of yours and cute pussy he made such good use of. he remembers everything. from your adorable whines to your shy manners. everything about you makes him crazy.

˚ପ⊹ teacher!nanami who lazily unbuckles his pants, a tired hand slipping under his underwear, reaching for his twitching cock. imagining you losing his mind just like he is makes it so easy.

₊˚ପ⊹ teacher!nanami who still finds the thought of breaking the rules and fucking his student exciting. he pumps his fist, leaning backward into his couch, deep groans followed by even deeper sighs when he visualizes how good you’d look riding him in that same position.

₊˚ପ⊹ teacher!nanami who usually always knows what to do in every situation but has been trapped in an unbearable state for the first time. longing for you had been a torture. it felt as if he had been robbed of someone that belonged to him.

₊˚ପ⊹ teacher!nanami who spoke your name like a desperate plea when he saw you finally walk into his class. he stood up right away. he looked like a mess. he looked tired but his eyes never left yours.

“mister nanami-”

he was quick to correct you. “not for you, no. kento, darling.”

his words were as soft as the last time you had seen him, that’s why you felt so bad telling him the truth and explaining your actions.

₊˚ପ⊹ teacher!nanami who stopped you as soon as you tried to make excuses for yourself. gibberish about being sick and stuck in bed for the whole week. who were you kidding? he saw right through you.

₊˚ପ⊹ teacher!nanami who listened to you when you told him how wrong it was and how it never should’ve happened but could only hear lies hiding a desperate truth.

₊˚ପ⊹ teacher!nanami who reassured you by offering his chair and urging you to take a deep breath before getting any further. you looked stressed and overwhelmed which he had seen as soon as you had stepped through the door.

₊˚ପ⊹ teacher!nanami who locked the door behind you, making sure no one would interrupt your conversation. he needed explanations and nothing would get in the way of spending time with his favourite student.

₊˚ପ⊹ teacher!nanami who knew how he felt about you but wondered how you felt about your teacher. truth is, he was the only man that ever told you how good you did in class. he was the only one who believed in you and encouraged you to study the things you loved most. he was so different than any man you had ever known. he gave you validation.

you craved love from him. you didn’t just love him mentally, you desired him physically. you needed him to love you. but you also knew this was too much to ask from your archeology teacher that had crossed the line by fucking you on his desk one week ago.

₊˚ପ⊹ teacher!nanami who reads you like a book. he knows you’re scared. so scared that you’re just nanami’s shameful and dirty little secret. scared that he won’t reciprocate your delusional feelings.

₊˚ପ⊹ teacher!nanami who would constantly praise and adore you if you gave him the chance. he’d give you all the care and love you’ve always deserved if getting involved with a student wasn’t so dangerous for his career but, most importantly, for your future.

₊˚ପ⊹ teacher!nanami who’s even more infatuated with you than you are with him and struggles to keep his feelings for himself when you bite your lip nervously, fingers twirling with one strand of hair, all ears for his remarks and explanations. you were so different from his other ungrateful students.

₊˚ପ⊹ teacher!nanami who swore to himself he’d take things slow and ask you out before going any further but your pink-tainted cheeks, inviting lips and doll eyes were testing his patience.

₊˚ପ⊹ teacher!nanami who places a hand on your shoulder, slightly leaning forward to calm you down. he pulls the chair towards him and takes a knee, curious hands brushing the side of your naked thighs.

“n-nanami, please..” you can only whisper as he loses control over your captivating scent and hesitating whimpers.

“kento, i said.”

₊˚ପ⊹ teacher!nanami who asks you to keep talking and explain yourself while his hands run closer to your inner thighs. he has you by the throat again and you’ve forgotten how much you loved the feeling. you want to speak but he has so much power over you.

₊˚ପ⊹ teacher!nanami who invites himself further, humming every time a reasonable argument comes out of your quivering lips, like he carefully listened and understood, but had lost any will to control himself.

you unwillingly push against his shoulders, deep down knowing that what you’re doing is wrong, but your legs are opening on their own as soon as you feel his hands touch your skin. his touch brings back memories and the nasty and dangerous feelings that you had felt during the whole week come flowing back into your mind.

₊˚ପ⊹ teacher!nanami who stops when he feels just the tiny bit of resistance from you. you’re trying to stop yourself from falling deeper into his sweet and comforting embrace and it’s taking all of his strength to understand your struggle and back down to let you breathe.

₊˚ପ⊹ teacher!nanami who can’t help but understand how difficult this situation is for you. it took one whole week off school for you to take a decision and go pay him a visit to explain yourself but all you had accomplished was realizing you were in love with your archeology teacher. a dependent and twisted kind of love.

₊˚ପ⊹ teacher!nanami who loses his grip on you, a groan of frustration escaping his lips but he looked professional nonetheless. if he wanted you, he would have to find better solutions than to throw himself at your feet.

“i apologize. i don’t know what came over me.”

₊˚ପ⊹ teacher!nanami who saw your deceptive gaze when he stood up and shook his head, disapproving of his own behaviour. you were still shocked by his sudden hunger, and your pussy was pulsating from apprehending pleasure.

“you have to leave.”

and he dared to ask you to leave after waiting thirty minutes after every class to see you, but you could hear restrain in his voice. you knew it was wrong. it was so wrong to entertain this relationship any further but his grasp was tight and you did not want to fight.

“ just call me, please.”

that’s when you stormed out for a second time, with puffy lips and lust in your eyes, promising to come back to his classes if he kept offering you all his love and affection however he wanted to.

© shegetsburned 2024 please do not repost/edit/or claim my writing as your own.

[lsuyia]

❝𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 𝐅𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑❞

A/N - ngl i literally pulled this out my ass at 11 am since i rlly needed to start posting on my tumblr more, pls request fic ideas!

relationship is established! also fem!reader

MDNI

ᡣ𐭩

satoru gojo, just seems like the the type of person to randomly be scrolling on instgram,— barely finding interesting and find a video of a baby.

The baby could be doing anything, laughing, giggling, saying its first word,—and like fucking magic will automatically text you about it, spam calling you

it all just started as one simple cute video that satoru saw, making his baby fever go through the roof.

One fucking video, was all it took.

You would get home from work, wanting to take a nap, oh but here he comes, bending you over on the kitchen table, making your legs tremble, just so he can try to get you pregnant.

“Spread wide open f’me, yeah?”

You started to wonder what was going on when one day he magically appeared when you were showering saying he wanted to shower with his beautiful girlfriend, which you knew he was lying straight through his teeth.

Few minutes later, he has you pinned against the shower wall, going at an ungodly pace bruising your cervix in the process with every thrust as he smiles seeing breathless, flustered face.— which some how always seemed to keep him hard.

“Just a little longer for daddy?”

You automatically knew when he said that something was going on, and you were going to get to the bottom of it.

For days straight, satoru would always have you bend over, legs up, on the floor,on the wall, in the bed, in the car fucking you dumb until he finally came inside you.

Everytime.

At this point you were getting concerned that you might actually get you pregnant.

So, you decided to finally open up about the whole dilemma, you couldnt keep going on like this.

“toru baby?” You called out to him after minutes thinking about if you should actually do this. “coming.” He said back as his light footsteps treaded across the living room before finally appearing in-front of you before he sat beside you. “yeah honeybun?” He softly spoke to you while his hand traveled to your thighs, squeezing at the plush.

“I wanted to talk to you about something..” You trailed off at the end, which in gojo’s eyes sounded pretty serious to him. His head immediately turned to look at you looking at you concerned. “Do you think we could like…—calm down with the sex?”

You spoke softly to him not even looking at him out of pure embarrassment of the situation. The silence was so loud after you spoke to him,— until he finally casually spoke back to you“yea baby thats fine, if you wanted to calm down you could’ve told me earlier.” He said with a shrug seeming like the situation didn’t affect him at all.

Oh but, it very much did.

In his eyes, It sounded like you didnt want to have a child with him, which drove him absolutely insane.

The constant sex ban worked for a full month until he was back at it again.

You couldn’t even take off your shoes without him touching your nipples through your clothes, just to turn you on and get you into bed with him.

One thing lead to another and you and him getting into a heated argument in your shared bedroom.

“Gojo, what is up with you? I cant even walk into the fucking house without you trying to finger me!” you exclaimed practically yelling at him. Your attitude towards him at him caught in a dumb daze. You were starting to get tired of the constant sex every day.

He was yelling back before but now he was silent as he stood in front of you not speaking, you rarely ever called him last name which let him know you were pretty serious about the whole ordeal.

He couldn’t keep his need for you under wraps for any longer.

“Honeybun, I want a baby.” He said to you, as his light blue eyes locked with yours.

You were honestly shocked at him, he wanted a baby? The only word you could even speak was

“what?”

“honeybun, I want a baby with you.” He leaned towards you cupping your face as he planted tender kisses.

“I want to see you and me mixed together, I wanna see both of us go through mother and fatherhood, I want to see all of you honeybun.” He said grabbing your hands interlocking them with his. He was really genuine and heartfelt about the whole baby fever nonsense.

You were still in slight shock, but you had a small thought about the idea of you and satoru’s kid still fresh in your mind at the moment

—

Needless to say, you finally found out why gojo was acting crazy all those months ago

You sighed watching television with your pregnant belly while gojo had his arms wrapped around you and his head lightly resting on your stomach, careful not to hurt you at any point

“Their going to be so cute.”

he hummed giving your tummy a tender kiss.

[fuxuannie]

HAIII I love your work

I was wondering if you could do where reader shows off her new nails to kenji and there Ultraman theme.

I hope you have a great dayyy

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭, 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭 | kenji sato x gender neutral reader

love mail — (*´ﾉ∀`*) quick drabble before ending the day n i reply to inbox msgs,,, reader knows hes ultraman!

︰꒱꒱ KENJI WAS CONFUSED WHEN YOU LEFT THE HOUSE WITHOUT HIM. now that's perfecrly normal, he's not some overly posessive jerk, it's just you usually ask him to come with you when you get your nails done. "it's a surprise!" your text reads, which is weirdly suspicious. your surprises varied, whether it be a romantic date or you came home with a kitten you saw on the side of the road. at least he knew it was just gonna be nails, but why on earth would you want them to be a surprise?

when you come home, kenji's on the couch and waiting for you. he's got a curious smirk, gesturing you to come over. and with your hands behind your back and a smile that fails to not be obvious, that's exactly what you do.

"so?" he'll start, tilting his head. "what's the surprise?"

you proudly show your newly painted nails, and his eyes seem to widen. "seriously?" he'll chuckle, taking your hands into his to get a better look. you began to laugh; finding his reaction cute. "seriously." you replied back. he pulls your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. "it's perfect. they look lovely on you." he honestly just loved how supportive you were in any way you could. it was just adorable.

[hyunebunx]

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 ⏖ ’ when you aren't dating but aren't just friends either (maknae line)

⁺ 𖹭 . genre: fluff, a lot more angst and suggestive themes!!

⁺ 𖹭 . warnings: toxic relationship dynamics (not all of them)

⁺ 𖹭 . a/n: hyung line here!! hope you enjoyy <33 pls let me know your thoughts in the comments/reblogs! <3

𝜗୧ jisung 𝜗୧

Another jealous one. Honestly, in his case, you’re both jealous and it’s justified.

You guys go back and forth a lot. One minute you want him, the next you don’t and that really messes with Jisung’s head on a daily basis.

The line between friendship and something more is blurred here since you’ve done numerous things that have crossed it multiple times but unfortunately, neither of you knows how to handle that.

You: did you get home safe?

As expected, his reply came only a minute later since he was always glued to his phone.

Ji <3: yeah bin dropped me off

You: that’s good

You: did you have fun at the party? with that girl that was all over you?

You couldn’t help but bite down on your bottom lip as you hit send, suddenly overtaken by this indescribable feeling of anxiety. You could picture the reaction that simple question would get out of Jisung, the furrow of his eyebrows and the displeasure on his face clear as day in your mind.

Ji <3: y/n what the fuck

The three dots that indicated he was typing kept appearing and disappearing, almost like he couldn’t decide on a response, as taken aback as you thought he’d be. That went on for a few moments more before stopping altogether and next thing you knew, your phone lit up with an upcoming call. Taking a deep breath, you mentally prepared yourself for another argument before sliding your finger on the screen to answer.

“What nonsense is your pretty little mouth sprouting right now, Y/n?” Came his slightly groggy voice, visibly exhausted after the long night he had had partying. No ‘hello’, no ‘baby’, even if he seemed calmer than you expected, Jisung was obviously aggravated by your behavior.

Moving the phone from one ear to the other, you tried to ease some of your anxiety by sitting down on the bed. “Nonsense? Jisung, you do know I received pictures of you and this random girl from three of my friends, right?”

Jisung let out a strained laugh, one that conveyed all of his anger. “What is this now? Did you stoop so low as to put your friends to spy on me when you’re not here?”

“Are you hearing yourself?” your voice got louder as all of your muscles grew tense. “I just asked you a fucking question, nobody was spying on you!”

You heard him exhale loudly on the other end, presumably rolling his eyes. “So, I’m not allowed to speak to people of the opposite gender now?”

A sigh escaped you at that, rolling your shoulders before letting yourself fall back against the many pillows, frowning.

“You know that’s not what I asked, Ji – “

“Oh, I know.” He cut you off, the argument giving him more energy. “You were just wondering if we fucked.”

With wide eyes, you sat up trying to defend yourself but his velvety voice interrupted once again.

“Don’t worry, you’re the only one I fuck at parties. The only one I fuck, in general.” Even if these words were meant to reassure you, the tone of his voice did anything but that. “Any more questions or jealousy fueled craziness?”

You scoffed, your nerves slowly morphing into anger that threatened to bubble to the surface any second. The audacity to call you crazy and be bothered by your behavior when he usually lost his goddamn mind if a guy as much as breathed in your direction, was wild. This thing you and Jisung had wasn’t healthy, you could see it, and everyone in a 100-mile radius could see it. But the feelings that blossomed along the way felt too real, and intense for either of you to just call it quits, no matter how toxic your current dynamic was. Most of the time, you brought out the worst in each other, but you also felt like your best couldn’t even exist without him.

With another sigh, the man tried to redeem himself once he realized he might’ve taken it a bit too far, voice barely above a whisper as he softened up.

“I’ve been chasing after you to make you my girlfriend for months now, baby. Do you really believe I’d do something like that to us?”

𝜗୧ felix 𝜗୧

No matter your relationship status, Felix treats you like you’re the most precious person in the world. No surprises here.

He’s so gentle and loving, the sight of you never fails to put a smile on his face. Wants to be near you all the time, always invading your personal space and clinging to you any chance he gets.

Hugs, lingering touches and not so innocent kisses. There’s a very strong longing for the other here.

Laughter could be heard as you and Felix were playfighting on the couch, skilled fingers tickling every spot you knew would make the other lose their mind. One of the perks of being such good friends was having easy access to each other’s weaknesses, making the tickle war fair on both fronts. Though you prided yourself on having many aces under your sleeve, Felix countered them easily each and every time.

“Just – “ Your sentence was cut off by another fit of laughter as Felix continued his attack, not even giving you the chance to speak. “Admit you cheated! You’re a cheater Lee Felix! I would have won that race fair and square if you wouldn’t have bombed me right at the finish line.”

Felix only laughed in response, not admitting anything as he continued to tickle your sides. His innocent mask always fooled you into forgetting that to his core, he was a notorious cheater who loved tricking others.

“Or maybe you’re just a sore loser.” He grinned, gently nudging your side to have you fall on the couch. Briefly stopping his tickle assault, he then moved to hover over you, smile turning into a smug, a little too arrogant, smirk.

The air shifted as he got even closer, one hand moving upwards your body until it reached your face. Your eyes met and his smirk dropped, not once looking away while he stopped at your jaw, his thumb sticking out to softly run over your lower lip. The gesture was so intimate and familiar as he never missed an opportunity to be affectionate, yet it still caused your heart to flutter and breath hitch in your throat momentarily. He always looked at you with eyes full of love and adoration and each time, you were willing to give him everything he desired and more.

Felix hummed, his already deep voice dropping even lower while he continued to maintain eye contact. “Who knew you took mario kart so seriously?”

You couldn’t take it anymore. His touch burned in the most pleasant way, leaving behind blooming flowers as strange as that sounded. That’s how being with Felix felt too. You felt love, passion, lust, comfort, all wrapped up in the pretty package that was him. Being with Felix felt like home.

That’s why, you took advantage of him getting lost in what he was doing to you before suddenly setting your hands on his shoulders in hopes of overpowering him, pushing his body back so you could be the one on top. With each knee on either side, you straddled him before leaning down and connecting your lips in a passionate kiss. If Felix was surprised by the turn of events, he didn’t show it, hands finding your hips and resting there while gently caressing the skin.

It felt like fireworks going off on New Year’s when you kissed him, lips fitting together like they were made for each other. The plushness of his lips along with the taste of his tongue, of him – they all drove you insane.

Lee Felix might have been a filthy cheater when it came to any type of game, willing to deceive everyone just to win. But when it came to your relationship – whatever that was – you knew he would never be anything other than truthful.

𝜗୧ seungmin 𝜗୧

He’s the sweetest when with you. No joke, the others usually complain about how you get special treatment from him because Seugmin is never that nice to them.

Has moments when he gets so gentle and lovey-dovey but as soon as someone points it out, he playfully pushes you away with a bashful smile, cheeks reddening by the second.

Can be a bit inconsiderate of your feelings sometimes.

The room was silent save for the tv that was quietly running in the background, the action movie long forgotten by Seungmin as you captivated all of his attention. His eyes were glued to your sleeping form in his lap, the pillow under your head along with the blanket on top ensuring you were most comfortable. One of his hands would sometimes reach out to fix the blanket while the other would soothe you back to sleep by caressing your head, leaning down to whisper sweet nothings in your ear if some of the guys got too loud. It was very peaceful for him, a serenity he didn’t usually get in his everyday life that only came along with you.

You were special to him, his feelings for you obvious to everyone around except for the person that mattered most. Because of that, he was usually reluctant to act on them but that was starting to get harder and harder each day, especially when you did things like right now. You were the picture of peace, away in dreamland while Seungmin was the complete opposite, a storm picking up inside of his mind.

He was confused. His gaze was filled with nothing but fondness as he once again looked down at you, happiness bubbling up inside of him and threatening to overflow to the surface any second. Yet as he kept staring, he could feel little knives puncturing his poor heart at the reminder that you were nothing more than friends, what you had purely platonic.

“Guys, look at Seungmin being a lovesick puppy.”

Jeongin’s voice came from his right and he immediately turned to the youngest with a glare, one that didn’t seem to do anything as his smile only grew in response. Shaking his head, Seungmin rolled his eyes before his gaze fell back to you, his hand now stroking your soft hair.

“Shh, Innie, don’t disturb our couple.” Hyunjin chimed in with a smirk of his own, quick reflexes helping him dodge the pillow Seungmin threw right at his face. Chan only chuckled under his breath from his place on the other sofa while Minho didn’t even glance up from his phone, absorbed in what was presumably an argument with his partner.

“Will you guys be quiet? Y/n’s sleeping.” His voice remained low yet the hostility in it was clear as day as he turned to look at his two troublemaker friends, glaring. He wasn’t in the mood for any teasing it seemed. “And stop calling us a couple. We aren’t together and we’ll never be so knock it off and let me enjoy the movie.”

The men stopped after that, not wanting to push their luck as they knew how scary Seungmin got when angry. But unknowing to them, you heard the whole thing, your heart falling all the way down to your stomach at his painful, careless words.

What was supposed to be a relaxing afternoon, ended up with you getting your heart broken by none other than Kim Seungmin himself, the guy you’ve been in love with since what felt like two lifetimes ago.

𝜗୧ jeongin 𝜗୧

Did someone say childhood friends to lovers? Because I did.

You’re very comfortable around each other, knowing all of the other’s secrets and defining life events so when your relationship started to shift, you were none the wiser.

Has always loved you in some way, just isn’t aware of the fact that he’s actually in love with you.

“And you won’t believe what she said next!”

He chuckled, fox eyes following your every move as you continued to pace around in his room. “What did she say?”

Turning to him, you made a face before starting to mock one of your girlfriends. “Well Y/n, maybe if you got a boyfriend, you would understand why we can’t always bend over backwards for you!”

Jeongin gasped, hands moving up to his mouth pretending to be flabbergasted by what you just said, completely entertained by your antics. Being best friends for as long as you two have been, there was nothing unusual with you coming over to catch him up on the latest drama that was happening in your friend group. It was more or less a weekly tradition at this point.

“Can you believe that? She was blaming me for the fact that she was a shitty friend!”

He nodded, agreeing with your every word. “And not only that, but she was also boyfriend shaming you!”

“Exactly!” you exclaimed, throwing your hands up in frustration. “Do you see the type of people I have to deal with now that you’re not here?”

Those last words made Jeongin’s shoulders fall as it all dawned on him; you were right – he was barely here nowadays, his busy schedule keeping him away from you and all he’s known for the majority of his life. He missed it, going out and goofing around with you and his school friends, having no real responsibilities other than doing some random homework and picking the place you’d hang out at after classes.

He missed you. So much that it physically hurts sometimes.

“Jeongin?”

At the sound of your sweet voice calling his name, he snapped out of it, eyes focusing on your form in front of him once again. Without a word, he then beckoned you closer with a finger and once you were in reach, he pulled you into his arms, a laugh escaping him as you gasped in surprise. Jeongin didn’t usually initiate physical contact so being pulled into an embrace like that, so out of the blue was really confusing for you. Nevertheless, your arms went around his neck while you melted into his hold, his own going around your waist innocently as you were now standing in between his legs.

“How about we make this girl eat her words, hm?” he smiled, looking up at you from his seat on the bed, chin resting just above your stomach.

Raising an eyebrow, your hands moved to comb through his dark locks. “How?”

It seemed that’s what he was waiting for as his smile turned into a smirk, eyes full of mischief at the plan he was silently cooking up.

“Let me be your boyfriend, your trophy man if you will.” Seeing the way your eyes widened and mouth dropped open, he squeezed your sides, shushing you. “I’m not done. I can pretend to be your boyfriend when she’s around, showering you with affection until she turns green with envy and realizes what a shitty friend she’s been. Or, until you drop her.”

Your mouth closed and he could see you contemplate his words, your lips pursed into a small pout. You looked kind of adorable from up close, not that he’d ever admit it.

With a nod, you agreed, your smile returning and lighting up your face for the first time in the hour you’ve been at his house.

“Alright, let’s do this!”

And then, next thing you knew, Jeongin stood up and suddenly, his lips were on yours.

tagging: @captainchrisstan