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helplesslypurple77 · 5 months

Text

~my spirits sleeping somewhere cold~

Summary: The day after the incident you wake with an itch in your throat. And as you stare at the white ceilings of your familiar bedroom, you get a feeling of foreboding.

The dressing process is subdued, the soft feel of clothes on your skin not enough to dull the insistant pain, the large gaping hole in your chest that will never be filled. You choke up lily petals in the bathroom."

Warnings: Hanahaki, angst, major character death, religious symbolism, i'm not religious, flower language.

Notes: this is something, i guess. I've been in really bad shape emotionally lately, and money’s been really tight so all the stress is just welling up i guess. That's part of the reason I topped my other au week thin, I'm just not in the mood to craft plots and write smut. I don't know.

Title from ‘Jar of Hearts’ by Christina Perry

...

The day after the incident you wake with an itch in your throat. And as you stare at the white ceilings of your familiar bedroom, you get a feeling of foreboding.

There's a yawning ache in your chest, a cavity that will never be filled. You don't want to get up. You don't want to suffer. You wish god would take you instead of him. But God is not a merciful creature, that you have come to know all too well.

The dressing process is subdued, the soft feel of clothes on your skin not enough to dull the insistant pain, the large gaping hole in your chest that will never be filled.

You choke up lily petals in the bathroom.

𓇢𓆸

Your cross sits heavily against your breast, under your shirt. You don't typically wear one, the responsibility of God's eyes is too much for you to bear.

But today you wear it in repentance.

There's a tickle in your lungs, underwhelming compared to the aching gap in your chest. He’s stolen your heart, taken it with him in death. You turn your eyes to the sky, so as not to ruin your makeup with tears.

You hate yourself for your pathetic lovesick nature. Yellow petals are choking up your throat, daffodils and chrysanthemums. You spit them into the grass before you enter the detective agency.

You don't need to burden them with your plight. At least not yet.

𓇢𓆸

You look up the meanings of the flowers when you're in the office, your fingers trembling as you read the words.

Lilys, purity. Daffodils, rejection. Chrysanthemums, slighted love. You choke down the tickle in your throat, closing the tabs with shaky fingers.

“The meaning of flowers?” It's Ranpo, pearing curiously over your shoulder. You force a smile, perfect in your broken heart.

“My friend wants a bouquet.” You tell him, shooing him away too his work.

And as he meanders off, you congratulate yourself. At least until the petals choke up your throat and you slope away discreetly to the bathroom.

You throw up petals into the toilet.

𓇢𓆸

A week after the incident you choke up an entire flower. It hurts, the thorny stems of a small rose, its petals a dark unnatural black. You crumple the delicate petals in your hand, muffling your tears into a towel before quickly reapplying your makeup. Covering your dark circles. You haven't been sleeping.

Death's heavy hand is hovering over your head, weighing you down with the weight of your sin. The sin of eternal love. The sin of pure devotion.

He stands behind you, death. With his hand on your shoulder, taunting you. He laughs at your misery, at your pain. He plays his melodies of death, his requiem, his Lacrimosa, truly a lady of sorrow. You shed enough tears and pain to be allowed the title, although you have yet to birth the son of god. You don't think you will. You know your death is around the corner. It will come when the bells toll, when the stems growing in your lungs eat at your insides. The pain drives you mad. You choke up as many flowers as you can before you leave for work.

𓇢𓆸

“Name?” Atsushi says, his hands clutching the papers in his hands. He's a kind boy, cute and sweet. You spare him a small smile, biting back the petals in your throat. The boy shuffles his feet nervously.

“Are you doing ok?” Atsushi asks, the question almost too much for your delicate sensibilities. You almost cry, try8ing your best to give him a smile.

“Im doing well.” You reply, the weight of the lie hanging heavy on your chest, the cold metal of the cross judging you.

The boy leaves, called away but he still eyes you, worried.

You wish you fell for Atsushi instead, for his kindness, for his selflessness.

𓇢𓆸

They're getting suspicious. This you know. But you smile and keep your mouth shut and muffle your choking as much as you can. You don't need to burden them any more than you already have. You must die without a fuss.

You had long ago learned how to fool Ranpo, how to get around his almost all knowing intellect. For the key was withholding the crucial fact. Because he could not come to a conclusion without it, and you were sick in your misery. You could never burden them. Never bear to see their eyes of disappointment, their eyes of confusion.

‘How could you love him?’ you were sure they would say.

You couldn't explain, you didn't know yourself.

And then you couldn't stop the flowers that ripped out of your throat, spilling onto the office floor. The white petals of the lilies were stained red with blood.

You didn't see much as you fainted.

𓇢𓆸

You wake in the infirmary, a worried circle of your coworkers surrounding you. The worry on their faces almost makes you sob. You bite back the lilies as Yosano waves them away.

They file out single files, varying looks of confusion on their faces. The door slams.

“How long do you have left?” It's Yosano, arms crossed, eyes disapproving.

“About two weeks.” your voice is rough, choked. A petal falls from your lips.

“Is there no solution?” Yosano asks you, her voice choked with emotion. The sigh that escapes your lips is more than a thousand words.

“The dead cannot return the love of the living.”

Yosano wipes her tears before you see them.

“Rest.” She says, closing the door behind her.

𓇢𓆸

The meeting is solem, confused eyes meeting red rimmed eyes. All the eyes turn to Yosano as she enters the room, her own eyes red. Fukuzawa is the first one who dares the speak, from his place at the head of the table.

“What is going on.”

Yosano sinks into a chair, hand scrubbing at her eyes. The words she speaks are damning.

“Hanahaki.”

The room sinks into a tense silence, a broken silence, a confused silence. The emotions are a whirl in the room, the atmosphere choking, cloying, unpleasant. Someone muffles a sob into their clothes, Kenji or Atsushi or Naomi, it doesn't matter. Yosano composes herself, dropping plain information on the people in the room.

“She's choking on Lilies and Daffodils, and she won't last much longer.” She says, the words plain and almost cruel. Kenji curls up into himself, his head resting on his knees. Kunikida, sitting beside him, pats his back.

“Who is it?” It's Atsushi, his voice choked up, his eyes shining with unshed tears. The room is suddenly silent, waiting with bated breaths for the escape, the hope that this could end. Yosano hates to break their fragile hope, but she repeated the words you had said to her.

“The dead cannot return the love of the living.”

𓇢𓆸

The green bottle sitting in your hand is your escape. Arsenic is a simple plan, easy to execute, to end your suffering. The lilies are choking your throat. You want to escape.

There are letters on your bed, piled around you, addressed to the ones you love. You don't want to leave them, but you don't want to suffer,

The bottle is your escape.

With a pop of finality, with a last look at the world around you, you drink the poison. It's tasteless, coloreless, odorless.

It lulls you into your final sleep. You can see him, your doomed love. Fyodor, standing on the other side. You slip into death with open arms, broken hearted but peaceful.

𓇢𓆸

Something is wrong. Atsushi feels it, the weight on his chest, the knowledge that you, a trusted coworker and beloved friend are going to die. And theres nothing to be done about it. The meeting is silent, as the words sink in, and then, it is exposed.

People are talking, arguing, yelling over each other, words and questions and angry accusations. Atsushi covers his ear, tears welling in his eyes.

And then, that feeling, that horrible dawning feeling that something is wrong. Almost silent, he stands, slipping out of the infirmary door, Ranpo and Yosano on his heels. He can see the dread painted on their faces, the same dread that wells in his stomach, which eats him out from the inside. The hallway is short, the infirmary door at the very end, but it feels like forever, like the hallway will never end and you’ll die out of reach.

But finally, they reach the door.

It's quiet in the infirmary, the bed that you lay in still, letters scattered neatly around your body. You're too still. Atsushi flies forward, the other on his heels.

Your face is serene in death, the lilies and chrysanthemums scattered around you, a makeshift memorial. There's a bottle beside your hand, empty. The label is a death sentence.

“Arsenic.” its Ranpo, choked up and angry, his fists by his sides. Atsushi chokes on a sob.

The infirmary door opens with a crack, the others joining them. The entire room hangs in a state of disbelief, of despair. And then the accusations fly.

It's loud. Atsushi covers his ears, eyes dripping small tears onto the floor of the infirmary. He feels weak when he cries, but he’s sure the orphanage director will spare him this much.

𓇢𓆸

You left them letters. Personal letters addressed to each of them, and even some for the port mafia members. They read them in the meeting room, solemn and silent.

But there's one letter that sticks out, an unaddressed, blank envelope. They know they shouldn't open it. But they do, and it confirmed their fears and biases.

For there are only a few words on the paper, a few damning words.

“From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore—

For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—

Nameless here for evermore.”

𓇢𓆸

They bury you with Lilies, Carnations, and tears. The finality of death painted on your face.

...

Endnotes: I don't know, this exists now. The Raven is a favorite of mine, ever since i read it in middle school. Edgar Allan Poe(the real one) was one fucked up dude

also i know its a little cringy to bend on a poem but i honestly don't care

(also i wholeheartedly believe Fyodor is not dead, but im still crying over it. pathetic i know)

#bungou stray dogs #mariannacrxss #bsd x reader #fyodor x reader #hanahaki disease #angst #angst without a happy ending #major character death

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helplesslypurple77 · 5 months

Text

~i wish i was special, your so fucking special~

Summary: "But a woman's intuition is a clever thing, a strong thing not to be overlooked, a thing you must trust, for, as they say, where there is smoke, there is certain to be fire. And for you, that fire came in the form of a betrayal, a betrayal that could break you, if you moved it too. But feminine rage is also a divine thing, a destructive fire, incinerating everything in its path. "

Warnings: Smut, Dazai cheats on you, mildly unhealthy relationships to really unhealthy relationships, reader isn't in a good headspace~

Notes: i have been in such a depressive mood, so i decided to channel that into a story. I hope my feelings came through to you.

Also this isn't really a story about healthy relationships. Both Dazai and Fyodor are kind of assholes, although Fyodor is slightly less of one. The reader is not in a very good mental state. But that's what makes it spicy…

also this story is not for the Dazai lovers. although i am one.

...

It was snowing the day it happened. Big fat snowflakes falling gently from the sky, pressing kisses to your nose. They piled beneath your feet, along the sides of the roads in big fluffy piles, much akin to the clouds that would fill the sky during the summer months. They settled on the trees, painting their bare spindly branches a dirty gray white. It was dark, late at night as you hurried home, the street lights painting the white snow with yellow pure light.

It was cold, but not unpleasantly cold, your breath perfuming in the air around your face as you huffed out breaths, the heels of your boots sinking into the snow and clicking against the pavement. Your hair, let down around your shoulders, fell gently around you, floating like a cloud in the air. Your cheeks flushed from the cold, hands shoved deep in the pockets of your fur coat. The hat upon your head kept the warmth in, hugging your head gently.

You were feeling anxious. You didn't know why, it was a feeling that had persisted, that had been niggling at the corner of your brain, spilling unease into each and every corner of your body. The feeling had eaten at you, and you had buried yourself in your word to dull it, to dull that horrible dawning sensation of understanding. You were a weak woman, burying a poorly disguised inferiority complex under your fake bravado. It was most obvious in your incessant application of makeup, your occasional breakdown in the shower where you cried and cried, muffling your tears in the shower, letting the warm water wash them away.

For you to cry in front of Dazai was a pathetic thing, to let a man so confident and strong see your tears almost break you each time. You were a lucky woman to have such a man as your boyfriend, a handsome confident man who could have any woman he wanted. You knew this, and so you muffled your tears and that yawning feeling of dread opening a cavity in your stomach and told yourself that everything was alright.

But a woman's intuition is a clever thing, a strong thing not to be overlooked, a thing you must trust, for, as they say, where there is smoke, there is certain to be fire. And for you, that fire came in the form of a betrayal, a betrayal that could break you, if you moved it too. But feminine rage is also a divine thing, a destructive fire, incinerating everything in its path.

The snow caught on the bushes in the front lawn of your apartment as you made your way upstairs. The snow landed gently on the red berries, melting fast but yet just as fast replaced by another snowflake until the bushes and their red berries were dusted lightly with a decorative powder. The lights that hung from the trees in the front gave the entire scene a picturesque holiday feel, and yet that yawning pit of dread still ate at you from the inside out.

Heels clicking on the metal of the stairs, loud but not loud enough. Muffled by the snow. Loud only to you. Most of the rooms in the apartment you share with your boyfriend are empty, and all the lights beside your own are extinguished, lending an air of abandoned solitude to the surrounding. It's a bleak picture to your mind, and a foreboding chorus to the bouts of angst to come.

Your apartment is at the end of the row, all the way on the top floor. It takes barely a minute to walk the length and yet it feels like an hour, those feelings of dread you still cannot place eating you from the inside out, causing your legs to tremble in an unhealthy anticipation. You still don't know the cause, simply your misplaced intuition, and so you soldier on, passing the abandoned apartments.

Miss Smith, an alcoholic who had abandoned the apartment in a drunken haze, Ms Katya Ivanova, a pretty woman with blond hair that had been arrested for reasons unknown and dragged away kicking and screaming. Dazai had informed you what a shame it had been. You supposed she had been nice, but you had never really interacted that much. And finally, the old apartment next to yours. Owned by Ms Petrova, a kindly old lady that had died just last month. You had cried, the pathetic woman you had become, mourned her death like she was your own mother.

And at last, you arrive at your door, your gloved hand resting on the handle, not daring to open. Your body is frozen, unable to simply push open the unlocked door, afraid of the unknown, of what you might find there. You don't know why you're afraid, it's simply that yawning pit of sorrow, the gate to hell housed in the pit of your stomach. The feeling that something is wrong, but you simply can't place it, can't banish it, and so you must exist in this anxious state until something, or someone, breaks it.

You stand still before your door, the door you and your boyfriend had lived behind for three years now, a door with the familiar numbers 4B, partially rusted and close to falling off. Behind this door you had happy memories, sad memories, memories of all kinds. You simply can't bear it, you can't bear whatever you know, somewhere deep in your consciousness that you will find something that will change your life. You don't want things to change, you want to stay with your boyfriend who you love deeply, to keep your ok job at the ok law firm you worked at and to spend the holiday season happy, content, if not wealthy. It's all you’ve ever asked, to be content and loved, and yet it seems too much for whoever was spinning this dreadful wheel of fate. You had always lived your life kindly, a person who would bend over backwards for the needs of others, a person who loved first, hated never. This was your philosophy, a belief you stood by.

You took a deep breath, and opened the door. The hallway was dark, despite the lights you knew lighted the windows, despite the low murmur of voices coming from another room. You don't bother to take off your coat, your eyes catching on the unfamiliar coat and high heels placed in your spot. You already know what you will find as you make your way down the darkened hallway, towards the small bedroom you share with your boyfriend, but somehow you still hold out hope. You hope desperately that he really loved you, that the woman's clothes are presents for you, or his mothers clothes. You pray even, a desperate prayer to any god who may be listening, that he loves you, that you won't find him cheating. But of course, because your intuition has never steered you wrong, because that yawning pit of despair was correct, that's exactly what you find.

The door to your bedroom creaks as you open it, the light from the main room casting a sliver of golden light upon the bodies on the bed, twisted together under the covers, embracing in a love you thought you shared. The pit of despair, the anxiety, and get of hell that perpetually follows you opens up, swallowing your heart with finality. You turn, walking back down the hall, holding back the angry tears welling up in your throat. You're not surprised, how could you be, it was obvious really. But you had ignored the signs, refused them, rebuked them, wanting compassion and kindness that you knew he could never give you. He had warned you.

“I'm broken.” Dazai had said, hands caressing your own.

“I stray to temptations my belladonna, i cannot commit to you and you alone.”

You had foolishly thought that you could fix him, that you were good enough to make an ex-mafia member stray onto the path to the good, the path of the faithful. You curse yourself as Dazai stumbles out of the bedroom, chasing you, the woman behind him. You don't stop, even as he calls your name, a desperate plea.

“Wait, Name.” He says, his hands catching the end of your coat, yanking you to a halt. Biting your lip, your turn, holding back the tears. Dazai runs a hand through his messy brown hair, Katya Ivanova standing behind him, clutching her clothes to her almost naked frame. She looks as pretty as ever, her blond locks only lightly mussed, perfect even in sex. The woman he always told you not to worry about. You don't feel jealousy as you look at her, only a strange kind of acceptance.

“What, Dazai.” You say, your voice calm, not a tremble in sight. You comment yourself on your acting, even as the despair tears you apart from the inside.

“Bela…” He starts, once again mussing his hair. He's clothed only in pants and a few remaining bandages on his torso and arms. Lipstick marks and hickeys mar his pale skin, clear evidence of his activities. You bite back tears. You refuse to cry in front of these two.

“Belladonna…” Dazai says, seemingly at a loss for words. It seems he can't even beg for your forgiveness, and you only feel a cold kind of acceptance as you gently shake his hand off your coat, and walk towards the door.

“I hope you two live happily.” You say, turning one more time to look at them. What a picture they make, so pretty on the surface, but ugly underneath, where it really matters. And with one last small smile, you close the door behind you.

It's still snowing, but the scenery no longer feels peaceful and festive. No, now it feels cold and lonely and bleak and as you hurry away, the tears start. Fat, hot tears running down your flushed cheeks and hitting the snow below you as you walk slowly away from the apartment, to where you do not know. The streets are abandoned, dead in the still of the night and you can cry, tears a welcome relief from the tense anxiety that had hounded you not hours earlier.

You love him, loved that man with all of your pathetic little heart. Imagined a future with him, imagined kids, devoted your entire being to him. You tried your best, applying makeup and sucking dick and laughing at his jokes but you were not enough it seemed. Never as good as Katya Ivanova, effortless in her seductions, with her pretty blond hair and blue eyes, with her perfect body and bimbo brain. You would never be her.

The tears are freeing, in a way. They wash away your sadness and betrayal and also your makeup and then the anger comes. White hot and ger that pours in with each tear that trails down your face. Pure, unadulterated rage.

If he can do that, if he can seduce women as he pleases, you shall feel no shame in seducing men. And you know just the one to target. The rage burning your body, your steps imbued with it as you march on, given a purpose, at least temporarily. You will make him hurt. You will make Dazai, a man with nerves and emotions of steel, feel the same burning anger and anxiety and sadness and betrayal that you feel.

⋆꙳•❅*‧ ‧*❆ ₊⋆

You know these neighborhoods well, the places you had watched Dazai and Fyodor argue over things from philosophy to what was the best fruit. They like to argue, oh yes they did, and their rivalry was something you hope to exploit. But your tears wouldn't stop. It was pathetic and sad but you sholdeird on, walking up to the small picturesque cottage and knocking politely on the door.

It was a nice cottage, with a few trees scattered around the lawn and a little bird fountain covered in a light dusting of snow and ice. The whole place feels welcoming, more wealthy than you and Dazai could ever afford. You try your best to whipe your tears, but alas there is nothing you can do. Fyodor was always kind to you, treating you with a certain amount of delicacy, like you were a glass fairy statue, pretty but easily breakable. You find you like this, very much.

You had always been a bit of a prize in their arguments. At least on Daazai’s side. But not enough to make him stay, not enough to make him loyal. You let the tears flow freely, tired of trying to hold back.

The door opens with a small crack, the light spilling out onto the lawn, onto your tearstained face. That familiar face looks out, eyes alighting in surprise upon your tear stained face, your obvious distraught expression.

“Name, what a surprise it is to see you.” Fyodor says, opening the door wider and letting the light spill across your sinner's body. You look up through your lashes, mouth trembling as you lean forward, gripping the fabric of his shirt.

“Make it go away.” You whimper into the fabric, clutching it like a lifeline, as if it's the only thing between you and something terrible, something you never want to see.

Fyodor always seems to understand everything. Perhaps he reads you like an open book, dark eyes scanning the pathetic words that make up your being, reading your emotions, drawing them in a beautiful canvas, the world of his brain. He is a beautiful creature, dangerous and smart and a bit all knowing.

You tears are falling faster now, soaking the cotton fabric of his white shirt, cries muffled against him.

Fyodor’s thin hands grip your waist, maneuvering you inside, closing the door on the coldness behind you. The hallway is an illusion, something you can't even comprehend. All you can see is him, his hair brushing his chin lightly, his dark eyes locked on yours, his thin clothes. You whisper the words again, almost a silent prayer.

“Oh god Fyodor.” You whimper, imploring him with your eyes. “Make me dumb. Fuck me until i dont need to think anymore.”

Fyodor’s mouth curves into a small smirk, eyes locking on your own. His hands are cold, soothing as they reach up, cupping your face and smoothing your tears away.

“What about your boyfriend darling?” He asks, a cruel question really. You are sure he already knows the answer. Fyodor can be a cold man sometimes.

“Cheated.” Is all you whisper, still pressed against his heat. His body is lean, heat radiating from his frame despite his weak physical condition. You know he can make you forget.

Complicated emotions make their way across Fyodor’s face as he holds you. His big hands caressing your waist, sending little shockwaves of heat to your poor pussy, dripping against your panties. Your fantasies and desire have already driven you wild, a temptress of aphrodite, a sinner desiring the man who holds you, teasing you until you might simply explode.

“Fyodor.” You whisper, looking up at him through your lashes, begging for his love, hands working at the top few buttons of his shirt.

His response is to lean down, mouth pressing a achingly sweet kiss upon your lips. You melt into the sweetness, lured by the kindness, but it seems he has not forgotten your desire to forget. Because all at once the kiss is carnal, your back hitting the wall of his apartment in a brutal display of desire. Hands gripping fabric, the sounds of ripping fabric as his hands toss your coat aside, the buttons on your button down scattering in his eagerness.

Fyodor’s kisses are like a sweet poison. A desire that overcomes your senses, begging you to steal more. And there are more for the taking, many more as he pants against your neck, laying open mouth kisses against it, as you moan. Your back is still supported by the wall, trapped between a rock and hard place, pressed between a hard object and a relentless desire. You curve into Fyodor, perhaps begging for him to ruin you, to send you to sin. Fyodor drops to his knees, his mouth pressed against your soaking core. And as your head arches back, you know this is going to be a long, wonderful night.

The way his hands touch your body, the way his mouth worships your cunt, the way your hands tangle in his dark lock as you grind your core against his face. It's a pretty picture, a display of beastlike desire. The hallway smells of sex and the air is warm, stifling really. Your hair is wild, the locks falling around your bare shoulders, your makeup already smudged beyond belief. But you find you dont care, as his clever tongue urges an orgasm out of you, as he leaves you hsaking and begging as he flips you around, entering you with one long thrust and shoving you against the wall.

⋆꙳•❅*‧ ‧*❆ ₊⋆

“My Darling.” Fyodor pants against you, as your hands grip at the smooth surface of his table, moans leaking out of your mouth, cum dripping out of your poor abused hole.

“Why are you crying?”

It takes a moment to truly come to, to take in his sentence and formulate a response. His whole house smells of sex, and the two of you had long abandoned the hallway, and moved to other parts of the house. It's an interesting kind of house tour. You're tossed over the kitchen table, body littered with possessive little hickeys. You love them, the fact that he wants to mark you, to keep you, to make you his forever. You love that his cum drips from your holes, that in a way he could possess you, in a way you could be his, have a purpose, have a comfort, have a man who loves you.

“Oh god.” You start. Your words are slightly slurred, and you don't understand how he has so much stamina, considering how physically weak he is.

“Oh Fyodor, I want to be loved.”

The words are vulnerable, and Fyodor’s relentless thrust stutter slightly. Your back arches against the table, hands finally gripping purchase, the end of the table. You feel so loved, so desired. You love it, you love him, Dazai is simply no more. You know he’ll come back, maybe later when your feeling less fucked out, but right now your very satisfied with this feeling, the happiness, the freedom.

A rough thumb on your clit urges you to orgasm, a powerful one. Your back arches off the table, your hands gripping his hair as he leans down, your lips parting in a scream.

“Oh Fyodor, I want to be yours.” You say, the orgasm forcing your true feeling out of the box you had buried deep. Your shaking, your body trembling with the force of the orgasm, his dick still spearing you deep. Your hands reach up aimlessly, searching for skin, for hair, for something. And find it you do, his thin shoulders, already engraved with the evidence of your desire, your fingernails leave more red trails in his pale skin, and he shivers at the pain.

“I’ve always loved you darling.” Fyodor says, his voice a pant. His vulnerable words break through the haze of orgasm, thrilling your heart even as your core clenches around his dick. He finishes his sentence, the words driving you made with desire, with love, with happiness.

“You're mine now.” Fyodor says, hands on your waist, lips on your own, pressing his love and desire on to your skin, painting a beautiful portrait, one that is for you, not for the others.

You're his. You love the words, those possessive desperate words whispered in a haze of arousal and sex. The words that you longed to hear. Because you are a woman who loves it, the possession, the feeling of love that stems from it in return. You know you will love this man, that this man will erase any traces of Dazai that remained, rework you into a beautiful statue, a glass fairy statue perhaps.

You keen into his words, hands gripping that pretty hair and yanking, pulling. He likes it, these little stabs of pain you learned. You are a broken woman, and you suppose this broken man can fix you. FYodor is undoubtedly a monster, a creature of the darkness whose hands are stained with blood. But you know this creature can fix you, pick up the broken pieces of your heart, the heart that had shattered upon the betrayal, and glue them back together, make you whole ounce more.

Your hands are scrabbling now, moving from his hair to his shoulders to his neck. Fyodor lets you, lets you grip his neck, holding the line of his life in your delicate hands. You doubt you could kill him, not that you wanted to, not with the state he’s reduced you too. You're a woman whose will hangs on his hands, whose life hangs at his fingertips, whose mentality is ruined by his dick. You're a woman remade wholy from desire. You find you like it greatly.

“You’ve ruined me.” Are the words that leave your mouth, slurred but still coherent.

Fyodor, eyes alight above you, only smiles. It's a predatory kind of smile, a smirk that shows his sharp canines, a proud smirk. You find you love it, as your pussy clenches down around his dick.

“Oh darling,” Fyodor says, panting the words in a rough grunt. His accent has become thick with lust, clogging his words, clogging his throat. “You say that in a negative light. I think I've simply sucked the sadness out of you. Converted it to white hot pleasure.”

Fyodors hand is working your clit again, hard circles that hurt as much as they feel good. The pleasure and pain is a delicious mix, a dangerous cocktail ruining your senses, driving you crazy for his touch. You think you might indeed become addicted. Your brian is fried, and it takes a lot of work to pull together coherent sentences, and so you simply give up, instead conveying your feelings in a mess of moans and whimpers, in his name leaving your lips like a prayer.

⋆꙳•❅*‧ ‧*❆ ₊⋆

“My darling, I think you're the one who has ruined me.” Fyodor's words are accompanied by a slap, your ass stinging deliciously. You can barely speak, all you can do is keep yourself up, your hands braced against the slippery tiles of the shower. Your mouth parts in whimpers and pants, your pussy still dripping with cum even as the water tries to wash it down the drain. You try your best to prompt his words.

“What do you…” You say, the words slurred and interrupted with moans of pleasure. You don't understand how Fyodor has so much stamina, how he can ruin you over and over and then put you back together with words of kindness and devotion and the possessive hickeys littering your body. You whimper as another orgasm rocks your body. Countless, you’ve lost count.

Fyodor leans down, his wet hair tickling your neck as the length of his chest presses against your back, skin to skin, his beating heart obvious.

“I'm addicted to you.” Are the words he pants in your ear, letting his masks and walls come down fully, his expression a bit crazed, a bit scary. You clench down hard, the beginning of another orgasm shuddering down upon you. His dick, his words, his hands, his thumb on your clit bring you to countless orgasm, your brain fried, coherent words simply impossible. You try your best anyway, as the micro orgasm shakes your body.

“Oh good Fyodor.” You whimper, as your hands scrabble on the wall, as his hands grip your boobs, twisting your nipples. “I’m a sinful woman.”

“Aren't we all, just sinners of god.” The words are a pant, too confusing for your incoherent brain to decipher, but the sound of his voice is pretty. You know his words are a comfort, even if the true gravity won't hit until later. You find yourself thinking that maybe, this was destiny. Fate had lead you to this man, a monster who would caress your body, putting you back together, loving you, craving you.

You take a moment to send out a small thanks, and as another orgasm rocks your body, you simply stop thinking, drowning your feelings in sweet pleasure and pain.

...

Endnotes: i’ve never really written true angst, but now i guess i have. Although I can't help but give it a hopeful ending.

#bungou stray dogs #mariannacrxss #bsd smut #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #fyodor dostoevsky bsd #bsd fyodor #fyodor x reader #dazai x reader #dazai bsd

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helplesslypurple77 · 6 months

Text

AU Week: Detective AU(Dazai/Reader)

Summary:

“Remember Dazai.” You hiss in his ear, as the servant by the door rings the knocker for you. “As of now, I'm your wife.” “I know darling.” He says, giving you a reassuring pat on the back. Your stomach whirls to life, butterflies, leaping and bounding inside you. You don't know if you’ll survive the night, truly

Warnings: Smut~

Notes: I grew up with Nancy Drew, can you blame me? Also at some point the word count got away from me and i had to gloss over the actual mystery bits to get to the smut

then i also simplify the smut a little at the end but it got wayyyyyy to long

...

Even after so many years, the sight of dead bodies still made your stomach curl. You supposed it would never change, that disgusting stench of death, the quiet reverence that permeated the air as you stood before the body, the mangled body of a young woman, life cut much too short. And even though you loved your job, this was most definitely your least favorite part.

The grimy streets of London were as they usually were, dark and unpleasant. The streetlights scattered every ten feet did their best to cut through the blanket of fog that fell at dusk, hiding the surroundings from even the keenest eye. The rain fell in a mist, having been caught in the tail end of its fall. It always rained in London. You didn't mind, you actually liked the dreary atmosphere, as long as you weren't actually in the rain. You preferred to look upon it from inside a warm house.

“How tragic.” Dazai, your investigation partner says, reaching for another chip. He's holding a large bag of them, and as you eye them distastefully he crumples up the empty bag, tossing it into the garbage can. You take a deep, deep breath, letting it out through your nose in one big gust of air. Every day you come one step closer to simply ending it all.

Dazai Osamu is brilliant, that's obvious. Able to solve impossible cases with the barest bits of evidence, to track down serial killers and trick them into confessing. He’s so brilliant, you don't know why he even needs you to be his investigative partner, but he keeps you around, for some reason. You’ve never asked. Perhaps to field the questions he doesn't care to deal with. Or to foil his dumb antics. Or for comic relief.

“Let us investigate, my partner.” Dazai says, grandly swiping a magnifying glass out of his pocket. You take a deep, deep breath.

“Dazai, you shouldn't bring snacks to a crime scene.” You say, mostly for the benefit of the confused police officer standing in the back of the room.

“But that's so boring.” Dazai says loudly, attracting a few angry stares from the police officers scattered across the sight. You send them all small apologetic glances. It's smart to remain on good terms with these officers, because as soon as your small detective Agency loses the trust of the police, you lose cases, and when you lose cases, you can't pay rent.

The body is more gruesome up close, mangled in a totally unnecessary way. Her face is untouched, preserved perfectly in death, but her body is a mess. Her stomach is completely opened up, organs spilling onto the wet sidewalk, blood mixing with the pools of rainwater that run down the street, small red rivers, dashing away downtown. Why does it always rain, you’ll never know. But it always rains in London, that you could count on.

She’s dressed well, in a fine evening gown and sparkling jewels. Her handbag is lying a few feet away, strangely untouched. Dazai leans down, carefully inspecting her rain soaked face.

“Her jewelry is still on her.” You notice, probably stating the obvious. “You’d think the perp would have stolen it. Those are fine jewels.”

Dazai rolls his eyes in your direction. “Obviously, this was a crime of passion.” Dazai says, poking the dead woman's cheek curiously. He says the words like you should already know, and you fight back the urge to roll your eyes. Dazai can grate on the nerves, his assumption that everyone is as smart as him is egregiously wrong. You try not to let his tone affect you in any way.

“Is she wearing makeup?” Dazai directs this at you, and you lean down, carefully inspecting her face. This is one area that Dazai lacks, women's makeup and fashion.

“Yes, she’s obviously dressed for a social engagement. A date or a fancy dinner.” You say, stomach turning as you try your best to avoid the more disturbing area’s, like the stomach. You dislike this part immensely, looking at the dead bodies of people who were just like you once. It makes your thoughts turn dark, scary, and entirely unnecessary. You sigh.

“Wasn't there a ball this evening? A sponsored event I think.” You say, directing this at the police officers standing behind you. It's raining, and yet they stand there, scarily still. Their uniforms were wet with rain.

“A charity ball, sponsored by the Stonewall Corp, Ma’am.” The officer on the right, a handsome young man with a sad-looking face says. You shoot him a thankful smile, and watch as his cheeks flush a little. He’s cute, thin and pale with small eye bags under his gray blue eyes. If you weren't on a murder investigation and bogged down with unrequited feelings of love for your dumb(at least when it came to emotions) partner, you would flirt a little, maybe find the time to sneak off for some ‘fun time’ but alas that's highly inappropriate. Dazai coughs from next to you, still crouching near the body.

“Flirting at a murder scene is in bad taste.” He says, as if he was not just eating an entire bag of chips, in front of a dead body. You take a deep, deep breath, inhaling the smell of the wet london streets, and holding onto your patients with all your might. Dazai is a brilliant man, intelligent and kind but he was also tactless, rude, and a terrible flirt. And maybe it was because of your ill fated crush on him, but every time he criticizes you, every time you felt unwanted and useless, a deep well of sadness opened up in your heart, sucking at your soul and wringing out every ounce of self worth you possessed. It was tragic and pathetic and your patience was running thin. You had been feeling especially emotional and broken lately, and Dazai’s carefree attitude was grating at your nerves.

“Tell me oh so amazing detective, have you finished.” You say, tapping your foot insistently against the wet pavement. “Because I'm cold and wet and I want to go home.” You sound bratty and childish, but you can't bring yourself to care, not right now.

“Geez, cool your jets partner.” Dazai says, giving the body one last ounce over. “Fine, we can go. Hey you there.” He directs this part at the police officer standing behind him, an older gentleman who looks very, very tired.

“Send us an investigation into this woman.” Dazai continues. You shoot both police officers apologetic winces as Dazai pulls his brown coat closer around him, meandering away from the crime scene. You move to follow him.

“Wait Miss, let me walk you home.” It's the police officer from before, the handsome one with the gray eyes. He pulls out an umbrella, holding it over your head. You shoot him a grateful smile. It feels nice to be admired for ounce. He blushes, scratching the back of his head to hide it.

“It's dangerous this late at night.” He says, voice trailing off towards the end.

“No need.” Dazai jumps in, suddenly reappearing in between you and the cute officer rather rudely. The officer jumps back skittishly, giving a defeated little sigh as he tries to protest.

“At least take my umbrella Miss, it looks like it's going to rain.” He says, pressing the umbrella into your grateful hands. And with one last tip of his cap, he's gone.

“It always rains, it's london,” Dazai says, once again heading along the back street. You follow him, your heels clicking on the soaked pavement. The clicks echo about the empty street, accompanied by Dazai’s loud humming and truly unnecessary comments. You roll your eyes in Dazai’s direction.

“Would it kill you to be a little nicer? The police do their best, you know that.” You say, opening the umbrella with a click. The rain begins to come down in earnest, and Dazai ducks under the umbrella as well, crowding into you.

The two of you turn a corner, entering the shopping district. It's late, and most shops have already closed their doors. The only light comes from the street lights, casting rings of light onto the soaked pavement.

Dazai grumbles faintly, something you can't quite hear. You sigh.

“So, any ideas?” You say, extending a little bit of an olive branch. You really do appreciate your partner, and you love him as well, even though he can be childish and annoying. You value his time and intelligence greatly.

Dazai sighs out a great breath, as you turn the corner onto the street that houses your little detective office.

“Just a few things, we don't even know who she is yet.” He sounds tired, and a little depressed, and as the rain starts coming down harder than before the two of you sprint towards the office.

You lock the door behind you with a decisive click, you're not taking any chances. The office is dark, but you can make out the familiar shape of the secretaries desk, and the darkened typewriter. You make your way up the back stairs, Dazai on your heels and open the door to your warm apartment. You share it, to cut rent costs. It's also conveniently placed right above the office. There are two people already in the room, sitting by the fire.

Dr Yosano, one of the people you share the apartment with, is a very old friend of Dazai’s, and a great person to have around when one of you stumbled home, potentially very badly injured. She works as a doctor by day, and sometimes disappears at night. You don't ask her where she goes, she honestly scares you a little. But she’s a very kind woman, who’s known you for years now. She’s sitting across from the fireplace, a book in one hand and a glass of red wine in the other.

Atsushi is curled up in an armchair, textbooks and handwritten notes scattered out on the coffee table in front of him, little sighs gusting from his half parted lips. Atsushi is only eighteen, and studying to become a professor of literature one day. A good childhood friend of yours for many years, you considered him a little brother of sorts. You smile in Yosano’s direction, leaning down to press a kiss to Atsushi’s sleeping forehead gently. The poor boy overworks himself, always trying his best to keep up with some of the weirdos who go to his school. He’s a kind boy, good natured and handsome, and a bit oblivious. There's always a bunch of innocent college girls coming up to you, asking after him, yet he never notices.

“So, how was it?” Yosano says, her voice pitched low so as to not wake Atsushi. You sink onto the couch beside her, your skirts brushing against your tights. You're wearing darker colors, a dark navy blue and black striped walking suite. You love this particular outfit, and the dark colors match the dark weather. Your skirts rustle around your feet as you lean down, pulling off your black kitten heels. You take off your hat, placing it gently on the coffee table away from Atsushi’s notes.

“Gruesome. The body was mangled. Unnecessarily I might add.” You say, sinking back into the couch cushions with a sigh. Dazai hums behind you, hanging his brown coat on the rack.

“Obvious crime of passion. None of her jewelry was stolen. And her face was completely intact.” Dazai sighs, sinking into the armchair opposite Atsushi’s sleeping form. “She was coming from some sort of charity ball? High society and the like.” He scoffs, his opinion on the upper class as clear as ever. You close your eyes as you let your body sink back into the soft fabric of the couch. It's late, and you can feel sleep tugging at you, pulling at your limbs and urging you to fall deep under, into a quiet, peaceful, sleep. You wish to obey.

“Dazai? ‘M going to bed.” You murmur, taking a deep breath and slowly getting to your feet. You arch your back with a crack, and trudge towards the room you share with Yosano. He hums noncommittal in your direction, and Yosano sends you a small, tired goodnight.

☂☂☂

The next few days are filled with boring, boring interviews. Interviews with relatives of the poor girl, interviews with her slimy brother, and interviews with her weepy rich boyfriend. But you get a few good things out of it. One, Dazai solves the case. And two, you get a free vacation.

“She was going to attend this mansion party.” The boyfriend of the dead woman tells you, swiping at his nonstop tears with a soaking wet handkerchief. “At the digression of a billionaire.”

Her boyfriend is a rather ugly man, portly and balding but kind and sensitive. He hands you a small envelope sealed with a red wax seal.

“I just know she would have wanted you to have it. I'm entrusting it to you.” He says, bowing his head in thanks and standing up to leave.

The whole thing was a wash, a confusing mess of emotions and hidden words that you don't want to sort through, but as you and Dazai sit there, in the front office with that envelope in your hand.

“You know.” You start, sitting back against the hard wooden back of your chair, “I wonder if this is what it feels like to strike gold.”

Dazai spares you a small chuckle, before he stands up, stretching with a yawn. “Better get packing, partner.” He says, shooting you a smile. “We're going on a trip. And it looks like we're getting married.”

☂☂☂

“This place is huge.” You whisper in Dazai’s ear, gloved hand hooked in his elbow. You whisper the words, almost smacking him with the brim of your hat. You're wearing another walking suit, because it's raining, again, and you don't want to ruin your nicer dresses for this farce.

The dress is a pretty brown, trimmed in black lace and ribbon, and matches Dazai’s brown and white suit well, in a way that says ‘we’re married and get our clothes tailored by the same person’. Because as of now, as you step through the threshold of the massive ivy-covered mansion, you are married.

“Remember Dazai.” You hiss in his ear, as the servant by the door rings the knocker for you. “As of now, I'm your wife.”

“I know darling.” He says, giving you a reassuring pat on the back. Your stomach whirls to life, butterflies, leaping and bounding inside you. You don't know if you’ll survive the night, truly.

The door opens with a crack, an older man with hair as silver as a coin peeks out. His eyes are beady, suspicious and angry as he looks the two of you up and down. You try not to fidget, standing straight and tall like you’re supposed to be there.

“Mr and Ms Osamu Dazai? Your invitation.” The butler says, eyeing you suspiciously. You try not to fidget with your wedding ring, hidden under the pair of brown leather gloves you wear.

“Yes, here.” Dazai says, passing the invitation over. “I guess you were informed of the change?” He sounds as careless as ever, but in this situation, it actually works in his favor. He sounds just like a rich newlywed husband, taking his new wife on a fine vacation to the countryside. You clutch his arm tighter, nodding at the butler dismissively.

“I just really wanted to go, you know, and my darling Osamu managed to get an invite for me.” You giggle, playing up the young and in love. “Oh, you’re such a dear.” You simper, planting a lipstick kiss boldly on his cheek. His chest puffs up and he grins at you, sending the caretaker a side eye.

“Can you hurry it along? My wife is offly tired from the road.” Dazai says, and his voice portrays the air of someone who finds it very annoying to be doing something as tedious as checking identities. You reach up, adjusting the top hat that sits upon his head. The caretaker fixes the two of you with an unimpressed stare, but steps aside.

“Very well, i’ll show you to your room then.” He says, ushering the two of you inside. The door shuts with a slam behind you, and you're suddenly surrounded by eerie silence. The large hallway is empty, and cold with portraits lining the walls. Their grand portraits, of stern looking men and women, positioned so they are looking down upon each person that steps foot inside the mansion. You dislike each of them immediately, but a stern looking woman dressed in an unpleasant blue dress stands out to you. She seems to be watching you specifically, and you clutch Dazai’s arm tighter, turning away from the unpleasant painting.

The grand hall is big, arched ceilings support a large crystal chandelier that throws beams of light across every surface, be it the wooden paneled floor or the green wallpaper that lines the walls. The entire room is quiet, although faintly in the distance you can hear the sounds of a piano. You lean close to Dazai, whispering directly in his ear.

“This place is so spooky babe.” You stage whisper, eyeing the butler out of the corner of your eye.

“Don't be impolite darling.” Dazai stage whispers back. “Not everyone can have your suburb taste.”

“Welcome to the Crowley Estate, Mr and Ms Dazai. You’re our last guests to arrive.” The Butler says, leading you up a large twisting staircase, wrought iron handling and wooden steps. Your heels make loud noises in the mostly abandoned room. Every now and then you can catch the faint glimpse of a maid, dashing back and forth and then disappearing into one of the doors on the landing.

The Butler leads you down a hall, your footsteps vanishing into the carpeted floor. The doorknobs are silver, the many colored doors at odds with the green wallpaper. You eye them, taking note of any strange details.

“You guys are in room seven. Dinner is in thirty minutes. Do not be late.” The Butler says. And then he turns on his heel and leaves. You sigh.

“What a lovely man.” You say, turning the knob to room seven and stepping inside the room.

☂☂☂

The maid leads you and Dazai to the dining room twenty minutes later. You're still attached at the hip, and as you open the large doors with a creek, the panicked chatter in the room dies. There's a small circle of people in the room, gathered around something, obscuring it from your view. And because you’ve seen this exact scene go down a few to many times, you have a bad feeling you know exactly what happened.

Arm still hooked in Dazai’s, you walk forward, half dreading the sight you know you’ll see when you arrive. The half circle of eccentrically dressed people part like the red sea, and what you see in the middle makes you cringe.

The body of the butler, laying face down in the carpet with an axe buried deep in his back. You take a deep breath, and start your theatrics.

“Oh Hubby.” You say, turning dramatically and throwing yourself in your ‘husbands’ waiting arms. “It's a dead body baby. Oh that's so scary!” You say, your voice whiny and annoying even to your own ears.

Dazai pats you on the back reassuringly. “What is going on here? Can't you see, my wife is deeply disturbed by this?” He says, as you cry fakely into his jacket. “She has a very delicate constitution.” He informs the crowd of confused people that watch your theatrics. You clutch his shoulders, forcing real tears to ruin your makeup.

“Oh ‘Samu, our vacation is absolutely ruined!” You say, pulling away from his coat to stair beseechingly into his eyes. “And I was so looking forward to it. Whatever shall we do?”

Dazai puts on an admittedly convincing look, eyes suddenly glued to your lips. Your heart is in your throat, beating an unsteady rhythm as the two of you stand chest to chest, your matching wedding rings flashing in the lowlight. All you can see is his eyes, the strange expression that sits on his face, all you can hear is your heartbeat in your ears, all you can feel is him.

“Well.” Dazai starts, his voice all breathy and low. “I guess we’ll just have to make our own fun then darling.”

The world around you is gone. The other people in the room are simply gone. The dead body lying on the floor in a pool of blood is gone. All you can see is Dazai. His eyes lidded, locked on your lips. You pull your bottom lip into your mouth, chewing it lightly and he takes a breath in. And suddenly he’s moving closer. His eyes are still locked on your lips, and you feel your own eyes fall closed, your fingers notting in the fabric of his jacket and then—

Someone coughs, and you open your eyes, suddenly remembering that there is a dead body and six confused strangers in the room with you. You move away, flustered.

“Is this really the time?” A woman says. She's an older woman, maybe in her late fifties, dressed finely in a periwinkle blue dress and a silver animal fur of some kind. She hides her annoyed expression well, but you can still see it in her eyes. The other occupants of the room nod.

They are an odd group, all dressed in finery and dripping with money. Their wealth drips off them, and if you weren't busy throwing a kind of fit, you would cringe away from them. They give off the air of people who think they are very important, far more important than those ‘commoners’. But right now, you are those people. You take a deep breath, and continue on with the theatrics.

☂☂☂

“What a waste of time.” You say, closing the door behind the two of you. The minute the door shuts you sink down into a chair, the exhaustion clear in your body language.

Dazai chuckles to himself, hanging his brown coat on the coat hanger by the door.

“They're all annoying, but none of them are murderers.” He says, placing his hat on the coffee table and checking his watch.

You spent the rest of the evening in the room, deftly feilding the flying accusations that spun around the room, and doing your best to convince them that you’re a young and in love couple.

“You think they believed us?” You ask, turning your eyes on Dazai. He sinks down next to you, shooting you a wink.

“You were very convincing.” He says, siding closer to you on the couch. You tamp down the butterflies in your stomach, outwardly rolling your eyes. As much as you wish his flirting was only for you, you know that's to the contrary. Although for some reason, lately he’s really stopped his flirting. Maybe he finally got tired of being rejected. And it wasn't flirting, it was double suicide invitations. Somehow, even though the man annoys you to no end, the butterflies still whirl around your stomach, your palms become sweaty and your heart beats double time. You hate him, just because of what he’s reduced you to. But you know you love him.

Dazai stands with a groan, stretching his arms above his head. “Well my Darling wife.” He says, shooting you an exaggerated wink. “I'm off to bathe. Won't be long.” He says, yanking one of the fluffy towels that the maid had left and soldering off to the bathroom. You give a noncommittal hum in return, and when the door slams behind him you start the process of getting ready for bed.

First the outer jacket is taken off, folded and carefully placed in the dresser. Usually you would have a maid help you undress, but you were very suspicious of everyone in this house, be it staff or guests, and although it was hard you would rather just do it yourself. The outer skirt is taken off, then the thin layer of petticoats and the shaping pads and the pretty lace trimmed corset until you're left in just your silk and lace chemise. It was a pretty one, one of your favorites and unusually short, reaching about mid thigh. It was trimmed in layers of lace and the edges brushed your skin as you carefully picked up your pile of clothes, carrying them into the walk in closet. You're carefully placing them away when you hear the voices, people chattering just outside your room. You still, listening.

“Do you think those two are actually married?” someone, a man, speaks first. You freez, not making a sound as they continue their conversation. They can't see you, but they might be able to hear you.

“You think they are faking?” It's Margaret, the older woman from earlier, her haughty pompous voice full of disdain. She continues. “Then are they the perpetrators?”

The man coughs lightly before he speaks again. “I don't know, but I do know that when my wife and I were newlyweds we simply could not keep our hands off each other if you know what I mean.” You blush, still hiding in the closet.

“I suppose you're right.” Margaret says, and you hear something hitting the outside wall. She might be leaning against it. “Well it seems like the husband is taking a bath. Maybe they don't get along that well after all.”

They continue their chatting, walking down the hallway and soon Margarets door slams, and you can hear their conversation through the wall. They think you can hear them, you suppose. A plan forming in your head, you carefully finish putting the clothes away. The walls are thin, very thin. Earlier you heard Margaret through the right walls, loudly complaining to the maid for the thousandth time. It would be so easy to fake it, to moan just loud enough that she can hear, and so can your other neighbors. You smile to yourself, trying to calm your racing heart and the embarrassment lighting your face. Just in time, you hear the sound of the bathroom door opening.

You exit the closet in a rush, and turn on Dazai, advancing on him much like a predator. He smiles at you, with not a clue.

“I was waiting for you.” You say, purposely pitching your voice a little higher than the purr you would usually use to seduce men. You need the snoopers on the other side of the wall to hear you. Or hear you enough that their suspicions are eased and they leave the room in a hurry. Dazai eyes you, confused. You're upon him now, and you slip your bare hand into his, trying your best to caress the skin, to seduce him with touch. Still gripping his hand, you pull him towards the bed. He stumbles after you, his face still pulled into one of confusion.

“What are you doing?” Dazai asks you, a strange light in his eyes as you stop before the large bed. His eyes are locked on you, his hair still damp from the bath, droplets dripping down his neck and soaking the fabric of his complimentary bathrobe. The air in the room has changed, it's charged with electricity as he looks at you, his eyes jumping from the low lace collar of your chemise to your exposed thighs, to your lips. You smile, small and seductive. Maybe you're doing too much, it's not like the people on the other side of the wall can see you, but you can't help the faint hope that maybe he wants you, that maybe he loves you. You banish any thoughts like that from your mind and gently push him onto the bed.

His back hits the fabric with a sound, a soft sound that you know the snoopers on the other side of the wall can't hear. He props himself up, still watching you. You hear a creak near the door, and you sigh. More suspicions are flying it seems. Time to up your act a little.

“What are you…” Dazai tries, trailing off as you climb onto the bed, crawling forward on all fours, doing your best to employ all the seduction techniques you know. You don't stop until you're on top of his prone form, and then as you sit down, plopping yourself directly on his lap. He hisses, gripping your waist with a question on his lips and arousal in his eyes.

“Name, what are you doing?” He hisses, his voice urgent but low. You ignore him, slowly grinding down on his lap, and the hardness you find there. His protests die on his lips as you move, back and forth along the length you can feel beneath the fabric. Dazai grips your hips in a slight protest, hands trembling against your skin as you lift your chemise over your head. His eyes run to your boobs, his dick twitching against your bare pussy. You whimper a little as you grind harder, the stimulation ruining your sanity. But you must hold on, this is only an act.

“Why are you protesting babe?” You say, a little too loudly for the benefit of the watchers. “Are you too tired?” You grind down a little harder, and Dazai bites his lip. Hard.

You lean down, pretending to kiss his neck as you speak. Your voice is a whisper, a caress, your body still singing with arousal. “They're suspicious. They're watching.” You whisper, moving your hips back and forth, back and forth. It's all the words it takes. It seems Dazai’s brain isn't completely fried by arousal, because understanding flashes through his brain, followed by something you can't quite place. It almost looks like disappointment. You banish the thoughts, for it's impossible and only going to upset you later.

“You're quite needy today darling.” Dazai says, his voice heavy and deep. You do have to give him credit, it sounds oftly realistic and makes more heat pool in your gut. You bite back a whimper, fingers tracing the line of his bathrobe against his chest.

“I don't want that nasty body to ruin our vacation.” You pout, trying to conceal the obvious arousal in your voice. But you can't conceal your body's reaction, the wetness that spreads on his bathrobe. But, based on the hardness pressed against you, he can't control that either. It feels good to have at least this on him, it proves he's attracted to you in some way. It's a small consolation, but a consolation indeed. He chuckles beneath you, as you grip the ties of his bathrobe, pulling them undone and running your hands over the soft skin of his chest. He’s surprisingly built, with a faint abbs and a v-line running below the only part of his body still covered in soft white bathrobe. You giggle, running your hands along his body.

“You’ve been working out huh, baby.” You smirk. Dazai nods, hands tangled in the sheet as you grind down lightly, pussy leaving streaks behind on the fabric.

“Wanted to impress you.” He gets out, his voice sounding surprisingly wrecked. His face looks almost open, losing some of the guards he usually has in place around people, and if you didn't know he was making this up, you would totally be fooled. You have to congratulate him.

You grip his wrist, pulling his hand away from the sheet and bringing to you boob, giving him a permission of sorts to touch you. You want him to, in this case now and normally, and you wish he would take, take you however he wanted. You whimper as the rough pads of his finger come in contact with your sensitive nipple. If you strain your ears, you can faintly hear a commotion next door, what sounds like hushed conversation and the sound of footsteps, but the horny haze that surrounds your brain makes it hard to compute. You just need to control yourself until you hear them leaving, then you can go masturbate in the bath or something.

Dazai’s hand moves from your boob, once again gripping your hips and moving you, to simulate sex. You just close your eyes and let him, letting your moans leak out of your mouth and into the open air. You hope he thinks they're fake. You can hear faint little pants and grunts from him, and every so often he bites his lip red, his eyes locked on you and you grind. The expression on his face is something you don't think you’ll ever forget. Eyes locked on your face, dark with arousal and something that looks like amazement or disbelief, flushed cheeks and bitten lips, parted slightly with little pants into the already stuffy air of the bedroom. You know you don't look much better, face flushed, lips releasing moans into the air. You don't know if you will be able to hold on much longer.

And then, the sound you're waiting for. The next door slams loudly. “Oh, I must go downstairs.” Margaret exclaims loudly, and the sound of three sets of footsteps hurrying away is prelude to the end of this charade. You stop moving, still panting and quivering above him.

“They're gone.” You say, voice still full of arousal. Dazai staring at you. All this time, his eyes have never left you, your body, your eyes, your mouth. Their such a deep brown, the pupils dilated to almost black. There's a light in them, a light of disappointment, a light of desire. You don't know what to do from here.

Neither of you move, just frozen on the bed, you on top of him. It feels as if a spell might be broken, as if you are Cinderella and the moment you make a move to get up, the spell will break and the status quo will be back. The normal everyday you, and the Dazai that doesn't love you. You take a deep, deep breath, and prepare to move.

Dazai’s hands anchor you in place, his eyes narrowing slightly as you try to move off him. You frown. He grips your thighs, big hands anchoring you in place.

“Dazai…” You say, the word still full of arousal but tinged in confusion. He seems to be making a decision, weighing the pros and cons and as you sense his hands loosening around your waist you fall backwards. You spread your legs, fingers playing with your boobs and decide to take a leap of faith.

“Dazai.” You start, your voice certain. “I want you too fuck me.”

The effect is immediate. The emotions at war in Dazai’s dark eyes vanish, and suddenly he's upon you, gripping your waist and pulling you toward him, toward his dick. The bathrobe falls off, landing without a sound on the blanket and all you see is skin, pale skin, and dark eyes. They dont leave you as he lines up his hard dick inside you, pushing the head past your walls. The effect is immediate, you arch off the bed with a moan. Dazai smirks.

“You look so pretty like this.” He says, hands still slowly pulling you down on his cock. “You feel what you’ve done to me baby?”

His voice is rough as he slowly pushes in, hands gripping you so tight you're sure they’ll bruise. You whimper, hands gripping into the fabric beneath you as he bottoms out and starts to move. Your back arches off the bed with a moan, and as he sets a pace, fast and rough and oh so delicious, you grip his shoulders.

“Oh god Osamu.” You practically shriek the words, nails scratching his back. “Oh god i love you.”

You almost regret the words, but as he sucks possessive little marks into your neck, he murmurs the words into your skin.

“I love you too.” Dazai says, the words to tender and full of sincerity you nearly break. And then, he hits that spot inside you and you come with a scream.

☂☂☂

The atmosphere when you and Dazai enter the dining room the next morning, Dazai glowing and you limping and covered in hickeys, is one of many different emotions.

The maids are giggling, and even the butlers and some of the people at the large table are muffling laughter behind hands and napkins. Margaret sticks her nose in the air, as haughty as before.

And even though you have your work cut out for you, dealing with all these people and finding the killer, you find you are starting to anticipate the prospect. Dazai’s hand is still wrapped around your waist, supporting you as you walk around the table and you know he’ll be able to support you like this for a long time. It feels nice.

“What are you thinking about?” Dazai says, pressing a kiss to your cheek. You giggle.

“Oh nothing.” you say, taking a seat beside him. “Nothing at all.”

...

End Notes: been dealing with a nasty headache lately. Annoying as fuck. Btw i also did a little bit of research on the clothes but i am by NO means a fashion history expert. I just have google and sometimes that's wrong. Tried my best though.

on a totally unrelated note…Junko posing is coming back on tik tok and im terrified.

its lowkey fun though…

#bungou stray dogs #mariannacrxss #bsd smut #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #dazai smut #dazai x reader #dazai osamu #bsd dazai #helplesslypurple77

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helplesslypurple77 · 6 months

Text

~AU Week: Historical AU(Fyodor/Reader)~

Summary: But to be engaged to Fyodor. A small part of you was thrilled.But a much bigger and more practical part of you was worried.

Because he had always been a perceptive man. You were in danger of him very quickly figuring out your feelings and rejecting you, or even worse simply leaving you alone to your misery. You were sure to die a metaphorical widow.

Warnings: Smut, kind of mildly dubious consent??~

Notes: ok so uh this story is set in some ambiguous country in the regency era, so that kind of fashion. Please don't look too hard at the historical inaccuracies…

Also about the midly dubious consent in the warnings. It's kinda there?? The tiniest bit?? Dub con?? Not rly, the consent is muddy?? But reader is clearly really into it. Ok so there's a slightly dub con kiss, but no ones protesting at all

...

Lady Caroline was a total bitch. She stuck her button nose in the air and scoffed at all the other ladies at the tea party with the scorn of the only child of a new money family. You sighed, never losing your perfect poker smile.

“You see,” Lady Caroline continues, never one to measure her words. “My father had sent a letter to the Duke of Silverwall. He is sure to accept my proposal, as my family is known for our exceptional breeding.” She leans close, her obnoxious bright fan fluttering. “We have sired two former queens.”

She says the words conspiratorially as if they're a secret. As if she doesn't say it every chance she gets. You roll your eyes with a sigh. It's a bright sunny day, and several ladies are sitting around a small table filled with delicate desserts and colorful drinks. Autom has fully arrived, and the trees on Lady Cecilia’s estate are full to bursting with dry leaves. Red, oranges, and even some greens fall gently to the ground, covering the green grass with a crunchy carpet of fall colors. It's sunny, but a slight breeze floats through the air, the temperature pleasant.

The group of ladies are dressed finely, in browns and beiges and even some bright oranges and reds. Laughter and the clatter of teacups fill the air around your table. You take a dainty bite of a small fruit pie and savor the delicious flavors on your tongue. The desserts are the only reason you come to these. And the gossip. You do love gossip.

Your brown gloved hand reaches for another tart, and Lady Caroline looks at it distastefully.

“You’re so lucky Lady Name, I could never eat that much.” She says, her beady eyes shooting you a fake smile. She simpers, taking a sip of her tea. You sigh. Silence falls again.

Lady Caroline is an unpleasant woman, jealous and spiteful and sure of her own worth in life. And not to say anything unkind, but she’s a bitch. She puts other people down, throws her family’s newfound status around, and wears yellow. You hate the color yellow. It's unpleasant and far too cheery for such a gloomy woman.

Lady Cecilia, seated to your right, speaks up. “Well ladies, are you excited for the autumn ball?” Exited chattering fills the air at the change of topic. You shoot her a small smile. Lady Cecillia is a kind woman, with long blond hair pinned up into a fashionable updo, and pretty gold charms sprinkled throughout. Her dress is a gorgeous burgundy that compliments her blond hair and the golden accessories. Her father is a Marquess, so higher than Lady Caroline's father, a mere earl. You don't believe in status until Lady Caroline starts throwing her status around like it's something impressive. Then you are happy to flex your own high status.

Your father is the Duke of Somerset, standing opposite Lady Caroline's ill-fated crush the Duke of Silverwall. One of the only two Dukes in the country too. Lady Caroline likes to forget that in favor of her father, a mere earl. She’s annoying.

“Lady Name, you are to attend with your brothers right?” Lady Irina says, a breeze dancing in the cute pin curls that hang around her heart-shaped face. She’s wearing a lovely shade of deep brown, which highlights the brown pigments in her eyes. Apples and leaves and other things are embroidered throughout, catching the light in brilliant gold threads. You smile.

“Yes, that is the plan. I have set a tailor to come tomorrow.” You say. “My brothers are all without partners this year. I cannot imagine why.”

Lady Cecilia titters, hiding a blush behind a gloved hand. Lady Irina smiles. Lady Caroline simpers quietly behind her teacup.

“Yes, your brothers.” Lady Caroline starts. She’s dressed in a gray-blue, pretty silver accessories scattered throughout her hair and around her neck. The dress is the only pleasant thing about her. She continues, flicking that gray fan back and forth. “I hear they are still looking for finances, is that true?” She finishes, sounding less curious and more excited to say something snide and unpleasant. Her hair is done in an undo as well, but she refused to use the popular pin curls. You were sure she thought she was too good for them.

“Yes, that is correct.” You say, taking another lovely pie from the tray. “Although they have received several offers. Father says he is entering talks for me as well.”

The ladies at the table perk up, and Lady Caroline gets that expression on her face where she hones in on something, ready to pounce.

“Oh, how exciting!” Lady Cecilia says, looking sweetly, genuinely excited for you. Lady Irina nods, taking a bite of a small French pastry.

“Yes, I still remember when my fiance was chosen.” She says, getting that look on her face. Everyone knows the story of Lady Irina and her fiance. How they hated each other at first but fell madly in love soon after. You can't help the smile that carves its way across your face. Although you've heard it a thousand times, you still appreciate that Lady Irina has found someone she loves.

Lady Irina shakes out of her daze, taking another bite of her pastry. “These pastries are simply wonderful Lady Cecilia! I must have the recipe.”

“Oh yes!” You agree. Lady Cecilia nods. “Oh course, I'll send it home with you.” The three of you trade smiles. Lady Caroline coughs.

“So Lady Name, tell me. Who are you to be engaged to? It must be a lovely viscount I'm sure.” She says, her voice dripping with insincerity. You roll your eyes so far back into your head that you fear for a moment that they might simply get stuck there. Lady Irina joins your eye roll, but Lady Cecilia frowns. She opens her mouth, ready to speak but you raise a hand as you see your coachmen coming towards you.

Your coachman hands you a letter, the envelope a plain cream. The seal is familiar, however, your family's crest. You smile.

“Oh, it's from my father.” The ladies around you look up curiously, Lady Caroline grinning widely. She looks thrilled, like a vulture who just landed on a large dead carcass and is about to dig in.

“It must be news of the engagement. It seems they have completed talks already.” You say, using a butter knife to slice open the envelope. The paper inside is heavy, and your father's familiar handwriting greets your eyes as you skim. It only takes a few minutes to find the words you knew were coming, and while you personally aren't very thrilled with the outcome, you're still going to use it to your advantage. You place the letter back into the envelope, slipping it into your small purse. The three ladies look on curiously.

“Didn't go well huh?” Lady Caroline simpers. Her fake kindness makes you wince. You can barely hold in your anticipation as you start, schooling your face into a small smile.

“They went quite well, the engagement will be announced at the autumn ball in a few days.” You say, shooting the other ladies at the table sincere smiles. Lady Caroline's face falls slightly, but she recovers startlingly fast. “Well, I'm sure he’s a lovely viscount. Who is he?” She says, smiling insincerely. You bite back a grin.

“Oh, I'm not supposed to tell yet.” You say, pretending to be worried. Lady Irina leans forward curiously.

“Oh Lady Name please. We’re starved for gossip.” She says. Lady Cecillia nods excitedly. You give a decisive little nod.

“Oh fine then. You ladies aren't allowed to spread this around all right?” You say, just as a precaution at this point. They all nod. You do trust Lady Cecilia and Lady Irina, but you know Lady Caroline will blab the moment she gets the name out of your mouth. You would be stupid to unknowingly tell her information. But you're sure someone will find out anyway, you don't really have anything to lose.

You lean forward. “All right. Well im engaged to—”

“Name, it's time to leave.” your fathers familiar voice interrupts your words, and the ladies sink back in defeat. You stand, taking the small package of recipes Lady Cecilia hands you gratefully.

“Well, I guess you’ll just have to wait a couple of days then.” You say with a wink.

⚔⚔⚔

Your opinion of your fiance, the Duke of Silverwall could be better. Duke of Silverwall Fyodor Dostoeyvsky was, on the outside, a perfect fiance. He had succeeded his father at the early age of twenty, and had been running his entire estate for two years now. He was smart, handsome, and very, very wealthy.

You’ve known the man for ages, as your fathers were good friends and you had core memories of him pulling your hair and pretending it was your younger brother Philip. He almost got away with it but your other brother Ivan tattled on him. He had been a smart boy, he was always the one who came up with the mischief the four of you got into. He was also sneaky, always subtly shifting the blame to Ivan or Phillip when you guys got caught.

To his credit, he had never shifted the blame to you, but you were sure that one day you would have to take the fall. And while you weren't furious that he was your fiance(there were much worse options), you weren't thrilled either. Because you knew he would never love you.

You have loved him since a young age, an innocent crush that had developed into a deep love that you could never quite shake. But you knew that he simply saw you as a childhood playmate. He saw you almost as he saw your brothers, friends to go riding with, or to engage in philosophical discussions, but never as a woman.

You still remembered when he had accidentally seen you changing a couple years ago. You had hoped for a blush or something but he had simply left, closing his eyes the entire time. Your heart had broken, and you had simply accepted that he would never see you that way.

But to be engaged. A small part of you was thrilled. For you had dreaded seeing him with another woman for years now. You had awoken in a cold sweat from nightmares involving them dancing, kissing, or worse.

But a much bigger and more practical part of you was worried. Because he had always been a perceptive man. You were in danger of him very quickly figuring out your feelings and rejecting you, or even worse simply leaving you alone to your misery. You were sure to die a metaphorical widow.

You did your best to convince your father, of course not mentioning any more embarrassing facts, but he was steadfast. There was simply no convincing him. So, you put your other plan into action. Convincing Fyodor.

⚔⚔⚔

“Convince your father to dissolve the engagement.” You say. Fyodor raises an eyebrow in your direction as he escorts you around an especially muddy patch on the path. You're walking in the park, down by the duck pond that's always surrounded by wildflowers and away from prying eyes. There are no wildflowers this season, the grass is covered in leaves of different colors. They crunch under your feet as the two of you speak under your breath.

“Well hello to you to, Name.” Fyodor says, chuckling in your direction. “Yes, I'm in exceptional health, thank you for asking.”

You roll your eyes, pinching his arm beneath his white coat. You're wearing white today as well, a pretty white chiffon that hovers just far enough above the ground to avoid staining. A white fur ruff covers your shoulders. It's cloudy out today, the temperature nippy as the days before the Autumn ball shrink. The autumn ball is the day it's all irreversible. The day society becomes privy to the engagement between the two dukedoms. The day your fate is sealed.

“Can you please convince your father to dissolve the engagement, Fyodor?” You ask, your voice a whisper. Although the surroundings appear to be empty, you never know who’s servant is hiding in the bushes, on the hunt for gossip.

Fyodor heaves out a little sigh, as the two of you turn the corner of the pond. “Why Name?” He chuckles a little. “Is it that unfortunate a fate to be my duchess?”

It's not, in fact it's a dream. But not in this way. You dodge the question. “Well, you don't want to be engaged to me right?” You chuckle, pulling him to a stop as you stare out across the pond. A few ducks alight on its surface, ripples flying across the formerly pristine surface of the lake.

Fyodor chuckles, notably not answering your question. “But in all seriousness Name. Our fathers are quite set on this engagement, and the unification of the two families under the crown will be huge news.” He says. “Your brothers are now free to marry below their status and our substantial family resources are now pooled under one estate.”

You frown, disliking how correct he sounds. “I know.” You say, as the two of you leave the duck pond behind. “Fine, I guess my fate is sealed then. Oh yes,” You continue, an afterthought occurring. “Come over tomorrow, the tailor's coming. Father says we need to match.”

Fyodor gives his assent. And your fate sealed, you clutch his arm tighter and finish the rest of your walk in companionable conversation. You always have gotten along so well.

⚔⚔⚔

“Congratulations my lady.” Your head Maid Olga says, twisting your hair into a complicated style with her sure hands. Olga is a kindly older woman who has been your maid ever since you were a baby. She was your mothers maid before you. You smile at her in the mirror, applying light makeup to your face and cheeks.

“Thank you, Olga.” You say, lightly swiping some rough on your cheeks. Your maid nods at your dress in the corner. It's a brilliant white, silver and lavender thread embroidered the length. Your family's crest, along with birds and fruits and other things. A silver tiara set with amethysts sits to your left, and Olga braids golden threads into your hair as well. You put on your silver and amethyst matching earrings as your maid speaks again.

“You’ll be able to buy a wealth of dresses, mistress.” She says, winking at you. You giggle with excitement. “I know, that's the best part.”

“And of course Mistress.” Olga leans forward, whispering the next part into your ear. “Finally get to experience the pleasures of married life.” She winks at you through the mirror, and you blush, giggling.

As much as you wish you could, you're sure he won't touch you. You had learned of those types of pleasures from the forbidden section of your parents library. You had been back there playing hooky from your math teacher, when you had stumbled on the hidden erotica section of your family's plentiful library. You hated to admit it, but you had indeed had fantasies about your fiance. Dirty fantasies that warmed your body and made a strange feeling build in your stomach.

You were no longer a virgin. It was not such a big deal anymore, and you had lost your virginity at seventeen to the handsome butler your parents had employed for a while. And while you came with a cry you had imagined Fyodor, imagining clutching his shoulders and screaming his name to the heavens for mercy. But you knew it never was to be. You just resigned yourself to being an old maid, alone and sexless for all eternity. You sigh, and hold your gold mesh shawl close to your shoulders, heading downstairs.

You hate how handsome Fyodor looks. His long hair is pulled into a loose ponytail, strands falling around his face in a flattering way. The white suit compliments his dark hair and pale skin, the lavender and silver accents glowing under the light. He’s wearing a circlet, matching one to your large tiara.

The coach ride is loud. Your entire family is sitting on one side, and Fyodor’s mother and father and little brother sit on the other. You're sitting next to your fiance, smashed against the wall of the carriage and his warm body and absolutely combusting. Every so often he whispers in your ear, the words hardly mattering. All you can feel is his hot breath on your neck, tickling your ear. You shiver each time and are far too excited as he helps you exit the carriage.

You're practically vibrating with excitement as you and Fyodor stand behind the grand entrance. You're late, on purpose. For today is the announcement that seals your fate, but also the day you get to metaphorically punch Lady Catherine directly in the face. And because your fate is already sealed, you're looking forward to the pleasure Lady Catherine's shocked face will bring you.

The grand doors open with a slam, and the chattering in the ballroom below ceases as the two men by the door announce your arrival.

“Duke of Silverwall, and his Fiance, the Her Grace of the Somerset Dutchy.” The men shout, their voice bellowing out over the hall as you stand there, face smiling, back tall and proud.

You start down the long staircase, your train trailing behind you, your hand on Fyodor’s steady white-clothed hand. The mix of faces below you is just as satisfied as you had hoped. Shock, some faces scream it. Others seem to say ‘i knew it’ while you receive the jealous stares of some prettily dressed ladies. Your white gown stands out among the sea of reds and browns, and the telling matching suit your fiance is wearing is also a dead giveaway. It takes a minute or two to get to the floor of the ballroom, and by then the rest of the people have turned away, and the music has resumed. Everyone still eyes you discreetly, however, and you know they're waiting to ambush you with questions and interrogations. You can't erase the grin from your face.

“You look very happy indeed my dear,” Fyodor whispers to you, as he leads you onto the dance floor. It's a waltz, a slow dainty one that you know by heart.

“Did you see the look on Lady Cathrine’s face?” You whisper, your feet stepping the familiar pattern of the waltz you know by heart. You learned this dance with him, two teenagers being yelled at by your scary dance instructors, your first true dance as fiance’s should be this one. I'ts quite fitting after all, although your sure he's forgotten those dance classes. You try not to read into it at all.

Fyodor chuckles, leading you into a spin. The white of your gown spins around you, a cloud of spinning white and brilliant silver. You know you look stunning, a lily in your pale white among the autumn roses. The air of the ball is starting to affect you. The bright lights and the stares, jealousy and admiration alike, fill your heart, making you more tipsy, more risky than the fine wines ever could. You can feel his eyes on you, those dark, brilliant eyes. Intoxicating and luring you into their depths. You feel risky, and just the slightest bit horny. His hands are on you, around your waist, his gloved other clutching your own. Perhaps that’s why your lips are loose.

“I was so thrilled when I heard about her little crush on you.” You say, hands winding around his neck. You're closer now, closer than proper. You don't feel the stares around you. “She’s a truly unpleasant woman you know.”

Fyodor smiles, humoring you. “I have heard you say so only a thousand times my dear.” The nickname makes you dizzy with love, cheeks delightfully flustered. You pull away, bowing as the waltz ends and you come down from your strange high.

“Now if you’ll excuse me,” You start. You can see Lady Cecilia and Lady Irina waving you over frantically out of the corner of your eye. “I have some catching up to do.” and then, in a moment of boldness you stand on your tiptoes, pressing a short kiss to his cheek and whirling away. You will not stand beside him long enough for him to bring it up.

⚔⚔⚔

It was a long night. When you weren't being interrogated by Cecillia and Irina you were being passive-aggressively insulted by jealous mothers, or congratulated by families, or taking a toast from the pleased queen or avoiding dance requests from other men.

The only men you dance with are your brothers, your fiance, and your very close friend, the Viscount Perry, who everyone knows is your good friend.

You barely speak in the carriage, leaning against the window tiredly but you're wide awake as Fyodor leads you inside his castle. You forgot. Tonight was the night the two of you moved in together. You calm your face as you walk through the familiar halls, heels clicking on the marble floors. The pretty arched ceilings of the main entrance halls, the gorgeous artwork and stained glass in the main hallway, it's all very familiar scenery you know from your childhood. You would run these halls with the boys, until you were older and didn't want to dirty your dresses. You had always been a so-called ‘girly-girl’.

Your fiance has been strangely silent, and it's not until you're sitting at your new vanity, carefully stowing your earrings and tiara that he speaks.

“Who was that man you danced with?” He says, his face turned away from you as he hangs his coat. You start undoing Olga’s complicated hairstyle as you speak.

“You mean Viscount Perry? Oh he’s a good friend.” You say, scratching your scalp as your hair tumbles down around your bare shoulders. You're clothed only in your shift, and you would be flustered but you know Fyodor doesn't see you as a woman at all. You hate how it hurts you, that fact.

“So he was the reason you were so…” He pauses, a certain quality in his voice when he finishes his sentence. “…Hesitant to marry me.” The end of his sentence is nothing like you were expecting. He almost sounds, well, jealous.

All your wasted thoughts, your sureness that he could never like you like that, all of it is breaking apart, much akin to a shattered mirror. Suddenly you can remember stuff, stuff you had missed. The fact that he had never thrown you under the bus like your brothers, his constant pestering when you were younger. And even his red ears as he exited that room, the room you were changing in. and even just the other day, as he masterfully dodged the proposition you had thrown at him, the demand you had said. ‘Ask your father to dissolve the engagement’. You're practically vibrating with joy as the revelations pour over you. He likes you, just like you like him.

Your mind is running a mile a minute, but Fyodor, blind in his jealousy, takes your silence as an acceptance. And as you turn, you find him standing next to you, gripping your arm tightly.

“Is that why? You love that man? You wish to marry him instead of me?” His usually immaculate poker face is gone. His eyes are narrowed, his mouth curved into a sneer, the anger and jealousy carved clear across his face. You find it dangerously attractive. Your dazed silence is again, taken as an affirmative and before you can actually get out an emphatic no, his grip slides from your wrist, and then he’s kissing you.

It's a brutal kiss, the possessive bruising of lips that ruins you inside and out, driving you mad with arousal and a strange kind of happiness. You melt into his frame, and his big hands grip your lightly clothed hips, the heat of them sinking into your skin. It heats your insides, that familiar cocktail of heat that is arousal. You love it.

“Fyodor.” You try, panting around searching kisses. “Fyodor—”. His hands get rougher, searching for purchase on your hips, hands gripping and tugging naughtily. You moan into his mouth as he sucks your tongue, naughty slurping sounds filling the walls of your chamber. He kisses to dominate, and you easily surrender control with a moan, your poor cunt clenching under your silk chemise. He channels his anger and possessiveness into the kiss, as if aiming to suck your soul and love out through your mouth so that Viscount Perry can never have them.

“Fyodor.” you say, your voice a moan as he noses at your neck, sucking possessive hickeys into it, trailing down to the low neck of your chemise. You whimper and he chuckles.

“That's right, say my name.” Fyodor says, a hint of his accent coming thickening his words. The accent he had possessed for many years had faded four or five years ago, but never quite faded away completely, always lining his words. It sometimes became thicker when he was angry. It came back in times like these too. You whimper, gripping his dark hair in your hand, fingers weaving into the locks, tugging it gently. He chuckles against your collarbones, getting dangerously close to the neckline of your chemise, and the wealth beneath it.

“Tell me name, did that Viscount Perry ever see you like this, undone and moaning?” Fyodor says, breath ghosting across your collarbones. You shiver, moaning out a response.

“No, oh god, of course not.” Your voice is a whimper, underlines of tight sexual tension lining all the words. He chuckles proudly against your chest, mouthing at your nipples over your chemise, leaving a wet spot behind him.

“He never gets to see you like this.” He sounds so proud, so vindictive, so attractive. “You're my wife, never his. Mine.” The possessiveness should not turn you on, but it does, and you rub your thighs together, desperate for some kind of friction. You want him, more than you think you’ve ever desired anyone, let alone him.

“Fyodor,” You speak his name as a whisper, a prayer to your god, begging to feel him inside you, running you with his possessive corruption. “Oh god Fyodor, I need you so bad.”

Your hands tear at the loose fabric of his shirt, yanking it over his head and discarding it somewhere, anywhere, you don't care. His skin is pale, thin with just a bit of muscle tone, and you mouth at his collarbones. Fyodor hair has been knocked from its neat ponytail, and it falls around his face, a sexy mess. His pale skin bruises easily and everywhere you kiss you leave a trail of red behind. You love the marks you leave upon him. He grips the silk of your chemise, yanking at the delicate fabric until it rips, falling into pieces around you. You grip his shoulders with a groan as he hoists you up, laying you on the bed. Your feet hang off the edge, your ass in the air, your toes just brushing the ground.

You feel his hand on your ass, smoothing over the cheeks until they find their way between your legs.

“You're so wet.” Fyodor says. His voice is a tease, a taunt. And yet as his fingers spread your pussy lips and play with your clit, you can hear the pride in his voice. You grip the silk sheets in a death grip, your mouth opening in a moan, drool collecting on the sheets. Fyodor chuckles, his voice rough his arousal as he slips a finger fully inside you.

“We were always destined to be engaged, you know.” He purrs, his accent deep and thick and deliciously sexy. You love his accent, his voice, the way he twists his words, taunting you, praising you, rejoicing you. He continues with his words, scissoring his fingers inside of you as you moan into the silk sheets. “I knew you loved me, and I loved you too my darling. I thought I could be complacent, I could await the days when we would be married. And yet, you were stolen from me.”

The anger in his words, combined with the thick fingers scissoring your hole open, drive you nearly insane. But you're still able to process the words. He knew you loved him, and he loved you in return. You were destined, predetermined by fate. Your heart clenches with joy, even as the walls of your pussy clenched around his fingers. He chuckles, a light slap hitting your ass.

“A mere viscount has stolen your affection.” Fyodor’s words are low, angry, possessive. He accompanies it with a slap, a harsher one on your pussy. You whine as he removes his fingers.

“Oh god Fyodor, want you. Fuck me!” The profanities are not befitting of a lady, but you could care less. The man behind you, the man you have loved for years and years, has informed you he loves you back, and he is reducing you to aroused tears on the mattress you will sleep on for the rest of your life together. You want him, want his hot cock ruining you, draining away the rest of your sanity.

“You beg for me.” Fyodor says, the statement full of pride and arousal, and thick with that accent. “You beg for me over this viscount. And I shall obey your every command, my wife.” The sentence is whispered, almost reverent, and full of so much awe and yet equally measured with arousal that you nearly lose it right there. You're a mess, panting and quivering on the mattress and as his hot cock penetrates your insides you cum with a cry on the mattress.

Your walls clench, your hands gripping the silk until it crumples, your cries muffled in the silk of the sheets. Fyodor shelves himself inside you in one fluid stroke, his cock bullying your walls apart with equal parts pain and pleasure. You're soaking wet, your arousal dripping out of your pussy and soaking a ring on your thighs, but Fyodor is big, biggest you’ve ever taken by far, and tick to.

It takes a while for the orgasm to subside, but Fyodor gives you no rest, fucking your through the overstimulation reletlessly as you moan his name helplessly, hands still tangled in the sheets.

“You're such a pretty slut for me.” Fyodor coos the praises leaking into your ears as the pleasure returns, as you move back and forth on the mattress, your toes just brushing the ground. He leans over your prone back, balls slapping your ass with each hard thrust inside of you. The words are degrading, the word ‘slut’ not befitting of a lady, but you love it. You love the way he says it, the possessive nature of the words, ‘for me’. That's right, you're his slut, his slut forever. His wife.

You can feel another orgasm welling up, and you cry it into the spit-soaked sheets beneath you. Fyodor returns the cry with the same words, the promise that you’ll come together. And as you reach your peak, as you tumble over the cliff with your soon to be husband right behind you, you let the words slip past your kiss-swollen lips.

“Oh, I love you, Fyodor.” You moan, as you fall over the edge. His hips stutter, his cock filling you up one more time as he hears the words, the words he was longing to hear so desperately. And he returns them, whispered in your ear as if they are forbidden.

“I love you, my darling,” Fyodor says, flipping you over and shoving his cock right back into your hole, the squelching sounds of his cum and your arousal mixing as he fucks it deeper inside you.

...

Endnotes:

whenever i write au’s the characters tend to run away so sorry if this is ooc. Also man, Fyodor and Ranpo are so annoying to write because their a little like all knowing gods…so they always end up a little more dumb in my fics, or maybe dumb to emotions

Dazai’s a little easier because he actively acts like a dumbass all the time

#bungou stray dogs #mariannacrxss #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #fyodor x reader #bsd fyodor #fyodor dostoevsky bsd #bsd smut #bungo stray dogs smut #helplesslypurple77

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helplesslypurple77 · 6 months

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Masterlist

Notes: Hi, my name is Pearl, and this is my masterlist for all my anime related stuff.

i wright /readers and ships as well and i double post everything on ao3, so do check that out. i have it linked in my nav post

Key of sorts: 🌶️: Smut 💗: Fluff ☔︎︎: Angst 🛳️: Character/Character 📚: Character/Reader

ARMED DETECTIVE AGENCY

Atsushi Nakajima

only fools rush in(🌶️💗📚) take my whole life too(🌶️💗📚) dangerous, im lovin' it(🌶️🛳️) before i come undone(🌶️🛳️☔︎︎??) i cannot compete with you(🌶️🛳️☔︎︎??) glimpse of the silhouettes(🌶️🛳️) a wicked thing to do, to let me dream of you(🌶️🛳️) countin' one, two, three(🌶️🛳️) book of debauchery(🌶️🛳️)

Osamu Dazai

sweet dreams are made of these(🌶️📚) we got a love that is hopeless(🌶️📚) as it fell, you rose to claim it(🌶️📚) i cannot compete with you(🌶️🛳️☔︎︎??) book of debauchery(🌶️🛳️)

Doppo Kunikida

nothing yet...

Fukuzawa Yukichi

fit for two(🌶️📚) season of the witch(🌶️📚) a wicked thing to do, to let me dream of you(🌶️🛳️) countin' one, two, three(🌶️🛳️)

Ranpo Edogawa

before i come undone(🌶️🛳️☔︎︎??)

PORT MAFIA

Nakahara Chuuya

nothing yet...

Mori Ogai

touch me there(🌶️📚) let me desecrate you(🌶️📚) countin' one, two, three(🌶️🛳️)

Ryunosuke Akutagawa

nothing yet...

DECAY OF ANGELS

Fyodor Dostoevsky

you get me closer to god(🌶️☔︎︎📚) we got a love that is hopeless(🌶️📚) see the party, the ballgowns(🌶️📚) my spirits sleeping somewhere cold(☔︎︎📚) I wish I was special, your so fucking special(🌶️📚☔️)

dangerous, im lovin' it(🌶️🛳️) glimpse of the silhouettes(🌶️🛳️) book of debauchery(🌶️🛳️)

Nikolai Gogol

nothing yet...

Sigma

nothing yet...

HUNTING DOGS

Saigiku Jōno

nothing yet...

Tetchō Suehiro

nothing yet...

MISC.

Sakaguchi Ango

i can tell you wanna(🌶️📚)

#bungou stray dogs #mariannacrxss #bsd smut #bsd x reader #anime #masterlist #helplesslypurple77

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helplesslypurple77 · 6 months

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so...right off the heels of kinktober i relized i cant stay motivated unless deadlines are bearing down upon me sooooo...this was born

its interesting, but hese kinds of x readers usually do much better on tumblr than ao3 which i find fasinating

TEMPORARILY POSTPONED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE

AU(alternate Universe) Week:

12th-Historical au(Fyodor/Reader)

14th-Detectives au(Dazai/Reader)

X-Soulmate au(Atsushi/Reader)

X-Assassin au(Mori/Reader)

X -Single Parent au(Fukuzawa/Reader)

#bungou stray dogs #mariannacrxss #bsd smut #alternate universe #alternate universe week #helplesslypurple77 #bungou stray dogs x reader #bsd x reader #atsushi x reader #fyodor x reader #mori x reader #dazai x reader #ango x reader #fukuzawa x reader

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helplesslypurple77 · 6 months

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This is my first time taking part in Kinktober, and i think i'm not doing it traditionally but i don't care. So, the plan is i'm just going to write up a prompt and character/ship list, and release one every other day, yay. i just cant do one everyday lol. Also these ended up way longer than i intended.

(also it might end up subtly changing, just ignore that part)

1st—Atsushi Nakajima/GF!Reader-First Time & Cunnilingus

3rd—Fyodor Dostoevsky/Atsushi Nakajima-Crossdressing & Breathplay

5th—Yukichi Fukuzawa/Reader-Lingerie & Wedding Night

7th—Ranpo Edogawa/Atsushi Nakajima-Floor Sex & Sex Pollen

9th—Osamu Dazai/Atsushi Nakajima-Forced Proximity(Stuck in a Closet)

11th—Fyodor Dostoevsky/Atsushi Nakajima-Restraints & Blindfold

13th—Atsushi Nakajima/Yukichi Fukuzawa-Praise Kink & Aphrodisiacs

15th—Doctor!Ogai Mori/Patient!Reader-Fingering & Doctor Kink

17th—Osamu Dazai/Reader-Wet Dreams

19th—Yukichi Fukuzawa/Atsushi Nakajima/Ougai Mori-Spitroasting & Threesome

21st—Ango Sakaguchi/Assistant!Reader-Sitting Cowgirl & Bath(Onsen) Sex

23rd—Atsushi/Reader-(Accidental)Voyeurism & Creampie

25th—Step Bro!Fyodor/Reader/Step Bro!Dazai-Step-Cest & Creampie

27th—Priest!Fyodor/Nun!Reader-Blowjobs & Corrution

29th—Step Dad!Mori Ogai/Reader-Daddy Kink & Creampie

31st—Free day(Fukuzawa/Witch!Reader)

#bsd smut #helplesslypurple77kinktober #kinktober #bungo gay dogs #bungo stray dogs smut #bungou stray dogs x reader #mariannacrxss #bungo stray dogs

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helplesslypurple77 · 6 months

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Day 16(free day)- Wtich!Reader/Landlord!Fukuzawa

Notes: man, i'm going through a daddy thing huh. Also fair warning, there's a little bit of tentacle nonsense in this fic, but the tentacles are mostly a plot device.

You loved your job. Witch blood had been in your family for generations, and as the only girl of your family you were basically destined to become one. But you could not have been happier. Truly, you loved everything about it, from selling potions and candies to the village folk to hunting for special ingredients deep in the woods to summoning mystical creatures and striking bargains with them. You loved every minute of your witch work, always had.

Your mother used to let you sit on her lap, braid your hair as she read potion ingredients to herself over your head. She used to let you add ingredients to the easier potions, your chubby toddler hands dumbing rosemary sticks into her bubbling cauldron, the same cauldron that now sat upon your fire. It has also been in your family for generations.

While in the old days, witch work was more dangerous, now it had become a breeze. The villagers are kind and welcoming, and although you could charge them more for the quality of potion you produced, you decided to charge lower. This village was prosperous, but they were still just villagers, who needed to eat and buy clothes. You had magic, and didn't need these things as often. And besides, your kind older landlord lets you stay for really cheap, provided you let his eight cats come and go as they pleased.

One of the cats, a white one striped like a tiger, is rubbing up against your leg now. You reach down, petting it a few times before it runs off, probably to join its fellow cats off somewhere. You smile as you watch him go. Really, you don't mind at all. Cats have always been a staple of your family. You have one of your own, a sleek black one named Fedya that refuses pets but secretly loves affection. For some reason he and one of your landlord Fukuzawa’s other cats(a brown one who had a strange affinity for bandages) always hiss at each other.

Fukuzawa, the landlord who lived above you, was a kind older gentleman of forty-five, unmarried and perhaps the quintessential old cat grandpa(?). You had thought he was terrifying when you first moved in, with his stern eyes and shocking gray hair, but as soon as you saw him surrounded by eight cats of different sizes, smiling like a fool, that scary aura had disappeared, never to return again. He was kind to, treating you much like a daughter and giving you rent at half price. You provided him with free potions whenever he needed, although he always tried to refuse.

Truth be told, you actually had a bit of a crush on him. He was handsome and kind and very tall and you had a weakness for older men with stable jobs. Always had. But you knew he didn't think of you that way. He had even mentioned multiple times that he thought of you like a daughter. Every time you heard him say those words, it broke your heart anew. But you gritted your teeth and hid your crush and went on with life, because that was all you could do.

“Hello? Anyone there?” a woman says. The voice comes from behind you, out in the main part of your small shop. Whipping your hands on your apron and checking your caldron(it's empty, thank god. You almost burnt the house down once.) you exit the small potion preparation station and close the door behind you. The main part of your shop is airy, clean and almost always smelling faintly of oranges and lily’s. You have a glass case full of the more flashy potions, and bunches of herbs hand from the ceilings, perfuming the air with their scents. It's still not enough to overwhelm the orange thought.

A young woman is standing anxiously at the entrance to the shop. She’s unfamiliar, with fluffy brown hair and skittish pale brown eyes, that dart from your face to her surroundings nervously. She’s an anxious, shy little thing and reminds you distinctly of a doe. You smile warmly at her, trying your best to reassure her.

“How can I help you miss?” You say. The woman twirls a strand of hair anxiously around one finger.

“Are you Miss Witch? I'm visiting and the villagers told me you're a witch by trade. Is that true?” She says. Her voice is soft, like ringing bells but it trembles. You nod reassuringly. “Yep, that's me. Do you need something in particular?” You say.

“Um, do you have anything for insomnia?” The woman says, coming closer as she relaxes. You can see the dark circles lining her eyes, evidence of sleepless nights. You nod, reaching behind yourself and bringing two bottles out to show her.

“Yep, I've got two. This one is a little stronger.” You hold up a green bottle, the golden label flashing in the midday sun. You continue, holding up another bottle, purple one with silver accents. “This one is a little weaker, but the overall effects are longer lasting. If I may ask, do you know the cause of your insomnia?”

The skittish girl jumps a little, coming closer and carefully examining the bottles closer. “I don't know Miss Witch, I just don't know.” The poor girl bursts into tears, bit fat droplets of water falling down her pink cheeks and splashing onto the wooden floor. You reach out, handing her a handkerchief.

“Oh dear, well if you sit down I might be able to find the cause for you.” You say, putting both bottles away and walking across the counter, gently gripping the crying girl's shoulders and leading her over to the purple velvet couch set in the corner. She collapses onto it, whipping her tears with your handkerchief.

She’s a frail thing, not enough meat on her bones and clearly sleep deprived, and you curse yourself for not noticing it sooner. The bell tinkles as one of Fukuzawa’s cats, the one you nicknamed The Bandaged Maniac, saunters in(you’ll never figure out how but he figured out how to open doors) and jumps on the girl's lap, licking up her remaining tears with his pink tongue. You’ve labeled him a ladies man, because he loves your female customers and could care less for your male ones. The girl laughs, and you swear The Bandaged Maniac smirks.

“It's been happening for three months now.” The girl, Mila, starts out, handing you your soaked handkerchief apologetically. “Whenever I try to sleep, the nightmares come. Horrible, twisting monsters, who chase me and chase me and I just—” She breaks off, shuddering.

“Anyway Miss Witch, I'm so sorry about all of this.” She says, petting The Bandaged Maniac on his head. He starts to purr, sounding way too satisfied with himself.

You smile, doing your best to be reassuring. “It's no problem Mila. and I think I know what your little problem is.”

⋆♱✮♱⋆

“Thank you Miss Witch, seriously.” Mila says, her pale hands gripping your own, her brown eyes, no longer ringed with shadows, bright with happiness. You smile. “It was no problem at all.” You say, seriously meaning it. You love your job, helping people gives you a rush you could never replace.

Mila waves one more time, and darts out the door with a huge smile carved across her pretty face. You sink back onto the countertop with a breath. The door opens with a tinkle and your Landlord steps inside with a smile. You grin back, gently placing the necklace Mila had basically forced upon you when you said no charge on your glass countertop. The Bandaged Maniac noses at it, licking your fingers. You pick him up, planting a little kiss on his pink nose and dodging his kisses back. He curls up in your arms, purring up a storm. Fedya slips in the door behind Fukuzawa, and The Bandaged Maniac pulls his head out from between your boobs to hiss. Fedya sticks his nose in the air.

Fukuzawa has a small package in his hands, and you watch, cooing on the inside as he pulls out some dried fish for Fedya. Fedya, like the little brat he is, turns up his little pink nose. You sigh.

“Fedya refuses to eat anything besides sashimi grade salmon, with a good fat marbling.” You say. He shakes his head with a small smile, stowing the box of dried fish in his inside pocket.

“I came to ask a favor if that's all right.” Fukuzawa says. His voice is as attractive as ever. You shove down any inappropriate thoughts and shoot him a small smile. He barely ever asks favors of you, and you have to bully him into taking any free potions. Sometimes when you turn your back he slips payment onto the counter top and leaves before you can complain.

“Sure, anything you need. So what can I do for you?” You say, stroking Fedya as he leaps onto your shoulder, rubbing his black fur all over your neck. The Bandaged Maniac hisses as you put him down on the counter, and Fedya proudly leaps into your arms, as if he’s claiming you or something. You place him down as well. He glares balefully at you like you’ve somehow personally offended him, and proudly claims his seat, licking your necklace.

Fukuzawa comes father into the store, petting the cat on his shoulder, a fat one named potato chip who leaps down, gripping onto your (thankfully covered) shoulder with sharp claws and sits purring on your shoulder. You sigh, pulling him off your shoulder and holding him in your arms. For some reason all of Fukuzawa’s cats are weirdly attached to you. You don't mind, you love cats.

“Ranpo really loves you.” Fukuzawa chuckles, gesturing to the cat purring up a storm in your arms. You giggle. “I nicknamed him Potato Chip because he wont stop stealing my snacks.” You whisper, leaning forward as if you're telling a secret. Fukuzawa chuckles as you continue. “Anyway, you said you needed a favor?”

You make your way back behind your shop, and Fukuzawa follows you. Fedya and The Bandaged Maniac follow you two, and Sushi(the black and white one) darts out from behind a chair, trotting up to The Bandaged Maniac and hopping unceremoniously onto his back. Sushi is a smaller cat, who at some point must have had some tiger blood mixed into his house cat genes. He was sweet and affectionate and a bit skittish, a rescue Fukuzawa had told you. Actually most of his cats were rescue’s. The Bandaged Maniac lets Sushi hang on, slowing down slightly so he doesnt fall off.

You put down Potato Chip, who almost pouts at you unceremoniously, and move to your caldron, starting the fire with a wave of your hand. Fukuzawa sits down on your couch beside Potato Chip, and starts feeding him dried fish.

“I was wondering if you could make a sleeping potion for me?” Fukuzawa says from behind you. You nod. “Yeah that's easy. Did you need a special one?”

Fedya is crawling up your back, digging his claws into your skirt and leaping back up onto your shoulder. You sigh, chopping rumroot into identical pieces as Fukuzawa continues. “Well some of my cats have been having a hard time sleeping lately, and i was wondering…” He trails off, voice sounding apologetic. You smile. “Yep, i can finish that up by tonight. You can just stop by around eight to pick it up. That sound good?” You say, turning from your cutting bored to look at the man on the couch.

He’s just sitting, but he looks all relaxed and domestic and it makes your heart clench in your chest. You wouldn't say you want kids, but Fukuzawa evokes ‘id have your babies’ feelings in you sometimes. Hurriedly, you turn away.

“That sounds wonderful.” Fukuzawa says, smiling. Fedya starts hissing from your shoulder. You sigh, reaching up to pet his soft fur reassuringly.

“Yes, I know, I'll feed you right now baby. Sorry Fukuzawa, could you grab the sliced salmon out of the fridge?”

⋆♱✮♱⋆

You really didn't know how you ended up in this situation. Well, actually you did, but it was all moving very fast. It was late, maybe 7:50 and you were on your hands and knees, drawing a summoning circle on the wooden floors of your work station. You need a few more ingredients, most notably the milk of a tentecalus, a strange monster from the ocean regions. The rest of Fukuzawa’s potion was bubbling on the stove, and you just need to finish it off with the fresh milk, and then it's done.

The summoning circle glows to life, and the strange smooth tentacles of the Tentecalus start sprouting through your floor. You’ve summoned this monster a few times before, but the strange blue glow the tentacles gave off was still a little concerning. You sighed, and moved closer to the beast.

The Tentecalus was classified as a non sentient, meaning it was basically the same as an animal. So all you had to do was stroke one of the tentacles and get it to start secreting milk, which you would collect in a small cloth and squeeze into your potion. It's all going very well, and you're turning from the monster, and depositing Fukuzawa’s potion in a glass vial on the table when you feel a weird slimy thing wrapping around your bare leg. It's night, near bedtime and you're wearing a silk pajama sleep set, which leaves lots of bare skin exposed.

Something wraps around your ankle and with a shriek, you're lifted into the air. Tentacles are wrapping you from all sides, two hoist your hands above your head, one worms its way around your torso, and yet another two grip your ankles, pulling your legs apart into a rather compromising position. You should feel scared, but then you notice the strange purple glow that has replaced the usual blue, and you realize you’ve forgotten one of the most basic rules of summoning Tentacalus’s. Don't summon them near october, their prime mating season.

And sure enough, a thin blue tentacle is winding underneath your sleep shirt, twisting one of your nipples lightly. You bite back a sound, and try in vain to struggle from its grasp. But to no avail, it's got you snug. You have to erase part of the summoning circle, sending the monster back where it came from, but you can't reach it from where you are, hoisted in the air. You sigh, and sit tight, waiting for Fukuzawa to arrive.

⋆♱✮♱⋆

Fukuzawa glances at the clock. 7:58. It's probably appropriate to go and visit you now. He gently lowers Sushi to the ground, closes the door behind him and makes his way down towards your unit. You’re such a sweet woman. It had been nearly four years since you first moved in, out of your depth and new to town. He was happy to offer a half price rent deal to you. It was really no issue to him, but you had looked so thrilled when he told you, all bright eyed smiles and friendly touches Fukuzawa hates how his heart clenched. You were much too young for him, pretty and fresh and vibrant and very popular with the village boys, although for some reason you never noticed.

You would never be interested in him as anything more than a friend, and Fukuzawa would have to convince himself the same. And so he tried his best to think of you like a daughter. You were a little old for that, but it helped him at least lie to himself that his feelings for you were fatherly compassion, and nothing more. He was a liar. And he was forced to come to terms with his less than pure feeling when he caught himself looking down your blouse. You were helping him hang Christmas decorations, holding the ladder as he climbed up it, and all he meant to do was look down as you handed him an ornament.

But when he looked down all that he could see was your boobs, and the edge of your pretty white lace bra and he just…sort of short circuited for a moment, and almost fell off the ladder. You berated him and insisted you go up instead and then for the next half hour he got an eyeful of your matching panties, visible underneath your skirt. He really hated himself a little that night, when he found himself with his hand around his dick, your name on his lips. He felt like a pervert when it happened, like a nasty old perverted man. So he stopped lying to himself that he saw you as a daughter, and just focused on hiding his feelings and being a good friend, and not getting any more tempting glimpses of your underwear.

He knocks lightly on your door, frowning as it opens with a creak. “Name?” Fukuzawa walls out, peaking around the door into your darkened shop.

‘Oh thank goddess, come quickly Fukuzawa.” Your voice sounds strange, breathy and slightly muffled and Fukuzawa hurried inside, closing the door behind him and making sure to lock it. A faint purple glow is coming from inside your back room, and he pushes the door open, all ready to charge in and play the hero, but comes to a screeching halt as he takes in the picture in front of him.

The first thing he sees is your face. Eyes heavy lidded and full of relief as they gaze upon him, lips spit slicked with saliva and the most dangerous expression carved across your face. You look just how you look in his fantasies, when he has you bouncing on his cock, or when he has his face buried in your pussy, your hands tangled in his hair, yanking it as you buck against his face—

The second thing he notices, and maybe the most alarming, is the strange sea creature’s tentacles wrapped around your thighs, more around your boobs, still more pulling up your tank top and giving Fukuzawa a full view out of his fantasies as they work your boobs. But perhaps the worst is the two tentacles holding your legs open, and Fukuzawa’s eyes catch on the wet spot forming against the crotch of your matching sleep shorts. He gulps.

“I'm sorry about this Fukuzawa.” You say, and Fukuzawa immediately moves his gaze from the more intimate areas of your body back to your face. He subtly moves, adjusting himself in his pants. Hearing you say his name like that is not helping his boner go away.

“I need you, ohh~” You interrupt yourself with a moan as the monster twists your nipple. Fukuzawa tells his fried brain that you don't need him, you need him to do something, obviously. His dick twitches anyway. You continue. “I need you to smudge the circle.” Your voice is breathy, desperate and devastating and Fukuzawa takes a hot minute to truly comprehend what you said.

He does see something on the floor, a glowing summoning circle. Hurriedly, he smudges the chalk with his foot. The effect is immediate, the tentacles disappear and you fall through the air. Fukuzawa reaches out to catch you before his brain can tell him no, bad idea and suddenly he had an armful of turned on panting girl. You look up at him, eyes still clouded with lust. Fukuzawa gulps. He feels somehow like he’s already lost, that all you have to do is ask him, and he’ll bend to your will. Anything, he would do anything. Hell, he would even kill a man for you, just to get a taste of you.

“Fukuzawa.” You say, eyes on him.

“Yes?” He replies, begging you dearly in his mind to let him have you. He would do anything.

“Kiss me.” You say, and like a puppet released from its strings, Fukuzawa does just that.

⋆♱✮♱⋆

Fukuzawa kisses like a man staved, he kisses like he has been wanting, wanting, wanting, and is finally allowed to devour, and you love every minute of it. You feel desired, and treasured, and teased beyond measure and almost a little confused. But he’s still holding you in his arms, and carrying you across the room to lay you gently on the bed. The familiar covers feel soft beneath your skin, and Fukuzawa follows you down, pressing kiss after desperate kiss onto your lips, his thigh finding its way between your legs. He sucks your tongue into his mouth, the kisses turning dirty and desperate and you anchor your hands in his silver hair, tugging slightly. He groans and responds.

“Name.” Fukuzawa tries to pull away from your mouth. You keep pressing kisses onto his lips, robbing the breath from his throat.

“Name, please.” He tries again. You answer, in between kisses. “Yes?”

“I want to ask if—” He gets cut off again as you press a kiss to his pulse point, and he responds by kissing you deeper into the comforters, his thigh working between your legs. You moan and finally he pulls away, using a hand to hold your wrists against the comforter. You hate how much it turns you on.

“I want to ask if this is just a one night stand for you.” He says, looking earnest and adorable, even as his big hand holds your wrists down. You squirm against his thigh, his stern expression thoroughly turning you on. He continues. “Because I really like you and would like this to be something more.” Your heart stutters at those words, the effect of them almost enough to pierce through the horny haze surrounding you. Almost. You do want to give him a true reply though.

“I would like it to be more too.” You say, the emotion is clear in your words. The effect is immediate, his gaze sofens, and his grip on your wrists loosens. You grind against his thigh again, his muscles tensing against your sensitive clit. He’s looking at you with such care, such clear emotion and love and yet you can also feel his dick, hard and throbbing against your leg. You grind down harder against his thigh, as he helpfully shoves it harder against you, releasing your hands as they fly up to his hair, dragging his mouth to your lips. He kisses you nonstop, rough, deep searching kisses that press you into the mattress. He recesses your hands, allowing them to tangle in his silver hair, yanking slightly on the strands. His hands are big, rough with sword calluses and deliciously warm as they smooth over your boobs, pulling your thin tank top over your head. He pulls away from your mouth, pressing kisses into your neck as he speaks.

“You're so pretty.” Fukuzawa says, kissing lower and lower as he slides down, his hands reluctantly leaving your breasts to grip the waist of your sleep shorts, pulling them off.

“Thanks.” You giggle, fingers lightly twisting your nipples, watching as his big hands grip your thighs, repositionsing you as he kneels down. “I always thought you were handsome, you know. Thought you saw me like a daughter.” You continue, head falling back as he licks your pussy, tongue dancing around your clit. He speaks in between licks, one thick finger prying you open.

“Tried to convince myself, lied to myself. Always thought you were pretty and sexy and…” He cuts himself off as you moan, back arching as he adds another finger, scissoring you open. His fingers are thick, much thicker than yours and they fill you nicely. You know his cock will fill you better.

“Want your cock.” You whimper, bucking into his hand widely. He pulls his mouth away from its dangerous motions on your clit, taking in your flustered appearance. You feel hot. Everything feels hot, and intimate, and you feel like you're going to go crazy if you don't have his cock inside you. Now.

You tell him as much in begs, he chuckles at your enthusiasm, watching as you pull yourself off his fingers with a moan, pushing him onto the bed and crawling on top of him. You grip his thick cock in both hands, lining the head up with your dripping pussy. You sink down slowly, thighs burning as you watch his face.

Fukuzawa bites his lip, eyes glued to where your pussy takes him in as you sink down, the slightest bit of sweat lining his temples. He has this dazed look on his face, like he can't believe this is happening, and you like it. No, you love it. The thought that he dreamed of this, that he desired this, made your pussy clench around him as you finally bottomed out, and you began to ride him. The naughty slaps of skin fill the air, your moans and Fukuzawa’s groans and the occasional whispered word. He lets you take control, at least until your thighs start burning and he lays you on your back, and then proceeds to fuck you nearly into oblivion.

His thrusts are deep, almost like he’s trying to turn you inside out and with each thrust he brushes against your g-spot. Your back arches with a cry, coming off the mattress, and your nails dig scratches into his back.

“Fukuzawa, I'm gonna cum.” You moan into his ear. He’s leaning above you, his big hands anchored by your head, leaving indentations in the bed. He puts his hips deep into you with each thrust, pushing you back into the soft surface of the bed. You cum with a cry, clenching around his legnth as he fucks you through it, whispering sweet little sentences into your ear.

Endnotes: sry the ending is rushed, i got super tired and my eyes started blurring over, so thats fun

#bungou stray dogs #mariannacrxss #kinktober 2023 #bsd smut #helplesslypurple77kinktober #kinktober #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #fukuzawa x reader #fukuzawa yukichi #bsd fukuzawa

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helplesslypurple77 · 6 months

Text

Day 15- Step Dad!Mori/Reader w/ Spanking & Daddy Kink

Notes: Mori is becoming dangerously tempting to me. It's scary actually. Also kinktober is almost over!! Im almost sad, even though it's been an interesting kind of hell(wouldn't trade it for the world though)

As usual art is from pinterest

Your mother had always wanted a girl. And when you were born after three boys you were almost sure to be spoiled. Your father died soon after your birth, and your mother and brothers turned their grief into passion, turned their attention on you and spoiled you rotten.

You were the baby of the family. The first girl of three older brothers and spoiled rotten. Their little princess, and could have anything she wanted. A new playhouse? Already done. A fancy doll? Sure, whatever you want sweetheart. A fluffy cat? Done, in a heartbeat. You were their princess, dressed in pink and pretty to boot.

You were everyone's princess really. People would stop your mother on the street, and coo at how cute you were, ask to touch your hair and flatter your mother. You had that air about you, the air that drew eyes everywhere you went.

When you got older, your brother's protectiveness kicked in. You could still have anything you wanted, but now you were a sheltered princess, locked away in her tower. You wanted to go to a party? No princess, but you can have a new necklace. A boy you liked asked you out? No, boys are wolves darling, here’s a new dress.

Your mother was your only consolation. She understood your desire, your curiosity, and she allowed you the little freedoms she could, trying her best to reign in your brothers. And at first it worked. You were allowed to go to parties, and you even got a boyfriend(Brad was kind of stupid, but he was tall and muscly and kind and you loved him.)

With your father long gone, your mother did her best to instill in you a sense of humility and kindness, and she did succeed, although you were still spoiled. But you grew up happy, surrounded by your doting brothers and kind mother.

You grew up into a pretty young lady, sweet and genuine and just a bit naive, but happy and loved. And then when you turned eighteen, your mother got remarried.

Your step father was a nice man, who coddled you just as much as your brothers. Mori would bring you pretty dresses and new devices when he visited your mother, and after they got married it was always the same. He would pat your head reassuringly, and call you a pretty girl, and you like him a lot.

Your mother liked him too, and you sometimes heard the moans and screams that came from their bedroom. You closed your eyes and tried not to listen.

At the tail end of your senior year, your mother fell into a coma. She was on the way back from a dinner, and her car fell off a cliff, and as you and your family rushed to the hospital, she died holding your hand. Your mother had been our rock, your kindness, the one person who listened to your problems and offered you small freedoms. You almost broke that day, clutching her still warm hand while the doctors and nurses tried their best to console you. The room was full of them, all drawn by the sound of your cries of your unhappiness. Even when your brothers arrived, they could only watch on helplessly, not used to tears. They were a little emotionally stunted, your brothers.

You were inconsolable in your grief. You would cry and cry and cry, and no material objects from your brothers could stop the waterfall of tears that fell from your eyes. And then your step father arrived. Mori took one look at the scene, your mothers cold body on the bed, the flatline of the heart monitor, your brothers wringing their hands in the corner and gently pulling you into a hug. He was silent, for ounce, just letting you soak the fabric of his expensive italian silk suit, and stroking your hair.

He was stable, familiar, and cooed ressurences into your hair that you barely heard. And slowly, as the nurses and doctors leaked out of the room and your brothers left(each with one last look of worry), it was just you, him, and your mothers body. Your tears had stopped to a trickle, and still he simply held you against his chest, stroking soothing patterns into your back.

“What am I supposed to do now?” You whisper, the words slightly muffled in his suit jacket. O

“You don't have to do anything.” Mori had said, whispering it into your hair, along with a kiss. “I'll take care of you princess. Your brothers will too.”

He smelled like jasmine and bergamot and as you breathed in his scent, clutching at his back desperately like he would fade away if you did not, the seed of a dangerous tree was planted. A seed, that if watered, could change the dynamic of your relationship forever.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

Mori soon became your rock, much like your mother had been, in a way. But at the same time, your relationship was quite different. He was much more protective of you, and the partying stopped, Brad was scared off, and a curfew was enabled. You didn't mind, not really. Brad had been a run distraction, almost like an accessory, a purse. But you were a little sad about the curfew, and the parties.

“It's for your own safety, princess.” Mori would say, patting your head. “We wouldnt know what to do if we lost you too.”

You liked feeling valued, feeling prized. You liked it when he called you princess. You like it when he treated you kindly. You like him a lot. You loved him.

You did miss the sex, the one thing Brad was good at. He used to fuck you down stupid into the bed, face down ass up and screaming. And you missed that, you were feeling pent up and horny. Your parents wouldn't allow sex toys, and although you were nearly nineteen you would never ask. And so you simply beared the horny haze that surrounded your thoughts, the dirty thoughts and inappropriate fantasies.

And soon, Mori became the star. He treated you so kindly and had big rough hands that you wanted on your skin. You knew he would treat you good, make you scream and cum all over his fat cock. You fuck yourself with your fingers late at night, imagining the things he would do to you. It's wrong, it feels so wrong but also so good, and you find yourself not wanting to stop.

And you know he would never want you that way, and that you're dishonoring your mothers memory like this, but you want him so badly you're delirious, and this simply can't go on.

So one night, when Mori and your brothers are out at some sports thing, you sneak a boy in and finally get fucked dumb like you desired. It was good, not amazing, but good, and it curbed the dirty thoughts for a couple days, but then they came back with a vengeance. So you started sneaking out past curfew and going to parties. Sneaking boys upstairs when your family was out. But you knew it couldn't last forever, and one day it was all going to come crashing down around you.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

The hallway is dark as you quietly slip off your shoes, abandoning them by the pile of fancy heels your brothers gave you. You slip off your coat, hanging it on the rack with barely a sound.

The party was fine, but someone called the cops before you could get fucked like you desired and you were forced to run three blocks in pink sparkly pumps and a miniskit that barely covered your ass. All that exercise and not the kind you wanted. You were slightly out of breath, flushed and a little dizzy as you leaned against the wall, catching your breath.

Along with your pumps and miniskirt you're wearing a shirt but it barely counts. It only reaches a little below your boobs, and your pink Victoria's secret bra is clearly visible. It's your favorite, one part of a matching set. The underwear is rubbing against your clit every time you move, the g-string jammed up your butt. You look sexy, and you didn't even get dick. It feels like a waist. Hurriedly, but on silent toes you move down the hall, dipping into the kitchen to grab a quick glass of water.

Your brothers are at a three day football sleepaway, but Mori is home, albeit asleep, and you need to be extra quiet. The thought of Mori makes that familiar heat in your gut twinge, as you settle against the kitchen counter, taking another sip of water.

The whole point of sneaking out tonight was so you could get dicked down and hopefully banish any dirty thoughts about your step father. He’s more than twenty years older than you for god's sake, and yet that doesn't deter you in the slightest.

(Based on the dreams you had awoken from, ‘daddy’ on your lips and your pussy throbbing. There were others too. Dreams where he punished you, spanked your ass until it was raw and then fucked you doggy on your mothers old couch. Or the ones where he made you suck his fat cock, fucked your face ruthlessly until you were drooling and then made you ride his thigh until you came. The dirtier the dream the more sorry you became, until you started sneaking out in an effort to get your libido under control. It was only somewhat working.)

Your pussy starts throbbing as you remember the dreams, and you slowly lower your water glass into the sink, tiptoeing into the living room. The stairs lay just beyond this room, and the second floor houses your bedroom respectively. But as you step into the room, your footsteps muffled by the shag carpet on the floor, the light switches on with a click.

“Name, I'm disappointed in you.” Mori says, from his place in the gray couch across from the tv. He’s still wearing his work clothes, although he’s hung his suit jacket over the back and has his reading glasses on. He tuts disapprovingly, eying your outfit.

“Where were you, and what are you wearing?” He says. You sigh, avoiding his eyes and twisting a strand of hair around your finger.

“I was at a party…” You mumble. There's no point in lying, he’ll just be more mad. He tuts disapprovingly, running a hand through his hair.

“Name, what did your brothers and I say about parties? This is the third time this month.” You hate how his anger turns you on, how the thought of what he could do to you makes your poor pussy clench. You rub your thighs together.

“And you wore that to a party? Name, I can almost see your ass.” Mori says, laying his newspaper down beside him. You sigh, even though the thought of him seeing your ass makes your pussy throb. “It's not even that bad…” You say, your voice trailing off at the end.

“Not that bad? Name, it's basically a swimsuit. You let all the nasty frat boys see you like that?” He sounds almost angry, or dare you say jealous. You bite back your smile, knowing that expression wont do any favors with him. Mori sighs, running a hand through his hair again.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself?” He sounds like he’s expecting something, and when you don't speak he sighs. “You're obviously not sorry.” Mori says, patting his lap. “I'm sorry princess, but I'm going to have to punish you.”

You look up in shock. You’ve never, ever in your nineteen years of living, been punished. “Punish me? Mom never punished me.” Your outrage is clear on your face. Mori just stares you down, meeting your eyes head on until you relent with a sigh.

“Come here princess.” He says. You do as he instructs, standing before him on the couch. He yanks you right off your feet, your world spinning until your tossed ass up over his lap, face buried in the couch. Your pussy throbs as you feel a harsh slap landing on your ass cheek. You're already wet, and although he’s slapping you over the poor excuse for a mini skirt you know you’ve soaked through the pathetic crotch of your panties. You bite the couch with a wine, thrashing a little on his lap.

“You’ve been such a bad girl lately.” Mori says, landing another slap on your ass. You bite your lips to keep in the moans. Mori continues.

“Going out to parties, letting dirty frat boys touch your perfect skin. You obviously need to be taught a lesson.” A moan leaks out, and another few slaps hit your ass. The sound echoes in the almost empty room. You want him to slap you harder. You want him to roll up your skirt and slap your dirty pussy and call you a bad girl while he fucks you unto the couch, your moans echoing thourgh the house. Another slap lands on your asscheek, and you thrash on his lap with a whimper.

“You're usually such a good girl Princess.” Mori chuckles, gripping the edge of your miniskirt and pulling it up so your bare ass is visible. You clench down around nothing, wanting your pussy stuffed more than anything in the world. He would fuck you so good, spread your legs out and fill you with thick cock until you were a good girl. You were a bad girl right now, a bad girl who needed to be punished. You needed your daddy to punish you good.

Mori tuts as he takes in your victorias secret, another harsh slap landing on your ass. “Name, where did you even get this kind of underwear?” He sounds almost outraged, gripping the g-string and pulling it against your clit. You bite back another moan.

“Princess, I'm asking you a question.” He says. His voice is harsh, demanding. It teases your arousal, the urge to call him ‘daddy’ nearly irresistible. You hold on, at least until this torturous punishment is over. Another few slaps land on your ass and you answer, doing your best not to moan.

“They were a gift from Brad.” You say. At that name, an extra hard slap lands on your ass, and your back arches with a moan. You hope he thinks it's pleasure.

“Why were you going to a party princess?” Mori tuts, his big hand making soothing motions over your stinging ass. “Be honest.” He chides, when you open your mouth.

“I wanted to.” You say. This answer lands a harsh slap on your ass, and you cry out against the couch. “Honest, Princess.” Mori says, soothing your ass with his hand again.

“I was horny.” You whisper. Mori sighs above you, running a hand through your hair. A slap lands on your ass, but this one is softer, but you still bite the couch. Your ass is stinging now, and you know there’s red marks on each of your ass cheeks. The thought that he’s leaving his mark on you makes your pussy clench around nothing.

“So you went to be fucked dumb by some frat boys?” Mori says. He fraises it like a question, and when you nod he slaps your ass again. Hard. You whimper, hair falling all over the place, lipstick smudged. Your pussy throbs again, and you subtly bring a hand up, twisting your nipples in your top.

“You're such a slut Princess.” Mori says. You moan, the degrading name sending bolts of pleasure straight to your clit. Mori chuckles cynically, and a slap lands on your ass, one for each cheek. “You don't even deny it huh. You're not supposed to enjoy your punishment Princess.” Mori says, his voice turning gravelly as his big hand leaves your ass, rubbing your crotch through the thin fabric of your undies. You moan, gripping the edges of the couch. You can't believe this is happening, but you're not going to test your luck and say something to stop him. You want his cock more than anything. You want him.

“I'm sorry daddy.” You whimper out, and to your satisfaction something jumps against your thigh at that nickname. Mori chuckles, his hand leaving your pussy. “You don't sound very sorry princess.” He coo’s, and then a harsh slap lands against your pussy. You arch your back with a cry, a moan of his name.

It takes a minute for you to come down, and when you finally do another harsh slap lands on your ass, another for your pussy. You whine at the overstim, bucking on his lap.

“Did I say you could cum, princess.” Mori says, soothing your ass with his warm hands. “Apologize.” You whimper out your apology, whining as you feel his hot length against your thighs.

“I'm sorry daddy, I came without permission.” Your voice is wracked with sobs, and full of arousal as his thick fingers play with the lips of your pussy, smearing the arousal around. There's none of your defiance left, it leaked out with that last orgasm. Now all you want is his dick, his kiss, his cum. You want him. You love him.

You squirm against his lap as he fucks you open with two fingers, the occasional slap still landing on your ass. Everytime he hits it you arch up, as the arcs of pain are almost instantaneously transformed into shots of pleasure, driving you stupid until your panting, begging for his cock. Mori laughs at you.

“What do you want, princess? My cock? Well beg for it then.” He teases, playing with your clit as he brings you to another orgasm.

“Want daddy’s cock.” You pant, ass up over the arm of the couch face burried in teh gray upholstery, as he stands behind you, fucking you with anything but his cock.

“I'm sorry princess.” Mori coos, sleeves of his fine italian suit rolled up. “Only good girls get daddy’s cock. Are you gonna be a good girl?” He asks, as if you wouldnt do anything for his cock and he knows it. You nod furiously against the couch, even though he can't see it very well. “Yes Daddy, ‘m gonna be a good girl, promise.” Your voice is a moan, your worlds slightly slurred. Mori chuckles, worshiping your ass with his hands.

“Alright Princess, you beg so pretty.” His hands leave you and then your pussy is being bullied apart by a thick cock. He spreads your insides like butter, gripping your hips as he shields himself all the way inside, not even giving you time to adjust as he sets a brutal pace. He grips your hair in one hand, your waist in the other as he fucks you over the couch, cooing little whispers of intimacy in your ears.

“You're a good girl aren't you Princess.” Mori coos, landing a slap on your burning ass as you scream. “Such a good girl for your daddy. A pretty fuck toy.” His voice is gruff, the only sign of his slipping composure, the sweat lining his hairline and the fire in his eyes. His hair is pulled back in a ponytail for work, and the strands have started to slip from it as he fucks you, still wearing most of his suit. The top few buttons of the shirt are undone, and the tie is wrapped around your wrists, binding them in custom silk. His cock bullies your g spot as his hands let your hair go, flicking your clit meanly.

“Gonna cum, princess?” He grunts. You nod furiously against the couch, doing your best to hold back your impending orgasm.

“Gonna cum daddy, can i?” You whimper, gripping desperately for anything, and finding purchase on the gray pillow that sits on the end of the couch. “Want daddy’s cum, give it to me please?”

Mori chuckles roughly at your words, hand smoothing over the red marks on your ass. “You can cum, Princess. Go ahead, let go for me.” He says. You cum with a cry, clenching down around his cock as he fucks you through it. He pulls out, watching as you scramble around, and take his cock in your mouth.

He grunts as you do your best to take it all, choking as the girth fills your throat, robbing you of air. Mori chuckles. “Such a good girl. Will you let me fuck your face?” He says, hands finding purchase on your hair. You nod, whimpering as he fucks you face roughly, bullying your throat.

Spit falls from your lips as you let him take control, eyes stinging with tears at the corner. Mori coo’s praises at you. “Such a pretty girl, so obedient for me.” Mori says, his stuttering and rhythm getting more inconsistent. “Gonna cum down your throat pretty girl. Can i?” He asks. You nod.

He shoves his dick down your throat one more time, and you stay still as he shoves your head down, forcing you to swallow. You do your best, swallowing the hot liquid that races down your throat until he pulls out, patting you on the head.

“Did I do good?” You question, your throat raspy. Mori nods, stroking your hair and whipping your tears. “Yes, pretty girl. And there’s no need to go to parties anymore.” He says, pulling you to your feet. “Daddy can just fuck you whenever you want.”

Endnotes: so, uh, yeah. Ok cool, daddy kink go brrrr

#bungou stray dogs #mariannacrxss #kinktober 2023 #bsd smut #helplesslypurple77kinktober #kinktober #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #mori x reader

329 notes · View notes

helplesslypurple77 · 6 months

Text

Day 14-Priest!Fyodor/Nun!Reader- with the prompt Masturbation

Notes: in an effort not to offend anyone, i'm using a made up fantasy religion that's not explicitly explained. I'm not religious and I don't want to accidentally offend anyone with this nasty little fic.

Also, if you’ve been reading my other Fyodor stuff and noticed that i mention his accent every chance i get, yes, i do love accent, probably a little too much(especially his it makes me h*rny)

The grand cathedral was a pristine place, sparkling white walls and large stained glass windows. You disliked it, the walls seemed to be always watching you. You preferred the smaller cathedral, the walls were a comforting wood paneling, and the arched ceiling was black, its stained glass windows showing pictures of orchards and dancing fairies, and not the angry eyes of the goddess. The goddess always seemed to be watching you in that cathedral, and lately you felt like avoiding her eyes.

Chores are comforting in a way. They let you escape from the busy world for a minute, dodge the gossip of the younger nuns. You loved gossip, but sometimes you were just too tired to keep up, and escaped to the smaller temple to wind down. The goddess in this temple somehow seemed different than the angry one in the cathedral, as if they were two separate entities, two sides of the same coin.

Carrying your mop and bucket, you open the large doors to the temple, taking a moment to soak up the atmosphere. It's a large room, long with a high arching ceiling. Blackwood beams arch into the sky, as if it's reaching for the goddesses mercy itself. You would appreciate some mercy, but you fear her too much to pray for forgiveness.

The walls are made of blackwood too, and rough with tree knots interspersed throughout. Large, arching windows let the sunset light in the light sprawling across the floor in large spires, collared different colors as it reflects the stained glass. These stained glass have always been your favorite. They depict the goddess, but in a softer light. She’s smiling, and not looking directly at you, judging you for your sins. She frolics in the grass in one, takes a bite out of some fruit in another, and yet another depicts the goddess with her lover, smiling so brightly you mistake her for real for just a split second.

A pedestal stands at the head of the room, a large statue of the goddess behind it. She’s pretty, your goddess. Tall, with curves and long, long wavy hair that trails the floor behind her. She stands with her hands outstretched, flowers flowing from her fingertips and trailing the ground. Her eyes are curved, her mouth carved into a pretty smile, a welcoming smile. Her eyes seem alive, and although the statue is made of marble, you get the vague sense that they are a startling vivid green.

You feel her eyes on you, berating you with her upset face. A face of disappointment, a face of sadness. And that hurts you much more than the stakes of anger ever could.

“I'm sorry, goddess.” The words echoed in the empty chamber, bouncing off the walls. The goddess looked on, unyielding, her face carved into a permanently happy expression. You hate the other statue of the goddess, the one whose face is carved into an unyieldingly blank smile, her eyes forcing guilt upon her worshipers.

You turn your eyes away from the statue, and carefully work the mop across the wood floor, avoiding the metals impeded in it. Sister Mila said never to scrub the metal, it offends the goddess. And you really don't need to be offending the goddess anymore than you surely already have. Your heart is heavy as you try to banish the thoughts from your mind, the nasty wrong thoughts. The goddess would be disappointed in you.

Finished with the moping, you move to dust the small confessional booth in the corner. It's tucked away from the main room, used by nuns who want to confess a sin of sorts, although the sins are usually trivial things like eating an extra serving of breakfast, or losing a friend's prize possession. Father Fyodor, the priest who usually takes care of the confessions is out right now, enabling you to clean the room in peace. It's good too, because seeing the Father right now might truly break you. You don't dare visit the confessional yourself, and confess your dirty thoughts to the star of your fantasies.

The dangerous thoughts are coming back, terrible, dirty thoughts and you wash the wood paneling harder, as if it will scrub your brain of the dirty fantasies.

It had started a few months ago, when Alina, one of the younger Nuns, had snuck into the village bookstore and purchased a certain kind of book.

⭒ ༺ ♰ ༻ ⭒

“Guess what I got.” Alina says, flipping her hair over her shoulder excitedly. She’s holding a book in her freckled hands, the cover a rich deep red with the title ‘Divine Desires: A Tale of Forbidden Love’. You wince at the dubious title. The room is lit by a single candle, you and Alina huddled around it. Alina’s fiery red hair bounces dangerously close to the candle, and you subtly pull the flame away.

“What? You were in town, right?” you say, pearing curiously at her. Alina nods. “Yep, Sister Mila took me and Hikari downtown to get the usual grocery run. And I snuck off.” She giggles, waving her book excitedly in your direction. You eye her curiously, a little apprehensive. Alina is the troublemaker of your little group, always sneaking off to do this or that or something. Although usually the kind of mischief she would get up to was wholly different. A book is a little, um, normal for her. You are almost more scared of the unknown it presents.

You hush her with a finger, leaning close. “Remember, be quiet. We don't want Sister Mila to discover us.” She whispers. The three of you are huddled together in the middle of your shared room. The large lamps that usually light the room have been extinguished, and Alina leans closer to the candle, reading by the small ring of light it gives. You lean closer, becoming her to speak. Despite your apprehension at the dubious title, you love books.

“It was a dark and stormy night…” Alina begins. Her soft voice is perfect for storytelling, and the story is interesting, about a nun like yourselves. It's not until Alina’s halfway through the second chapter, and the warning signs start to pop up, that you begin to have doubts.

A character named Mikhail is the first red flag. A priest who the main character, Sofiya, speaks of a little too highly to be normal. “...Father Mikhail stole my attention once more, his piercing eyes undressing me from across the table…”

And then, it turns out the book is a romance novel. Which is fine, actually. Great, considering you love romance novels. But then, the first explicit scene starts.

“...He caressed my body with his thick hands, smoothing the goosebumps that lingered from his kiss, driving my body wild with his touch...” Alina is barely holding back her grin as she reads, looking up every so often to see how you respond. You can feel your face heating up, and you glare at her balefully, but make no move to protest. She continues on.

“...‘oh Father Mikhail.’ I said, clutching desperately at his shoulders. ‘We mustn't do this. It is forbidden.’ he kissed the protests from my lips, his thick hands sliding beneath my skirt and caressing the meat of my thighs. ‘Do you really care what they think?’ He said, his voice rough with emotion. ‘Or do you care about us, about this heat we create—” Alina dissolves to the ground in giggles as you yank the book from her hands, face flaming. “Alina! How could you buy a…a…” You lower your voice, your face burning. “A dirty book.” You say, face on fire. Alina giggles at your response, yanking the book back.

“It's an Erotica, and it's perfectly healthy to be curious about these things.” She says, a bit too loud. You shush her and she continues in a whisper. “Besides, I saw you enjoying it.” You blush, but don't deny her. It will do no good to lie after all. “But Sister Mila will be furious.” You say. Alina frowns with a sigh. “We’re already in our nineteenth year, old enough to make our own rules.” She says, opening the book back up. “So where did we leave off…‘Or do you care about us, and this heat we create’. I nod desperately against him, the heat of his…”

⭒ ༺ ♰ ༻ ⭒

And ever since that day, when Alina had read her ‘erotica’ book to you, it was all you could think about. And everytime you laid eyes on Father Fyodor, all you could think about was the dream that had preceded it. You were ashamed when you woke up in the morning, a sticky wetness between your legs and the Father’s name on your lips. It was such a strange and uncomfortable feeling, the guilt thereafter. You had been driven nearly crazy by the heat between your legs that had abated only with a cold bath, but had left you feeling strangely unsatisfied and pent up. You hated it, and you hated how you didn't know what to do to make it go away.

It wasn't strange how you were fantasizing about Father Fyodor. It's quite embarrassing to admit but you’ve always found him handsome. The two of you entered the church around the same time, but he had risen through the ranks much faster than you, already a priest at the young age of twenty two. You were ranked high as well, but had yet to reach the rank you desired, that of a goddess nun.

You remembered well the day you had arrived at the temple. The children who were sent to the temple every year were few, but still notable. You remember very clearly being plopped onto the carriage with a kiss by your mother, the only other occupant a pretty boy with long hair, who teased you and played with your hair. He was so cool to your ten year old mind, a boy who at fourteen, was practically the coolest thing in the world to you. The veneer had faded slightly, as the distance between you two had widened, until you barely spoke anymore. It hurt you more than you would let on.

But, until now, you had thought your feelings were simply admiration, and nothing more. But as even the memories of the dreams made that frustrating heat pool in your lower regions, you are forced to accept that maybe your feelings are a little different. You clearly want him to do those things, the things Mikahil in the book had done to Sofiya, the things that would make this heat go away for good. But for now you would have to ignore the heat and avoid him for the life of you. It wouldn’t be hard, the two of you barely interacted anyway.

The guilt that always accompanies the heat is slowly eating away at you, the worries that you are a bad person, that this heat is bad. The dreams are bad, desiring a holy father you're sure is against the rules. Although you would never ask Sister Mila, you’re sure that it's wrong.

Pushing away the spikes of sadness and guilt that those words bring on, you sigh to yourself and finish your chores in record time.

⭒ ༺ ♰ ༻ ⭒

“So, what did you need?” Alina is sitting across from you in the cafeteria, knitting something teal that vaguely looks like a hat. She’s already finished her blueberry pancakes, and the empty plate rests in front of her. You clear your throat. “Well, um…” You say. You don't know if you should even ask this question, let alone at breakfast in the cafeteria, in earshot of the older Nuns. You play with your own pancakes, spearing a blueberry on your fork. Alina, worried at your silence, puts down her hat thing, and fixes her brilliant green eyes on you.

“Name, is something wrong?” She says. She looks so genuinely worried and you start to feel a little bad. The issue isn't that bad, and you don't want to make her feel guilty by telling her the problem. Alina is a kind soul, who has been your best friend in this place for many, many years. You love her, but you don't want her to worry over your stupid problems.

You do your best to paste on a smile, taking a bite of your fluffy pancakes. “Who’s supervising grocery duty today?” You say, hoping your voice sounds optimistic. Alina picks up her hat again, worries assuaged. “Um, I think it's Sister Katya? Not sure.” She says, leaning closer with a whisper. “You wanna sneak off and get more books?” She wiggles her eyebrows, the last word dripping with insinuations. You flush, and slowly shake your head. You're tempted though, because the books are not sinful themselves. It's your brain that has come up with the sinful scenarios involving a holy father. You feel that horrible guilt, accompanied obviously by that heat. You rub your thighs together.

“You sure?” Aline says, still whispering. She leans forward with a wink. “They have Divine Desires: A Tale of Forbidden Love volume two…” She leaves the question open ended, her voice going up temptingly at the end. You hate how tempted you are.

“Alright, fine.” You whisper back. Alina grins in triumph, and pulls back as a senior nun walks behind the two of you, eyes full of suspicion. You quail under them, while Alina stares back defiantly. You’ve never been good with authority, and now it's even worse. All you can feel is guilt and hatred, hatred of your poisoned mind. For how could you think such thoughts of a pious man like Father Fyodor. You tense under the nuns searching eyes, and breathe a sigh of relief as she walks away. You hate yourself for it.

⭒ ༺ ♰ ༻ ⭒

Alina’s waiting for you by the large wrought iron gate that blocks the temple from the outside world. She waves you over, handing you a large canvas bag. “For the groceries.” She says with a wink. You look around, noting the suspicious absence of supervision. “Where’s Sister Katya?” You ask. Alina gestures towards the path back to the monastery, and sure enough here comes sister Katya, talking to a familiar dreaded head of pretty black hair. You immediately look away, making desperate eye contact with Alina. She shrugs, looking just as confused as you are.

Sister Katya is young, for a senior Nun, and blond. She’s very pretty too, and you feel a nasty emotion you know as jealousy as she smiles at Father Fyodor, their conversation too far away for you to hear. Alina, smirking by your side, asks the question as the two of them join your small posse by the gate. “Hi Sister Katya.” She starts out, as you avoid all eyes, staring instead at the red roses growing by the fence. “Why is Father Fyodor joining us?” Sister Katya frowns in disapproval. “Alina, don't speak so rudely. And Name?” She says. “Raise your eyes and greet your superiors.” You raise your eyes, focusing them on Sister Katya and not looking in the other ones direction.

“Hello Sister Katya, Father Fyodor.” You're proud of how your voice doesn't waver, even though that guilt is eating you from the inside out. “It is nice to see your Name.” Fyodor’s familiar voice sounds from next to sister Katya, and involuntarily your eyes are on him again. He looks as handsome as ever with his dark, dark hair and piercing eyes. He somehow even manages to make a priest's outfit look attractive, and you feel that familiar heat built in the pit of your stomach. You quickly look away, flushed, embarrassed and oh, so guilty.

Sister Katya spares you a small smile, and then unlocks the chains blocking the gate. The carriage is waiting, and you hop in across from Alina, hoping and praying to the goddess that Fyodor will take the other seat, the one far away from you. The goddess must be exacting her revenge for your nasty thoughts however because instead of sitting on the other side, Fyodor chooses to sit right next to you. You try your best to curb your nasty thoughts, but they creep back, almost involuntarily. The heat, that pulsing heat in your groin overtakes your thoughts and you rub your thighs together, seeking the nasty bit of friction it gains you.

“It's been a while since I've seen you, Name.” Fyodor says. The carriage goes over a bump and you bounce a little. The seam of your underwear pulls against your crotch and you bite back a sound. “I suppose so, yes.” You reply, once the bumpiness has passed. You sound cold, you know, but you hope to discourage him from talking to you. You don't deserve his attention, with your nasty thoughts.

“It seems you are doing well?” He says, that accent catching prettily on your ears. He’s had it forever, and for some reason it hasn't seemed to fade, even after years at the monastery. “I guess so, yes. You?” You say. You can't help continuing the conversation, even as you mentally yell at yourself. Fyodor smells like an idea, like an old abandoned church covered in moss, surrounded by lilies and ivy, alone and unforsaken but not lonely. He smells like heaven. You cough, embarrassed.

“I've been busy, many come to confess lately.” He says. The idea of confessing your sins drives you crazy at night, tormenting your soul. You sigh as he continues. “Remember dear, if you ever need to confess a carnal sin the booth is open.” The phrasing catches you, stopping you dead in your tracks. An idea, a seedling planted in your brain, ready to sprout at the first drop of water. Your curiosity peaks, you dare to ask a question.

“Carnal sin? Have many people been confessing sins of that sort lately?” You try to devise the anxiety in your voice, doing your best to sound casually curious. Sister Katya is sitting across from you still, lecturing Alina about proper worship positions. Fyodor leans down slightly, his breath tickling your ear as he speaks. “An erotic book cart had been stationed downtown for a couple weeks now.” He starts. Your heart pounds in your chest even as heat pulses in your groin. He’s much too close. He continues, seeming not to notice your distress. “I must reassure them over and over again, that such physical desires are natural. They insist on apologies to the goddess it seems.”

A spike of home roars to life in your chest, but then you remember the kinds of dirty thoughts you're having. The goddess would never forgive a woman who desired a holy man. Maybe she would be happier if you did indeed confess your sins. Your mind made up, the tree in your brain sprouts, growing into a pretty little sapling, white lilies falling from the branches. Trying to probe subtly for information, you lean a little closer.

“Are you working in the confession booth tonight Father?” You don't think you could confess your sins to the man you fantasized about. You don't have the guts.

“I'm not sure, Dear, Father Nikolai and I switch off.” He says, laying a hand on your thigh as the carriage bumps again. The heat in your gut pulses, and you bite your lips to muffle your cry. Resolved to confess your sins tonight and beg the goddess for her mercy, you settle back into the torturous ride, with a small sigh of relief.

You miss the smirk that carves its way across Fyodor’s face, the pieces of his little puzzle falling perfectly into place.

You’ve always been such a good girl, and he knows you’ll be good for him too. He’s always loved you that about you.

⭒ ༺ ♰ ༻ ⭒

The shopping trip had been uneventful. Alina had disappeared for a while, and returned with a bag packed full of books, both erotic and regular. Father Fyodor had been glued to your side for some reason, and Sister Katya had spent the trip flirting with him. You had done your best to ignore her, and control your perverted urges around the Father.

It was night now, just after the curfew for the younger Nuns and you were sitting on your bed, still clothed, carefully lighting a lantern. You were technically breaking curfew, but there were certain rules that allowed you to go out after curfew, and confessing your sins was one of them. The temple had such strange rules, that if you wanted to, could be easily exploited. You yourself had never used this particular rule, simply because you didn't have a reason to.

The halls are quiet, the shadows arching gracefully along the high ceilinged hallways. The lamps flicker, and the shadows come to life, joyfully dancing with each other along the walls. The candlelight lamps through large circles of golden light along the floor, but they never touch. Forever alone, always watching, never touching. You hurry along the hallways, kitten heels making faint clicks on the hardwood floors.

It's more well lit near the grand cathedral, and the sound of choral practice fills the hallway. You hurry past, taking care not to disturb the older nuns. While technically you were not doing anything wrong, you didn't want to poke the sleeping bear so to speak. The strains of music fade behind you as you move deeper into the church. The goddess's room, and subsequently the confessional booth, is in a much older part of the church, past the white marble of the newer sections and back to the black hardwood and titanium that the church had begun with. The lights turn purple, their shades a muted lavender and you hurry faster, wanting to escape the aerie hallway.

The door opens with a creak, and you notice the light that signals a priest is in fact inside. You can't tell who, but you pray to the goddess that she may grant you small mercy’s and that it's Father Nikolai.

Father Nikolai is a strange man, with silver hair and a dramatic eye patch. He refuses to wear the uniform and instead wanders around wearing a strange jester uniform. He’s honestly not as weird as some of the other priests(Priestess Yosano who occasionally does strange experiments in the basement, and Father Dazai who owns a giant white tiger.) but Nikolai and Fyodor are the only priests who listen to confessions, you're not sure why. Father Nikolai tells way too many jokes and occasionally forces people to partake in his weird quizzes, but he’s harmless. You think. You're not totally sure, but you are sure you would rather take the weirdo with the stupid outfit than the object of your dirty fantasies.

You step forward, knocking lightly on the door to signify that you are here. The confessional is one of the oldest antiques in the Temple, made of ancient black wood with real silver accents that have to be polished. It's two-sided, with two doors that can be locked just in case. You take a deep breath, extinguish your lantern and enter the chamber, closing the door with a resolute slam. Your side of the confessional is larger than you would have guessed, with enough room for three people to lay comfortably side by side. It’s wooden as well, and while a bench lines the far end, you choose to kneel in a worshiping position, begging the goddess for mercy in your mind.

“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been many years since my last confession.” You say, your voice low to match the atmosphere. The words feel foreign and heavy on your tongue. The man on the other side of the one way partition, Father Nikolai you hope, hums gently, signifying you to continue. You know he can see you, but you cannot see him. The glass is full length, and a special one imported from a foreign land you were told. You bow your head, and begin your sordid tale.

“I pray the goddess will forgive my sorry self, for I have sinned of the utmost. The sin of carnal flesh.” You're already trembling, but in horror you realize the dirty thoughts are pouring back into your head, and that dreaded heat is pooling in your stomach.

“I have desired a holy man, and I have felt temptation and I simply do not know what to do.” You're close to tears, but that heat in your gut is pulsing, and you rub your thighs together, your vision growing warm and fuzzy. You continue in earnest. “Even now, as I think of the dreams my body heats up, and I don't know what to do, Father, but beg for the goddess’s forgiveness.”

The silence scares you, but you bow your head and beg the goddess’s forgiveness like you've been taught. And after a while, the voice you were least wanting to hear comes through from the other side.

“My Dear, what a pleasant surprise.” Fyodor’s accent is unmistakable, and while your brain feels fear the heat in your guy pulses. The hardwood floors scrape your bare knees, and the thought of him makes that heat, that fire grow into a raging curtain, hell bent on ruining you. You bow your head lower, as the priest continues.

“You wish to know how to stop the desire? That heat in your gut?” He sounds kind, his voice softened to almost a pur in the golden lamplight. You nod, expressing your enthusiasm but not trusting your voice. He chuckles.

“I see.” he says, and you hear some shifting through the glass. “Well, then follow my instructions closely. Can you do that dear?”

You nod, thanking the goddess gratefully for such an opportunity. The heat is still present, and has increased as the Fyodor has spoken. His accent does things to you, things you’d rather not think too hard of. When he speaks you want him to do things to you, forbidden things. Feeling rather guilty at the turn this has taken, you thank the Father as well, most profusely. “Thank you Father Fyodor, I am much indebted to you.” He chuckles behind the glass.

“Well then dear, sit down on the bench behind you.” He says. You scramble to do as he instructs, sitting down on the hardwood. The priest continues. “Now, do you feel a pulsing heat in your stomach?” At your nod, he continues on. “Now bring two fingers between your legs.”

Your face is aflame, but you follow his instructions, slipping your hand beneath your skirt and hesitantly touching the gusset of your undergarments. To your surprise, the fabric feels damp. Your confusion must show on your face, because you can hear Fyodor chuckle.

“It's wet, isn't it Dear.” His voice is all husky, and the tone shoots a bolt of white hot pleasure between your legs. You feel your insides clench around nothing, and suddenly feel so dreadfully empty. You nod, and the priest continues. “Spread your legs for me, and pull up your skirt.”

Your face is flushed with embarrassment, your heart pounding double time in your chest, but you do as he instructs, bunchin your skirt around your legs and spreading your thighs apart, baring your plain undergarments to the world. Fyodor makes a pleased sound through the barrier.

“You're such a good girl.” He says. You whine at the praise, biting down on your lips to keep the embarrassing sounds in. A faint rustling can be heard through the partition, and Fyodor continues, almost slightly out of breath. “Now take off your panties Dear.”

“I'm embarrassed Father.” You whine out. Your voice is unfamiliar to your ears, all breathy and full of something hot and needy. The man across the partition chuckles. “Call me Fyodor Darling.” He says. “And there is no need to be embarrassed, desire is a natural part of life my Dear. The goddess was a married woman, who partook in these types of things all the time.” His reassurance greatly helps, and the guilt slowly drains away with the rest of your common sense. Still slightly embarrassed, you slide your panties off, setting them gently beside you on the bench.

A slight breeze hits your cunt, and you shiver, another embarrassing sound working its way dangerously up your throat. “What’s next Fyodor.” You say.

A faint sound can be heard through the partition, almost as if someone is oiling a slick surface, and Fyodor’s voice comes out a little rough when he speaks. “Touch your cunt again dear, what do you feel?” You do as he instructs.

You can feel the lips, and you push past them to where you pee. To your surprise you jolt as a bolt of pure pleasure shoots up your spine. An embarrassing noise bullies its way past your bitten lips, echoing in the wooden chamber. Fyodor chuckles. “Feels good right Dear? Now slide your fingers down slowly, until you feel the wetness.” His accent is a little thicker now, and his words slur ever so slightly. The effect is much too sexy, you feel another bolt of pleasure, this is softer than the one before.

You do as he instructs, sliding your fingers away from the spot and down. You startle as you feel the large amounts of sticky wetness pooling down there. You pull your fingers away from your cunt, and up to your eyesight. They shine, and a thin string of the strange liquid stretches between your fingers as you pull them apart. Fyodor makes a choked up sound behind the partition. “So good darlin, so pretty. Now do you feel an opening down there?” He says.

You ring your fingers back down, and feel around until your fingers sink into something. You nod your assent, and Fyodor speaks again from behind the glass. “Sink one finger in until the knuckle to start.” He grunts out. For the first time you feel a slight bit of discomfort as your finger sinks in. You're being stretched open, and you feel the urge to pull them out again but you trust Fyodor, with your whole heart and soul. You let it sit in the heat for a moment, adjusting to the strange intrusion.

“Now, sink in a little further Dear.” He says. The pet names are driving you crazy, giving you hope as another shot of pleasure rockets through your nerve endings. You whimper a moan, embarrassed, and do as he instructs. It takes a minute to sink the whole finger in, but you manage it, panting into the steamy air. The intrusion feels new, but not bad, not at all. It feels good to be full, but you also feel hollow, like you're missing something. You communicate this in a breathless voice.

“Want more Fyodor.” Your voice doesn't sound your own, torn with pleasure and bliss. “Pull your finger out, then put it back in.” Fyodor says, voice gruff. “Keep doing it.” The advice is strange, but you do as instructed and pull your finger out, then put it slowly back in. The sensation is like nothing you’ve ever felt before. Every time your fingers drag against your walls, pleasure rockets though your body, leaving you mentling on the bench, legs wide open. You're making weird noises, too busy with the pleasure to stop the noises from leaking out of your bitten lips, legs twitching against the floor as the pleasure rockets through you.

“Oh goddess, feels so good Fyodor!” You moan, speaking the goddess's name in vain and not even caring. You're much too far gone to feel guilt or remorse anyway. “Want you more, want bigger.” You're begging for something you don't even understand, you're not sure what you want, you just want more, more, more.

Fyodor speaks from behind the glass. “You want more, pretty girl? You want me to come over and make you feel good?” He says. The prospect is so arousing your insides clench around your fingers, gone stupid with arousal. “Oh yes, oh yes please!” You say, thrusting your fingers in and out, in and out. You faintly hear a door slamming and then the door to your chamber is opening and Fyodor is in front of you.

He’s wearing a night outfit, just normal pants and a t-shirt, and his cheeks are flushed the palest pink. Your eyes catch on the tent in his white pants, and you feel spit gather in your mouth. He looks slightly disheveled, and devastatingly handsome. You pull your fingers from your cunt with a moan.

“Oh Fyodor, I want you so bad. Is that wrong?” You whine, legs still spread for his viewing pleasure. He smiles, pulling off his gloves and laying them on the bench beside your panties. “No, it's perfectly all right.” HIs voice is slightly rough, his accent thick and gravelly. One hand draws teasing patterns on your thighs, driving you nearly insane with want. He continues, his other hand unbuckling his belt. “I want you too darling, you can see my desire for you clearly.” Your eyes catch on that hand, that tent in his pants. You remembered the description from the book, the long hard thing called a ‘cock’. You remembered how the main character had described the pleasure, and your cunt feels dreadfully empty. You whine.

“Want you to fill me up, Fyodor.” You say, reaching out a hand and pulling him closer. He grins at you, all feral teeth and clouded eyes. “You want me darling? Want my cock in your pretty pussy?” He says. You nod, trying to say with expression alone how much you want him. He seems to understand, because he pulls the thing out of his pants and in one move, lines the tip up with your drooling cunt. The stretch is painful, at first.

It burns a little, and as Fyodor grips your thigh, ever so slowly easing himself inside you, your head falls back against the wall of the confessional, a moan slipping past your lips. Is a moan of half pain, and half pleasure, and as he finally bottoms out, you wrap your legs around his back to keep him still. You feel too full. You can feel his length pulsing inside of you, you can feel the heat radiating through your entire body. He pants against you, his eyes never leaving yours for a moment as he speaks. “Feel good darling?” His voice is low, pressed almost into your lips as he speaks. You nod. “Oh yes please, move, please. I oh—” You cut off as he obliges your wish, pulling out slowly and then slamming back in repeatedly.

Loud squelches fill the confessional and your moans spill out unbidden, joined by his occasional grunts and groans and the naughty slapping of skin on skin. You don't remember why you were so guilty, all you feel is pleasure, white hot pleasure coursing through your veins and driving you nearly crazy.

You feel a tight knot of something in your stomach, something hot and strange and you arch up, as it breaks. “Ohh Fyodor.” You moan out, your voice so full of pelasure it emberasses you. He grinds against you. “Did you cum Pretty girl?” He says, voice occasionally interrupted by grunts. You nod furiously, as you feel another strange knot building. “Warn be next time.” He continues, his breath hitting your ear. A hand works its way down your chest, and then Fyodor’s finger is playing with that bundle of nerves above your hole, and the knot brakes with a crash.

“Oh god ‘m cumming!” You scream out, gripping Fyodor’s shoulder furiously. The second orgasm is more intense, the pleasure lasting for longer as Fyodor’s cock continues to fuck you through it. You come down again, and Fyodor’s hand on your clit drives you right back up again. He smiles, his hips stuttering slightly.

“Gonna cum again, sweet heart?” He bites out. You nod hurriedly as his hips piston in and out. “Hold on for a moment Name.” He continues. “I'm almost done.” You do your best to hold back, concentrating instead on his face. He’s biting his lip, his pearly white teeth leaving red marks in them. All the while, his eyes have never left you.

“Fyodor, ‘m cuming, ‘m cuming.” You say, and he grips your head, pulling your close with a whisper. “Me to Name.” He says, and then crashes his lips onto yours.

You cum for the third time with a muffled cry, and his hips stutter, driving deep into you one more time as hot liquid splashes inside you.

Endnotes: so uh, this ended up resembling christianity a little two much, but also not because the only church i've ever been to was a black baptist church, and this...is not that

#bungou stray dogs #mariannacrxss #kinktober 2023 #helplesslypurple77kinktober #bsd smut #kinktober #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #fyodor x reader

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helplesslypurple77 · 6 months

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Day 13- Step Bro!Dazai/Reader/Step Bro!Fyodor

Notes: I think it's a little ooc, but i really couldn't decide which characters to go with so yeah.

also, uhm, that fyodor header picture has nothing to do with the actual story, i just though he looked so fucking hot with that gun(also yes, ik im using the step silbing/dad concept twice but its just so sexy to me yaknow*)(*and also, if your wondering, i actually have a wonderful relationship with my father)

Ever since you can remember the house had been cold. You didn't call it your house, even though you had lived there all your life. No, it was more akin to a creature unto itself, a perfect reflection of your childhood. You were born in this house, the only child Mother, or Cecilia as she insisted upon, didn't abort. You spent your younger years with a nanny, who cared for you the best she could. She taught you to read and write, and you excelled especially at math. But Cecilia didn't care. She never cared. And the house reflected her disinterest.

The nanny, a kind woman named Martha, had been disposed of when you turned eight. Cecilia decided you were old enough to function on your own and fired the waste of money. You spent your years after that in the library, absorbing information, reading fanciful stories with mothers who loved their daughters. You wondered why Cecilia never loved you.

When you turned ten, Cecilia brought home a man. She introduced you, and you stood like instructed, pretty and well behaved. He patted you on the head, but never spared you a glance. He was tall, blond and very, very young. Much younger than Cecilia. And he was much too enamored to care for you, Cecilia's little child. Cecilia encouraged this behavior, and although the number of people in the house had grown, you were all alone. You were always alone. But it was ok, you were used to the silence. You sat in your large playroom, and cried into your pillow, muffling your feelings in the silk. Cecilia didn't need your burdensome feelings.

The summer you turned eleven, Cecilia brought another man home. And this man was kind to you at first. He gave you candy and treated you with kindness, luring you into his trap like a spider. The first time he hit you, you had cried defiantly for Cecilia. And of course Cecilia had not come, for she would rather believe her boytoys over her own flesh and blood. Humans were cruel things, ready to hurt others at the drop of a hat. And Cecilia was the cruelest. Nothing comforted you for ounce as you cried into your comforter, as unloved as before.

The summer you turned fifteen it was clear you had inherited Cecilia's peerless beauty. You spent the rest of the summer mastering makeup and when you arrived at your private school you were instantly popular. The makeup just elevated your already peerless beauty and people, both boys and girls fell at your feet. You reveled in the popularity, the love. A different kind of love, but love all the same. The house congratulated you, but Cecilia didn't care. She never did, after all.

Your grades never fell however, you simply could not let them. If you were proud of anything, it was your intelligence. It was wholly yours, unlike your beauty, inherited from Cecilia. You hated that you were her creation, hated it with your entire very being. You loved your intelligence, however. It came from your father, you were told briefly by Cecilia, and because you had never met him it was easier to accept his qualities. The house was from your father, his money at least. A gift to Cecilia.

And the one gift he had ever gotten you was a ring, a gorgeous piece of silver and emeralds that Cecilia had taken, stoll right from your pudgy two year old hands. You had never even gotten to hold it as an adult. You didn't miss it, not really. But you hated the trait you shared with Cecilia, a sense of selfishness, and a love for jewelry.

It was on your sixteenth birthday, sitting at a table alone as you were blowing out the birthday candles, that you truly cried without the comfort of your pillows. Cecilia was out, and as you eat your cake, you soon come to realize that you had grown up too fast. You had been an adult since the moment Martha was fired and you had sat in the cold walls of your beige playroom, crying and crying for comfort, something that would never find you again. You were a shell, a puppet, a beautiful china doll empty of love. You were Cecilia. The house laughed at your plight, as you sobbed into your pillow, muffling your feelings into the comforting silk.

It was a hot summer day, a few weeks after you turned seventeen when Cecilia broke the news. You were sitting by the pool, sunbathing in your swimsuit. Cecilia simply walked in, spared you a glance, and informed you she was getting married. You felt a small shiver of surprise run up your spine. Cecilia had had many boyfriends, yes, but she never married them. This man had to be different. Or maybe it was her age, and her fading looks. You hated the spike of happiness that pillaged though your heart, you hated how feelings of hatred turned you into a spiteful shrew, just like Cecilia. Cecilia had cracked open a beer, flipping through her magazine, sparing you one last glance. “He has sons, two of them.” She had said, closing the screen door behind her.

⋆｡ °✩

“There you are, Name. You're late.” Cecilia said, giving you her usual faintly disapproving stare mixed with disgust. You still quail under it, even though it's the same one you’ve seen for years and years and years. You still fear her disapproval, even after all.

“I'm sorry Cecilia.” You say, straightening your spine. You're still in your school uniform, and the bus was late but you know better than to give excuses. Cecilia doesn't care for those. The little skirt and blazer combo is one of your favorites, and the only thing you truly love about St. Catherine's private school for young ladies. The walls of St Catherines are barren and cold, but not as cold as your own. Cecilia flips her hair, looking perfectly put together as always, although her age is beginning to show around her eyes. She hates it, you know, and you love it. You can't wait for Cecilia to wither away, her personal worst nightmare.

“Don't embarrass me, Name.” Cecilia says, her cold eyed stair rooting you to your place. “Just smile pleasantly and entertain your step brothers, alright Sweetheart?” She says. The pet name reeks of disinterest but her disinterest is preferable to her anger. For when Cecilia angers the foundations of the very house shake. You nod, and Cecilia takes that as enough. A knock sounds on the door, and any ugly expression is gone from her face as she flies for the door, opening it and hopping into the arms of the man behind it.

He’s your mothers usual type, tall and handsome, but several years older than you would have guessed. He spins her around, and they kiss. You look away. There are two boys standing behind him on the doorstep, and to your surprise they also look away from the torrid display. Their strange boys, both around the same height, but that is the only thing they share in common. They don't even really look related, but who are you to judge? Done with their display, Cecilia and her new husband step through the door, still attached at the hip. Cecilia throws you a glare, and you put on your customary smile, a smile so fake you feel like a barbie doll.

“My daughter, Name.” Cecilia almost imperceptibly grimaces at the word daughter, gesturing at you. You smile. “Hello.” You say, feeling like a fake. The man gives you a smile, gesturing at his sons, who have stepped through the door, and now stand on either side of him and Cecilia. “My sons, Fyodor and Osamu.” The one on the right smiles at you, the other one simply gives you a nod. They're so different, you’d almost think them adopted. But you can see their features in their father.

The smiling one, Osamu, has short wavy brown hair and sparkling brown eyes. He gives you a tiny wave, and you feel your smile become genuine for a second, before you catch yourself. The ones who smile are more dangerous, you had learned long ago. They lure you with kindness and hit you with force. He’s dressed in a wrinkled button down and uniform pants, his posture casual with his hands in his pockets. A matching tie hangs crooked on his neck. It's the uniform for your school, or the boys school across the street. St. Catherines school for young ladies and St. Andrews school for young men share a single campus separated by a metal fence.

The one on the left side is pale, almost sickly pale, with dark circles to match his long dark hair. It looks soft, his hair, and brushes just below his jaw. H’s eyes are dark, and they run over your face, almost as if they're checking for cracks in your composure. He’s dressed in the same uniform, but his appearance is more neat. His tie is tied correctly, and he wears a black jacket over the rest of his uniform. They are strange boys, but you are very used to strange after all.

“Name? Entertain your new brothers, Sweetheart.” Cecilia says. You wince at the nickname. You hate that nickname, you hate it so much. “Yes Cecilia.” You bite out, smile still in place. You feel empty, like a porcelain doll. A tool Cecilia can use and discard at any moment. You feel disposable. You hate it.

⋆｡ °✩

Your new brothers are kind, if a little strange. The quiet one with pretty hair, Fyodor, is a year older than you. He plays cello and dislikes Cecilia, which makes you like him a lot. Fyodor treated you with an amount of distance at first, but slowly warmed up to you when he found out you play piano. He had informed you one day, when he was helping you with homework, that his mother was a Russian supermodel. And he’s handsome, you're not really surprised. He’s kind in a quiet kind of way, less teasing than his younger brother. You also notice how he subtly moves forward, shielding you whenever Cecilia is angry. You love him for it, that protectiveness.

Osamu is younger than you by about six months, and loud. He quite clearly makes it his goal to be the loudest person in the room and you love how it annoys Cecilia every time he steals her thunder. He’s a very touchy person as well, unlike his brother. He would comfort you with jokes when he saw you were down, and could not cook for the life of him. His reaction to Cecilia was the most reactionary. He taunted her, shot smart alec remarks in her direction, or just plain ignored her. And every time he got a reaction. Cecilia’s face would flush red with anger, and she would strike out, just to be dodged with a snarky little comment. And the more angry she got, the more pleased Osamu became

And they hate each other, the brothers. At first you had thought they got along well, but then you noticed the snarky little comments they would trade back and forth, the glares behind their parents back. Everything is a constant competition, be it a board game or report cards they make it their goal to beat the other each time. And you don't really mind, the house feels warm and full of life, and you feel included. To them, life seems a game, and the people who live it merely pieces, to be moved to and fro to their pleasure. You must assume yourself a spectator, not a piece, but if you were a piece you would like to be the queen. Cecilia didn't like your new brothers, that much was obvious. But she still used them to belittle you every chance she got.

“Your brothers got all A+.” She would say, pinning you with that faintly disgusted expression she used as default. “And you got an A.” You would surrender to your room to cry in peace, away from Cecilia's proud eyes, and the prying ears of your much to perceptive brothers.

But if they shared anything, it was a sense of mystery. Because each of them never allowed you to get too close, keeping you forever just a length away. You tried not to take it personally, but you still shed a tear or two.

But for the first time in many years, you were happy. The house congratulated you, as its hallways filled with laughter to replace to silence, its rooms with color to replace the beige. Cecilia was as unpleasant as ever, but she was busy with her husband, and left you and your step brothers to their own devices. But still you feared it would all go away. That soon, they would tire of you, that they would never let you close, that Cecilia would grow tired of her husband and toss out the trash as she always did. It was a nagging fear that came back to haunt you in dreams, until you woke up in a cold sweat.

And there's an odd tension that hovers in the air, whenever you and the brothers interact. A strange tension that makes your blood sing with excitement, that leaves you on your toes with anticipation. When Osamu slings his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into a loose hug of sorts. When Fyodor pulls your hair behind your ear, his cold fingers brushing your face, leaving goosebumps in their wake. It's a tension you’ve felt before, a tension you don't want to give name to, a tension that scares you. But then, you're sure it's just you, that your new brothers simply treat you as a sister, like how you should treat them. You should not desire your step brothers, Cecilia had told you the night before they moved in. But then again, Cecilia had never been a very good role model.

⋆｡ °✩

It's raining, big fat drops pattering against the roof, wind splattering the droplets against the window panes. A faint clatter can be heard from outside, as if the wind itself is crying, banging at the doors. The wind sounded lonely. It banged on the doors of the world, begging to be let into the light, much like you had when you were young. You wanted to comfort the wind, to hold her in your arms with the warmth you had never been given, but everyone knew you could not hold the wind. So you simply told her to stay strong, and let the night and rain embrace her for you.

You would always read when it rained. You remembered a book you had read long ago. It had been the one to solidify the wind as lonely, and had been oh so impressionable to your young mind. ‘Keep strong wind’ it read, ‘keep strong and soon the rain and night will hold you in their comforting embrace, will keep you warm and happy…’. You had always seen yourself in the lonely wind, and had dreamed of your rain and night to comfort you. The library had long been your only comfort, and you begged for human comfort, human warmth.(You didn't dare to hope that your step brothers could be your night and rain, because you knew god would hear you and laugh in your face. Because god loved Cecilia, not worthless you.)

Cecilia and her husband are gone, on a weekend trip to Hawaii. You were not invited, because of course not, and neither were your brothers.

The house is almost silentand with Osamu out at book club the house seems to sigh in relief, giving itself time to relax before the loudness returns.

You are curled up on the couch with a book, listening to Fyodor as he practices his Cello. It's a cozy evening, the fire crackling in the grate, the strains of the first movements of Brahms – Cello Sonata No. 1 floating through the cozy atmosphere. You hear the piano part along with him unconsciously, fingers tapping your things in rhythm. You can never quite beat the musician out of you, it's embedded into your very being at this point.

Brahms – Cello Sonata No. 1, the first movement is a deep piece, and slightly depressing if you're being honest. But you love the melancholy that surrounds it. It creates a certain air, allowing the instruments to tangle together beautifully almost as if the melodies are dancing together. They twist like lovers, the parts, dipping one then the other, a beautifully teasing medley of pure emotion, something you could never truly give in life. It would be nice to dance with Fyodor, he was such an elegant human being, from the way he walked to his looks. You imagined the two of you would sail across the floor of the ballroom, his gloved hand on your waist, twirling you and spinning you and only looking at you. You wanted him to gaze upon you with reverence, much like the men your mother married gazed upon her. You want to be loved.

The Cello part comes to an end, and you sit silently for a moment, hesitant to break the spell. Then Fyodor's accented voice, still slightly hushed, breaks through the atmosphere. “How was it?” He says. You love his accent, it feels all full and warm. “Good, good as always.” You say, putting a finger in your book and looking up. “You were a bit sharp on the first note of measure twenty seven.” You're reading Pride and Prejudice, again. You’ve always loved it, and have read it some many times you’ve simply lost count.

Fyodor sighs, leaning back in his chair and resting his cello back into its case. “You always catch my mistakes. What would I do without you, Name.” He says with a small smile. Your heart warms at the praise, your smile threatening to break out of its confinements, all together and split your face in two. You tamp it down, putting on a face of disinterest you're not sure he believes. You always get the vague feeling that your brothers know you better than you know yourself.

You flip through the channels on tv, happy to have control of the remote. It's all the usual, sports games and real housewives and spanish game show episodes. You put on a random movie, which sounded interesting. ‘Essential object of enjoyment,’(is a title that to anyone else would scream softcore porn film, to you, still a sheltered girl of seventeen years old, it seemed as innocent as a daisy. You were not a virgin, but inexperienced and somewhat oblivious, so at odds with your calm adult attitude.) Fyodor plops himself on the couch next to you, a tedious foot away. He seemed too far away but all at once to close, the heat of his body a tease beside you. You clench your legs together, pulling in on yourself.

The film is about a young woman named Maria, who is taking a vacation on a very sketchy manor in a strange small town. It's a low budget film, with crappy acting and even crappier scares, but it's entertaining and you find yourself settling in against the couch, slowly leaning closer and closer to the warm human beside you. And soon, as Maria decides to ignore all the advice of the locals and enter the abandoned church late at night, you're so close your shoulders are almost touching, and finally, you dare to lean into him.

He lets you, slinging an arm around your shoulders with an excuse none of you are listening to anyway, and pulls a small blanket over your bare legs. “You're cold aren't you?” he says, voice hushed in your ear. You shiver, with a nod. You arent that cold, but you want to be close to him, to feel his heat, his warmth. You're sure he knows this, and you let yourself feel hopeful for once, curling into his body like a pedigree cat.

And as you watch the movie, heart pounding in your throat, it dawns on you that something is very clearly wrong. The budget is too cheap, but the camera work is too advanced, the camera’s to expensive. The acting is too bad, but the actress has professionally done makeup and hair. And then, as you watch Maria get tied up by the clean masked man, it all makes too much sense. It's softcore porn. You move for the remote, fishing around for it on the couch, desperately. You're already flushing, your thighs rubbing together as you reach around for it. The idea of watching a porn film with your step brother is humiliating and embarrassing and frustratingly arousing.

“Do you need something?” Fyodor says, rubbing little soft patterns in your shoulder, pulling you closer to him. You nod. “The remote, gonna switch channels.” You're already flushing, but have stopped your frantic fishing for the remote. He frowns in disappointment and you automatically tense, so used to Cecilia’s disappointed or angry stares. “Can we leave it, I'm actually enjoying it.” He says. You glance at the screen, where Maria is now being threatened by a knife. You desperately want to say no, but the people pleaser in you insist you agree. And so, you sink back into his touch, flushing.

‘Where is it? Where is it?’ The masked man is saying to Maria. The film takes a moment to focus on the actress’s bountiful chest, and you try not to writhe with embarrassment and jealousy. You bet Fyodor likes big boobs, Cecilia said all men like big boobs. Her’s are fake, but you don't feel the need to protest and get a slap.

The bad guy of the film is a man in a purple mask. He’s thin in stature, and tall, overwhelming Maria’s small frame. He reminds you distinctly of the man sitting beside you, with his face hidden like that. He has a russian accent in the film as well, just like the man beside you, and as he whispers in her ear it does stuff to you.

‘Tell me where it is or there will be consequences.’ the man in the mask says.

‘I will never tell you!’ Maria says definitely. You watch in horror as the masked man's thin fingers slip between her thighs. The camera cuts to her face of surprise. It's clear that this is where the actress’s true chops shine, as her mouth drops open in a little oh of surprise.

You feel hot, biting back a whimper as you press your thighs together, hoping that your step brother doesn't notice.

‘Your such a slut for my fingers aren't you?’ The man in the mask bends Maria over a table, the camera now showing a cut of his hands pulling her thighs apart. All you can picture in your mind is you as Maria, and the man in the mask as Fyodor. When the man in the film speaks all you can hear is Fyodor’s voice, his teasing lines, him all him all him.

And then, the other bad guy of the film appears. And honestly it should shock you out of your dirty fantasies, but the other man, this one in a teal mask, sounds very similar to your other step brother.

You can imagine yourself in Maria's place, bent over a table like that, fingers shoved up your cunt, dick keeping you silent. And most of all, pretty praises falling out of your step brother's mouths. ‘Such a pretty girl, such a smart girl, so good for us, such a slut for us—’

Fyodor’s eyes are on you, you can feel them even as you focus resolutely on the screen. He speaks near your ear, a pur, a whisper, a tease ment for seduction. “What are you imagining, darling?” He says. He speaks like he already knows, and through your haze of arousal clouding your brain you let the words escape before you can stop them.

“Fingers in my cunt.” You say, your voice a whimper. Maria on the screen begins to moan, loudly. The volume goes down on screen and you're too lust clouded to question why Fyodor had the remote.

“You want fingers in your pretty cunt baby?” Fyodor purrs in your ear, his long pale fingers teasing the edge of your uniform skirt. “You want my fingers stuffed up that tight cunt of yours? Would that feel good?” You whine, head falling back against his arm, eyes falling closed.

“Oh yes, please.” Your voice is embarrassing, all breathy and whiny. This whole situation is illogical, and if you were able to see through the haze of lust in your brain you would have backpedaled immediately. But you're horny and in love and he’s encouraging you.

His fingers caress the edge of your panties, teasing you with glances of touches, driving you crazy. You grip his arm, the one teasing your pussy and shove the hand against your drooling cunt. The man beside you bites back a groan, muffling his pleasure, but you hear it. It reassures you that he wants you too, but also drives you insane, craving sweet relief with his touch.

Fyodor’s fingers find purchase, clever musicians' hands pulling back the crotch of your panties. He chuckles as you clutch his arm, still clothed in his loose white turtleneck and jeans. “You're so wet darling, your little cunt is absolutely drooling.” he says, his accent doing things to your brain, to your pussy. Your eyes catch on the dirty picture. He drags his fingers through, collecting a fair bit of wetness and popping his fingers in his mouth. The picture is nasty. He keeps eye contact all throughout, sucking his fingers wetly, the dirty slurping sounds filling the room.

“Here darling.” He holds out his wet fingers, dripping with a mix of saliva and your own arousal. “Suck.” He says. You take them in your mouth obediently, tasting the mix of arousal and saliva. The very idea that you're tasting him, that you're tasting his very being, makes your abandoned cunt clench around nothing, the nasty slurping sounds you make only fueling the arousal perfuming the air. At some point Fyodor had turned off the porn, and now the only sounds that fill the room are from the two of you. A different kind of music than that you're used to, a symphony of debauchery.

His fingers leave your mouth with a pop, and you open your eyes. He smiles at you, all hazy eyes and spit slicked lips. “Good girl.” He says, and then shoves both fingers in your cunt. You arch off the couch at the abrupt intrusion, clenching down hard around his fingers with a scream. ‘Oh, oh god Fyodor!” You say, panting. He looks vaguely proud as he scissors you open, watching as you thrash around on his fingers, bucking desperately.

The sound of the door slamming penetrates the haze, and you grip Fyodor’s fingers, trying to stop him. He just continues to fuck you open, grining all the while.

“Man, fuck you Fyodor.” It's Osamu, looking less surprised and more annoyed. Fyodor just continues grinning as you moan on his fingers, drooling pussy on display. “I consider this a win then?” He says, smirking. Ah, another one of their competitions. You would pay more attention but your being fucked open by Fyodor’s long relentless fingers. You keen as he adds another one, gripping his arm with a nasty whine.

Osamu speaks to Fyodor, but his eyes are fixed on you. “It's not over yet, you fucker.” He says, slamming his backpack down on the floor and sauntering over to you. “Name declares the winner. Deal?” Fyodor, now rubbing a thumb on your clit nods, holding out his other hand to shake. “Deal, that sound good darling?” You nod around your moans, not truly comprehending what that means. Osamu sends you a rather scary looking grin and pounces.

They move you into a doggy position first, Fyodor replacing his fingers with his cock. You're already so close, and as you feel the large intrusion bully your walls apart you cum right there, your head falling against the couch cushions. “Oh, oh, oh god, ‘m coming!” You scream, drooling onto the couch. Fyodor grunts behind you. “You're tight.” He coos. Osamu grips your jaw, draggin you off the ouch to look at him. “So pretty too, just perfect aren't you.” His dick is already hard in his jeans, you can see the bulge as Fyodor begins to move, fucking you through the overstime. You whine in pain, the sharp pains of overstimulation mixing with the blinding pleasure they give you. Dazai chuckles.

“We’re going to fuck you do good darling.” He says, running a gentle hand through your hair. “Make you feel our love.”

⋆｡ °✩

It's when you're three orgasms deep, and you're hung over the couch backwards, a dick down your throat and cum dripping from your pussy, that you maybe start to have second thoughts. Their stamina seems endless, and they bring to the edge relentlessly, their competitive natures making them drive you to orgasm after orgasm. The world is hazy at this point, and all you feel is pleasure, all you hear is their voices, all you want is them, them them.

“Switch her around Osamu.” Fyodor says, his accent rough though the haze. You feel yourself hoisted up, and now you're folded into a mating press and Fyodor’s fat cock is bullying your walls again. Cum leaks out of all your holes, the loud squelching sound letting you know that you're thoroughly ruining Cecilia's favorite couch. You're covered in sweat, completely naked and makeup ruined, and to the boys you’ve never looked so pretty. They tell you at length, compliments showered on your exhausted form.

And as you cum yet again, clenching around Fyodor’s dick with a weak cry, you feel so loved, so appreciated, and so optimistic.

And then you bended into another position, Dazai’s dick lodged into your ass, Fyodor’s in your dripping cunt.

⋆｡ °✩

“So, which of us won anyway?” It's Dazai, and he sounds plenty exhausted. You sigh tiredly, holes dripping cum onto the carpet and exhausted. “Draw.” Is all you manage to pant out.

Fyodor beside you chuckles. “I guess we’ll have to have a rematch then.” You're exhausted, but you feel your pussy clench tiredly at the mention of that. “Yeah.” You sigh out tiredly. The boys chuckle beside you, each pressing a kiss to your cheeks.

“Love you Name.” You hear them whisper in your ear. You smile as you drift off the sleep.

End Notes: I am actually a piano player, and every time I listen to classical pieces nowadays I feel really bad because I haven't been practicing lately because my piano teacher is taking a break because she had a baby.

#bungou stray dogs #mariannacrxss #kinktober 2023 #bsd smut #helplesslypurple77kinktober #kinktober #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #dazai x reader #dazai smut #fyodor x reader

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helplesslypurple77 · 6 months

Text

Day 12-Atsushi/Reader with Accidental Voyeurism and Breeding Kink

Notes: Atsushi my baby. I love him so much he’s so pretty. Also love breeding kinks so yay

“Are you sure this is the right place?” You say, eying the rundown inn dubiously. Atsushi nods, double checking the small piece of paper he holds in his hands. “Yes, this is the place.” He says. The smell of petrichor fills the air, the grass still wet after the rain. It's evening, and mist has started to creep it way over the treetops, obscuring all but the trunks. It's a thick fog, blanketing the world in a pretty mist. It makes everything feel smaller, warmer, more intimate. Probably because you can't see past the small ring of trees surrounding the inn. A lantern hanging by the door casts a ring of golden light on the grass, and an owl hoots in the distance. It's almost like you’ve entered a different world, a mysterious world full of mist and darkness.

The clouds above you threaten more rain, and you grip Atsushi’s arm, almost afraid of the place. It always feels spookier during October. “Let's just go. I'm honestly too tired to even care.” You say, gripping Atsushi’s arm tighter. You don't notice the blush that crawls across his face as you move towards the Inn, dragging your small bags behind you.

The lobby is lit in lowlight, more lanterns bathing the place in an orange yellow light. The corners are in shadow, and you can almost see shadow men in the corner, waiting to ambush you in your sleep. You shudder, clutching Atsushi’s arm close to your body as the two of you make your way towards the lady behind the front desk.

She’s very pretty, with her hair done up in a classical style, wearing a traditional kimono. She smiles at the two of you, looking very much like a proud mother.

“Do you two lovebirds have a room?” She says. You blush, and drop Atsushi’s arm like it's personally offended you. “Yes, do you have any?” Atsushi says, placing the bags on the wooden floor. “And we’re not together like that.” Are you projecting or did he almost sound disappointed? You're probably projecting.

“Sure sweetheart.” The front desk lady says, winking. “Aren't you guys lucky, you guys got our last room! We’re fully booked today.” She fished behind the desk, pulling out a key attached to a large wooden ring. “You guys are on the second floor, in room 8B. Breakfast is at eight thirty tomorrow, if you’d like to join us.” She says, smiling all the while. “And, try not to be too loud, if you know what I mean.” She throws the two of you one more wink, as you escape, your faces painted with matching blushes.

The room is actually pretty big, with an attached bathroom, but the thing that your eyes catch immediately is the one(singular) queen bed sitting in the middle of it. You pause in the doorway, cheeks flushing again, as your eyes frantically scan the room for any other beds. But no, there isn't even a couch. Atsushi chokes beside you, and you scurry into the room, allowing him inside. The door closes behind you with a slam. His face probably rivals yours for color, and the two of you stand at the edge of the room, blushing and awkward for a good few minutes, before Atsushi rushes to speak.

“Don't worry, we can just get another room.” He says, placing your bags on the floor next to the bed. You shake your head. “They're fully booked, remember? The front desk lady told us.” You say, frantically trying to get control of your blush.

“I can sleep on the floor then.” Atsushi says, shooting you a sweet smile. You almost melt at his kindness, but you shake your head. “No, I couldn't do that to you. And besides imscaredtosleepalone…” You whisper the last part, and as if to prove your point, the shadows in the corners dance wickedly, almost laughing at you. Atsushi frowns. “What was that? I didn't hear that last part.” You flush, embarrassed as you raise your voice. “I'm scared to sleep alone, ok? This place is spooky.” You say, blushing again, this time out of embarrassment. Blessedly, Atsushi doesn't laugh at you. He just nods, a pretty flush still painted across his face.

In a hurry to change the subject, you flop into an armchair, sinking deep into the comforting cushions. “The mission went well huh.” You say, letting the exhaustion seep out of your bones. Atsushi nods, opening his small overnight bag. “Yes, thankfully.” He says, pulling out a phone charger. “I’m just thankful we were able to defeat him.”

You laugh. “We? Atsushi, don't be modest, you did most of the work.” The boy protests, but you laugh again. The mission had been deceptively simple on the surface, just an investigation. A young woman had requested someone to keep tabs on her boyfriend to see if he was cheating on her. Turns out he wasn't cheating on her, but he was running a drug smuggling ring, and was an ability user. You were much more investigative than combat focused, so you had done what you could but Atsushi had been the real star. You shift, rubbing your thighs together. Watching him fight was always so, for lack of a better word, sexy. He was usually such a sweet polite boy, and while you loved him like that, you also loved watching him fight. His eyes would get all feral, and the way he would stare down enemies always made your pus—

You cut your dirty thoughts short as you feel your panties getting wet. You need to control your thoughts because Atsushi might be able to smell your arousal with that powerful animal nose of his. You stand hurriedly, reaching for your pajamas and other bath supplies. “Gonna take a shower first, that good Atsushi?” You say, hoping to god that he can't smell your arousal. He looks up from his place on the bed, fiddling with his phone and gives you a thumbs up. You disappear with a sigh of relief into the bathroom.

The steamy water feels wonderful, washing away both your arousal and the dirt of the day. You run soap over your body, washing each nook and cranny carefully. Your thoughts drift away as your shampoo your hair. It had been a long day. First the long train ride away from civilization, and then a pretty shady taxi ride out into the woods, and then shadowing the target for nearly three hours, and then finally the big fight. It had been a pretty hard fight, in your humble opinion, but Atsushi had very quickly taken out all of the henchmen, before moving to the main event.

He hadn't even needed to fully transform, just his legs and arms to block the enemies attacks. The target, John’s ability allowed him to turn paper into projectiles as sharp as a knife. And he was combat experienced as well, to anybody else a hard foe. But Atsushi handled him easily. You still remembered how his eyes had narrowed, his pretty pupils turning cat eyed, a feral light turning them irresistible. He moved so fast and nimble, his feet barely touching the ground as he leaped in large bounds towards John, fast strikes aimed at his arms, meaning to incapacitate, never kill.

But the worst, or best part had been when John had aimed a projectile at you, sitting on the sidelines. The first instant you were watching a hardened paper airplane fly at you, fearing for your safety and then the next you were pressed to the floor by Atsushi, his body covering the length of yours.

And honestly, you know you should have been scared but the first image that ran though your brain was thoughts of this position, but with Atsushi’s dick pummeling your pussy, railing you into the ground. He would pant in your ear, calling your name, hallowed with pants and grunts, and you would moan him in return, right there on the battlefield, John be damned. It was such a dirty thought, so unexpected that it shocked you, and even as Atsushi flew back in John’s direction, a feral light in his eyes, you stayed on the ground for a hot second, truly taking in that barrage of dirty images.

You had already known you had a crush on Atsushi, ever since his sweet smiles and kindness had started to make your heart pound erratically in your chest. But you had never truly realized just how unhinged your thoughts could get, not until today however.

You snap back out of your fantasies, still in the shower, but with a telling wetness between your legs. You sigh, sliping your hands between your legs.

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦

The vending machine down the hall didn't have his favorite drink. Now, this really wasn't a problem, but the only things the vending machine had was water, and mini bottles of Vodka. Both of those options were mildly concerning, to say the least, and Atsushi didn't even know if that was legal. With a sigh, Atsushi just punched in two waters and walked back to the room with his treasures.

You're still in the shower when he opens the door, and Atsushi takes this opportunity to change into his pj’s and work on the mission brief. It's boring work however, and Atsushi feels his mind drifting back to the mission this afternoon. You always did especially well with intel missions, and this one was no exception. You had been the one to locate the target, you had been the one to initiate most of the sneaking, and you had been the one who had found the hideout in the first place. Atsushi had just been essentially muscle. And he wasn't complaining, however sappy it might sound, he was just happy to tag along with you, and have more of an opportunity to simply be in your presence. Happy to let his embarrassing little crush marinate and slowly grow bigger and bigger, the longer he spends around you.

He takes a sip of water, filling in the details as much as he can, because Kunikida prefers it that way and he’s just going to have to redo it if he doesn't do it now. He thinks back on earlier, when they had first arrived at the inn and you had been clutching at his arm. He was sure his face had been bright red, but you hadn't noticed, much too scared of the surroundings to pay attention to his beating heart and red face. And then, when the Inn keeper had called the two of you a couple, Atsushi’s heart soared. The after insinuation had made him flush again though. But whatever, he was happy just to be in your aura.

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You're deep in your arousal, two fingers stuffed deep in your cunt, full on moaning when your elbow hits the shampoo bottle, sending it to the floor with a clatter. You barely notice, to busy with the lust clouding your mind, the nasty fantasy staring Atsushi making you fuck yourself desperately, trying to get off quickly before you have to go to sleep in your shared bed.

You're so deep in your lust, eyes closed, that you don't notice how loud the clatter really is, and that your jumpy temporary roommate outside will most definitely assume the worst. And you're so, so close. Your orgasm is hanging just above your head, and you're desperately reaching for it when the door slams open and a very worried Atsushi comes to a dramatic stop right in front of you. It's then that you open your hazy eyes, and see a very shocked Atsushi right in front of you.

And it's right then, that your orgasm hits you like a truck, and all you can do is let it rock you, trying to bite your moans in as he stares at you in shock. And then the orgasm recedes and leaves you, lust fogged and confused, staring up at him.

“Huh? A-atsushi?” You say. Leaping to attention, Atsushi scrambles backwards, face firetruck red.

“Um, i-im so sorry, I heard a clatter and I thought you were hurt. And i-uh-i'll just go, I'm sorry.” He says, tripping backwards and somehow making it out the door without any major injuries. “I'm so, so sorry.” he says one last time, before slamming the door behind him.

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Atsushi sits on the edge of the bed, fingers drumming patterns in his thighs, dick hard in his pants, and all he can see is the image, seared into his eyelids, of you, your face as you orgasmed. He sees it every time he closes his eyes. It's all he can see, along with flashes of your naked body, your breathless voice saying his name, right after you came.

He’s going to hell, he’s going to rot in hell. His formerly innocent, fluffy little crush has changed, now he can't think straight, his heart is pounding, and half of his blood is going south. His dick is hard, and involuntarily he snakes a hand down, just putting a little pressure on it. That's ok, right? He can't out right jerk off, especially with you right in the other room, he can do this much right?

It still feels gross though, but Atsushi can't stop himself as he moves his hand along his length, still trapped in his pants. You're so pretty, your curves perfect, the image of your perky boobs seared into his frontal lobe. You’d been fucking yourself with your fingers, and Atsushi can still remember the moment you’d cum, the exspression that had come across your face, your eyes as they made contact with his own.

Atsushi’s started panting, hand pressing down a little harder on his length as he imagined you. He can picture it, you beneath him, writhing against him, the heat of your walls. And then you’d cry his name, maybe like you had when you’d called his name in the shower, just before he’d stumbled out of there—

Atsushi’s keen tiger ears catch the absence of the shower, and he hurriedly scrambles backwards, his hand flying off his dick like i’d burned him, and frantically trying his best to compose himself as you exit the bathroom, dressed in a darling little pajama set. You avoid his eyes, your cheeks pink as you take a sip of water. Atsushi begs his dick to calm down, before it emberasses him any further.

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The silence has never felt so loud. Atsushi had desperately avoided your eyes when you came out of the shower after that embarrassing debacle, and you'd avoided addressing the situation, and so the two of you had gone to bed in that very awkward silence.

You’re almost asleep when you hear the rustling of sheets. Every few minutes or so, one of you turns, rustling the sheets in the deathly silent room. You speak first.

“I'm really sorry about earlier, Atsushi.” You say, grateful he at least can't see your embarrassment in the dark bedroom. You can hear him shaking his head in the darkness. You press on.

“I probably accidently traumatized you huh.”

The boy hurries to deny, panic clear in his voice. “No, it's not that at all.” He says. His rather enthusiastic denial makes your ego grow a bit, but then he presses on. “It's just not everyday you see your crush naked, i was surprised.” The dead silence that falls after his sentence concludes isn't quite as bad as the earlier one, but it's still loud. You count to about four, and then you speak.

“Atsushi, you have a crush on me?” You say into the darkness. It takes Atsushi about three seconds before he realizes what he says and begins to sputter out a convoluted denial. “No, that—i…” He stops for a moment, pausing before letting out a defeated little, “Yes, I'm sorry.” He sounds so sure, so absolutely positive that you could never like him back, that it breaks your heart. You sigh, feeling for him in the dark. Some rustling sounds, and then the lamp on the side table switches on with a click and you're suddenly staring at those sunset colored eyes, so wide and vulnerable.

“I like you too, Atsushi.” You say, coming in contact with his shoulder, and he jumps, leaning into your touch.

“I know, im sor—wait what?” He says, pulling away from your hand, the shock clear in his voice. You smile to yourself in the dark, elation singing through your veins. “Yes, I like you Atsushi, I like you a lot.” You can't help but rub it in a little, and suddenly you’re being pulled forward by Atsushi’s hand, and his warm body is enveloping you in a hug.

“Really?” He murmurs in your ear, his voice sounding so fragile, so breakable yet so hopeful you almost cry.

“Really.” you reply, a whisper in his ear. You pretend not to notice how he clutches you tighter, his heart pounding loudly in his chest.

He pulls away slightly, just enough to stroke your cheek, his hand trembling against it. “Can I kiss you?” He asks, ever the gentleman. You smile, moving closer. “Yes.” You say, and then his lips are on you.

Atsushi kisses softly, almost as if he expects you to reject him, shove him away and leave him cold and in bed alone. You could cry at his tenderness, at how his hands smooth over your side, carefully steering clear of any more sensitive areas. You love how he treats you like a princess, love how as he gets more confident, his kisses turn deeper, his hands more searching. And you especially love it when he rolls on top of you, how he almost whimpers when your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging ever so slightly.

His kisses slowly turn deeper, searching, begging for something more. And you’re happy to oblige, arching up into his body above you, teasing his tongue with yours. He kisses like he loves you, and you love it, you love him.

“Atsushi.” You pant into his mouth. He murmurs a yes, reluctant to stop kissing you. “Want you to fuck me.” You kiss onto his lips, barely taking breaks to breathe. The effect is immediate. He shudders against you, something twitching against your thigh. You chuckle against his lips. “You want to?” You ask, your voice teasing. He breaks away from you, nodding hurriedly. “Yes, god yes.” He kisses into the skin of your neck, his eagerness just turning you on. You feel eager yourself, and your hands move from his hair to his back, pulling him closer to you as he laves kisses on your neck. His lips lock, sucking hickeys into your skin, his tongue coming out to sooth the marks, pressing a kiss to each.

His hands stop at the hem of your sleep shirt, as he murmurs against your neck. “Can I take this off?” You nod, and his hands work your sleep top off your head, eyes catching on your boobs. You chuckle as he dives back down, tongue taking one in his mouth. You moan a little as his tongue teases it, hips bucking up. His hand kneads your other breast, teasing you. You grip his shoulders in your hands, moaning in his ear. “Take your shirt off.” You say, a pant really, in his ear. He obliges you almost shyly.

He’s surprisingly toned, with the beginnings of abs beginning to show on his stomach. Your eyes catch on the scars on his stomach, burn scars. Your heart clenches, and you open your mouth to question him but he dives back down, his fingers working their way into your sleep shorts while he kisses the breath from your lips, and it's clear he doesn't want to talk about it. Oh well, one for another day.

His kisses are more desperate now, passionate and hot, and as he pulls away he just pants into your mouth, his finger hovering by your hole.

“Can i?” He asks, and its sweet that he wants this much express consent, but your also really fucking horny, and you want him to fuck the living daylights out of you. So you grip his hair in your fists, and really stare in his eyes when you speak to him. “I love you Atsushi, you can do whatever you want with me.” You say. He shivers, eyes clouding with lust that you’re not sure was from the ‘i love you’ or the other part, but you don't find yourself caring as he slips a finger into your hole. You clench down around the intrusion, your grip moving from his hair to his shoulders.

“You're really wet.” He says, sliping another finger inside you. It's more of a basic observation, and not dirty talk but it still makes you clench around his fingers, moaning his name into his ear. He moves them in and out slowly, curving them up every now and then and you start to seriously wonder how much experience he’s actually had. You had assumed little to none, and either you're very wrong, or he’s just good at adapting. You’ve seen him train, and you would guess the latter, but you make a mental note to ask him later.

He’s watching you closely, watching carefully for any signs of pain but you're in heaven. Every few thrusts he curves his fingers into your walls, searching for something, until finally he finds it and you arch up, gripping his shoulders tightly. “God, fuck.” You moan, probably a bit too loudly. “Good?” Atsushi asks by your ear, either seeking validation or teasing you and you truly don't care because god it was. “God yes, ‘m gonna cum.” You're slightly embarrassed, but also not because your boyfriend is looking at you like he doesn't believe you.

“Really? Because Dazai said that sometimes women lie to make their boyfriends feel better, and if you aren't, tell me so I can do better.” He says. He looks adorably earnest, and you make a mental note to ask what the hell Dazai’s been teaching him.

“Really Atsushi, seriously, swear on my life or whatever.” Your voice sounds desperate and embarrassing, and honestly you don't know if you could fake that if your life depended on it, but it's not like he knows that. “Now faster ‘sushi.” he obliges, looking adorably reassured.

Atsushi shifts, adjusting the angle and then his thumb is rubbing circles onto your clit. That pushes you over the edge, and you come with a cry. “Oh god Atsushi, ‘m cuming!” His fingers fuck you through it, eyes never leaving you as your back arches until you collapse back onto the bed with a sigh. He rolls off you with a sigh, and you sit up in confusion. “Atsushi, where are you going? We're not done.” You say. You can still see a very prominent and obvious bulge beneath the blankets. He sits back up, eyeing you bashfully. “Well, I didn't want to assume and pressure you into anything—” You love him, you really do, but you want his dick inside of you.

In one move you shove him down onto the comforter, and crawl above him. He gulps, his Adam's apple bobbing, and you lick it, kicking your shorts and panties the rest of the way off. He gulps again as you pull his pants down just enough to get his dick out. He’s bigger than you thought he would be, and thick. You stroke him a few times, your mouth watering. Maybe it's because he’s still thin from years of partial starvation, but he almost looks unproportional. It's almost pretty though, pale as his skin and flushed pink at the tip with blood. You position it by your drooling pussy.

“Condom?” he chokes out. A valiant effort, sure, but you are getting this dick inside you tonight one way or another. And, you have a small hunch that you want to test. “No condom baby, sorry.” You coo. “But besides, don't you want to put a baby into me?” his dick twitches in your hand and his cheeks flush a charming red. You smirk. A hunch had been biggling at the back of your mind, that maybe, just maybe he might have a bit of a breeding kink. Part animal blah blah blah. And yes, it sounded a little crazy but you were right.

“Are you sure?” Atsushi says, eyes locked on your pussy as you run his dick along your slit. You can clearly see he really wants to fuck you, and the fact that he makes sure to double check, makes your heart clench in your chest. You leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “Yes, I really want you, Atsushi. I’m clean, you?” You ask, checking to be sure. He nods, and with that ascend you start sliding down his dick.

It takes a hot minute to sink all the way down, even after all that penetration but when you finally sink down all the way, panting as he grips your hips, you feel so full. It's been a long time, and Atsushi fills you up so good, your panting already as you begin to move, thighs straining as you set a pace. Atsushi ‘s eyes follow you, mesmerized as you bounce. His eyes are so full of admiration and you feel so powerful, so sexy, but your thighs are burning and you can feel an orgasm teasing you just around the corner. You sink down, panting.

“Baby, ‘want you to take control.” You pant. “Want you to fuck a baby into me.” It's like a switch is flipped. He sits up, and you tumble down onto your back, his dick still lodged inside of you. Lifting your legs over his thighs, he grabs your waist as he begins to move. The pace he sets is slower, but every thrust hits you so deep you hear the bed frame squeaking a little. His hands on your waist anchor you as you throw your head back, moans tearing their way out of your throat with each thrust.

You can already feel an orgasm building, and by the way his thrusts get more unsteady, you can tell he’s nearing the end as well. “Gonna fuck pretty babies into you.” He grunts, almost moaning the words really. “Gonna be pretty like you.” The almost out of character words make you clench around him, and he moans, leaning close to you.

Your sharing breaths now, panted breaths into each other's mouths as you kiss sloppily, your orgasms impending. You moan out a warning as he hits your g-spot, and then you tumble from the cliff with a scream of his name. He rutts you right through your orgasm, even as you feel his dick twitch inside you, hot liquid shooting inside you. It prolongs your orgasm and even as he twitches with overstimulation, he fucks you through it, as you coo praises into his ear. “I love you, Atsushi baby.” You pant exhaustedly into his ear as you come down. He nods against you. “I love you too, Name.”

Endnotes: the ending is rushed because i had to go to sleep or i would have been even more sleep deprived lol

#bungou stray dogs #mariannacrxss #kinktober 2023 #bsd smut #helplesslypurple77kinktober #kinktober #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #atsushi x reader

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helplesslypurple77 · 6 months

Text

Day 11- Sakaguchi Ango/Reader with kinks Sitting Cowgirl/(Onsen)Bath Sex

Notes:this is almost entirely created out of horny daze from that one clip of dub Ango saying ‘you nasty man’ about Dazai and i just uhhhhh. You know, in the real world Ango would totally be my type. I love skinny nerds with glasses. But my fictional type is 100% more problematic. Also I turned Ango into a simp. Oops.

His assistant loved skirts. She loved wearing little patterned secretary skirts with cute little blouses and her hair piled all across his shoulders and Ango wanted to throw himself out of the second story window his office was located on. He really didn't want to be one of those employers, the gross bosses who intentionally dropped stuff on the ground to stare down their assistants' shirts or had fantasies about them during working hours. But it was really hard. It also didn't help that you were intelligent and pretty and smiled at him kindly and brought him coffee on all nighters and he had the tiniest little crush on you.

It had all started a few months ago, when Ango had finally been convinced to hire an assistant to deal with the workload he was drowning under. And he had hired you because you were intelligent and had an excellent resume, he would confess but also his jaw almost hit the floor the second you strutted into the room in your little red kitten heels, red flowy top and black skirt. You were drop dead gorgeous, and if he was being honest that was probably a huge part of the reason he hired you in the first place. But he was starting to regret it. It's not like you were incompetent, not far from it. You were extremely smart and kind and had been a great help to him over these last few months, it wasn't that. You were too perfect. You were smart and pretty and kind and he was a weak, sleep deprived man starved for affection who hadn't touched a woman in way too long and he maybe had a little crush on you.

And ok, he thought as he caught himself daydreaming about your future wedding for the fifth time today, maybe it was a little more than a crush, maybe he was actually in love with you. Ok not maybe, he totally was. But could you really blame him? You looked lovely in the white(hence the wedding fantasies) blouse and blue skirt you had chosen for today, and it didn't help that it was low cut, showing Ango(and everyone else) the most teasing bit of delicious cleavage. And Ango hated the world because he had a meeting today and he knew all the similarly overworked and horny men would spend the entire time staring at His assistant, and then they would come over here all the time just to look at you and one of them would probably offer you a higher salary and steal you away right from under his nose—

“Mr Sakaguchi? I have the documents you wanted.” You're back from the front office and looking at him quizzically, a manila folder in your outstretched hand. Ango pushes up his glasses and gives you a sharp nod. “Wonderful, thank you.” He needs to get back to work and stop daydreaming or it's another sleepless night for him. “Please start the booking process for the company trip.” With a nod and a smile you turn, the sway of your hips horribly distracting as you make your way to your desk. Your desk is next to his, which is a really good thing because now if he stares at you it will be really obvious and his pride will help him focus on his work.

But his work is boring and you are pretty and even though he has to actively turn his head he still catches himself staring at you. You look so pretty, typing away at your desk, occasionally catching your lip in your teeth distractingly. No, he has to focus on the documents, no matter how boring they are, he really, really doesn't want to stay overnight but maybe if he did you would stay too and then he would get even less work done. Anyway he can see it, he's screwed. He’s down bad and there's nothing he can do about it.

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You really didn't even want to think about how you had ended up in this situation. Sharing a private Onsen and a room with your boss who you MAYBE, possibly, had a small miniscule crush on. You glared at the screen of your laptop dubiously, taking your anger and embarrassment out on the well worn keys of your old laptop. It was old, and a portion of the screen was completely black, but you loved the thing. And you didn't want to transfer all the data you had over here to a new laptop, that was more trouble than it was worth.

And anyway, this situation was partly your fault. You had been dead tired when you booked this place. An Onsen was a classic choice for a work trip, and although this one was kind of expensive, only four people from your department could even make it. So low numbers ment less expenses, and also meant you could afford to splurge a little. So you booked two rooms, one for you and Akane, and another for your boss, Ango, and your coworker Jerry.

But anyway, you had thought you were going to share a room with your coworker, Akane, but she had decided to demand she share with her boyfriend, and you had jumped at the chance, thinking you would get a private room. But no, now you were sharing with your handsome boss. You really didn't understand why Akane was dating Jerry anyway. She was drop dead gorgeous, with long straight black hair and big, doll-like eyes. And Jerry was kind of, just average. But he was nice, you supposed, and that was just the way of the world.

A knock sounded on the sliding door panel, and Ango peaked his head in. He sent you an apologetic little smile, pushing his glasses up his nose.

“It's time for dinner. We’re eating in Akane and Jerry’s room.” you closed your computer with a nod, standing up and following him out of the room and into the hall. It was silent, and the air hung with a strange awkward air. You coached, trying to make conversation. “I'm sorry this happened, Mr Sakaguchi.” You can't see his face from where you are, but he clears his throat. “It's alright, really.” You sigh silently to yourself. From his tone it sounds like he really doesn't want to share with you. It hurts, just a little. You ignore the panging in your chest and sigh. “I'm really sorry Sir, I would have liked to share with Akane, but she can be really convincing sometimes.” Ango’s shoulders stiffen, and he nods jerkally, with an awkward chuckle. “Yes, I suppose so.” And the both of you pad down the rest of the hall in awkward silence.

There is a large table set out in Akane and Jerry’s room, laden with delicious dishes. Your mouth waters, and you shove aside your hurt feelings for now and dig into the spread of delicious food before you.

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You're left alone in the room, for now at least. Ango had informed you that he was heading out to the store to grab a few things, and promptly left you to yourself. The hot spring water is a soft milky white, and the steam rising off the surface scatters as your toe skims the surface. Ripples mar the previously untouched water as you slowly make your way in. The pool is large, about five feet in diameter and rounded, with decorative rocks by the wooden bamboo fence. Little plants run along the fence, ferns and pretty white flowers. The ceiling is painted with a beautiful starry night scene, to give the illusion of outdoors, and fake candles hide in the plants.

The address sitting by, the one that faces the room is more modern, with a thin Rock Ledge and a small basket for your towel. The fluffy white towels were provided with the room, along with some complimentary Yukata and only one futon, because of course. You think all the way into the water letting the soothing warmth sink into your bones. The ledge you are sitting on is beneath the water allowing the milky warm water to almost completely cover your breasts. You sigh, and lean your head back, closing your eyes.

What a long, tiring, day it had been. First the long drive up, and then this dress of your co-workers insisting they share a room, and just because they were dating. And then after all of that along awkward dinner with your boss while the two of you watched your co-workers cuddle and feed each other the entire time. And then they had ditched both of you to definitely fuck. Yeah, so much fun.

You sighed, trying to cheer yourself up. You were being a bit grumpy after Akane had ditched you for her boyfriend. You considered her a good work friend, and even though you knew she was trying to set you up with Ango, you were still a bit salty. But honestly, it wasn't even that bad. The Onsen was lovely, and the food was delicious. The water was warm and delicious and soothed your bones, and you couldn't help the hopeful feeling that rose in your stomach. Maybe, something will finally happen between you and Ango. Even if the relationship was kind of inappropriate and you didn't think he liked you like that. You sighed, breathing deeply.

The sound of the sliding door pulled you out of your musings. “Akane, that you?” You called, she had said she would stop by later. “You better have a good apology ready, girl.”The Intruder coughed, a distinctly masculine sound and your eyes shot open. And of course, because the gods were laughing at you, there stood Ango. He coughs again, cheeks pink and eyes avoiding your own. “Not Akane. Sorry. Um, I'll just go.” he sounds strangely flustered, an emotion you haven't seen him express that often. You can't help it, you give him a potentially flirty smile. “You should come in, sir. The waters really nice.” Ango coughs again, his face turning redder, and you watch as his eyes dart between your collarbones and your face.

And you really shouldn't, you know you shouldn't, but a theory is forming. A dangerous, sexy, hopeful theory. A theory that maybe, your boss has as much of a crush on you as you do on him. But, your theory needs more data, and so you rise slightly from the water, putting on an innocent smile. “You should really come in sir, and anyway, I need to talk to you. Mei was informing me the other day about some potential data leaks.” You turn with a smile, showing just enough cleavage to be a tease, but enough to spare your dignity if he declines.

The man himself is still standing by the doorway, probably weighing the pros and cons behind those glasses of his. He’s still wearing his work suit, although his jacket hangs on a coat rack near the door, and he’s rolled up his sleeves a little, exposing his delicate wrists and hands. His hands are pretty, long pale fingers, ribbed slightly with blue veins, the skin slightly transparent. You want those fingers inside of you. Ango lets out the sigh of a very tired man, and with a push of his glasses, gives you a small nod. “I'll join you then.” He says, disappearing behind the bathroom door with a small smile.

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This is honestly a disaster for his sanity. Ango knows it's a terrible idea, but he took one look at your smile and heard the damning words ‘data leak’ and feared for his future. Both for embarrassing himself and losing more sleep. He can hear faint splashing as he disrobes, folding his clothes and wrapping a towel around his hips to hopefully spare his dignity, at least until he inevitably gets hard and has to drown himself out of mortification.

He peaks around the door, and his eyes catch on your back, the bit he can see above the water anyway. All he can see is the top of your shoulders, and of course your neck, as you’ve drawn your hair up. And somehow, that's actually worse because you're obviously naked but he still doesn't get a proper view. It feels like a tease. He takes a deep breath, straightens his shoulders and walks towards the hot springs. He’s grateful that you keep your view on the fence as he removes the towel and quickly slips into the milky water, sitting as far away from you as he can without being obvious about it, which is about three feet. You open your eyes, shooting him a little smile. “It's nice isn't it?” You say, leaning towards him slightly. Ango watches as more and more of your clear skin is revealed, and yanks his eyes away from the top of your cleavage, meeting your eyes. “The water? Um, yes it's very nice.”

He doesn't have his glasses on, and you make a dangerously sexy picture, what with the slight fuzziness maring the edge of his vision. The world behind you is blurry, and not of any importance. It's almost like a photograph, with you at the center. You seem to have gotten slightly closer, and Ango can pick out a mole on your collarbone. It naturally drags the eye to it, and that is definitely why he has a hard time yanking his eyes away from it. “So.” He says, clearing his throat. “You said something about Data leaks?” Is it his imagination or are you leaning closer. He can smell you now, that damn orange blossom perfume that taunts his dreams.

You're definitely moving closer. “Yes, Mei informed me that some of the files from the classified cases have vanished.” Your smile is too seductive. He must be projecting. You continue. “I think it was files…oh i don't know, ill have to clarify with Mei.”

Ango clears his throat, focusing his eyes somewhere over your left shoulder. “The classified cases? Potentially how bad are we talking.” He says. You clear your throat, drawing his eyes back to you. At least he can focus on your face. It's very pretty, but at least it does not create problems other than speeding up heart rate.

“Um, I believe Mei said it was some files about the Hunting Dogs? Specifically Fukuchi.” You lean back against the side of the Onsen, closing your eyes. “I think it was investigative data pulled out of a port mafia exec? Strange little details and stuff like that.”

The stuff your saying is very concerning, and usually Ango would be having a mini heart attack, but right now your naked and you're less than a foot away from him and all Ango can picture, instead of the sleepless nights he’ll be having soon, is you on top of him, bouncing up and down. You’d sound pretty, he knows it. It's one of his most recurring fantasies, you naked atop him, bouncing up and down and moaning his name. He had it the first time in the middle of a meeting, and he would have been more embarrassed but he knew for a fact that half the men in the room were fantasizing about you. It was still embarrassing though.

You're so pretty, with your hair pulled up into a messy bun, a few strands falling out and brushing your neck, daring Ango to lay pretty kisses to it. You would look so pretty covered in hickeys, or dressed in pure white at the end of a wedding aisle. Because Ango is quite sure you're the one. You're pretty and smart and kind and so, so sexy and Ango wants to have babies with you. And maybe he’s a little far gone and this entire thing is kind of pathetic and sad but right now he can't bring himself to care because you're smiling at him and Ango is just a sad little man with a sad little crush. Or he can't really call it a crush anymore, can he. He’s quite plainly in love with you.

“Ango? Are you listening?” Your saying. He looked up guiltily, because he wasn't listening. And now he just noticed you called his name, not his last name, not sir, and he loves it. Maybe a little too much. You sigh, and Ango watches in slow motion as you move closer still. The water ripples as you move, and Ango sees flashes of nipple below the milky surface. He almost chokes on his own spit.

“Anyay, as I was saying. I think some of it…” You lean closer, and whisper in his ear. “Some of it was from Ace? About Demon Fyodor.” This is important stuff you're talking about, but then again you're also really close to him and you smell like orange blossoms and your boobs brush him under the water and Ango’s hard. He’s definitely hard and he can still feel your nipple brushing against his arm under the water and there's no way you dont feel it because how couldn't you. And now your shooting him fuck me eye’s and Ango knows you’re doing this on purpose. And all at once he feels a sense of relief and embarrassment at the same time and then, he feels your hand grip his wrist, and pull it, ever so slowly, to your chest. Your skin is soft, your nipple hard beneath his palm and as Ango’s hand comes in contact with it, his dick jumps under the water.

“Um, Name? Wh-what are you doing?” He says, trying to get ahold of his voice. He fails. You're smirking at him, because even as he protests, his hand is still on your boob.

“I really like you, Ango.” You say, moving closer until you're pressed as close as you can be, your shoulders touching. “I would like to go out with you, if you feel the same.” Ango cant breath, because he’s a simp and the woman he was just imagining in a wedding gown likes him too, and he needs to respond. “I like you too, I really do.” He says. “I was wondering if maybe you want to get coffee sometime? And maybe kiss me? Please kiss me.”

“I'd love to get coffee. And kiss you too.” You're smiling, less sexily now and more just happily, and Ango’s smiling too, and now you're crawling onto his lap, and pressing your lips to his. And Ango’s dreamed of this, many different times but none of those fantasies can compare to the real thing. It's just a soft press of lips at first, a chaste, deep kiss. A kiss that tells of love and devotion, and less of carnal lust. And it's lovely, so wonderful and Ango’s heart is singing in his chest, and it's just all so wonderful.

It feels heavenly, like kissing heaven, because you are heaven, and your boobs are pressing into his chest and he can feel his dick pressing against your stomach and he wants to just enjoy the kiss but the slight bit of pressure makes his kisses turn desperate, and now he’s gripping your head, trying to inhale ever bit of your being through your mouth. Your so pretty, so sexy, so attractive and smart and he really wants to fuck you, so bad. He presses his tongue against the seam of your mouth, asking, begging really for entrance. You grant it, and your tongues tangle together, a dance of devotion, now turning to carnal lust. A desire to know one another through your bodies, to feel each other's feelings, really, truly and deeply.

You break away, panting against his mouth, and Ango feels you grind down, taking your pleasure against his legs. “God, I want you inside of me.” You pant against his mouth. Ango nods, begging you to have your way, pleading for your salvation. Your hands reach between the two of you, and Ango bites his lip as he feels your hands on his cock positioning it, and then he feels a hot pressure envelop the head.

He bites back another moan, instead opting to watch you as you bite your lip, and slowly sink down the length of his cock, enveloping him in your tight, wet heat. It's so hot, everything is hot. From the onsen water surrounding him, to your body pressed against his, to your panted breaths by his ear as you collapse against him grinding your body slowly.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

It's always the nerdy ones who are huge. You're panting against his neck, slowly grinding in circular motions. His dick scrapes against your walls deliciously, his little bitten back whimpers make your pussy clench around him. It's all so hot, so big, so steamy. You slowly rise, dropping down again, and repeat. He spares you deep, so deep. You whimper in his ear.

“God Ango. god your fucking me so deep.” You moan in his ear, his hair tickling your skin. He lets out a bitten little grunt, hands anchored on your ass, helping your slow thrusts. “I've wanted this for so long.” Ango pants out, his voice all soft and raspy, delicious hands helping another thrust. “Used to stare at your ass in those skirts. Tried not to, I'm sorry.” He sounds so wrecked and pathetic it turns you on. And besides, the tough of straight laced Ango taking peeks at your ass thrilled you.

“Aww, did you like those skirts?” You coo. He moans, his dick twitching inside of you. “I bet you peaked down my shirt too.”

“I did, ‘m sorry. You were so pretty and so sexy and—” you shut him up with a kiss. His kisses are deep, full of devotion and lust, almost as if he’s trying to mold himself into you. His dick is wrecking your insides, each deep thrust giving you a dizzy shot of pleasure. And with each grind, your clit rubs against his pubic bone, driving you absolutely crazy. You can tell he feels the same, each painted grunt and moan in your ear is a dead giveaway. You're not much better though, and you kiss his neck, trying to muffle your moans.

“Let me hear them.” Ango pants against you, hands gripping your ass in handfuls. “Wanna hear your pretty moans.” He sounds wrecked too, and you can't even bring yourself to be embarrassed anymore. You let your moans out, letting them echo around the space. It's all so steamy and intimate.

You feel your orgasm building in your gut, and you pull your face away from his neck, meeting his eyes. You're looking down on him from here, and it's quite the sexy view. He’s pretty toned, especially because he spends all of his time in an office, but the most catching thing is his eyes. They're locked on your own, hazy and half lidded with lust, and swimming with so much love and devotion you almost cum right there.

“Ango, ‘m close.” You catch his attention, whimpering the words, whispering them, inches from his lips. He nods. “Me to my darling.” He says. The pet's name is so sweet, so devoted. It hurts your soul, and at the same time warms you from the inside out. But it's the next thing that gets you. “I love you Name.” He whispers, staring so deep into your eyes you might cry.

You cum with a cry, the pleasure shooting through your body, the pure devotion in his eyes making your heart soar even as your pussy clenches around his dick. “Oh god, I love you too, Ango.” The words are a moan as you grip him close to you, grinding your clit frantically down on his as you clench. You hear him hiss, and then his dick twitches inside you, ropes of hot cum staining your insides. He comes with a tiny little whimper, muffled against your boobs, and the sweetest little whisper of ‘i love you.’ you kiss the words back. You guys sit like that for a long while, pressing little I love you’s into each other's skin, and as his dick comes back to life, making love until the morning.

...

Endnotes: I don't know how Japanese work trips work. I used what I've seen in anime and manga as a basis, and ran with that. I've also never been to an onsen. And it shows.also, have you guys seen that one Ango illustration with the kimono and the book, like i literally cannot do this anymore. I’ll link it for you https://www.pinterest.com/pin/146859637833737986/

#bungou stray dogs #mariannacrxss #kinktober 2023 #bsd smut #helplesslypurple77kinktober #kinktober #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #ango sakaguchi #ango x reader

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helplesslypurple77 · 6 months

Text

Day 10- Mori/Atsushi/Fukuzawa- with promts Spitroasting & threesome

Notes: So just pretend that the Q mess was instantly cleaned up or something, i don't want to deal with it. But Francis is still out there, menacingly or whatever. I literally could not figure out when Atsushi finds out that Mori is the boss of the port mafia, so I'm going to assume Atsushi doesnt know at this point.

Also im keeping some age gap because it's hot but I'm making Atsushi twenty instead of eighteen. Btw the legal age of drinking in japan is 20, i checked

“Um Sir, are you sure it's ok for me to come?” Atsushi twists his hands in circles, following closely behind Fukuzawa as they make their way down a brightly lit street. “Yes, of course. This was your idea, Atsushi, so you deserve to be there.” Fukuzawa walks in long strides, looking unfamiliar in a three piece suit. Atsushi walks double to keep up, the pants of his own suit, kindly gifted to him by the President, stiff and hard to run in. They fit perfectly, almost like they were tailor made to his body measurements. The President slows down slightly, allowing Atsushi to walk beside him. He shoots the shorter boy an apologetic glance.

They walk through downtown Yokohama at dusk. The lights have come on, and the roads are choked with cars, people on their way home from work probably. The sidewalks are busy as well, and people pore in and out of the brightly lit restaurants, laughter perfuming the air. In all honesty, Atsushi had not thought that Fukuzawa would accept his suggestion of an alliance. He was a new member of the Agency after all, and an Alliance with the Port Mafia sounded a little crazy, even to his ears. But to his surprise, Fukuzawa had accepted with only a few clarifying questions. And so here they were, walking down a main restaurant district street apparently going to meet with the boss of the port mafia.

“Um Fukuzawa Sir?” They stop at a red light, and Fukuzawa turns those eyes on him. “Yes?” Honestly when Atsushi had first arrived at the detective Agency he had been scared of the president. But then, he saw him cooing over cats in the backyard and his image was forever changed. “Well, I was wondering where we’re going.” The light changes and they move across the street, toward where the more expensive restaurants are. “We’re going to the meeting.” Fukuzaw responds.

Atsushi feels lost. He follows Fukuzawa, dodging the occasional pedestrian as people pass by them. Large groups, clearly leaving work parties. Loves truck couples on dates, families headed to dinner. Even the occasional large group of giggling school girls, who shoot Fukuzawa dreamy eyed stares. I mean it makes sense. The President is a handsome man and he looks especially dashing in a suit. It's a dark grayish green three piece, with a white shirt and a yellow green tie. Atsushi’s own outfit is fancy as well, a black double breasted vest, a dark gray shirt and black tie pulling the whole thing together. It's expensive, Atsushi can tell from the fabric. The same group of girls shoots Atsushi a jealous look as he catches up, and Fukuzawa grips his waist, pulling him away from a biker careening a bit too close to the sidewalk. Atsushi ignores their angry stares.

“Um sir, sorry but i'm a little confused.” Atsushi says, leaving the high school girls angry stares behind. “I thought we were going to the Port Mafia building.”

“We decided that instead of going to meet in a public park or something, we would meet somewhere else.” Fukuzawa sighs, an angry tick in his jaw. “Mori insisted, after I told him I was bringing you, for some reason.” That name sounds familiar, but Atsushi just can't place it. And for some reason, it looks like the President and this Mori fellow know each other better than Fukuzawa had let on. “We’re here.” The president says.

They’ve come to a stop outside of a sushi restaurant. It's a new age design, and Atsushi blanches as he spots the line out the door that weaves around the corner. People, mostly couples, lined up around the corner, dressed in semi formal outfits and anxiously checking watches. Every few minutes a smartly dressed waiter steps out of the restaurant, and whispers something to the Maitre D who nods, calling out a number and guiding a group through the foggy double doors. But just as fast as someone goes in, three more people get in line behind. Atsushi frowns, following Fukuzawa as he marches straight up to the maitre d, a smartly dressed woman standing behind a small podium by the double glass doors. The woman glares. “Can't you see we have a line, Sir.”

Atsushi flinches. She’s rather rude for someone running the front of a restaurant. Fukuzawa mearly sighs. “We have a reservation for a back room.” The woman glares on, unimpressed. “Card?” Fukuzawa hands her a small golden card. There's black writing on it, but Atsushi can't quite make it out. The woman flips it around, scanning the letters with a magnifying glass, carefully looking for something, what Atsushi doesn't know. But after a minute or so, she nods, and a waiter steps out from behind the frosted double doors, smiling much more pleasantly at the two of them. “If you and your date will follow me, Sir.” Atsushi flushes, and opens his mouth to protest but Fukuzawa just slips a hand on his waist, a silent confirmation.

“Come on Dear, this way.” Atsushi knows he’s blushing like a tomato, but he does the wise thing and shuts up as the waiter leads them through a crowded restaurant. Fukuzawa leans down. “Sorry Atsushi, but bear with it for now. They won't let you in without a reservation card.”

He must be talking about that strange little golden card Fukuzawa gave the Maitre D earlier. Face still steaming, Atsushi manages a nod and clutches at Fukuzawa’s dark suit jacket in what he hopes is a ‘couply’ way. Fukuzawa’s hand is big, big enough to wind quite a long way around Atsushi’s waist. Atsushi can feel the heat of it through his layers. Fukuzawa is a good bit taller than him as well, and as Fukuzawa tugs him closer still Atsushi’s head hits his shoulder lightly, his silver hair brushes against it.

The room the waiter leads them to is empty. The room is small, with a large table set for three waits for them in the middle, and little outcoves full of flowers. “I’ll be back soon with the rest of your party.” The waiter says, and then closes the door behind them. A slightly awkward silence fills the small room. Fukuzawa’s hand is still on Atsushi’s waist as he leads him to a seat, placed on the short side of the rectangular table. The other two place settings are exactly opposite each other, conveniently placed just out of weapon range. They seat themselves, and before the silence can get any more awkward the door opens and a smug, familiar man follows the Waiter into the room.

“Didn't wait to seat yourselves i see, still as rude as ever huh Fukuzawa.” There, standing smartly in a pitch black suit is the strange doctor fellow Atsushi had met in Anne’s room. This time cleanly shaven and with a peculiar unfamiliar gleam in his eyes. Atsushi’s jaw almost hits the floor. Fukuzawa merely sighs. “Give your scalpels to the waiter Mori, they aren't allowed in here.” Mori chuckles darkly, and holds up his hands in surrender. Two metal scalpels are placed in the waiter's hands. The waiter for the most part looks mostly unfazed, and simply hands over the menus and is gone with a smile. Mori’s eyes fall on him, and, Atsushi must be hallucinating, he throws him a little wink. “Well well Were-Tiger, it's nice to see you again.”

The shocked look must be plain on his face because Mori chuckles. Fukuzawa turns a confused look on Atsushi. “You know him?” Atsushi picks his jaw up off the ground. “Um, when Lucy from the Guild captured me and Junichiro, he helped us.” Mori smiles, a rather predatory smile, but still attractive. “Yes that's right.” Mori sidles around the table, brushing close to Atsushi. He smells faintly of rosemary, sandalwood and something deep he can't quite place. The two men sit across from each other, twin expressions of hatred painted across their faces. Atsushi realizes all at once that this is going to be a long dinner.

“It's so nice to see you, although I see you haven't bought your creepy ability this time.” Fukuzawa flips the Menu open aggressively, as if the laminated pages have personally wronged him.

“The feeling is mutual, Fukuzawa. I see you still have a fondness for cats.” Mori gestures in Atsushi’s direction, and Atsushi flushes. “But tell me kid, how old are you?” Its and odd question, and Fukuzawa’s face visibly darkens, but Atsushi see’s no reason not to respond. “I just turned twenty.”

Mori’s dark eyes twinkle, and Fukuzawa frowns even harder. “How nice!” He gestures at the menu before him, shooting Atsushi another wink. “Order whatever you want, kitten, think of it as a late birthday gift.” Atsushi flushes at the nickname, but the prospect of free sushi almost has him drooling. “Are you sure?” He asks, although he knows his eyes are shining with anticipation. “You already gave me this nice suit Sir.” Fukuzawa’s face loses its glare as he turns to him, and smiles faintly. “Sure, we’ll split the bill.”

Atsushi can't hold back his excitement as he eyes the menu. The place is so fancy they don't even list the prices, and although it's slightly concerning, he’s not paying so he doesn't care. His mouth is watering as he stares at the nigiri. The two men chuckle at his enthusiasm. Mori smiles his way. “So, Fukuzawa bought you a suit huh?” Fukuzawa glares, Mori just smiles wider. “That's a custom tailored model, he must have prepared it early.”

“You're finally cracking Mori, that's clearly not true.” Atsushi isn't even really paying much attention, still drooling over the pictures in the menu. Mori just smirks, that feral smirk. “I bet you dreamed about seeing him—” Fukuzawa kicks him hard, Mori just smiles. “Ooh, touched a nerve. Straight laced Fukuzawa desiring a subordinate. Blasphemous.”

Atsushi catches the last words, looking up from the menu and at the two men glaring at each other. “What was that? Something about blasphemy?” Mori opens his mouth, but the waiter interrupts him, stepping back into the room with a smile.

“What can I get you gentlemen to start?”

“You want some sake kitten? I know your president does.” Mori gets another kick under the table, but Atsushi nods. The older men give their orders and the waiter leaves with a nod.

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

The door closes behind Atsushi with a decisive little click, on his way to the bathroom. Fukuzawa glares at the man in front of him. Mori smirks, leaning back in his chair.

“What an adorable little subordinate you’ve got.” Mori leans forward like he’s telling a secret. “Im just dying to fuck him.” Fukuzawa glares so hard he thinks his eyebrows might actually fall off. “How inappropriate, he’s much younger than both of us.” Fukuzawa hates how the suggestion brings in images he’s been dying to erase from his mind.

“But that's boring.” Mori says. Fukuzawa rolls his eyes so far back into his head that he thinks they may get stuck there. Mori continues. “I saw you staring at his cute little ass when he left for the bathroom. Nice job with the suit by the way, fits him like a glove.”

“I was not staring at his butt.” Fukuzawa totally was, but he’ll take that secret to the grave. “You can admit it to me, you know.” Mori says. He downs a cup of sake, pouring himself another. “I can imagine what I'd do to him. ” Fukuzawa can imagine it too. He glares. Mori laughs. “Oh my bad. I’d be happy to share him, maybe over the table?” Mori says. He chuckles, passing Fukuzawa the sake bottle. “Ah, reminds me of the old days.” Fukuzawa feels his thoughts drift involuntarily back to the ‘old days’. Several occasions with a woman between them in a hotel room.(and the other occasions he’d rather forget, without the woman between them. Just heat and soft skin and panted angry ‘I hate you’s. He'd rather die than think of those days again however.)

It's appalling how clearly he can imagine the scene. Atsushi’s thin body painted with hickeys, his pretty mouth spit slicked mouth wrapped around Fukuzawa’s co—

Fukuzawa coughs, clearing his throat and hopefully his brain at the same time.

“You know why we’re having this meeting in the first place Mori, so please try to be serious.” Mori bats a hand at him, much akin to the way someone would bat at an especially annoying bug. “Yeah yeah, I agree with the alliance and everything. So anyway, does Atsushi like men?” Fukuzawa almost chokes. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah, it's a really good idea, no matter how distasteful the idea of working with you is. But answer my question.” Mori says, sipping on the sake the waiter had returned with. “I don't know, it's not my business to pry into my coworkers' sexuality's.” Fukuzawa says, clearing his throat with a cough. “Don't be dramatic, it's called gossip.” Mori says. Fukuzawa shoots him an eye roll. Whenever the two of them are together they seem to revert to their younger selves again. It's honestly a little embarrassing. Mori sighs. “I'll just have to ask Dazai.” He takes out his phone, and scrolls through his contacts. Fukuzawa eyes it with a glare as it begins to ring. “Why do you even want to know?” Mori simply raises an eyebrow at him, wiggling it suggestively, Fukuzawa feels heat start in his neck. Mori chuckles. “Don't you want to know too, Fukuzawa.” And although he chokes out a denial, Fukuzawa listens a little two closely as Dazai picks up.

“What do you want, Mori.” Dazai sounds annoyed.

“Oh nothing, I just had a question.” Mori says, twirling a strand of hair around his finger. He almost resembles a high school girl gossiping on the phone. Almost. Ok he really doesn't.

“Shoot.”

“Does Atsushi like men?”

Fukuzawa hears a choking on the other side of the line, and faintly he can hear laughter in the background. A lot of it. Dazai must be still at work, although he’s probably not working.

“Yes–No–Why would I tell you?” Fukuzawa is almost disappointed, and then corrects his attitude and immediately congratulates Dazai in his head with only the mildest bit of bitterness.

“Your president wants to know.” Fukuzawa barely resists the urge to throw something at Mori, maybe a sake cup.

“No, no it dont. I don't care. I don't.” Fukuzawa blurts out, and that was probably a bad idea because now Mori is smirking.

“See? He wants to know.”

“Well I actually don't know, but we do have an office bet running.” Dazai says, his voice less full of venom and more amusement.

“You have a what?” Fukuzawa feels he needs to have a talk with all of them about proper office conduct, but he doubts it will have that much effect.

“Sorry Boss.” Dazai doesn't really sound that sorry at all.

“So, how's it going?” Mori sounds a bit too invested. Fukuzawa glares at him.

“Well, Yosano and i bet Bisexual, Naomi and Tanzaki think Gay, and Kunikida said he refuses to participate in such activities.” Fukuzawa makes a mental note to give Kunikida a raise.

“What did Ranpo say?” Fukuzawa asks, in spite of himself.

“We banned him from betting, it wouldn't be any fun.”

Ranpo’s voice comes out muffled through the speaker. “For the record, he’s Bisexual.” A series of groans echo through the room, and Fukuzawa can faintly hear money being passed around.

“Sorry I took so long, some ladies ambushed me by the bathrooms.” It's Atsushi, closing the door behind him with a click. “By the way, what's a sugar daddy?” Dead fucking silence wraps the room for a moment, before someone chokes on the line and the whole armed detective Agency bursts out laughing. Atsushi frowns in confusion. “The ladies by the bathrooms kept congratulating me for getting two Sugar Daddies, and said it made sense because I was pretty.” Fukuzawa feels his face burning red and even Mori across from him is flushed, even though he is smiling.

“You see Atsushi…” Damn it Dazai is still on the phone. “A Sugar Daddy is a rich older man who gives gifts to a young person in return for sex—” Mori hangs up on him with a beep, but the damage has been done, Atsushi’s face is flushed a charming red. Fukuzawa sighs, deep and long. But before he can launch into the speech he’s mentally preparing, the waiter arrives with their food. Fukuzawa resolves to leave a large tip

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

Its plate by the time they finish up at the restaurant, and step out into the street. Atsushi feels full and satisfied, and it didn't cost him a scent. The two men kept their word and paid for the meal in full. Apparently Mori had agreed to the alliance, but the actual details of it where still being hammered out.

“I will not give you free reign over the harbor district.” Fukuzawa says, hand twitching for his sword. Atsushi sighs.

“Well, I need the harbor district to conduct work.” Mori says, speaking directly over Atsushi’s head. He’s sandwiched between them as they stand outside of the restaurant, and he feels very short.

“What kind of work? Illegal work?”

“We are the mafia.”

“Um Sir, if it's alright to interject.” Both men turn to look at him and he shrinks under their combined gazes. “Maybe you guys should have this conversation somewhere else? People are staring.” The bubble seemingly popped, both men look around and take in the different kinds of stares their getting. The angry stares of people trying to go around them on the street, the curious stares of people in line, and even a few stares of disgust, from people who probably still think that these men are his ‘sugar daddies’. Atsushi flushes a little at the implications.

“We can go to my office.” Mori offers. Fukuzawa glares. “And probably have to fight through several hundred armed guards?” And now they're arguing again. Atsushi is distinctly reminded a bit of Dazai and Kunikida, if Dazai and Kunikida threw insults at each other like two year olds. It's sometimes easy to forget that Mori is perhaps one of the most powerful men in Yokohama, and the same for the president.

“Um, we could go to your office Fukuzawa sir, it's easily accessible and the only people that will be there this late at night is Kunikida.” The men turn their eyes back on him again, considering. Atsushi is kind of waiting for his suggestion to get shut down, but then Fukuzawa nods, and Mori winds an arm around his waist, subtly pulling him away from Fukuzawa.

“What an excellent suggestion Kitten! You’re quite impressive, you know.” Atsushi flushes at the praise. Fukuzawa grabs his arm, pulling him away from Mori’s arm. “This way Atsushi, hurry up.” Fukuzawa says, pulling Atsushi's arm. Mori grabs his other arm. “Now wait up, it'll be fast to call a company car. The sidewalks are choked up at this time of night. And besides,” He says, gesturing at a darkened ally. “It gets sketchy as hell around here, and I'd prefer not to get blood on this suit.”

Fukuzawa frowns, and Atsushi is sure he's going to protest just for protestings sake, but then he nods with a sigh. “Fine.” He says, dropping Atsushi’s arm.

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

The car was really fancy. A sleek black on the outside and inside and it even had a driver! The car ride was kind of annoying though. Fukuzawa refused to let him sit in the back with Mori, and Mori refused to sit next to Fukuzawa so Atsushi spent the car ride smashed between two handsome men who wouldn't stop throwing petty insults back and forth. He could smell them again, Mori’s scent of rosemary and sandalwood, and Fukuzawa’s clean smell, tinged with green tea. And as pleasant as that may sound, the rest of it was not. When they were not insulting each other, Mori would try to ask him a question or say something nice and Fukuzawa would swing at him over Atsushi’s head and suddenly two middle aged men were having a slap war above his head. It was the same way when Fukuzawa tried to say something to him as well.

But now it's over and they're walking up the stairs of the Agency building, and Mori is snidely insulting the building and Fukuzawa is saying something insulting right back. And Atsushi would defend the building but he has a feeling Mori doesnt actually think that he’s just saying it to fuck with Fukuzawa and Atsushi really is forgetting how powerful these two men are.

Also, through the entire night, it almost seems like Mori’s flirting with him. Now Atsushi doesn't have much experience with this stuff, and his knee jerk reaction is to deny, but then again…

“You cant do a double suicide, all by yourself~” Atsushi can hear it from all the way down the hall. Fukuzawa sighs, and murmurs something about apologizing to the people downstairs as Atsushi pulls the wooden door to the detective Agency open.

Surprisingly, a good number of people are in the office when they arrive. Dazai is sitting at his desk with headphones on singing really loudly and off-key. Kunikida is at his desk with earplugs on, pointedly ignoring Dazai. Ranpo is perched on his desk, playing some video games and munching on snacks, also with headphones in. Naomi and Junichiro are sitting at their desks, sorting thirdly through paperwork. They all look up at the three new arrivals.

Kunikida looks up a little late, pulling his earplugs out of his ears.

“So Atsushi, I see you brought your new ‘Sugar Daddies’, huh.” Kunikida, who Atsushi guesses was absent from the office during The Phone Call™, chokes on his own spit. “Wha-who, excuse me—” Atsushi can feel the flush working up his neck again. Mori smirks, and Fukuzawa, perhaps sensing danger, jumps in. “That is highly inappropriate, Dazai. We’re still negotiating contract details, Kunikida, and since we didn't finish at the restaurant Atsushi very smartly suggested we come here.”

“They were arguing about the Harbor district in the middle of the street.” Atsushi, who’s kind of tired of their nonsense, says. “And then they spent the entire car ride insulting each other over my head.”

“Yes,” Mori says, giving a fake sad sigh. “Unfortunately Fukuzawa just refused to sit in the front of the limo. So poor this kitten was squished between us.” Someone chokes, probably Kunikida and Dazai murmurs ‘kitten?’ under his breath.

“Well you refused to sit next to me, and so Atsushi had to sit between us. And I refuse to let my prescouse subordinate sit alone in the back with you, especially with the way you were eyeing him.” Fukuzawa glares, and they're at it again. Naomi sends Atsushi a sympathetic look. “They’ve been like this all night then?” She says, shooting him a small smile at his nod of conformation.

“I would never do anything in the limo, that's not my kink Fukuzawa. You know that.”

“I wish I didn't. I'll never forget—”

“Um, Fukuzawa Sir, Mr Mori Sir, how about you guys go negotiate alliance details in the office. I have some stuff i need to—”

Atsushi is interrupted by Mori’s arm, winding around his waist again. “Nonsense! Without you there we would simply devolve to bloodshed or something worse.” Mori says, his gloved hand stroking Atsushi’s waist softly. It feels nice, and Atsushi can feel the warmth of his hand through all the layers of fabric.

“For ounce, I actually agree with Mori. You can simply give your work to Dazai.” Fukuzawa says, smiling slightly. “Think of it as payback for how he pawns his work onto you.”

A few stares are traded around the office as Atsushi is dragged away. Kunikida simply looks confused, while Naomi and Junichiro trade equally knowing looks. Dazai just chuckles to himself, then goes back to his horrendous singing.

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

The actual process of arguing small details didn't take that too long. After about forty minutes of back and forth about the harbor district, where about halfway through Kunikida brought them some alcohol and cups and informed them the others were leaving, Fukuzawa compromised about The Harbor district. And after that, the problems just flew by. And then they were shaking hands and signing a formal document with Atsushi as witness. And then, it was all over and they were all drinking and Atsushi could feel a faint pleasant buzz. He was by no means drunk, just clearly a bit tipsy.

A record in the corner is playing slow, sexy jazz and somehow, over the ten or so minutes they’ve been drinking, Atsushi’s been sandwiched between the two men again. But this time, it's less uncomfortable because they're drinking and laughing, and both of them have taken off their coats to relax. And although they can't help but throw a dig or two in there, the constant insults have stopped, and the two of them are, if not friends, resembling something closer.

Atsushi lets himself sink back into the couch, his head hitting Mori’s arm, which slung across the back of the couch. He’s noticed over the entirety of the evening, that the man seems to be a very physical person. He would very freely touch Atsushi’s arm or waist, and even now his hand, the one currently not holding a glass of whiskey, was reaching up, stroking Atsushi’s head softly. It felt really nice. Mori was a strange man. At times Atsushi really forgot that he was the head of the port mafia, a man whose clothes were stained with blood. But, he had been quite kind to Atsushi.

And he was handsome. Very handsome in a sexy aged kind of way. Not unlike a wine. Yeah, the president was like a Wine too. A white wine though. The president was white wine, while Mori was red wine. Atsushi chuckles to himself.

“What are you laughing about, kitten?” Mori’s eyes are sparkly. He’s not sure why he didn't notice that earlier.

“Oh, i was noticing how you guys are like wine.” Atsushi says.

“Like wine?” Fukuzawa’s voice is sexy, all deep and raspy. It resonates in Atsushi’s bones, warming his body slightly.

“You guys are so handsome. In an aged kind of way.” Atsushi says. Fukuzawa chokes, and Mori chuckles. Atsushi continues, smiling slightly. “The president is a white wine, and Mr. Mori is a red wine.” Mori’s hand is tangled in his hair now, lightly massaging his scalp. It feels good.

“You think we’re handsome?” Mori says, placing his mostly empty glass on the coffee table before him. Atsushi nods. “Yes, very. I’ve been thinking about it the whole night.” He says. Someone in the back of his mind is screaming at him to shut up, but he feels pleasantly buzzed and his walls are slipping. Mori chuckles. “Well kitten, Fukuzawa and I think you're very pretty. Infact,” He leans close like he’s telling a secret, and Atsushi smells that scent of rosemary and sandalwood. “I’ve just been dying to fuck you stupid.” Atsushi feels a twinge of arousal sing though his body. He would like that, he definitely would very much so.

On his other side, Fukuzawa coughs, directing his ire at Mori. “Seriously Mori? I'm right here.” Atsushi personally see’s no problem in this, and Mori seems to agree, because he speaks directly to Fukuzawa. “Why don't you join in? Atsushi wants you to. Right Kitten?” Atsushi nods, turning to look at the President on his other side. “Yes, I want you Sir.”

“See Fukuzawa, no need to hold back.” Mori’s hand, still tangled in his hair, gently draws Atsushi’s eyes back to his own. Red eyes, pretting red eyes, twinkling with a strange light, heavy lidded. And then the hand on Atsushi’s head is pulling him forward, and Atsushi closes his eyes as Mori’s lips touch his own. Mori kisses deep, devouring Atsushi’s lips, stealing his breath away. His other hand winds up, slowly working the buttons on Atsushi’s double breasted vest, showing no hurry. Atsushi does his best to keep up, slowly following Mori’s lead. He feels a warm hand on his thigh, slowly stroking it, fingers just avoiding where he needs them to be. Fukuzawa’s other hand strokes his back, almost soothingly.

Mori’s tongue is tracing the seam of his lips now, begging for entrance. Atsushi opens his mouth. Mori is obviously experienced, his tongue tangles with Atsushi’s own much more skillfully, tracing the inseams of his mouth, all while those fingers slowly undo his buttons. The hand on his thigh is tracing closer and closer to where he needs it, and Atsushi feels like a tightly wound bobble, waiting for the caress of a hand on his hard dick.

Mori separates from his mouth, and Atsushi flushes at the dirty string of saliva that follows their separating tongues. It breaks when Mori dives back in, this time leaving little kisses on his neck. Atsushi’s head falls back, mouth parting in a soft moan as Fukuzawa’s hand finally strokes his dick. It feels good, even with layers of fabric softening the sensation.

“Feel good?” Fukuzawa is watching him, his voice dropped down to a sensual whisper. Atsushi nods. “Yes, Fukuzawa Sir.”

“Wow, Sir. That's hardcore.” Mori murmurs against his neck, and Atsushi moves as Mori’s skilled fingers undo the last button, discarding the vest on the coffee table. He presses a delicate kiss to his jaw, as his fingers move much faster, undoing the buttons of his shirt. Fukuzawa’s still applied the slightest of pressures to Atsushi’s clothed dick. He speaks right over Atsushi’s head.

“Shut up Mori.” Although his words are aggressive, his tone doesn't match. It's still all low and sensual, and Atsushi moans as his fingers dance over his dick, the teasing touches a cruel torture as Fukuzawa undoes the zipper of his pants. But it's all worth it when Fukuzawa’s hand reaches into his boxers, finally coming in contact with his dick. Atsushi’s head falls back with an embarrassing moan, and he thrusts up into Fukuzawa’s hand.

Mori had shed his gloves at some point during the drinking, and now his bare hand is trailing across Atsushi’s chest, the slightest bit of contact a delicious tease until he comes in contact with a nipple, brushing over the hard nub. Atsushi whimpers, an embarrassing sound, loud to his ears but still barely hearable over the jazz. Mori chuckles. “Such a very sensitive Kitten.” He says, shoving two fingers into Atsushi’s open mouth. “Now be a good boy and suck.” Atsushi obeys to the best of his abilities, distracted as he is by the stimulus on his dick and nipples. He sucks hard on Mori’s fingers, creating what he hopes is a pleasurable vacuum, occasionally using his tongue to trace the rough pads.

“You're doing so well, Kitten. Such a good boy.” Mori says. The praise warms his heart, and at the same time he bucks into Fukuzawa’s hand. “Praise, huh. Stand for me, Atsushi.” Fukuzawa says, his hands momentarily leaving Atsushi’s dick to push down his pants. Mori’s fingers slip out of his mouth as he gets to his feet, kicking his pants away. And then his world is spinning as Fukuzawa’s big hands grip his waist, sitting him smack dab on Mori’s lap.

“Condoms?” Mori asks, promptly shoving his fingers back into Atsushi’s mouth, rather roughly. Atsushi chokes around the intrusion, much more forceful this time, but shamefully his dick twitches at the force, and he shifts on Mori’s lap. Mori definitely notices.

“Oh, you like it rough huh.” Atsushi nods around the fingers, whimpering. Mori smirks. “How dirty Kitten, just the way I like it.” He moves his fingers out and in, and Atsushi just lets his jaw fall slack, letting Mori do what he wishes. It's arousing to surrender control, to let this dangerous man do what he wills, and Atsushi’s free hand moves down the stroke himself over his boxers. His dick is leaking, staining his boxers with a quickly spreading wet stain, and as Atsushi grinds down against Mori’s lap, he feels a large hard thing under his ass. Mori groans in his ear, and Atsushi’s world is tilted on its axis.

When the spinning stops, Atsushi finds himself laying on his hands and knees on Fukuzawa’s brown couch, Mori’s hands smoothing over his butt.

“You look so sexy like this kitten.” Mori says, his wet fingers prodding slightly at Atsushi’s hole. Atsushi shivers at the praise, and then keens as fingers penetrate his hole. It's an odd feeling, but not entirely unpleasant. But still, Atsushi feels himself flagging a little as Mori shoves his fingers in, stretching his ass out for a bigger intrusion. Mori notices.

“Does it hurt?” He says, pausing his motions, his fingers still lodged deep in Atsushi’s ass. Atsushi shakes his head. “No, just strange.”

“I see.” Mori resumes his motions, slowly withdrawing almost all the way out before he enters again, his pace slow and deep. And soon, Atsushi feels the strange discomfort turn to pleasure. And soon he’s arching his back, keening, begging for more.

“I'm back, I had to borrow some from the infirmary.” Fukuzawa says, passing a foil packet to Mori. When had he left? Atsushi hadn't noticed. He returns to the couch, bending over to kiss Atsushi harshly on the mouth. His kiss is different from Mori’s, much more aggressive, but Atsushi can't decide which one he likes more. And while he’s distracted, having his tongue sucked on by Fukuzawa, Mori slips on the condom, lining the head of his cock up with Atsushi’s ass.

He pushes in slowly but Atsushi feels it, pulling away from Fukuzawa’s mouth the moan loudly, a garbled mix of Mori’s name and nonsense. The stretch burns a little, but Atsushi finds he likes it. His back arches, eyes falling closed as Mori moves slowly, before finally stopping, all the way in. Atsushi doesn't think he’s ever felt this full. He’s left panting against the couch, Fukuzawa’s fingers tangled in his hair, soothing him.

“Such a pretty boy.” Mori coos, big hands gripping Atsushi’s waist. “Staying so still for me. Can I move, Kitten?” That nickname makes Atsushi clench down, moaning loudly out a, “Yes Mori. Oh god please yes!” Mori chuckles, and obliges. Mori sets a fast pace, his hands making good use of Atsushi’s waist, his balls slapping on Atsushi’s ass. Atsushi is moaning up a storm, eyes closed when Fukuzawa’s hand, still lodged in his hair, pulls him upward.

“Atsushi.” Atsushi opens his eyes, and comes face to face with Fukuzawa’s hard cock, bobbing in front of him. Atsushi nods, understanding what he wants. Fukuzawa’s dick is long, and heavy on his tongue, the taste faintly salty. Atsushi does his best, doing what he’d done to Mori’s fingers earlier, but he soon just surrenders and lets Fukuzawa fuck his throat.

“Such a good boy.” Mori grunts, hand reaching around to stroke Atsushi’s dick. “Taking me so well, letting him fuck your throat raw.” he leans down, cooing directly in Atsushi’s ear. “You were made for this, made to be fucked stupid.” Atsushi keens, moaning around Fukuzawa’s dick, his back arching as he cums.

“Did you cum pretty boy?” Mori says, trying for a chuckle, but ending up with more of a choked up grunt. Atsushi nods, trying his best to apologize around Fukuzawa’s dick. “No need to apologize.” Mori continues. “We’ll just make you cum again, won't we Fukuzawa?”

“Mhm.” Fukuzawa responds, much more prioritized with Atsushi’s mouth. Mori was very vocal during sex, cooing dirty talk and praise in his ear, moaning and grunting as he thrusts in and out. Fukuzawa was much more quiet, occasionally grunting or groaning quietly, but not much speaking. His dick is still twitching, already coming back to hardness as Mori fucks him hard, landing the occasional slap on Atsushi’s butt.

“No refractory period. Interesting.” Mori doesn't sound interested, he just sounds raspy and sexy and Atsushi almost comes again. And then, he hits a spot inside Atsushi that makes him white out for a second. Atsushi moans, choking around Fukuzawa’s dick, spit sliding from his mouth and landing on the couch. Mori seems to understand, and hits that spot again, and again, and again until Atsushi is cuming again, shooting ropes of semen onto the couch.

“Atsushi, ‘m cuming.” Fukuzawa says above him, shoving himself down Atsushi’s throat one more time, and soon hot seed is running down Atsushi’s throat. He swallows it all, or tries his best as he’s still cumming. “Me too.” Mori murmurs, still stroking Atsushi’s dick as his rhythm stutters, and he shoves his hips in one more time.

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

Work the next day is a little awkward. For him at least. The rest of the Agency has no problem interrogating him for details.

“So, what happened again?”

Atsushi sighs. “It took a whole entire dinner, car ride, and about another hour but the Alliance has been finalized. Or whatever.”

Naomi frowns. “No, that's not what we ment. We ment did—”

“Yo, lame ass detective Agency, i have something for you.” Chuuya pokes his head in, sending Dazai a glare and the rest of them mostly a confused sort of smile.

“What are you doing here mackerel?” Dazai says, his eyes darkening.

“Shut up stupid Dazai, I've been demoted to a delivery guy apparently.” Chuuya says, walking over and depositing a box in Atsushi’s desk. “Here you go Were-Tiger, it's from the boss.”

Dead silence falls for a moment, and then Dazai speaks. “I guess he really is your Sugar Daddy huh.”

Atsushi throws a pencil holder at his head.

End Notes: so, this is a thing, that exists. I dunno man. I'm going to hell. also this got long as helllll i dont know what happened

#bungou stray dogs #mariannacrxss #kinktober 2023 #bsd smut #helplesslypurple77kinktober #kinktober #bungo stray dogs smut

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helplesslypurple77 · 6 months

Text

Day 9- Dazai/Reader with promt Wet Dream

Notes: this is partly inspired by this wonderful ChuuAtsu fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13091097

You know, when I write my reader characters, they usually end up not like me at all, but for some reason this Reader ended up like a little too much like me. also no actual sex guys, just dream sex, sorry

There are hands on you. Big hands, tugging at your clothes, desperately, hotly. You want to laugh at him, at his urgent attitude, but you feel the same. Your hands are just as desperate, tangled in that familiar brown hair, that insufferable smirk curved across his face. You hate him, but you never want him to let you go.

“I knew it, you secretly liked me all along.” You despise that voice, it's cocky and arrogant. And you hate how it turns you on. You kiss him harder, trying to shut him up.

It works too, at first. He abandoned his previous task of making fun of you and instead devotes himself to absolutely ruining you, running his fingers through your hair and yanking your close, tugging at the buttons of your shirt. Each button undone represents your pride, falling apart, ruined by the man before you. He pulls away from your mouth, pressing bruising kisses to your neck, his tongue laving over the harsher bites.

“Hurry up Dazai.” Your voice is embarrassingly raspy, thick with lust as your head falls back, letting out a tiny embarrassing whimper. The man before you chuckles. “My my, impatient are we?” You hate how his teasing turns you on.

But he obeys, and a clever hand tweaks your nipple, pulling a moan deep out of your throat. You hate him, hate what he does to you.

Another hand is trailing lower now, drawing a sinful path down your front, leaving a hot trail of fire in its wake. It arrives at its goal, and he chuckles at what he finds there.

“You're so wet.” He sounds proud, the insufferable bastard. “And I thought you hated me.”

You glare through the pleasure. “Shut up—”

You interrupt your complaints with a moan as he plays with your pussy, slipping a finger into your twitching hole. You moan, embarrassed of the squelching sounds that give away your real feelings. His fingers are long, longer than yours and they stretch you out nicely as he adds another one, scissoring them and prying your hole open. A rough padded thumb draws circles on your clit, driving you closer and closer to insanity, to the edge of the metaphorical cliff.

“More, Osamu. Give me more.” You can feel his dick twitch in his pants at that name, and you take pride in the fact that he’s just as affected as you are.

“Yes, my Belladonna, I shall obey your every command.” You hate that stupid nickname, the one he gives to all the women he flirts with, but never gave to you. You hate how your heart clenches with happiness. He slips a third finger in and your back arches, moans tumbling out of your mouth at a higher frequency.

You grip his shoulders, one leg wrapped around his waist as his long fingers bring you closer and closer to the brink, your stubborn pride falling from you with every thrust of his fingers. And then, he finds it, that cushy spot that makes your back arch and you cum with a cry of his name.

“I love you, Osamu.”

˚⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡

You wake with a strange feeling of dissatisfaction, as if you're missing something. A strange wanting feeling, a familiar aching in your gut that disappears with a good shower. You take your time getting ready, because even though you’re late you know someone will be later than you. And you refuse to leave into the world looking like a caveman. You style your hair, put on some everyday makeup and make some eggs and toast, trying the new strawberry jam Kenji gave you.

It's not until you're locking the door to the dorms behind you, purse in hand, that the dream suddenly rushes back into your brain. The hot steamy details and the worst part, the very last words.

‘I love you, Osamu’

Fuck, your screwed.

˚⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡

The Detective Agency is hard at work when you step quietly through the door. You're offered the usual greetings, which you return with less than your usual enthusiasm, but if anyone notices, they don't say. You put your purse down, sitting at your desk between Atsushi and that damn Dazai, and pointedly ignore the latter man. You shoot Atsushi a smile however, you adore the boy.

“Morning Atsushi.” Atsushi shoots you a smile. “Morning Name, do you have the paperwork for yesterdays mission? Kunikida told me to make copies in case Dazai loses them again.”

“Yeah, thats a good idea.” You nod, handing over said papers with a smile. “He totally would to.” You and Atsushi share a smile as an indignant squawk sounds on your other side. “What are you implying! I'm being egregiously slandered. I would never lose anything important anyway.” You avoid looking at him entirely, not even granting him a response. Atsushi shoots you an odd look, but humors you with a sigh in Dazai’s direction. “Yes Dazai, we all know you would. Thanks for these Name.” He takes the papers away with a smile and you turn to your desk as the door slams behind him.

It's silent in the office, the sounds of typing and the beeping of Ranpo’s switch, and you're filling out reports for lost dogs when a familiar bandaged hand comes into your vision.

“Nameeee~ why are you avoiding meee~” You can feel the blush creeping up the back of your neck, and flashes of those hands in a different context flash through your mind. You keep trying, not looking at him.

“I'm not ignoring you. I'm doing reports.” You type faster, taking out your embarrassment on your computer.

“No, see? You won't even look at me.” Infuriatingly, the man simply does not leave you alone. You sigh, maybe if you focus on how infuriating your find him you can survive without thinking of that dream again, and those stupid fucking words.

Your turn, glancing at him. “No, see, I'm looking at you.” And of course, this proved to be a huge mistake. Dazai’s handsomeness, it's always been obvious. But most of the people in the armed detective agency are handsome, for some reason. So to you it's always been easy to ignore. But now, you can't ignore it any more. The sun is pouring through the windows, casting a golden glow on his brown hair, highlighting the thousands of colored strands all blending together into brown. It highlights his eyes too, turning that brown transparent and beautiful, shining in the light. He’s wearing that stupid outfit as usual, but he’s hung his coat over the edge of the chair, and rolled his sleeves up and his delicate hands are on display. Damn those stupid sexy hands with their long fingers and blue veins. Damn Dazai and his stupid sexyness. You hate him for it.

Worse however, are his lips. Because as soon as you look at them all you can think about is that dream, how he devoured your kisses, how he worshiped your neck. And now he’s biting them, drawing his teeth across them and leaving little indents across his top lip. You want to kiss them away.

Unknown to you, Dazai’s having his own little problems. You look at him, and you blink slowly, giving him the most dangerous pair of fuck me eyes he’s ever seen. You always look pretty, but now it's three times worse. The sun is highlighting you, and you glow like a goddess, coming down to slay the foolish mortals who worship her. He can imagine you as a goddess. Dressed in robes that hug your curves with every step, punishing the foolish mortals who desire her impurely. Demanding they worship you. He would gladly fall beneath your feet and worship you. Let you sit on his face and smother him with your thighs and pussy. He would beg for it.

And your eyes are begging him to lean forward and kiss you, to selfishly steal the breath from your lungs, to take you on this very desk right here. He could imagine that too. Your pretty form bent over a desk, papers and office supplies falling to the floor as he fucks you. Your face twisted in pleasure as you screamed his name. His name, and only his. He swallows, wetting his throat and biting his lip. He cant breath, and he feels arousal start in his gut.

“Can you guys stop eye fucking each other and get back to work? Kunikida looks like he’s ready to burst a blood vessel.” Ranpo startles you out of your staring, and you turn with a glare at the older detective. “Im not eye fucking him. What are you even talking about?” Dazai jumps in rather halfheartedly. “I mean i could understand if you were eye fucking me, i am very handsome arent i.” You want to smack him. Instead you turn to your desk and resume your reports. Your mother always said violence was never the answer.

But you’ve learned your lesson. From now on, you will do your best to avoid Dazai Osamu, lest you make a mistake you will regret.

˚⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡

Over the next few days you learned something important. Avoiding Dazai Osamu proved to be an impossible task. Because for some reason, Kunikida insisted on putting the two of you together for missions. For reasons unknown he had somehow decided that the two of you worked fabulously well together and to pair you on every mission so forth.

And honestly a You from a different day might actually agree. It actually made sense. You were a combat focused Gifted, and Dazai was not. You were hardworking and followed directions and Dazai did neither. You wouldn't wander off the flirt with every woman who looked his way and Dazai would. Although, for some reason his serial flirting had stopped recently, and you hoped it was done for good.

But, the You of today, who wanted to avoid this man were being thwarted at every turn, by Kunikida of all people. You had bribed Ranpo silent, because you were certain he knew about The Dream™, with a limited edition cake you bribed off Kyouka. And you were sure that after you avoided Dazai for a while you would eventually forget about The Dream™ and this stupid crush you had developed. But you weren't even given that privilege, because after One Day™, of avoiding him you were promptly put together on every mission, be it a missing dog or an actual fight. It was like you were joined at the hip.

And here you were today, joining Ranpo on a murder case because you were assigned to go with Ranpo and then Dazai had made a fuss and said he wanted to go because, and you're directly quoting here, ‘hot policewomen’. That boiled your blood for numerous reasons. So here you are, standing behind Ranpo as he argued with the police, glaring at the man beside you.

“Why are you mad anyway?” Dazai whisper hisses at you. You're standing in the lobby of the police office. Minuro happened to be out today, and the replacement police chief, Chief Sugawara, seemed oddly hesitant to let Ranpo solve the case. You side glare at him, whispering right back. “Why did you have to come? And all for some hot police women.” There aren't even any women present, for some reason. You guess they have better things to do than argue with a bunch of detectives. And you're all for women. You know how the saying goes, ‘women support women until women stop supporting women’ but you hate to admit your glad. You would really dislike watching Dazai flirt with another pretty woman. It would hurt you more than you wanted to admit.

It kept you up at night. Embarrassing thoughts like: ‘why doesn't he flirt with me, he flirts with them.’ soon arrived at: ‘i guess i'm not pretty enough to be flirted with.’ that just added to your growing insecurity with your looks. You hated that he had that power over you. You hated that you allowed him to have that power over you.

(You see, reader, you were so deep down in your own delusions, that you missed the signs. The looks men, and women gave you. Looks of awe, even just stares of admiration. The flirting that you dismissed as pleasantries, even Dazai’s lingering stares and rather obvious feelings. But I put it in for story reasons so just bear it for now.)

And so, here you were, forced to stand against the wall of the police department, bored out of your mind and still a little too reminded of The Dream™, because for some reason, you had been plagued by wet dreams for a few days now. And it was odd, while the first one seemed(as embarrassing as it was) thoroughly of your own creation, the others started not resembling anything you would like. Also, last night Dazai had been replaced by some guy you didn't even know? And the night before that it was the President. Now, the President was a handsome man, sure, but you had never even thought of him that way in passing, so something odd was going on for sure.

And then, the Armed Detective Agency had received today's job. A request that stood out to you as soon as you read it. Apparently, people were dying mysteriously in the middle of the night. And, you're literally never going to believe this, apparently most of them had reported Wet Dreams the nights before to their close friends. So yeah, you had quickly volunteered. Strangely enough, a few people in the detective Agency, namely Atsushi and Naomi, had reported strange dreams.(Atsushi with extremely flushed cheeks and Naomi with, ehem, interesting details about finding it strange that the dream wasn't about her brother. Atsushi hadn’t mentioned anyone, but had said there were a few different people.)

Ranpo had been specifically requested, and the police dept had asked for a combat oriented Gifted, and so here you are. But Dazai had insisted on going along, for reasons unknown. Minoru had been the requester, but when you had arrived a worried police officer had quickly informed you that Minoru was out and Chief Sugawara didn't want ‘some private eye’ taking charge of the case. You wondered, for the thousandths time, why most police officers had a similar outtake on this. You assumed pride.

You hear Ranpo’s prideful laughter, and he joins you with Chief Sugawara. You assume he’s done proving his worth, anyway.

“So, how’d it go? We on the job?” You retuck a strand of hair behind your ear. Ranpo nods. “Oh course, Chief Sugawara came to realize that he was better off with a master detective on this job, and happily succeeded the case to me.”

Chief Sugawara, a grumpy looking man in his mid forties, sighs. “I wouldn't say happily, but this cast has been bothering us, so we’ll welcome your help.” He starts walking down the hallway, and you and Dazai follow him and Ranpo into a small room. It's an odd room, almost empty with a small cot in the corner and a chair beside it. Windows stream sunlight into the room. The door shuts behind Chief Sugawara with a resounding slam.

“So, I already know who the guy is, but I got some bad news.” Ranpo leans against the wall, unwrapping a lollipop he pulled from god knows where. “His ability allows him to infiltrate dreams and take any form. He then extracts sexual energy and kills them.”

“Ok…” Dazai draws out the word. “So let's get the dude.”

“We can't.” Chief Sugawara jumps in, letting out a long suffering sigh. “He doesn't actually have a physical form anymore. He’s dead.”

Confused silence falls. Ranpo sighs. “I'll elaborate for your poor minds. The man actually died a couple years ago. But his ability allows him to live on in the population's consciousness.” Ranpo says. “And he thinks that if he extracts enough life energy he can have a body again. He’s essentially living on through his ability right now.”

“Ok, so how do we get him?” You have a feeling you know, but you ask anyway in case you're actually wrong. Ranpo smirks, and in that moment you know that your hunch was right.

“Remember how earlier at the meeting you said that you’ve been having weird dreams as well?” You nod, avoiding Dazai’s eyes. “Well, it's obvious you're his next target. So, the plan is that you go to sleep and as soon as he arrives Dazai will neutralize the ability, therefore ‘killing’ it.”

Yep, you knew it. You sigh. As much as you really, really, really don't want to do this, it seems like a good plan. Just embarrassing. Chief Sugawara runs a hand through his messy brown hair. “So Miss, are you willing to do this for us? You are definitely not required to.”

You nod, sitting down on the cot with a weary, weary, sigh. “Yeah, I'll do it.” A rare smile makes its way across Chief Sugawara’s face, and he hands you a small pill. “A sleeping pill.” He says, as Ranpo begins to drag him out of the room.

“Wait Ranpo, how will Dazai know when to neutralize it.” Ranpo smirks, pushing Chief Sugawara out of the door. “Oh, he’ll know. And Name? Tell him to take another form, maybe the President again, and not your crush ok? No distractions.” And with that he leaves, slamming the door behind you. You are left alone, with Dazai. You swallow the pill with the water they gave you in relative awkward silence. Dazai pulls the chair up beside the cot, a weird smile painted across his face.

“So, name, I hear you have a crush?” You really can't believe you're here, having a discussion with your crush about your crush. You sigh. “Yeah, I guess. It's embarrassing.” You grimace that makes its way across his face as you lay down, but his face is back to a smile as you feel your vision waver.

“Dazai?” You say before you slip away. “Yes, Bella?”

“Don't leave me alone please.” He smiles. “I won't Belladonna.”

‘He called me Belladonna.’ Is the last thought you have before you slip away.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

The scene you step into is familiar. The Armed Detective Agency office. Its evening, golden hour light slides through the windows, painting the floor with sunset colores. And, waiting for you with open arms is, of course, the President. You should just wait for Dazai to get rid of him, but you really want to see the limits of his ability. You hatch a mischievous plan. The Not President shoots you a very out of character smirk. “Ready for some of that good good lovin’ babygirl?” You almost choke.

“I dont want to fuck the President.” You say, sitting down on the edge of someone’s desk. “I don't even have a crush on him, why would you choose him?”

The Not President shrugs. “He’s hot, and subconsciously you would totally fuck him. But whatever.” the figure shifts and morphs, and another familiar figure is standing before you. “Ranpo? Really?”

“Fine” The scenery changes now, and you're in an unfamiliar office with a familiar 5 ‘3 redhead standing before you.

“Nope. I dont like short men.”

Not Chuuya shrugs. “You sure Darlin? All his height went somewhere else…”

“No.”

“Fine, your call.” A flash, and you're in another office. You shake your head.

“Definitely not Mori.”

The scenery shifts again, and you're floating in an odd golden ball with only a bed. A man is standing before you. He looks a little like Mori’s long lost cousin.

You sigh. “I don't even know this guy.”

“And?” The man’s voice is accented, russian maybe.

“Just change it, it's my dream.”

The scenery shifts again, and now you're in the very room you're sleeping in right now. And advancing towards you, because of course, is Dazai.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

You look pretty while you're sleeping. And you're not moving, and that means you're not avoiding him. Dazai hates that you’re avoiding him, and you're also apparently having sex dreams about the president, while all of his dreams have been plagued by you in various states of undress for a long time. But, Dazai can admit the dream guy is obviously not affecting him, all of his dreams are clearly of his own creation, and not constant.

You've plagued his dreams for a while now, ever since he realizes he had a small(massive) crush on you. In the beginning those dreams were innocent. You would hold his hand, tell him you loved him and maybe plant a kiss chaste kiss on his lips. But then, the Armed Detective Agency took a small vacation to the beach, for some reason.

He spent that day throwing sand at Kunikida and spending an unhealthy amount of time staring at you in that stupid skimpy bathing suite. It was truly a blessing and a curse because while he gotta see it, so did every other person on the beach that day. That night, the first of the dreams came. You, riding him in the very swimsuit on an empty beach, looking radiant and devastating a top him. He woke up guilty and hard that morning, and decided to take a long, cold, shower instead of dealing with it himself, because again, he was a little guilty. That had been the first of many, many dirty dreams.

But of course you're apparently spending your sex dreams with the president instead of him, because life is unfair. And Dazai knows deep down that he doesnt deserve you, he knows that very well, but he still hopes. And hope is a cruel, unfair thing.

You start twisting on the cot, your lips parting in something like a whimper. Dazai stands at attention, waiting for some kind of sign for him to use No Longer Human. But then, the moans start.

Dazai almost chokes, gripping the side of the chair tightly because of course you would moan, and of corse Ranpo decided to subject him to this devine torture. And of course he decided to throw a fit today to come with you because he loved you and he didn't want you to avoid him anymore. Because now, he knows what your moans sound like. He’s never going to be able to look at you the same again. And now he has more wet dream fodder, like he needed anymore.

“Oh, oh feels so good~”

He’s going to die, he’s hard. He’s going to hell. He’s going to burn in hell and all because he’s a horn dog.

“Mmm, so, so good.”

You're twisting in bed, and Dazai wonders if he should use No Longer Human. He probably should, right?

“So good Osamu, treat me so good~” Dazai chokes. And grips your hand, activating No Longer Human. His mind is in shambles as the moans stop, because you just said his name.

And then one more fatal sentence escapes your mouth. “No, don't go ‘samu. I love you.” And then, you open your eyes.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡

It's late by the time you and Dazai start walking back home. After you had woken up the station had been abuzz with activity. You had been made to submit a mission report, reporting on what had happened in the dream world. Well most of it anyway. And Dazai is yanked away from you for other reports. It had been odd, honestly. When you had woken up he had been holding your hand, the light of No Longer Human still fading around you, with a shell shocked expression carved across his face.

The man of the hour clears his throat as you arrive as the Agency dorms, stopping you before as you unlock your door.

“Um, Name.” He looks uncharacteristically unsure, like he’s weighing his words. “I have something to tell you.”

You nod, fiddling with your keys. “What's up?” He’s wringing his hands, and this is all very strange and out of character. He clears his throat again.

“Well, I was wondering if you might want to go out to dinner with me.”

You frown. “With the Agency? You should ask Kunikida, he’s in charge of scheduling and stuff like that, not me.”

“No.” Dazai looks almost timid. “As a date. I like–no, I love you.”

You drop your keys in shock. “What? Is this a joke? Because it's not funny.”

“No.”

You shake your head, pinching yourself subtly. You literally have to be still dreaming now. But no, it hurts a lot. Dazai is still standing before you, trying to hide that unsure look with his usual smirk of confidence. It's failing, miserably.

“So, do you want to? Because i can understand if you don't, i—

You shut him up with a kiss. “Yes, I'd love to.” You say when you finally pull away. Still gripping his cheeks between your hands. Dazai smiles, a real genuine smile and dives back for another kiss.

End Notes: Dazai is a dramatic whore. He talks like me. Definitely a former theater kid right there. Also at some point in this fic i start drastically overusing the trademark™ sign, and i love it and it's so fun. Also the cloud ☁ emoji is so cute.

#bungou stray dogs #mariannacrxss #kinktober 2023 #bsd smut #helplesslypurple77kinktober #kinktober #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #dazai smut #dazai x reader

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helplesslypurple77 · 7 months

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Day 8-Mori/Reader with prompts Fingering and Doctor Kink

Notes: Mori was getting dangerously attractive in that Yosano flashback…and obviously your ob-gyn should absolutely never do anything our doctor Mori is gonna do, this is a fanfiction, so, fiction. Anyway, enjoy(also im totally glossing over some of the less sexy bits of a normal appointment lol)

The familiar tickle of the bell welcomes you as you enter the familiar lobby of your Gynecologists. You check your watch, noting that you're a little early, so you set your purse on the coffee table and scroll through your phone absentmindedly. The office is surprisingly empty, only one other person sits in the lobby, a middle aged woman who smiles kindly in your direction, before Anne, the receptionist, calls her over with a wave. She’s definitely not new, you’ve known Anne since she started working here, and she’s still as pretty as ever, with long red hair and green eyes. She sends you a wink and a smile, and you smile back.

You fiddle a bit with your necklace, bored. It's a new one, a classy thin gold chain with a single, red ruby. It winks prettily between your collarbones, drawing all eyes. You paired it with a white blouse, and a dark red skirt, as flashy as you could get away with at work, anyway. Your boss liked it when her employees quote unquote, ‘expressed themselves’, although you still got written up occasionally. Although it was probably Brad, your boyfriend, still salty about the shopping spree you had gone on when you found he cheated on you.

You're so bored you find yourself staring around at the familiar decorations for the thousandth time. The familiar fake flowers on the table, the tabloid and other magazines, the chairs around the front office, the pictures on all the walls. Your favorite one is a watercolor painting, naked fairies and female elves dancing around an enchanted forest. It was just so whimsical and pretty it had always fascinated you.

“Miss Name Last-Name?” The receptionist smiles when you look up, gesturing at a pretty blond Nurse with a clipboard. She’s also young, maybe early thirties and she smiles as she leads you back into the room. Janet, the Nurse’s name she had informed you, quickly and efficiently takes care of the weight and height measurements, before she gives you a small smile and nod, and leaves the room. It's the same room you’ve been to before, ever since you were sixteen.

It's embarrassing but you've lived in the same town for most of your life. Your parents had moved you and your siblings here when you were seven years old, because your mom wanted to be by the sea and your father loved your mother a bit too much perhaps. But they were your parents and you loved them, no matter how embarrassingly lovey dovey they insisted on being.

But anyway, this was your hometown. You had gone to school here, made lifelong friends here, and all of your doctors appointments had been in this town, including the Gynecologists. Your ob-gyn, Maya, had known you since you were young, and was a kindly middle aged woman, an old friend of your moms. It would be nice to see her again. You're sitting on the chair, legs not hooked but swinging in front of you when a knock on the door sounds and Nurse Janet peaks her head in.

“I'm sorry miss Name, but Maya, your usual isn't available.” You frown in concern. “Is she ok?” The nurse steps in completely, her clipboard clutched to her chest. “Yes, she just has a cold. I can either reschedule your appointment or assign you another doctor temporarily. What would you prefer?” The way the nurse speaks is a little peculiar, but you just brush it off. A new doctor, temporarily at least. You're tempted, just out of comfort to reschedule, but , and you've already driven here and gas prices are so high nowadays, it just feels like such a waste. You nod, coming to your decision. “I'll proceed with the appointment.” Janet nods, checking her clipboard. “Alright then, Doctor Mori will see you in about ten minutes.” The door closes and she’s gone.

Doctor Mori. You’ve heard the name, Maya has mentioned him in passing. And if Maya recommends him he has to be good, you have a lot of faith in your old friend. Your phone rings, loudly and with tha familiar ringtone that signifies your sister's calling. You check the clock on the wall, you have about even minutes, and quickly answer the phone.

“Leila, i'm in the doctor's office.”

Your sister giggles. “I know.” She says, yelling over the chaos you can hear faintly in the background. “I'm calling because mom told me to tell you that Maya is out with a cold. So you should reschedule your appointment for next week or something.”

You sigh, as usual your mothers a little too late. “Um, it's too late for that. Couldn't you have told me like yesterday or something?”

“It's not my fault, blame mom.” Your sister scoffs.“So did you reschedule?”

“No, I decided to see another doctor, at least temporarily.” You pick your nails, checking the clock. Five minutes. “The new nurse called her Doctor Mori? You know, the other doctor that shares the building with Maya.”

“Oh yeah, I always remember Maya talking about him.” You can faintly hear your mother yelling in the background, and then your sister yells back, pulling the phone from her ear. “What mom? He? What? Just come here and tell her yourself!”

“Honey? That you?” Your mom’s voice interrupts your sister. “How are you honey?”

“I'm great mom.” You sigh. “Why didn't you tell me about Maya earlier.”

“Oh you know, i forgot.” Your mom giggles, shouting over the Bob Marley playing in the background. “Anyway honey, your sister told me you decided to see Doctor Mori?”

You check the clock. “Yeah, it seemed like a waste to just leave. And you gotta hurry mom, I'm almost out of time.”

“I see, I see.” Your mother makes no attempt to hurry, but then again she never does. “Well, Maya introduced me to Doctor Mori one time, and honey, he’s very handsome!”

“Yeah, yeah ok.” You check the clock one more time, you need to go. “Well I gotta go mom, i'll see you later then.”

“Yeah, see you later Honey. Say hi to Anne for me. Oh, and tell her congratulations on her marriage.” And with a click, she’s gone. You sink back into your seat with a sigh, and then, something your mother said finally clicks. He. you shoot up in your seat, just as the door creaks open, and sure enough and man makes his way into the room.

Your mother was right, he is handsome. His hair is slightly long and slightly messy with loose strands falling around his face. The dark strands tickle his neck, just barely brushing his shoulders. He’s clothed in a lab coat for some reason, underneath which is a gray purple button down and a slightly loose black tie. His eyes are dark, and slight wrinkles at the corner betray his age. He has a pair of small, rimless glasses hooked on his collar.

“Miss Name? I'm Dr. Mori, I'll be filling in for Dr. Henderson today.” He blinks at you with a slightly absent smile. It feels unreal honestly, of course your replacement is a handsome older man who, in a few minutes, is going to have his hands all over your pussy. You curse every evil god who put you in this situation. And you hope, pray or anything else you can do that you won’t get wet. You sigh.

“It’s nice to meet you Dr, Ma-er, Dr Henderson has mentioned you before.” You smile, wishing that you weren’t currently at a gynecologist appointment with a man who was probably married who you were definitely thirsting over. “Although I thought…never mind.”

“You thought I was a woman?” You nod and the doctor laughs a little. “Yes, I’m not surprised. I’m actually partially retired, I just do Maya the occasional favor now and then.” Mori puts on his glasses, squinting at a clipboard. You try to subtly look at his hands, checking for a wedding ring.

“It looks like Maya took care of most of your checkups a few weeks ago?” He says. You nod. “Yes, we just ran out of time for the last few. She was going to do them today but…” The doctor nods, confirming your thought. He flips through the papers on the clipboard, before setting it down on the small desk next to a picture of a pretty blond girl with blue eyes, the doctor next to her in the picture. “Dr. Henderson already did most of the necessary tests. Looks like you guys didn't quite get around to the physical?” You give him a nod in responds and he smiles. “Alright, well I'll step out for a moment, can you please take off your underwear and hook your legs up in those—well you know what to do. I'll be back in a few minutes.” You give him a nervous little nod and laugh combo, and he steps out of the room, closing the door behind him. You sigh, standing and rolling up your tight office skirt, and ridding yourself of your boring white panties. This is going to be so embarrassing, because you just know you're going to get at least a little damp. It's very different to have a fifty ish woman who you’ve known for years poking around your vagina, versus a finely aged dilf, with no wedding ring to speak of. You sigh again, climbing up into the strange reclining chair and hooking your knees in the stirrups. With your skirt rolled up like this, you can feel the cool air brushing your bare pussy, and you shiver a little.

The door opens and Mori steps back in, noting your position on the chair with a nod. “I see you're ready to begin?” The doctor has a pair of plastic gloves on and he’s hooked his reading glasses back on his collar, the tie somehow slipping even more. You give him an affirmative, doing your best to nip any problems in the bud by focussing your thoughts squarely on your pet Cat. And it works too, as the doctor's gloved hands begin to feel surely on your pelvic bone, dancing around the lips of your pussy. Then, he starts to talk, distracting you from the cat.

“So, Miss Name, seems like you’ve known Maya for a while, huh.” He says. “Yep,” You reply, still trying to think of your cat. “I've had her since I was about seventeen. I assume you guys are old friends as well?”

“Yes, we used to work together.” The doctores sure fingers pull at the lips of your pussy, and he squints. “That was until my ex-wife decided she didn't want me touching other women all day long, even if it was my job.” Your ears catch on ‘ex-wife’ and all thoughts of your cute pet cat fly from your mind. Your thighs twitch slightly, and you change the subject quickly. “That must be your daughter then, in the picture? Sorry if I snooped.” You bite your lip and avoid eye contact, it makes it all worse when you watch him prod at your pussy. Thankfully, for now at least, his fingers have left the more sensitive areas and are now poking at your pelvic bone again.

“Yes, my little girl Elise. She’s pretty isn't she?” You nod, and he continues. “What about you? Any kids?”

You shake your head with a laugh. “No, not quite yet anyway. I just broke up with my boyfriend actually.” Your tone turns a little resentful, you can't help yourself. “He cheated on me.” Mori makes a noise of surprise, cocking his head up to meet your eyes. “He cheated on a girl as pretty as you, huh. Spread your legs a bit for me darlin.” You almost choke, ninety nine percent sure you misheard. That damn pet name, Darlin’, and the complement? God you're doomed. The doctor chuckles at your silence, his dark eyes leaving your own as they dart back to your pussy. One hand spread your pussy lips apart, and two gloved fingers poke at your hole, pushing in slowly. You bit your lip, hard. You can hear the slight squelching his fingers make, and you literally want to die. Maybe if you pretend nothing is wrong, he will spare you the humiliation.

“So, do you miss your job?” You clear your throat as his fingers reach deeper, pressing around looking for something.

“Oh, a little.” The doctor's other hand goes higher, pressing down slightly on your lower stomach, feeling around. “Although, I usually don't get such pretty patients to work with. You're making this old man blush.” Oh, he knows, he’s definitely noticed how wet you are and he’s teasing you. You still can't quite tell if he’s flirting or not. He can't be, right? He’s a really handsome man, he must have a girlfriend or something.

He withdraws his fingers from inside you, and you sigh with relief. But all your embarrassment comes rushing back as he reaches for the familiar speculum, slowly inserting it into your pussy with a squelch. You blush at the sound, but the doctor doesn't bat an eye as he ever so slowly opens it, peering inside for a few long, agonizing seconds. And then, he’s pulling it out with an embarrassing sound and placing it on a tray beside him.

“Well, looks like we have no problems.” He takes off his gloves, balling them together and placing them on the tray beside the Speculum. “Everything looks good and you're plenty…” He pauses. “…Sensitive.” You blush, way too embarrassed to even complain. He clears his throat a little, dark eyes still darting back and forth between your pussy and your face. His eyes are dark, and they have a strange shine as they meet your own again. With a leap of faith, you decide to throw caution to the winds.

“I don't know doctor, you might need to check a little more thoroughly.” He eyes you for a moment, and an embarrassing silence fills the room for a moment. And just as you're about to backpedal, Mori stands, and with a click, locks the door. “You know…” He says, a new kind of gleam in his eye. “Maybe I should. Do you have any particular concerns?” This is absolutely crazy, and you love every minute of it.

“Oh, I don't know, Doctor.” You shoot him a flirty little wink. “Maybe you should feel around in there some more, check for any irregularities?”

“That's a good idea Darlin.” He pulls a stool over, and hangs his coat over a nearby chair, rolling up his shirtsleeves. “Well, I'll start with an oral check up, then maybe use something a little longer to really check you out, that sound good?” You nod, your reply dissolving into a moan as he leans closer, the flattened length of his tongue coming in contact with your clit. He starts out slow, flattening his tongue against your clit, dancing around the edges of your hole, teasing you with his little smirks. He looks way too hot like that, face buried in your pussy, your hands tugging at his hair.

“You know Doctor,” You choke out, as the naughty slurping sounds fill the room. “My insides feel a little tight, maybe you should check those out.” Mori pulls away from your pussy, shooting you a spit slicked feral grin. “I was just thinking the same thing.” And then, he slips two fingers inside. Your head falls back against the chair, as his head disappears again, tongue licking your clit. He had his fingers inside you before, but it feels different now that he’s really trying to make you lose it. He scissors his fingers open, prying your hole open for future activities and your going to lose it. You need him inside you, right now.

“Doctor.” He looks up at you, fingers pausing inside of you. “I need you inside of me. Now.”

Mori chuckles at your enthusiasm, withdrawing his fingers from inside you with a squelch, and moving to the cabinet. He pulls a foiled package out, and waves it in your direction. You giggle, playing with your tits through your shirt. “My my doctor, do you always fuck your patients?”

“Nope, you're this old man’s first in a while.” He offers as a reply, unbuckling his pants. “We give free condoms to teens, to encourage safe sex.” He doesn't even pull down his pants, just pulls his erect cock out and strokes it a few times. You watch, licking your lips as he slides the condom down it. It's big, and you know he’ll stretch you out nicely. Maybe another time you would like to have it down your throat. But for today, you need him inside you.

Mori seems to share your enthusiasm, as he hurriedly lines his dick up with your hole, and with one last look of assurance, starts to slowly push in. The stretch is a lot, but with all that preparation it just barely stings. It also helps that he goes slowly, allowing for you to fully adjust to his hardness. He grips your thighs with his big hands as he fully shields himself inside of you, pulling out and using your thighs to pull you right back onto his dick. Your voice comes out in little pants and moans, joined by his grunts.

“So doctor, everything alright?” Your voice is far from steady, but you can't really bring yourself to care. “How does it feel?”

“Heavenly darling.” Mori’s mouth crashes onto yours, practically inhaling your face. He kisses with a wild kind of desperation, so different from the unhurried tone of voice he had taken up before. It's hot, the juxtaposition. And you can feel the coil of an orgasm curling in your stomach. “I'm close.” You pant out, as Mori nuzzles your jaw, his hair tangling with your own. “Same.” The doctor pants out, his steady rhythm speeding up a little, and you moan out especially loud as his calloused thumb works at your clit, rubbing little circles into it.

The tangle of orgasm is building now, and then, the tip of his dick hits that spot, the spot that makes pleasure explode though your body. You shudder, and cum around his dick, gripping his shoulders and moaning out a garbled mix of his name and some moans. He continues thrusting, working you through your orgasm and just as you're about to come down he thrusts one more time, and with a small little moan in your ear, he withdraws.

“So doctor.” You pant, leaning back against the chair. “Everything healthy?”

“Very.” Mori says, disposing of the condom in the garbage and doing up his clothes. He scratches his neck awkwardly, watching you put on your underwear and roll down your skirt. “So, Miss Name? Do you maybe want to get coffee together or something?”

You grab your purse, and turn, planting a bold little kiss on his lips, and pressing your business card into his hands. “I’d love to.” And with a ‘call me’ you close the door behind you.

End Notes: It's been a long time since i had an appointment lol, the details are hazy at best. Also barely got this one done in time

Taglist:@mulit05ho3st4n

#bungou stray dogs #mariannacrxss #kinktober 2023 #bsd smut #helplesslypurple77kinktober #kinktober #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #mori x reader

258 notes · View notes

helplesslypurple77 · 7 months

Text

Day 7-Atsushi/Fukuzawa with kinks Aphrodisiacs and Praise kink

Notes: Really Rare Pair lol. I dunno, it's fun(I'm a multishipper). ALSO DID YOU GUYS KNOW THAT BENTO’S IN JAPAN COST LIKE 3-5 BUCKS? I'M SO JEALOUS THEIR LIKE 15$ HERE!

It was a relatively peaceful evening at the Agency. And that was because he was the only one here. Atsushi doubted that it would be this quiet if they all had not abandoned him alone to do paperwork and went off on missions. Well, besides Dazai. No one knew where he was. They had their guesses. Kunikida had guessed, ‘off somewhere slacking off as usual,’ Ranpo had simply said ‘woman’ and Yosano and Kenji had guessed suicide attempt. Kyouka hadn't weighed in, and neither had Tanzaki and Naomi, but that was because they hadn't been there. Atsushi was sure that if they had been there, they would have had their own opinions.

But anyway, everyone was out and Atsushi was demoted to doing paperwork all day long in his loneliness. It wasn't too bad in all honesty. It was quiet, and the sun was just burning the horizon with orange and yellows. It was peaceful. The wind was gentle and smelled faintly of something sweet, and a street musician was playing faintly in the background. Atsushi was the only one here, as far as he knew. And he had gotten through a substantial amount of the work he had been avoiding, and he had secretly raided Ranpo’s snack drawer(although based on how it wasnt locked like it usually was, Atsushi wouldn't be surprised if the man left it open for him as an apology).

Atsushi leaned back in his chair, stretching. He might as well go to the corner store and get some dinner, maybe replace a few of Ranpo’s snacks while he was at it. The wind caressed his face as he closed the door behind him, tossing his hair gently around, letting the longer strands tickle his cheeks. It was a good temperature, not too cold and not too warm and the sun splashed a pretty sunset over the horizon. Golden hour light highlighted the world, casting it in a brilliant ethereal glow. It was nice to get out of the office for a minute, to walk through the streets, busy with people on their way home from work, and simply stretch for a minute.

He's turning the corner to the supermarket when he spots it, the cute little bento shop right next door, with a big red ‘buy one get one free!’ sign, and he’s never really been one to resist a good sale. The bell tinkles as he enters the shop, the only other customer, a giggly couple in the corner, barely pay him mind as he walks to the counter. The woman working the register smiles brightly at him.

“Hi cutie, what can I getcha?” Atsushi can't help the red that scrawled across his cheeks, he’s still not used to compliments. The woman is pretty too, and while these days Atsushi’s type is a little different, he can at least admit she’s pretty. Dazai would probably ask her for double suicide. “Um, I'll take the Katsu Bento please!” The woman, whose name tag reads Akiko nods, tapping away at the register with her long acrylic nails. “Oh yeah!” Akiko looks up. “We're actually offering a discount right now. If you try our new pickles we give 50% off! What do ya think, sweety?” Atsushi’s nodding before he can even think properly. “I'll take it. I also saw you guys have a buy one get one free deal right now?” Akiko nods, smiling. “Yep, so you want two Katsu bento’s with the new pickles. That’ll be 200¥.” Atsushi hands over the coins with a smile, and the woman slides his bentos across the counter. She tosses him a wink as he leaves. “Enjoy baby.”

The bell tinkles as he leaves, the breeze welcomes him back into the dusk. The sun has sunk a little more, but still peaks over the horizon, as if it longs to stay for one more hour. Birds chirp and leaves spin through the air and a little girl runs past him, chasing a runaway balloon. The afternoon is perfect, but almost two perfect and Atsushi’s almost waiting for Akutagawa to jump out of the shadows and threaten him with a few amputated limbs. But he makes it all the way back to the Agency without any notable accidents.

The Agency is no longer empty when he gets back, the president is sitting on the brown leather couch by the door, flipping through a book. And Atsushi hates how his heart speeds up a little bit when he sees him. He looks unfairly dignified and attractive as he flips through his book, looking up and meeting Atsushi’s eyes. “There you are, Atsushi, I was wondering where you had gone off two.” Atsushi pointedly ignores his flushed cheeks and speeds up heart rate and holds up the to-go bag. “Went out to grab some dinner. Would you like one sir? I have an extra bento.” The President closes his book with a nod. “I would like one, thank you.”

◈◈◈

The bento Atsushi hands him is lovely, with one side of rice with a rather generous piece of Katsu sliced across it. There are three different types of sides, including a lovely cucumber salad, a pickled leaf that looks a bit like perilla, and a little mochi for dessert. He gratefully takes the chopsticks Atsushi hands him, giving the boy a grateful smile. The little flush on his face is charming. “This looks delicious, Atsushi. Tell me how much I owe you.” Atsushi unwraps his own chopsticks, a bashful little smile curved across his face. “Oh don't worry about it, it was a buy one get one free deal. They also gave me a 50% off discount if I tried their new pickles.” He uses a chopstick to pick one of the leaves out, taking a bite. “Oh, these are good.” Fukuzawa takes a bite of one and finds he does not care for the taste at all. It has a distinctly mint like flavor, but strangely not and because of the pickling, kind of bitter. He scoops his into Atsushi’s bento. Atsushi sends him a grateful little smile.

The rest of the Bento is delicious, and Fukuzawa digs in as they talk. “You know Atsushi.” Fukuzawa starts out, “You have been doing exceptionally well with your jobs lately.” The flush that takes his cheeks is adorable, and Fukuzawa can't help the thought, exceptionally cute. The boy has always been susceptible to praise. “You don't have to say that, Sir.” Fukuzawa shakes his head. “No, I mean it. And your suggestion to team up with the mafia proved a very good one.” And, although he won't say this part, he likely would have not thought of it himself, or even if he had, he would have disregarded the thought. He didn't want to think too hard about the reason he even thought properly about it in the first place. The boy smiles bashfully at the praise, his whole body practically singing with joy, his ears and tail flicking happily—

Wait, a tail and ears? Fukuzawa looks again, just in case he hallucinates in his old age. Sure enough, two ears have sprouted on the boy's head, and a tail flicks behind him, wagging slightly. Fukuzawa frowns. While it's admittedly kind of adorable, and his hands are itching to stroke the soft white fur, he should probably tell him. But he really doesn't want to. Atsushi is sure to put them away then, and they're just so cute! Fukuzawa really, really wants to pet them, maybe run his hands through Atsushi’s soft hair while he’s at it.

Atsushi still hasn't noticed the ears, and is happily munching away at those new pickles. He seems to really like them, it's almost charming how he chomps away happily, a little smile curved across his face. Those leaves look strangely familiar though, but Fukuzawa just can't place them…

“Um Sir? Is something wrong?” Those eyes are looking at him, and Fukuzawa realizes he's staring. He shakes his head, clearing thoughts of petting Atsushi out of his head. He really should just tell him about the ears, as much as he doesn't want to. He opens his mouth, ready to tell all, but he never gets the chance because suddenly Atsushi is gone, replaced by a huge white tiger. The change is almost instantaneous, and although Fukuzawa should be scared, he really isn't because the tiger looks less fearsome and more just adorable as it pads around the table, pouncing on the couch and laying its head in Fukuzawa’s lap. Fukuzawa almost melts, because his lap is full of giant Atsushi kitty and he just has to stroke him.

The fur is as soft as he imagined, and a deep pur rumbles out of Atsushi Kitty, the vibrations rattling him and the couch. The massive cat nuzzles his hand, almost begging for more pets. With joy, Fukuzawa obliges.

The ring of his phone cuts through the calm of the room. Atsushi Kitty’s ears flick slightly as Fukuzawa removes one hand to answer. It's Dazai.

“Yo, Boss? Is Atsushi with you?”

Fukuzawa chuckles, “Yes, in a manner of speaking.”

“Uh, ok. Well, he’s not picking up his phone.” Dazai sounds like he’s barely holding back laughter. “I forgot to tell him that he should not get the Bento’s from that place down the street.”

Fukuzawa’s blood runs cold. “Why?”

“You sound panicked.” Dazai sounds far too pleased. “Don't worry, it's nothing bad. They have a few deals and you know how Atsushi can't resist those.”

Dazai says it's nothing but ice cold panic still runs through Fukuzawa’s veins.

“Anyway, they have a new pickle that he shouldn't eat.” He hears a commotion on the line, and then Dazai’s voice is replaced by Kunikida. “President? Yes, Dazai was dallying so i'll just tell you.”

“What's wrong with the pickles?” Fuuzawa tries to steady his voice, but an embarrassing tremor is still there. Fukuzawa can almost hear Kunikida frowning through the phone. “He ate them, didn't he?”

“Yes”

Fukuzawa can hear giggling in the background, probably Dazai. Kunikida continues. “Don't worry, they aren't poisonous. I talked to the lady down the street and she said it is a new strain of catnip they’ve developed.”

The panic is gone, replaced by amusement. “I see, well that's not a problem then.”

“Well, um, you see…” Kunikida sounds almost flustered, and then he's replaced by Dazai again.

“What Kunikida is too flustered to say is that the Catnip acts as a potent aphrodisiac.” Fukuzawa almost chokes, Dazai sounds far too thrilled as he continues. “Apparently, it has no effect on humans, but most cats almost immediately go into a heat of some type.”

“But what effect will it have on Atsushi? He’s technically a tiger.” Fukuzawa is grasping at straws here, desperately trying to tamp down any inappropriate thoughts. Dazai is replaced, but with Ranpo this time.

“Hey boss, did Atsushi eat all my snacks”

“Ranpo, I don't think that's our priority right now.”

“Yeah yeah, well the aphrodisiac should have an effect on Atsushi, because of the tiger.” Fukuzawa loves his members, but seriously, he just needs information right now. Ranpo continues. “I'd guess there would be like three stages. One, cat ears and tail, two, full tiger form, and three back to human.” Fukuzawa can faintly hear rustling in the background, and a few muffled giggles.

“He’ll probably go all horny when he’s back in human form.” Ranpo chomps on something, probably some chips. “This is good for you, Boss. you can finally stop lying to yourself—

Fukuzawa hears a commotion in the background again and then Dazai is grabbing the phone. “Don't worry Prez, I'd be happy to come back and take care of him, you don't have to do any—” There’s a smack, and then the line goes dead.

Fukuzawa is frozen for a moment, truly taking in the information. Apparently, the store down the road decided to mutate a new type of Catnip, specifically for pickles? In his old age, Fukuzawa has truly stopped being surprised by most things but this one, this one almost gets him. The massive tiger on his lap purrs, nuzzling into his hand as he resumes his petting, trying to come up with a game plan for when Atsushi returns to his human form and inevitably ‘goes all horny’. He has, to his knowledge, three options. One, he could call Dazai back and have him ‘deal with it’. This option on the surface seems like a good one, but the thought of Dazai’s hands all over Atsushi makes a weird feeling start in his chest.(he knows it's jealousy, but he can't admit it, even just to himself.) Option two is to take care of it himself. And, although it's the most attractive option, that one is out of the question. He has grown much too old to be messing around like that, especially with a much younger employee.

The third option is quickly looking to be his only option, to simply wait it out and do nothing. And in the end, its the only option he really has.(In the back of his mind, Fuykuzawa prepares himself for the battle of a lifetime, because he’s not sure what's going to happen when Atsushi returns to human form, but he can certainly imagine it. Atsushi’s pretty flushed face, his lips parting in moans and whimpers, his flushed chest covered in pretty hickeys, his voice panting out that stupid appellation the boy likes to use, “Oh, Fukuzawa Sir, it feels so good. Oh oh oh—)

His phone ringtone startles Fukuzawa out of his thoughts. Atsushi’s ears flick in displeasure as Fukuzawa removes his hands, answering the call.

“Yo Prez.” Dazai sounds thrilled. “We got some info.”

“I see.” The massive tiger in his lap is purring again, and Fukuzawa almost melts into a puddle of sappy joy. Dazai chuckles.

“Apparently, you have a couple options.” Dazai says. “One, pardon my french, you fuck it out of him.” Fukuzawa clears his throat, hoping to clear his mind of all the images that conjured up. Dazai continues, sounding much too amused. “Two, ask Lucy to do it. Or three, I'm still available to come home and do it for you.”

“Can I not just wait it out?” Fukuzawa hates the green monster of jealousy that rears its ugly head at the mention of Dazai or even Lucy ‘dealing with it’.

“Nope.” Dazai replies. “Apparently if you let it go he could get seriously injured. I dunno, I wasn't listening to the specifics.”

A small silence descends upon the two men on the phone, before Dazai speaks up once more. “So Prez, can I do it?” Fukuzawa doesn't like how excited he sounds, positively gleeful. “Put Ranpo on please.”

“Yeah, yeah. You know, maybe this is good. You can finally stop lying to yourself and we at the office can stop seeing Atsushi’s abandoned little puppy eyes every time you enter the room—”

A commotion sounds on the other side of the phone, but Fukuzawa doesn't really notice because it's at this moment that the fur on the giant tiger recedes, leaving behind a sleeping boy, head still nestled on Fukuzawa’s lap.

“Yo, boss? Did Atsushi eat all my snacks? I left to drawer open as an apology for leaving him there, but i only did it because i thought he would be too polite to eat them all—”

“Ranpo, is that really our priority right now?” Fukuzawa isn't proud of how his voice shakes slightly.

“Geez, ok. Did you need something?” Fukuzawa can actively hear Ranpo’s eye roll. “Cause we were just stopping at the store to get a snack refill.”

Fukuzawa is truly tempted to roll his eyes. “Atsushi is asleep right now. How long until the aphrodisiac kicks in.”

“I dunno, maybe ten minutes.” Ranpo says. “You should probably take him back to the dorms.”

“But i don't intend—” “Yeah sure, whatever you say.” And with a beep, the line goes dead. With a sigh, Fukuzawa gently hoists a still sleeping Atsushi into his arms, and starts the trek back to the dorms.

◈◈◈

Dusk has fallen, the sun has all but vanished over the horizon and a thousand stars paint the sky, He only gets a few strange looks on the way home, but it's clear that the people of Yokohama have long since grown used to the strange happenings around the Agency building and he gets back to the dorms, and into Atsushi’s apartment with no problems. It's only once he's stepped inside, when he’s set Atsushi gently on the floor and is rummaging around for the futon when he truly asks himself what he’s planning to do once the boy wakes up. And when he’s settling Atsushi gently on the futon, and is sitting beside it, he tries his best to think of a solution, any solution besides the one that's screaming at him. But he fails, and as he stands, ready to get Dazai and live with the jealousy, he feels a hand on his Yukata, pulling him to a stop, and he meets the hazy eyes of Atsushi Nakajima, awake but not totally lucid.

Truthfully, as soon as he meets those eyes, hazy with lust and slipping, he knows he's done for. But he still holds out hope that he can at least try to resist. He can at least tell himself that he’s going to stand up and leave the boy, and call Dazai. But he’s always been a stubborn man, at least to himself, and he does his best to shake Atsushi’s hand off gently. The younger boy has pulled himself into a sitting position, and is lazily undoing his tie with one hand, the other still hooked on the hem of Fukuzawa’s Yukata. “Sir, I feel so hot.” His voice is a calculated seduction, each movement, from the flick of his wrist as he pulls his tie from his neck, to the low lidded eyes and fluttering eyelashes is precisely calculated to wear down the walls separating his good sense from his dick.

And yes, Fukuzawa knows that most of this is likely involuntary, but it still works. Too well. Fukuzawa’s green hakama falls to the floor, knocked completely from his shoulders as Atsushi tugs especially hard, and in an effort to twist away, Fukuzawa trips, sprawling to the floor with a crash. He lands on his butt, his hands catching him on the way down, and Atsushi’s on him in a flash, crawling towards him along the floor. Frukuzawa grabs his shoulders, stopping him before he can do anything drastic. And puts up his last line of defense.

“Atsushi, do you, as well as you can, consent to this?” Atsushi is undoing more and more buttons, still gazing at him with those lust blown eyes. He nods, tugging gently on the hem of Fukuzawa’s Yukata. “Yes, Sir.” That address, that darn address makes his dick twitch in his pants, coming to life with a furry. Maybe it's because of the (substantial) age gap, or maybe because it's just Atsushi, but Fukuzawa knows he will never be able to hear it the same way again.

He wants to kiss him, he wants to press his lips to Atsushi’s own and caress him gently and take his time, but he feels like he doesn't have the right to. He feels, that he already has the privilege of touching Atsushi, because even though the boy seems to hold some affection for him, he’s still his boss, and a much older man, and its natural for Atsushi, a boy who had previously had no one to rely on but himself, to develop a crush on an older source of comfort in his life. And it should be Fukuzawa’s job to gently rebuke the boy's affections, and watch him fall for more suitable people like Lucy(and not Dazai, because that green monster of jealousy is rearing its ugly head once again.) He feels almost like he’s stealing something precious, something he can never return. And so, instead of kissing Atsushi, he flips the shorter boy over, letting him lay lewdly on his stomach, his ass pointed in the air. It's much more raunchy and dirty, and much less intimate, making him much less likely to get overwhelmed by his swiftly growing feelings and say something useless.

He takes the time to properly undo his Yukata and underlayer, folding them neatly if only to prove how sane and controlled he is right now, and when he looks back, he's greeted by the sight of a mostly naked Atsushi, grinding his hips down against the futon covering. Fukuzawa can feel his dick jump to hardness, because it's quite a pretty sight. The boy is thin, a small waist tapering into surprisingly wide hips and round little butt. Usually, he would take his time, maybe gently caress the boy and press kisses to those shoulders, but he just needs to fuck the Catnip out of his system, and hopefully avoid any awkwardly intimate things like hickeys and i love you’s(if only for his own sanity and integrity as an employer).

He highly doubts the boy has lube, and so he does the next best thing. He spits in his hand, lubing up his cock the best he can, under the circumstances. He lines his cock head up with Atsushi’s hole, stopping just one more time to check.

“Are you sure Atsushi? I could call Dazai—” Atsushi takes the decision out of his hands by gripping Fukuzawa’s cock, and gently shoving the head into his hole. Atsushi’s back arches, and a whimper exits his mouth, a whimper of Fukuzawa’s name and that stupid, sensual ‘sir’. Fukuzawa isn't proud of how he shoves the rest of the way in, gripping Atsushi’s waist with a groan. It's been a long time, too long, apparently. “Feel good?” He says as he begins to move, pulling out all the way and back in, in long, slow thrusts. “Yes, ohh Sir!” Atsushi’s hands are tangled in the Futon cover, head turned to the side, hair splayed across the blue comforter in a striking contrast.

He looks heavenly and sinful and Fukuzawa doubts he’ll be able to erase the image of Atsushi beneath him for a long, long time. His moans are pretty, just as pretty as his eyes, that beautiful vertical heterochromia, those gorgeous colores, the color of the sunset sky. A sunset sky overcast with the clouds of lust and devotion. His hole is tight and pulsing, hugging Fukuzawa’s cock in a warm welcome, almost telling him to never leave, to fuck this pretty boy forever, to love this boy forever. Fukuzawa can feel himself getting sappy, because he’s a weak, sappy old man and he can't help it.

Somehow, all his protests before have vanished all at once. Maybe he’s too far gone, too enamored with the boy and his pretty body to lie to himself anymore. Maybe, he considered as he leaned down, pressing Atsushi’s body into the mattress, letting his strokes speed up as the boy moaned his name once more, maybe this really was a good thing, a blessing in disguise as his colleagues had suggested.

“Ohh oh sir, I'm cumming!” Fukuzawa gives up on not being sappy, and tangles his hands with Atsushi’s, grinding his hips deep inside the boy as he cums, letting himself go not soon after. And, as he cleans the boy up a little and pulls the futon covers over his sleepy form, he lets himself seriously consider courting Atsushi, and gives the Bento box a five star review.

(And he never did hear Sir the same way again, every time Atsushi uttered the word it reminded him of that night, and made him flush in a business meeting. )

End Notes: Also, did you know that technically, catnip counts as an aphrodisiac when promoting cat mating? Well i didn't, and i learned it when i had to do research for this fic man. Also tigers don't really respond to catnip, but now they do because I said so.(and because i made up a mutation of it)

Taglist:@mulit05ho3st4n

#bungou stray dogs #kinktober 2023 #mariannacrxss #bsd smut #helplesslypurple77kinktober #kinktober #im so tired

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