#bsdawgz

You shiver as his lips caress you; so soft, so loving, his mouth so inviting as it closes in on yours. His hand meets your waist, the other stroking the side of your neck, rearranging the tendrils of hair that frame your face. "Is it wrong of me to want more than just this?" he muses, tracing the plump of your lips with his thumb, watching in awe as you part your mouth instinctively to take in his fingers. "I missed my sweet girl at work today."

Leaning in for another kiss, you seal your lips against his, letting him guide you backward until you feel your body press against the brick wall of your cozy apartment. You can feel Dazai's teasing smile through his kiss as he hikes your skirt up, grabbing the plush of your upper thigh and trailing his fingers along your sensitive skin. You writhe and squirm, seeking the warmth of his hand, the sweetness of his touch, and those delicate fingers that you want to feel inside you. "Dazai, please."

He relents – of course, anything for his sweet angel. You feel him push your panties to the side, tracing your folds with his fingers. "God, you're wet," he murmurs, and you can hear the sheer satisfaction in ragged tone of his voice and feel it in the way it makes him grip your waist tighter. Still, you blush profusely, flustered by the fact he's pointed it out so plainly. "My sweet, needy girl," he whispers, stroking the side of your cheek lovingly. "Let's take good care of each other tonight~"

The sight of Dazai getting on his knees for you is always a precious one; and for Dazai, seeing you from this angle is one of this favorites. Though, to be fair, he finds the reverse just as arousing. You make quick work of the buttons of your shirt as Dazai unzips your skirt, slowly peeling your panties down your hips. "That's my needy little angel," he teases, "Wanting me to please her already..."

You hold your breath, gazing down at him with your lips parted as he lovingly places kisses up your thigh. Then, you gasp aloud, feeling the tip of his tongue prod inside you. You reach for his hand immediately, seeking the comfort and warmth of his skin, squeezing his palm tight as you feel the cold wetness of his tongue encircle your clit. He moans hungrily against your heat, lapping at your arousal. His name sounds so perfect in your mouth, he thinks, and as the syllables spill out of you, he can't help but glance up to admire the shape your lips form when you say his name. You'd sound much sweeter with his fingers inside you, he muses as he eases his index into your aching hole, smirking at the way you pulse and the way you stammer out his name once more. "Say it just like that," he coos.

You need him more than ever, "Dazai, Dazai" relentless on your lips as you desperately grind against his hand. "Kiss me," you plead. Tonight, your boyfriend isn't so much of a sadist as to deny your requests; tonight, he'll treat you well – just as promised.

Of course, you'll treat him just as well.

"Take it out," you moan as into his shoulder, unbuttoning his vest and dress shirt with haste, leaving them a mess on the floor to deal with later. "Please. Let me touch you, too."

He nods fervently, undoing his belt with a clatter, then he lowers his slacks just enough for you to reach clumsily into his boxers, where you find him pulsing with need, the tip leaking with precum. Then, he sighs with pleasure, seething with desire as you wrap your fingers around the shaft, throbbing in your hand as you stroke him.

This time, it's him who says, "please," his voice raspy in your ear as he leans in once more, locking lips with you and capturing your moans in his mouth as he curls his fingers deep inside you. Thrusting his pelvis forward to meet each of your strokes, he guides your fingers up and down his shaft with his other hand as he tries to get off on the feeling of being fucked by your fist. “Please,” he pants, breath strained as his hips stutter, as his knees begin to give. “Let me fuck you…”

You nod, and he’s frantically shuffling through his messenger bag for a condom, then tossing you down on your mattress. It’s feels like not even a minute more until he’s shoving himself inside you, groaning as he buries himself between your slick folds. You take him in – all of him, all at once, crying out his name when he starts to snap his hips into you. He’s greedy, so greedy, each thrust faster and harder than the one before. And you want it; you want more, more;

“More.”

You hook your legs around his narrow waist, clawing at his back, scratching at his spine and urging him to fuck you deeper. Dazai's panting into your shoulder, brown bangs falling beautifully into his eyes as he ruts into you like an animal desperate for relief – because for you he is, lips parted as he gasps, as his hand slithers around your neck, fingers squeezing just tight enough to deprive you of enough oxygen that you feel yourself grow dizzy. You kiss him hotly, just as fervently, biting his lips and drinking his moans into your open mouth, clinging to him as his fingers leave your neck. As they slip between your thighs, gathering the wetness between your legs where you're aching for him, where you're so wet that you're dripping onto the sheets beneath your sweaty bodies. You shut your eyes.

Fuck work tomorrow –

This is all you need. Dazai, Dazai, Dazai.

The laundry chime goes off, but you can hardly hear it with the buzz in your ears – "Close."

"Me too."

– Take me to heaven and back.

It's you who comes first, convulsing in Dazai's arms; and you don't feel him slow at all, not even a little bit, just feel his spit fill your mouth, saliva trickling down your chin as he grabs you tighter, as he forces your legs over his shoulders and fucks you even harder until you can barely form thoughts, let alone words –

and you split open, body searing with pain, yet you can't help but grind your hips against his fingers as you teeter on the verge of a second orgasm. You sob out yes, yes, yes, thighs trembling as you gasp for him, as you plead for him to bring you there once more. You spasm, then you feel him spill into you with one final thrust, grabbing you and pulling you tight against his body lovingly, wrapping his arms around your shoulders because god, does he need you closer than ever right now.

Then, he rolls onto his side. Buries his face into your shoulder. Nuzzles his nose into your neck. His lips brush along the shell of your ear. "One more kiss. You know how greedy I am," he whispers, interlocking his fingers with yours. "Then we can order take-out."

you inhale his smoke and the scent of the luxurious body wash that is so distinctly chūya, let the silence settle as he finishes smoking. then at last, he approaches you, hand setting on your lower back as he draws closer, close enough for you to taste the tobacco on his breath when he finally concedes, "this is what you came for, right?"

you nod, guilty and ashamed because his hands are gentle– more gentle than they should be, you think to yourself, though he's always been that way with you– kind and receptive, eager to please and comfort you. fingertips trace your cheek, rearrange the tendrils of your hair to frame your face, and his thumb makes its round along the plump of your lips. he knows your features so well that it's downright disgusting– he can draw you perfectly with his eyes closed. another nicotine-laced breath and his mouth is collapsing on yours, so hot and characteristically passionate. as you find his fingers tangled in his hair, you're hit with the reality that this is chūya and you crave him and his tenderness more than anything else in your life right now– his heat and his passion, but most of all, this tenderness of his, the beautiful sanctum he's always offered you from the world and those gentle and knowing hands that are ready to soothe you every time.

– "use me. please."

you drawl out his name, a soft, relenting sigh. he looks at you, eyes downcast as he whispers your name, the syllables dying on parted lips as his hand travels up your thigh. he cups you through your clothed heat, fingers tracing you through the cotton of your underwear, mapping you. your eyes flutter shut and you resign to his touch, his warmth, and the memories they ignite; it's all it takes for the two of you to fall in reverse. for a moment, you belong to one another; he's the port mafia executive who yields to no one except you.

after all, you're lovers. you were lovers. in the bedroom, you'd rake your nails down his spine, leaving scratches on his back like music scores, singing your melodies in his ear all night long; and in the kitchen, you'd bathe in jazz and blues, puffing on golden bat cigarettes in the hues of silver moonlight. it might be over now– at least, that's what you'd say– but the way that he kisses you, the way he touches you, is all the same– just as familiar and bittersweet. some things never change, just like chūya's taste for luxury, or his taste for you, and the fact that you'll succumb to him every time.

this scene is too familiar. you're sinking to your knees, pressing chaste kisses down the lean muscle of his abdomen, lips and fingertips tracing the grooves of his adonis belt. he lets the towel fall from his hips, relaxing against the counter. then, he cups your cheek with the palm of his hand, stroking the side of your face so gently that you nearly melt into his touch and oh, is it sickening, fucking grotesque, the eyes he gives you– the way he looks at you when you're in between his thighs, worshipping his cock. he stares down at you with an admiration he'd never dare to verbalize.

you stroke him in the way you know he likes it, slow and sensual, your small hands curling around the base and working its way up to the head that's dripping with arousal and pulsing with need. he catches your chin with his thumb, forcing you to gaze into his azure eyes, so you can hear him say the words you've been longing to hear all night– "good girl," as you flick your tongue out to run along his length. you taste him, licking up translucent pearls of precum, tracing your tongue along the oozing tip.

he's watching you with eyes that burn– waiting, wishing, wanting as he stares down at you; it's a look that says a million things, yet his lips are silent. it's almost as though he's asking for permission to indulge in you. it's as if he's expressing guilt for what he's about to do. in a way, it's a pitiful sort of look, the kind one exchanges when words would do more harm than good. you glance away quickly when his mouth finally moves to speak if only to signal that you don't want to pursue the topic any further. you know what he wants to say– he wants to ask who hurt you this time; he wants to ask what you're really here for. he doesn't know the person who's hurt you the most is him.

you guide him inside of your mouth, then slide him down your throat. he hisses, his fingers immediately tangling in your hair as you swallow around him. when you look up, you find that his eyes are no longer focused on you, his head thrown back in pleasure. his breath becomes shallow, the muscles in his legs tensing as he struggles not to thrust into your mouth. "fuck, baby..." he groans, the grip on your hair tightening. "doing so fucking good."

from there, it's broken syllables, his moans strangled as you bob your head along his length. you feel his fingers stroke your hair as he tends to you, keeping the strands out of your face as saliva dribbles down your chin. then, your name is all he knows– shameless, truly shameless, the way he falls apart inside you, calling out for you when you're no longer his is so cruel.

it's not a moment more until you feel him flood your mouth with his warmth, hot seed spurting down your throat. you wash him down, then pull away panting, swiping at the excess drool that's stained your cheek. then, you feel him intertwine his fingers with yours and pull you into a deep embrace, lips sealing against yours– and oh, his touch is so hot.

it burns you both, a double-sided match; you flinch, but you don't pull away. instead, you hold him back. you fight tears as you bury your face in his chest. "i didn't come here to act like a couple," you whisper, feigning anger, but all that comes out is regret.

"right," he replies curtly.

silence settles between you– not the inept kind, the type that falls when words momentarily fail, but that which overcomes when there is truly nothing left to say. "kick me out," you demand, your voice breaking. "tell me to go away."

"quit talkin' like that," he mutters, grip tightening around your waist. "i'd never."

you know it's true, too– you left by your own accord. but chūya didn't chase you to the door. he didn't call. he didn't even text.

you feel him press his lips to the crown of your head. you protest and paw at him, but your small hands are too easy to swat away. then, he kisses you the way you like it, mouth enveloping yours with passionate heat– slowly and softly. you lean into him, melting into his hot touch as he trails his tongue along your tear-stained cheek, licking away the evidence of your suffering; and you can't help– you simply can't resist anymore. you let him in because you crave him. you crave his tenderness more than anything in your life.

he scoops you in your arms, carrying you to the bedroom. you're sobbing into his shoulder as he lays you on the mattress. "i don't wanna make love like we always do," you insist, raking your nails across his back as you clutch onto him like a broken child. those words are so meaningless and you know it.

he cradles you. he holds you like you're everything to him– he's cruel that way; he always has been.

tomorrow, you'll disappear– but you know he won't stop you.

some things just never change, you tell yourself.

"you better not say you love me," you sob into his neck– and he won't. he won't. but there will be nothing but love there as he kisses you a thousand times over, eyes twinkling as you dance for him the way you always have.

some things just never change.

"You have to mix it with developer, idiot. Are you sure you can even do this?"

As you hover above him, squinting at the white plastic bottle in your hand, Tachihara raises his brow at you dubiously. "Shut up," you snap defensively. "I know exactly what I'm doing."

All he can do is roll his eyes, sighing to himself as you squeeze the bottle's contents into the mixing bowl– "Whatever."

"Come here," you mumble, gesturing at him to sit down. It's been months since you'd last seen Tachihara because of an overseas mission, and his hair had overgrown into a black mullet, bangs falling into amber eyes and trailing down his neck in soft sweeps. He looks kind of cute like this, you think to yourself affectionately, though an impatient "What's taking you so damn long–?" soon interrupts your musing, making you scoff out loud and remember just how fucking annoying your boyfriend can be. "Jesus, relax– and did you even comb your hair today?" you mutter, running your fingers through tangled tresses.

"Shuuush." He finally sinks into the chair, spreading his legs and relaxing as he feels your fingers massage his scalp. You trace the nape of his neck with your fingers, your hands smoothing over the broad expanse of his shoulders before lingering just a little longer over the muscles of his back. You sigh, taking a little bit of time to admire him. You know you should be mixing the developer right now. You know this... but being away from him for so long, you can't help but want to touch him just a little bit more– especially when he looks so good like this, shirtless with his hair disheveled, and– "Mm, what are you even doing back there?" he mumbles, throwing a glance back.

"Mmm!? Nothing!" you stammer, quickly returning to mixing the developer.

"Mhm, okay, sure," he retorts, but you can hear the grin in his voice. Cheeky bastard. "You know, if you wanna kiss me, just say so~" he teases, turning around to grab at your waist–

– and before you know it, that red hair dye is spilling over, all over your shirt and your bathroom floor.

"See, I told you that you'd fuck it up," he groans exaggeratedly.

"Hahhh? You're the one who knocked it over!" you exclaim. "– and I liked this shirt, too," you complain.

You're still going off about just how much you like the shirt – his shirt that you "borrowed" a long time ago, by the way, though you seem to have forgotten that detail– and he's keeping your pawing hands at bay and chuckling as you flail about. "Fuck, okay, I'm sorry," he admits. "Hey, relax, relax, I’m sorry. Alright? No point in arguing anymore. Come on, don't tell me we're not at least gonna finish what we started?" he grins, helping you out of your top and discarding it in the laundry.

What we started–? "That was all of the dye, Michi," you hiss, still irritated. "What is there to finish?"

"Me."

–

It's been too long– way too long. You can feel it in the way Tachihara grabs you, urgency in every touch, like he'd been holding back the entire time since he'd returned to Japan. You wonder why it took so long to get to this moment in the first place– why the fuck were you both so concerned with dyeing his hair red, anyway? Who even cares about that shit?

Your fingers are tangled in his hair, and his face is buried between your thighs, one hand holding up your leg as he drags his tongue inside you and the other hand intertwined with yours. Tachihara has always been a messy eater, hungry to taste more of you and ready to indulge you, and this morning is no exception; you gasp out as he laps you up sloppily, his fingertips digging into the plush of your skin as he presses his face against you eagerly, turned on by the wet sound of his mouth slurping up your sweet pussy. "Fuuuuck, now there's that face I missed..." he muses as he glances up at your expression, a wicked grin on his lips. "We spent too much time bickering when we could have been fucking all morning long."

You watch in anticipation as Tachihara rolls on a condom, then yelp out as he grabs you by your hips and pulls you toward the edge of the bed where he’s standing. "Breathe, baby," he whispers reassuringly as he towers over you, caressing the side of your face. No matter how many months it's been, your body's no stranger to your boyfriend– or so you thought, but the feeling of being stretched by Tachihara after so long has you wincing, remembering just how full he really makes you feel. You let out a stifled sound, something like a whimper, when you feel the thick head push past your folds, your fingers helplessly grasping at the blankets beneath you. "You can take it– just like that, good, doing so good for me."

You take another deep breath like he instructed– and you feel Tachihara pull out just briefly, then finally push himself back inside of you until he bottoms out completely. He lets out a quiet hiss, fingertips burrowing into your skin before he drags your hips against his in slow, patient strokes. "Missed these sweet lips," he whispers, circling his thumb over the soft plump of your lips, watching you open your mouth obediently to wet it on your tongue. "– And I missed these tits of course," he says, reaching to grope at one of your breasts with his free hand, the other still firmly gripping your waist. You whine out for him as he tugs on a nipple, roughly, smearing your own saliva across them. "You're always so sensitive here, making those cute little sounds...” he teases with a soft flick that sends a pulse straight to your core.

You whimper, covering your blushing face as he continues to play with your nipples, alternating between the now overstimulated buds. Your hips jolt, hands fisting at the sheets. You try to stifle the sound of your cries, but it's no use– before you know it, you’re a moaning mess, rolling your hips desperately toward his. Even with your face hidden by your hands, you can feel his gaze hot on you, that arrogant smirk on his lips as he watches you writhe underneath him. “Michi– ngh… Michi... Please, fuck me harder… please.”

"Mm?” he coos, “Yeah, okay,” he whispers hotly, moving his fingers in between your legs to rub your clit, his other hand squeezing your waist.

You feel him haul you closer, spreading your thighs further apart until you feel like you’re just about to be split open. Then, he pulls the entirety of his length out of you before slamming himself so deep inside with a “Fuck, so good,” muttered under his breath. His pace quickens, each thrust with more force than the last as his thumb continues rubbing on your clit– and there’s nowhere to hide now as you reach your climax. His name spills from you like a faucet, broken syllables until your body convulses underneath him.

“Close, I’m gonna come, I’m –..." he stammers out, and just like that, he unravels, fingertips burrowing into your flesh as he fucks into you harder, desperately chasing after his orgasm. You pull him close, tangling your fingers in his hair, kissing him recklessly as he falters, as his hips stutter, as warmth blooms inside you. He’s so gorgeous, so fucking perfect, you think to yourself as he finally finishes.

“You missed me that much, huh?” you poke at him playfully, sitting up and planting a quick kiss on his lips. It’s your time to tease him now, you think to yourself. “I didn’t know you were the sentimental type~"

“Oh, and you’re not?” he pants out, still catching his breath. “I know, hm, it’s almost as if I love you or something, right?" he says sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

You blush, then pull him into your arms. “I love you, too,” you tell him. “And I missed you. Welcome back.”

Dazai has always been calculating and cruel. Perhaps it was one of the things that drew you to him the most, as twisted as it were, knowing that these bloodied hands could sometimes hold you so tenderly, and that you of all people were the one he chose to see him naked at the end of the night. You took some sort of pride in it, in the fact Port Mafia's youngest executive had chosen you as his personal plaything, out of all the women that could easily fall into his arms.

His room is dark, ceilings tall, his face shrouded by velvet curtains that cast a shadow over you like a gaping mouth. His desk is stacked with papers, neatly organized in a pile, but there are painkillers and used-up bandages sprawled across the floor beneath it. Dazai is in the corner, staring down disdainfully at the broken city that is Yokohama. He doesn't greet you when you enter. Rather, he looks down at you condescendingly. "You were reckless today. You're lucky Akutagawa was there to save you, or you would have been killed."

"I'm sorry," is all you can say. As his subordinate and, for lack of a better term, his lover, you never know which Dazai you're about to face. Your apology is well-received, a grin forming on his lips as you bow your head. You're always so quick to submit to him. He's used to it, being an executive and all, but it feels especially good coming from you.

"Yeah?" His voice is a low hum now, seductive and rogue. He comes closer, then you feel his thumb graze your chin, then he forces you to gaze into the empty void of his dark eyes. You stare, captured by the intense nothingness behind them that threatens to swallow you whole, gulping as you realize that in those moments of enchantment, those slender fingers of his have crawled along the sides of your neck. He leans in, and you can feel his lips tracing along your collarbone. "How are you gonna make it up to me?"

Your knees are weak; you're always falling right into his hands this way. He guides you to the dresser, hands on your hips, then presses his body against yours from behind, fingers toying with the hem of your blouse. "How about I kill you right here, myself?" you hear him whisper in your ear, breath warm against your skin. Then, you feel cold metal pressed against your neck. "Would you let me do that to you?"

You catch a glimpse of silver, gleaming with the reflection of the city lights as Dazai runs a blade along a vein.

Trusting a man like Dazai can be such a fatal flaw – ...

... but he must be using the dull edge for a reason... right?

"I would let you do anything to me," you reply. You hear him sigh, almost disappointed by your courteous response. He lets go of you immediately and scoffs, tucking the knife back into his pocket.

"You always know what to say," he mutters, as if irritated by your predictability – but you know that it means he's pleased. You’re loyal to him. You always have been.

Then, as if on cue, you turn to face him, getting on your knees in front of him.

"Oh," he muses, entertained. "So, you're gonna use your pretty mouth to make it up to me instead?"

– but of course.

You're eager to please him, hands fumbling for the zipper of his slacks. He grins at how desperate you seem to touch him, petting your head as you bury your face into his hardness. You trace him through his boxers, marvel at the way it grows with your touch. This is the way you command him – the way you bring to his knees while you're on yours. You feel him shudder as your lips caress him, feel wetness seep through his boxers against your cheek as you mold against him.

In this moment, the most dangerous man in Yokohama is yours and yours alone.

"Get on with it," he mumbles lazily, stroking your cheek gently. You're staring up at him admiringly, watching the way his breath catches in his throat as you tease him.

He's gorgeous when he’s weak for you, gazing back down at you with half-lidded eyes, waiting on you to make him feel something. He's the desperate one now, you think to yourself. It’s as if he’s begging,

'Give it to me.'

You'll give it to him – you'll give it to him over and over.

Maybe it's perverted, but it makes you feel good inside, knowing you're needed by him like this.

So, you strip him slowly, kissing along his firm abdomen and thighs as you peel the boxers down his legs. He's impatient, hands trembling as you reach for him and run your fingers slowly along his length. His reactions are all the praise you need – he sighs softly into your touch when you finally wet the tip with your tongue, then you feel him fade into you. You taste the salt that drips so bitterly on your lips, swirl the precum in your mouth and let it melt against your saliva. "You're good at that," he whispers, and you feel yourself grow wet between the legs at his words.

Then, you take him. Slowly, at first – stroking him with your pretty hands while you lick the vein that runs along the underside, then slide him down your throat. You feel his grip tighten on your hair, then hear him make a stifled sound. When you look up, he's staring down at you in amazement, lips parted so slightly as you do your best not to choke on him... If only he looked at you like this all the time, you can't help but think to yourself shamefully.

It's too cruel to continue these sort of thoughts, so you force yourself to take him deeper... You shove him into your mouth until your vision blurs, until you gag on him, until saliva dribbles down your chin. He matches your pace, burying himself into your throat until you choke on his length, until you're tearing up and your vision is blurred. Then, you hear him laugh condescendingly. "This why you were so reckless today?" he asks you roughly, eyes darkening as he peers down at you. His fingers ravage your hair, his nails digging into your scalp as he pushes your head down. "You like it just like this, don't you?"

And maybe he’s right – he has you throwing your life away in this wretched mafia… and for what? He has you following him around like a dog… and to what end?

When you're forced to look up at him with your mouth stuffed full of him, it's almost as if there's no trace of a humanity left in him. There’s nothing in those wild eyes, scornful and resenting. There's some twisted grin on his face, something sadistic and perverse you've only seen a few times before, in the moments before he’s stolen someone’s life. "You act so fucking innocent, but look at you taking me like a damn slut. Do you do this for the others? Tell me..."

You can hardly breathe now, cheeks swollen and red, jaw aching, but you know he expects a response, so you shake your head frantically. No, of course not, you'd never give it to anyone else but him. Never, ever – but he doesn't relent, looking down at you demeaningly with that same sick look on his face. "Yeah? I've seen the way you look at Chūya. You wanna fuck him too, don't you?"

This time, when you open your eyes, the knife is right against your throat – the sharp edge almost tracing along your skin. Would you bleed for this man? Would you die for this man? Wouldn’t he like to know…

You shake your head as if to say, 'Only you... only ever you.' Then, you claw at his legs, pushing him away to tell him enough...

– and he withdraws immediately, shoving you off of him and leaving you coughing and gasping for air on the cold, wooden floor. "I would have killed you if you said yes, you know," he says, point blank. "You're mine alone."

This time, you're not quite sure if he means what he says – or what he means as laughs mirthlessly as you pull yourself together. But in a playful tone, he adds, "But of course, I knew from the start that you'd say no."

Then, you feel it –

His embrace. Gentle. Endearing. Fond.

His soft, tangled bangs fall against your shoulder as he pulls you into his chest.

It’s like he’s become a different person again.

“Come here, my precious Bella," you hear him murmur into your shoulder, tracing a delicate finger along your back as he presses his lips to your spine, and your heart stills.

"Let me draw you a bath."

For a man so cold, his body feels surprisingly warm.

author ps: ANY BDSM should have CLEAR communicated boundaries (established beforehand) and during AND include AFTERCARE. the aftercare was not written (it would be the bath, basically). if you are new to BDSM or considering BSDM please be INFORMED and do not use fanfic and dark content as a basis for it

That light fixture. Those cedarwood floors. The white, speckled wall behind him. If you didn't know any better, you'd say this was one of your dorm rooms – but it couldn't be, right?

You're on your bed with your headphones on, blinds shuttered close, door locked. Your plush blanket is pulled up to your thighs. The room is dark, save for your phone screen, casting a glow on your face.

This is a private matter, after all.

"Is this thing on?"

In front of the camera is him, a mutual you've made from the n.sfw side of twitter, though this is the first time you're seeing his face of all things. He's unbelievably cute, in the most endearing sense of the word, with boyish features and a charming smile that makes you blush. "Hey guys," he says, and his voice sounds somewhat familiar, though you can't quite place your finger on where you might have heard it before. "I know it's been a while."

The numbers in his live go up by the second, chat animated now that he's active. His eyebrows scrunch together as he leans forward to read the comments. Most of them are already demanding he perform something lewd, but some of them surprisingly sweet, asking him how his day's been or complimenting him. He pays neither any mind – rather, his focus goes straight to you.

You almost jump as you hear him call out your username, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "Oh, it's you!" he says with a cheeky grin. "Everyone say hi and follow them too~"

Naturally, you've seen his nudes before – he's amassed quite a following on Twitter posting his body. In fact, you were shocked when he had decided to follow back someone like you, who only ever reposted content or mused online about what kind of things you'd like to have done to you.

So, having a big creator like him even know you exist – let alone mention you on his live – has your face flushed with heat.

Thank god he can't see you through the screen.

"ofc:)" you type, watching as his followers greet you in the chat.

Then, you hear him sigh and relax into his chair. He pushes back the sweep of silver bangs, fingers playing thoughtfully with the strings of his sweatshirt as he browses through the comments on his computer screen. Your eyes widen when he murmurs in a voice so innocent, "So... you wanna see me stroke it now?"

He sounds so damn innocent – he's definitely got that 'boy-next-door' act down, and you can see why his streams get so much attention. You've never watched a stream before, so he has you pulling your blanket over your head, totally embarrassed as his voice drops to a whisper. "Mm, well, I wanna..." he muses, and through your headphones, it feels almost like his breath is in your ear. You watch as he trails his hand lower, down to the waistband of his gray sweatpants. "Been thinking about it all day, actually."

The numbers in his livestream go up.

You can feel desire pooling between your thighs as he teases himself, as he traces the outline that's becoming more and more apparent through his sweats. He's gazing down at himself sensually, watching himself grow with these half-lidded eyes, lips parted slightly and curved in a lazy smile. There's something angelic about his face, however sinful it might be to think so. "Can I tell you guys a secret?" he asks sheepishly, and you can almost make out a faint blush on his cheeks as he glances away from the camera, fingers dancing around the lean muscle of his abdomen. "There's this girl in my lecture hall that I can't stop thinking about.

I really want her... Pretty pathetic of me, huh?"

The chat goes wild with comments. Some users sexually degrade him, calling him filthy names; others say they'd gladly swap places with his classmate. He glances at the screen briefly, swiping his tongue across his lips as he browses through before choosing a few users to respond to. "I know, I'm a bit of a loser for that," he says with a soft laugh. Then, in a more serious tone, he adds, "But really, I could never... just thinking about her, honestly... she's just so...

Ah, sh-shiit..."

Freeing himself from his boxers, you're met with the sight of it in all of its glory, tip leaking with precum and pulsing with need. His breath hitches in his throat when he first wraps his fingers around it. You hear him hiss from his own touch; he looks away shyly as he strokes it once, as he gathers the moisture on his hand and pumps it up and down. Then, clamping his other hand over his mouth, these soft, sweet moans fall delicately from his lips as he thrusts his hips up to meet his fist – as he strokes himself faster and faster.

Just as soon as you think he's about to cum...

"Nngh, f-fuck – ..." he seethes, letting go of himself completely.

Holding back what sounds like something between a moan and a sob, he buries his face into his elbow, stammering out curses in between ragged pants; you catch a glimpse of desperate eyes before he throws his head back, palming the oversensitive tip until his body's shaking, pleasuring himself in a way that makes his hips lurch forward, in a way that brings him so close to the edge that he's just about ready to fall apart. "So good... wanna... c-cum..."

– and the chat floods with messages instantly.

x69princess96x: 'don't' _daddywuvsu_: 'you haven't earned it' milf9_32193: 'no way!!! 🙄' user704829103: 'beg for it'

"Please–" He's so tense that you can almost feel it through the screen. "Please... please, please..."

Then, his eyes flash with something you've never seen before in someone before – pure, animalistic want as his eyebrows knit tightly, as his lips part in need, as he pleads for release –

and he's looking straight at the camera, so sickening sexy. "Please, need it…"

You find yourself aching in your core, clinging to your screen with widened eyes when suddenly, you hear your username unraveling from his lips. "How about you... You'd... you'd let me cum, right?"

Oh, god. He's not ... doing this again, right? It's embarrassing, honestly. He's sitting up in his bed, shrouded in shadow, nothing but the city light revealing the faint blush that's crept its way onto his cheeks as he traces your sweet lips in his mind, as he thinks back to the day's events and lets each fleeting interaction he had this with you this morning linger just a little longer than he should.

Your fingers brushed against his today when you settled the teacup in front of him. You might not have noticed, the way he retracted his hand so quickly, but it made him tremor slightly. It was a complete accident, he knows, but it sent him into a whirl nevertheless.

You and Akutagawa have been acquainted for awhile – you're far from intimate, but you're acquainted. You know him as Gin's older brother, and he ... he's had a crush on you for the longest time, but he doubts you've ever noticed.

For some unknown reason, he's captivated by you. Perhaps it's the way you never flinch at his temper, poking fun at it instead. Maybe it's how you see him for how he truly is, in a way that almost scares him. Or maybe it's something much simpler than that – the way you do your hair or your nails. Your vibrant laugh. Your warmth and how it soothes his emptiness. Who knows.

It's innocent thoughts tonight. That's what he insists. What it might be like to hold your hand in his, for example. Your hands must be warm; he felt its radiant heat for the brief second it touched his, or maybe he had just imagined it, and it was the steam of the teacup tickling his skin. Still, he'd like to think it was you; he'd like to picture those hands of yours smoothing along his slender waist, maybe as you'd hold him close the way he wishes he could hold you...

He'd like to picture those hands of yours caressing the protrusion of his cheekbone, brushing against it skin. He thinks of what it might feel like for you to run your thumb over his lips. He thinks of you running your hands through his hair, rearranging the strands of black and silver as you rake your fingers through his scalp. Then, for some reason, he thinks about what it might be like to have your fingernails scraping down his back, and he wonders what it might be like to fall on top of you.

His thoughts drift. He should be thinking about other things, he knows. He's wasting time again, he knows – and it makes him feel furious with himself. He should think about important things, like the infiltration strategy Chūya went over in today's meeting, but he's thinking about you instead.

Now, his hand is reaching for the covers, and he's lifting it up just to look as if he doesn't already know what he's going to see there.

He's hard, and it's pathetic.

Akutagawa hisses at the way his body betrays him. Can he not control his own sexual desires? He feels so pathetic –

But if this is what it takes, he'll just have to get it done and over with.

His hand reaches for the bottom of his shirt. He tugs it just slightly above his navel, inhaling quietly as the cold air hits him. Then, he closes his eyes and delicately traces the lean muscle of his abdomen, pretending it's your finger instead of his that's faintly dancing across his skin. It's gentle, the way he touches himself. It's the way he imagines you would do it, your touch soft and forgiving.

Then, he sighs softly, and he sinks deeper into the mattress. He trails his fingers lower, and he reaches for himself. This is the worst part of it... the most shameful part, he thinks. The part he can never bring himself to resist. His fingers wrap around his length through his boxers, and he finds himself pulsing with need. He lets out a muffled sound as his face flushes with heat. Then, slowly, he feels it through the fabric, picturing it's your hand and not his that's pleasuring him.

He'd like to think he's better than this. That he's not some horndog that needs to be relieved by fucking his own hand –

– But he wants it

He craves it.

He shuffles his boxers down his legs, then pulls the blanket up over his head. It's not like anyone can actually see him, but it's too embarrassing to be exposed, even in the dark. Then, he fists himself, grasping the shaft firmly in his hand with a grunt as he strokes himself faster.

It feels too good to touch himself like this – rougher and without restraint. His lips part in a sinful moan, and he quickly shoves his other hand against his mouth, forcing himself to be quiet. Shut up, he tells himself as he pants – he'll sound so stupid if he's loud.

His thoughts are full of you. Thoughts of filling you, more like it, as he jerks his hips toward his hand. He can picture it all in detail now – how gorgeous you'd look bouncing on top of him, your plush thighs holding him down, your dainty fingers tangled in his hair as you ride him. This time, he can't hold back as he groans softly, gasping as he chases after his imagination frantically, wishing he was fucking you instead of his hand – just a little closer and he's there.

And he knows better than to cum on his own stomach. He does – really. He should know better, at least. But it'll ruin it if he stops right now –

– so, he gets on his stomach anyway, rolling his hips against the mattress, rutting desperately against the blanket.

And he feels so pathetic, knowing he's better than this.

But it's 3 AM.

You're on his mind again.

All he can do is close his eyes and pretend he's fucking you instead of his own hand.

You shrink slightly at Jōno's touch, flashing an anxious glance toward Tachihara– but your boyfriend's warm hands soothe you, slender fingers stroking the side of your cheek reassuringly. Jōno pauses, waiting for a signal to continue. "Don't worry, baby," your boyfriend murmurs, glaring at his counterpart. "I'll keep him in check. You just tell me when it's too much. Okay, angel?"

"You heard him," Jōno repeats, voice mocking. "He'll keep me in check."

The warmth of Jōno's breath along your neck is tempting. His fingers dance along the hem of your shirt and you shiver, shy to his unfamiliar touch. "You can kiss me if you'd like," he whispers, voice low as his lips tease your ear, his hand caressing the side of your neck. "I promise I'll play extra nice."

You glance at Tachihara for permission before you let Jōno capture your lips. Then, it's complete surrender. He sweeps his tongue into your mouth, guiding your arms around his broad shoulders, then adjusts you into his lap. You feel him reach for the base of your neck to seal your lips tighter against his. To your surprise, he's as gentle as he promised. "Ah, you're a good girl, aren't you?" he breathes, pulling away and leaving you gasping. "–and excited already, huh?" he smirks. "Shame all these clothes are in the way."

"Let's take these off, angel," Tachihara whispers, and you can feel your boyfriend's arms wrap around your shoulders from behind, unbuttoning your blouse. "Look at me, baby," he coos, lips on the nape of your neck. He tilts your chin toward him, collapsing his lips onto yours. "Let Jōno see what's all mine before I let him have you." You could swear you see him glare at his counterpart possessively from the corner of his eye.

It's embarrassing– you never thought you'd end up in a position like this, but here you are. When your boyfriend is done undoing your blouse, his hands are all over you, and your breasts are bare for the both of them as Tachihara discards your shirt on the floor. "Fuck, baby," he groans, and you can tell how hot he's getting just from watching you squirm under his touch. "Look at you. You're fucking perfect– god, and you fit so well in my hands."

You gasp when Tachihara steals you away, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you into his lap so you're straddling him instead. "She’s perfect, Jōno– isn’t she?”

"She is," you're surprised to hear him whisper behind you– gentle affirmation instead of scoffing disdain– and when you turn to him, all you find is Jōno observing you closely, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat, lips pursed. He wants his turn with you. Tachihara grins at Jōno’s envy, snatching your attention back with a deep kiss and pulling you in by your throat.

"Don't tell me you want his attention more than mine now?" he teases, fingers running through your hair. You feel your head spin as he forces you to glance back at Jōno– "Look how pathetically hard he is just from watching you get hot from me. Don't you think you should help him out a little?"

With a soft 'mhm,' you get on your knees. It's not a moment more before your nimble fingers are reaching for him, jostling his belt. "Mm, so eager," Jōno muses, chuckling to himself as you stare up at him with waiting eyes. "What happened to that shy girl from just a few minutes ago?"

You glance away, blushing at his words. "Ah, I didn't say stop– did I?" he corrects you, pressing the pad of his thumb to your chin. You shake your head in apology, continuing to undress him. "Such a sweet face..." You can feel your heart in your chest as he traces your cheek, finger circling around the plump of your lips. "To think I'd see Tachihara's girl make such a sexy face," he whispers lowly, discarding his belt on the floor.

It’s wet and hot– heat flushed to the tip that's pearled with precum, pulsing in the palm of your hand. You thought you'd be more hesitant to touch him, but something about Jōno is so enticing and delicious. He melts into your mouth, warm on your tongue. Could this sadist be like any other man after all?

It curves slightly, unlike that of your boyfriend, a different feeling in your throat as you take it until you gag. Then, you feel his fingers meshing in your hair. Beautiful, pale fingers that push the tendrils away from your face, then grab you by your cheeks. You let out a slight ‘eek’ as he forces you to gaze up at him, his face stern. “You like being a little slut, don’t you?” he mutters, voice slightly strained. “I would have never fucking guessed it.”

Then come his moans… These sounds you’ve never heard from him, so raw and exciting. Sounds that get caught in his throat as he shoves himself into your throat until you choke– “How long have you… been thinking about this?” he questions, biting back a gasp, and you watch as a grin spreads across his lips with every thrust. “Taking me so fucking well– you ever… think about me when you and Tachihara fuck–…?”

– "Shut up," your boyfriend snaps. "Look at that, baby. You sucked him so well, he got a little ego boost," he scoffs. "Why don't you come here and let me give you a reward, instead?" After a beckoning you with a few pats on the mattress, you join Tachihara in the bed timidly, much to Jōno's irritation. Immediately, you find yourself wrapped lovingly in your boyfriend's arms. You ease back into the firmness of his chest as he nestles into your neck, pampering you with kisses as he flashes Jōno an arrogant grin. "Mm, I know, baby, Jōno's selfish, isn't he?" he sighs, glaring at his comrade. "You did too good, angel."

His hand cupping your heat, you succumb to your boyfriend, body curling into him as you mewl out his name. "Ha, is my girl that much a slut she got that wet for another man?" he muses, fingers reaching into panties to dip into your folds, voice a soft hum in your ear as you bury your face into his neck. Your body shudders as you feel him collect arousal on his fingertips, then feel him plunge his fingers deep inside you unprovoked. “Liar…” he scoffs as you shake your head frantically to prove him wrong, "– but I'll always fuck you better and you know that."

Now, it's Tachihara getting on his knees, pinning your hips down on the mattress and throwing your thighs over his shoulders– and if there's anything to be said about your boyfriend when it comes to oral, it's that he's a messy eater, and the most eager to have you make a mess out of him. You can feel his hands grip your hips so tightly, breath hot against your flesh as he brings his mouth against your aching cunt.

"Come on, don't be shy," you hear him groan, "I know how dirty you really are." His voice is tempting, his kisses hungry as they travel down your thigh. Your heart pounds– you’re holding your breath, then curling your fist around messy auburn hair when you feel him bury his face into you and lap you up. Then, it’s all spilling out of you shamelessly, words that you'd never dare to say in front of anyone except your boyfriend. Meanwhile, Jōno is in awe as his image of you distorts, as you beg for Tachihara to fuck you senselessly into oblivionm. "Ah, that's more like it– that's my girl," your boyfriend smirks as he laps you up. “So dirty for me.”

Then, as he stands from his place on the floor, you listen for the sound of his belt and the rustling of his slacks as he positions himself above you. "I'm gonna put it in, baby. That okay?" You nod, realizing this whole time that he's only been a spectator to you and Jōno.

You wait, lips pursed as he guides himself inside you. You’ve done this with him so many times before, but every time just feels so good. That perfect thickness that stretches you out so deliciously– and you swallow his cock up completely as it pushes past your slick folds, moaning out for him and reaching instinctuvely for your boyfriend’s hands. “Don’t make that cute face at me,” he murmurs as you blink up at him to find that compulsory, half-grin on his face. “Not in front of Jōno. That face is for me, only,” he whispers, palm stroking the side your cheek.

Then, glancing toward his counterpart, he muses out loud, "Speaking of which, I should probably let Jōno get some of this too, right?"

There's a long pause of silence. Then, abruptly, you're tossed onto your knees and pushed firmly into the mattrress– "Never."

You feel Tachihara's fingertips dig into the plush of your ass, then you feel him grab you by your hips and slam you hard and fast against him. "You're fucking mine. I'm gonna be the one to cum inside you."

Then, the void is filled with nothing but pants of 'Michi, yes, yes, yes,' and it's no one but the two of you– and you can hardly remember what it feels like to be empty, to not be filled by him, what form your body takes when it's not wrapped around his length– his complete ownership of your body as he pulls the entirety of himself out only to shove himself back inside with just as much vigor. You can hardly remember what it's like to not be filled by him. What form your body takes when it's not wrapped around his length.

"Fuck," you hear, his voice ragged and heavy in your ear. His fingers curl around the base of your neck as he manipulates your body, standing you up, so you can kiss him one more time before you fall apart in his arms. "You want it, baby? You want my cum?"– it's the last thing you hear before you unravel– that and the sound of your own muffles cries, stammers of his name as his fingers seek you between the legs, then the beautiful sound of Tachihara's own moans against your neck, so sweet as he shudders into you. "Fuck, yes, take me," he groans, then you feel him collapse against your back.

"You're a fucking sadist... You might even be worst than me." Jōno mutters. "I guess your time in Port Mafia wasn't a complete waste, after all."

"Please," Tachihara scoffs, pushing his hair back with an exhausted sigh. Then, he chuckles warmly, reaching for your head to rustle your hair with gentle fingers. "It has nothing to do with that and everything to do with her."

author ps: im not caught up in the bsd chapters so forgive me for inaccuracies... also my first time doing pwop so forgive me!! T_<