Top Posts Tagged with #sir sir please give me your gender i beg of you | Tumlook (2024)

Hazbin idea! What if during the final battle, Angel and Alastor had someone who declared their love for them like Pentious did with Cherri and and sacrificed themselves for them? (Unlike Pentious, they survive. Also, can't believe Pentious/Cherri is semi-canon!)

CONTENT. sfw ! angsty, gender-neutral reader ! that's... about it tho, aside from shy/nervous confessions, also kind of... vague confessions ? words aren't everything, ya know !

LOVE NOTES. this idea is sooo very sweet, I'm in love with it <33 ! and yes, some love for sir pentious x cherri please ! ! iwhat a love twist-

ANGEL DUST

Your confession definitely slips out in the heat of battle—a mistake really, but one you soon learn to forgive yourself for. No one really blames you anyway, almost watching Angel lose his life proves to be far more intense that you might have imaged it being.

Sure, the confession itself may have been a little rushed, but that just means it'll give you both something to talk about after the battle ended.

Now you'd both have to make it until the end.

"Angel!" you shout, your body meeting with his in a harsh collision in a last-minute attempt to push him out of the way of a nearby explosion.

You're both still a little dazed from the boom, your ears ringing and head spinning even as you reach out to find Angel in one piece.

"Are you okay?" you ask, bewildered. Your hands are still shaking as you reach out to grab his shoulders, but you're not entirely sure if its from the shock of the explosion or just the adrenaline of battle.

"Yeah I'm... I'm fine. Thanks," he says, grasping around for one of his Tommy guns before firing a few rounds at an angel just behind you.

"Guess we're even," he jokes, sending you a flirty wink.

Maybe the rush of war was finally getting to you, or perhaps the thought of losing Angel was just too much to bare as realization finally settles, but your body moves on its own.

"Angel, wait," you shout over the noise as another rumble shakes the ground. Angel turns toward you, his mouth open as if to protest your being a distraction before you grab his collar.

It all happened in a flurry, too quick to properly let the gravity of the kiss settle in, but you know you the gentle press of your lips against his was no hallucinate as you pull away from him, instantly missing the warmth he offered.

"Don't die, okay? I... I don't know what I'd do without you."

Angel doesn't say a word, his mouth opened just slightly as he tries to find the right words.

But no words come. So instead, he sends you a soft smile, his eyes telling you everything he wants to say in the moment.

"I promise ya, toots," Angel smirks, "See ya on the other side."

ALASTOR

"Alastor, wait!" you call out, watching as his shield begins to crumble around the hotel, knowing his next move is to face Adam head-on. Just as he and Charlie had planned.

"Not now, my dear," he responds over his shoulder, his eyes solely trained on his opponent now. "It's time I put an end to this little game-"

You manage to grab the end of his sleeve before he's out of reach, and his eyes soften for a moment as they meet your own. Despite his burning desire to tear something, anything, to shreds right now, he suppresses it long enough to hear you out.

"Please just... be careful, Al."

Your words surprise him, nearly as much as your tone. In all his time in Hell, and most likely his entire time alive, no one had ever spoken to him so... gently.

He could tell you were scared. Alastor would never admit it out loud, but you looked as terrified as he felt. So he played off of your fear in hopes of downplaying his own.

"Don't worry about me, dearest," he boasts, still not at all moving to pull his wrist from your grasp. "This is mere child's play. I'll have him begging for mercy in no time."

His signature smile never wavered as he spoke, but for once, that did nothing to help the unease in your gut.

You're silent for a brief moment, remembering you're still in the midst of battle before you take a small step forward.

You knew Alastor was not one for touch, but this seemed to be the best time—if not the only—to overstep this boundary of his. You press a chaste kiss to his cheek and his eyes widen, the malice held within melting away for only a second before his grin grows twice the size as determination floods his veins.

"Just come back to me, okay?" There really was nothing more you could ask of him.

You watch as a green glow begins to surround him, encasing him in a cloud of shadow and magic before disappears.

"I always do, don't I?"

(bonus points for being the only person he allows to see him hurt afterward/getting to help fix him up.)

“#his beard just??? looks wet???” okay but Price having to talk to the team after eating you out and not getting a chance to make himself presentable 🫣🫣

you put this idea in my head (after i put it in your head) so now you have to deal with this!

➝warnings: cunniling*s, edge play (kinda), smut, P-in-V sex, creampie, D/s undertones; Price is a menace and the biggest dom; gendered anatomy, female Reader, female gendered anatomy

➝notes: this is so beyond messy, so sorry!!not even fun messy just. why would you do this, girl? messy.

➝word count: 2,4k

"Ah, cap—!"

Your knees quake when he presses the flat arch of his nose against your throbbing cl*t, tongue tracing figure-eights over the taut skin of your c*nt, stretched around three thick fingers.

He grazes his knuckles over a spot inside of you, dragging the rough skin over your gummy, fluttering walls, until you gasp for him, choking out something that sounds like this name.

Price huffs, and the curl of his breath wisping over your soaked puss* makes your eyes roll, chin tilting back on the table he spread you out on. The one that, three hours prior, was used to plan a hostage rescue with the team.

(The very same team getting their things ready in the debriefing room for wheels-up in forty minutes.)

The wry bristles of his coarse burnt umber beard scrape deliciously over the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, and the feeling of it chafing your flesh raw makes you tremble, quiver. It's that equinox of pleasure, and the beginning edges of that delicious burn of irritation when he rubs you raw. Tender.

His other hand rests flat against your thigh, keeping it flush against the table. His thumb strokes your skin when you're good for him, a small modicum of comfort amid a storm of utter brutality. Of nearly twenty minutes of pure, delicious torture. The other he hikes over his broad shoulder, your heel knocking uselessly into the thick muscles of his back as he works you to the very top of a vertiginous mountain.

(Over and over and over again—)

"Sir—," you whimper, the word a featherlight cry from your chest. It makes him hum.

"Steady now, Sergeant."

Steady, he says, as if he hadn't been eating your puss* for twenty of the forty minutes, drawing it out until you were an overwrought, overstimulated mess on the table.All thoughts are caught in the sticky opiate mess of your head, rendered out into ashes, into wispy cries of his name (John, John, John—), or his title (captain, sir—), and please (please, please pleasepleaseplease—). It's muddled in bliss; in the bitter, maddening tang of dissatisfaction.

Price brings you to the edge of that delirious precipice, and then pulls back before you reach the top, leaning back on his haunches as you whimpered, begged, pleaded for him to let you cum, to just let you—

You'd look between your trembling thighs, then, as if you could somehow will the man to give into your demands, your needs, just by flashing the same expression that started this whole thing. Coy, saccharine sweet; lips arched in a smile that tasted sybaritic.

(Knuckles brushed against his when you curled your fingers over the straps of his vest, and used his steady, solid unmoveable weight to hoist yourself up, lips brushing the wry, rough hair covering his chin, murmuring: "you talk a lot, sir. I should find a way to shut you up—"

He'd given in, then, shifting on his feet as you peppered kisses to his ulotrichyjaw. "And what do you have in mind, Sergeant, mm? Want me to bury my face in your pretty c*nt? Gonna shut me up with your puss*?"

You thought you won when broad hands slipped away from the grip on his straps, and curled under your thighs. He gave you no time to prepare yourself before he lifted you on the table, eyes Sapphire beds of desire as he loomed over you.

It was a victory, then.)

But now, no matter how twee you act, or desperately you beg him for release, he won't give in. Won't.

He just smiles at you. Grins. Chin wet, ruined, hairs sticking to his lips, matted to his cheeks, and he'd say (taunt):

"C'mon, Sergeant. You can't be about to cum already." Timbre drenched in sex and liquid with smoke. His eyes flash—florentine promises: a hymn to Hēdonē—and he waits, waits, until the high dissipates in your veins. "Don't be greedy, now."

You want to laugh, to scoff, but the weight of his hands pulling your thighs apart, the ghost of his breath against your c*nt, the rasp of his tongue sliding over your slit, stems the words in your throat.

All you can do is thread your fingers through his messy locks, and get swept away by his pace once more.

There is no respite in this. Despite the pleasure his humid breath on your c*nt brings, or the molten roll of his tongue running from your messy, weeping hole to your throbbing cl*t and back again, it's torture. Madness.

He circles your cl*t with just the soft tip, running figure-eights over the bundle of nerves until your thighs tense, clamping against the sides of his head, and locking him tight to your puss*.

A huff. Then, "tryna' suffocate me, love?"

It's muffled, and wet. Sticky from your drenched puss* leaking your slick down his wrist, his forearm, and saturating his beard until it turns the same dark shade as his cigars. Near black with how soaked you are. The bristles stick to his lips, and cheeks.

The sight when he raises his chin, damp hair sliding over your raw c*nt, makes you lose it completely.

"C'mon, love," he groans into your c*nt, nuzzling his beard over your sopping slit. The burn of it feels good—so, so good—and you break at the feeling of it. The indelible amalgam of pleasure that edges so sweetly into pain, into that raw quiver of a livewire.

It feels too much like sticking your finger in a socket. Licking the back of a battery. The shock, the jolt ricochets through your core until you leak dopamine, oxytocin, and endorphins from every overwrought synapse.

"Price—ah, f*ck—"

"Come on, sweetheart," your knees quake from the sound of his voice alone: heady with smoke, sex; a crackle, charred wood, that spills from his soaked lips, heavy with your slick. "You wanna cum? Beg for it."

Your hips arch, canting your greedy c*nt into his eager, teasing mouth.

"Please, please—"

"Not good enough, love."

It's a grumble; pitched low and liquid, and you nearly cum from the timbre of his voice—molasses thick, and covered in ash—but he pulls his mouth away from your cl*t, and slides it down to push at the rim of your entrance. His fingers spread inside of you, scraping over your walls until your back arches, head gummy and soporific from the way he f*cks your puss*.

"Price, please—," another rasping hum—disapproval—and he slows his thrusts until high begins to ebb. "f*ck, no, please—please, John, I need to cum—"

"Better."

"f*ck, sir, please! Let me cum on your tongue—I need it so bad—"

"Then cum for me, love."

It doesn't sound human when the command is scraped out of his throat. A mangled, thick demand; a smouldering ember.

You cum with his tongue laving over your cl*t, three thick fingers f*cking insistently against a spot inside of you that has nirvana liquifying behind your eyelids.

Bliss floods through you like a deluge; a cascade of euphoria that snaps inside of you like a broken rubber band, an unspooling coil.

You melt into the metal below; bone dissolving into raw mercury. Blissed out. Drunk on the opiate high of his tongue and fingers, and the burning husk of his voice—molten commands dipped in ashes.

"God, that was—"

He stands in one fluid motion, and slots his hips in the loose, languid bracket of your legs. His co*ck falls on your mons, tip leaking prespend over your belly button.

There is no warning, no words. His hands slide under your thighs, gripping you tight enough to bruise, and then he's wrenching your pelvis up, co*ck rubbing, bobbing insistently against your slit.

"John—"

One hand leaves your aching flesh to grip his throbbing co*ck in his hands, sliding it down the mess of your c*nt until it catches on your weeping hole.

"Oh, god—"

He catches your gaze as he rubs himself over you.

"M'not gonna f*ck you, love—;" his co*ck slides to your cl*t, tapping his frenulum against your aching flesh when you whine, pout. You want him inside of you, pushed to the limit—

"Gonna be good for me, aren't you?"

You're nodding before the words are out—eager, docile; you want him, always. Your c*nt clenches on nothing, desperate to be filled, stretched to the absolute limit by his girth.

But he won't. Not yet.

His co*ck is covered in your slick, and when he runs his palm down the length of it, you hear the sticky, wet sound of it as he f*cks his own hand, bringing himself to the edge despite your eager, willing c*nt right there. Right there—

You angle your hips up, and feel the engorged head of his co*ck catch on your rim. So, so close, so—

He pulls away, tutting at you. "Greedy little c*nt, isn't it?"

You whine. "Please, need your co*ck—"

He leans down, pressing his chest against yours, and catches your mouth. It's not a kiss—it's a wet, sloppy mess of tongue, and teeth, but it makes you ache, makes you mewl at the taste of yourself on his breath, and the dripping state of his beard as it leaves behind a soaked trail over your chin and cheeks.

He's a mess. An absolute mess of your puss*, and—

His hips jerk, and he breaks the kiss to press his mouth to neck, teeth scraping over your flesh as he finally, finally, sinks inside of you, stretching you, pushing your walls to the mettle as you struggle to make room for him.

The head of his co*ck presses taut to the plug of your womb, knocking into it until you whimper from the too much too full feeling of taking him to the root.

"'M'not gonna last long," he promises in a hush, liquid whisper, voice quivering from pleasure.

You cant your hips into him until the grind of his co*ck inside of you sends you reeling through the opium haze of bliss that spoils inside of you once more.

"Cum for me, John," you choke out with a gasp when he meets your messy thrusts with his own, sloppily pounding into you.

His muscles quiver under your fingers, nails digging into his biceps as he pounds you like he's starved for it, desperate. And he is, of course. This whole thing has been just as much of a tease to him as it had been for you, and you know, know, he's close by the tells you pick up on. The divot between his brow, the clench of his job, the broken grunts that slip between gritted teeth, sibilant and aching, and the glossiness in his nautical blue gaze.

The grind of his co*ck inside of you is more than you can handle, but you take it, anyway. Your legs lock around his thick waist, hands cling to his arms, as he f*cks you in brutal, deep thrusts; hips pistoning into you as he chases the embers of his own release.

You taste yourself when you press your lips to damp cheek, and whimper into his skin:

"Cum inside me, baby—"

You feel him tense, body coiling taut, and then he groans. Low and liquid, and you feel heat bloom inside of you as he c*ms, fills you up.

He grunts with each jerk of his co*ck as he spends himself within you, low and brittle; guttural growls of masticated words that make little sense when they squeeze through the clench of his jaw.

You take it all, holding him close as his lashes flutter, eyes roll, and his muscles lock over you. He looks good when he c*ms, when his face falls, lax and loose, mouth dropping open, as he spits the last of it inside of you where it pools, a molten puddle, against the seal of your womb.

Price's bones liquifying. He sags against you with a huff of your name, and something you can decipher through the roar in your ears, the rush of pleasure and the gossamer of sex that clings to your skin.

"That was—"

He's cut off.

His phone buzzes. The ring is familiar.

Times up.

You snort a little when he groans, and slowly, reluctantly, pulls away from you. His irritation bleeds into the torpor of his expression, cutting through the aftershocks of bliss.

It's uncanny, really, how he's able to reassemble himself into the shape of a leader with ease despite the scent of sex that clings to him, clogging the room in a thick, dense cloud.

He pulls out of you, murmuring a quiet sorry, love when you flinch at the drag of him against your bruised walls, and then tucks himself back inside his trousers.

Three minutes is all it takes and he's Captain John Price, a leader, superior; dependable man.

If you didn't feel the ache in your c*nt from where he split you open with his thick co*ck, or the steady trickle of his molten spend leaking from your raw, chafed hole, thighs sticky from your own slick, and irritated by the rough scrape of his beard against delicate flesh, you might have thought nothing was amiss.

Nothing, except—

His face is flushed a bright red, eyes rippling with the aftermath of his ebbing pleasure. It's easy to hide, however—he might have been exercising prior to takeoff. Napping, perhaps.

But the way his beard glitters in the jaundiced light, wet and slick, is—

You open your mouth to tell him, but his hand falls, palm smacking against your inner thigh, cutting your words short with a sharp gasp at the sting in your flesh.

His lips curl up in a smirk when you flinch.

"Gotta go, love. Get yourself cleaned up, and I'll tell the others you're doing the last-minute check."

He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, but it does nothing to hide the dampness of his beard, the glossy sheen that coats his matted hair.

Price turns with a sharp nod.

(You blink at his back, and wonder if the gnarled thing inside of your gut, a twisting sense of possession and accomplishment at the sight of him, soaked from your c*nt, should alarm you.

But you can't deny seeing him wrecked from you alone buzzes through your marrow in a way that makes your toes curl. Primal satisfaction, you think, and wonder when he'll notice how soaked you'd left him.

Moments later, through the thin walls, you hear Soap murmur:

"Did you wash your face before, cap? I think you forgot to dry your beard."

MISS DIPLOMAT & MR. CHARMING |

dominik szoboszlai x female reader.

author's note: this handsome man's living rent-free in my head. he's a freaking masterpiece. talented, funny, charismatic, attractive. i watched interviews, tiktok videos made by supporters and much more to understand a little bit of his language, personality and what he does towards friends and loved ones. laughed a lot! i made my homework as a writer, hope you enjoy it! (compliments and any kind of retributions are more than welcomed).

summary: your job is involving the commitment of unify the population and create interrelations to another countries, using the eurocup qualifiers and the hungary national team executions. you just didn't expect to fall in love with the no. 10's captain player.

words and characters: 1,811/11,223. it was three days working too hard on this story. i'm begging for your consideration, lol.

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sports diplomacy: it's the unique power of sport to bring people, nations, and communities closer together via a shared love of physical pursuits. this responsibility is the reason of a transition between strangers to connected individuals, advancing foreign policy goals and augmenting sport for development initiatives. the complex landscape where sport, politics, and diplomacy overlap become clearer, as do the pitfalls of using sport as a tool for overcoming and mediating separation between people, nonstate actors, and states. the power of sport has never been more important. so far, the 21st century has been dominated by disintegration, introspection, and the retreat of the nation-state from the globalization agenda. in such an environment, scholars, students, and practitioners of international relations are beginning to rethink how sport might be used to tackle climate change, gender inequality, and the united nations sustainable development goals, for example. to boost these integrative, positive efforts is to focus on the means as well as the ends, that is, the diplomacy, plural networks, and processes involved in the role sport can play in tackling the monumental traditional and human security challenges of our time. credits: international studies association and oxford university press.

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MLSZ (hungarian football federation) ──

new training ground at telki.

"i can't believe that being in places like this made up my most theoretically utopian childhood dreams. what a progress in front of me!" you still witness exciting moments where you pinch yourself, trying to believe in the reality that surrounds you: visiting the new training center of the players who are just a few meters away from you, getting ready to represent an entire country.

"your presence is our privilege. a voice of the spread of eurocup to our nation, right here…" the technical director gives you deference, obtaining a measure of humbleness and respect by you.

"the honor belongs to me in its entirety. grateful for having me, sir. while the view is immersive and captivating — my fervent congratulations to everyone involved — could we retreat from the pleasant glass-enclosed room and see everything closer, on the outside? please? i will never get used to this atmosphere." you pour politeness and charisma to the staffs around you, being directed to the proximity of the field and saluting the employees who pass through your path.

meet dominik — your szobo — instigates the nostalgic combination of detailed moments in which your thoughts display as photographic retrospectives. you're incapable to oppose the little enthusiastic laughs, fidgeting the rings between your fingers and avoiding possible suspicious glances from others. however, for you, this wouldn't actually work. the lives of you both are correlated, but different.

the training session is finished. clapping your hands and celebrating the performances, you greet the athletes and recognize some familiar people. nevertheless, reality slows down after those dark woody eyes capture through your soul. his arms tattoos are glorified by the sun's rays, the same illuminated smile is offered to you: that one you got during the very first time you saw him — instantly knowing he made you testimony the accuracy of freedom, catharsis and emotional amorous complement. that he'd be the one to introduce you what you never experienced, what you thought you'd never receive or deserve. what love truly is. when you were novices in your actual professions, not even imagining the future gifts of your unreal purposes.

"there you are!" intimately, dominik points at you, being reciprocated by vibrant nods and your old sort of secret — not that mysterious or serious — handshake. "még mindig emlékszel rá? (still remembering it?). you're a real one!"

"hogy tudnám elfelejteni? alábecsülsz engem. (how could i forget it? you're underestimating me)". your defensive actions demonstrate purposeful falseness. masking any sensitive, verbal or figurative communicative fragment from him is a difficulty that makes you give in over time. honestly, you never complain about this. it's like he wants to understand the factors and layers of you.

"a te kézfogás fickó. ne merészelj lecserélni engem. (your handshake man… don't you dare to replace me)". a shameless wink is send to you, butterflies acquiring space in your stomach.

"és hivatalosan is a szavamat adom rá. (and you officially have my word on it)." your gloss is pigmented against your fingers while you raise it up, displaying an oath, wondering if szoboszlai comprehends that his replacement in your life would be blasphemous.

"diplomata kisasszony, (miss diplomat)…" the hungarian fingerprints are shared and you recognize the sign to hold them, ready to perform your typical fashion icon moment. "gorgeous as always. go ahead! you know what to do!".

amusem*nt surrounds you with the nickname's citation. although, you could feel some curious glances, from the outsiders, about the intimacy between you and him. "i appreciate, our top-class national bless…" you move your body in rotations to exclaim the outfit's characteristics, lifting your feet to show off the specificities of your heels. "how is your hair so well-groomed after sweating, though?" your arms cross and you raise an eyebrow in questioning, trying to hide your fascination.

"thank you, my number-one fan, but don't change the subject. finish our inside joke, c'mon!" dominik grabs his water bottle and spreads the cooling liquid on his forehead, wiping the glowing droplets across his face as he lifted his jersey high enough to exhibits his fortified abs.

your attention is directed to any surrounding scenery, throat being piked. szoboszlai pretends he doesn't notice, preventing to embarrass you.

"alright, alright! you've won, bájos úr… (mr. charming)". your final comment escapes as, practically, a whisper. you can't control the shy laughter, coupled with the considerable redness invading your cheeks.

"that's the secret to make my day!" using his tongue to reproduce a sharp noise, he matches your humorous reactions. "would you like me to show you the infrastructure changes? i'm just gonna take a shower!"

"i've already been granted a tour around here, but in case you insist…" during the dialogue, some athletes cross your space, wishing them good luck for the competition. your concentration on the activity is significant, at the point that dominik's silent admiration goes unnoticed.

"i mean, you know me! i'm gonna insist anyway, so…" he reaches your captivity, bringing you jollification.

"i'll rate you as a personal tour guide. now, go there!" jesting each other, you both exchange exaggerated reverences, like a challenge of who makes the most chaotic one.

────

walking around the area, various subjects are explored, informations entrusted. you ask and are updated about his ethereal younger sister.

portraits of the generations are framed. you magnifies his presence in celebratory pictures, dedicated to find him in the memories and achievements on that wall. pride shines from you and the hungarian finds it lovely.

"you know i'm a sucker for accents… they're much more than mere verbal characteristics, they're stories: life experiences, marks and scars. identities and cultural integrations." the topic is random. through generalized opinions, you're explaining conceptions and dominik is retaining mental observations. he exalts every scrap of your identity, like a faithful worshiper.

"basically, you're admitting being enchanted by my accent. i can see the stars in your eyes. a win is a win!" szoboszlai and his frequent attribute to physical touch, tickling your ears and playing with them. it doesn't bother you, actually: adoring the affection exuded by you and him. you feel like a little girl dealing with your one and only love.

"it's beautiful, how can you blame me? and hey, i know mine's making you grin too." he holds your arm, shivers running down your spine, the two of you being euphoric in the midst of your own enthusiasm.

"putting me against the wall? okay, hum… what were you saying before?" he's changing the subject and you have a natural wit to boo him. lifting his shoulders as a surrender, the hungarian focuses on the specific loose strands of his simple bracelet, which you get used to help him tie it again, willingly.

"trying to avoid the truth? fine! let me take care of you while i talk about my admiration towards globalization and communication. like, with every fiber of me…" you accept the conversation's direction and utter a 'voilà' towards the accessory's new appearance.

"that's why you're the best person i've ever seen doing this job." dominik compliments you, an act full of honesty.

"thanks a lot, mate. but which job? as your bracelet helper or my real one?" you provide tenderness, looking amused.

"i mean… both of them." szoboszlai chuckles, revealing courtesy by your continuous helpfulness.

"literally? because i know you know a lot of people. you're so young and already is the national team's captain." you nudge him in a form of tease. he's a starboy, it's undeniable.

"flattered! literally, thought. you were born for this, believe me." vulnerability collides to you, as his words are deliberated: emotions embracing you and warming your insides.

"dominik szoboszlai, my dear friend, you're gonna make me cry, right here. i'm sorry, i need to do it…"

innocent satisfaction builds strength over you and executes unthought-of approach to the tangibility of your gratitude — his colony enrapturing your sensitive olfaction — in the most out-of-control way. the sounds reach your hearing: a choir of angels singing hallelujah. he reciprocates the contact, laughing at your juvenile excitement. joining him and doing the same thing, harmonizing the triumph. in the separation of the touch, you both remain close to each other and the hungarian doesn't miss the opportunity to feel the softness of your side face, caressing the skin. appreciation and satisfaction invade your structure, delighting on the palm of his hand.

"just a dear friend? why are we pretending all this time?" dominik's reading you. the intimidation at the sight of him overhanging you is paralyzing. you don't usually back down, but in that instant — superior than your most repressed desires — your gasps are escaped.

"who is putting who against the wall now?" insisting and failing on your witty answers, shyness and uncertainty corrodes you.

"please, look at me! i'm not kidding anymore." his voice is questioning, intrigued — contradictorily vulnerable and calm — your rationality being fragmented, fragile.

"you know i'm not the kind of woman you're surrounding by, domi. i'm not an influencer, bikini model. i'm not a public figure. i don't live for the cameras and gossip platforms. i live to work hard. i didn't achieve any of this with some type of perk. my routine and your routine are based on traveling..." who could deny it? szoboszlai's always been all that you see. it's much more than a mere passion. your attraction to him is magnetic, intense, vivid. consequently, terrifying.

"i'm just asking for a chance, (your nickname). i don't lie when i say i've never met someone like you. i may be surrounded by a crowd and you'll still be the one to steal my attention, because nobody compares to you."

your eyelids are closed and the exhalation of his sigh penetrates your lungs with the numbing breath of life you've never experienced before. it's happening: the rare situation where thinking carefully about the pros and cons is unworthy, dumbness. your decision is made and the privilege's resolution unify your lips. the beginning demonstrates slowness and patience — the intensification through the concluded wait of the longed-for reality, transforming light and magical kisses into open mouths discovering each other and witnessing the endearment that both offer — hairs, necks, shoulders and waists captured.

"you're the first to create a meaningful presence in my mind and heart. i want you to be the last one too. i love you, kincs (my treasure). i'm finally brave enough to demonstrate it with no fears." dominik's forearm covers your upper torso. your back against his chest, noses resting on each others. rejoicing at the miraculous, incomparable circ*mstance.

"i love you, drágám (my precious). you're finally mine and it was so f*cking worth waiting." his whisper: the living proof of celestial existence.

"how blessed we are…" intertwined bodies, coalesced essences. solitary melodies turning into the sweetest and most complete symphony.

matching outfits i think NCT 127 would wear with their girlfriends

INCLUDES: 127 x gfs!, fluff, me just typing out my delusions about 127 wearing matching fits. in honour of 600 followers🫶🏼 thank yous so much🫶🏼wc: tbca/n: if yous would like a male or gender neutral version of this please let me know! i tend to get carried away with idol x fem!reader plots/posts. but i don't want yous to be afraid to ask! ALL PICTURES I DO NOT OWN AND ARE ALL OFF PINTEREST

TAEILtaeil loves matching outfits with his gf, however he doesn't mind not doing it all the time. he never pushes you to wear matching outfits 24/7 but rather waits for you to ask him, he'll then pull out a minimum of 17 different matching outfits he's bought through out the last month because he thinks you two would look so good wearing them. he's the type to wear very simple yet classy matching outfits that match yous both.

JOHNNYnow sir john john is neither here nor there when it comes to matching it outfits. once in a blue-moon he'll ask you if you want to wear matching outfits, and they're usually monotone casual fits he deemed 'cool' enough to wear. but when you're the one who offers to wear matching fits it's usually cute fits to wear around the house and practice room which he's more than happy to wear.

TAEYONGtyong is defiently the type to love matching outfits but doesn't make too much of a fuss about wearing them. although he loves wearing matching casual fits with you, he especially loves wearing matching outfits when yous got out for very "fancy" dinner dates or just fancy dates in general. so nine times out of ten yous wear fancy/classy matching outfits.

YUTAyuta is defiently the type of bf to want his gf to have a similar fashion style to him. he'd love to wear matching outfits with you just as long as there's a techno or 'grunge' sort of twist to it. he just loves the idea that you both like the same fashion style, also gives him the right to steal clothes of your because "you haven't warn it since.." so if a shirt of yours goes missing it was surely him.

DOYOUNGdoyoung seems like the type to wear matching outfits with you only when he gets to choose the fits. not that he doesn't trust you with choosing them or that he doesn't like your fashion style but because he likes the sense of control it gives him. he often likes wearing matching outfits that compliment the both of you.

JAEHYUNoh he absolutely loves it, but he'll NEVER admit to anyone, especially you. he'll make it his life mission to let you know that he hates matching outfits with his being, but he will go ahead and repost a matching couple outfits onto his private instagram acc (you can NOT tell me they don't have accs to sneak around on), saying how much he "hates" it just so you see it and get the exact outfit he posted. he loves any matching outfit. still, he adores the ones you buy because you thought of him the second you laid your eyes on it, but again he will never tell you just how much he loves it.

JUNGWOOhe's not really all for it but that doesn't mean he won't do it. he's more of the type to not bother with that kind of thing, but when you beg him so cutely how can he say no? if you somehow manage to get him to agree, he's definitely the one choosing the outfits. he loves the matching outfits that are quite literally the same save for the female/male differences between them.

MARKhe LOVES matching outfits. he will happily wear matching outfits just as long as there's a spiderman fit in there somewhere. whenever he's on tour or away from you for long periods of time he'll buy matching outfits he sees while he's away. he's into the cliche kinds of matching outfits or the very subtle matching outfits. he's into it all. you'll sometimes catch him asking you to wear a certain outfit to go see him at the dorms only for him to be in the exact same outfit when you arrive.

HAECHANhaechan absolutely LOVES matching outfits. he will quite literally beg for yous to wear matching outfits, whether it is casual outfits, formal, or even pyjamas. he loves wearing the prettiest matching casual outfits but it has to be the goofiest pyjamas ever. he laughs in your face when you whine about how you don't want to wear them, the only way he gets you to agree is by kissing your pouty lips. "you look cute baby."

NCT DREAM version will be next

can you pleaseeee do dom mean jeongin punishing you for catching you jerking off >.<!

GENDER: GN (AMAB) + You/Your Pronouns

GENRE(S): Explicit

SEPARATE WARNING(S):

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ READER:

role(s): bottom, submissive

genital(s): Dick

name(s): Baby, slu*t, Brat

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ JEONGIN:

role(s): top, dominant

genital: Dick

name(s): Sir (I DESPISE daddy kink y'all..)

OVERALL WARNING(S): You being called a slu*t, degradation kink with a few praises but not as much, probably humiliation kink, biting kink (reader receiving), hair pulling kink (reader receiving), overestimation (reader receiving), reader crying (not in a very bad way), probably breeding kink (???), mentions of marks/bruise (sexual way), the reader has consented to this! Jeongin is something.

MR.OFF: Thank you for requesting! I never thought I get requested with mostly explicit stories, so I hope I did well into your expectations, I am not very good at writing smut (I don't have any confidence). I actually grammar-checked this!

Please like, comment, or/and reblog! Thank you!

"PUNISHMENT" - JEONGIN

All you wanted to do was do a quick "quickie," wanting a full release plus, but you wanted to be good to Jeongin, so you did. He left you feeling needy; the way he kissed you and his hands roamed, touching every part of your body; he even had you sucking him off made you want more until it was cut off by the fact that he was busy today with an interview with his members.

You pouted, begging him to stay, but he pushed you away, smirking at you. “You can be good, right? Don’t touch yourself until I get home; you got that?” He grips your hair, looking at you sharply as you whimper, letting a weak ‘yes” as he lets go of your hair, grabs his thing, and walks out of the bedroom to the front door to leave.

You didn’t know how long the interview was; just thinking about how long it took makes you even more impatient. Your dick is throbbing, aching to get touched. You bit your lip as you hesitantly grabbed your dick, facing your whole body away from the door.

He isn’t here, so it's not like he will know; I’ll just quickly wipe it out. You said this in your head as you quickly started jerking off, feeling the familiar pleasure hitting your body and sending vibrations that made you moan almost loudly.

You quickly bit your lip again as you continued jerking off, trying to moan as quietly as possible, but it was too good, plus he wasn’t here, right?

You moaned even louder, feeling yourself getting closer and closer until you felt your arms get snatched away from your dick, gripping hard and almost leaving a bruise. Your dick was throbbing again, aching with the pain of no release.

You whined as you looked up at Jeongin, looking at you angrily.

“You f*ckin slu*t, you couldn’t wait a few more hours for some interview I had, huh?” He continues gripping your arm as his eyes linger on your dick. “You choose to be a bitchy brat and just not listen... I thought you could be good for me, baby; what happened to be good?” His voice was sharp, scolding you and making you tear up, looking away from him.

He quickly lets go of your arm as his hands grip your chin, forcing you to look at him in the eye. “Oh, no, no, no, don’t look away, baby. You did this to yourself. I even thought about you being such a good slu*t for me; I even thought about giving you a gift; it seems the f*ck not.” He harshly lets go of your chin, making your face look in a different direction.

“I’m going to f*ck you hard, baby, until you can’t anymore, you hear me? You better not f*cking touch yourself when I f*ck you. If you touch yourself and if you cum without my permission, I’ll f*ck you again until you are good for me, baby."His voice was sweet yet sour, making you shiver even more.

“Jeongin, please, I’m sorry! I will be good, I promise…” You begged; however, Jeongin ignored you, except for the part when you called by his name.

“That’s not my name, baby. Why won’t we fix that as well? It seems like you forgot what it is.”

You moaned as he kept slamming into you, his dick hitting your prostate harshly, making you shake. He had you in a mating press while his mouth bit your shoulder, leaving marks around your upper body.

It was too much for you to handle, overstimulating your body until it broke. Your tears fall into the sheets, soaking the bed a bit as you continue moaning in pleasure with a mixture of pain as well.

“S-sir, please! f*ck, I can’t keep holding in. Please, please, please!” You begged as you tried to hold in your cum, wanting to be good for Jeongin.

“Not yet; you can do one more round, right?” He whispers into your ear as he c*ms inside you again. “Sir, I can’t anymore, please... Let me cum at least! I won’t touch myself, sir. I’ll be good!"

Jeongin keeps on slamming into one more round. You can feel his eyes burning into your back, making you whimper, until you feel his hand start stroking your dick, making your body jerk, almost making you cum.

You groan in pain; your body is shaking and tired.

“Almost there, baby; come on, be good, baby." He slams in more sloppily and quickly, even though he was cumming again.

“Sir, sir, sir, please!” You moaned, your face touching the pillow, giving up, exhausted.

“Hmm, you have been so good, cum for me, baby."

Just like that, you release, feeling the cum splurting everywhere as you sigh in relief, moaning a bit when you feel Jeongin’s sem*n cumming inside of you again. You felt full and tired.

Your lower body gave up as it spatted down on top of the cum, making a mess on your stomach and thighs, but you didn’t care; you just wanted to sleep. Jeongin just laughs at your sight, his fingers going around your rim, making you whimper as you feel his thick fingers going inside, scooping the cum out.

“You did well for me, baby. Take a nap while I take care of you; you can be a good boy and do that, right?” Jeongin says softly as you feel his fingers away from your rim.

You hummed weakly as you immediately went to sleep. Jeongin grabbed the wipes and wiped you down, giving you a few kisses on your forehead.

“Such a good slu*t."

Muzan likes to be punished

So if you don't know, Yes this already existed, my old account was deleted (accident but I can tell I won't be getting it back), and am reposting my old x male reader works!

I don't know if I saved all of them but here is one that was saved to my AO3 account.

Edit: So shuffling through my docs It's been brought to my attention that wattpad (who I use as backup) Cut a lot of my fics in half??? anyway I'll be trying to fix that also

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Muzan x Seme Male reader 🍋🍋

OH! and I'm gonna stop using y/n, change it to N/n instead!

warning: light fluff, smut: bondage, bratish Muzan, light degradation, anal fingering, begging, edging, hinted overstimulation

Not edited! We die here lol

Height: 5'0

Gender: Male

Demon

Hair color: long soft lavender

eye color: dark brown

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"N/n release me now," Muzan demands blankly.

Looking up from the book you were reading you hum. besides, you were Muzan, stripped and bound. His hands behind his back and legs bent and ties together as well, spread for any who come into your room to see. Yourself loosely wearing a soft blue kimono.

"Now why would I do that?" You chuckle, placing the book down and turning fully you watch as he tenses up. Raising a hand you trace a finger from the tip of his twitching co*ck to the base. "You're clearly enjoying yourself."

Muzan jerks his hips up at the touch, that and the biting of his lips the only reaction he would give you. For now, that is.

Humming a soft tune you trail those fingers further down to his twitching pink hole. "It hasn't even been a full 10 minutes and you're already like this? I don't remember saying you can enjoy your punishment," you growl the last part swiftly landing a smack on his hole.

Unable to help it Muzan let out a breathy moan, legs spreading a bit more. But his expression doesn't change.

"You never said I couldn't either. Hurry up you're boring me now." Muzan commands again. Raising an eyebrow you smile softly, grabbing the oil next to him coating his fingers.

"Such a brat."

Without warning, you push in two of your fingers. Curling them a bit before taking them out, listening as finally, Muzan lets out a needy moan face going slack. You pump your fingers into him watching as he slowly starts to lose his cool.

"Making demands after coming to my home a complete mess." your tone becomes darker. Fingers pressing deeper until they hit a bump. Muzan gasps and trembles, his co*ck leaking precum under him.

"I should leave you just like this." You let out a sad*stic purr slowly taking your fingers out.

"N-no! please N/n, I'm s-sorry! Please forg-give me!" Muzan quickly blurts out earnestly, and you hum feeling his hole squeeze down tightly around your fingers. Tilting you're head watching you thrust your knuckles deep back in.

You pretended to be bored as you thrust your fingers in and out, curling and spreading them watching Muzan begin to fall apart. Biting his lips, drooling, and eyes rolled back. You pour a little more oil on your fingers and his hole, shifting as your own erection twitched from under your kimono.

"N-N/n please! Ngh- So close! Wanna ah- cum on your co*ck!"

Pulling out your fingers you ignore his disappointed whine, Laying him full onto his back and taking in the image he presented. Practically tied up in a mating press position.

Not able to hold it any longer. You fully strip from your kimono, cooing as Muzan eyes you greedily letting out your favorite noises. co*ck in hand you bite your lip as you gave it a few pumps, pouring a bit of the oil on it. You both loved the sloppy slick feel.

" Mmh~ I can't wait Sir, I've been empty all day!" Muzan pleads to you staring as the tip of your co*ck teases his twitching hole.

"Heh look at you, still making demands." You smirk and snap your hips forward, watching your co*ck sink into his tight hole roughly.

Jerking his head back and letting out a silent scream, tongue out. Muzan clenches around you as you continue thrusting into him without pause. Not able to hold back groans yourself you lean down to press in deeper.

"N-N/n! aahhHhnn! yessss~" He slurs and moans, trembling as he desperately breaks his wrist restraints and grips your back. You moan feeling his claws drag down your back, the pain adding to the pleasure fueling your hunger.

"S-so big!! ngh- your co*ck is perfect!!" he slurs out the praise trying his best to buck up into each harsh thrust.

"My pretty little brat. Taking my ugh! co*ck so well." You purr kissing his jaw panting. "This is all you're good for really." You growl the sound of your hips slapping against his filling the air. "To take my co*ck and be bred like a good little whor*!"

Muzan moans in response, tightening around you as he pants, cheeks flushed red. The feeling of you pounding his tight ass hole driving him mad, unable to think of anything else. "Yes! Y-yes! breed me, please N/n- sir!"

Eyes hooded, you watch as he tenses eyes rolling back, cumming untouch.

Licking your lips, you kiss his forehead not slowing down as he hiccups and begs you to cum. Pulling back to watch your co*ck pound into his flushed and precum-covered hole, you groan thrusting as deep as you can go and cumming.

A little dazed you hum happily rocking your hips before pulling out. watching your cum spurt out after you.

"Untie me please," Muzan mumbles which you immediately. He mews as he shifts to sit on your lap and wrap his arms around you're shouldering clinging. "Too much?" You ask nuzzling his neck, hands gently massaging his thighs where the ropes left an imprint. "Mm no, it was perfect. Thank you"

Hi! I'm new to the Peaky fandom and am in need of some Tommy fics because he's my favourite character! If your requests are open, (if not, there's no rush!) may I pretty please have a drabble or imagine -- whatever is easier -- with this gif?

*A little spice is okay, just nothing explicit. Also, my pronouns are she/her, but a gender neutral story is totally okay, too! :)

Thank you in advance!

Hello Jessyca! 🥰 Thank you so much for sending this gif!! I decided to make it part of Adele challenge using one of my favorite songs! (Lyrics in italics) 🔥🥰 edit and welcome to the fandom!! 🥰 I forgot to reply this sorry! I hope so far you’ve found incredible stories and lovely mutuals around (I’m always reblogging stories I really enjoy reading 💖)

🔥🔥🔥although the gif is extra hot, you’ll find nothing but fluffiness in this little story…

Women like me

By the corner of your eye, you found Mr. Shelby trying to catch his breath. Resting on his back against the pillows, he was looking at the ceiling completely lost in his own thoughts, his thumb rubbing absently between his brows.

You're driving me away, give me a reason to stay

I want to be lost in you, but not in this way

Don't think you quite understand who you have on your hands

How can you not see just how good for you I am?

In silence you started the same routine you knew by heart now; get up, get dressed and sneak out of his bedroom in silence, head down.

Ah, yes you were almost forgetting about his generous payment in between.

I know that you've been hurt before, that's why you feel so insecure

I begged you to let me in, 'cause I only want to be the cure

You could still feel his seed dripping down your legs, but tried to pick up your clothes scattered on the floor as gracefully as you could to get dress in the corner.

You’d been serving him for several months now, rumor has it Lizzie Stark wasn’t his mistress anymore because she got pregnant, so that was your job now; being Thomas Shelby’s whor*.

Complacency is the worst trait to have, are you crazy?

You ain't never had, ain't never had a woman like me

But tonight there was something different, out of place. Mr. Shelby was still in the same position, his chest was now moving at a more normal pace. Looking at the floor, you felt embarrassed to ask for the money so you decided to pretend to fix your hair to see if he got the hint.

But he didn’t.

So after he longest seconds of your life, you decided to walk out without anything, feeling disappointed because you really needed to money to support your family. Perhaps he’d pay you double the next time, you thought to yourself but as you reached the door, his voice stopped you.

All you do is complain about decisions you make

“Y/N…” Your mouth hang open, surprised to hear him say your name.

“Is there a chance for you to stay all night?”

“I-I don’t know Mr. Shelby.” You stammered nervously, the instructions were clear; let him do whatever he wants, pick up your stuff and leave.

“You can call me Tommy… is there somewhere you need to go?”

Your eyes found his briefly, but you instantly dragged them down. “No, it’s just I’m not supposed to stay for the night.” You answered in a low voice.

“Why not?”

Feeling more embarrassed than ever, you didn’t want to point out the obvious, but as his intense blue eyes stared at you, you didn’t have another choice.

“Sir-Tommy,” you corrected yourself, “I’m just a whor*.”

We come from the same place, but you will never give it up

It's where they make you feel powerful

That's why you think I make you feel small

But that's your projection, it's not my rejection

You knew that’s what you were, anyone could tell without even knowing you. But calling yourself that, hit you differently.

“Come here,” he extended his hand at you, and you didn’t have any other choice but take it and climb into bed again. “How long have you been coming here?”

“Six months.”

I put my heart on the line for the very first time

Because you asked me to, and now you've gone and changed your mind

But loving you was a breakthrough

You saw his head moving up and down slowly, but he was still oddly quiet.

He was still trying to organize the thoughts inside his mind as he saw you absently picking on your stockings. How could he put into words the way he felt about you?

“Y/N over the last couple of months, you’ve been the only one willing to spend some time with me, when everyone else finds an excuse to walk out the door, you’ve been the constant of my days, or nights for the matter.”

I saw what my heart can really do

Now some other man will get the love I have for you

'Cause you don't care, oh-oh-oh

Was he going to ask you to stop coming every night? You couldn’t speak, terrified of saying something that would piss him off. You had fallen for him secretly, blame it to the intimacy, the frequent late night calls, the way please took over him, but you did and deep down you knew it was all wrong.

“You’re not like the others, you don’t take and leave. You fill my glass with whiskey before you go or you pick up my clothes and fold them… you’ve listened to all my sh*t without judging me.”

Confused, you gave him a long look. “Tommy, what are you try-”

“I’ve feelings for you, Y/N.”

“That can’t be true, I’m a whor*… men like you don’t fall in love with women like me.”

Consistency is the gift to give for free, and it is key

To ever keep, to ever keep a woman like me

“Women like you?” He was suddenly kneeling in bed in front of you, his hands cupping your cheeks. “Who says that?”

“Everybody knows that.”

This was just a fantasy, a dream. You were worthless, the worst of the worst.

“Just so you to know, I’m not so different than you… we just sell different parts of ourselves, Y/N.”

His eyes fixed on you, his intense gaze penetrating every layer, tearing down every single wall. And as he realized your guard was coming down, he pulled you in for a kiss, breaking the only rule you set when you first walked into his bedroom; no kissing.

That first kiss felt totally different to anything you’ve experienced until now, because men usually take what they want and leave right away, but Tommy took his time to explore your lips, the way they molded to his, tentatively, switching his pace and tilting his head from time to time as if he didn’t want to leave a single spot unattended.

He broke apart allowing you to take a deep breath, your head was spinning.

“Beneath, there’s a good woman, I just know it.” His knuckles carefully caressed your chin. You wanted to believe him, but you had been used in the past you no longer knew who you were.

He saw the hesitation in your eyes, so he took your hand and placed it over his heart. “Y/N I’m not going to hurt you, I genuinely fell for you, for he woman you are, for the little things I know about you… for the way you allowed me to be myself when the door is closed.”

He had been fighting it for so long, but with you he was allowed to strip down not only from his clothes, but from the heartless cold bastard he had to be in front of everyone else.

“Will you give me the chance?”

Looking down you fought against the lump that formed in your throat. “But how will you deal with my past and all the burden I’ve?”

“I’m not going to erase it, just like you can’t delete mine,” his fingers sunk in your disheveled curls, “but we can look forward and take it from there, together.”

As a single tear slid through your cheek, his thumb came to wipe it away, right before he crashed his lips once more and you believed him with all your heart because deep down you knew he was right.

A woman like you wasn’t so different than a man like him.

***

Master list

A/N: I’ve had this idea for a while now, guess it was time to post it, and I apologize because although I absolutely adore the concept I have been feeling a bit down and I’m not sure I was able to portray what I intended to…

Like always I’m so grateful if you decide to share your thoughts x

Tag list: @lyarr24 @runnning-outof-time @cillmequick @datewithgianni @cloudofdisney @gretelshelby @gypsy-girl-08 @lespendy @onlydeadcells @fastfan @stevie75 @rangerelik @prettylittlehoneyeyesxoxo @esposadomd @forbidden-forest-witch @ange-thoughts @moral-terpitude @elenavampire21 @forgottenpeakywriter @thenattitude @winchestergirl22 @zablife @heidimoreton @imichelle-l-rigby @allie131313 @already-broken144 @peakyscillian @babaohhhriley @mrkdvidal1989 @shelbydelrey @shaddixlife @sloanexx @sydneyyyya (can’t tag) @adaydreamaway08 @pono-pura-vida @thomashelbyswife @darleneslane @everythingelseisextra @kmc1989

Goodbye, Hello

Chuuya x Reader

Takes place during the dark era, and what happens when Dazai leaves the port mafia, leaving his assistant behind.

Reader is gender neutral.

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When Dazai decided to leave the mafia, everything went to hell. No rock was left unturned, everyone was asked if they'd seen him, and if they did and hid it, they were severely punished.

Being Dazai’s assistant you were the top suspect.

You were supposed to know where he was at all times, watch him, answer his calls, do his biddings. Now you are in Mori’s office.

Mori hasn’t said a word since you came in. You are aggressively picking at your skin, trying to calm your nerves, even if you have nothing to hide.

Dazai didn’t tell you he was leaving, but you could have guessed that. The death of his dear friend affected him greatly.

The day after he came into his office and you were there waiting for him. He looked the same. Those dead eyes of his staring blankly. You had no idea what to say to him. He was quiet which was strange. Dazai always had something to say, whether that be a stupid greeting or a new prank method he wanted to use on Chuuya.

You stayed there in his office the entire time, waiting for his orders.

He never said a word.

Eventually, he got up and turned to you just before he reached the door.

“Goodbye, Y/N.” he said looking at you, but now his eyes showed a bit of light.

“Goodbye, Dazai.” Those were the last words you said to him.

There's tension in the air as you stare at the desk in front of you.

“Y/N, look at me.” commands Mori.

You're shaking a bit as you look up at him.

“Do you know where Dazai is?” Mori asks.

“No, sir.”

“Are you lying to me?”

“No, sir”

“Have you ever lied to me before?”

You take a second to answer,” Never, sir.”

“Are you lying to me now?”

You look straight into his red eyes, “No, sir.”

5 minutes pass as he stares right into your eyes.

Mori stands up from behind his desk and walks towards the window.

“You are free to leave.”

You bow your head towards him and slowly, but quickly, walk out of the room.

Once you are out of his office, you take a deep sigh of relief.

Your hands are trembling.

You didn’t know he was going to leave.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chuuya finds you the next day sitting on a bench by the port.

“You haven’t been answering my calls, I was worried about you.”

You don’t look at him.

“It's not your fault he left,” Chuuya says, sitting down next to you, “He did it by himself.”

You beg to differ, if you had done something sooner, the boss wouldn’t have his suspicions on you. Now, you can be killed at any time.

You continue to stare at the distance.

“Be my assistant.”

You quickly turn to Chuuya, “What?”

“The boss is suspecting you of aiding Dazai, be my assistant,” Chuuya states, “It’ll get a rabid dog off your back.”

The rabid dog being Akutagawa. Akutagawa has been giving you a death stare since Dazai had been labeled as “missing”. You're sure he is plotting your death.

“ It might make people think that you were helping Dazai too.” you tell Chuuya.

“ Like I would ever help that mackerel with anything.” Chuuya tells you, almost disgustedly.

“I know you didn’t help Dazai,”Chuuya places a hand on yours,” Be my assistant, please.”

You look away from him, staring back at the ocean.

“ I promise nothing will happen to you, I’ll take care of you.”His hand grips yours tighter.” I can’t lose you too.” His voice breaks at the last part.

You don’t want to lose him either.

You turn towards him and his face has gotten much closer to yours. Lips inches from each other.

“You promise to take care of me?” you ask in a whisper tone.

“You know I will.”

There's a moment of comforting silence between the two of you.

“Okay, I’ll be your assistant.” you say softly.

There’s a sigh of relief coming from Chuuya. “I’ll protect you with my life.” He pushes his forehead towards yours. “You won’t regret this, I swear.”

You laugh, “You're being way too sappy, what happened to the fierce Chuuya I know and love?”

Chuuya takes a moment to look at you, “Love?”

You blush slightly, “Of course I love you, you're very dear to me.” you look into his eyes, “Just don’t expect me to do all your reports.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, doll.”

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I honestly couldn't think of a title.

Peace out!