Amid this haven of darkness—her bedroom, where thick curtains devoured the neon glow of Yokohama’s restless streets—dim streaks of light sliced through the gloom, revealing the chaos: tangled sheets, discarded clothing, and the faint scent of perfume lingering in the stale air. Dazai sat on the edge of the bed, shirt unbuttoned and tie hanging limp around his neck. His elbows rested on his knees, his hands limp at his sides, as though the weight of his thoughts had momentarily anchored him. Behind him, she slept, her body curled in soft, unconscious surrender, her breathing steady and shallow.
Closing his eyes he inhaled deeply, but it did nothing to quiet the storm within him. The warmth of her body still clung to his skin like a ghost—a warmth that felt alien, temporary, meaningless. He didn’t even remember her name. It had been spoken earlier, murmured between coy laughter and the clink of glasses, but it had slipped from his mind as easily as it had entered.
Earlier that evening, he'd found her in one of those dimly lit bars he gravitated to when the emptiness inside him grew too loud. He hadn’t planned to go out, but as he sat alone in the apartment, watching the minutes tick by in deafening silence, the need to escape had become unbearable. You were there, of course, tucked away in the bedroom, your form faintly visible behind the cracked door. He’d caught glimpses of you as you moved—folding laundry, brushing your hair, the mundane rituals of domestic life that only amplified his sense of alienation.
Although he knew he could have stayed, could have walked into the room, sat beside you, and pretended to be the man you still foolishly believed he could be, he couldn’t bear the weight of your hope, couldn’t stomach the way you looked at him with those tired but unwavering eyes, as if you saw something in him worth saving. So, naturally, he’d left.
Dark, discreet, filled with people who weren’t interested in asking questions—the bar was the kind of place he liked. He’d taken a seat at the counter, nursing a drink he didn’t particularly care for, and surveyed the room with his usual detached curiosity. That’s when he saw her. She wasn’t remarkable, not in any way that mattered, but she had smiled at him, her lipstick-painted lips curling just so, and that had been enough. Still, the woman was easy. Not just in the way she leaned in close, her hand brushing his arm as she laughed at something he said, but in the way she didn’t ask for anything. Not his name, not his story, not even the illusion of sincerity. She wanted him for the same reason he sought her out: to fill a void, if only for a moment.
It wasn’t long before they left the bar together, her arm looped through his as though they were lovers rather than strangers. He didn’t remember what they talked about on the way to her apartment—if they talked at all. It didn’t matter. The act was always the same. The details blurred together into a monotonous rhythm of fleeting touches and shallow breaths.
And yet, there had been a moment, brief and fleeting, when he’d sought you in her. It wasn’t conscious, not at first. It was instinctual, an ache buried deep within him that he rarely acknowledged. The way her fingers brushed against his jaw, the way she murmured his name—he let himself pretend, for the briefest of seconds, that it was you. But the illusion shattered almost as soon as it formed, leaving behind a bitter taste in his mouth.
You weren’t here. You would never be here, in a room like this, in a moment like this. And maybe that was why he came to places like this, why he sought out women who were nothing like you. With them, he could be anyone—everyone—except the man you thought you loved.
But Osamu Dazai, the man he was, didn’t stay in that moment of longing for long. He didn’t allow himself to. Instead, he leaned into the guilt, welcomed it like an old friend. The guilt was his anchor, the only thing that tethered him to a world that often felt so distant, so unreal. It was the one thing he could still feel, and though he hated it, he also needed it. Without it, he feared he might vanish entirely.
While the other woman had been eager, pliant, her lips tracing the curve of his neck as her hands roamed over his skin, he’d let her take him apart, piece by piece, but even as her nails raked against his back, he felt nothing. It was mechanical, a performance they both participated in but neither truly believed in. Every kiss, every whispered word, every practiced movement—it was all an imitation of something real, a hollow mimicry of passion.
Once it was over, once it was gone, silence settled where chaos had drawn, and she’d fallen asleep almost immediately, her breathing soft and even, her body warm against his. Yet the man couldn’t sleep. He never could, not in places like this, not after nights like this. Instead, he sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor as though the answers to his endless questions might be hidden there.
He ran a hand down his face, pausing at his jaw, where her lips had been not long ago. The sensation lingered, faint but persistent, and it filled him with a strange, hollow ache. He hated it—the way her touch stayed with him, the way it seemed to seep into his skin like a stain he couldn’t wash away. But he hated himself more, hated the choices that had led him here, hated the emptiness that drove him to keep making them.
Finally, he stood, moving with the quiet precision of a man who had learned to leave without waking anyone. He dressed slowly, methodically, his movements as calculated as everything else he did. His tie hung loose around his neck, his shirt still wrinkled, but he didn’t bother fixing either. What was the point?
The walk back to your shared apartment was agonizingly slow. The streets of Yokohama were quiet at this hour, the city caught in the fragile stillness that came just before dawn.
He lit a cigarette as he walked, letting the sharp burn of the smoke fill his lungs and distract him from the faint perfume that clung to his clothes. He thought of you as he smoked, not with longing or love, but with the same detached fascination he always felt when it came to you. You were his partner, the person he came home to, but even that word-partner-felt foreign in his mouth. What were you to him, really? An anchor? A habit? Or just another part of his endless game, something to keep him entertained in between the nights he lost himself to strangers?
By the time he reached the door, the sun was beginning to creep over the horizon, casting pale light over the city. He hesitated for a moment, his hand hovering over the doorknob, before pushing it open. The apartment was quiet, the air heavy with the silence that had become normal between you. You were there, as he knew you would be, sitting on the couch with a blanket draped over your shoulders. The soft light of the lamp illuminated your face, making the dark circles under your eyes more prominent. You didn't look at him, your gaze fixed on the cup of tea in your hands, but he could feel the weight of your awareness. You always knew when he came home.
While closing the door behind him with a deliberate softness, the click of the latch echoed loud in the oppressive quiet. For a moment, he just stood there, watching you. You were beautiful in a way that made his chest ache-not because he loved you, but because he knew he could never love you the way you deserved. He wasn't built for that kind of devotion. His life was a maze of manipulation and power plays, his heart a wasteland he had long since abandoned.
"You're up late," he said finally, his voice casual, almost teasing, as if he had just returned from a harmless night out with friends. The lie was so practiced it came effortlessly, slipping from his tongue like a well-worn melody.
You didn't look up. "So are you," you replied simply, your tone devoid of accusation, but also of warmth.
He moved into the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water and taking his time to drink it. The tension between you hung in the air, thick and suffocating, but Dazai thrived in tension. It was his playground, his stage, and he played his part flawlessly. When he finally turned to face you, his smirk was firmly in place, his eyes gleaming with that familiar mix of arrogance and amusement.
"You're not going to ask where l've been?" he said, the question light and mocking, designed to provoke.
Setting your cup down on the coffee table, your movements were slow and deliberate, before finally meeting his gaze. Your eyes were tired, but not with the kind of exhaustion that sleep could cure. It was the exhaustion of someone who had been fighting a losing battle for far too long.
"What's the point?" you said, your voice steady but tinged with quiet resignation. "You'll just lie to me."
For a fleeting second, so brief you thought you had imagined it, something flickered in his expression—something that looked almost like regret. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by that infuriating smirk that made you want to scream and cry and leave all at once. He moved closer, his steps unhurried, until he was standing in front of the couch, looking down at you with an intensity that made your chest tighten.
"Lie to you?" he echoed, his voice low and almost playful. "Have I ever lied to you, love?"
You laughed then, a bitter, humorless sound that cut through the air like a knife. "Every time you walk through that door smelling like another woman," you said quietly. "That's a lie."
Tilting his head, he studied you with the same detached curiosity he might have given to a puzzle or a particularly interesting opponent. "And yet you're still here," he said, his tone almost gentle, as if he were pointing out a simple fact rather than delivering a cruel truth.
A truth that made you look away, your eyes focusing on the mug on the table, the faint steam rising from it already beginning to fade. "I don't know why I stay," you admitted softly.
But he knew. He always knew. You stayed because leaving would mean admitting defeat, because walking away from him would feel like tearing out a piece of yourself. He was your poison, and you drank him willingly, knowing full well the damage he caused.
Dazai knelt in front of you then, his hand resting lightly on your knee, his touch both a comfort and a trap. "You stay," he said softly, his voice laced with something almost tender, „because you need me as much as I need you."
And you hated him for it, hated the way he could make you feel so small, so powerless, and yet so completely his. However, most of all, you hated the way he was right. Because no matter how much it hurt, no matter how many nights you spent waiting for him to come home, you couldn't bring yourself to leave. He was your ruin, and you loved him for it.
::
You stared at the ceiling, wide awake, the darkness pressing down like an unbearable weight. The world outside was silent, but the inside of your chest roared—an endless cacophony of questions, doubts, and raw, unfiltered grief. Beside you, Tachihara lay motionless, his breath even, his body still. You hated the way it looked like peace.
But you knew better.
The man next to you wasn’t sleeping, either. He hadn’t slept properly since the day you confronted him, since the truth you had both been circling for weeks finally spilled into the light. You wondered what haunted him now—the memory of her hands on him, or the sight of your face when you had seen the truth written in black-and-white on his phone.
And what haunted you? Was it the message? Or the way his voice had sounded when he answered, “I’ve been seeing her for a few months,” as if it was some minor detail, as if time made any difference to the wound it had left in your chest? Was it the fact that he hadn’t even flinched when you asked? Or was it the part of you that still ached for him, even now, even after everything?
How cruel it was, to love someone who had already ruined you.
Tachihara lay still beside you, his muscles tense, his body heavy with the weight of your proximity. He could feel your presence, feel your anger and heartbreak radiating off of you like heat. He wanted to reach out, to touch you, to say something that would shatter this unbearable silence. But what was there to say?
Sorry.
The word sat on the tip of his tongue, heavy and bitter, but he couldn’t force it out. What good was sorry? What did it even mean? It wouldn’t erase what he had done. It wouldn’t take away the betrayal or the image of her name on his phone. It wouldn’t make you trust him again.
And yet, regret consumed him, burning through his chest like fire. It was strange, the way regret worked. How it could lie dormant, hidden beneath layers of justifications and excuses, only to erupt when you least expected it. He had told himself it didn’t mean anything—that what he had done with her was separate from what he had with you. That you were different, that you were home. But now, as he lay beside you, drowning in your silence, he realized how naïve that had been.
You thought about asking him if he regretted it. The question lingered on your tongue like poison, but you couldn’t bring yourself to speak it. Part of you didn’t want to know the answer.
Because what if he said no?
What if he looked you in the eye and told you it had been worth it? What if he said that she had given him something you never could? The thought made your stomach twist, but it wasn’t the worst possibility. No, the worst, the cruelest option was if he were to say yes. That he would tell you he regretted it, that it had been a mistake, that it hadn’t meant anything. Because then, you would have to wonder why. Why he had done it, why he had risked everything for something meaningless. Why you weren’t enough to make him stay loyal, to make him want only you.
And that question, you realized, was one you couldn’t bear to ask.
Tachihara thought about leaving. The idea had been circling in his mind for days now, an escape route he kept coming back to when the weight of it all became too much. Maybe, just maybe, it would be better this way. If he left, you wouldn’t have to see him every day and be reminded of what he’d done. You could start over, find someone who wouldn’t hurt you the way he had. Someone who deserved you. Yet, somehow, leaving felt like running, and running wasn’t something he allowed himself to do. Not in work, not in life, and certainly not with you. Not being ready to give up, even if part of him knew he should, he wasn’t ready to let you go, to walk away from the only person who had ever made him feel whole.
And that was the cruelest part of it all. He had betrayed you, hurt you in a way he couldn’t take back. But he still loved you. God, he loved you.
And yet, love didn’t feel like it could be enough anymore.
In between this hungry emptiness, you tried to remember the person you had been before him. Before his sharp smiles and warm hands, before the way he made you feel like the world was finally something you could bear. You had been lonely, yes, but you had been safe. And now?
Now you felt like you were standing on the edge of a cliff, looking down into an abyss you didn’t know how to cross. This man had been your anchor, your constant, your home. And now he was the storm, the thing tearing you apart piece by piece.
Tachihara wondered if you hated him. He wouldn’t blame you if you did. In fact, he almost wished you did. Hatred would be easier than this unbearable silence, this suffocating distance between you. Hatred was something he could understand, something he could face head-on.
However, you didn’t hate him. He could see it in the way you still lingered in the same room, the way you hadn’t told him to leave, even when you had every right to. And somehow, that made it worse. Because, in the end, if you didn’t hate him, it meant you still cared. It meant he had broken something precious, something that might never be whole again.
And for what? For a distraction? For a fleeting moment of escape from the weight of his own insecurities? The thought made him sick.
As you rolled onto your side, your back still facing him, you closed your eyes. You weren’t sure if you were trying to shut him out or if you were just trying to shut yourself in. Unapologetically , your mind wandered to the things you wanted to say to him. How badly you wanted to scream at him, to ask him why, to demand answers to questions you didn’t know how to phrase.
But you stayed silent. Not because you didn’t care, but because you cared too much.
Words felt useless now.
Turning his head to look at you, his chest ached with the weight of everything he wanted to say. He wanted to tell you that he was sorry, that he would take it all back if he could. He wanted to tell you that you were the only thing that had ever felt real to him, the only thing that had ever mattered.
But the words caught in his throat, tangled up in his guilt and his shame. He didn’t deserve to say them.
So he stayed silent, listening to the sound of your breathing, wondering if you were awake, wondering if you were thinking about him. About her. About whether he was worth saving.
In the end, neither of you spoke. The silence stretched on, heavy and unyielding, until it became something alive, something that filled the space between you like a living, breathing thing.
And maybe that was the cruelest part of all. Not the betrayal, not the guilt, not even the regret.
It was the silence.
A/N this is a re-do of my old cheating fic but sadder? and i added tachihara because i saw a delicious edit on tiktok… i still have to write my yandere fic that got requested like four times? maybe next week since university has started again and i am already not having it, dedicated this to @/saoirseyun because i am down bad.
FLAVOR PROFILE—gn+afab!reader, references to pregnancy but nothing super intense+nothing gendered, oral sex (m!receiving), breeding, creampie, cum play, soft domestic Chuuya, Chuuya with baby fever, rough sex, dirty talk, teasing, nicknames (babydoll, baby, pretty, daddy in the sense of the breeding kink)
ABV—3.3k
tags, with love—@chuuminn @thewickedjazzy
He's holding his breath.
He doesn't realize it until you look to him, your eyes filled with laughter as the baby on the hip of the woman next to you reaches again for your hair.
I don't mind, you'd insisted with a smile when the mother apologized sheepishly over her shoulder for her handsy, outgoing child—you really don't, and the restaurant lobby is rather packed, after all. It isn't somewhere Chuuya would usually take you out (he'd rather bring you somewhere more upscale and less public) but this is one of your favorite places, and when you'd suggested it for date night this month, he couldn't help but agree after seeing how excited you got to show it to him.
And now he's exhaling, subtly as he can, as you turn back to the baby, untangling its little grasp from your hair and offering up your fingers instead; a tiny hand wraps entirely around your index finger, and when your face lights up with a grin and you coo, the baby mirrors you, giggling in that way that babies do—all teeth, squinted eyes, and pink, chubby cheeks. The opposite tiny hand swats at you, which you laugh through but direct a quiet, hey, play nice to, and now that Chuuya relaxes his shoulders, he's able to feel his face go red not from lack of oxygen but from how unbelievably fucking adorable the scene playing out in front of him is.
He doesn't stop thinking about it, even after you and the baby have waved a regretful and playful goodbye as you made your way to your table—one in a more secluded corner, much to his relief. Or, maybe, much to his disadvantage. There are images playing through his mind like a movie—you with an infant on your hip, cradled in your arms; it sports a pop of bright ginger hair on its soft little head, and you kiss it with such care. You, spoon-feeding a baby, you dancing with its tiny feet on top of yours, you lighting up at its first intelligable words. Its auburn tuft gets longer. Maybe it's a boy. Chuuya's son. In a span of seconds, the boy child's early years flash before him—reading with him sleepy and cuddled between you, pitting him against one another in comical prank wars, opening his birthday presents, walking him to school, gently washing his locks that he got from his father.
Yes, he's fucked for tonight.
Once you're both seated—he pulls your chair out for you like the textbook gentleman he is, though his mind swims—you tilt your head on your hands and raise an eyebrow at him.
"You alright, honey?" you ask. "You're a little red."
"Yeah, yeah," he brushes you off. He can't get a thing past you. "Just warm in here, 's'all."
"It's not exactly our usual type of spot." You turn a little red yourself. "Sorry, Chuu."
"No," he half-snaps, thinking he'd come off as stuck up—fuck, he ought to assert himself softer right now, "no, I don't mean—it's not the place, it's just—"
When he pauses to swallow, you tilt your head even more. It's rare that your slick-tongued, spitfire of a boyfriend is ever lost for words, so something must be up. You find a splinter of anxiety run through you as you wait for him to say something like he has to leave, boss's orders—it wouldn't be the first or last time something like that had happened on date night, but his next words both quell your fear and spark your attention.
"—it was just really cute watching you with that baby."
Ah, you think, smirking. "Really? You think so?"
Chuuya nods, loosening his tie a bit, hoping you'll make maybe one more little quip and then let it go so he can focus on letting it go. It's absurd to him that something so small and innocent has him hot beneath the collar. You're at dinner, at your favorite place—he's not planning to ruin it over the fact that he can feel his dick twitching to life in his pants over thinking about you parenting his child. That can be for later. He's going to focus on letting it go and also the array of sandwiches the restaurant offers on the cute, laminated menu with curly designs framing the perimeter that he suddenly finds very intriguing.
He knows you're going to speak again. He just hopes it won't be the next words that are falling from your mouth as you bat your lashes at him coyly.
But it is.
Your gaze flicks down to the menu—there's a wrap from here you always get, you're eyeing it with familiarity—but you've been here a million times; you hardly need to zero in on that, not when you've reduced the man in front of you to short puffs of breath as he scans the menu with vacant eyes. He is much more interesting. Chuuya Nakahara, feared mafioso, most powerful ability user in Japan if not the world: flustered at the mere image of his partner bantering with a baby.
You right yourself, looking thoughtful. "You think we'd be good parents, Chuu?"
But that coyness doesn't leave your voice; he hesitates to look up at you, knowing you'll be sipping your complementary glass of water in a manner to match, avoiding his eyes so he has to chase them so he can answer you with a sharp glare instead of the words he's thinking that will come out cracked and desperate—a yeah, we would, or even don't be silly, because who is he kidding? He's a mafioso. He's got his hands full trying to protect you as it is. He's killed people. He's certainly not the worst of the worst—he likes to think of himself as a man of morals, despite his profession—but there are certainly circumstances for a child of the both of yours to possibly end up entangled in that make his stomach turn even now, before anything has happened, before anything can happen, but he's righted himself after the challenge of your question and the words are tumbling out, confident, bold, the way you're used to hearing them—a challenge right back to see if you'll bite—
"Maybe we should find out."
Your eyes lock onto his then; a waitress floats by to refill your water glasses and ask if you're ready to order.
"We're gonna order to go," you say cordially, closing your menu. "If it's not too much trouble. Something came up."
"Of course," she chirps, pen and notepad scribbling down whatever it is that comes out of his mouth next—it might what you got, it might not be, but Chuuya's hardly focused on that enough to know—to care. "We'll get those right out for ya. Sit tight for about fifteen minutes, yeah?"
—
You sit tight for about fifteen minutes in the dining room, and then about fifteen minutes more on the back of Chuuya's motorcycle—the ride to your apartment should normally take about thirty. You clutch the takeout bag, but you're more invested in the arm you have wrapped around his middle which drops down to stroke his thigh at red lights; it has his knuckles tight around the throttle.
It has his fingertip mashing madly against the elevator button up to your place; he's impatient, it's evident in the way his heels hardly meet the floor as he strides in, finds you, immediately hikes your leg up against him and kisses you hard before the doors slide shut. He doesn't care who sees. Pretty soon, he figures, everyone will be able to tell anyway; you'll be cradling his kid, the spitting image of him, on your hip everywhere you go and there'll be no doubt who you belong to. What's an innocent kiss in the elevator?
By the grace of some god—or maybe, to Chuuya's ilk—no one stops you on the way up. Well, less time to spend stumbling toward the door as you're grabbing the hem of his shirt, untucking it frantically from his pants; he's guiding you by the back of your neck through the door and slamming it shut as you toss your takeout on the counter and promptly forget about it entirely in favor of wrangling each other into your bedroom.
It's late, but not so late that a sliver of sunset doesn't fall like a invitation across the sheets of your bed, left messy and slept in and loved in from the night before. An orange beam strikes across Chuuya's face, already flushed on his own account and yours, as you crawl atop him, slot your hips together; his hat falls over the edge of the bed and you take it as an opportunity to card your fingers through his fiery bangs while he works your shirt up and off. Cup his jaw, allowing for hot puffs of breath against your lips. Linger down his throat and into the line of buttons that keeps you—not for long—from his gorgeous, sculpted chest and middle.
And the gasps you pull from him when your hands splay across his pecs, up his shoulders as you kiss and bite your way down—they're like song.
"Oh, babydoll..." Chuuya's sighing, flicking his head up to watch you, then back at the bliss you so easily administer to his worn body; he's all rough edges, so ready to go, it's almost like torture to have you teasing your way down his abdomen with you tongue, taking it slow compared to where he wants to take you—but then again, it's you, so fuck it, he'll take everything you give him. Your touch is enough to send him reeling in the sweetest way.
When you work his cock out of his dress pants, he's throbbing, sticky.
"God, I really got you riled up, huh, Chuu?" you tease, tracing a ring around the head of his cock that sends his head back again; he props himself up on his elbows to watch you, hungrily, still red, now redder at your words. "Something so simple, too."
"'S'it so strange to get hard thinkin' about knockin' you up?" he teases back, albeit more breathless than you.
You relish in the small moments like this where you have control—where you're allowed to giggle and circle your tongue over the path your thumb just traced, lapping up his precum and letting your fingers settle delicately around his length. Where you get him to explain himself in low groans and lashes fluttering over his freckled cheeks. You make it a little show for him, every time, like it's customary, never mind how disgustingly you're soaking through your pants right now. You grind on nothing, acutely aware of how empty you are but so enamored with the man you have at your mercy in front of you as you hollow your cheeks and dip your chin to fit a few inches of him in your warm mouth. Low groan. You throb, sticky, too.
"Fuck..." he breathes, still-gloved hand coming to push your hair out of your face; you, doe-eyed and drooling, is a sight he won't, can't miss. You look so pretty sinking your face down onto him, and it sends a shimmer of pleasure all the way to his toes when your tongue traces another circle, this time around the middle of his cock; he's going to lose it so fast, he knows it.
Chuuya loves to watch you worship his cock.
Which leaves him momentarily torn between letting you keep going, letting you keep wiggling your ass in the air so cutely as you suck him, turn him into putty with your lips and tongue, or pulling you off him and stuffing you full as quickly as he possibly can. He watches you, watches you; mouth falling open when you swirl, eyes rolling back when you play with his balls, frozen, in heaven until he comes back to what it was he dragged you home so quick to do: make a baby.
Your nose is just reaching the coarse, red tuft of hair at the base of his cock when he's working you up, off him by your hair, by your wrists, willing you up onto your knees so he can shove his hands between the wretched barrier called your pants and yank them down. You fall into him, kissing him, ever harder.
"Chuuya," you gasp when the waist of your pants and underwear are at your thighs and you feel two cool leather digits circling around your clit. "Ah—"
"Baby, 'need to fuck you, now," he mumbles with urgency against your lips; you're so fucking wet that you just tip onto your back to kick off your garments—he does the same with the rest of his— and spread yourself wide open for him, taking note of the wild look in his eyes next to all the lust, all the lovesickness. You hold yourself open, clenching around nothing, feeling every inch of him as he slinks up your body and slides into you so easily, like he's meant to be there, like he's meant to be pumping you full.
"Gonna fill me up, Chuu?" You're relentless. For now. "Gonna have it drippin' outta me?"
"Unh—agh, oh, fuck," he curses as you clench around him now. "Not gonna let any of it go to waste, babydoll." You rock your hips as he bottoms out and you're reaching for his wrists, his hands, tearing his gloves off his lithe fingers as they're the only thing that keeps you from feeling him so fully now and soon they're gone, too, with the rest of your clothing, and you have him, you have his fingers between yours, clasping hard like they did around the handles of his bike while you left a wet patch on the seat, turning whiter than they ever have, it seems, now that he has a mission beyond just filling you up. He's going to do that, of course, but it's more than just cum; it's him. He wants to put a fucking baby in you.
Which is what he mutters against your neck as he moves, pulls back, and thrusts forward roughly the way he always does on the first one—just to hear you yelp. Now it's his turn to chuckle. You've had your control, and even though he knows more about the control you exert even when you're under him than he'll ever tell you, he relishes in it, too. The way you squirm, the way your knees snap shut around his waist; he smiles into your skin as he picks up his pace, leaning up to watch your head nod against the pillow with the force underscoring his rhythm.
"Fuck, Chuuya," you whisper as the tip of his nose brushes yours. "Love you."
"Love you," he chants back without a second thought, ginger curls curtaining against your face. "Gonna give you my fucking kids. Know we'll be the best parents."
You would giggle again if he wasn't knocking the wind out of you with his next stroke; this time, as it flashes across the back of his eyelids, it does across yours, too. A little redheaded baby, with your eyes, your nose. It has Chuuya pistoning into your cunt, sends sounds of your lovemaking echoing off the walls. The sunbeam slips out of the room, painting you both in the evening; a perfect evening, orange and blue, so much like him, deep like your love and the moans he tears from your throat each time he bullies his way against the entrance to your womb.
Chuuya spends time working you and himself up—he always does. He knows how to angle himself in a way, knows how to fuck steadily in a way that not only drives you over the edge, but turns him into something more of an animal than a man just because it sends you arching, crying—he feeds off of you feeding off of him. A dance that, as those visions flash by him, he thinks, not for the first or last time, he only ever wants to dance with you.
"Chuuya," you cry again—it soon becomes the one of the only things you can get out coherently, other than, "Please, please—"
"W-want that? Wanna make me a daddy?" he presses between feral kisses; you bite each other's lips, you dig your heels into his back, you carve crescents with your fingernails into his knuckles as you nod—it's all you can do amidst his pace, amidst how steadily he's pounding into that spot that makes you scream.
A yes hurtles out of you, strained and broken; a string of more garbled yeses follow, intermixed with pleases and fucks, as your gradually more and more fucked-out brain latches onto to the word. "Wan' give you a fuckin' baby, Chuu, wan' make—unh, wan' make you a daddy, please, need y'tuh cum in me, Chuuya—" and his name trails off into a strangled groan as he releases one of your hands to reach down to your clit.
He rubs you with a quickness that sends lightning to the tips of each of your limbs. He feels your ribs press up, press into his; he watches your eyes roll back; he feels you claw at him with pure abandon as you ripple and heave against each other. He could fuck you forever. He will fuck you forever.
"'M so fuckin' close, pretty," Chuuya growls.
"Cum in me, Chuu," you whimper back, voice shaking as each rough thrust shatters it a little bit more. "P-please, please, please, don't fuh—don't fucking—unh—don't stop!"
Your teeth grind; a bead of sweat falls from Chuuya's forehead onto yours and you groan, almost twist from the pleasure that courses through you all the way to your fingers and toes, abruptly shortening his harsh thrusts as you trap him in the grip of your legs around his waist, his back, his ass, like a vise. You feel him pulse. He doesn't let up. Your orgasm crashes over you like thunder; twitching, creaming, milking him as you pull him down to your mouth to swallow the curses he sobs out as his own climax catapults through him, hot, heavy.
"Unh—ah, ah, baby, I'm—oh, fuck!"
"Fuck, yes—"
Your name, babbled and cracked; warmth spreading throughout you, tremors subsiding, and Chuuya, winded, letting his face fall into your shoulder as he weakly lets his hips come to a stop. You squeeze him closer, looking for air, rolling against him until you're both totally spent. Totally glowing.
"Fuck," he says again, lifting his auburn head like he's in a trance. "Fuck, lift those hips up, babydoll."
Without pulling out of you, he grabs an extra pillow and folds it, wedging it beneath your trembling hips; you look to him, hazy, as he leans down to press one kiss to each of your shoulders.
"Gotta make sure it stays in there, yeah?"
You let out a breathless laugh. "Oh, god, Chuuya."
"Yeah?" he asks again, pulling back to grin down at you, his two-toned eyes still swimming with all that lust, all that love. He circles his hips. "Give me a second before we go again."
"Again?" you repeat, smirking back at him; he sits up and peers down to your messy hole, still stuffed with him. He scoops up an escaping droplet of his cum and tucks it back between your folds, which still spasm softly. Your mouth falls into an o at the intrusion of his finger next to his cock.
"Gotta make sure you gimme a baby," he rasps slyly, and you giggle once more, mirroring the glimmer in his conspiratory eyes. Conspiring to love you for a long time.
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 & 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 — [n]sfw content, somnophilia, these are random scenarios ok don't come at me, degradation, humiliation, doggystyle, rough, getting caught, pussy slapping, s.ex at work, oral (m & f receiving), fingering, piv, unprotected s.ex (be careful babes), praise, creampie + etc • this was originally supposed to be their fav places to fuck but i had to scrap that bc i lost motivation :') anyway, happy reading and i hope you enjoy !! not proofread soz babes
ps. reblog to show your favorite writers support, they're greatly appreciated ! <3
⁰¹ 𝐃𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐈 — fucking you in a storage room of the agency
This man is a sex fiend, so of course he would love to fuck you literally anywhere anytime. Though he can't lie, being balls deep in your juicy little cunt at work — risking both of your dignities and possibly your jobs has him harder than a fucking rock.
"Osamu— what if we g-get caugh— mmh-!" you let out a muffled moan as dazai delivered a particularly harsh thrust into your cunt, effectively shutting you up. "Relaaaax, sweet thing — almost no one c-comes here — fuck, you're so damn tight," Dazai panted into your ear, hot breath making a chill run down your spine — back arching even further against his chest.
"God, you're so good f'me — so warm 'n right, fuck!" each word was rushed, dripping with lust — the desperation in his voice made you wanna look at his pretty face, pussy clenching just from imagining how good he'd look with his hair disheveled — his usual doe eyes narrowed and a deep blush covering his skin, sweat dripping down his forehead and making his hair stick to his forehead —
Your train of thought got cut off abruptly when Dazai slapped his hand over your mouth, before his hushed voice reached your ears, "shh, stay still f'me, sweetheart."
You were about to question it when you heard the president's voice from just behind the door. The door of the room you were currently getting your back blown out in.
"Yes, I keep hearing strange noises from this one room in particular," you heard fukuzawa's muffled voice — the thought of your boss catching you in the act made your pussy flutter around Dazai’s length, making the brunette grunt in response.
"Are you trying to get us caught, darl'?" Dazai hissed into your ear — oops, you unintentionally clenched down again upon hearing the keys jingle from the other side of the door. Luckily Dazai was ready for it this time, and managed to bite down on your shoulder before he could get a sound out.
"W-what do we do, 'samu? He’s gonna come in!" you whisper-yelled, panic settling in your bones when you saw the doorknob rattle — but before he could unlock the door fully, you heard the high pitched voice of another worker, "president! an important client has come to personally see you."
"Hm, alright. looks like i'll have to tell someone else to take a look in this room later. Let’s go,"
You let out a breath of relief once the footsteps faded away, leaving you both in complete silence until dazai decided to speak up —
"You clenched reaaal hard when he was about to open the door — don't tell me you actually wanted us to get caught, did you, naughty girl?"
⁰² 𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐔𝐘𝐀 — having you suck him off in his office
Chuuya's job as an executive of the mafia is stressful, to say the least. Not to mention some of the idiotic workers not doing their job right never fails to make his blood pressure go especially high — his anger issues doesn't help his case at all. But what does help is his sweet sweet girlfriend giving him some... 'under the table service' at work.
Chuuya's fist slammed against the hardwood desk, a loud 'thwack!' echoing in the room,
"What the fuck were you thinking?!" he sneered at the poor man in front of him — who couldn't help but flinch at seeing his boss so angry at him failing to complete a simple report.
Truth be told, Chuuya wasn’t really that mad at the worker, for the report at least — he was just.. super on edge from you deep-throating his cock under the goddamn table. He struggled to think properly, and the poor worker interrupting his private moment with you really ticked him off. Can you really blame him though?
How could he think straight with your skilled tongue swirling around his glossy tip so sinfully — fucking tease. Oh and the way you peered up at him through lowered lashes, your eyes glazed with a dreamy haze.
It all made his head spin like crazy.
“-ir, I can re-do it if you would like me to..” Chuuya’s train of thought unfortunate got cut off short, blue eyes snapping back to the man before him — right, the report.
“A-ahem — alright. Have it finished by 6 pm.”
Chuuya hated the way his voice cracked, fingernails digging into the palms of his hands as he tried not to moan out loud when you fully took him nose deep in that right, sweet little throat— shamelessly rutting your hips into his crazy expensive slacks, rubbing your juices all over the smooth, polished material.
You felt Chuuya’s fingers entangle themselves in your hair immediately after hearing the ‘click’ of the door shutting — the guy must’ve finally left.
You couldn’t help but gasp as you were pulled up from the cold, hard floor — and being shoved onto the desk instead.
You felt your pussy throb in your lacy panties as Chuuya spread your legs open — two fingers pressing and prodding at your cunt before sliding the flimsy material to the side,
“Now, let’s get into the real fun, shall we darl’?”
⁰³ 𝐉𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐎 — teaching tecchou how to eat you out properly
Jouno was a good friend. Even though he might've had a tendency to be a little harsh and.. sadistic at times, he wasn't a bad person. I mean, he had to be atleast a decent person for teaching his inexperienced co-worker how to eat pussy — specifically, his own girlfriend's.
"No, not like that you fucking idiot —" Jouno grumbled, pulling Tecchou's head off of your cunt as he blinked in confusion like a lost puppy, sticky strings of your arousal still attached to his lips. "What do you mean? She's clearly enjoying it.."
"I mean that you can do better. You do want to make her feel fuckin' amazing, don't you?" Jouno raised a questioning brow. "Well, of cour—" "Then start acting like it."
A gasp left your honeyed lips when Tecchou's face was pushed back against your cunt — hot tongue working with even more fervor as he ate you out like he had been starving for days.
"Oh fuck — feels so g-good, sai," you whimpered out — head thrown back and your tongue threatening to loll out from the sheer pleasure the man between your legs was giving you. "Yeah, baby? Feels good when Tecchou eats that sweet cunt out reaaaaal good, huh?" Jouno's tone was condescending — his lips curled up into a cocky smirk.
“Y’smell so sweet - taste so sweet -” Tecchou's voice was low and dripping with need — your pussy throbbed from just how desperate he sounded.
"A-ah shit - can feel you throbbin' on my tongue, princess —" he groaned, tongue flattening against your clit as he shook his head side to side.
You babbled out Jouno’s name like a prayer — all while the man between your legs worshipped your cunt like it was his god, pink tongue repeatedly flicking your clit, making you see stars as your hole stretched around two of his slim fingers.
“Please — wanna c-cum s’ba- mmh!- ,” you let out a strangled noise as a harsh slap landed on your soaked pussy, clit throbbing as you threw your head back once more. “Fuckin’ slut, so damn eager to cum on another man’s tongue in front of your boyfriend, hmm?”
“Don’t — ah fuck, squeezin’ so tight ‘round my fingers, baby - don’t be so mean, Jouno,” Tecchou threw a side glare to the man next to him, which only earned a shrug from said man, “quit talking and enjoy the meal, dumbass. She’s close.”
And enjoy the meal he did — lapping up every single drop of your sweet juices so enthusiastically you’d think that he hadn’t eaten in days.
⁰⁴ 𝐎𝐃𝐀 — morning sex with him
Mornings with your husband, Oda Sakunosuke, were sweet, blissful and filled with love. Sometimes he'd surprise you with breakfast in bed, it's the least he can do considering everything that you do for him, is what he says. But sometimes — you crave him instead of the delicious food.
“My pretty girl,” Oda smiled sleepily, moving some of your hair out of your face to admire your effortless beauty — blissfully unaware to how his deep morning voice made your heart flutter in your chest, and your pussy throb with need.
You grinned back, scooting closer into his arms as you gazed into his deep brown eyes, “pretty enough to fuck?”
Oda raised a questioning eyebrow, full lips curling into a grin, "oh? that's the game we're playing, love?" Strong arms wrapped around your bare figure, the marks of last night still fresh on your skin — a reminder to how he fucked you dumb on his cock only a few hours prior.
You felt your face burn from the memories of last night rushing back into you — god, you two were insatiable - you're sure Oda fucked you in every single position in the book, and it did nothing but make you crave him more.
"Still with me, darling?" he lightly tapped your cheek, snapping you back to the present. You nodded, a gasp falling from your lips as big, calloused hands found themselves groping at your tits, pinching at your cute nipples as he pressed open mouthed kisses on your neck — his stubble tickling the sensitive skin there.
"O-oda—"
"shhh, baby — lemme do all the work, yeah?"
And that's how you ended up with your face pressed into the pillows — silken bedsheets tangled around your bodies as Oda fucked his fat girth into your sopping cunt nice 'n deep.
A large hand was pressing your back into the meanest arch ever — strong hips slamming against the fat of your plush ass with each deep thrust, thick mushroom tip prodding at your g-spot - making you bleat out your husband's name pitifully. Oda only pushed your head deeper into the soft pillows — clearly too lost in the feeling of your velvety walls clenching around him.
He watched his cock slipped in and out of your pussy so easily — your slick covering his balls down to his thighs. Oda groaned deeply in his throat as he watched a creamy ring form around the base of his cock — your cunt sucking him in so eagerly that he almost thought it hurt for you to let him go.
You let out a particularly loud moan as Oda's cock hit that one spot in you — you could only bite down on the pillow as your eyes shut closed, pussy slobbering shamelessly all over his length.
"Oh? Did you like— argh! - t-that spot, sweet girl?"
⁰⁵ 𝐒𝐈𝐆𝐌𝐀 — fucking you in your sleep
Sigma was a busy man — with running the sky casino and being part of the decay of angels didn't leave too much alone time with just him and you — especially for some.. intimacy. You knew he needed to relieve himself someway — all that workload while being pent up as fuck certainly wasn't good for him. Plus, you have been craving him as well.. so you came up with an easy solution.
The door to your shared bedroom clicked open — your beloved boyfriend, Sigma, letting himself in as his eyes racked over the entire room, searching for anything out of the ordinary — you did tell him that you had a surprise for him, after all.
Upon finding nothing, he stalked over to the bed, confusion lacing his features as he glanced over at your sleeping form. Slender hands slowly slipped the soft blanket off of you and oh —
It all clicked suddenly.
The lavender coloured lace suited your complexion so perfectly, the expensive material hugging your features like it was made for you. Sigma gulped, eyes fixating on the way your tits were practically spilling out of the flimsy fabric — your stiff nipples very much visible to his hungry gaze.
It wasn't long before he had his face buried between your plush thighs — Sigma was so desperate, not even bothering to take the lingerie off your body. Besides, why would he when you just looked way too good in it?
He was practically eating you out through the thin lace — nose bumping against your clothed clit as his tongue tried to push deeper into your cunt. You had him in a chokehold — but he couldn't care less.
Sigma's slim hips were rutting into the expensive sheets — precum leaking from his sensitive tip as he tried his best not to cum untouched just from tasting your sweet pussy, but fuck, you were making it so hard for him.
He felt his cock throb in his pants when you started letting out soft moans and sighs in your sleep — or were you even asleep anymore? He didn't know and neither did he care — mind too focused on making you cum on his pretty face.
"ohh s-shit — best surprise - sluurrp - e-ever—" he whined into your cunt, spitting directly into your sticky hole before slurping it all back up.
Safe to say, he definitely enjoyed your little surprise.
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 & 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 — [n]sfw content, somnophilia, these are random scenarios ok don't come at me, degradation, humiliation, doggystyle, rough, getting caught, pussy slapping, s.ex at work, oral (m & f receiving), fingering, piv, unprotected s.ex (be careful babes), praise, creampie + etc • this was originally supposed to be their fav places to fuck but i had to scrap that bc i lost motivation :') anyway, happy reading and i hope you enjoy !! not proofread soz babes
ps. reblog to show your favorite writers support, they're greatly appreciated ! <3
⁰¹ 𝐃𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐈 — fucking you in a storage room of the agency
This man is a sex fiend, so of course he would love to fuck you literally anywhere anytime. Though he can't lie, being balls deep in your juicy little cunt at work — risking both of your dignities and possibly your jobs has him harder than a fucking rock.
"Osamu— what if we g-get caugh— mmh-!" you let out a muffled moan as dazai delivered a particularly harsh thrust into your cunt, effectively shutting you up. "Relaaaax, sweet thing — almost no one c-comes here — fuck, you're so damn tight," Dazai panted into your ear, hot breath making a chill run down your spine — back arching even further against his chest.
"God, you're so good f'me — so warm 'n right, fuck!" each word was rushed, dripping with lust — the desperation in his voice made you wanna look at his pretty face, pussy clenching just from imagining how good he'd look with his hair disheveled — his usual doe eyes narrowed and a deep blush covering his skin, sweat dripping down his forehead and making his hair stick to his forehead —
Your train of thought got cut off abruptly when Dazai slapped his hand over your mouth, before his hushed voice reached your ears, "shh, stay still f'me, sweetheart."
You were about to question it when you heard the president's voice from just behind the door. The door of the room you were currently getting your back blown out in.
"Yes, I keep hearing strange noises from this one room in particular," you heard fukuzawa's muffled voice — the thought of your boss catching you in the act made your pussy flutter around Dazai’s length, making the brunette grunt in response.
"Are you trying to get us caught, darl'?" Dazai hissed into your ear — oops, you unintentionally clenched down again upon hearing the keys jingle from the other side of the door. Luckily Dazai was ready for it this time, and managed to bite down on your shoulder before he could get a sound out.
"W-what do we do, 'samu? He’s gonna come in!" you whisper-yelled, panic settling in your bones when you saw the doorknob rattle — but before he could unlock the door fully, you heard the high pitched voice of another worker, "president! an important client has come to personally see you."
"Hm, alright. looks like i'll have to tell someone else to take a look in this room later. Let’s go,"
You let out a breath of relief once the footsteps faded away, leaving you both in complete silence until dazai decided to speak up —
"You clenched reaaal hard when he was about to open the door — don't tell me you actually wanted us to get caught, did you, naughty girl?"
⁰² 𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐔𝐘𝐀 — having you suck him off in his office
Chuuya's job as an executive of the mafia is stressful, to say the least. Not to mention some of the idiotic workers not doing their job right never fails to make his blood pressure go especially high — his anger issues doesn't help his case at all. But what does help is his sweet sweet girlfriend giving him some... 'under the table service' at work.
Chuuya's fist slammed against the hardwood desk, a loud 'thwack!' echoing in the room,
"What the fuck were you thinking?!" he sneered at the poor man in front of him — who couldn't help but flinch at seeing his boss so angry at him failing to complete a simple report.
Truth be told, Chuuya wasn’t really that mad at the worker, for the report at least — he was just.. super on edge from you deep-throating his cock under the goddamn table. He struggled to think properly, and the poor worker interrupting his private moment with you really ticked him off. Can you really blame him though?
How could he think straight with your skilled tongue swirling around his glossy tip so sinfully — fucking tease. Oh and the way you peered up at him through lowered lashes, your eyes glazed with a dreamy haze.
It all made his head spin like crazy.
“-ir, I can re-do it if you would like me to..” Chuuya’s train of thought unfortunate got cut off short, blue eyes snapping back to the man before him — right, the report.
“A-ahem — alright. Have it finished by 6 pm.”
Chuuya hated the way his voice cracked, fingernails digging into the palms of his hands as he tried not to moan out loud when you fully took him nose deep in that right, sweet little throat— shamelessly rutting your hips into his crazy expensive slacks, rubbing your juices all over the smooth, polished material.
You felt Chuuya’s fingers entangle themselves in your hair immediately after hearing the ‘click’ of the door shutting — the guy must’ve finally left.
You couldn’t help but gasp as you were pulled up from the cold, hard floor — and being shoved onto the desk instead.
You felt your pussy throb in your lacy panties as Chuuya spread your legs open — two fingers pressing and prodding at your cunt before sliding the flimsy material to the side,
“Now, let’s get into the real fun, shall we darl’?”
⁰³ 𝐉𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐎 — teaching tecchou how to eat you out properly
Jouno was a good friend. Even though he might've had a tendency to be a little harsh and.. sadistic at times, he wasn't a bad person. I mean, he had to be atleast a decent person for teaching his inexperienced co-worker how to eat pussy — specifically, his own girlfriend's.
"No, not like that you fucking idiot —" Jouno grumbled, pulling Tecchou's head off of your cunt as he blinked in confusion like a lost puppy, sticky strings of your arousal still attached to his lips. "What do you mean? She's clearly enjoying it.."
"I mean that you can do better. You do want to make her feel fuckin' amazing, don't you?" Jouno raised a questioning brow. "Well, of cour—" "Then start acting like it."
A gasp left your honeyed lips when Tecchou's face was pushed back against your cunt — hot tongue working with even more fervor as he ate you out like he had been starving for days.
"Oh fuck — feels so g-good, sai," you whimpered out — head thrown back and your tongue threatening to loll out from the sheer pleasure the man between your legs was giving you. "Yeah, baby? Feels good when Tecchou eats that sweet cunt out reaaaaal good, huh?" Jouno's tone was condescending — his lips curled up into a cocky smirk.
“Y’smell so sweet - taste so sweet -” Tecchou's voice was low and dripping with need — your pussy throbbed from just how desperate he sounded.
"A-ah shit - can feel you throbbin' on my tongue, princess —" he groaned, tongue flattening against your clit as he shook his head side to side.
You babbled out Jouno’s name like a prayer — all while the man between your legs worshipped your cunt like it was his god, pink tongue repeatedly flicking your clit, making you see stars as your hole stretched around two of his slim fingers.
“Please — wanna c-cum s’ba- mmh!- ,” you let out a strangled noise as a harsh slap landed on your soaked pussy, clit throbbing as you threw your head back once more. “Fuckin’ slut, so damn eager to cum on another man’s tongue in front of your boyfriend, hmm?”
“Don’t — ah fuck, squeezin’ so tight ‘round my fingers, baby - don’t be so mean, Jouno,” Tecchou threw a side glare to the man next to him, which only earned a shrug from said man, “quit talking and enjoy the meal, dumbass. She’s close.”
And enjoy the meal he did — lapping up every single drop of your sweet juices so enthusiastically you’d think that he hadn’t eaten in days.
⁰⁴ 𝐎𝐃𝐀 — morning sex with him
Mornings with your husband, Oda Sakunosuke, were sweet, blissful and filled with love. Sometimes he'd surprise you with breakfast in bed, it's the least he can do considering everything that you do for him, is what he says. But sometimes — you crave him instead of the delicious food.
“My pretty girl,” Oda smiled sleepily, moving some of your hair out of your face to admire your effortless beauty — blissfully unaware to how his deep morning voice made your heart flutter in your chest, and your pussy throb with need.
You grinned back, scooting closer into his arms as you gazed into his deep brown eyes, “pretty enough to fuck?”
Oda raised a questioning eyebrow, full lips curling into a grin, "oh? that's the game we're playing, love?" Strong arms wrapped around your bare figure, the marks of last night still fresh on your skin — a reminder to how he fucked you dumb on his cock only a few hours prior.
You felt your face burn from the memories of last night rushing back into you — god, you two were insatiable - you're sure Oda fucked you in every single position in the book, and it did nothing but make you crave him more.
"Still with me, darling?" he lightly tapped your cheek, snapping you back to the present. You nodded, a gasp falling from your lips as big, calloused hands found themselves groping at your tits, pinching at your cute nipples as he pressed open mouthed kisses on your neck — his stubble tickling the sensitive skin there.
"O-oda—"
"shhh, baby — lemme do all the work, yeah?"
And that's how you ended up with your face pressed into the pillows — silken bedsheets tangled around your bodies as Oda fucked his fat girth into your sopping cunt nice 'n deep.
A large hand was pressing your back into the meanest arch ever — strong hips slamming against the fat of your plush ass with each deep thrust, thick mushroom tip prodding at your g-spot - making you bleat out your husband's name pitifully. Oda only pushed your head deeper into the soft pillows — clearly too lost in the feeling of your velvety walls clenching around him.
He watched his cock slipped in and out of your pussy so easily — your slick covering his balls down to his thighs. Oda groaned deeply in his throat as he watched a creamy ring form around the base of his cock — your cunt sucking him in so eagerly that he almost thought it hurt for you to let him go.
You let out a particularly loud moan as Oda's cock hit that one spot in you — you could only bite down on the pillow as your eyes shut closed, pussy slobbering shamelessly all over his length.
"Oh? Did you like— argh! - t-that spot, sweet girl?"
⁰⁵ 𝐒𝐈𝐆𝐌𝐀 — fucking you in your sleep
Sigma was a busy man — with running the sky casino and being part of the decay of angels didn't leave too much alone time with just him and you — especially for some.. intimacy. You knew he needed to relieve himself someway — all that workload while being pent up as fuck certainly wasn't good for him. Plus, you have been craving him as well.. so you came up with an easy solution.
The door to your shared bedroom clicked open — your beloved boyfriend, Sigma, letting himself in as his eyes racked over the entire room, searching for anything out of the ordinary — you did tell him that you had a surprise for him, after all.
Upon finding nothing, he stalked over to the bed, confusion lacing his features as he glanced over at your sleeping form. Slender hands slowly slipped the soft blanket off of you and oh —
It all clicked suddenly.
The lavender coloured lace suited your complexion so perfectly, the expensive material hugging your features like it was made for you. Sigma gulped, eyes fixating on the way your tits were practically spilling out of the flimsy fabric — your stiff nipples very much visible to his hungry gaze.
It wasn't long before he had his face buried between your plush thighs — Sigma was so desperate, not even bothering to take the lingerie off your body. Besides, why would he when you just looked way too good in it?
He was practically eating you out through the thin lace — nose bumping against your clothed clit as his tongue tried to push deeper into your cunt. You had him in a chokehold — but he couldn't care less.
Sigma's slim hips were rutting into the expensive sheets — precum leaking from his sensitive tip as he tried his best not to cum untouched just from tasting your sweet pussy, but fuck, you were making it so hard for him.
He felt his cock throb in his pants when you started letting out soft moans and sighs in your sleep — or were you even asleep anymore? He didn't know and neither did he care — mind too focused on making you cum on his pretty face.
"ohh s-shit — best surprise - sluurrp - e-ever—" he whined into your cunt, spitting directly into your sticky hole before slurping it all back up.
Safe to say, he definitely enjoyed your little surprise.
fluff, wc: 462, gn reader, talks of marriage and weddings, not proof read
“do you think in another universe we live in a different scenario ..?” your voice whispers into the darkness of the bedroom, body pressed against chuuyas warm one with your head resting gently on his extended arm, using his muscles as a pillow. you rest on your side while he lays on his back and you draw small shapes with your fingertips on the scars that bump on his collarbone, closed lashes fluttering gently at the butterfly touch.
“it’s too late to be talkin’ ‘bout this shit.” you hear him grumble out, shifting his position to his side so he can lay face to face with you. his eyes are still closed and his brows are furrowed. bringing up the hand that caressed his collarbone, you massage the brows by lifting them up, smiling gently.
“i mean, do you think that in another universe, we would live in a small apartment with that dog you want so much and a good paying nine to five ..” your question didn’t seem like a question anymore, more of a dreamy world where things aligned perfectly and your boyfriend didn’t come home at the late hour of two in the morning, only to leave four hours later.
“we wouldn’t be living in a small apartment, i’d make sure.” chuuyas voice gruffs out, kissing your wrist gently with a lazy hum, your hand traveling up to the roots of his hair, combing through it with your fingers. you grow quiet, hiding your growing smile by smudging it on chuuyas arm. the two of you are closer than ever and you can hear the soft breathing that exhales out in familiar rhythm.
“in every universe,” he starts, his voice low and not quiet reaching whisper level, which only makes you scoot your body closer to hear. “you’d already be a ‘nakahara.’”
your heart stops and skips a few beats for a moment. all breathing in your lungs is paused as you feel the growing heat in your cheeks spread, a light chuckle escaping your boyfriends lips.
“‘n i’d get you the prettiest ring the world has to offer, and it’d be the wedding if everyone’s dreams,” you watch his eyes crack open gently and feel a tired hand tuck in your hair, remaining on top of your shoulders with rough fingertips brushing against the back of your neck. “and you would look absolutely drop dead in white.”
you’re quite unsure of how to respond, eyes wide and cheeks ever so flustered. the blanket creeps up to your shoulders as chuuya kisses your forehead gently before mumbling of how stupid this whole conversation was and how he still needs his sleep.
even if things are better in another universe, you can’t help but be content with this one.
Full versions of Ambivalent and MUSOU from Ai's Solo Best Album!
Please buy the original if you can! It’s available internationally on iTunes! Apple Music has a sample version here that desktop users can then use to get to the iTunes store!
This CD plus his birthday solo now gives us international fans easy access to every Ai solo released ever! So buy them!!!
ᝰ.ᐟ: dubious consent, somnophilia, pnv sex and unsafe sex.
🪽 ៹ ࣪ : this ask giggled me out of vacation.
“I’m home!”
The man kicks open the door with a yell. Even on the latest of nights, he still exaggerated every word as he walked inside.
The air in the apartment laid still. The faint sound a tv buzzing from the apartment but no sign of the usual buzzing life.
“Bella Donna?” He pushed open the bedroom door as far enough to see your sleeping body resting on the bed. “Oh? did you wait for me, my love?” Dazais voice came off in an almost whisper, “you look so beautiful lying here, you know that?” His voice was free from its usual expression, calm and gentle as he pushed hair away from your eyes to see your face better.
You turned your body unconsciously, “such a pretty girl.” He whispered. His hand almost moved on its own, reaching for your flimsy shirt. “Why’d you decided to wear this to bed tonight, I know you didn’t plan on sleeping this early.” He pulls on one of the strings of your tank. Pulling it down to see your cleavage. He pulled his head back, breathing in for a moment. There’s something about you that constantly drives him in, and just the way you look tonight is twisting something in his brain.
He struggled to contain himself as he guided your shirt past your tummy and your breast, admiring your upper body for a moment before dropping down to your breasts, his mouth suctioning around your perky nipples. His brown eyes look up at you for any sort of reaction, but really, he almost wishes you would stay asleep and he can relish in your beauty more, even the way you lay there so helplessly does nothing to soothe the perverted side of him.
He lets go of you with a “plop!”, his saliva leaves a sticky feeling around your breasts.
It’s almost predatory the way he looks at you once he starts to remove your pants. Your panties running up your hips by the time he gets a look at his gem.
“I can still hear you begging for me, baby.” He teases to no one but himself. His thin but quick fingers make work of your underwear, making sure not to wake you in his path . His body reacts quicker than he thought. Undoing his belt and pants, just enough to take out his leaking cock.
His body leans over you, lining himself to feel the tip of your vagina. He can fill himself pulsing as he enters you.
“ahh, baby, even when your asleep your reactions are so precious.” His hands find your hair as he kisses your sleeping body, watching your eyebrows twitch in and out as he thrusts. Almost bouncing up and down with the sheer weight of him. You blink, still in your own mind and not aware what’s happening to you. Not being able to look anywhere else but your boyfriend on top of you, thrusting into you like a mad man
“O-oh, I’m sorry for waking you beautiful, just go back to sleep, okay?
So, I honestly forgot I recorded these back in 2020-2021 and I just decided to share them for nostalgia's sake. I really liked these OSTs and I really wish Shining Live got an official soundtrack.
These are the songs that played during different events in the game, the birthday events for the characters/player, the main event theme when you go to the main page, and this certain theme that typically plays around the 3rd chapter of the card stories during a more "romantic" moment with a character of choosing/player.
“Shhh...keep your voice down, milady. Lest the young master hear your saccharine cries…”
Tucked away in a corner of the maze-like garden within your family estate, your whole body trembled as you embraced the blonde butler. Due to his large build, you couldn’t fully wrap your arms around him but were content in holding as much of him as you could.
Natsu’s lips were beside your ear, his hot breath fanning your overheated skin as you bit your lip in an effort to keep your cries to yourself. It would do no good if your older brother, Toki, the current head of your family of two and Natsu’s master was to find you and the butler/bodyguard tangled up with one another.
While being found together shouldn’t be a problem since Natsu was also tasked to take care of you as well, the last thing Toki needed to see is his precious and innocent little sister sitting upon the blonde’s lap. Your skirts are bunched up to reveal the blonde’s well-endowed cock stuffed inside your little cunny as rivulets of your combined essence dripped from your lower lips.
“Awww….look, milady. Your flower is trying its best to eat me up...such a lewd hole you have here…” Unlike his usual light and almost whimsical tone, Natsu’s voice had lowered and contained a tinge of both danger and darkness to it.
The salacious way he whispered such lascivious words into your ears had you whimpering, a noble lady such as yourself isn’t used to such language and yet when it is Natsu who speaks and especially with that gruff tone of his...you find yourself even more enamored than you already are.
“Don’t worry, milady. I’ll feed this naughty pussy of yours with my milk until it’s satisfied~”
germansingergirl
amandla
jacobvanloon
kianamaiart
