#the thing under his collarbone is his port

[silverbladexyz]

TW: Mentions of death, injuries, self-loathing. Part 2 to this. Part 3 is here.

"I can't believe you sometimes. What if you had actually been killed because of your recklessness?!"

"But I wasn't! Even if combat isn't my strong suit, I had it all under control; and besides, these wounds are nothing compared to what we've faced before!"

In the normally tranquil environment of the Port Mafia's infirmary, two voices argued back and forth. One laced with worry and anger, the other laced with guilty adamance. A pair of best friends seemed to be the reason behind this noise; with their stubbornness a guise of the true feelings that they harboured for each other.

"Are you seriously kidding me right now? Even if you had it all under control, that doesn't mean you can gamble your life away like it's nothing! How do you think everyone would feel if you died? Do you want to put them through more pain and suffering that could've been prevented if you were more cautious? Do you even care?!"

"..."

Instead of replying, you turned away, suddenly finding the window to be more interesting than whatever was going on right now.

He was right. You didn't think properly about the consequences before you jumped straight in to engage with the enemy, even if you may have had a backup plan.

"... I'm sorry."

It was soft, but Chuuya managed to catch it.

He gave a small sigh, his shoulders dropping as the tension in them wore out. You fiddled with your bandages, not having the courage to look at him in the eyes. Did you even deserve to, afterall? When you worried him sick after he learnt that he almost lost you?

You heard his footsteps approaching you, and mentally prepared for the next thing that he was going to say.

Only for him to somewhat tug you into his arms.

Your eyes widened, and you blinked several times before realising that Chuuya Nakahara, your best friend, was hugging you.

His breath fanned against your collarbone as he buried his face into your shoulder. Strong arms held you close to him, being mindful of the injuries that you sustained on your body- yet the grip they held you in was tight but secure.

"... You idiot. Don't you dare do that again."

It was the most vulnerable you had ever seen him.

You hugged him back, inhaling his rich scent as an unknown heat bloomed in your chest.

"I won't. I promise, Chuuya."

His warmth never left your memories.

Now, you watched as he stood with her, holding her hand. They were too far away for you to make out their words, but whatever she said made Chuuya laugh. A genuine, happy laugh that seemed so much more different from the short chuckles he normally gave you.

He put his arm around her shoulder, and you unconsciously hugged your body as you felt yourself getting colder. It was the third of December- the start of another winter in Yokohama. Marking the six month anniversary of their relationship.

A wry smile made it's way on your face as Chuuya pulled Yasuko in for a kiss. Even though it was a short peck, it was enough to make your heart twist in longing that exemplified whenever you were around him. It was stupid; you knew that your best friend deserved to have someone much better than the monster you were, but it didn't stop you from wishing that you were her. Someone that was a sight for sore eyes, with an aura brighter than the blue skies- someone that could get Chuuya mesmerised.

You even noticed how he became slightly more distant in the friendship. You knew that he wasn't doing it on purpose; he was still the great best friend that he always was, but the little signs were there. Holding your hand so that you wouldn't get lost in the crowd had diminished to just staying close to you. Whenever you called him on a free day to ask if he wanted to hang out with you, he would apologise, saying 'I have a date with Yasuko later'. And the fact that you had the same free days really said something about how much they meant to him.

You walked away, the sight getting too much to handle. Once you were at a safe distance, you crumpled against a wall, biting down on the inside of your mouth to stop the tears from leaking out. A higher-ranking mafioso like you, crying over some crush? Pathetic. An unfitting model for your subordinates who looked up to you as a great unflinching leader.

"Why would you ever kiss me? I'm not even half as pretty." You chuckled bitterly, digging your nails into your palms. You hated it- the soft gaze in Chuuya's eyes whenever Yasuko was mentioned, the way that he gently held her hand, the way he became much more sweet and patient with her that was almost nothing like how he acted around you- you hated it all. You regretted not confessing to him sooner all those years ago.

But you were only the side character in their romance; forever doomed to support them while you suffered in silence.

Was there something or somebody that you could blame for this agony that you were currently in? Destiny, perhaps? Or even Cupid? Those names only made you scoff as you stuffed your hands into your pockets.

There was nobody you could blame except for yourself.

Perhaps it would have been better if you were the one who saved Yasuko, not Chuuya. They would have never spent as much time with each other, and you'd still have a chance at romancing him. None of this would have happened if the roles were reversed at that time.

But who were you kidding? One way or another, they’d end up together by the red string of fate. The most perfect match in all of Yokohama that could put every other couple to shame. And you'd always be the third wheel- the 'best friend' whose sacrifices went unseen just so that they could be happy.

Or maybe it would have been better if Yasuko didn't exist in the first place.

"-Y/N? Y/N?"

A voice broke you out of your thoughts, and you blinked a bit before refocusing onto the girl in front of you.

"Is everything okay? N-not that you have to tell me what's wrong, but if you ever need someone to talk to, I'll always be here for you."

Yasuko looked at you with a concerned expression, her eyes searching your face for any sign of discomfort.

Those innocent, beautiful eyes of hers that had held Chuuya captive in their gaze.

Ah, right. You were currently in the shopping mall with her, because her boyfriend had asked you to accompany her like some sort of bodyguard. And who were you to refuse, as his best friend who was always there for him? Well, you were grateful that Chuuya trusted you enough to let you near Yasuko. You had seen how protective he was of her.

"... Nothing. I'm alright."

You smiled at her, all traces of your previous emotions now gone. How could you have let your composure slip so easily? This hangout was so that you could 'get closer' with her, not reminiscing about the pathetic past that held you captive in this agonising love.

She frowned a little, but before she could say anything else, you jumped at the opportunity to distract her. Anything that could make you temporarily forget your pain for one moment was what you desperately needed now.

"Oh, looks like they're selling discounted jewellery! Let's take a look! You might find something that you like."

Grabbing her wrist, you dragged her towards the jewellery store despite having no intentions to buy anything. You simply wanted her to be distracted by the precious stones, so meticulously cut and fit into fine metal that it was laughable how they were mostly for show. A valuable trinket only made to be admired and forgotten at the end of the day, even when so much blood had been spilled over them. Blood that would forever stain the hands of a sinner such as you.

"Oh! I remember Chuuya taking me to a similiar store! He bought me a ring; I said that there was no need, but he insisted." Yasuko glanced down at the gold-and-red circlet that lay snugly around her index finger, her gaze becoming shyer as she profoundly remembered the day that her beloved boyfriend had bought it for her.

Your own silver ring that he gifted to you on your 18th birthday paled in comparison to the 5-carat Burmese ruby that sat atop her finger. It was a harsh reminder of who the buyer really preferred from between the two of you. That twisted feeling in your gut resurfaced, but you pushed it back down. You had no more frivolous hopes that he would one day realise you were the one whom he truly belonged with.

"Haha... did he now? I didn't know Chuuya was such a romantic. Did you know that rubies symbolise passionate and undying love?" You smiled as she blushed; the redness on her cheeks rivaling the shade of the precious gemstone that was proof of his commitment to her.

People were right when they said love hurts, but they never mentioned that it was the most painful sensation in the world. All the stab wounds and burns and whatnot that you had experienced from your enemies were nothing compared to a broken heart. A heart that was made to be torn apart to pieces as it weeps for the love it would never get.

Something cold brushed against your wrist, and you looked down to see a bracelet made up of the most exquisite yellow topaz. Yasuko held an identical one in her hand, her expression almost bashful as she faced you.

"I... I wanted to get matching bracelets for the two of us. I know it's only been a few months since we became friends, but being around you has really brightened up my life. I'm glad that we got to meet each other, and I hope that our friendship continues to grow and strengthen!"

She smiled at you; a smile so full of purity and beauty that it would've made many men fall onto her knees in front of her. It was a smile that didn't belong in the dark depths of Yokohama- instead, it belonged to a goddess that was too good for this world. A goddess that clearly deserved to call Nakahara Chuuya hers. Just seeing that smile made you feel infinitely more guilty about the nasty thoughts you had about her each night.

Yasuko's smile faded, worried that she might have overstepped your boundaries due to your silence.

"S-sorry... I should've asked you beforehand if you wanted to buy matching bracelets. Please don't force yourself to buy it just to make me happy-"

You shut her up by slipping it onto your right wrist, the topaz seeming to reflect the sun's golden rays back at you. Shooting her a smile, you grasped Yasuko's hand and put the other bracelet onto her left wrist joint. It fit nicely; just like anything else that she wore.

"May our friendship last until death do us part." It was a pact that you had sworn with Chuuya before. And you always kept your word, never breaking a promise to someone no matter how bizarre or extreme it was.

How unfortunate, really, that death did you apart too early.

@circinuus @riiwrites @ruanais @justcallmesakira @yasu-masashige @oldworldpoolhall @heartsfourdazai @ashthemadwriter-uwu @sariel626 @yuugen-benni @chocsra @iridescentdove

#silverbladexyz #no way did I just pull a Heather in my fic #it's a good song though #i hope this was okay #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #chuuya x reader #chuuya nakahara x reader #bsd x gender neutral reader #bsd x female reader #chuuya x gn reader #chuuya x fem!reader #part 2 of unrequited love fic #yellow topaz symbolises friendship btw #unrequited love

[gyarubloodbath]

circles on the water

character: sanzu haruchiyo & muto (mucho) yasuhiro tw: canon scene, murder, tragedy, death. synopsis: the traitor must be punished. sanzu haruchiyo did this independently of everyone else. art by @hogu2_08

with the blade of a traditional sword, a natural wound was inflicted by a former comrade and "faithful friend". cold steel, the same as the hearts of all teenagers who are faced with obvious weakness — such a genuine temptation in their young years for someone to mix all their organs, and rattle their bones like on taiko drums, under the deafening motor of cars and the roar of bikes, headlights blinding the unprotected retina of the virgin eyes — dissects from solid the collarbone, crossing the adam's ribs under the chest, to the heavy pelvis of a seemingly strong body. two bodies are circling in a dance hated by both of them. soaked in the anger and heat of two different worlds of hidden minds — undisclosed thoughts, so sophisticated that they are capable of sins that there is no point in begging for — flashes with stolen prometheus fire in equally different rhythms (tandavas and lasyas).

blood flows down from yasuhiro's body in hellish streams, falling to the asphalt with a dull sound. weakness enveloped his whole body, — he shudders, — covering it with a huge palm, but he manages to continue to stand on his feet, cursing his demon, his personal executioner, the wayward servant of the king — invented by the same employee. the mask flies off haruchiyo's face, bares his smile, shines with his teeth, just like in childhood, hits on the spot, making another swing — a second incision — larger than the previous one, unknowingly leaving the X mark. «is this the punishment for betrayal?» everything ends in this world. mucho's life also ended, flashing a silver blade for the last time, reflecting the whole truth and the truth of all life.

the katana fell with a clang next to the body of the once still living commander, comrade, traitor. sanzu twisted his face — he looked at the corpse with disgust — but not from the very fact of a dead body under sapphire feet, but from the realization of finding a seditious person next to the person to whom he was ready to devote his life, sacrifice himself… frowning, sanzu clenched his jaw to the point of gnashing his teeth, checking his tongue for at least one drop of blood, hitting it once against the palate. casually, he pushed the body with his foot, making sure that yasuhiro was really dead. the wounds spread out like stars in wrinkles from a light, but such an evil smile. the dark puddle flowing from yasuhiro's body, like a wave somewhere on the shores of brazil, sparkled at sunset, quickly running away.

the uneven trail of blood continued to the very end of the port, where the last judgment had previously taken place, the allegorical main characters of which were yasuhiro mucho — the archangel michael with copper scales at the throne of the prepared one — and sanzu haruchiyo — the devil, one cup of which he is trying to outweigh.

the angry silence was interrupted by a splash of water, forcing the birds to leave the port in fright. if yasuhiro had been alive, the first thing he would have encountered was a feeling of panic: the oldest instinct of self-preservation tells him to hold his breath and for the first few minutes it works. however, do not despair. deprived of consciousness and life in general, mucho goes under water without any hesitation: the lungs of the corpse fill with water without obstacles, abruptly, instantly, as if burning from the inside. water completely fills the lifeless body: blood, stomach and even the skull. sanzu squinted, watching as the long-darkened red water escorted haruchiyo far away, taking yasuhiro into his arms, agitated and swaying. the guy chuckled and left, taking the edged weapon, on the way to the car only shaking off drops of blood on the asphalt, putting the katana back in its sheath. «it's not up to that right now». like a fish, yasuhiro calmly floats with the flow and the process of emphysema goes four times faster, unlike decomposition on land. gases accumulate under the skin and in internal organs, which allows the seemingly mute body to squeak and noisily regurgitate gray foam. passing fish circled around the "drowned man" with interest, poking at him with blunt muzzles and ruffling the skin with their mouths. the smallest of them enter all the openings of the body — the mouth and nostrils — in order to get into the stomach and eat from the inside. the clothes, all tattered and torn at the site of the wound, got wet, and pieces, along with the jerks of the fish, remain to litter the tokyo river. unable to control itself, the body succumbs to invisible nymphs, dirty, scary, and traces of feces and sperm remain on the underwear.

it took less than three weeks for the body to take on the consistency of soap, covered with fat, glistening in the sun with a greasy gray color, a cheesy smell, rotten and inviting animal minds. port workers — a stevedore and a docker — quickly discovered a corpse floating on the water surface, which was slowly being carried ashore, at first confusing it with garbage, and reported it to the police. in gloves, law enforcement agencies pulled out the dead man, removing foam and excess debris from his face so that all nearby passers — by could give a hint who this young man was. however, everyone looks around in horror, shrugging their shoulders.

«the living know that they will die, but the dead know nothing and there is no reward for them. that's why their memory is forgotten».

#tokrev #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers sanzu #tokrev sanzu #sanzu haruchiyo #muto yasuhiro

[sickficideas]

dazai who regularly gets vertigo that sometimes eventually leads to migraines. he always tries to work through them, but sometimes it just gets too bad & he collapses. cue chuuya caretaking <3 (thinking mostly pm skk)

thank u for the delicious ask anon...dazai is not the only one suffering in this fic, there's so much suffering to go around teehee..

ao3! 4.5k words, sickfic - please refer to the link for additional tags!

you're a headache || skk sickfic

Dazai is hoping it's just the antiseptic smell. He doesn't want to think about the other possibilities.

He sits down on one of the cots as soon as the dizzy spell hits him. He's learned over the years that sitting down right away seems to mitigate some of the effects of his vertigo, but it's gotten worse over time, and it's getting more and more difficult to hide.

"You good?"

Chuuya's voice. Dazai almost forgot he was there with him. He was the one that carried Akutagawa all the way here. Dazai's secretly thankful for it, because he certainly wouldn't have been able to do it himself.

"I'm fine," Dazai groans. Chuuya stuffs his phone into a pocket as he slips back past the curtain, eyeing Akutagawa's unconscious form with far more concern than necessary, Dazai thinks. "Did you get ahold of them?"

"Yeah. They're sending someone over to come get him with our ambulance," Chuuya huffs, leaning against the wall opposite to Dazai. This isn't a good situation. Akutagawa's injuries are too severe for him to be treated long-term by the infirmary staff at headquarters, and he needs to be taken to their own emergency facility. Dazai can't quite tell where he's bleeding from at this point. His head and thigh injuries bled the most, but he has several broken ribs and a fractured collarbone that's jutting out of his skin. He's almost certain one of his arms are dislocated, and Dazai would have put it back in place himself if the kid's collarbone wasn't staring right back at him.

Unfortunately, even if his injuries weren’t this severe, he’s extremely uncooperative and requires sedation to be treated. The infirmary staff have refused to treat him even for minor things in the past.

Dazai sighs, dropping his head in his hands, not caring much about the dried blood that they're covered in. “Such a pain.”

"At least he stopped bleeding," Chuuya sighs.

Dazai nods.

He probably needs to tell Gin. Akutagawa was supposed to go home tonight, but he has a feeling that won't be for a while, now.

Dazai almost never sees Akutagawa’s injuries the moment they happen. He’s learned to use Rashomon to keep injuries quite literally under wraps, and he can stop his own bleeding pretty well if he has the focus for it, but not this time. He fainted as a result of the blood he lost before Dazai even realized he was injured. He has no idea how he managed to hide that collarbone injury.

He has a much higher pain tolerance than Dazai could ever dream of. Here he is, half a collarbone snapped off and poking out, and Dazai thinks he might start crying if this headache turns into a migraine like he's suspecting.

Dazai pulls out his phone to find Gin's contact. He considers texting her, but this is sort of urgent, so he hits the call button and presses the phone up to his ear. Chuuya tilts his head, and Dazai has to hold himself back on making a comment about him looking like a confused dog.

"Gin. Hey. Akutagawa got hurt pretty bad today. They're taking him up to the hospital at the Port for further treatment. I can text you the information when I get it," he says. Gin doesn't speak when she's working, so he doesn't expect a response. There's just silence for a moment before she hangs up, a simple acknowledgment that she heard him.

"Gin? That Black Lizard kid?" Chuuya asks.

"Mhm," Dazai asks, tossing his phone over to the end of the cot. Chuuya looks confused, but Dazai doesn't feel like explaining anything to him.

For a moment, Akutagawa's body tenses up and he clenches his teeth through a pained groan, but he stays unconscious. Chuuya's expression tenses up just the same.

"Go back to work," Dazai grumbles. He only asked Chuuya for help because he was nearby when Akutagawa passed out. He doesn't need him anymore.

Chuuya scoffs. "You go back to work."

"I can't. I have to make sure my dog doesn't kill anyone when he wakes up," Dazai drawls as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"Stop calling him that, Dazai," he hisses.

"I'll call him whatever I want, Chuuya," Dazai groans. He doesn't have the energy to argue about meaningless things like this, but he will if it's Chuuya.

Chuuya, for some reason, doesn't seem to be so willing to leave. He leans against the wall and closes his eyes for a minute or so. Dazai isn't sure how long he's been working for, at this point. The bags under his eyes are telling enough. Regardless, he was there quickly enough when Dazai called to help him stop Akutagawa's bleeding.

"Why is he like that, anyway?"

"Like what?" Dazai groans, shooting a glare up at the latter. His voice sounds like metal grating on metal on Dazai's aching brain. He knows he's quickly developing a migraine - or, it's only hit him now that he has time to actually think.

"I saw him last time. Take that nurse's head off," Chuuya says. The memory sends a shiver up Dazai's spine. He's seen a lot of horrific things in his time in the mafia, but he's never seen a clean, instantaneous decapitation like that. Akutagawa is often heavily disoriented when he wakes up, especially when he's injured or ill, and that happened as a result.

Akutagawa didn't speak for two weeks after that happened, and Dazai could never seem right figure out why.

"He's from the slums," Dazai mumbles. His vision starts to list sideways as he straightens himself up, and he tries his best to hide any sign of his vertigo from Chuuya.

"Yeah?" Chuuya asks. He's starting to look irritated. "The fuck's that mean, Dazai? I'm from the slums too, asshole. What's that got to do with decapitating people for no reason?"

"I'm like, ninety-seven percent sure he was trafficked, so, more that sort of thing," Dazai says casually, not at all thrown off Chuuya's random defensive bite.

Chuuya loses some of the color in his face.

"Shit," he curses, letting out a shaky breath.

"I mean, I don't know for sure. I know he wouldn't tell me. But I'd say there's a good chance," Dazai shrugs. "Sure you saw your fair share of that."

Chuuya doesn't say anything, but he knows the answer. He thinks the two of them probably have a lot more in common than either of them realize.

"Maybe you could ask him, since you like him so much. He'd probably tell you," Dazai teases.

"What the hell is your problem? He can't stand anyone but you. He wouldn't tell me," Chuuya scoffs. "I wouldn't ask about something like that anyway, you freak. It's not my business."

Dazai has tuned him out at this point. He doesn't care much to hear Chuuya's defenses, he was really only doing it to get a rise out of him, but now he regrets it. Chuuya's voice is normally a cacophony in Dazai's ears, but now with his ever-present migraine, it's making him much more aware of the dull throbbing in the back of his head.

"Shut up, will you? You'll wake up my dog," Dazai groans, dropping his head back into his hands. Chuuya won't care if Dazai tells him the real reason, he's sure, but he's much more likely to comply for Akutagawa's sake, for some reason.

"Call him your dog one more time," Chuuya grumbles to himself, but Dazai ignores him.

It's silent again for a while. Dazai doesn't have much concept of how much time has passed, he's simply trying to will away his migraine, somehow. Chuuya refuses to leave. It might be a good thing. He can probably carry Akutagawa out once they arrive to pick him up. Dazai couldn't carry him even if he wanted to.

Then, of course, the nausea hits him.

"I'll be right back," Dazai grumbles. He figures he's probably not walking as straight as he thinks, but he's more worried about getting to the bathroom in time than hiding his vertigo from Chuuya, at this point. He pulls the curtain back and stumbles toward the bathroom, one hand clamped over his mouth just in case his stomach contents decide to make a reappearance before he can do it of his own free will.

He drops to his knees with a groan as soon as he closes the door behind him, and he lays his head on the toilet seat. His head is spinning so much that he can't see straight. He has no idea how he managed to get here so quickly. Muscle memory, his strong desire to get away from Chuuya, it's anyone's guess.

"Fuck," he groans, spitting his saliva into the water. So far, there's no sign of Chuuya following him over, not that Dazai is too aware of his surroundings right now anyway. He tries to turn his head to see if he can see anything from the space beneath the door, but everything suddenly turns on its side, and he chokes up a mouthful of vomit. The only sign he has that it landed in the toilet is the splash he hears - he can't see anything.

His brain feels like it's thumping against his skull, which is a sensation so nauseating that it makes everything else feel so much worse. He whines, much rather wishing someone would put him out of his misery. This surely isn't worth surviving.

Whatever forces itself out of his stomach next is strong enough for Dazai to consider it near projectile. He feels it coming out of his nose, which is only adding to the list of awful sensations he's feeling.

He whines to himself, not caring much about how pathetic he must sound. He spits up another mouthful of vomit with a wet burp.

“Hngh…”

He tries not to move his head too much, but he can't stay here for long. He reaches forward to flush, hardly with enough energy to. He's sure he'll have to go with them once they take Akutagawa just as a precaution, and they should be here any minute. He takes a wad of toilet paper to wipe his mouth and nose. His throat already burns so bad.

He has to use the toilet seat for support to get up, and he finds himself leaning heavily against the wall as he's hit with another bout of vertigo. He's lucky he already threw up, or else he's sure this bout would have made him vomit all over the tile floor.

He keeps a hand along the wall as he finds the door, and once he opens it, he has to lean on the bathroom door frame for support. He can't get away with hiding it, not now. If he tries, he'll pass out for sure.

Chuuya is glaring at him, an eyebrow raised. Dazai doesn't have any clue how long he's been out here.

"Did you just throw up?" Chuuya asks.

Dazai groans, pressing his forehead up against the frame. He wishes Chuuya were more like Akutagawa. He's trained the latter to be silent if he notices anything wrong with him, but Chuuya always has to point it out. Annoying.

"The hell's wrong with you, Dazai? You've been weird this whole time," Chuuya huffs. He takes a step forward, almost looking like he wants to approach him for some reason, but Dazai just turns his head back to the side. He feels awful.

"Nothing. Go away, slug."

And then it hits him again, as soon as he takes a step forward and loses the support of the door frame. It feels almost like one foot landed where it was supposed to, and the other somehow took a step on the wall, and now his head is rushing toward the floor.

Of course, Chuuya catches him before he can turn his migraine into a head injury.

Dazai makes no effort to move. He'd do anything to wriggle out of Chuuya's hold right now, but he's practically incapacitated right now, his eyes screwed shut in some attempt to get some control over what he's seeing.

"Dazai -"

"It's just this shitty vertigo," Dazai mumbles quietly, trying to peer his eyes open. "I'll be fine, just -"

Chuuya doesn't give him any room to defend himself. He scoops him up without a second of deliberation.

Dazai finds himself lying in one of the cots in no time at all, one in a closed room. He doesn't trust himself to open his eyes just yet, but he can tell it's dark in here. That usually helps. He probably should lie down for a while.

"Stay here and don't fucking get up," Chuuya huffs before he pulls the curtain closed, and Dazai covers his ears a bit too late, the metal rings sliding along the pole proving to be a bit too much for him. He's not sure why Chuuya was in such a rush to leave, but he hears his phone ringing off in the distance. They must be here to get Akutagawa.

Dazai curls up on his side, taking the pillow and holding it over his head to dull his senses some. It still feels like he's cascading down a waterfall inside of a wooden barrel, but now that he thinks about it, he'd rather actually be doing that. At least he has death to look forward to at the end. This is just pointless suffering.

He hears something. He's not sure what. Something falling against the tile, some sort of a struggle.

"Hey. You're okay. You're in the infirmary, at headquarters," he hears Chuuya say sternly. "Dazai's right in there. He fell asleep."

Dazai can't even remotely muster the energy to get up. Akutagawa's awake, and he's not there to negate his ability.

Get away from him, he wants to say. Akutagawa's true intentions don't matter, the fact is he could easily kill Chuuya in those first blinded moments before he realizes where he is.

But he doesn't hear anything. He doesn't hear any kind of struggle at all, not past that first bit.

Dazai scoffs to himself. Of course he's fine with Chuuya. Of course Chuuya can handle himself.

And then he hears it again. Some kind of struggle.

He forces his head up off the bed, which proves to be a massive mistake. His head swims and rolls off his shoulders, it feels like, reminding him how horribly nauseous he is, and he leans over the side of the cot to try to vomit on the floor, but he's greatly misinterpreted how far off the cot he leaned because of the vertigo, and his whole body tumbles to the floor.

He doesn't have the energy to even lift his head to vomit. Whatever he manages to choke out just slides off of his tongue and spreads on the floor next to his face.

He'd rather be blackout drunk than this.

…

"Dazai," Chuuya mumbles. He hates how concerned he sounds. He doesn't often let himself be read like that.

"I'm fine," Dazai barely manages to croak out, but he's not really sure where he is. He thinks he might be back in that same bed, which means Chuuya moved him from where he was, laying in his own vomit.

It's still dark. Dazai is lying on his back, feeling significantly less dizzy, but now he's met with what feels like the worst migraine of his life, pounding through his skull like there's no tomorrow. He whines, grabbing a fistful of the sheets he's lying on for some kind of distraction.

He feels something damp press against his cheek, and he manages to open an eye to see it's still only Chuuya, rubbing a washcloth on the side of his face. Dazai groans and tries to turn his head away. He realizes there's a washcloth laid over his forehead, too. He doesn't think he has a fever, but it does feel nice.

"Cut it out. Trying to clean your face up," Chuuya grumbles, his free hand taking Dazai's chin to turn his head back in his direction. "What the hell even happened, Dazai? I come back and you're passed out on the floor and laying in your own puke?"

"'M fine," Dazai mumbles. He's exhausted. He can't have been passed out for long.

"No you're not. This isn't normal," Chuuya huffs. His brow furrows.

"'s just a migraine," he says quietly, but he can hardly speak. His voice rattling around in his brain is making his already insanely painful headache worse. He wants to tell Chuuya it's not a big deal. He gets these all the time, they're just bad for the first few hours and then he's okay, but he can't get the words out.

Chuuya, somehow, seems to realize this.

"You should've fuckin' said so," he whispers with a click of his tongue, somehow already understanding that other voices are making it worse.

Dazai's eyes fall shut. He's grateful for it being so quiet in the infirmary tonight. He didn't see a single member of the staff so far, or any patients. Now it's just him and Chuuya.

He hears something click, and realizes Chuuya has shut off the lights in the main hall of the infirmary, too. It's almost completely dark, aside from the emergency light just barely peeking past the curtain.

"I'll come back later. Gonna report to the boss," Chuuya whispers.

There's blood on Chuuya's face. Dazai can trace the faint outline of it, but he disappears before Dazai can figure out where it's coming from. This time, not a single ring of the curtain moves on the metal bar. It's a silent exit. Dazai's impressed.

He lets go of a shaky sigh.

…

"I'm not gonna move him."

Chuuya's voice wakes him. Dazai groans, beyond annoyed to have any voice wake him up - let alone Chuuya - until he manages to remember where he is.

"He's not injured. Just leave 'im. I've got it covered," Chuuya says.

Dazai hears the hushed voices of some nurses, and as he pries his eyes open, he realizes the lights in the main hall of the infirmary are on again, spilling into the dark room he's been resting in. He wonders how long it's been. He hasn't had time to properly rest in a few weeks, at the very least, so he's lost track of time.

The nurses' voices have stopped, and Dazai hears Chuuya's footsteps.

He's still very quiet. Dazai can only hear the fabric ruffle when Chuuya slips past the curtain, and Dazai lets himself fall still again, pretending to still be asleep. He doesn't hear a sound from Chuuya at first, but soon enough, he lets out a deep sigh, and it sounds like he slides down against the wall, opposite to the curtain.

Dazai turns his head just enough that he'll be able to see Chuuya's face.

He looks exhausted. If Dazai had really just woken up, he would have thought Chuuya was dead asleep, the way his head is hanging down. For just a second, Dazai feels something akin to guilt. The blood Dazai remembered from earlier has since dried and cracked against his skin, and his skin is pale, but Dazai isn’t sure why.

"Sleeping on the floor's not good for you, Chibi," Dazai teases, his voice hoarse, hardly above a whisper.

"Fucking hell, Dazai," Chuuya growls, obviously startled, his eyes wide and fixed on Dazai. If Dazai had been any louder, he might've hit his head on the wall from the surprise, "I thought you were asleep, dammit."

"I was, but your annoying voice woke me," Dazai complains with an overdramatic sigh, laying his forearm over his eyes.

"How's your head?" Chuuya asks, evidently not interested in Dazai's taunts. He uses support from the wall to help himself get up, or rather, struggle to, and Dazai hears a quiet groan from him. He’s holding a hand against his abdomen, just for a moment.

"Worse now that you're here," Dazai mumbles under his breath, turning over on the cot. He's still not a huge fan of the lights.

"Seriously, you ugly fuckin' mackerel. Do you feel better or not?" Chuuya groans.

"A little," he admits. It's not nearly as awful as it was before. He can handle the sound of his own voice, at least. The headache is still present, and he's not sure he wants to test his luck with the vertigo and try to sit up, but he's better for now.

Dazai moves his hand back down to his side, and finds a damp washcloth beside his pillow, likely replaced at some point during his sleep. He tosses it over to Chuuya, who doesn't react nearly as quickly as he shoulder.

"You demanding motherfu-"

"Wash your face," Dazai huffs, "unsightly. What kind of executive are you?"

He's teasing, of course, but Chuuya doesn't seem to understand what he's referring to. Normally, Chuuya wouldn't dream of using something to wash his face that's already touched Dazai, but he wipes his cheek and checks the cloth, surprised to find blood.

"Oh, that's…" Chuuya mumbles to himself. He sits down on the cot.

"Akutagawa?" Dazai asks.

"He was scared," Chuuya murmurs, of course, right away to Akutagawa's defense. His fingers graze across the dried cut on his forehead. "You…you need to be more gentle with him."

Chuuya's words are lost to him. He's more concerned with the way Chuuya's looking right now, like he'd pass out any second. He's seen his head bob forward a few times now.

"Lay down," Dazai mumbles. Chuuya meets his gaze for a few moments. Dazai expects him to argue, but he thinks he's so exhausted that he doesn't even give himself a second to think of any retort. He just lays on his side at the end of the bed and curls up, like a cat. Dazai's noticed he often sleeps like that. It almost seems defensive.

"You piss me off," Chuuya murmurs, his voice already heavy with sleep, whispered. Dazai watches all the tension leave his body, but he keeps his gaze on Dazai for as long as he can, before another force makes his eyelids fall shut.

"Yeah, yeah," Dazai whispers, watching Chuuya as he starts to fall asleep.

Only a few moments later, a nurse peaks her head in through the curtains, not as careful to avoid the metal scraping as Chuuya was. Dazai grits his teeth at the sound, but he turns his head, an eyebrow raised at the woman.

"Is he asleep?" she asks so quietly Dazai can hardly hear her. There's one or two more nurses behind her. Dazai just nods, thinking it was obvious enough. "We've been trying to get him to rest all morning."

"All morning?" Dazai asks.

"Yes, he's been in here with you the whole time…he refused to rest," she says. "Please let us know if you need something, sir."

"Turn the lights back off out there, will you?" Dazai sighs, and the nurse nods fervently, disappearing past the curtains. Dazai sighs, long and annoyed, and plans on shutting his eyes and going back to sleep before he feels something warm under the heel of his foot.

At first, he’s inclined to make a joke, but all of the little things he’s noticed have come together to make him realize that Chuuya’s blood is soaking the mattress, and he’s still unconscious. Dazai forces himself to sit up to get a better look at him, and his head swims, proving he’s still not completely recovered from his migraine.

“Chuuya,” Dazai breathes out. He grabs his shoulder, but he doesn’t budge.

Dazai shouts for a nurse.

…

Chuuya’s color is finally starting to come back. Dazai takes note of that. It’s a good sign, even though he’s still fast asleep.

The nurses aren’t too worried about him not waking up. The wound on his abdomen bled a lot, and they’re a bit worried about infection, but at the moment they say it’s nothing he needs a hospital visit for.

Evidently, it was an injury caused by Akutagawa, but Dazai is at a loss for why Chuuya refused to tell anyone, let alone get it treated. He’s sure Chuuya has his own noble bullshit reason for it, something Dazai could never even dream of understanding.

“Can’t you ever just let me suffer by myself?” Dazai grumbles, his head on a pillow beside Chuuya’s. He doesn’t expect Chuuya to answer, but he hopes he subconsciously absorbs the message.

“Fuck you,” Chuuya mutters, his eyes still shut. Dazai didn’t realize that he woke up. His voice is hoarse and heavy with sleep. “Can you shut up? My head hurts.”

“Boo hoo,” Dazai huffs. He manages to fish a free hand out from under the sheets to flick Chuuya in the forehead. Chuuya groans, snatching the sheet they’re both under and pulling it over his head.

“How’s yours,” Chuuya mumbles from under the sheet.

“My what?”

“Your head. Moron,” he huffs.

“I’m fine. Go back to sleep, slug,” Dazai tells him, taking the sheet back so he can see his face. Chuuya’s glaring at him. “Stop worrying about me so much. It’s weird.”

“You’re weird. Ugh,” Chuuya grumbles, tucking his head back into the pillow. “Tell me the next time something’s wrong with you, freak. I don’t wanna find you passed out in your own puke again.”

“And I don’t want you bleeding out in the be I’m laying in again, chibi. Take your own dumb advice,” Dazai groans.

“It was deeper than I thought,” Chuuya mumbles defensively. Dazai knows it was much more complicated than that, but he won’t press for more details. Chuuya’s thought process is a mystery to him, and he’d like to keep it that way. “Dazai?”

“What, slug?” Dazai groans.

“I was trafficked too,” Chuuya mumbles. It’s much quieter than everything else he’s said, and any anger or annoyance has long since left his expression.

“I figured,” Dazai says back quietly. His chest tightens up, and he’s not sure why. He knows how common that sort of thing is in the slums, it doesn’t surprise him at all that that’s something Chuuya went through, but he’s at a loss for why Chuuya’s deciding to tell him.

“Waking up and not knowing where you are’s fucking scary,” Chuuya grumbles. “I don’t…I don’t blame Akutagawa for freaking out.”

“Never said I did, Chuuya,” Dazai reminds him. He recalls simply answering Chuuya’s question as to why Akutagawa reacts the way that he does.

“So don’t punish him. It’s not his fault,” Chuuya mumbles.

Dazai sighs. That’s what he’s getting at, then. “I won’t.”

Chuuya relaxes, just a bit, and only then Dazai realizes how tense he was.

“Will you go to sleep now?” Dazai huffs, trying to force some sort of annoyed tone to get Chuuya to comply, but he’s already halfway there. The exhaustion takes over him one more time. Chuuya’s always been one to fall asleep quickly.

Dazai brushes some of Chuuya’s overgrown bangs from his eyes. He really doesn't want to know how all of this would have gone if Chuuya wasn’t there - between Akutagawa’s injuries and Dazai being nearly completely incapacitated from his migraine, Chuuya took care of it all, and completely neglected himself in the process.

He’s far too selfless. Dazai doesn’t think he’ll ever understand it.

#u guys are so funny with ur suffering dazai requests I love it #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #bsd #illness #sick #sickfic #ill #fever #emeto #vomiting #migraine #headache #vertigo #akutagawa #dazai #chuuya #skk #soukoku #fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 #hurt/comfort #fluff and angst #injury #whump #ask box #my fanfictions #bsd headcanons

[astarab1aze]

➥ Sheltered Bird

⸻Technical Information. // Face, Voice, etc.

01. Faceclaim. Osamu Dazai   [ Bungo Stray Dogs ] 04. Voice Claim. TBA

⸻Profile Information. // Name, Age, etc.

01. Name. Asuka Kuraime   / Asuka Surna 02. Alias. Asu   / Croventus 03. Sex. All sex organs are cloacal. [ Female ] 04. Gender. Nonbinary   [ They/Them, any ; Androgynous ] 05. Age. 19-21   [ Dependent ] 06. Birth Date. December 12th   [ Saggitarius ] 07. Blood Type. Sub-type HAA+ 08. Race. Harpy, Zurine by nationality ; Chimerian by ethnicity. 09. Marital Status. Single   [ Multiship ] 10. Orientation. Demisexual   [ Biromantic / no preference ] 11. Residence. Zurine Mages' University outside of Azura on Zuri's territorial island, southwestern ends of the pangea, sharing a border with Myrrdin.

⸻Physical Information. // Body, Equipment, Family, etc.

17. Physical Description. Asuka has a clean, trim mop of chestnut hair, soft to the touch and well-kept. Their eyes are narrow and shaded gold, flecked with faintest hints of deep purple one can only see if they're really looking, and lined with long lashes. They’re emotional and unguarded, honest in many ways. Their skin tone isn’t as pale as their mother’s; A soft, warm-neutral tone. Their body is narrow, slender, and a fair bit 'feminine', angular and pronounced but still padded with dark brown plumage and proportional fat - and a mix of human and crow features; Their legs are thick around the thighs and slim down considerably at about the knee, where the skin turns black and scaly, leading into taloned feet. Their neck is tufted with dark brown and black feathers, with small ones directing downward between their collarbones to their sternum. Their arms serve as their wings, though their feathers are too long, flexible, and impractical for proper flight, and at the wrist, their wings split off into hands. Their tail feathers are also unusually long and fan out, though they are very flexible and sort of…flow, certainly feathers but a bit hair-like in behavior - they bounce and shake, not nearly as stiff as their other feathers. They're also very short for a harpy, standing at a small 5'6". No scars, only a few beauty marks here and there, two under their left eye and others in random spots all over their body.  CLICK HERE, for example (sprite credit Cloud Meadow)

13. Equipment. They keep a limitless bag full of magically-charged little knick-knacks their mother gave them for protection, parchment, pencils, paint brushes, paints, various other art supplies, a tome or two, a set of singing stones, coinpurse, journal, a potion or two. 14. Occupation. Accomplished artist, sketching or painting pretty things for other people in Azura, the port city just down the road from the university ; Their art is featured in the (vampire) noble Cedric Montgomery's galleries. 15. Job Performance. Neutral ; Most quite enjoy their work, but where there are fans, there are critics and they're not without the many 16. Parents. Crovita (129F) - an Askarri sorcier working directly under the Azzar as his court mage, officially ; Unofficially, she's an intelligence officer of sorts, and she's very good at what she does - and Tethis Surna (longest-living harpy ; 1000+M) - a walking account of nightfolk history and magic whose feathers are black and gold. 17. Siblings. None known

⸻Personality Information. // Likes, Strengths, etc.

18. Likes. Clouds, peonies, coffee, creating, dancing, swishing their tail feathers, high-end art supplies, small shiny things like gemstones, glass, etc, using their feathers as makeshift paintbrushes, calligraphy, chirping with sparrows, squawking with crows, singing with Crovita, bloodwine, scarbuncle cheese, nuts, weird plants, their privacy, maybe just a pinch of danger, etc. 19. Dislikes. Being treated like they're breakable / lesser, judgmental people, how shaky their hands are, desaturated paints, graphite smudges, the consistency of morphagora eyes, jelly, pressure, thunder, Wildlings, Sanguinarians, werecats, most vampires actually, dirtyness, sudden noises, their mother’s henpecking & overprotectiveness, etc. 

20. Positive Traits. Considerate. Kind. Doting. Self-assured. Independent. Resilient. Good-natured. Expressive. Honest. Straight-forward. Ambivert. Friendly. Playful. Accepting. Quick thinking. Quick witted. 21. Negative Traits. Temperamental. Defensive. Dense. Stubborn. Anxious. Childish. Blunt. Unwilling to talk about their problems or lean on others for support. Over eager. Instigative. Selfish. Clingy. Self-hating. Obsessive. 22. Goals. To make their mother proud, even if all they can do is paint mundanely or teach history, but also to get out from under her overprotective wing and stand on their own. 23. Desires. To feel like a complete, whole person, for their lack of magic to not define them or their place in the world. 24. Alignment. Neutral Good

25. Personality. Asuka is a bit of a strange case; Incredibly sheltered and lacking in life experience, therefore making them reckless with their independence, getting into and causing trouble unnecessarily, opening their mouth at exactly the wrong occasions- If they can weasel their way out of something by being as annoying as possible, they will. They're playful, mischievous, and greatly enjoy pushing buttons, but how much of it is a defense mechanism versus a passtime? How much of their behavior is meant to cover up their naivete, their insecurity? Even if they believe that no matter the risk, they can't stop living life. It's a great big world out there, and they're just one itty bitty harpy, the only sheep in a flock of wolves, and not even the prettiest one. They have something of a complex about what they look like, thinking themselves a mangled addition to the harpy gene pool; They'll never be as pretty a bird as Crovita, or Tethis. They'll never be comfortable in their own skin. They're quietly afraid of the world, dumping themselves into their art and distracting themselves from the truth. They're not so smart that they can readily define what they feel, but there is an ever-present anxiety that can sometimes cripple them, made worse by depression and obsessive tendencies. They're a sensitive bird, for all their mischief, and want desperately to be accepted, whether by themselves or others. They're rebellious and defiant, perhaps even a little bossy. And they care a lot more than they probably should.

⸻Sorcery Information. // Element, Talent, etc.

26. Affinity. Null - was not born with any magical elements and is therefore incapable of using magic at all, thereby making them part of the other 60% of the population ; they can be affected by magic, but cannot perform it. 27. Shapeshifting. Not applicable 28. Utility. Magical history, theory, and application, but no more - they're a growing well of magical knowledge, not talent. 29. Specialization. The arts as they pertain to mundane works, from sketching to painting to creative writing. 30. Graduate School. Zurine Mages' University - the only active school for mages on the pangea ; Extremely dedicated to quality, well-rounded education and therefore expensive, though they do offer scholarships based on potential ; Open to all magical folk, or those who can afford it ; Generally treated as a sort of haven for them. 31. Classification. Dispossessed Harpy ; The Dispossessed are a classification of nightfolk who simply are incapable of using magic or have none themselves despite presenting as obviously nightfolk (an opposing example would be humans who happen to be born able to use magic; same principle in reverse). 

⸻Background Information. // Past to Present.

    Asuka was born in Azura, Zuri, to Tethis Surna and Crovita - both renowned harpies; One a descendent of the Telythin Tethis Surna, last of the Eimadra, and the gryphon Zefyr, the other a descendent of the first gryphon, Ágrifa, and an unknown Black Eyrie priestess. Born in their shadows, dispossessed of the breath of the world and an outlier in their own family. Crovita and Tethis divorced long before Asuka had the ability to remember, but they were never left in the dark about who their father was; Vita was always very thorough, wanting Asuka to be prepared for anything that came their way be it emotional or physical - good, that way, but her caution and protective nature were stifling, even when Asuka was small.

They traveled much, between Askarra and the surrounding nations, spending months in the Nouxfrati countryside, the Luvian lowlands, Scarburnt highlands, Adamantine ports, Manji oases, Nuradanian forests-- And on account of both Azzar-related things and an inherent fear within Crovita. Asuka couldn't have been sure what it was at the time, not knowing they'd seen the wear and tear in her armor. For years, they lived in Askarra without issue, protected well by the Azzar and the royal guard - safe enough that Crovita didn't really need to keep leaving those eerie crystalline eyes behind to watch them. Outside play was limited, and soon entirely restricted, the excuse used being the rapid increase of Wildling attacks outside the city, stories of brigands sneaking in through the gates and slitting women's throats on their drunken stumble home, thieves and murderers flooding into the almost-safest city on the continent--

Before long, a decision was made, one Asuka was given no say in. And though they not have known what they wanted or what the right choice could've been, but it would've been nice to have been able to use their voice. It would've been nice to not have been voluntold, ripped away from their life in the palace among other harpy children, and dropped off on an island hundreds of miles from home. Their parents' shadows seemed all the darker, all the more influential, and inescapable. But it was safe in Zuri. It was safe at the university. No Wildling would ever dare to cross the strait, and Myrrdin was bound by treaty to respect Zurine sovereignty and neutrality - good thing the royals still have some honor. And that was the point of thrusting them into Azura, and summarily the University.

To keep them safe. Always to keep them safe.

Asuka'd never put too much thought into the hows and whys, not really, but it was around this time, when they were 11, that they were able to fit a few more pieces of the puzzle into place - but then, some of them were the wrong pieces, and muted insecurities and uncertainties on top of growing concern for the shape of the world and occasional discrimination from Myrrdinian mages all bubbled to the surface. They didn't seem to have a place among the mages, and their mother had all but sent them away, setting them on a shelf like a doll never to be picked up again. Painting and other arts became their only escape. Days, weeks, months spent hidden in some magical place, painting and painting and painting until they'd honed their craft, pouring their heart out onto the canvas in scrapes and blends of thick, colorful paint.

They were noticed by a golden mage, from the council of mages presiding over the university - Cedric Montgomery, an eccentric from southern Strigane with a grand appreciation for art. He purchased all of Asuka's best paintings, and before long, they were noticed by many more than the vampire in disguise. Celebrated, even, but it didn't help. Why wouldn't it help? It didn't help. The one thing they loved, the one thing they could rely on to escape their fear and doubt, couldn't help them. They don't know who they are without it, but then, they don't know who they or what they want with it.

Their mother visits them semi-regularly and consistently sends them gifts and letters via crimson-talon raven. Their studies are going rather well in spite of their penchant for disappearing into the many winding corridors of the university tower, but they're restless, bored, and taken with youthful whimsy, their sheltered naivete ever so apparent. Searching for purpose in a world that's steadily beginning to hate them, or perhaps always has, viewed as "special" because they can smear paint on canvas when nothing about them was special. It wasn't them, it was subjective taste. Nothing they did held any merit - irrational, yes, but even so. No one wanted them, only their art, and they wondered if that's how Crovita must've felt when Askarra put her to work, using her for her skills. Were all relationships transactional? Did one have to be marketable in order to be cared for? Were people more like pets to each other than anything else? Why are they cruel, and why do they lie? Why is everyone so intent on repeating history?

In the end, Asuka decides to take their life into their own hands, sick of the acheful monotony, and thrusts themself into a journey of self-discovery and -actualization while they still have the chance, before any other calamities can befall Sunjatta.

#➥ Asuka. #♞ // Verse: Of Endless Suffering. #/ truly they are kind of a normie with normie problems #/ i guess compared to their parents-

[tragedybunny]

The Temptation of Perturabo - Fulgrim x Perturabo - NSFW - TW: Noncon

Fulgrim comes to apologize to Perturabo during the events of Angel Exterminatus and Perturabo is seized by an urge to take what he wants from his brother. Too bad this is probably exactly how Fulgrim likes it. Dead Dove

I don't know how dead dove this really is but better safe than sorry. So yeah, really, rape is involved here, or at least someone thinking they're raping someone.

“Dear Brother, I wanted to apologize for any offense I’ve given you.” Perturabo felt his head already starting to pound at Fulgrim’s overly honeyed tone. It had been barely more than a Terran standard day since he’d nearly beat his brother to death, and yet here he was, come to his personal sanctum practically dripping saccharine platitudes.

Perturabo hardly looked up from where he was sorting pieces of the miniature Titan that had momentarily destroyed Fulgrim’s perfect face. He’d shed his armor in expectation of being alone, the ports and cable uplinks all that were left, unremovable reminders of it. Maybe they were signs that the creature in the armor was what he truly was. “Apology noted, get off my ship.” A thought sent the Iron Circle turning hostilely toward the Phoenician.

“Please, I do want to make sure things are resolved between us, I have no hard feelings about it.” Fulgrim wheedled and Perturabo sighed, finally actually turning his eyes up to his brother.

Fulgrim was also unarmored and wore nothing but a loose tunic of practically transparent lavender material. Perturabo could see the multitude of piercings adorning his skin and garish gold swirls of body paint. Even his eyelids and lips had been dusted with some sort of cosmetic, leaving them shimmering in the light. With an overly large smile, he held out a bottle of wine and two large goblets.“Have a drink with me.”

“Fine,” he growled knowing Fulgrim would only continue to whine and the Iron Circle let him pass. Gesturing to an empty table, he settled into a chair and waited for Fulgrim to sit across from him. “Only to show you I’ll keep my word and not kill you as soon as you’re vulnerable.”

“That’s the spirit.” He sunk into the chair, loose platinum hair framing his face like a halo, purple eyes shining with some mysterious mirth. A scent like flowers with an undercurrent of something acrid reached his nose. "Looks like my face did a number on your little toy," he said nonchalantly, pouring into one of the large goblets.

"It will be fixed." He took a sip of the glass Fulgrim handed him, feeling it burn, and wondering just where his brother had got it.

"I'm sure if there's anyone with the talent, it's you brother." As he shifted in his seat, one shoulder of the oversized tunic fell away, leaving his pale collarbone exposed.

"We're long past flattery," he tore his eyes from Fulgrim’s porcelain skin.

"I'm not trying to flatter," Fulgrim made a good show of sounding hurt.

"Then what are you doing?" His lack of patience with the seemingly endless schemes was evident in his tone.

A pale finger dipped into his wine glass and Fulgrim lasciviously sucked the drop from a fingertip. “Trying to keep you from remaining cross with me,” his voice was artfully soft and alluring.

Something in Perturabo stirred at the sound of it and he slammed his glass onto the table to squelch that thing. “You should’ve considered that before playing games with me.”

“Games, brother? I’m terribly sorry if you’ve misconstrued any of my actions.” He froze as he felt a foot tracing its way up his leg under the table. “Please, let me find a way to make it up to you.”

Perturabo swallowed another stinging drink. "Stop that."

Fulgrim’s laughter was musical. "You don't like it?" He did it again, this time caressing his thighs and nearly brushing against Perturabo’s manhood while draining his glass.

"No," he ground out. "It's time you went back to your ship."

Pouting, Fulgrim stood. "But I thought you appreciated things of beauty."

Both shoulders of the tunic had slipped away, and it hung from Fulgrim’s form obscenely leaving pierced nipples peeking from the neckline. Perturabo found himself wondering what they'd feel like between his fingers and what sounds Fulgrim would make as he toyed with them. Angrily he shook his head to clear away such thoughts. "Out," he ordered rising from his seat, but curiously the Iron Circle didn't react.

Moving in, he loomed over his brother who smiled maniacally up at him. "Or maybe I misjudged your eye for such things." Whatever scent Fulgrim had covered himself hung in the air like a miasma, overwhelming his senses.

Hands reached for Fulgrim almost of their own accord. Self-indulgent, obnoxious behavior was all he knew these days, perhaps it was time he was taught a different lesson than the one he'd tried the other day. Perturabo grabbed his throat in a crushing grip, rage and something else blacking out his vision. "You've misjudged something of me." Indulging his earlier impulse, he gripped one of the rings that hung from Fulgrim’s rosebud pink nipples and twisted harshly. Whatever noise he would’ve made was cut off by the hand on his throat, but it delighted Perturabo all the same and he felt himself stiffen. Why shouldn’t he take what had been so obviously proffered?

Releasing his throat, he switched his grip to that platinum mane Fulgrim had conveniently left free flowing, and forced him to turn around toward the table. With a shove he pressed one side of his face down into the table, leaving the other half visible. This time he didn’t want to destroy it, he wanted to watch it.

Yanking up the tunic, he exposed Fulgrim’s perfectly sculpted backside. "Brother, wait, what are you doing?" The slight note of panic in Fulgrim’s voice left him fully erect.

"Still correcting your behavior apparently." One hand tugged Fulgrim’s hair tight enough he yelped and the other worked to free the erection straining at his pants. “This is what you were trying to tempt me with, wasn’t it?” Silky smooth skin pressed against Perturabo where his pants had opened, irritatingly soft, typical of Fulgrim. The head of his cock rubbed against Fulgrim’s entrance, letting him properly comprehend exactly what Perturabo was going to do to him.

"Wait… I was only jesting. Perturabo, I'm sor-" He buried himself inside Fulgrim in one violent movement causing his words to be lost in a pained shout.

Perturabo relished the sound of it, let the insolent fop suffer. The thought of it caused him to twitch inside Fulgrim and he gave another brutal thrust. This time he made a sound that was pain tinted with pleasure and Perturabo raged. "You wanted it like this, you bastard."

"Mmm, perhaps," Fulgrim said, triumph in his tone.

This couldn't go unanswered. "Why?" Perturabo considered his next words carefully, yearning to cause hurt Fulgrim wouldn’t enjoy for the embarrassment of goading him to this. There was only one answer and he unleashed it like a targeted orbital bombardment. "Is this how Ferrus used to fuck you? Did he use you hard?"

"Don't you dare," Fulgrim spat venomously, and Perturabo laughed that he’d finally found a way to wound the Phoenician.

"I'll do as I wish, you're the one bent over the table getting fucked." He punctuated his words with another harsh thrust.

Fulgrim hissed in rage and Perturabo had never felt such lust. This is where his brother belonged, beneath him, making himself useful for once. He continued at a merciless pace, driving into Fulgrim over and over as he made delicious sounds of suffering. "Look at you, you're soft. Coming here, looking for what no one else can give you. No wonder Ferrus liked to fuck you, you're desperate for it."

The second mention of their dead brother left Fulgrim flailing enticingly against Perturabo's hold on him. Gloriously he could see blood at the roots of his hair where he gripped it. He didn't know how much longer he could stand it and began to hilt himself with as much violence as possible, every pathetic whimper brought him closer to the edge. "You make a good little whore Fulgrim."

A gasping cry left Fulgrim as he climaxed from the abuse and Perturabo raged that he felt any enjoyment at all. “I should make you lap that up off my floor.” With one last thrust, he pulled out, spilling himself across Fulgrim’s ass and thighs. His chest heaved with the exertion of the whole affair. “Get out.”

Fulgrim stood, stretching and righting his clothes, and he turned to Perturabo with that infuriating smile. “Dinner first next time perhaps?” A feral noise left Perturabo as he lunged for Forgebreaker. But Fulgrim was already gone, the ghost of a mocking laugh all that was left behind.

#fulgrim #perturabo #fulgrim x perturabo #warhammwer 40k #warhammer #horus heresy #warhammer fanfic #my fanfic

[universallychaoticpan]

Her soft seduction

Chuuya x reader

Toxic, heady, dark and sweet- Port Mafia parties were no laughing matter. The low chatter of things now brought out from behind closed doors, the curved lips and shifting eyes, money hanging from ears and wrists, power decorating throats and fingers. The velvety smoothness of his champagne stayed on his mouth with every glass, leaning against the banister of a grand staircase with his focus steadily on you.

That evenings entertainment, black silk hanging from your every delicious curve, eyes glittering prettily as you strung music together, notes threaded in place perfectly as your voice slipped over them, to and fro, hypnotic and tantalizing. Like a pearl, you shone, your surface smooth and glowing, swaying softly as the words bubbled up like spring waters.

You weren't oblivious, either. You felt the cold eyes of the Mafioso on you, experimenting with your movement to see how far he would follow the simple, seductive swing of your hip, or the way your fingers grazed your thigh gentle as a petal as your drew your hand up over your side, drawing a finger over the gentle slope of your collarbones as they slipped up to your throat, peeking out from under the straps of your dress.

He followed your hand; he followed your hand with those piercing eyes, fluttering across the lit canvas of your skin and he wondered what it would look like should he touch you.

He wondered how that fawn soft throat would bloom in the path of his lips

He wondered how your hair would fall over your shoulders, bare as the cool wisp of your dress hit the ground.

He wondered how your nails would feel along his back, in his hair-

He wondered what it was to feel you.

You could see these thoughts. Not the way any one with an ability could, sure, but you could see them just the same. You saw his yearning written on his face as he tried in vain to hide it. He did a masterful job; anyone else would not have guessed a thing. But you were a master yourself. You saw the faintest signs, the desire he could not hide from the woman of illusion you became in front of him.

Turning, you winked at your pianist, the darkness dusting your eye shadowing your smile. Stepping from the stage, you let the hypnotic click of your heels on the floor announce your approach, trailing your hand over the gilded banister Chuuya leaned on. You watched him from below, steadily ascending the staircase of hell, hungry to keep those eyes on you.

"See something you like?" You asked without words, gently raising a perfectly arched brow.

You knew every move to make him fall apart. Brushing a lock of hair back fro your shoulder, you exposed your throat. When you allowed him to kiss the back of your hand, his eyes set on your red lips.

Bewitching; that was you.

And Chuuya, whether he knew it or not, was spellbound, charmed, and taken with your siren eyes, nightingale song, the heavy sweetness you could give to him, the things he could give you. He saw it all.

He hungered for it.

Cherry lips, wicked smile; he was starved for you.

And the intention in both of you was clear;

You wanted to devour one another.

#chuuya x reader #bungo stray dogs #bungo stray dogs x reader #bsd #bsd x reader #chuuya bsd #nakahara chuuya #chuuya nakahara x reader #bsd chuuya x reader

[sheepwithspecs]

March CarvRhos Ficlet: Love Hurts

|| FFXIV || Rated M [18+] || (6/??) ||

Prompt List Here!

No intimacy, no loose ends. Heartstrings could easily strangle a man, should they become entangled with another’s.

Note: This isn’t at all what I intended to write, but the words wouldn’t stop coming anyway. It’s as though Carvallain said “No, I should be the one pining for once! It’s not fair!”

She comes to him shrouded in moonlight, creaking wooden boards beneath her bare heels, phantom fingertips on his brow. Her laughter is so soft as to be lost beneath the rhythmic rush of the sea, the muffled noises of the port beyond his window, the quiet settling of the ship all around him.

“I see ye keep poor company when yer away from home,” she teases, warm breath stirring the fine locks of hair near his ear. “There’s a street full o’ women in the pleasure quarter all but beggin’ ye to come n’ try their wares. Yet here ye are, alone in yer cabin with naught for company save yer two hands and a piss poor memory.”

“Believe what you will, madam,” he breathes back, syllables escaping his parched lips with each exhale, “but I long ago found myself under siren’s spell. I’m afraid there’s no cure.”

“Tsk, tsk. Poor thing.” She is so small, so slight, that the mattress barely dips where she curls up alongside him. Her slender leg slides over his hip, his thigh fitting easily between hers, fingers slotting together until her palm becomes his. She pushes the hem of his shirt aside, pausing to feel the rapid beat of his heart before rising to trace the angular shape of his collarbone.

“I miss you.” She would recoil at hearing such a sentiment, no matter how earnestly spoken. The very notion of being wanted is something foreign to her, laughable at best and mocking at worst. But here, in the privacy of his luxurious brocade bedcurtains, he is free to address her without fear of putting her on her guard. And she listens to him, bright eyes gleaming with affection and silent understanding. “I miss you so much.”

“Is that so? I’m surprised, seeing as ye never call me when yer abroad.” He chuckles at the thought, shaking his head sadly. The last few times he’s been bold enough—silly enough—to try the linkshell he carries with him, the result is an ear-piercing jumble of static noise and hijacked conversation. It’s been two long months since he last heard her voice, and it will be two more before he hears it again, at the very least.

“Besides, ye haven’t thought o’ me in weeks.” That’s a lie. He thinks of her every day, if not like this than in the abstract. But that’s not what she means, not exactly. “Something must have happened,” she remarks, tracing idle patterns on his chest. Her nails tickle the stippled hair growing back from his last aesthetician appointment, dipping occasionally into the well of his sternum before starting again.

“I saw something that reminded me of you.”

“Oh, aye?”

“Earlier today, in the markets….” His bed in the cabin is smaller than the one at the Seventh Sage, but still large enough that it can fit several well-stuffed pillows. He rolls towards the wall, reaching for one he tries to refrain from using overmuch. The pillow is cool against his cheeks as he buries himself in feathery softness, breathing deeply and searching for any lingering traces of her scent.

“There was a silk merchant unloading new wares,” he says, half muffled into the pillow and half in his mind. “One of the skeins was this beautiful shade of red, reminiscent of what you seem to favor.” It ripples in his mind’s eye, a shimmering waterfall of sanguine hues held aloft by the ocean breeze. The keen merchant had noticed his gaze and offered it to him, unrolling it to show off the beautiful pattern painted on its surface. An aimless, yet poignant pattern of soft curves and sharp angles, stark white on a bleeding background. In an instant he was reminded of her, of the white tattoo on her brow.  

“Aye?” Another verbal nudge, fingers tangling in the wiry curls beneath his navel.

“I wanted to buy it for you, to show you—” He cannot bring himself to finish. A ridiculous notion, borne of equally ridiculous desires. She had no more use for a skein of silk than he had for a crate of cooking supplies. But it was less the practical aspect and more the emotions it invoked, the joy it would bring him to place even a scrap of the cloth in her lap and watch her confusion become admiration. To see her mouth purse in a little O of surprise, eyes widening before crinkling in utter delight at the sensation of silk against her calloused fingers. He wanted her to laugh at him for the frivolity of it all while still finding pleasure in the gift. He wanted to watch her rub it against her cheek, rolling her eyes when he—quite rightly—compared it to the smooth expanse of her inner thigh. He is certain that, should he compare them right then and there, he would find the fabric’s texture lacking.

“Oh, how I miss you,” he says yet again, a desperate sound torn from the depths of his aching chest. He clutches the pillow to his breast, a poor substitute for the woman in his mind. His hands slide down the curve of her waist, palming the ample flesh of the thighs he so admires before lifting to count her ribs one by one. “Do you not miss me too, when I am gone?” She doesn’t answer, for he does not know what the answer would be. She draws him in for a kiss instead, nuzzling into his neck with a blissful little sigh as he dips a wandering hand between her legs.

“Dearest,” he groans, feeling how wet she is for him, “my darling—” Things he would never say aloud, even if he were free to. They are sweet nothings in every sense of the word, borrowed pleasantries. They belong in another era, some alternate world where he never chose to leave the safety of his gilded cage, never donned the pirate’s mantle and learned of their many unspoken rules.

No intimacy, no loose ends. Heartstrings could easily strangle a man, should they become entangled with another’s.

The knowledge does not dull the pain. It only mislays the source, guilty pangs that seem to mock him with the understanding that he is the careless one, the foolish one. In over his head, drowning, mired in his hopeless love while she continues on in the same blithe fashion as always. Their trysts are just that—something trivial to fill the time and provide mutual satisfaction. She holds no true regard for him; she’s better than that.

But in this dream he has built for himself, he can believe. He can fool himself into thinking that she is just as bad as he is, perhaps even worse, for she clings to him and cards her fingers through his hair. She opens herself to him, whispering broken fragments of endearments as she takes him in hand, stroking him to the choppy rhythm of the waves. And when it’s over, she holds him tenderly as he sobs his release against her shoulder.

Never mind that it would never work, either emotionally or logistically. Their differences are too great, both in size and disposition. But it works now, and it’s what he needs, and it’s more than worth the guilt and that grief that come after.  

“I love you.” Despite everything, it’s the truest thing he’s said tonight.

“I know.” Tired lips find the hollow of his throat and linger there, breathing him in. “Sweet man.”

“I wish….”

“Shhh….” The barest whisper, the gathering of moonbeams as she prepares to leave. Even like this, she won’t stay. “Sleep now.”

He reaches out for her, unsure of his own intentions, and finds air.

#ffxiv #Final Fantasy 14 #Final Fantasy XIV #MarchoftheTropes #CarvRhos #Carvallain de Gorgagne #Rhoswen Leach #Captain Carvallain #Captain Rhoswen #my writing #nice little bit of angst #If i do say so myself (and I do) #I adore this trope but I have no idea what it's called #ISW (Incredibly Sad Wank)

[spielzeugkaiser]

Things are hard, but they have many happy moments too. [Masterpost]

Jaskier started out with a thyroid tumor here (which was more or less my modern take on the djinn) but things got complicated after that. There are also (here and there) little hints of what it means to be a witcher in that universe, but we will see if I get to draw more of that! (the rest of the wolves are gonna be so pissed once they find out.) This is still pre-relationship, since this is a flashback, but it’s also not an completely unknown quantity between them that they love each other. This somehow ended up being the slowest slowburn that ever burned, but with them (while not knowing for sure) also kinda recognizing what simmers there and in which direction they are moving.

#onlyfans!jaskier #trans!geralt #geraskier #modern!geraskier #jaskier #cancer tw #critical illness tw #vomit tw #vomit cw #tw emeto #illness tw #cancer cw #medical procedure cw #this isn't medically correct but it's at least semi realistic #with the diet changed the polyneuropathy the pain the antidepressants #vomiting and (honestly) sometimes shitting your pants #everytime Jaskier is wearing a hoodie here it's one of Geralts - for comfort and because he's cold #also muscle cramps #the thing under his collarbone is his port #wearing heavy boots and tying them tightly can increase stability if your feet are numb #all that stuff

[angeli-marco-writes]

Sherlock Holmes - Kiss Me, Mr Detective

A/N - Season 1!Sherlock, the cutie. And friends to lovers. Two of my favourite things. I do not own Sherlock Holmes, the character, the universe, the adaptations or anything: this is a work of fiction set on the BBC adaptation of Sherlock. Did I still write 8.2k words (exactly) for it? Yes. I also don’t own the song or the lyrics used within, and if you fancy it, listen to ‘Kiss Me’ by Ed Sheeran while reading.

Warnings - Bad language. Mentions of murder and drug usage. Mild angst. Smut, loss of virginity, masturbation, oral m receiving, penetration, unprotected sex, so 18+.

Summary - After a fight with John leaves Sherlock feeling particularly down, he calls on the one person who is always there to support him. Only tonight, it’s different. Feelings come to a head, exploration ensues, but is this just a one time thing? That depends on whether she stays the night...

TO SHERLOCK, it’s just another normal day, whereas to John? He’d rather not admit how regularly these awful days roll around. Sure, the case didn’t go as well as it could’ve, and Sherlock admittedly could’ve made much more of an effort to comfort John after the apparent ‘heartbreak’ he endured. He just could not understand it. Why the hell was John so emotionally responsive to a case they’d been on for less than twenty four hours which turned out to be a bust anyway? 

“You are absolutely unbelievable!” 

“People die every day, John. You’ve killed people, as have I. It isn’t that great a surprise.” Sherlock deadpans, picking up his teacup, raising it to his lips, drawing a long sip from the warm liquid. 

“Oh, yeah, of course. The proud, the cold untroubled heart of stone, that never mused on sorrow but its own.” John mocks. “Do you not even care that people are still dead despite the fact you solved the case?”

“They’d be dead either way,” he reiterates, “at least we got to them before they completely decomposed. Will me caring about them stop them from being dead? No, Dr Watson, it will not.”

“Sherlock!”

“John!” He mimics. 

John slams his hands down on the desk, shaking the wood and everything resting on it, surely sending the vibrations through the floor and notifying Mrs Hudson of their ‘domestic’ as she so likes to call them. The buffalo even begins to swing. John’s tea is long forgotten, but Sherlock’s is keeping him grounded, calm, as John waggles his fist in Sherlock’s passive, blank face. 

“You-” he pauses, gulping down breath. “You are a fucking machine, I can’t even deal with you right now. How dare you be so cold hearted and untroubled by this. You’re a disgrace.”

As if he hasn’t heard that one before, Sherlock scoffs. 

Placing his teacup back down with a clink, he stands, the darkness of the night, of the room, closing in on them both. Nights like these really are danger nights, any night John leaves him. That’s what's coming next, but there isn’t a thing he knows to say or do to prevent the inevitable. He’ll simply just text Her instead, she’ll keep him grounded. 

“Why? Emotional context? Emotion, whether of ridicule, anger, or sorrow, whether raised at a puppet show, a funeral, or a battle, is your grandest of levellers. The man who would be always superior should be always apathetic.” 

With a huff like a bull, John viciously turns on his heel, blaspheming under his breath, cursing Sherlock out. He reaches for his coat and snatches it off the stand, slamming the door open. 

“MACHINE.” John screams before pulling the door shut with a great slam, seething, the coat stand still rocking in his wake. 

John’s footsteps thunder down the stairs, but before he’s even gone, Sherlock’s phone is withdrawn, and he’s tapping out a message.

Can you come over? Please? SH

It wouldn’t usually bother him as much. The case didn’t phase him, at all, but John’s opinion did. It always does. But today was a particularly long day of being brutish and rude, cold and distant, his usual and true self, but John’s more and more impatient with him now. 

Being called a ‘machine’ is, again, nothing unusual, but this time it stings a little more than usual, especially after his recent arrest, and a fallout with Molly. He only has one person left, right now, who doesn’t hate him. His longest friend, the one he keeps away from it all so as to not tarnish her life with his misdeeds; Y/N, the one he can always rely on.

He knows she’s arrived by the sound of his window crashing open. Crawling up the bricks, skimming the drainpipe, latching onto the ivy; it’s her usual manner of entry. She never uses the door. 

Putting his cups and saucers into the sink, he makes his way through the house, opening his bedroom door to find her already sitting there on the bed, her coat hung up on the hook, her work clothes clinging to her body. 

“Hey there Mr Detective, you okay?” she asks as jovially as she can muster.

The way he ambles across the room, his dressing gown floating behind him, and slumps down onto the bed, instantly tells her he’s not okay at all. She can’t help but to look upon him sympathetically, edging a smidge closer to him, until he’s prompted enough to wrap his arms around her torso, finding his rightful place tangled around her. She knows him well enough - his past, and his current life - to realise she’s the only person he’s ever felt comfortable enough around to do this with, and that brings her a certain swelling pride in her bosom, one that doesn’t go unnoticed by Sherlock as he feels her skin heat up against his cheek. 

It doesn’t take long, either, for his head to follow suit, burying into her chest. He’s always, always had a thing for her boobs, ever since they were in uni together. 

That’s something so special about the two of them, he doesn’t have to say anything for her to know he’s not okay the way he does with everyone else. And naturally, he can read everything about her in a split second.

“I’m here, bud.”

Above all else, he just needs to know someone is there for him in moments like these. The world is cruel to him, and Y/N wishes more than anything that it wasn’t. Upon instinct, her hands stray, one to his back, pressing against the silk of his dressing gown, the other cradling his long neck, fingers knotting in the dark curls there. 

She isn’t sure how long she stays there, simply holding him, feeling every twitch of his muscles, every breath of his against her skin, but she likes it. Of course she does, every time she likes it. Sherlock brings her an inordinate amount of comfort at the best of times, today is no exception, especially with what the day has held. Even when she’s the one comforting him, he doesn’t realise how much he helps her too. 

His flat is so familiar, his bed as comfortable as her own. She knows his sock index, she’s studied his periodic table over his shoulder more times than she’d care to admit, and she even has her own toothbrush in the bathroom in case she has to pop over for an emergency freshen up. Sherlock has, and always will be, her first port of call, and that she remembers as she shifts further onto the quilted bedspread, her phone on his oak bedside locker. 

His head begins to stir against her chest, his curls tickling her collarbones, small hums escaping his lips as he pushes himself up, his elegant yet trembling hands still splayed on her waist.

“I could feel your heart beating weirdly, what’s wrong?” he asks, quirking his eyebrows. 

“Just the usual.” she vaguely replies.

Sherlock isn’t having it, though, and scans her a little more. “You’re still in your work clothes.”

“Great deduction. I was hoping you’d go a little deeper, though.”

“You hate wearing work clothes longer than necessary, which means you had plans straight after work, considering you finished… five hours ago? That’s your usual time for today. Counting overtime, forty five minutes, walk to your car, another ten, but your umbrella wasn’t working, round that up to an hour, leaving at 6. You arrived home, no, not home, at your boyfriend’s house for dinner. However, you’re not comfortable enough with one another yet for you to use his shower, or perhaps you are, but you elected not to, and stay in damp clothes that only had seventeen minutes to dry with the heater on in your car for the journey there. You ate dinner, Mexican, had a glass and a half of five percent wine, realised you couldn’t drive, but you didn’t particularly want to stay. Nonetheless you sat and watched the telly with him for hours, football, I can see the dreariness in your eyes. I know how much you hate it, and frankly, same. You stayed for almost all of the match, seeing as you’re now sober, but something else happened.” She lulls her head to the side, prompting him, her smile not meeting her eyes. “As soon as the match ended, he tried to make a move on you, he pressed his mouth to yours, he tried to push his hand up your skirt;” his throat bobs with a vicious gulp; despising the thought of anyone else laying a finger on her, “you swatted him away, rightfully so.” 

He pauses a minute, his harsh tone of voice and his sharp face softening. He can see the vulnerability in her eyes, her walls about to crumble. This woman he appreciates so much. “He doesn’t deserve you.”

Smiling melancholically up at him, she brings her hand back to his hair, her fingers carding through the soft curls. His face buries back into her chest just as her voice offers a broken whisper, “I broke it off. I was the one who couldn’t commit this time.” 

And as she lays her head on top of his, her breathing more shallow, resounding in her chest, he dwells over those very words. The way she said them, not to mention the words themselves, hold a myriad of meaning. What could she possibly-

Oh.

The subtext, yes, impeccable. She’s always had a way with implications and subtext, always knowing that the likelihood of him actually picking up on it is little to none. But now, now he’s become trained to her, her way of life, her way of thinking, her way of speaking. This is too good an opportunity to miss. If she means what he thinks she means, ever hopeful, then this is completely unfamiliar territory. 

Gathering all of his courage in one deep breath, he begins to pepper kisses on her skin. The faintest brush of his lips on the tops of her breasts, all that’s available to him with her shirt the way it is. He feels her heart flutter, her breathing stutter, but despite the chemical flush of her chest, he still isn’t quite sure she likes it. Not until he feels her grip on his hair increase, and he glances up to see her head thrown back. Her spine delicately arches against his hand, thrusting her chest further into his face. 

His nimble fingers reach for her buttons, undoing the top two, giving him space enough to find the valley between her breasts. Lathering kisses there, licking the swells of her boobs, his tongue pulsates with the increased thrumming of her heart. The sensation is new, so unbridled, and he doesn’t quite know what to do with the stirring in his loins right about now. That unknowing is only further amplified by the sound that rips from her chest when he involuntarily bites down on the supple flesh. It couldn’t be… a moan?

Sure, he understands the chemistry of it, the reactions that occur in the synapses of the brain, the pheromones and hormones released when one is aroused, but this is all new to him. And, from his embarrassingly basic level of theory, surely that doesn’t start until some more stimulation on other parts of the body commence? Nipples, perhaps something lower down��� then again, what does Sherlock know?

Of course it’s an intimate moment, the closest he’s been to a woman before, and maybe that’s why he freezes, stops, and she tugs his head up by his hair, her gentle, pleasured smile with her lips softly parted deepening the look of bewilderment painted onto his face. Her eyes are twinkling, alight with an excitement he hasn’t seen for far too long. 

“What are you doing?” she whispers. 

He shrugs his shoulders with a sudden force, his dressing gown falling off a little. “I don’t know. But now I feel like I read your pining words all wrong.” 

She gasps, a wheezing sound, sucking the air from the room. She smacks his arm gently, muffled by his button-down and dressing gown. “I wasn’t pining! I was saying.”

“Hmm, same difference.” 

Everyone must acquiesce when it comes to Sherlock Holmes. “But no, you didn’t read them wrong at all, but I know you don’t see me that way, you don’t feel things that way.” 

He pauses, his beautiful plump lips pursed, fidgeting on the bed. Brushing her hair off her face reveals the pain she expressed. However, her eyes glued on his, sadness is betrayed in every line of his young, clean-shaven face. His entire bone structure is taking a nosedive. 

“For you, I’ve been feeling everything from hate to love to lust, and I guess that’s how I know I want to hold you close.”

“Sherlock...” she whispers, her singular word an inflection of surprise. 

Never tearing his eyes from her, his hand comes up to her cheek, rubbing his thumb over the slightly blushing skin, searching her face, with his big blue eyes, for a shred of reluctance. But, all he sees is her, so he elects to do what his heart is yelling at him to do for once, and kisses her breathless. His full lips holding hers, his one hand on her face, the other still wrapped around her back. Hers fly around his neck, clinging to him for dear life.

It doesn’t take long, their movements steadily heating, for their previously slow, intimate kiss to grow into something more, Y/N pulling herself up from the bed and making herself comfortable on Sherlock’s lap. His breath hitches in his throat, a cute little hiccupping sound escaping his lips in between embraces. 

As much as he loves just this, soft caressing and gentle petting, he just knows she wants more. He does too, that much is evident from the length prodding at Y/N’s inner thigh as she moves gently on his lap. She won’t make a move, though, he’s too inexperienced, and she’s too much of a sweetheart to corrupt him, so she thinks. Ever since he first saw her, she’s been corrupting him slowly. He didn’t realise at first, but over the years, he began to understand, and now he’s in too deep. 

For Y/N? It’s always been him. Every breakup she’s had, she’ll come to Sherlock’s flat, full well knowing the real reason she broke up with them, because she couldn’t commit, because she was too caught up on him. 

Skimming his hands beneath her shirt, he savours the press of his hands on her bare skin, warmth seeping from her body into his, his fingers dancing along her spine. Electricity shocks her in bursts, unlike anything else, from his touch alone. 

“May I take your shirt off?” he asks. 

“Fuck, yes.” she groans. “May I do yours?”

“Be my guest.”

In a tangle of limbs, a few buttons pop off, and eventually, two shirts make it out the other side, tossed from the bed and into the laundry pile. Aka Sherlock’s floor. He’s like that: sock indexes, yet he won’t get a hamper. A walking contrast.

His thumbs press beneath the band of her bra, savouring the pressure of the flesh that falls into his hands, but that’s as far as he gets. 

“Never undone a bra before?”

He shakes his head sheepishly. “I know the theory. Just… you always wear peculiar ones.”

“I wear relatively normal bras, and this one is certainly bog standard. Had I known you’d be undressing me Mr Detective, I’d have worn something nicer.”

“Just do it for me.” He requests, chuckling. 

She unfastens her bra, and allows her breasts to spill from the cups, into Sherlock’s awaiting hands. The gasp that erupts from him sends Y/N’s brain into overdrive. He’s cupped her chest through her shirt before, buried his nose into her cleavage countless times, but never before have they had such skin on skin contact. Her lips press to his neck, shifting her closer to him. Sucking on his pressure point, she receives a similar gasp in response, only this one is more guttural, more a sound of pleasure than surprise. He’s wilting from a single kiss to his neck. 

“Has no one ever given you a hickey?” She husks in his ear, her voice alone sending tremors down his spine. 

“N- fuck, no.”

“I’ll make it worth it. All of this.”

“I know you will.”

She fuses her lips onto his again, savouring the faint hesitations as he grapples with his breath, eager to get some control on his mind with all that’s happening. Never did she ever think Sherlock would be here beneath her, his rough fingertips brushing over her peaked buds, and his palms dancing over her waist. Never did she think she’d hear him whisper his next words, either, not in a million years. 

“More.” he pleads. “Can we do… more? Whatever that entails?”

“That depends what you want to do.”

“Get me out of these damn trousers. They're rather uncomfortable.”

She snorts lightly, a piggy like sound, the one they bonded over all those years ago. “I can feel why.”

“I imagine you want out of your work trousers, too.”

“God, yes; they’re ghastly.”

“I don’t think so.” he hums. “You look nice.”

Her cheeks begin to burn, blood rushing to colour them, betraying her true feelings, but as he tweaks her nose playfully, the little snort escapes again. 

They were in the dining hall, second week of university, almost ten years ago, and Y/N was sitting with her friends, downing enough coffee to sink a ship, eating her hangover away, when her friends decided to make her laugh with tales of last night's drunken events. Unbeknownst to her, one of the greatest minds of the twenty-first century was sitting just a few seats down on the half-empty bench, watching her perceptively in his periphery. That’s when he first heard the sound. The cutest thing, and it startled him into action, beginning his deductions almost instantly. Admittedly, her student ID on the table aided him a little. 

He shocked her from her haze, too, as soon as he spoke her name. 

“Y/N, eighteen, jurisprudence first year, freshers week over with. You left a boyfriend back home, but you’re more sad about leaving your dog, as I would be. You don’t particularly care about law but know it’s a good undergraduate to receive anyway. Dyed hair, extrovert, killer hangover, and apparently there’s a little piggy living inside your nose. Sherlock Holmes, would you like some aspirin?”

“That’s weird; what are you, some kind of detective?” She asked, sans malice, a playful bounce to her words. 

“Chemistry, going for a masters. But I do like the mystery, yes.”

“So you’re… bright. Nice to meet you, Sherlock, and it seems you know almost everything you need to know about me. But yes, I will take that aspirin, if you don’t mind. How was your weekend?”

He smiled at her, the first true smile he’d given in a long time. “It was nice, thank you.”

And thus a friendship was born, all because he heard her little piggy snort. 

Her slender fingers work wonders with the fastener and zip of his suit trousers, and even manage hers too, all within the space of a few seconds, but Sherlock is reluctant to let her go, even just to get her trousers off. 

“I need to sit up, just for a minute.”

“No.” Sherlock commands, insistent. “We can make this work.”

“Sure we can, but it won’t be very comfortable. Come on.”

She’s barely peeled away from him and wrestled hers off before he’s drawing her back in for a kiss, his trousers settled just above his knees. 

“Sherlock,” she protests, mumbling against his lips, her hands on his heavenly, broad, muscular shoulders. “Sher!”

Her squeal at his sudden tug on her panties disappears, captured by his eager mouth. And in fact, her panties seem to disappear along with it, thanks to Sherlock’s swift movements and nimble hands. Maybe he’s had some experience to be so good at this…

“You sure you wanna go this far?”

“More sure than I’ve ever been. I need you.” 

He takes a deep inhale, dropping his forehead against hers, his breathing coming out in bursts as he tries to get a grasp on the situation. “Kiss me.”

She doesn’t need to be told twice, instantly getting to work on the waistband of his boxers as his tongue lavishes her own. His hips rise briefly, just long enough for her to tug the elasticated material from around him, slipping past her, and then he kicks it into their growing pile of clothes. His length falls into her awaiting palm, and-

“Wow.” She exhales in amazement. “If I’d known you were packing this much, I’d have jumped you long ago.”

“No you wouldn’t.”

“Absolutely not, until tonight I thought you’d just laugh at me.”

He pecks her lips affectionately, “Never. You’re bloody beautiful, I’ll let you do anything to me.”

“Hmm, anything, you say?”

Stifling a chuckle against her neck, he recommences, “Maybe not anything.”

Yeah, that's definitely the right call. Still, she finds herself all but clawing at him, her breath hovering teasingly just over his lips, their noses touching, her hands clamped to his cheeks, feeling the building heat there. She must be making such a mess of his bed right about now, but for one night? It can’t matter.

This is a one time thing, it has to be. Sherlock just needs to release some tension, she just so happens to be there. Still, she can’t prevent the little glimmer of hope shining through at the possibility of this being a more-than-one-time thing. The moral compunctions of their friendship after this don’t matter anymore, because he’s leaving a fire in his wake, his delicious fingertips digging bruisingly into her bum before trailing lightly up her spine, skimming her shoulder, brushing her neck - arched for him to reach where he wants, able to mark her as his own - and finally slipping over her lips, taken obediently by her awaiting mouth. Christ, if there’s one thing she hopes for tonight, it’s that his actions never relent.

Whether it’s what he intends to happen or not, his fingers in her mouth give her an idea, one she prays he goes along with at least a little, so she pulls away. The dirty, telling smile on her face hints at what she’s about to do, lending Sherlock to shift a little more up the bed, his eyes following her every move. Hands splayed on his thighs, her small fingers gripping onto the fine hairs there, she begins to take his tip into her mouth, never once breaking eye contact with him. Yeah, this is what’ll drive him insane. 

Inch by inch, she takes him into the welcoming heat of her mouth, pulling off slowly, only to go down again. She adds her tongue into the mix at some point, too, and her hand, on what she can’t reach, tickling his balls, but further than that, his mind is blank. Hot white, washed with pleasure. The sounds he emits are other worldly, so much that he has to muffle himself with his own hand; what would Mrs Hudson say? He’s always had such control over his mind and body, but this… he’s slowly losing all semblance of control, and he’s not even mad about it. What he does know is that there’s a building heat in his abdomen, a coil about to spring, and his cock is beginning to twitch. If she keeps going this incredible way, her teeth grazing him ever so gently, adding another new sensation into the mix, he’s inexorably going to finish before he can help it.

“As much as I adore your torturous ministrations, I think I need to be inside you…” He husks, his voice deep.

A smirk gracing her lips, she looks up at him through half-lidded eyes, mischief glinting in her pretty little mesmerising eyes for a second, before she hollows her cheeks and takes him wholly, allowing his length to slip partially down her throat. Her moan reverberates around him, and Sherlock begins to thrash above her, scrunching the duvet in his hands, not caring if it creases. If there’s one thing Sherlock hates, it’s creases. And being called a machine by his best friend. Right now, though, it seems as though every misstep in his day has led him here, into the welcoming heat of Y/N’s mouth, taking him so eagerly, her tongue lapping at the vein on the underside of his dick, a string of saliva remaining as she pulls away. 

“I think you’ve got a couple of rounds in you, Mr Detective. Can you do that for me?”

“Y-yes.” He stammers, his head tossed back in pure ecstasy a moment later as she begins to work on the head with kitten licks. “But… can I s- fuck me, say something?”

“I plan on it.” she chuckles, “anything.”

She goes back to peppering kisses all over his member, tip to base, brushing his balls, working her way back up. 

“Touch yourself f- for me.”

“What? Why?” 

Her tone is more inquisitive than anything else, but upon that playfully rueful look in his lust-darkened baby blue eyes, she knows he’s going to get her back for this little display, and he’s just worked out how. It works both ways, she can prepare herself for what’s to come next while pleasuring him. And he gets to watch. It’s a win-win for him. Maybe he likes this sex thing a little more than he’s letting on. 

“Are you sure you want me to? I’ll just make a mess on your sheets, Sher.”

She swallows him again, bobbing her head up and down on his length a few times while he grapples with literal reality. He’s teetering on the edge. One more move, and he’s a goner. His head is already against the wall, lolled there. 

“I don’t care about the sheets, darling, I need you ready for me.”

She gulps, nods, and reaches one hand around her, skimming over her stomach, until it nestles between her thighs. She rubs her thumb over his tip, collecting the pre-come beading there, while she rubs over her throbbing pearl, pressing softly. Then, as she inches down on his cock, taking him in her mouth, she also collects the slick from between her thighs, and uses it as a lube to push a finger inside herself. Of all the times she’s touched herself, she never imagined, even in her wild Sherlock fantasies, that she’d be doing it with his dick down her throat. With every bob of her head, she scissors herself more, sinking back onto her fingers. 

“I think I’m-” Sherlock begins to say, his words cut off by an utterly obscene moan splitting the air. 

She hastily abandons her one post, and wraps both of her hands around his girth, working on what she can’t fit into her mouth with her increased speed, licking and suckling his head as he begins to fall apart, coming, with a scream, down her throat, his one hand clamped over his mouth, biting down harshly to silence his cries; the other buried in her hair. 

His whole body falls lax, completely spent, meanwhile, Y/N savours every drop she’s been able to draw from him. He softens in her mouth, allowing her change to slip away from him, grasping a tissue from the bedside to wipe away any excess. That’s certainly something she never thought would happen… 

He’s calm, though, smiling lazily through hooded eyes, his breathing regulated once more, making beckoning motions to her with his big hands. He’s placated, though, and sliding her hands into his, she’s allowed time enough to get into place, smiling softly at him, raking her fingers over his scalp in a comforting way. Even as she sits herself on his lap, she can feel him hardening beneath her ass, slowly but surely. She was right about him, he’s definitely got another round in him. 

“Do you have a condom?” he asks. 

“No, sweetheart, they’re in my other bag. I didn’t plan on getting any for a while… do you?”

“Not in here, that I’m aware of. John may have stashed some in my less favoured dressing gowns or socks, and he definitely has some upstairs, but I’m unawares.”

“I’m gonna sound crazy here, but do we need one?” She says hesitantly. His eyes widen, he cocks his head to the side. “I was tested after my last partner, I’m clean, and on birth control. You’re a virgin. There’s no point, is there?”

“You have a considerably good point.”

With that, energy rejuvenated a little, he wraps an arm around her body, flipping them over so he’s on top, shadowing her, looming over her, gazing down at every inch of her naked beauty.

“Take your time. I’ll be your safety.”

“I know.” he whispers, a tearful smile making its way onto her face. “Thank you.”

He needn’t say more, because she already knows why she’s being thanked. For her kindness, for making him so comfortable, for accepting the fact he’s still a virgin in his late twenties and, if he’s being honest, has no damn clue what the practicality and reality of sex is. Sure, he’s seen porn. He’s also looked at John’s laptop. But that doesn’t prepare one for when the moment comes. It’s like all of that goes out the window, and he simply remembers the first time he opened a biology textbook at secondary school, pictures of flushed organs staring back at him, desperately waiting to be relieved. That’s what his own coock is like right now, already hard again, virtually pulsating with hunger in his palm. He strokes himself a couple of times, glancing down at Y/N’s wide eyes.

“Are you okay? Can I…”

“Yes, Sherlock,” she chuckles, “whenever you’re ready.”

Now, he thinks. He rubs two digits through her folds, gathering her wetness, enamoured with the way it glistens on his fingertips. Tentatively, he brings his fingers up to his mouth, swirling his tongue around them to get a taste. Eyes rolling into the back of his head, he moans. She’s better than any cup of tea he’s ever had. 

His cock slaps against his lower stomach pleadingly, so he grasps it in his hand, and begins to enter her, pushing gently, feeling every flutter of her walls. Her arms fly out, hands grasping his shoulders, nails leaving crescent moons in their wake at the delicious stretch. It’s nothing like they’ve ever felt before. 

“Can I move?” He asks, balls deep inside her, their pelvises flush against one another. 

“Please.” She all but begs. 

Before doing anything else, Sherlock hooks one strong arm around her body, malleable in his hands, and holds her chest against his. Her breasts push into his skin, her nipples gaining friction from the dusting of hair there. Her one hand cups his slender neck, the other, his sharp cheek. Their eyes meet in a fierce gaze of burning intensity, and he begins to move. Slow, calculated, sharp thrusts punctuate her core. With every heavenly stroke, he can feel the ridges in her velvet walls, squeezing around him unwittingly.

“Jesus,” she cries, her clutch increasing. 

“Hmm, not quite.”

The smirk in his words is quite literally audible. He’s so cocky, so full of himself, and fuck if she can’t feel another gush of arousal coursing through her, drenching his cock. How does he manage to be so attractive when he’s so dishevelled?

“Is that good?” He asks, unsure.

“So good.”

She brings her legs up, skimming the clenched backs of his thighs, until they wrap around him, drawing his hips into her at a new and improved angle. Heels digging into the base of his spine, he begins to move with a new purpose, his thrusts more passionate as his breath is drained from him by her kisses, his eyes alight with a new flame. 

“Oh my God, Sherlock.” She pants, pulling him in for a kiss he greedily returns. 

He drives his hips deeper, squeezing his fingertips into her supple waist bruisingly. It’ll be a mark that she belonged to him once, even just for one night. That’s when he reaches that special spongy spot that makes her entire body buckle. She all but screams, pressing into him wholly. 

The coil is building, ready to break. He seems to be nearing the edge, too, his member twitching inside her when he buries himself particularly deep. She’s oh so fucking close… She licks into his mouth filthily, desperately clashing her teeth with his, eager for his kisses to tide her over. Silence her. Shifting his supporting hand, he trails one dextrous finger around to circle her clit, adding the faintest pressure for a moment. She mewls as he groans into her hot skin, clawing at him, entirely at his whim. Now he knows where to press, he settled his grip back around her, and draws her in close. This time around, he bends his knees a little more to measure his movements more carefully, ensuring that he ruts up and brushes her sensitive bud with his pelvis, helped by the extra friction of his neatly trimmed pubic hair on every thrust within her, his tip just scraping her g-spot.

“I- Sherlock, please tell me you’re- oh sweet mercy- close.”

He grunts softly in her ear. “So close.”

Their lips meet tenderly, passionately, in what they acknowledge to be a final kiss, moans mixing between them, savoured by the other. 

His thighs clench, her legs tighten around his waist, and finally, her sweet walls flutter, squeezing him as she reaches her climax, his not following long after, spilling inside her, painting her soft walls white, marking her. 

“Y/N,” he cries in ecstasy as his orgasm reaches him. “Sher…” she repeats, her saving grace as pleasure washes over her entirely. 

Their whole bodies wind up pressed together, bound together as one, skin on skin completely, becoming one another. 

He lets her down gently, unravelling his grip, unsurprised when their sweaty skin sticks together. Her long legs unfurl, splaying in a butterfly. Sherlock tumbles ungracefully away, somehow landing with a certain gangly elegance on the space of mattress beside her, his arm instinctively flying over to place on her stomach, the skin hot and flushed red. Her chest moves hastily up and down with the thrumming of her heart, while his barely shifts despite his shallow breaths, his white skin glistening in the moonlight. 

“Are you okay?” He huffs, turning on his side. “You look pretty fucked out.”

His baby blue eyes train instantly on her nipples, hard in the open air. This is the first notifier, the first inkling she has to feel self conscious, so she draws the sheet up around her as best as she can. Sherlock’s not having any of it, taking a stronghold on her arms, and pulling her until she’s lying on him, naught to separate them. 

“I’ve never been this close to anyone physically and y'know.” He hums tiredly. She’s never heard him sound tired before… 

She smiles up at him as best she can, “Are you glad?” 

He begins to hold her ever closer, squeezing her tighter, feeling every ridge of her body. 

“I’m so glad that you were my first, in so many ways.” 

Praise from Sherlock is a rarity, and she’ll take it as and when she can, savouring every moment, this time by holding him like a koala, her grip not wavering. 

“I’m glad too, Mr Detective.”

He brushes a kiss to her cheek, “As much as I like this, we need to get you cleaned up.” 

A supporting arm beneath her bum, he picks her up, and unsteadily ambles into the bathroom. 

“I don’t know much about this, but I know you should probably use the toilet, should you want to avoid a UTI, so if you’d like me to leave…”

He sets her down on the loo seat, cupping his hands over his nether regions, and he hurries to grasp for things, until she puts her hand on his arm, squeezing in a conciliatory manner. 

“You do remember the camping trip, don’t you? You really don’t have to leave just because I have to pee, you never did before. In fact, you frequently annoyed me with it if you had a particular point to make, steadfastly refusing to leave the bathroom after following me in there when I went to pee. Why does this change anything?”

He shrugs, dropping whatever was in his arms, “It just doesn’t feel the same now, though.”

“Ooo, and now Mr Detective feels things.” She jokes, poking at his ribs. 

He recoils, chuckling with her, “Only for you.”

As Y/N washes her hand, Sherlock begins to wrangle with a floorboard, clattering about until he eventually pulls out a small lock box, from which he withdraws a packet of brand new marks-and-spencer's ladies briefs. 

“Why the fuck do you have these? Anything you wanna tell me?” she asks, eyes wide.

“John’s idea. He has plenty of girls over here who frequently stay the night, simply a precautionary error.” He takes a beat, gargling with some mouthwash, “they’re clean, new, I just don’t like the idea of you in dirty underwear, and I know how reluctant you are to go without them whenever you’re not in your own bed. I stayed with you enough nights in university to know that.”

Those nights were awfully painful. She’d take the floor, he’d take the bed, and every time she’d have to wash the sheets. He’d sweat and vomit, shake and cry, plead for the pain to be over. He wouldn’t go to hospital, he wouldn’t call his brother, he’d just turn up on her doorstep, high as a kite, almost in tears, knowing he’d gone a little too far. And each time, it was a little farther. 

“Thank you, Sherlock.” 

She takes them from him, and begins to shimmy them up her legs, only prevented by Sherlock moving to grab a handful of her arse. 

“Hmm, I like this. Fancy another round?” He smirks. 

“I’m too tired, babe. Give me a bit.” 

He can see the lazy smile on her face, the tiredness in her pretty eyes, so he wets a flannel, and begins to clean her up with gentle movements between tender kisses.

“How do you know how to do all of this?” She asks, inquisitive more than anything. 

“Instinct, I suppose. I never read or learned about it, seeing as I never thought it would happen.” 

She snaps the waistband before moving her hands to his waist, leaning up onto her toes to reach him, kissing her softly. 

“Look at you now.”

After brushing their teeth in an amicable silence, their pinky fingers overlapping on the porcelain of the sink, he aids her back to the bedroom, settling her on the bed. She has things here: deodorant, toothbrush, moisturiser, and yet somehow she doesn’t have underwear, even after all these years. Perhaps that's one too many things to explain… 

With superfluous extravagance, he throws her his shirt, offering her a wry wink. She finds a blush clawing its way onto her cheeks, dumbfounded. It smells like him, just like a forest glade if it was rained on by tea and cigarettes. Maybe he’ll let her keep it as a memory.

In such a short amount of time, she’s learnt that he has a very sensitive neck. Very. A single kiss there has him biting back a moan. A low one at that, considering his deep voice also drops almost an octave when he’s aroused. His nipples are almost as sensitive as his neck, and he rather likes it when she tugs on them unwittingly. 

His first orgasm comes quickly, but his refractory period is astonishing, and it takes longer to achieve a second high, long enough to make her come more than once, she assumes, though her first orgasm was mind blowing enough for two. Perhaps that’s just because it’s his first time, but it’s impressive nonetheless.

What’s the point in learning all of this if, once he comes around from his post-orgasmic haze, he’ll pretend like it never happened, in typical Sherlock style?

The shirt, though a small gesture, means a lot, and her vision begins to cloud as she looks down at the black cotton. 

“You mean you want me to stay?” She croaks.

Sherlock turns to her from his set of drawers, his face full of apparent obviousness, brows furrowed in that cute bewildered way. 

“Of course I want you to stay.” He states, like it’s the plainest thing in the world, like it’s stupid for her to even ask. But she’s silent, and when she says nothing in response, he launches into a long winded explanation: don’t show sentiment. “I- I just mean, i-it’s midnight, I’m not having you out in London alone. You stay with me. Only if you want to as well...” 

She nods eagerly, “Yes. Yeah, course I want to stay.”

He all but leaps access the room, jumping onto the bed, before planting a proper smooch on her lips, grinning down at her. He slips into his usual side of the bed, and she takes hers, rolling to look at him.

“Don’t get cold.” He warns, tucking the duvet up around her shoulders. She giggles like a child, that small snort sounding again, prompting Sherlock to press his thumb to her nose like a button. “How are you… feeling?”

“I’m fine bub, really. That bloke doesn’t matter to me at all. Bit of a scumbag if I’m honest. You’re the one I’m with, the one I wanna talk about. How are you feeling? Must’ve been a pretty big blow up with John for you to call me and be so... teary.”

He sighs, crestfallen, “He called me a machine.”

Her gasp pierces the air, her hand flying to his hair, stroking in consolation, cooing senseless reassurances to him. She’s done this innumerable times, but now it feels different, like there’s no barrier. 

“He’s done it so many times that it needn’t bother me anymore, but the way he looked at me, like I was this abhorrent monster, especially after the day and the disappointing case we had, it got to me. I hate having feelings.”

“You don’t have to hide them with me, though.”

He hums gently, burying into her chest. “I know. That’s why I treasure you so dearly.”

“That means you also have to trust me, and you’re not going to like what I have to say.” His chest heaves, shifting her whole body. That’s his way of giving in. “Please just talk to John. You know that whenever he leaves, he’ll come back, and try to pretend it never happened. He needs to know you’re human and that he upset you, but also that the case upset you as well. No one’s superhuman, and once you let John in on the fact that you’re not a machine, things between you will be so much easier, because you might agree for once.”

“I suppose you’re right.” He grumbles. 

He pulls her into his warmth, hooking her leg around his as he snakes his arms around her back, breathing deeply from the crook of her shoulder. She begins to pepper kisses on his salty skin, savouring the taste with every small swipe of her tongue.

“Your heart’s against my chest, your lips pressed to my neck,” he breaks off with a faint whimper when she sucks a little harder, “I’m falling for your eyes, but they don’t know me yet.”

“Of course they do,” she whispers brokenly, hoarsely, “they’ve always known you.” She swallows thickly, “Does that mean it’s a feeling you’ll forget?”

“No, I don’t think I ever can.”

The silent words that pass between them both are so special, too special to be spoken aloud. ‘Think I’m in love now.’

“Kiss me like you wanna be loved.” He begs. 

And really, who is Y/N to deny him? They just stay that way a little while, revelling in their lazy kisses, until she begins to fall asleep. It isn’t the first time she’s fallen asleep in his bed, not by any means, but it’s the first time she’s fallen asleep in his arms. She isn’t mad about it.

“Settle down with me, cover me up, cuddle me in. You were made to keep my body warm.” She smiles into her words, and embeds herself into him, entirely covered by the duvet, spattered in his kisses, safe in his arms. Sherlock feels safe with her legs around him, her fingers in his curls, holding himself against her. Amicable silence is how they drift off, Peaceful.

John re-enters 221B at a respectable hour. He got a fair amount of sleep on Greg’s sofa, having no girlfriend in the picture right now, but not enough to deal with Sherlock just yet. Not before his coffee. He expects to see Sherlock sitting in the exact same spot as when he left, perhaps just with a refill of tea, his fingers still steepled beneath his chin, eyes closed yet wide awake. Instead, he arrives at a seemingly empty, considerably clean flat, with no Sherlock in sight. Perhaps the unsleeping man must actually be asleep, he thinks, so he quietens down, and toes off his shoes before wandering farther into the flat. Even if the man does piss him off extraordinary amounts, perhaps he should just check he’s okay…

He gives the bedroom door a quiet rap, listening in momentarily before pushing it open. Frankly, he’d rather have found Sherlock with a cigarette in hand and the whole flat torn to shreds for the level of surprise he gets upon reaching the bed. His first idea is to scream bloody murder, but that might annoy Mrs Hudson, and upon stepping closer, even in the sliver of daylight through the curtains, he sees the duvet riding down a little. The last thing in the world he ever thought he’d see: Sherlock in naught but boxers pressed against a half naked woman, his palm splayed on her bare thigh. Sherlock? Spooning? It seems so, his entire body pressed to this woman. John feels himself go rigid, his feet glued to the floor, his gaze unmoving from shock. 

It takes his phone to buzz in his pocket to get him moving, and when he does, all he tries to do is balance precariously on his tip toes in a wry attempt to get a birds-eye view of the whole thing. He’s not disappointed, or disturbed, once he does, though, his army agility proving useful. Sherlock’s hand is holding her, fingers entwined, just next to her chest. He wonders how comfortable it is, but if they’re staying this way, it can’t be too bad. Maybe all Sherlock needed to loosen up was a good shag. 

She’s wearing his shirt, too; Sherlock’s black dress shirt from the previous day. And Sherlock? He never seeps in anything less than a full set of pyjamas, he’s weird like that . 

This girl begins to stir, her lips parting gently, small hums escaping. Next, her eyelids flutter, and her hair shifts on the pillow. He didn’t make any noise, did he? John was specifically careful not to, just in case. He doesn’t fancy Sherlock’s wrath just yet. 

One eye opens, and she whispers, almost incoherently, “Hi John.”

How she knows his name and who he is, he’s not at all sure, because he doesn’t think he’s ever seen this face in his life. The hair is familiar, and maybe, if she were more awake, he’d recognise her smile, but he’s never seen a woman in Sherlock’s company beside Molly Hooper. Speaking of… 

Before he can even say anything, though, before he can ask who she is or if she wants tea or if she date-raped his roommate, she’s mumbling, and detaching her hand from Sherlock’s, rolling over. Dumbfounded, John just stands there and watches her cuddle into Sherlock’s chest, her arms wrapping around his torso like second nature. Even in his sleep, not consciously thinking about his actions, he grips her back - one hand resting just above her bum, and buries his nose into her neck.

John can’t help but smile to himself. Maybe their fight was for the best if Sherlock now has a girlfriend, someone he turned to for solace. So, he grasps for the top of the duvet and pulls it up over both of their figures, reaching their shoulders, and leaves, staring wistfully for a brief moment at the seemingly happy couple. 

The weight of the duvet of what startles Sherlock, though, stirring him a little, inviting him to him against Y/N’s skin, smiling with eyes barely open. This is really nice, he thinks to himself, not waking up alone. 

She smiles back blearily, and in her morning voice, whispers to him, “Kiss me Mr Detective.”

#sherlock #sherlock holmes #bbc sherlock #johnlock #sherlolly #mystrade #sherlock smut #sherlock fanfic #sherlock imagine #sherlock holmes imagine #sherlock holmes smut #william sherlock scott holmes #mycroft holmes #molly hooper #dr john watson #sherlock bbc #john watson #sherlock x oc #sherlock x reader #sherlock fluff #sherlock angst #sherlock fic

[piecksz]

animeverse where eren is still in his cell and hange+others have an idea of bringing ina girl to fuc to 'loosen him up' so he can give info,hange has studies n research to back this up they bring you dressed scantily to go be his whore he knows why ur there n hates u so hes mean and ignores ur advances eventually he hate fucks u w his anger being directed at u from his situation choking xtreme degrading just being rough in general MEAN SERIOUS EREN NO FLUFF OR LOVE

catalyst

eren yeager x reader

warnings: nsfw, roughness, mentions of breeding, degredation, choking, explicit language

a/n: this is my first prompt request n i was vvvv nervous so pls go easy on me ok ok i hope i did your vision justice

“As romantic as this reunion is, it’s not a date, we need answers.” Levi’s words were austere, ricocheting off the passage walls as the three of you traveled deeper below ground. “He’s still a shitty-ass teenager. Hopefully isolation has made him desperate enough for female contact.”

You said nothing, and instead your eyes looked around fretfully. The chamber was inhospitable, forged from naked rock adorned with smoldering torches. Your minimal attire was inapt in its frigid ambience, so you walked clung to yourself, arms wrapped around your bare shoulders to retain as much body heat as you possibly could.

“Are you sure this is gonna work?” Levi questioned Hange, keeping his attention forward. He maneuvered through the sharp turns of the labyrinth, which gave you the impression he’d had many experiences down in the cells with his comrades.

Hange released a tremulous sigh. “It doesn’t matter. We’re out of options.” Their nervous tone had them looking over their shoulder, reassuring you with a placid smile. The gesture was thoughtful, considering it had felt like you’d been a third party to their strategic and undivided conversation, but it did nothing to soothe your hesitancy.

Levi and Hange had tracked you down and invited you to meet with them, urgently explaining that they needed your help with debriefing Eren after his insubordination and his blitz on Marley. He’d refused to disclose any further information about his conduct to anyone in the military, not even Mikasa and Armin, his closest confidants. So Hange suggested bringing in someone unbiased, someone not in the military to ruse more details out of Eren.

You were their prime choice after hearing how you and Eren had met when the Anti-Marleyan volunteers had arrived on Paradis. You’d been one of the several civilian volunteers that had helped with affairs and military proceedings at the port. There you’d met Eren and quickly forged a friendship, although Eren’s friends could have sworn there was more between you two than you would have liked to admit.

You weren’t sure why you agreed to their proposal. Perhaps it was your readiness to help the military in their righteous endeavors, or maybe it was for a different reason. Perhaps you were driven by your own selfishness. You wanted to see Eren again, even under the strange circumstances.

Eren’s cell was at the end of the corridor. Once Hange let out an abrupt “we’re here” your lips carried an eager smile, but your expression quickly faltered once you stepped forward and caught a glimpse of him in his cell. Even with the arrival of visitors, Eren kept his head forward while he sat on his bed, one arm balanced on his knee.

“Nice of you guys to pay me another visit. I’m starting to think you just miss me.” Eren’s voice was deep. So much deeper than you remembered. How long had it been? You couldn’t do the math.

“You know you’re our favorite problem child.” Levi responded humorlessly. He stepped aside for Hange to slip the key in the lock, and with one turn the door was swung open. “Don’t look so agitated. We brought you a gift.”

You made no efforts to step out from behind Hange and Levi, but Eren could see you clearly enough. You weren’t sure what you were expecting, but maybe it was foolish of you to envision Eren slipping out of his troubled temper the moment you two saw each other again. Realistically, it never would have been that easy. Eren’s face remained hard, if anything it looked like seeing you made him even angrier.

Hange’s hand found its way onto your shoulder, supportive, but reminding you of the reason why you were there.

You shuffled forward, heels loud against the granite cobblestone. Darkness swallowed you as you crept in further, and you flinched at the sound of the heavy door being shut and secured behind you. Looking over your shoulder, your heart began racing at the sight of solid metal bars separating you from the outside.

“Let’s give them some space,” Levi suggested, stepping back from the cell.

Hange’s mouth opened to protest, but they were discouraged by Levi’s strong grip on their ear.

“We’ll be waiting outside if you need us, Y/N.” Levi announced through Hange’s squalls of pain. He gave you a comforting nod before his eyes drifted to Eren, and his expression toughened again. “Don’t try anything. Screams echo down here.” He paused and then turned on his heel to leave, tugging Hange’s ear before releasing it from his hold.

You watched nervously as the two of them disappeared behind the wall.

Hange’s voice was heard again further down the hall. “That hurt a lot, you know.”

It was the last remark you heard from the pair before you heard the door to the corridor close, and then worry flooded your system like it was on an intravenous drip. The Eren you were convinced you were meeting was replaced by someone you weren’t sure you knew, and suddenly you felt unsafe being alone with him, but you held an obligation to Levi, Hange, and the rest of the military that needed the information they expected you to gather.

You walked slowly, feigning a gentle smile to masquerade as though you were happy. It hurt to know that it was something you had to fake. You sat at the edge of Eren’s bed and took note as he made no efforts to shift away. That had to have been a positive sign.

“You look different,” you chuckled. “I like it.” The weak blaze from the burning torches casted a menacing shadow onto Eren’s stolid face. In the half light of the cell he appeared much older. You reached a hand out to brush away the loose wisps of hair that decorated his face, but your movement was stopped by Eren’s unyielding grip around your wrist.

You jumped, surprised at his roughness.

“Do you honestly think you can outsmart me?” His words were bitter.

You looked at Eren with wide, stunned eyes before blinking quickly and trying to laugh off your clear fright.

“What are you talking about?” You brought your unrestrained hand to his jawline, fingers tracing the shape of his face until your touch met the broad span of his chest, and then you felt gutsy enough to slip your fingers under the fabric of his shirt. “You’ve been down here too long. Not everyone’s your enemy, Eren.”

Your fingers wandered far enough until they met the defined curve of his collarbone and the robust muscle of his chest, but the moment was fleeting, interrupted by the jolt of Eren shoving you backwards. You fell off the bed and teetered, momentarily losing your balance.

“It’s pitiful that you’re letting them use you as a pawn.” Eren’s words were sharp, but venom in his words were bearable compared to the resentment behind his eyes.

He knew. He was smart, you should have known he would catch on. You created distance between yourself and Eren.

“What? They’re not using me as a pawn.” Your voice was unsteady. “I promise Eren, I have no idea what you’re talking about, but you can help me understand if you just—”

“Then why are you here?” Eren rose from his bed to begin closing the distance you created, and your body began to quiver with dread.

You continued inching backwards until your tailbone collided with the edge of the cell’s sink, and you latched onto it with a sweaty grip.

“I’d rather be a pawn than be driven to do terrible things out of my own free will!” You had no choice but to admit what he already knew, and in seconds Eren’s hands were strung tightly around your wrists while he trapped your body against the sink.

“I’m sorry,” you apologized quickly, blinking back tears. You searched for something past his eyes, just a modicum of vulnerability to at least let you know there was a person behind the Eren you were speaking to, but the once fiery hues of green and blue in his irises were now frosted to an unremarkable grey. If it was true that eyes were the window to the soul, Eren was truly void.

“Please let go.” You pleaded and writhed in his grip. “Eren, seriously let go. You’re hurting me.”

“I don’t expect someone like you to understand.” Eren’s face showed nothing but malevolence.

“Someone like me?”

Eren pushed you back further into the sink until you bit back a shrill cry. “Someone that’s never had to make any sacrifices.”

Tear after tear did nothing to ease Eren’s painful hold, and as obvious as it was that he was hurting you, he remained unconcerned.

“Who are you?” You shook your head. “This isn’t the Eren I know.”

“Then your first mistake was thinking that you ever knew me.”

Eren’s words were somber, but he moved swiftly, and in seconds he tore you from the sink and had you pinned up against the wall, it’s jagged surface digging uncomfortably into your cheek. His mouth hovered by your ear, and when he spoke his breath fanned over the side of your face.

“Scream and I’ll break you.”

So you said nothing as Eren’s knee slid in between your legs, parting them far enough so that he could press his thigh to your cunt. His hands retired from holding your arms behind your back, and they traveled to your ass, riding up the fabric of your dress until it was on full display.

“This is nice.” His voice was condescending as tugged on your dress's short hem. “They did a good job at making you look—,” Eren delivered a sharp spank to the exposed skin then he ran his hand over the area searing with pain, “—like a whore.”

You took your bottom lip between your teeth to stifle a wail as Eren’s palm collided with your backside. He slipped a wicked finger under the thin material of your underwear and dipped his touch down between your thighs to stroke your folds through the cloth.

“Why are you shaking?” Eren used his free hand and slid it around your neck, gently at first, but you knew he wasn’t averse to tightening his grasp. “I thought this was all part of your plan.”

It had been, but your tremors weren’t the result of fear alone. You were scared out of your wits knowing that Eren had no reservations about harming you, and the thought shouldn’t have been as enticing as it was, but the combination of not knowing how he would choose to have his way with you had you feeling hot.

Your words were muffled through sobs, and your dazed mind didn’t make things easier, so all you could do was nod, which solicited a dry scoff from Eren. He hooked his finger around the fabric of your underwear and tugged it aside forcefully before parting your folds.

You released a feeble moan, and you could feel your knees buckling. If it weren’t for his tight grip, you were certain you would have collapsed. “Eren…”

“You’re wet already,” he said scornfully. Two fingers rubbed your clit mercilessly before slipping down to tease your entrance. “Acting scared meanwhile the whole time you were fucking dripping at the thought of me touching you like this. I don’t have to tell you how pathetic that is.”

Your breathing grew more labored at the anticipation of Eren’s long fingers entering you, pumping in and out of your hole while he ridiculed you for how desperately you tightened around his fingers, but you inhaled sharply when his touch disappeared.

Instead you felt Eren wipe your arousal on the inside of your thigh, and you had no time to question his behavior. A pitiful cry of surprise left your mouth as he grabbed the back of your neck, forcibly pulling you off the wall before throwing you in the direction of his bed.

“Move,” he commanded.

You staggered, looking back at him in alarm, but observed his directive without sacrificing any more time. Once you reached his bed, Eren followed closely behind, waiting until your back met the mattress to cage you in under his intimidating frame, and it then became clear that he held no other resolve than to use you for his own satisfaction. He disregarded your discernable ache and began unbuttoning his pants, pushing them down along with his briefs in one haste motion.

Eren’s large cock was already half-thickened with beads of precum glistening at its crown. He brought his palm to his mouth and spat in it before grabbing himself in the large curve of his hand to pump his length in preparation. He ran his tip up and down your folds, taking pleasure in the way you squirmed every time it prodded your tender clit, and then without warning he drove his cock into you, kindling a fervid cry that rose from the pit of your stomach and tore through your throat.

The sound echoed off the walls of the concrete box before ebbing into silence. Eren’s eyebrows creased in irritation while he looked down at you, and you suddenly harked back to his threat. You threw a quivering hand over your mouth, and shook your head, spluttering out a fragmented apology.

“I—Eren—I—I’m sorry…”

Yet he took no heed, and he began thrusting in and out of you, rocking back just to slam his hips into yours, over and over again until an uncomfortable pain grew from deep inside you and diffused over the span of your pelvis. All you could do was swallow your wails while your palm did it’s best efforts to smother your pleas. Fat tears ran down your cheeks and soaked into the sheets; your agony was hard to hide.

“Stop crying,” Eren barked through grunts. He pressed his hand to the hollow of your neck, fingers digging into your fleeting pulse. “You said yourself you have no problem being used.”

Sweaty fingers clutched his forearm, and you struggled against his dominance, breaths growing more and more shallow in an effort to conserve the air you were quickly losing.

He grabbed your wrists and held them together, pinning them to the mattress above your head with one hand.

“Maybe I should put a baby in you, then you’ll understand why what I’m doing is our last resort.”

Eren arched an eyebrow, but when you said nothing and only looked at him with glossy eyes a disdainful laugh slipped past his lips. He continued fucking himself deep into you, watching the way your body lurched with his movement, and then you felt his cock pulsate inside you.

It served as wordless notice that Eren was close, especially since he made no efforts to warn you. His eyes shut tightly, jaw hung slack while his groans intensified, and then he was cumming inside you, his hot seed flooding your walls as he claimed you.

You wound your eyes shut too, dark mascara-tainted tears staining your cheeks while you felt Eren thrusting through his high, making sure he had jettisoned every drop of his cum into you before he pulled himself out and wiped the creamy, white liquid that glazed his cock on the inside of your thigh.

“And when you report back, why don’t you tell them—” As if it were nothing he eased his weight off of you, taking a seat on the bed beside your shuddering body while he tucked himself back into his pants. “‘I let him fuck me pregnant because I’m a whore.’”

#reesprompts #eren yeager x reader #eren yeager smut #attack on titan smut #aot smut #attack on titan x reader #aot x reader #attack on titan au #aot au #attack on titan imagines #aot imagines #eren yeager fic

[tickly-trashcan]

Intoxication {Soukoku}

A/N: AAAA DANI HIIII thank you for the request i’m more than happy to write for your parents hehe! I hope you like this one, I had a lot of fun with it (i didn’t proofread though OOP apologies for any errors lmao) and I hope you have a lovely day as well! DRINK YOUR WATER 

Summary: Chuuya drags Dazai home after a night of drinking, and Dazai ends up being a more difficult drunk than Chuuya anticipated.

Word Count: 1.1k (under the cut)

“Chuu-Chuu~ Here comes the Chuu-Chuu train, hehe~” Dazai slurred, Chuuya grumbling as he practically dragged the taller man home. 

They had been out for drinks, but Chuuya had an important mission for the Port Mafia in the morning, so he couldn’t risk being hungover. He also couldn’t cancel on Dazai, he would never hear the end of it. So he had stuck to water that night, and Dazai had decided to take advantage of it and get absolutely shitfaced.

Dazai was normally the one dragging a drunk Chuuya home, and Chuuya was now slightly embarrassed knowing it was this difficult. Although granted, Dazai could normally piggyback Chuuya. Chuuya was shorter than Dazai, so he instead had Dazai’s arm wrapped around his shoulder as he forced him to walk.

“Chuuya~ I love you~” Dazai hummed, giggling before standing up, wobbling a bit as he fell backwards, Chuuya quickly catching him.

“You’re a dumbass, you know that? Don’t try and stand, just… walk, or whatever your legs are doing.”

Dazai chuckled, obeying Chuuya and waddling home with him. Chuuya fumbled with the keys as Dazai whispered suggestive things in his ear, making Chuuya go nearly as red as his hair.

“Shut up! Just get inside!” Chuuya finally got out, opening the door. Dazai had been leaning against it after he had finished flustering his partner, and fell backwards into the entryway, landing with a loud noise. Chuuya grumbled.

He helped Dazai up, but the brunette immediately wrapped his arms around Chuuya’s shoulders, whispering his name before kissing his neck with messy kisses. Chuuya felt his breath catch in his throat as he held onto Dazai, but didn’t push him away. 

Dazai lightly kissed up to the sweet spot right behind Chuuya’s ear, making him melt. He tried to push Dazai away so they could at least get out of the entryway, but Dazai didn’t budge. He kissed all the way down to Chuuya’s collarbone, making him flinch. 

He felt Dazai smirk against his skin, pressing more kisses to Chuuya’s collarbone before he shoved Dazai away.

“Stop kissing me there, it tickles!”

“Ohh~” Dazai said, his tone slightly slurred as he lightly grabbed Chuuya’s hips, directing him away from the entryway and towards the couch. “It tickles~?”

Chuuya tried to back away from Dazai, who had a mischievous grin creeping up his face as he held firmly onto Chuuya’s hips, the sensation causing giggles to bubble in Chuuya’s throat, threatening to burst out.

Chuuya eventually hit the arm of the couch, and Dazai danced his fingers up to Chuuya’s ribs, lightly digging them in and making Chuuya squeak. That single noise was enough to seal Chuuya’s doom, and he felt his stomach flop as Dazai pushed him down onto the couch with a “Wee!” before following him, straddling Chuuya as he yelled.

“Dazai! Get off of me you idiot! Leave me alohohone!”

Chuuya tried to buck Dazai off, but Dazai wasn’t moving. He kneaded Chuuya’s hips lightly, making the redhead positively squeal as he threw his head back, grabbing onto Dazai’s wrists as he squirmed. 

“Fuhuhuck off, Dazai! Stahahap!”

“Is the little Chuu-Chuu train ticklish~? Aww, how cute. Are you gonna give me a Chuu-Chuu?” Dazai teased, his words slurring worse than before as Chuuya whined, kicking his legs behind Dazai as he moved up to Chuuya’s small waist, giving it a firm squeeze as Chuuya wailed.

He let go of Dazai’s wrists and instead pounded his fists into Dazai’s chest, shoving at his face as well, twisting his grin more. Dazai chuckled.

“Chuu-Chuu, your laugh is so intoxicating~ Is that why… I feel so funny?”

“It’s becahahause you’re drunk, dumbahahahass! Now stahahahap!”

“I guess whiskey is pretty intoxicating too, hehe,” Dazai chuckled, scribbling his fingers across Chuuya’s tummy as he squealed, shoving at Dazai’s shoulders as he pinched at his lower tummy.

Chuuya barked out a laugh as his face slowly started to blossom into a shade of pink, tears pricking the corners of his eyes. Dazai was ruthless when he was sober, but from previous experience, he probably wouldn’t let up until he fell asleep or got bored since he was drunk. 

Chuuya whined as Dazai changed spots again, now dancing lightly along his ribs as Chuuya clamped his arms down. 

“Dahahahazai! Dazai, no mohohohore!”

“Chuu-Chuu~” He cooed, hiccuping and giggling as he made kissy lips at Chuuya, who was too distracted laughing to notice. Dazai leaned down and started to kiss Chuuya’s neck again, making him gasp and squeal.

“Chuu!” He teased between kisses, lightly nibbling as Chuuya wailed, moving his arms to shove Dazai’s head away, instantly regretting it.

He felt Dazai grin against his skin, and the next moment Dazai had darted his hands under Chuuya’s arms, making Chuuya screech.

“All aboard!” Dazai chuckled, scribbling his fingers under Chuuya’s arms as he arched his back, nearly yelling out cackles as he shook his head frantically.

“STAHAhahap! I’m seheheherious! I’ll kill yohohou! I swehehehear!”

“Till death do us apart, then,” Dazai hummed, making Chuuya wail.

Dazai went back to kissing Chuuya’s neck, occasionally nibbling to make him squeak, Chuuya squealing and cackling as he couldn’t make up his mind on whether to push away Dazai’s head or keep his arms clamped at his sides. Dazai seemed to know this as well, as he wouldn’t relent on either front as Chuuya could do nothing but laugh.

When he would push at Dazai’s head, the underarm tickles would only get worse, and when Chuuya pulled his arms back, Dazai would switch back to gentle nibbling.

Chuuya’s face felt hot from laughing so hard, but he continued to squirm like his life depended on it, much to Dazai’s surprise.

“I cahahan’t! No mohohore, Dazai!” Chuuya wailed through his frantic laughter, scrunching up his shoulders in an attempt to get Dazai away from his neck. Dazai pouted, whining.

“But Chuu-Chuu,” He whined, then yawned. He pulled his hands away from Chuuya, letting himself stretch as he smiled goofily.

“M’tired,” He said groggily, laying down on top of Chuuya and falling dozing off. Chuuya was too busy collecting his breath to even pay attention to the fact that Dazai had fallen asleep on him. When he finally caught his breath and relaxed a little bit, he heard Dazai snore, and started to try and push him off.

“Dazai, you asshole! Get off of me!” He yelled, shoving at Dazai, who only snored, absentmindedly wrapping his arms around Chuuya and pulling him closer.

“Chuuya~” He hummed, and Chuuya sighed in exhaustion. He didn’t want to sleep on the couch, but it looks like he didn’t have much of a choice. As he closed his eyes, he wrapped his own arms across Dazai, holding him tight.

#soukoku #chuuya #dazai #bungou stray dogs #tickle fic #danibby

[glitchnovax]

From Smirks to Chains

• Genre: Smut/nsfw (Mafia! Dazai x Reader)

• Word count: 2K

• Trigger Warnings: bondage, slight voyeurism

Ok so this my first proper fic so don’t judge me too harshly-

Might open requests if enough people actually like my fics/if I actually feel like writing more

You didn’t mean to end up like this. To have your hand in his hair, limbs a mess, lying there dunk off him. But who could blame you? Who could possibly blame you for surrendering to the bandaged Port Mafia executive?

It wasn’t unusual to be tempted during work, but this time Dazai simply couldn’t wait til the two of you were alone. Dazai smirked at you, his half-lidded eyes darkening as he imagined every little thing he planned to do to you to make you scream his name.

But that would be for later, right now he needed to break you down, and right in the middle of a port mafia meeting no less. At the back of the room, you tried to focus on what Mori was saying but you just couldn’t ignore the way he gazed at you. He refused to draw his attention back to the meeting, “I just can’t hold back anymore darling” his breath was hot against your ear sending ripples down your back. Your breath hitches and you freeze. You knew exactly what that meant. His smirk grew as he leaned back, fingers gliding up your inner thigh, under your skirt. He knew the risk of getting caught but his thoughts were too clouded with lust to care. “Dazai.. please not now- aH” your hand flinches over your mouth, face heating up as you feel his fingers stroke against your underwear. A few mafioso turn their heads toward you but quickly glance away once they realise what caused your squeal of pleasure.

“Something wrong my love?” Dazai’s voice was low and dripping with ego. Bastard. You bite your lip hard to conceal a moan, worried that if you even open your mouth to answer you’d alert the whole of Yokohama as to what Dazai was doing to you. Burying your flushed face in his neck, he hits the perfect spot making you wince “mmh, Dazai- AH! please.. stop-“ Subconsciously grabbing at his suit, you glance up at him as he pulls you onto his lap, his eyes were filled with desire and he was still wearing his signature smirk “Not until I’ve gotten exactly what I want”. He groaned as you tugged at his tie, only subtly grinding into you, but still enough for you to crave more. “Dazai, I want to leave…I want you” Twisting your waist to face him, you got goosebumps purely from seeing the lust in his eyes. You pull on his tie drawing his head closer as you locked your lips with his, kissing him over and over, rougher, deeper, biting his lower lip as he tried to pull back for air. It was his turn to let out a moan “Level E, you know where” that alone sent a shiver down your spine “I’ll only be a few minutes behind you, love” he continued, giving your underwear a final rub before his fingers left your body regretfully.

Pushing yourself up with the back of his chair, you suddenly became aware of just where exactly you were. Your mind had been too fixated on him that you’d completely forgotten about the fact that you were in the middle of a meeting. Your legs shook, still weak from what had just happened. You didn’t look back but as you slipped out of the room you were sure Dazai was smirking in that way he always did, that stupid smug smirk that could make you melt simply by glancing at it.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

Dazai slammed you against the wall of the port mafia torture chamber and you hear the chains clink around your wrist as he turns your neck black and blue. He lifts his dazed head back up to your eyes. You moan into his lips as he slips his tongue in, kissing you rougher only to pant heavily as he pulls away “out of breath already, Dazai?” you smirk. Big mistake. He presses you harder against the bricks, lips travelling down your collarbone “Darling we’re only just getting started” he groans, voice seeping with lust.

Dazai’s right hand becomes tangled in your hair while his left snakes down your waist, making you shiver. He unzips the back of your skirt before gliding his fingers round your hips and down to your underwear “D-Dazai.. please” you moan, already weak as he rubs up and down your clit “hmm you provoked me, now I get to tease you, this is my revenge” you can feel the vibrations of his voice in his chest as you arch your back, the chamber echoing with your moans. The chains clash against the cold bricks, marking your wrists as you tug at them, craving his touch, and longing to be closer “now now my love, don’t go breaking those chains in excitement. So desperate. Only I get to decide what happens to you and when” Dazai tosses his coat to the blood stained stones.

Kissing your waist the entire time, he loosens his tie and undoes only two buttons on his shirt, taunting you, drawing you in more “Dazai…mm-“ his lips are back on yours and his fingers fall to just above where you want “if you really want me, you’re going to have to beg, show me what you want” he lowers the chains so you’re almost straddling him, but doesn’t let you free. As your legs wrap around him, you feel something twitch against your inner thigh. As you try to pull yourself closer, he pulls away “what did I just say? Beg.” His fingers toy with your hair as he slowly grinds against you, never fully allowing you to get close enough “Dazai, please, you’re the only one I want, I want you, I need you, please-“ your breath hitches as the chains fall to the floor, and you in turn fall into Dazai’s lap, fully straddling him, hissing as the feeling of his hardening cock between your legs “see? that wasn’t so hard was it love?” His hips grind up into you as his pants tighten even more finally allowing him to hit right where you need it.

You unbutton his shirt, moaning and panting down his chest as you pressed your forehead against the crook of his neck as he quickened his pace. Your hips unintentionally buck as he thrusts deeper and deeper, longing to get rid of the rest of your clothing “quite vocal today aren’t we darling?” He breathed, trying his best to keep himself together. The combination of his perfect thrusts and dirty talk he knew you couldn’t resist, made the knot below your stomach twist and turn. He pulls your waist in closer and you wrap your arms with bruised wrists around his neck, the pleasure and pure dirty adrenaline overriding the pain. The marks on your neck and chest were another story, those would tell every mafioso that you were his, and his alone. And if that didn’t work, well he’d have to show it up front, to their faces.

Dazai’s pace slowed as one hand brushed up your leg to the knife holster around your thigh, a secret only he knew about. The dim light danced along the blade as it slid up your outer thigh “Dazai ah- what...what are you-“ you were out of breath and delirious from pleasure as you felt the knife slash through the last bit of fabric you were wearing “there, now we have one less issue” the knife clinked against the ground as you look up to see Dazai looking a mess and yet, still beautiful as ever. It was only you that could do that to him, only you that could bring him to such a vulnerable point. He smirked despite his breathlessness “my my, look how drenched my dress pants are, what have you done?” Ignoring his pride, you hastily pull against his belt buckle, your thrusts quickening “how desperate you are…” he snickers before inhaling sharply himself as he felt you tighten around him “You’re not doing too well yourself love” You panted, wincing as you adjusted to his size.

His eyes were as dark as the locks of hair fell over his face, sweat already dripping down his neck. As he began biting down your neck, your left hand clawed as his back while your right slid up his toned core, pressing down on his chest. Dazai leaned back slowly as you pinned him down, letting you watch as his chest rose and fell shakily, flinching at every slight movement of your hips. His eyes never left yours as your bodies almost fall to the floor in desperation, your lips finding their way to his bare neck, longing to add your own marks “Ready, love?” His voice makes you melt, feeling of the groans in his chest “Only if you think you can take me” Fuck, just listening to your voice combined with the view of you on top of him could bring him to his limit right then and there, however he wouldn’t be so quick to give in.

He thrust hard, exactly where you wanted, over and over til you saw stars. His fingers danced their way down your waist, every stroke making your shiver, until he pulled you forwards as his hands grabbed at your ass, making you moan and whimper even louder. As you moved to his rhythm, one hand gripped his side while the other wandered across the chamber floor stones until your fingertips brush against a steel chain that had long been discarded, only to feel Dazai’s hand top yours. He thrusted deeper as he yanked the chain away “did you honestly think you could get the upper hand on me simply because you’re on top? I’m fucking you, I’ll ensure you remember that” He managed to gasp out between moans, surprisingly keeping his composure despite the state he was in “I- FUCK-“ you winced as his hips jerked you forward, you knew you couldn’t keep this up much longer. He tossed the chain over the back of your neck and before your delirious mind could register his movements, you found the metal clasped around your throat, not tight enough to choke you, but enough for him to pull you forward at his will.

“Fuck, fuck, Dazai I’m almost- Ah-“ you were both panting heavily, his moans and yours laced together with the chain clinking in your ear “Mmm you’ve been so good to me today darling- HH- just- a little longer- AH-“ He tugged on the chain while you tugged on his hair, each of his thrusts grazing that sweet spot, making you drag him in further, feeling you’re bodies slap against one another recklessly “Fuck, Dazai…I’m so close.. please-“ God, he loved to hear you whine, it made him feel so good knowing that he was the only one that could make you moan like that, that his name was the only one you’d scream like that, that he was the only one that dragged out your desperation like that “mmm I know doll, just look how fucking wet you are… because of me” He finds that perfect sweet spot thrusting up into you, panting as he watched the shocks of pleasure run all through your body. Fuck he was so good. It would only take a few more perfect, rough jolts of his hips and you’d be done for, but it all came crashing down in a matter of seconds as you felt his fingers brush against your waist, making their way down your inner thigh, hovering dangerously close. He stroked your clit exactly the way he knew you liked it “fuck, Dazai-“ you let out a loud squeak, arching your back violently.

Through glazed eyes you could see his jaw clenched, abs contracting as he fucked you mercilessly. The second his gaze met yours, you hit your limit throwing your head back only to feel the chain clash against your glistening core. Dazai continues to fuck you through your orgasm as your legs shake around him, until he himself caves.

He whimpers slightly as you collapse into his chest, arms wrapped under his and both your legs and his intertwined. Breath still heavy, he runs his still slightly shaky fingers through your hair, gliding down to the chain still lazily draped around your neck. He pulled it aside as it fell to the ground. “Fuck…” he breathed as you pulled yourself off him, only to fall at his side. Wrapping your arms around his torso, you rest your head against his chest, listening in silence as his heartbeat begins to slow “How are we going to explain this mess to Mori?” Your sparkling eyes gazed up at him concerned. He chuckled “The way you worry is adorable, my love” he floats his void-black coat over the two of you like a blanket “We’ll figure that out later, for now, there is no Mori, there is no mafia, there is only us” And in that moment, that was truly how it felt. You catch a glimpse of that signature smirk as you lightly press your body into his.

“I love you”

“I love you too”

#dazai #dazai x reader #dazai smut #dazai osamu #osamu dazai #dazai scenario #dazai scenarios #dazai oneshot #bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd dazai #bsd osamu dazai #osamu dazai x reader #dazai osamu x reader #bsd dazai smut #bsd smut #bad x reader #mafia dazai smut #mafia dazai x reader #bungou stray dogs smut #bungou stray dogs x reader #dazai osamu smut #mafia dazai

[ardorwritesfanfic]

My Baby~ || Nishinoya Yuu x Fem!Reader

Genre: Smut

Warnings: fingering, oral, slight praise, slight overstimulation.

Word Count: 1.6k

A/N: I’m back with Haikyuu smut this time! Sorry the ending is kinda shotty, I’m still trying to get back into the swing of things. I hope you all enjoy this anyway!

Taglist: @elixhirs

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You eagerly paced on the docks of the port. The oceans waves doing little to calm your excitement. The cries of seagulls and the salty scent of the sea only made you yearn for him more. Nishinoya would be back from his trip today, and you couldn’t be more elated.

You watched the horizon intently, waiting to recognize the white ship to enter your vision. The blue of the ocean seemed endless, until a white blip began to get larger and larger. Your smile grew as a familiar face waved to you from the deck of the ship. Once docked, Noya jumped out and ran to you, pulling you into a tight hug. “I missed you, Babygirl~” he cooed.

You hummed in response, relishing in his warmth. You cupped his cheeks, caressing his cheekbones. You pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, your hands sliding down from his cheeks to his chest. “Let’s head home?” You asked. He nodded, and lifted you bridal style back to your car.

———————————————————————

You gently placed the last of Noya’s bags in your shared bedroom. The sound of the shower running filled the room. You stretched, plopping down in the bed as you waited for Noya to get out of the shower. The water shut off, steamed poured into the room as the door opened. He gently dried his hair with a towel, before joining you on the bed. You giggled as he nuzzled the crook of your neck. His hands carefully massaged your hips as he pulled you closer.

He nibbled your jaw, pressing kisses all the way up to your ear. As he kissed the shell, he whispered quietly, “I really missed you, princess~.” You chuckled in response, and held him closer. His hips gently grinded against yours, as his sweet kisses led to gentle bites. “You wanna know how much I missed you?” He asked. Your face grew darker, as you nodded shyly.

Noya smirked, rolling so he was on top of you. His lips attacked your collarbone, nibbling and sucking on the flesh there. His hands snuck underneath your shirt, pawing your breasts through your bra. You sighed breathlessly, now realizing just how much you missed his touch. His arms skillfully lifted your shirt off of you, and his lips trailed down to the mounds on your chest.

His hands maneuvered to your back, quickly moving to unclasp your bra. His hands stopped briefly, and his eyes looked into yours with concern. “May I?” He asked simply. Your hands cupped his face, gently rubbing his cheeks as you nodded. Noya chuckled, and rubbed his nose against yours; kissing your lips as he unclasped your bra, and removed it from your body. His lips trailed down to your breasts, gently tracing around your nipple with his tongue. He gently sucked on your nipple, while his hand massaged and twirled your other one.

Your soft and lofty sighs quickly turned into quiet moans, your hands carding themselves through his hair. His free hand slid down to your hips, toying with the hem of your pants. His fingers undid the button of your pants, pulling the fabric down your legs. He softly traced the lace of your panties, dipping his lithe fingers in and out of the waistband. He was toying with you. Your hips bucked in response, heat pooling in your core.

Noya smirked against your skin, lips parting from your nipple with a pop. “Aww, are we getting impatient~?” He teased, his fingers slowly pulling your panties down your legs. You simply groaned, too embarrassed to answer him. Noya kicked his lips as strings of your slick stick to your panties. His fingers ran gently across your slit, stopping to circle your clit. “This wet just for me?” He cooed lovingly. He sweetly captured your lips, his fingers rubbing fast circles into your sensitive bud. You moaned into his mouth, bucking your hips in time with his movements.

As your groans grew louder, Noya finally dipped his fingers into your heated core. Slick covered his fingers as he gently pumped them in and out of you. He stretched you deliciously, a slew of moans and sighs leaving your lips. Sinful iterations of his name sounded through the bedroom. Noya growled in your ear, praising you for the sounds you were making, and how good you were being. His fingers curled to massage your g-spot, as you cried from pleasure. “That feels good, doesn’t it baby? I’m so glad I can make you feel this good, I love you so much~” Noya whispered, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“I— I need, I’m gonna c—” You moaned, unable to get out the whole sentence before Noya shushed you with a kiss.

“Relax baby, let it out, let me make you cum.” He shushed, as the coil that formed in your core burst with pleasure. Your orgasm rocked through your body, as Noya helped you ride it out. Noya kissed down your stomach, stopping right before your pussy. “I need to taste you, it’s all I’ve been dreaming about.” He sighed, before swiping his tongue across your sensitive slit. He gently sucked on your clit, as your hands pulled his head closer to your body. His tongue flicked in and out of your entrance, massaging the walls of your already sensitive core.

“F-Fuck Noya, your tongue— ah! Feels good!” You moaned as your tongue lolled out of your mouth. You panted as you once again felt your orgasm building. Noya’s thumb quickly rubbed your swollen clit in circles, and his tongue hit your g-spot. Noya growled as your mewled grew louder, using his arm to pin down your wildly bucking hips. “Noya, please, I’m so fucking close!” You cried, as his mouth and thumb quickened their pace. It wasn’t long before your second orgasm washed over your body. You panted as heat and pleasure electrified your body. Noya finally parted from your puffy pussy. His eyes were dark with lust, the lower half drenched in your slick. A prominent tent in his boxers caught your attention, and your breath hitched in your throat.

Noya growled as he stared at your pleasure-shocked body, your pussy dripping with slick, your face flushed, and your body littered with the hickeys and lovebites he already marked on your body. His hand travelled to his bulge, rubbing it through his pants. You whined as he did so, wanting nothing more than for him to fuck you into oblivion. “You want this cock inside you, princess? You want me to fuck you with this cock?” He growled. You mewled at his words, nodding vigorously. A smirk graced his features as he pulled his cock out of his boxers. The sight made you drool, bucking your hips to express your need.

His hands came to rest on your hips, after he quickly rolled a condom onto his hard cock. He lined himself up with your entrance, gently caressing your hips. “Ready babygirl?” He asked, tip kissing your lips. You nodded, resisting the urge to buck your hips this time. Your eyes screwed shut as his cock stretched you, panting from the fullness. Noya groaned as he bottomed out, restraining himself from fucking you with full force before you were ready.

You two sat there for a moment, taking the time to adjust to each other after being apart for so long. Noya slid dow until his chest pressed against yours. Very softly, he spoke “Are you ready?”. You hummed, signaling for him to start moving. His pace started slow, taking it easy at first. You mewled with each thrust, feeling so wonderfully full. You missed the ache that came with how his cock stretched you. “Fuck your so tight, Y/N~.” He hissed, slowly picking up speed. You let out a high pitched moan as his cock hit your g-spot. Noya growled, as he began to continuously hit that spot harder and faster.

The sound of your moans filled the room, Noya’s growls and hisses following after. You could tell that Noya was struggling to restrain himself, wanting to make sure you were comfortable above all else. You panted as pleasure continued to build in your core, your body becoming overwhelmed with need. “N-Noya, please! Faster please!” You begged, chasing after the release you craved.

That was all it took for Noya to completely lose control. He pounded into you with fervor, beginning to pant from ecstasy. You couldn’t formulate a thought, too caught up in the moment to focus on anything else. His hands were tightly fastened to your hips, sure to leave bruises the next morning. You felt the pressure in your core begin to break, threatening your third orgasm of the night. Just as you were about to tip over the edge, you felt Noya’s thumb press into your puffy clit. “F-nngh, I— c-cumming I—” was all you managed to say, as your third orgasm washed over you. Pleasure radiated throughout your body, leaving you breathless and panting.

You whined as Noya continued to pound into you, beginning to get overstimulated. “I-It’s okay, baby~. I-I’m almost d-done, shit!” He cooed, before his hips stuttered as he came. You groaned as you felt him twitch inside you, your heart finally starting to slow down. Noya layed down on top of you, panting as he calmed down from his orgasm. Noya kissed your cheek as he whispered praises into your ear. “You were so good, princess~. I love you~.” He cooed, kissing your lips. He slowly pulled out of you, and got up to throw the condom away.

A few minutes later, after you crawled under the covers of your shared bed, Noya returned with a glass of water. He placed the glass on your bedside table, and crawled under the covers next to you. You sat up and took a gulp of water, the coolness calming down your heated body. Once you finished, you cuddled into Noya’s open arms, humming as sleep settled into your body.

Noya hummed softly, kissing your head as you slowly fell asleep in his arms.

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut #yu nishinoya x reader #yu nishinoya #yu nishinoya smut #hq x reader #hq smut #hq nishinoya #haikyuu noya #haikyuu nishinoya

[fanfics-with-coffee]

Dabi and Bakugou rarely got along but when they do, it's to double team you. You had been riling them up every time you entered the bar but never let them get any satisfaction, until you agreed on Dabi's dumb challenge. Drink the Blowjob shot the way it's suppose to be had, from between their legs and using no hands.

(This is a re-post from my AO3 work)

Genre: Smut, just smut, Bar!au Characters: Bakugou x reader x Dabi

The neon sign glared down at the people on the street, illuminating everyone in a bright red light. You basked in the light, surrounded by your giggling friends as you made your ways through the crowd of people. This wasn’t your first time in the light and you knew it wouldn’t be your last either. Best bar in the whole district, the whole city even if you asked any lady leaving the place. But you did agree, if you were going to have a drink anywhere then Valor would be it. If you could be so bold then you’d even call yourself a bit of a celebrity at the place. Everyone there knew who you were and knew how you took your drinks. So you often brought your friends along so both brag and give the place some extra income.

After some shuffling of bodies and holding your friends hands you made it to the front of the people, right up to the entrance. You smiled at the bouncer and he smiled right back, showing off his sharp teeth. He was suited up like usual, the suit pants and white button up fitting well around his crossed arms and muscular chest. His bright red hair was spiked as usual and his face was now highlighted red from the neon sign.

“Good evening, ladies! What can I do for ya?” Kirishima asked as if he didn’t know what you wanted, looking behind you to see the awed looks of your friends as they obviously checked out the cutie in front of you. You placed a hand on your hip, pulling the coat you were wearing a little closer to you to keep the cold out.

“Oh you know, just wanted to show my friends this really nice bar i’ve been visiting.” You said with a coy tone, looking around you as if you didn’t know the layout. You made eye contact with the blondie guarding the other door, the black streak in his hair reflecting the red light. He winked at you with a grin before looking over your friends, clearly curious. But he quickly needed to go back to his queue and checking ID’s so the line wouldn’t be held up for too long. Kirishima followed your eyes while nodding, humming in fake curiosity.

“Is that so… Well why don’t you ladies head in then and order something then? Show them why you like it so much, eh?” The redhead looked past you and at your friends, giving them a charming grin and wink before looking at you again. He took a step to the side, making way so your whole group could enter. You gave him a pat on the arm and mouthed a ‘Thank you’ while you walked past him. He just nodded and watched the rest of your friends also walk past him. As you enter the bar you’re met by the warmth first of all. The bodies filling the place was heating up the whole room but you didn’t mind, it was actually very welcoming compared to the cold outside. The second thing that hit you was the music playing through the speakers. While it was soft the music was obviously from the weeks top lists, the beat of the songs being felt through the air. You started peeling your jacket off of you, eyes scanning over the environment. The whole place was dimly lit, the only bright lights shining being the ones under the bar and behind the shelves filled with alcohol. There were the occasional lamp used to set the mood in the place but they were never at full power. The interior was mostly black with details in gold and the dark wood surfaces. Fancy.

You walked confidently to the wardrobe section, smiling at Momo as she took your coat and handed you a number plate that you placed in your handbag. Your friends did the same but you stopped paying too much mind to them, they could handle themselves and you knew the place took care of their customers so you had nothing to worry about. You had something more important in mind. Eyes locking onto the bar you quickly found a spot you could sit down at, miraculously.

You searched the space between the bar and quickly found one out of the two people you were looking for. The tall young man was pouring a beer from the tap while having eye contact with a girl leaning on the counter, smiling at him. He looked mildly amused, raising an eyebrow as she kept talking. He responded to her, his bright red eyes illuminated by the bar lights but you don’t know what he said. You didn’t particularly care either, most of the girls kept repeating the same conversation subjects. He dragged a hand through his blonde hair but it didn’t do much to deter the spikes from forming again while he handed the girl the glass with a smile. You noticed he had shaved the undercut shorter since last time, it looked much neater and clean cut tonight. He was as always dressed in the bartender outfit, the bright red button up and black vest. You could see from your seat that the top buttons of his shirt was unbuttoned, obviously revealing parts of his collarbone and chest. He had yet to notice you but that was about to change.

While you were staring at one of your favorite subjects the other had found you before you had the time to find him.

“Back again, huh, dollface?” The hoarse voice welcomed you back to the bar and you already knew who it was. You smiled and turned your face to notice you were mere inches from the owner of the voice. He was giving you lazy grin, the movement of his mouth extenuating the port wine stain birthmarks around his mouth and going down his neck, the thick tattooed on stitches between his normal skin and the birthmarks still in view. You two stayed like that for a moment, daring each other to move away first. His warm breath hit your lips when he huffed and leaned back, shifting his weight from one leg to another. Placing his hands on the counter he made you feel trapped in his presence. You looked at the tattoos covering his arms, full on sleeves creeping up under his rolled up shirt. Finally you met his eyes again, those bright blue eyes staring down at you. You could see the fading scars on the birthmarks under his eyes, a probably long story you had only heard bits and pieces of. Apparently he had gotten in some trouble and the guys had threatened to cut his eyes out and almost did too. He always jokes about how lucky he is to still have sight or he would never have been able say he’s seen an angel. And if you were the angel then it was no doubt he'd be the devil. With the multiple piercings you've seen glimpses of in the light and the jet black hair playfully sticking up everywhere, you wouldn't be surprised if he revealed himself as an incubi.

“Indeed. I mean, I know I can’t be gone for too long without your ego getting too big, Dabi” You smirked back at his lazy grin, watching his hands move to make you a mojito. He chuckled and looked down to measure the content of your glass, nodding in joking agreement.

“You’re not wrong, the girls around here are easy when you look as good as me, you know? Gets boring after a while. But you… You’re fun Y/N.” He points a black straw at you before putting it in your drink and placing it in front of you. You keep the eye contact going as you pick up your glass and take a sip from it, the refreshing sweetness filling your mouth. The tension was palpable and it had been like this every time you hang out here for a long while now. Everytime you were there you’d tease him and play hard to get, only giving him enough to hold onto the hope that maybe one day you'll be another notch in his belt. Never accepting his dumb bets yet never saying no. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Oi, if you two are finished eye fucking each other then maybe emo boy here can get back to work?” The tension was broken by the voice of dear blondie who had left the conversation with the girl and come to join you and Dabi. Bakugou didn’t look pleased as he glared at the taller man and defensively placed a hand on the counter to the right of you, making Dabi lift his own hand from the spot and releasing you from his almost hypnotic hold.

“It’s called goth, hot shot. And I was working, can't you see I provided angel here with a drink?" he motioned to the drink in your hand which you helpfully raised to show the truth of his statement, smiling sweetly towards Bakugou the whole time just to annoy him. He looked at the drink for a short moment before giving it a look of disgust and making eye contact with you again, raising a questioning eyebrow.

"You should keep yourself to your simple fucking shots, you can at least make those right. Leave the actual drinks to the actual…" Bakugou looked Dabi up and down before staring him in the face. "Bartenders. We don't need to pretend we know what we're doing unlike you extra." The two had started to attract a small crowd, some girls because they thought the two men were attractive and some because they actually wanted to know what was going on. You just sat there calmly, this wasn't their first dispute in front of a crowd nor your first time having a front row seat. Dabi didn't move a visible muscle and instead just stood there with a deadpan glare, watching as Bakugou prepared another mojito. All you could see was his chest rising and falling in an even pace.

When Bakugou finished the drink, with some flare of course, he placed it in front of you. It was neater than your first one, a lime slice delicately placed on the rim of the glass together with a mint leaf as garnish. During the time it took to make the drink Dabi had already sighed and poured himself a shot, downing it when your glass had hit the table. He knew he wasn't supposed to drink on the job but he also knew there wasn't anyone that was gonna stop him. Bakugou ignored him and instead took to watching you, impatiently waiting for you to try his obviously superior drink. And so you did, taking an equally big sip as you took from the first one, you knew how picky he was.

"Well… While I appreciate the thought and concern you have, Bakugou, and it's true that your drink was served better… They taste the same. And I'm pretty sure I'll get just as drunk from either." you place your final verdict, eliciting a laugh from Dabi and a look of something akin to horror from Bakugou. Dabi slung his arm over Bakugou's shoulders, leaning heavily on him as a smug grin crept onto his face.

"What was that now again, hot stuff? Didn't need to pretend huh? Sure, sure… Well if I'm better at shots then I am at drinks then I must be a master at them, so how about we have one?" The tattooed man asked, standing up again and pulling up his shirt sleeves again. As he started on those, pulling out three shot glasses for each and every one of you presumably, you looked towards your favorite blonde who had crossed his arms and was bitterly staring at your two drinks.

"Do you want me to pay for both, or do I get one for free?" You smiled at him, sipping on the drink made by him just to appease him a little. While you didn't have as obvious of a sexual tension with him there had been countless moments where you were sure he'd been so riled up he would've taken you on the bar itself you allowed it. The hot headed man might be smooth in front of the ladies coming and going, it's part of the job, but you liked to get just a little too close. A little too on the edge for him to truly be in his element. And it frustrated him to no end. Yet now he just shook his head in vague defeat.

"No, obviously not, why the fuck would you pay for both? And since we made a crowd take both, just don't you fucking dare tell Iida we're drinking shots while working." he gave you a serious glare while you just laughed and nodded, obviously promising to not rat them out.

In the next moment you had three glasses put before you and Dabi once again joined the conversation. You examined the shots and realize what was going through the blue eyed man's head. The whipped cream at the top was the biggest clue but the shit eating grin he was wearing didn't help his case either. You leaned back in your seat and crossed your arms, watching Dabi closely, waiting for his excuse this time.

"Well since you're getting drinks on the house then maybe you owe us a little something. You always decline my challenge with a smug fucking smirk on your pretty face but now I find that you have few excuses, princess. C'mon, for poor Bakugou whose ego you crushed." Dabi patted Bakugou's chest while staring at you, ignoring Bakugou's futile protests. You watched them, glanced at the shots and then looked back up to them.

The light shone from behind them, illuminating them and reflecting off the glasses you were drinking from. Both their shirts had unbuttoned buttons and you had a clear view of parts of their chest, further enticing you to accept Dabi's challenge and maybe show them who's got who wrapped around their finger. You soak in the view for a second before unraveling your arms.

"Well you still haven't issued the challenge, Dabi, or what's in it for me if I win."

"Or lose, Angel. I want you to drink the blowjob shots the way they're supposed to be taken. From between our legs without using your hands. If you don't spill anything then I'll pay for your drinks for the rest of the evening. If you do spill… Well I'm sure we can agree to a fitting punishment when we get there. And you can't spill anything from either of them, deal?" This wasn't the first time Dabi had challenged you, nor were you the first person he'd used this tactic on. You'd usually hear Bakugou complaining that he'd found the two making out in the backroom afterwards, even if the other participant had won. But this time he involved someone else too and well, the look you're imagining Bakugou having during it might just be worth it.

"Pay for my friends drinks too and we have a deal." you informed him on your condition as you stood up, knowing that you'd have to move to find a better fitting spot to do this, away from too many peering eyes. Dabi didn't respond and instead just grinned and grabbed two of the shots, following you out from behind the bar. Bakugou took a second to debate if this was a good idea or not but watching you walk away, your hips swaying enticingly managed to convince him. "Fuck it…"

You knew exactly where you all could get out of the spotlight and moved over to a corner with a booth. You sat down on the end of one of the couches, watching the two men arrive after you. Bakugou had grabbed the last shot and was cautiously looking around for anyone watching you, or a co-worker noticing their absence. Dabi on the other hand had his eyes on you, placing one of the shots he was holding besides you on the table, towering over you. You just looked up at him and smiled. He grinned back before grabbing a random chair from one of the other tables, dragging it so it faced you.

Dabi didn’t hesitate to sit down, spreading his legs apart so you could see the pants straining against his crotch. With one hand he placed the cream topped glass between his legs on the seat, the other arm he leaned the elbow on the back of the chair. His muscles were tensing up under the red shirt as to keep the position and you could just imagine what was hiding underneath. He cocked his head to the side and gave you a shit eating grin, lifting an expectant eyebrow at you.

“Well, dollface?” You made eye contact with him and an involuntary shiver went down your spine going straight to between your legs. You didn’t expect it to affect you this much this quickly. Free drinks sounded really good at the time but now you’re not even sure you’ll be able to stay long enough to enjoy them. Yet you couldn’t give up before you’d even started.

You didn’t dare respond to him and instead hid the rush of blood to your face with a smug smile, straightening your back. You dragged your hand through your hair to pull it back before you bent down, keeping eye contact with those blue eyes. If he was going to try and mess you up then you could at least try and do the same. He had moved his hand from the glass and had instead placed it on his thigh besides your head. You opened your mouth and glanced at the glass to make sure you got it. Before you took it into your mouth you made sure to lick the cream off the top, looking up at him through your lashes.

That got a reaction out of him. The grin he was so proudly wearing dropped and instead he stared down at you with his mouth slightly agape. It looked like he was already breathing heavy and you could see him clench his hand in the corner of your eye. Proud of your work you grabbed the shot glass with your mouth and threw your head back, downing the shot in one go. You gracefully grabbed the now empty glass and then slammed it on the table. You removed some of the cream that had gotten on the corner of your mouth with the knuckle of your finger.

“Next.” You said, confidence dripping from your voice. If the music wasn’t blaring through the speakers then you swear you could’ve heard Bakugou swallow nervously. Dabi just chuckled and stood up but before he had fully turned around you could see the outline of something in his pants, pushing against the fabric. You ego only grew at the sight.

“Your turn, hot stuff.” Dabi patted Bakugou's shoulder, pulling him from his hypnotised staring at your lips. He quickly realized what he had been doing and looked away, not ready to admit to his actions. Despite that he still walked over and sat on the chair.

He mimicked Dabi and spread his legs as well, his pants also straining on his crotch. Even in the dim light you could see that something was pushing against the fabric in his pants as well. Your gaze fell to it and your mind was about to start wandering if Bakugou's hand hadn’t gotten in the way when he placed the shot. Unlike Dabi, Bakugou wasn’t as confident and had a difficult time knowing where to place his hands, deciding in the end to just cross his arms. The action just made the muscles on his arms even more visible. He didn’t dare make any eye contact Once again you could feel your body react, your breathing slowing and becoming heavier but you were hoping they didn’t notice. But with your luck, Dabi must’ve. But you didn’t let him say anything as you just smiled again and leaned down. Bakugou was still not looking though and you just couldn’t have that. So you took your hands and placed them on his inner thighs, grabbing onto the surprisingly muscular meat.

You felt him jump slightly and snap his head to look at you. You just looked back up and smiled, giving him a wink. Bakugou would argue that it was just the red lights but you knew he was blushing mad. You decided to cut his suffering short, afraid that if you turned him on any more it’d start to be painful in those tight pants of his. So you opened your mouth, ignoring the obvious hard on right in front of your face and took the glass into your mouth. But as you pulled back up you heard Bakugou mutter something under his breath.

“Fuck, babygirl…”

His voice had been strained and quiet but you caught it in the middle of all the noise surrounding you despite him trying to cover his mouth with his clenched hand. And you lost it. You choked on the shot and had to grab the glass from mouth before your could down the whole thing. You coughed and placed a hand on your chest, trying to regain your breath. You placed the half empty glass on the table beside the other two. Bakugou shot out of his chair to make sure you were alright but didn’t quite know what to do.

“Shit…” You mumbled, realizing what had just happened. You lost. You looked up at Bakugou who was still worried about you choking while Dabi was closing in from the side. His grin was already giving away what he was thinking.

“Well well well, angel. You talked so big yet couldn’t take a little dirty talking. Cute. But what should we do with you now? Bakugou?” Dabi had snaked an arm around Bakugous shoulders once again, caging you in between the two men. Bakugou just looked at him confused and disturbed before it clicked in his head what he was talking about. He just grunted and looked back down at you, something had shifted in his eyes and they weren’t as innocent as they had been before.

“Let’s get out of here.”

You weren’t prepared for the tone of voice from the blonde. Your heart began beating quicker as you started to form an understanding of what you had gotten yourself into. Dabi just grinned and took a step back, motioning for us to “go ahead”. You looked to the table and saw the last shot and decided to down it too before standing up. Bakugou didn’t take a step back though and you hit his chest with your own, looking up at him surprised. You felt his hot breath against your face and his stare made you weak in the knees. His hands grabbed your waist and without a second thought he picked you up, throwing you over his shoulders.

You yelped at the sudden motion and saw the whole world start to move as Bakugou turned to head out the backdoor. Dabi soon joined your view, casually strolling behind you two, chuckling at the sight.

“Your place is close to here, right?” Bakugou asked, glancing back at the taller male who just nodded.

“Yup, third floor in the building just across from here.” Dabi took the lead and Bakugou followed. You just clinged to the back of Bakugou's vest, trying to see what was happening in the front and hoping not too many people saw you in such an embarrassing situation. But you couldn’t help but feel that maybe it didn’t matter, maybe what was about to happen was worth the embarrassment.

“I swear to god if the apartment is filthy or you haven’t changed the bed sheets since your last fuck buddy I’m taking her and leaving.” You watched the stairs as Bakugou went up them, still carrying you. One hand firmly planted on your ass, either to keep your dress from riding up or just because he wanted to cop a feel. As he finished his sentence you two stopped and you could hear a key turning in a lock and a door opening just after.

You weren’t put down until the door had once again been closed and you were all in Dabi’s apartment. And even then you didn’t have a moment to take in your surroundings as Bakugou blocked your view, grabbing your chin gently. You looked up into his eyes once again, meeting his deep red ones with your wide ones.

“I’ve been wanting to do this since you opened those pretty lips of yours.” He muttered, eyes glancing down at your lips and then up again. Wasting no more time he pressed his to yours and you almost couldn’t believe it. He was pressing firmly, almost as he was afraid it was a dream he’d wake from, tilting his head to the side as his hands found your neck. You closed your eyes, enjoying the moment and moving your hands over the shaved part of his head. That’s when a third pair of hands joined in.

“Don’t forget that this is a punishment, angel, not a prize.” Dabi whispered in your ear, his hands going down your front, finding the hem of your dress and pulling it up, exposing your panties. You gasped at the sudden movement only to have Bakugou use it to his advantage, slipping his tongue into your mouth and brushing it against your own. Your sounds were muffled as Dabi used one hand to cup your boob, the other sneaking down to feel you through your underwear. You knew he could feel your wetness through the fabric.

“Shit, so cute, you’re already wet… At this rate you’ll have to problem taking both of us.” You heard him muse as he looked at you from over your shoulder. You couldn’t respond thanks to Bakugou's invasion of your mouth and only whimpered. Dabi chuckled at your predicament and instead of trying to help you just made it worse by slipping his hands underneath the hem of your panties instead. Sliding two fingers between your nether lips he found the bundle of nerves placed between them. He didn’t even hesitate to start drawing slow circles around your clit.

You had to pull away from bakugou, putting your hands on his chest to keep him from going back for round two too quickly. You were panting and letting out small whimpers, unable to look at his face. He stared at you confused before realizing what the other man was doing and how it was affecting you. The two made eye contact with you in between them, Dabi never relenting on his assault on your bud.

“Oi, don’t you have a better place to do this then your hallway?” You heard Bakugou speak above you. His hands moved to your waist and then your back, pulling you closer to him defensively.

“You’re the one who couldn’t keep it in your pants long enough to move to the bedroom so don’t blame me, hot shot” Dabi finally pulled his hands out of your underwear and you took a deep breath of relief from the constant stimulus. You legs were quivering from the assault on your senses and the sudden lack of it. But before you could truly calm down you were pulled from Bakugou's warm embrace and into Dabi’s arms instead as he started to lead you away. You could hear Bakugou’s hurried steps behind and the rustling of clothes.

You moved through the small apartment and to a bedroom. The double bed was made and you were about to go sit down, give yourself a break. But as soon as you moved towards it a hand grabbed your arm, looking back at the owner of the hand you saw Dabi shaking his head.

“Remember what I said before? Punishment, not reward, babygirl.” You felt your stomach sink but ironically also fill with butterflies.

“Help her out of that dress and underwear, will ya, hot stuff?” You were handed over to Bakugou who looked about as confused as you. Dabi went and opened a cupboard and you heard the clinking of metal from it as he searched it’s content. He hummed in satisfaction as he placed a bottle on top of the cupboard and then something that glimmered in the light coming from the window. At the same time Bakugou had done as he was told, pulling the dress higher and higher and with your help it had slipped right off. The bra was quickly unclasped and thrown to the side as well just like the panties had been. You could feel his red eyes look you up and down, watching the newly exposed skin as if it were gold.

“Here we go… Hands in front, dollface.” Dabi sauntered back to you two and without thinking you obeyed, holding out your hands in front of you. He grabbed your wrists and soon the sound of something clicking shut filled the room. You looked at your wrists and saw handcuffs now hanging from them. The black fur was kind to your skin though and they weren’t too tight so you couldn’t complain. But you still stared in awe at them, as did Bakugou.

“Ain’t too tight? No? Good. Then get on your knees.” A simple hand on your shoulder had you falling to your knees without second thoughts. You began to wonder what these men had done to you.

As you were down there you watched Dabi unzip the black pants which had been getting tighter and tighter the further the three of you had gone. He dropped them to the ground and you watched as if hypnotised by the tent formed in his underwear. You could hear him chuckle above you, amused at your wide eyes stare. He did quick work of his underwear as well, fishing himself out of them with practiced skill. He was semi hard already, a tuft of hair at the base of his slim cock. He lazily started to work himself to full mast while watching you.

“Liking what you see, I take it. Good. I can see your mouth salivating already, why don’t you taste it?” You looked up at him for a split second before looking at his cock again which he’s let go already. You almost timidly pull on it, opening your mouth to take him in. You swirl your tongue over the tip before taking more and more into your mouth. You close your eyes to focus, letting him slip further down your throat. A hand carefully grabs the back of your head and grabs a handful of your hair. He’s impatient, probably from the build up at the bar and start to set a slow pace which you follow. You feel the tip of his dick drag across your tongue and the back again as the pace speeds up. Soon he’s set a reasonable pace and you open your eyes again to look up at him.

He’s panting and watching you closely, his eyes half lidded by now aroused he is. The sight makes you even hornier and you feel that you need some release yourself and move your hands down to your own crotch. But nothing slips past Dabi's watchful eyes and he speaks up before you can do anything about your own arousal.

“Hey, we didn’t tell you you could touch yourself. Why don’t you do something productive and jack Bakugou off instead? He’s been drooling all over you since you started bobbing your head like a good girl.” You looked to the side and saw Bakugou, he had pulled down his pants and underwear without you even noticing, even his vest was gone and shirt unbuttoned as he worked his own manhood. You two made eye contact and you reached out with your handcuffed hands. The blonde sucked in breath from between clenched teeth and took a step closer, letting you take over for him.

The three of you kept this up for a bit, you bobbing your head on Dabi's dick while he controlled your pace with his hands while your own hands were jacking off a panting and cursing Bakugou. You had lost track of time until Dabi pulled out of your mouth, your spit covering his shaft and your own chin. The lack of fullness had you desperately looking up at Dabi who was visibly trying to restrain himself. At the same time you slowed your hands movements, bewildered by the sudden pull out.

“Shit, don’t look at me like that, dollface, or I might just finish in your mou-” He was cut off by Bakugou grabbing your head and pulling you to him instead, taking full advantage of your open and confused mouth. He was much rougher than Dabi, instead of pacing you he was face fucking you, keeping your head still as he pounded your throat. But the moment only lasted so long as even Bakugou had to pull out as to not cum down your throat and cut his playtime short. You sputtered and coughed after the sudden invasion but was ultimately sad he had stopped.

“Sorry, babygirl but I had to know how your mouth felt wrapped around my cock.. It just looked so inviting and I couldn’t stand you looking at juts him like that.” Bakugou confessed, looking down at you, panting after the sudden burst of energy.

“I was wondering when that explosive personality was gonna play part in this. But enough foreplay, get her on her feet..” Bakugou helped you up, holding onto you so you wouldn’t fall. He pulled you up to his chest and slipped a hand between your legs. Now it was his turn with you and his fingers were much thicker than Dabi’s had been. He didn’t dwell too long on your clit, only playing with it a second before traveling deeper. By now your juices had stained your thighs and he had no problem slipping two fingers into you. Despite the roughing up he had done to your face before he was now slow and calculated in fingering you, pushing in and pulling out in deliberate movements. You were desperately needing something more and ground your hips into his hand. He paid you no mind as his mouth latched onto your neck, sucking on it so he knew it would leave marks. There was nothing you could do but moan and sigh, letting your head fall back on his shoulder.

You two were soon pulled out of your little bubble by the sound of chains falling. You opened your eyes and saw Dabi pulling on a chain from his ceiling. He noticed your staring and just smiled lazily, giving you a come hither motion with his hand. You could feel Bakugous hesitation but you were soon let go, his fingers slipping out of you. You stumbled forward to follow Dabi’s instructions. When you got close enough he pulled you to him by your handcuffs and raised them. Another click and your handcuffs were stuck to the chain, your arms raised above your head. Dabi took a step back and examined you, seemingly proud of his work.

“There we go, angel… Now the fun can really begin.” He stepped in close again and kissed your lips briefly. Then he left you standing there in the otherwise cold room. He went back to the cupboard and grabbed the bottle he placed there before. While he was gone Bakugou had once again snuck back to you, figuring out just what he had planned. He stood in front of you without saying a word, just watching your chest heave. Then he bent down and grabbed the back of your thigh. And then the other. Standing back up he pulled you with, lifting you up into the air and keeping you there, spread legs presenting everything to him. He looked down and then back up, grinning and leaning in close to you.

“Pretty little thing, aren’t you, babygirl? I’m gonna pound into you until you can’t think of anything but my cock in your pussy. How many times I’ve imagined pushing your face down on the counter at the bar and taking you right then and there, letting everyone see what a good fucking looks like. And I bet you would’ve taken it, wouldn’t you? Like a good girl you would’ve begged me to make you cum. Let’s see if you beg like my mind thinks you do.”

You were speechless. The words coming from Bakugou were something you wouldn’t have expected yet he was growling them to you as if he’d practiced it before hand. You swear you would’ve come right then and there if you didn’t know you’d be punished for it. He didn’t make it any easier when he pushed his thick dick inside of you, slowly but surely pushing himself to the hilt.

You were pulling yourself up on the chain involuntarily from the pleasure entering your system. Arching your back you felt your back hit something warm. Another hand joined on your body, one holding onto the underside of your thigh. Then something cold hit the small of your back and running down your ass making you gasp and clench on Bakugou’s cock.

“I see you two started the fun without me… That isn’t fair but I guess it wasn’t your fault, was it (Y/N)?” Dabi’s voice was behind you and you tried to look at him but your arm was blocking you from turning your head. His other hand suddenly appeared, clearly lubed up and pushing at your other hole. You naturally clenched up more and hear Bakugou curse in front of you.

“Shh no no babygirl, relax… You trust us right? We’ll make it feel good, I promise you’ll be cumming and screaming our names in minutes if you just… relax..” Dabi’s soothing voice calms you down and with some effort you managed to calm your muscles enough to let Dabi’s fingers enter. He praised you as he starts to pump one finger in and out of your whole, then two. It’s clear he’s done this before and knows exactly how to work your buttons. Bakugou wasn’t patient enough to wait for that long and was slowly pulling in and out of you himself, one hand having moved to have his thumb rub circles on your clit. Not enough to make you cum but enough to make you relax more.

Soon enough Dabi was able to scissor his fingers in your ass without you wincing in pain. He pulled out and used his now free hand to help hold you up after having lubed up his own dick. He started to push slowly, the head of his cock slipping into you and you gasp and arch your back again. He stops for a second, looking to make sure you’re still alright before he starts pushing again. Soon he’s pushed himself to the hilt together with Bakugou filling up your pussy. You’ve never felt this full and it did feel amazing, both men pushing at your most sensitive spots.

“See? I told you. Now let’s show you what it means to take two men at the same time, dollface. You’re gonna love it.” He whispered the last part in your ear and your eyes widened as they started to move. What started out in synchronised thrusts soon derailed as they picked up pace. Both of them pushing in and pulling out of you at whatever pace worked for them. Bakugou made sure his thrusts were deep and made you feel full as he sheathed inside you while Dabi was much more erratic and quick, stimulating and pounding the sweet spots of your inside. And their moaning, sighing and groaning was mixed together with your own noises as you all chased your releases. And they came quick

“D-dabi… Bakugou…. I’m about… to.. to cum... “ You managed to get out between moans and you hoped the two men heard you. Luckily they did as they both slowed down much to your own dismay.

“Is that so, angel? You’re gonna cum on our cocks as we pound into you, huh?” Dabi asked teasingly from behind you but Bakugou had other plans.

“Beg for it, babygirl. Beg. for. it.” Every word was emphasised with a thrust of his hips and you whimpered. You couldn’t help but hesitate as you looked into his eyes and saw that he was completely serious, his eyes glazed over and primal. But your need for release was greater and won over your own embarrassment rather quickly.

“Please… Please let me cum. I need to cum, I’ve been needing it since t-the beginning. Since I sucked your big cock, I’ve never been so horny. Fuck, please? Please pound i-into me until I can’t think of anything else, I wan’t you two to fill me and fuck me and and fuck shit, please.” You rambled on and on, trying to convince the two men to let you cum while your head felt fuzzy and you couldn’t think straight. You could see Bakugou’s grin grow on his face and he sped up his pace.

“Good fucking girl, begging like that…. shit… Alright, we’re counting down from 10. You can’t cum… until we reach 0.” You felt them both ready themselves to destroy you in those last 10 seconds and yet you didn’t care, nodding your head desperately.

“Good. 10”

They started, with a newly regained energy they went back to their quickest pace, no mercy this time. But you didn’t mind, you head went all fuzzy again and you got a far away look in your eyes.

“9”

“8”

“7”

“6”

“5”

One of Dabi's hands moved from your thigh and started to rub your clit again. You felt his grin against your shoulder and you cried out.

“Little more, babygirl. 4”

You felt the orgasm approach you like an oncoming train.

“3”

It wasn’t fair, none of this, you realized. But why did it turn you on so fucking much?

“2”

“1”

“Come on, (Y/N), cum.”

You didn’t need any more encouragement then that as you let the tidal wave hit you. It washed over you and made you spazz out, closing your eyes tightly as the two men didn’t stop. They became even more erratic in their movement and even quicker to pound in and out of you. As the white light flashed before your eyes you felt them cum too, filling you up yet they still moved. They both went quiet, trying to keep themselves from buckling under their own orgasms. Dabi’s fingers never stopped rubbing your clit.

Your orgasm had come and gone yet they didn't’t. Fucking. Stop. You were desperately whimpering and trying to pull away from the two but there was no way you could from your position. So you took it. Dabi’s fingers were rubbing your over sensitive clit and the two were like wild animals in heat as they kept fucking you. You didn’t know how but you didn’t care either, another orgasm was on its way way quicker than you had anticipated.

It hit you again and tears spotted your eyes, the electricity going through your body and making you shake once again. Only then did the two seem satisfied, slowing themselves down to a halt yet not pulling out. There’s was a moment of just silence apart from all of you panting and catching your breath from the whole ordeal. Then you started laughing

It was quiet but you laughed, exhausted. Soon the two joined in with their own quiet chuckled.

“Shit… That was really fucking good. Didn’t expect to have this good of a fucking time with this loser” Bakugou looked around you to give Dabi a look before looking back to you. He paused for a moment before he leaned up again, giving you a gentle kiss. You felt Dabi take his turn to leave a hickey on your neck as you kissed Bakugou but you couldn’t care less at that moment.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, hot stuff. Thought you knew I was the best fuck in this whole damn place. Apart from angel here, of course” Dabi responded after he let go of your neck, happy with his work.

“So… Whose up for another shot?”

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