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flametrashiraarchive · 7 days

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Flirty fluff you say…perhaps some workplace flirtation with Ango. The heart throbbing tension, the blushing and sweet compliments ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ just an idea and wanted to share my thoughts with you :3

Yeeeeeessssss you get it! I'm sorry this took me so long to respond to (life is kicking my ass right now) but I hope you like it.

GN!reader (although reader and Ango both joke about wearing maid uniforms) No warnings, just flirty fluff. Work-based romance. Reader is a huge simp. Approx 1.7k words.

You arrive at the Special Division's offices far earlier than scheduled, hoping to get ahead of your mounting workload for the day. At least that's the reason you tell yourself you're there so early.

There shouldn’t be anyone else there yet, but as you pull into the parking lot, a single car occupies a space. It’s a nice car– a rental, which means it’s likely Ango’s since his own was recently totaled.

Your heart sinks at the possibility he spent another night away from home. But you knew that was likely. You wouldn't be there otherwise.

Stepping into his office confirms your suspicion. The assistant counselor is curled up asleep on the couch. He’s covered by his suit jacket, his forearm beneath his cheek in place of a pillow, glasses askew, phone still in hand, shoes in a haphazard pile directly beneath his feet.

A deep sigh escapes you. This makes it the fifth night in a row he’s slept at the office.

“Ango?”

At the sound of his name, he gasps, eyes suddenly wide as he stares up at you, his lips moving around silent syllables before he finally manages to speak. “What happened? Is it Daz— is something wrong?”

If overworked were a person, it’d be Ango Sakaguchi.

“No, relax. It’s okay, it’s just morning,” you say, crouching beside him so he doesn’t have to stare up at you quite so vulnerably; partly for his comfort, but mostly because when he does he looks like a startled dormouse and it’s hard not to fall even deeper in love with him

“Already?”

“Yeah. And you shouldn’t sleep in your tie. You could strangle yourself.”

He groans, taking off his glasses to rub his eyes with the back of his hand. “Is it terrible to say at this point it would be a relief?”

“Yes, don’t make me confiscate it, Sakaguchi,” you say, firmly yet affectionately. “Water?”

“Coffee, if you don’t mind.”

“When was the last time you drank water?”

He furrows his brow in a petulant, but ultimately unthreatening scowl. “Did you come in here to baby me?”

“I’ll take that as an admission of guilt.”

“Likewise.” Slowly and stiffly, he lifts himself up to sit on the couch, resting his forearms on his knees and letting his hands dangle. He looks exhausted, his usual straight-backed posture completely forgotten, his spine rounded, shoulders slumped forward as he fiddles with his spectacles.

There’s just something about Ango… no, there are many things about Ango which draw you to him. The vulnerability behind his composure, the dry humor even in the very worst of times, his bone-deep need to give due meaning to all life, his pragmatism, his dedication…

And he cares so deeply; so deeply it borders on self destruction. During his time as a mole in the Port Mafia, he'd taken it upon himself to write proper obituaries for the dead mafiosi who would otherwise have been forgotten, using his ability to extract information from objects they'd touched. He took cold statistics and turned them back into human beings, exhausting himself in the process.

So you come to the office each day resolved to take care of him as much as he'll allow. As much as you can get away with without revealing your secret; that you're completely, utterly, hopelessly smitten.

After fetching him the dopp kit you know he keeps in his bottom desk drawer, you head downstairs to get him a cold bottle of water from the vending machines as well as a cup of coffee and snacks. It's far from resembling a balanced breakfast but the best you can do in the circumstances.

“I'm doing this because I love you,” you mutter, struggling to balance the smorgasbord in your hands as you head up the stairs back up to Ango's office's floor. “And because someone needs to take care of you when you neglect to do it yourself, you absolutely beautiful disaster of a man.”

When you return to his office, Ango is changing into fresh clothes with his back to you, the dawn light streaming through the window, creating a perfect silhouette of his slender figure through the thin white cotton of his shirt.

And you try not to look. At least, that's what you tell yourself. But it's impossible not to notice the subtle curve of his waist, or to imagine your hands planted firmly at either side of it, pulling him closer to you as you kiss the beauty mark above his lip.

“Ah, you took pity on me then?” he says over his shoulder as he buttons up, snapping you from your reverie. “Water and coffee. And snacks? You spoil me. Thank you.”

“Of course. Only the best for the assistant councilor,” you reply, your voice noticeably frayed.

Ango gives a monosyllabic chuckle and finally turns to face you while he works on the last three buttons of his shirt, clearly completely unaware of the devastating impact his exposed, defined clavicle has. “You know, if I close my eyes I can almost pretend this is a hotel and I simply ordered room service.”

“I can wear a maid uniform for you if it helps maintain the illusion?” As soon as the words leave your mouth you wish you could cram them back in.

But Ango just sits down at his desk with a look of concern, poring over what appears to be a heart rate monitor's display on his computer, switching seamlessly into work mode. He doesn't have to say anything for you to know he's done talking, at least until he's got his bearings in the endless ocean of work he takes on daily.

So you head to your own office and try to push him from your mind, and attempt, unsuccessfully, to forget about the maid uniform comment. You work and you work; business as usual for an agent of the Special Division. No matter how much paperwork you get through, there's always more– a sisyphean task made bearable by the knowledge that your efforts help keep Yokohama and her people safe.

It's after office hours when Ango comes to you, setting a steaming cup of coffee on your desk. And it isn't from the vending machine but a nearby coffee house; much better quality. Much. It's your favorite, actually.

You smile as he sits at your desk opposite you, making it an impromptu coffee break. It isn't until the aroma of the coffee hits you that you realize just how late it's gotten, and how long you've been stuck behind your desk. “Thank you, Ango, you didn't have to.”

“I did. And I do apologize for the rather lackluster delivery. Sadly my maid costume shrank at the dry cleaner's. I shan't subject you to the spectacle.”

You snort almost cartoonishly as Ango sips his coffee, deadpan as ever. Heat crawls across your face as a not entirely unwelcome mental image creeps into your consciousness. “Well, I'm sure you can pull it off.”

“Your faith in me is heartwarming. Misguided, but appreciated nevertheless.” He pulls in a breath, lips pressed together as if there's something he wants to say but feels he has to hold back. A moment later he finds his resolve. “Thank you. For all that you do.”

“Oh, it's no problem. It's my job–”

“No, it isn't.” he interjects firmly, though not unkindly. “You always do more for me than you should have to, and I appreciate it. All of it.” He shifts in his seat, adjusting his glasses before he speaks in a hushed tone. “Forgive my bluntness but if I don't ask now I may never get the courage again. When… when you said you love me, what did you mean by that?”

Heat prickles at the back of your neck. “Huh?”

His eyes pointedly avoid yours as he fidgets with a wooden stirrer. “I'm sorry. I used my ability on the water bottle. When you were carrying it upstairs you said you were doing all of this because you love me. And, I believe there was something in there about me being a beautiful disaster?”

Shit.

Suddenly the earth's trajectory through the universe is all too noticeable, the spinning, tilting, whirring. Panic causes your heart to race, your chest to tighten. If the ground were to swallow you up it'd be a mercy. You're vaguely aware that he has continued speaking.

“–for my own sanity,” Ango is saying, apparently transfixed by the steam rising from his coffee cup, the stirrer discarded, his hand now resting on your desk. “But if you don't want to answer, it's alright. I understand and I appreciate your kindness nevertheless.”

God, what can you even say? How can you ever put it into words? That he means everything to you. That he's the reason you come to work early and leave late. That you wish you could do so much more for him than simply bring him coffee.

Ango looks down, his own nervousness palpable, so you do the only thing you can think to do in the moment. You take his hand, merely hooking your fingertips around his, but that's all he needs to read you.

“Are you certain?” he asks.

You nod. He closes his eyes in concentration.

“Oh…” he says softly as information about you instantaneously floods his mind. Pressing the palm of his free hand to his brow, he frowns and closes his eyes. “That's quite a lot.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. People are always strenuous to read, especially if there's a lot about them I wish to learn. If I pass out I need you to slap me.”

“I could never.”

He chuckles and pinches his brow, humming pensively. “You may be one of the few people left who know me who wouldn't leap at the chance. I'm surprised you feel any sort of affection toward me at all. Let alone… all of that. It'll take me a while to process it–”

Your face is burning, your pulse leaping in your throat. “Oh, of course, take all the time you need.”

“And perhaps I can share my thoughts… my feelings with you too, though my ability only works one-way, so the only convenient way to do it would be… dinner? With me?”

Your heart leaps at his suggestion. And of course you'll accept. Of course. He knows you will. He knows everything now. “Ango, that was so smooth.”

“Yes…” A faint smile of pride lifts the corners of his lips. “Yes, it was, wasn't it?”

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flametrashiraarchive · 8 days

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Toshinori Yagi NSFW Headcanons

NSFW. GN!reader. Sub!Toshinori. SoftDom!reader

Toshi is a sucker for good old fashioned romance. He wants to take things slow, enjoying the adventure of falling for you, and treating you like you deserve to be treated.

Oh he absolutely wanted to kiss you on the first date. He wanted it all. But he held back, savoring the butterflies and the tension until at least the third.

But you'll never doubt he's smitten. He blushes A LOT when you talk. His hands are practically fused to yours the entire date. He's so interested in you and your life, even if it isn't as eventful as his.

He's very loving and gentlemanly.

The first kiss is chaste and somewhat reserved, but his heart almost jumps out of his chest at the touch of your lips.

Praise is pretty much lost on him. He's spent his entire career as a pro-hero being told how amazing he is. It sits on his surface, never fully sinking in. But your actions; the way you smile at him, the warmth in your embrace after he walks you to your doorstep and says goodnight, those things mean everything.

When you text him to say you're thinking about him, he screenshots it (Midoria taught him how) and saves it to a folder on his phone named for you.

He sends you encouraging messages throughout the day.

Never forget! You make the world brighter! Toshinori x

You're so amazing! I can't wait to see you again! Toshinori <3 x

You make me :) With love, Toshinori x

And when your relationship becomes more physical... gee whizz

Every kiss makes him feel like he's flying. Like he's invincible.

You share several looooong makeout sessions before he even attempts to touch your bare skin.

Even then it's just his fingertips beneath your shirt, touching your stomach. And it overwhelms him. He has to stop and rest his forehead against yours and just breathe.

He is the gentlest kisser. Sometimes too gentle. You have to encourage him to be a little more forceful.

As a hero, there have been no shortage of people touching his body; adoring fans squeezing his biceps for pictures, people kissing him without asking first, hands darting out of crowds to touch his abs. Sometimes he feels numb to physical touch.

But the emotional connection between you two is what really turns him on.

That's what makes your touches and kisses really pleasurable.

He's very very sensitive when he's aroused. He gets goosebumps all along his thighs and the backs of his arms.

He leans toward being a service sub. He'll do anything to please you. You have to practically tie him down if you want to pleasure him.

And believe me, you do want that. He's so responsive, so grateful, so overwhelmed by every caress and kiss.

He thanks you constantly.

For a long time he was self conscious of his smaller body, but you make him feel like he's even more of a stud than he was in his prime.

He has very sensitive hips and turns to mush when you kiss them. Just be careful of his wounded side.

Handing you the reins to his pleasure, submitting to you while you dote on him and lavish him with affection brings him a sense of relief.

No one is relying on him, he had no duties, no calling, no quirk, no stress, no fighting. Just you and him, and those wonderful feelings he could happily drown in.

His work as an orator, inspiring generations of new heroes seems a distant memory when all he can manage are choked groans and the occasional "oh jeez... oh... oh wow..."

He makes such a good pillow prince once you convince him to just lie there and enjoy it.

All that fluffy golden hair spread across the pillow, his big, strong hands covering his eyes when it all becomes too much (don't stop!)

He LOVES going down on you. He loves how good it makes you feel.

Please sit on his face. He loves that especially. And it isn't strenuous on his injuries. In fact any position which has you on top is perfect for him.

He loves the view when you ride him. One time in the throes of ecstasy he moaned "oh you look like an angel" as you bounced on his cock. Adorable dork.

It can sometimes take a while for him to get hard even if he's turned on. And it sometimes takes a while for him to cum.

But your patience is rewarded by his beautiful, breathy cries of bliss, followed by the most adorable "oh wow!" or "Jeeez..."

And when you're done, he absolutely lavishes you in aftercare. It doesn't matter that you're his dom, he'll insist on bringing you water and a warm washcloth, he'll rub your aching muscles and tell you how amazing you are.

You take care of each other.

Afterwards, he wants to cuddle; those gangly limbs wrapped around you while you stroke his hair and kiss his brow.

Oh you make his heart glow.

Toshi's just such a loved-up dork for you.

Being adored never felt so good.

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flametrashiraarchive · 14 days

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Edgar Allan Poe NSFW Headcanons

NSFW. Sub!Poe. Dom!Reader. Gn!reader.

Poe finds your company extremely pleasant.

The two of you gravitate toward each other whenever you happen to be in the same room. It is often joked about among the Guild members that if anyone is looking for either of you, to simply check the darkest corners of the rooms and there they'll find you both.

The pair of you sit and talk about normal things. Which makes them all the more abnormal since Ed isn't usually one for casual conversation.

But he looks forward to your little chats. You make him feel so comfortable and Karl likes you too.

Ranpo figured out Poe likes you before Poe figured out he likes you.

But the moment the realization strikes, he gets all nervous around you again. It takes a not insignificant amount of meddling from his rival (and raccoon) to get the two of you together.

So, what gave it away? Well, the tell-tale heart, of course.

His pulse races when you're near. For the first time in his life he has color in his cheeks. When you speak, or when the light catches your eyes, or simply when you exhale, his hand gravitates toward his chest, as though the beating of his heart might alert you to his pitiful infatuation. He's an absolute mess around you.

Thank heavens you put him out of his misery and make the first move.

Your first kiss is soft and tender, your lips ghosting over his and giving him goosebumps.

Poe simply freezes, his brain shutting down. He's stiff and trembling as if he's seen a ghost, apparently so terrified you find yourself apologizing; maybe you misread the situation, maybe he didn't want you to kiss him at all. You apologize and make an attempt to leave.

"NO! No please!" His frantic desperation gives you pause.

He holds both your hands between both of his, "Try it again. I'm sorry. Let me kiss you again. I'll do it better this time."

And he does. Dear god, he does.

Poe kisses you like you're about to evaporate and he has to make the most of every second. He's clingy, needy, desperate to please.

There isn't a dominant bone in his body. It doesn't matter if you're shorter than him, pin him to the wall; he'll melt completely, knees buckling, lips trembling (with excitement now)

Kissing him opens the floodgates. A little taste of pleasure soon gets him addicted. He'd spend forever in your bed if not for his duty to Karl.

Who, by the way, is absolutely lavished with treats and doted upon by way of apology for the amount of time he has to spend in another room while Poe is busy with you. (Karl does not gaf.)

Before long, the in-joke at the Guild changes from "check the corners" to "check the doors. You'll find them behind whichever one is locked."

But anyway...

Straddle Poe's lap and scrape his hair back so he has to hold eye contact with you while he sucks on your fingers. He's so used to hiding away that being perceived, being cherished and adored makes him squirm.

Compliments mean the world to him. Praise him, tell him how pretty he is, how lovely, how well he's doing for you.

However, he's also not opposed to you sprinkling in a little degradation too. Being called your "pretty slut," or being told you're going to fuck him dumb makes him rock hard

So does spanking. He has such a cute little ass and it blushes so prettily when you slap it.

He loves lace! Whether you're the one wearing it or him, he adores the way it looks, the way it feels when it's wet.

Prefers to bottom but is not opposed to topping you. He just wants to please. Although he will collapse at the point of orgasm. He can't help it. He folds completely.

Loves the sight of cum on his skin, your cum or his, it doesn't matter. Jerk him off and make him finish all over his belly and thighs. The way it pools and drips down his skin has him hard again in seconds.

As a matter of fact, he once came untouched from the mere sight of it.

He's also very into wax play.

This man is a mess. A beautiful mess.

He gets so flustered when he thinks back to the time you fucked him on his writing desk. He had an ink stain on his ass for over a month which he couldn't get rid of no matter how many times he showered.

He'll give you his credit card to buy toys to use on him or outfits for either of you to wear.

Put a vibrator in his ass, take the remote, and spend the entire day teasing and denying him.

He'll be busy writing away at his new mystery novel when you click the button, making him tense up so violently that he drops his pen and splatters ink everywhere.

The cry of pleasure which escapes him is somewhere between musical and haunted.

He has fallen off his chair that way.

He's very vocal and incredibly sensitive. He whines and groans just from the slightest stimulation. When he's closer to orgasm he practically sobs. He sounds like he's in pain.

And when he's lying there, spent, quivering, gasping for breath, his fair skin covered in red marks, and cheeks streaked with tears, he looks so utterly helpless and beautiful.

"Do you need to stop?" you ask.

Quoth your goth boy, "Never. More!"

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flametrashiraarchive · 20 days

Text

Pairing: Ranpo x f!reader

Content guidance: NSFW. Angst, fluff, and smut. Happy ending. Reader gets shot and Ranpo feels responsible. Descriptions of injuries (punctured lung). Reader "dies" (is brought back by Yosano) Mentions of blood. Mutual hurt/comfort. Approx 2.5k words.

Come Back.

It was easy to get swept up in Ranpo's exuberance. Solving cases was child's play for him, his intellect and capacity for deduction perfectly balanced with his enormous ego. There wasn't a case he couldn't solve in less than a minute, flashing a confident grin as he pointed his finger at the guilty party, declaring the matter resolved with all certainty. Anyone could be forgiven for assuming he found it all one big joke.

Sometimes even you forgot how much the cruelty of the world weighed down on him. But it did. The world was full of monsters and Ranpo saw them all. And some cases were simply too dark even for his sunshine to penetrate.

He came home quietly after one such case just as the sun dipped below the horizon. Without uttering a word, he approached you in the kitchen as you prepared dinner and wrapped his arms around you.

“What's wrong?” you asked, stroking your hands up and down his back as he smushed the plush of his cheek into the curve between your neck and shoulder. He’d always been something of a cuddlebug with you, but that night there was something different about the way he held you, his limbs heavy, fingers clutching your shirt, clinging with a desperation you’d only seen in him once before; just once, when the ADA’s president, Fukuzawa, was lying unconscious in a hospital bed, infected with the Cannibalism virus.

“She looked just like you. The victim.” Ranpo’s voice was soft and quiet, the gentle puff of his breath against your neck unsteady, as if he was fighting back tears. Sure enough, his green eyes were glistening when he finally raised his head and said with utmost sincerity, “I can't ever let that happen to you. I'll never let you get hurt. I promise.”

As silly and blasé as Ranpo could be, he cared so deeply about the family he had gathered around him throughout the years. His friends at the ADA, president Fukuzawa, Edgar, Karl, inspector Minoura, and you… especially you. Those he cared for meant the world to him.

So, months later, when you, Ranpo, Doctor Yosano, and Dazai were sent to work on a case together, at the moment a stray bullet shot through your chest, your mind barely registered the pain or the panic, only the anticipation of how such a tragedy would crush Ranpo.

Because, as the detective would later insist, it was all his fault.

If Ranpo hadn't taunted the murderer, if Ranpo hadn't bragged about how easy the case was to solve, if Ranpo hadn't laughed when the man pulled out a gun and brushed him off with a nonchalant “you idiot,” the man might never have become enraged enough to fire it.

But he did, and the bullet meant for the detective missed, causing him more pain than it ever could have if its aim had been true.

“No! No no no no! Stop!” Ranpo sobbed, clinging to your bloodstained shirt, tears spilling down his cheeks. “Stop it stop it stop! You can't go. I'm sorry! Don't go, please!”

I'm not going anywhere.

You wanted to speak, to reassure him, to raise your hand and wipe away his tears, but the pool of blood in your throat was suffocating, the taste of it rendering you capable only of spluttering and gagging. And your arm was impossibly heavy, fingertips ice cold and numb. A crushing, desperate helplessness overwhelmed you; that you couldn't comfort him, you couldn't do a damned thing. And you saw it reflected back in his eyes.

Helpless. Afraid. Broken.

Thank goodness Dazai and Doctor Yosano had the presence of mind to apprehend the shooter. One of them– you weren't sure which– broke the man's arm, ensuring he couldn't pull the trigger again. Without them Ranpo would almost certainly have been shot too, his back turned to the perpetrator, his mind focused solely on the one thing he had dreaded most of all.

In all the years you'd known Ranpo, you'd never seen him so utterly devastated.

“Akiko! Akiko do something,” he begged the ADA's doctor, his voice cracking with desperation.

Yosano's voice cut through the haze, her pragmatism sharper than any scalpel. “My ability won't work on her yet. She needs to be closer to death. We have to wait. Either that or speed up the process. Her lung is punctured. Could take hours...”

Ranpo's eyes widened in horror as the reality of the situation became all too clear. For Yosano's ability to work they would have to deliver you to death's door and snatch you away at the last second.

“A coup de grâce,” Dazai confirmed, his expression solemn, eyes distant and hauntingly empty. “I can do it painlessly.”

You nodded. Yes. Do it.

Ranpo sobbed harder.

“I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.” He knelt, hunched over you, arms wrapped around your shoulders where they so naturally came to rest. His body partially covered yours as though trying to shield you from a fate he'd inadvertently sentenced you to.

His trembling hands held your face, so warm, wet and sticky, like he'd been eating cotton candy and held onto it for far too long. Sweet, silly Ranpo.

“I'm so sorry,” he cried.

Ranpo, breathe. Please, it's going to be alright. Just breathe, love.

But he couldn't. You heard his anguish as Yosano guided him away from you, even above the thunder of your own frantic heart as your body fought with everything it had to stay alive. The choked sounds of the poor man's soul completely torn apart and his desperate pleas for you to come back to him were the last thing you heard as Dazai made good on his promise.

It didn't hurt at all. Death felt like climbing into your own warm bed at the end of a long, cold day.

You awoke some time later in the back of Doctor Yosano's car, swaddled in Ranpo's Inverness cape. Groggy and confused, but finally able to draw breath. The air had never felt so soothing.

“She's stirring,” Dazai said in a muted monotone from the front passenger seat. “I think Ranpo's still out.”

“Let the kid sleep,” Yosano said quietly. “Shit, I'll probably pass out once we drop them off too.”

Dazai nodded, turning his attention to the city passing by. “It'll hit me in three days. Still feels like someone else's dream right now.”

There was a weight across your torso, sprawled from your shoulder down to your hip. Right away the sensation brought reassurance; the familiar comfort of having Ranpo lean against you while he slept. You’d acted as a pillow for him on so many journeys to and from cases before, and for a moment you could fool yourself into believing that this was no different.

But Dazai was uncharacteristically wrong. Ranpo wasn’t asleep at all; his eyes were open, unfocused, puffy from tears. And he simply turned his head toward you by a few degrees when he noticed you’d come to, tightening his grip as if you were about to be torn away a second time. Your wounds were healed, your throat clear, but still you were unable to say anything you wanted to. Words were easy to ignore, to argue against, to deny entirely, so in their place you simply raised your hand to cradle the back of his head, burying your fingers in his soft ebony hair.

It’s alright. I’m still here.

Silent tears streaked down his cheeks, soaking into the fabric of his cape. It wasn’t until you got back to your shared dorm; after the slow shuffle to the elevator, the traipse down the hallway, and into the apartment that Ranpo finally spoke, his voice all but worn out.

“I’m sorry. I messed up so badly this time.”

The two of you were cut off from the rest of the world in your little bathroom; blood-spattered and exhausted. But together. And that meant everything.

Ranpo perched on the edge of the tub, arms wrapped around your waist as you stood between his legs, holding him to you. His head was pressed against your chest, listening to the steady beat of your heart. Warm, staggering breaths fanned over your sternum as his fingers curled against your back.

The scent of blood and battle lingered in his hair as you pressed your lips to the top of his head. “It’s okay–”

“No, it isn’t. I broke my promise. I almost… I did get you killed. Do you… do you realize how bad that is? If Yosano wasn’t there…” His words died on his tongue, his voice breaking, raw and strained, until he finally managed to say, “I don’t know how to make this right.”

“It is right. I'm here with you, exactly where I should be.”

“But you almost weren't. You don’t understand do you? How can I make you see that losing you would be the worst thing that could ever happen. Ever.”

“Ranpo, I know–”

“No, you don’t!” He took your hand and placed it on his chest, caging it with both of his own. His eyes were wide and earnest. “I love you. I love you so much and I should never allow anyone to hurt you. And it hurts me that I let it happen. That I made it happen. It hurts. It hurts! It–”

He stopped when you touched your free hand to his cheek, leaning into your touch. When you kissed him, for once his lips tasted of salt instead of sugar but they were still as soft as ever.

“I love you too,” you said, wiping the tears off his cheeks. “I love you so much, and loving you means forgiving you when you mess up. And I do. I forgive you completely. So you can forgive yourself too, okay?”

He didn’t speak again for a long time, silent and cooperative as you worked open the buttons on his bloodstained shirt, peeling it off him before removing your own. And the moment you were both bare, he wrapped his arms back around you, seeking the warmth and comfort of your skin.

Sometimes it was easy to forget how much Ranpo had lost. It was so easy to get caught up in his joie de vivre and assume he was unbothered by everything. But he felt so much, he loved so deeply, and he feared the loss of those close to him more than anything. Your wounds were healed but his were still wide open.

Ranpo’s cheek rested on your breast, his embrace so reassuring and gentle it was hard to believe you still inhabited the same world which only an hour ago had been so starkly different.

There wasn’t even so much as a scar where the bullet had entered. If not for your exhaustion it might have been easy to carry on as if none of it had even happened. But it was still raw for him.

A heavy sigh escaped him as you stroked your fingers through his hair, letting your nails scratch against his scalp, tracing a path to the back of his neck and down to his bare shoulders.

He pressed his face into your chest and whined. “Hey, don’t do that…”

“Why?”

“Because it’s making me smile and I feel guilty about it.”

“Well I want you to smile.” You scribbled your fingers down his back, earning you a quiet chuckle as he squirmed beneath your touch. “Quit punishing yourself.”

You carried on a moment longer before he raised his head.

“Ack! Fine, fine! I’m smiling. Happy?” He stood up, turning on the water in the shower, putting his hand beneath it to test the temperature and flicking the droplets at you with an easy grin. “Come on, let me clean you. At least let me do that.”

So you did. Squeezing into the shower together, you stood beneath the cleansing water and let it wash away the terrible day. Ranpo’s hands were warm and gentle as he cleaned the blood from your skin, forgoing a washcloth in favor of his palms, as though part of him didn’t quite believe you were still with him, that he needed to touch every inch of you to be certain. Every tender caress was both an apology and a promise that he would never let anything happen to you again.

“Close your eyes,” he instructed, cleaning away the spatter on your face, rinsing away the suds and kissing your cheeks, your brow, your nose. He traced the curve of your lower lip with his thumb before leaning in and kissing you there too. On and on he worked, cleaning, kissing, trying to undo what he could, erasing the memories of the bullet and the blood and replacing them with his love.

And then you did the same for him, cleaning your blood from his skin, washing away the guilt, reassuring him that the world was as it should be with every soft kiss and adoring touch.

At last, when the water running from your bodies swirled down the drain completely clear and air in the bathroom was thick with fog, Ranpo held your face between his hands and drew back to look at you.

“There.” he said, a wide smile spreading across his lips. “You’re back.”

“Of course. I could never leave you.”

He leaned in once more, his lips meeting yours softly at first, but within moments there was a heat and desperation behind each kiss. Little sounds of pleasure tumbled from him as he pressed you back against the tiles, the water still cascading down onto you both as he hitched your thigh up against his hip and tried to angle his cock to enter you.

“I want to–” he whined, rocking his hips against you, trying desperately and failing entirely to make it work.

“Ranpo, I don't think–”

“Yeah, that's not… man, this is hard. Okay, new plan. Shower's over, let's go to bed, come on, let's go.”

And despite it all, you found yourself laughing, once more swept up in his infectious exuberance as he switched off the water, grabbed your hand and pulled you out of the shower. Ranpo was back too.

And a few moments later you were both in bed, wet bodies soaking the sheets, kissing each other and giggling as if sex was a secret only the two of you knew about. His fingers interlaced with yours, the slow, rolling grind of his hips sending sparks through your body. Each stroke was languid and indulgent, angled just right to grind against your clit, giving you an intense and prolonged pleasure. And Ranpo so adored taking his time loving you.

After all, you had all the time in the world.

“This is better, right?” he whispered against your ear. “Everything's right. I've got you.”

“I've got you too,” you said through labored breaths, wrapping your thighs around his waist, pulling him deeper into you.

He paused, adjusting to the new intensity, his forehead resting on your shoulder as a soft, breathy moan escaped him. “So good…”

When he was ready, he rolled his hips again, caging your head with his arms and stroking back your damp hair. He peppered your face with kisses as he lazily fucked you, continuing long after you’d both shuddered through your orgasms, wanting, needing to stay as close to you as possible until he couldn’t take it a moment longer.

And in the aftermath he held you, pulling your head to his chest where you could listen to the steady beat of his mending heart.

“Thank you,” he whispered against the top of your head as you both drifted in the haze between sleep and tranquil consciousness. “Thank you for coming back to me.”

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flametrashiraarchive · 21 days

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Pairing: Sub!Top!Ango x Dom!f!reader.

NSFW. Pure smut. My pussy wrote this so if it's bad blame her.

Letting Ango top you but he has to watch.

Ango stands at the edge of the bed wearing nothing but his glasses while you lie back and spread your legs for him. A groan escapes him almost immediately. He can hardly contain himself, his eyes fixed on the sight of his cock sliding between your folds, coating his tip in your slick.

"My god..." he whispers, his eyes already half-closed and his back beginning to arch just from the slightest stimulation. He's always a lightweight when it comes to your pussy, losing his cool the second his dick is wet.

And he tries, he does. He tries so very hard to remain composed; it's what he does after all, Ango excels at keeping his cool. Hell, he's remained calm while lying to mob bosses and powerful ability users. But not with you. The moment he slides his cock into you, feels your walls hug him, slick and snug, and god, so fucking warm, he can hardly contain himself.

"Keep looking," you tell him. "Don't close your eyes. I want you to watch yourself fuck me. Can you do that for me?"

"Yes," he says, ever obedient. "Whatever you want."

He moans, his head lolling back as he pushes his hips forward and sinks into you.

"Ango. Don't look away."

"I can't..." he rolls his head forward, eyes widening at the sight of himself sheathed inside you. "God, I can't..."

"Yes you can."

"N-no... I can't, I'll cum..."

"No you won't, not until I say you can."

The few seconds of silence which follow are broken only by his heavy breaths. He nods in agreement but his poker face is already failing, sweat beading at his temples, teeth leaving little grooves in his lower lip as he starts to thrust.

The furrow between his brows deepens in concentration as he tries his best to be good for you, to fuck you well. His hands search for purchase on your ankles, your calves, your knees, anything to keep your thighs apart and his movements steady as he fucks you, narrow hips pistoning relentlessly, chasing your pleasure.

"Oh fuck, that's good, Ango. Show me how badly you want to cum. Keep looking."

So he does, he watches. Gasping, huffing, lips slack as he watches his cock sliding in and out of you, his length covered in your slick, its veins throbbing. So desperate to cum, yet so determined to please you.

"Fuuuck, oh please, oh please, god, you feel so good. So good. Please. Can I touch you?"

But doing so is almost his own ruin, and the moment you let him stroke your clit and he feels your pussy throb and clench around his cock, he has to bite the back of his arm to keep from shooting his load right then and there.

"Please I can't! I'm going to cuh- cum."

"Not yet."

The muscles in his belly quiver as he fights to hold back, the anguish written across his face almost as delicious as the expertise with which he strums your swollen clit.

"Please cum," he whimpers, assuming your release will earn him his. "Please cum on my cock."

He asks so desperately, so sweetly, his thrusts staggering as he fights the urge to finish inside you.

And when at last he feels you cum, your pussy clenching and fluttering around him, he watches attentively as it squeezes his cock, milking him and coating him in yet more wetness.

"Oh fuck," you gasp. "That's my good boy, Ango. You can cum."

You've barely finished speaking before he's filling you, his thrusts growing frantic and sloppy as his spend spills out of you.

"Ah- ah- ah- ohhhh shit, dear god, ngh, thank you. Thank you," he moans, never once tearing his eyes away, pushing up his glasses when they slide down his nose so he can keep watching. "Thank you."

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flametrashiraarchive · 26 days

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Pairing: Nikolai x GN!reader

Content Guidance: NSFW. Sub!Nikolai. Overstimulating Nikolai on his birthday and making him squirt. Sex toys (fleshlight, anal vibrator, handcuffs), tickling his balls, no safe word. Nikolai asks reader not to stop even when he begs and they do not stop. Approx 725 words.

Nikolai snapped his fingers, extinguishing the candle on his birthday cake as if by magic and bowing dramatically to your applause. Ever the showman.

“And now you can make a wish," you told him. "I'm giving you complete freedom. Freedom to choose exactly what I do to you.”

“Is that so? Anything I want?”

You grinned, closing the gap between you and curling the tip of his long white braid around your fingertip. “Anything. So, what'll it be? Do you have a birthday wish?”

The clown stood in silent contemplation for a few moments more before he spoke with utmost certainty. “Only one. I want you to keep going, even if I beg you to stop.”

Four orgasms later, handcuffed to the bed and drenched in sweat, Nikolai was barely even capable of uttering a single word. His eyes rolled back as you switched modes on the vibrator buried inside his ass, choosing an irregular rhythm which hummed against his prostate mercilessly. The fleshlight in your hand dripped with a foamy mixture of lube and cum, the tip of his cock peeking out of the top of the silicone tunnel, dark red and far too sensitive.

He was such a big man, sturdily built, ruthless, wicked, and wonderful. And he was completely helpless when it came to you.

“Oh Kolya, you're so lovely…” you cooed, leaning down to kiss his thick inner thighs. They truly were works of art; muscular but with just enough give to make them soft and plush. You could spend forever between them, nibbling, kissing, sucking, biting, leaving little red marks on his snowy skin. And he loved that too.

He moaned, “Mm… ptitsa… I don’t think I have anything else to give you.”

“I don’t believe you, Kolya. Besides, I forgot about your balls. Your ass and cock are getting so much attention, I think your balls deserve some too.”

Despite his exhaustion, he was still smiling, fucked-drunk and delirious with pleasure. His last orgasm had been completely dry; his legs trembling, back arching, the muscles in his belly clenching violently as he sobbed through it. But his tears were apparently the only fluid he had left in him.

That simply wouldn't do.

A sweet giggle burst from him as you spider-walked your fingers along his inner thighs to his balls, tickling them with your fingertips and feeling them tighten almost instantly.

“Ooo… sensitive,” you grinned.

“No! No! Not that!” he laughed, “Aha! Oh you’re eeevil! No!!”

Nikolai thrashed as you continued your assault, his movements forcing his cock deeper into the fleshlight and making him whine between fits of spluttering laughter and protests. He was so pretty when he laughed, and when he cried, and when he came. He was just pretty in general, and having him completely at your mercy, writhing and gasping was too wonderful.

The vibrator inside his ass still hummed rhythmically, nestled firmly against his prostate, completely overwhelming him with stimulation.

“Can you withstand it for as long as it takes me to sing Happy Birthday?” You asked, a cruel smile curving your lips. He was already a complete wreck, but just to push him a little bit further, you tickled the tip of his cock with one of your fingertips, teasing his little slit and relishing his choked cries of pleasure and torment.

“Haaaappy birthday to you,” you sang, slowly.

“PLEASE NO!”

“Happy birthday… to you…”

He threw his head back and whined, biceps straining as he fought against the cuffs on his wrist.

“Happy birthday… dear… Koyla…”

“I’m– oh what’s–”

“Haaaaappy birthdaaaaaay… to… you…”

“Oh fuck… holy shit!” He erupted, a thick, clear fluid spraying out of his cock, covering his belly, his thighs, your hands and chest, drenching you both as he moaned and gasped. “Ohhh… oh… fuh-huck…ya konchayu!”

“Oh fuck yeah, Koyla, that’s it, I knew you had more for me.”

His eyes widened as he watched it spray from him; far greater in volume than any of his previous orgasms, and he said in a voice so frayed and soft you scarcely believed it was his. “Holy shit, I think you made me squirt, ptitsa.”

“I think so too. Whatever it was, it was hot.”

He chuckled and took a deep breath, exhaling with a contented ahhh, “This was a wonderful birthday.”

“Was?” you asked, dragging your finger through the slick coating his belly and using it to draw a little heart just below his navel. “Oh, sweet Koyla. I’m not done with you yet. You’re going to do that for me again.”

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flametrashiraarchive · 27 days

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SFW. Fluff. GN!reader x Dazai. Post-canon. Dazai growing older with you and realizing he has a dad-bod (he's into it and so are you.) Approx 500 words.

It's a lazy Sunday morning, closer to lunchtime than breakfast. You're in the kitchen making pancakes and Dazai is perched on the edge of the bed in his boxers, pulling on his thick socks because he can't stand to have cold feet.

And that's when he notices.

He's soft.

His reflection stares back at him, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape, back bent as he pauses halfway through the task of pulling up the socks, a crease in his unmistakably soft belly where there used to be a taut, svelte abdomen.

“...huh…”

He stands, squishing and prodding it, sucking it in, pushing it back out, discovering his hips and cheeks fuller too, his ribcage barely even visible anymore. He's softer all over. Threads of silver run through his hair, glinting as he ruffles it in the mirror. His eyes are bracketed by shallow creases; laughter lines… hardly surprising; in recent years, the ones since he found you, he's laughed so damn much.

And noticing it all at once gives him a strange sort of feeling; it's undeniable proof that he's still around. He's comfortable, safe, cared for. He's happy.

The delicious scent of pancakes wafts in from the kitchen, the sound of your voice calling his name; “‘Saaaamuuuuu, come get your breakfast, baby!”

It strikes him just how much has changed; from a man once determined to end it all, struggling to find a reason to live, to a man standing in his comfortable house, prodding at his love handles, practically drowning in reasons to go on. He loves life now, he loves you; the sound of your voice, the comfort of your love.

Oh, god, it all means so damn much to him.

“Hey, I was calling you,” you say, poking your head around the door. “Breakfast is ready…”

“Look! Have you seen this?” he asks, pinching his newfound softness between long fingers. “Look at me. I'm… squishy.”

“You're sexy as hell.”

“Ufufufu stop, you're making me blush,” he chuckles with faux coyness, covering his face with one hand and waving you away with the other. “You carry on like that and the pancakes won't be the only things covered in syrup.”

“Promises promises…” You cross the room and take his hand, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “I mean it though; you're perfect. And you're hotter now than when we met–”

He gasps playfully, dramatically, hoping not to draw attention to the fact that your love means so much to him, some days he finds himself overwhelmed by it. “Impossible, I was already so hot.”

“Mhm, I'd have thought it would be impossible too,” you smile against his lips, your favorite tactic to shut him up. “And yet look at you now.”

Look at him now; loved, alive, feeling everything. He kisses you back, then kisses you again, and again. A giggle he would once have sworn he was incapable of making escapes him as your hands grip his fuller hips, pulling him toward you, and you let out an appreciative groan. And there's so much he wants to say. He could thank you every moment of every day for the rest of his life and it would never be enough. But you know that. You've always been fluent in the parts he struggles to say.

So he simply smiles, kissing the spot just beneath your ear which always makes you shiver, and whispers softly, “Mm~ go get the syrup.”

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flametrashiraarchive · 29 days

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okay, let's do this

Osamu Dazai x Big Boobs

NSFW. Well-endowed f!reader. I love you, small-booby/ no-booby readers, you're beautiful, but I am ovulating and I needed to write about him sucking big juicy titties. I accidentally became possessed and this turned into fucking him haha. Girl on top. Creampie. Lots of titty sucking and nipple play. Approx 900 words.

It's a lazy morning at Dazai's place, as most mornings are. He's already on course to be severely late for work, but he doesn't seem to care one bit. He never does when you're staying over. Instead, he lays on his belly, half-sprawled across you, his head resting on your chest, the tip of his nose gently nuzzling the soft mound of your breast.

Doey brown eyes gaze at them with such soft reverence, his face so pretty and ethereal it's sometimes easy to forget he's fully capable of being an absolute menace.

It doesn't take long for him to remind you. "My voluptuous angel, would you do me the honor of suffocating me to death betwixt your—"

"'Samu... no," you scold him. "Don't even joke about it."

He pouts and huffs, face-planting your boobs and pretending to sob, his brunette mop of hair, absurdly fluffy against your chest. "But it's how I want to go... c'mooon..."

"No."

"Please? Pretty please?

"No."

"You know, I've made several wealthy enemies over the years who would be more than happy to compensate you—"

"No. Okay, maybe when you're older. When you're a hundred years old and we've lived a long, happy life together. Then I'll smother you in my tits. Deal?"

His head shoots up, eyes alight and damn near gleeful at the prospect. "Wait, for real? You would?"

"Yeah, I'll crush your brittle old skull between them..."

He grins, teeth grazing his lower lip. "Oh, baby, you're getting me hard."

"You're a creep, 'Samu."

He chuckles, readjusting his weight to free his hands before cupping your tits between them. "If it's creepy to wish to die surrounded by such exquisite beauty, then yes, consider me the king of creeps."

"I already do. Besides, they'll be wrinkled and saggy by then..."

His voice is low and sultry as he bows his head to kiss them; gentle kisses that make your breath catch and your belly flutter. "Angel, I don't care, just smother me in them."

He grins when he feels you squirm, pressing his thigh between yours, inviting you to ride it with the unspoken caveat that he will tease you relentlessly if you're already this desperate.

Your stomach flips as his lips turn voracious, kissing your tits with a fervent hunger; his tongue laving your plump flesh, relishing the way your nipple hardens and swells in his mouth. Elegant fingers tease your unattended breast, his fingertip rapidly stroking your aching bud, silently demanding it stiffen to match the other. That soft, tawny gaze flits across to watch your flesh spill between his fingers as he attempts to cup your entire breast in his hand, groaning in pleasure as his efforts prove unsuccessful.

"So fucking big and soft..." he whispers, as if he can't keep the words locked in. He has to have some kind of release.

"You're going to be late for work..." you say, trying your best to remain composed, but Dazai has always known exactly how to quickstart your pleasure. The charming bastard has it down to a damn science.

"Mmh..."

In place of a smart-ass remark, he smirks against your flesh, sticking out his tongue so you can watch it rapidly flick your nipple back and forth, hitching up his knee to apply pressure to your clit, goading you into what he truly wants.

You withstand the insatiable ministrations of his tongue for about half a minute more before you give in, rolling the pair of you over, straddling his narrow hips and aligning the bulbous head of his cock with your entrance.

"Fuck yes," he groans breathlessly beneath you as you brace your hands just above his head, letting your tits hang down over his face. "Oh god, fuck yes..."

And god, he feels so damn good as you lower yourself onto him, his cock filling you and sending tingles of pleasure shooting through your belly. Any other time you'd ride him until you were both utterly spent, but this time you lower your torso until it's parallel with his, burying his face in your chest so he has to tilt his hips to stay inside you.

He catches on quick, thrusting up into your pussy as he mouths your breasts, wrapping his slender arms around your back as if there were a force on earth capable of pulling you off his cock.

"'Samu..." you gasp as he fucks you, his tongue every bit as voracious as his dick and just as intent on pleasuring you. "Don't stop... don't stop..."

He's stronger than his slender frame would have you believe, the force with which he thrusts up into you knocking the air from your lungs, again and again and again.

And it doesn't take long for his composure to crumble too; his calculated teasing dissolving the moment his orgasm approaches, his clever tongue and expert kisses turning hot and sloppy, hips juddering as he presses his heels into the futon for purchase.

His moans of pleasure are muffled against your tits as he cums, never once breaking pace, fucking you hard and fast. He won't stop until you cum too, he never does.

The sound of it all is so utterly lewd; the wet slap of his cock thrusting into your pussy, his loud slurps and smacks of his lips as he sucks your tits, his mouth entirely covering your areola, his tongue lapping hungrily against your flesh.

He drives you over the edge quickly, echoing your moan of ecstasy as your walls throb around him and he cums a second time.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck!" he cries, voice cracking beautifully as he gasps through his second release. He pulls in a breath and grins beneath you, "Fuck dying like that, it's how I want to live."

"That's more like it," you say, sweeping back his tousled bangs to kiss his dewy forehead. "That I can most definitely help you with."

Thank you for reading! Please please reblog! It helps readers find stories and writers get their work seen. Comments and tags are so appreciated! <3

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flametrashiraarchive · 1 month

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Radiance.

Akutagawa x GN!reader. NSFW. Fellatio. Akutagawa has very low self-esteem. Self-loathing. Angst and smut. 1.4k words.

Even on the clearest nights, the city sky is starless. Akutagawa swears the darkness suits him well– pitch black like his heart and as empty as his soul. His eyes are but mirrors, reflecting the void.

But even he needs respite. If he dwells in the dark for too long it’ll suck him down, swallow him whole like a tar pit. On nights like this he’s learned it’s vital to seek a little absolution; your tender touch the perfect dam to hold the abyss at bay. The boss knows by now not to expect Akutagawa to follow orders to the letter. He’ll get to it in his own time.

So he stands on your doorstep, black coat fluttering in the breeze, his pale face illuminated by the light pooling from your front door; a waif, a stray, a butcher, a tired and helpless man desperately seeking a speck of light.

“May I come in tonight?” he asks, expecting to be turned away despite the fact you never have.

“Ryūnosuke…” His name–the one he hears so rarely, sometimes he almost forgets it’s his– is but a sigh of relief on your lips. “Of course.”

Weeks have passed since his last visit. Weeks of you wondering where he is, checking the news for stories of dead mafiosi, which of course would never air– the Port Mafia’s barbs are stuck beneath the skin of almost every press establishment and news corporation covering Yokohama. But still, you check, you read the obituaries, you fret.

You step aside to let him cross the threshold, completely missing the point. It isn’t your home he needs, it isn’t shelter from the cold or the dark beneath your cozy roof. It’s you. It will always be you. But he steps inside regardless, at once feeling at odds in the golden glow.

The tender warmth of your sanctuary itches his skin, the comfortable air tickles his weakened lungs. He should be out there, scurrying down alleyways, tunnels, all the grim places of the city, spreading the plague of death to his targets. Not sitting at your kitchen table with a cup of steaming tea heating his palms while you hang his coat on a hook by the door.

“When was the last time you ate?” you ask, fussy as ever.

“The tea is more than enough.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

He takes a sip, signaling an end to the conversation. He isn’t in the mood to bicker.

Neither, apparently, are you. A few minutes later you set a plate of onigiri in front of him. You've always been frustratingly adept at understanding him, Nor have you ever been afraid of the hollowness beneath his surface; rather determined to fill it somehow, be it with your companionship and affection, or simply by stuffing his empty stomach.

When he's tired of the world you provide him with a soft place to lay his head. When he's overcome with rage you provide the sweetest of releases, converting his wrath to lust. And, like tonight, when he feels unworthy and empty, when the dark he inhabits sinks too deep, you chase it away with soft kisses and that brilliant, blinding light of yours he's certain he's only worthy of in small doses.

But he clings to your gestures like a dying man clutching the fraying thread of his own mortality. He sips your tea, he eats your onigiri, he climbs into bed beside you.

“You're so beautiful,” you whisper, lying through your teeth as usual.

“Let’s not talk,” he replies curtly, in lieu of everything he wants to say. You're mistaken, you are the beauty, he is a rabid beast with flesh between his teeth and blood beneath his claws. A monster, a wraith, diablo.

He braces himself for the tug of knots when your fingertips thread through his hair, but they glide unhindered as if it were silk. Your hands travel down his torso, paying equal reverence to the patches of pale, unblemished skin as the multitude of scars marring his flesh, loving them into a strange state of existing and not. Heat thaws his bone-deep cold as you kiss him over and over.

Dear God, he could quickly grow addicted to the soft sigh of his name on your lips; Ryūnosuke, never Akutagawa, a man, not a butcher. You make it sound so soft and pretty it couldn't possibly be his.

You drip light into the void with every kiss; lips soft and loving against his, then down to his clavicle, his chest, his sluggishly full belly. And there you linger, your tongue flitting against his hip bones as he writhes beneath you, completely unbound and free to put an end to it at any point, yet captive and helpless, teeth bared like a cornered dog.

“What’re you doing?” He bites back the rest. Get it over with. This tenderness is unbearable. Don't stop. Don't stop. “Hurry up and ride m–”

He's rendered mute by the wet heat of your mouth surrounding his cock.

Everything in him stills if only for a moment; the pleasure immense, deafening, blinding, terrifying, wonderful. Oh God. How could you? He almost instinctively pushes you away, because what could you possibly get from it, you fool? Why suffer for his undeserved pleasure? You surely can't enjoy it.

Surely you taste the unbearable bitterness. Surely you despise every pathetic twitch against your tongue. And he knows he needs to put a stop to it. He must. Pleasure like this is not meant for the likes of him.

But then you moan. And his mind momentarily empties.

Night presses against the glass, unable to reach him as he lies trembling in your glow. You kiss his cock like you kiss his lips; so tender, adoring, but hungry. And your hands, god your hands… one securely, possessively, lovingly holding his waist, the other wrapped around the base of his shaft, stroking him as your tongue laps and flutters voraciously.

All he can do is clamp his hand over his mouth and cry out, catching glimpses of you in the rare moments he’s able to pry open his eyes. And you are so utterly, painfully beautiful. So focused, so intent on pulling him apart, strand by fraying strand. You kiss, you lick, you suck, and moan, and God it feels so good he can’t stand it.

He’s vaguely aware of the way his legs tremble, but as if he’s watching some other wretch lost in bliss below him while he can only gulp down air to keep himself from drowning in ecstasy.

“I’m there… I’m there…”

You don’t heed his warning. In fact, it only spurs you on. Pleasure sinks its claws into his core, overwhelming, devouring, pulling cries of bliss from between his lips as he spills his seed across your tongue. He comes a second time when he feels you swallow it down, his pleasure barely subsiding after the first before he finds himself ravaged by it again.

And in the aftermath, you hold him, tender kisses landing on his thighs, his hips, his belly. So loving. You’re always so much softer with him than he deserves.

His face grows hot, tears welling on his waterline, then spilling, soaking the skin of his wrist as he covers his eyes and hopes– futilely– that you don't notice.

You raise your head, your expression maddeningly concerned. “Ryūnosuke?”

“Don't.”

But you do, of course you do. You shift to lay beside him and hold him in your arms, letting him bury his face in the curve of your shoulder as he reins in the words he so longs to whisper to your ear: don't send me back out into the dark.

“Stay with me, Ryūnosuke,” you answer as if hearing the deepest secrets of his soul.

So he kisses you in lieu of all the things he longs to say.

And as his breaths grow calm, his heart begins to ache, overwhelmed by the knowledge that you want him. He's wanted. He could stay if he would only allow it; if he could resist the night’s ceaseless pull on his leash and the constant urge to prove his strength. But he can’t, you both know it. No matter how tempting.

Akutagawa wasn't meant for your world. But in your arms, for a little while at least, he isn’t the night or the starless void, but the moon who inhabits it, full and celestial, and reflecting your light.

Thanks for reading! If you liked this please consider reblogging! It helps readers find stories and helps writers reach readers.

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flametrashiraarchive · 1 month

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Share your vision, tell us some abnormal things about the way Nikolai fucks (in reference to ur reblog)

😂😅 okay in addition to my Nikolai NSFW headcanons which talk about portal sex, I also have a few headcanons pertaining to...

Nikolai Gogol's Freaky Weird Awesome Things He Does With His Doktorskaya Kolbasa

♤ Intercrural Masturbation. Yes, he fucks his own thighs (who can blame him?) He loves to lube them up and fuck himself stupid. One portal on his dick, the other hovering a hair's breadth above the tight seam of those luscious thighs. He looks so lovely, frantically pumping his dick in and our of his portal, trying not to move his thighs while he does it, stomach muscles clenching and twitching, sweat beading down his body... ugh... so pretty.

◇ Magic tricks during sex. He loves using slight of hand and keeping you guessing. "Wanna see a magic trick? You see this vibrator? Well... now you don't!" *muffled brr brr brr sounds...* Sometimes it'll be in you, sometimes it'll be in him, sometimes he'll have made it multiply and you both get one. He'll never tell you how he does it but he gets a huge kick out of your confusion.

♡ He's also very fond of using his portals to suck his own dick. It's quite the sight to behold; the way his eyes are glued to the back of his head, the way he moans and drools so desperately around his own cock. And he does love to have you watch. It'll make his whole life if you join in.

♧ I feel it in my bones that he is an excellent ventriloquist and gives his dick a voice. Like he'll be nuts deep inside you, and then out of nowhere you'll just hear this tiny voice going "oh boy, it sure is nice in here! Sooooo slippery and warm."

♡ Also, not sex-related, but he spin-dries out of the shower and you can totally hear his большой пенис slapping his thigh like it's giving him a round of applause.

♤ After figuring out the whole sawing himself in half bit he obviously realizes he can use that to fuck you. He'll have his top half going down on you while you suck his dick. Kind of an overly-convoluted 69 but more fun! Because you get to see him split into two!! Yippee 🎉

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flametrashiraarchive · 1 month

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You’ve done Kyojuro x Boobs, but what about Shinjuro x Boobs (I mean Kyojuro’s gotta get it from somewhere)

-🌕 (moon anon)

😧 how have I not done Shinjuro x boobs omg. You're so right!

Shinjuro Rengoku x Boobs

NSFW. F!reader. Booooobs.

Shinjuro has spent far too many years of his life warring with pain.

He craves softness and solace, gentle touches, comfort.

And he finds those things with you.

Shinjuro will lie for hours in your arms, head nestled against your chest while you play with the gold and auburn peaks if his hair.

Soft, rumbly sounds of pleasure roll from his chest, which he swears are just sighs but honestly, they sound suspiciously like purrs.

He grumbles but he doesn't actually mind being teased for it. He's happy, and he never thought he could possibly feel that again. He didn't even think he was worthy of it.

But if you persist in poking the bear, you should know what to expect next...

"Purring? I'll show you purring!"

He nuzzles his face between your tits, blonde spikes tickling your chest, groaning contentedly and letting his body go limp and heavy as if you've suffocated him, heart filled by the way you laugh and tell him he's terrible.

Those playful moments are so precious to him.

And they don't stay playful for long.

Soft kisses being to linger, his big, warm hands slide around your body to ease open your top, exposing your breasts to his eager mouth.

Just a peek to begin with... he likes to savor you and pay attention to every inch of skin.

He loves the way you tangle your fingers in his hair and push him down when he teases your nipple with slow licks

Golden eyes watching you, eager to do well.

His composure rarely lasts. He gets titty-drunk pretty quickly.

Shinjuro mouths your breasts like he's trying to fit the whole thing in.

He kisses them so slow and sloppy, making your nipples glisten so prettily.

The first time he sucked your tits he came from it. The excitement, the intimacy, the sounds you made, the way you reacted to his touch. It was all too much.

You shifted your leg, brushing your thigh against his lower belly and that was all it took for him to convulse through his orgasm, muttering a string of apologies against the plush of your breast.

But now... as much as he enjoys it, he wants to do well for you. Your pleasure is his priority, and gone are the days of simply chasing his own orgasm.

He'll suck your tits for hours if you let him, tongue languid yet absolutely insatiable.

And he'll happily make you cum as many times as you like, however you want it. Fingering you, fucking you, letting you cockwarm him, letting you ride his abdomen while you're on top. Whatever it takes to get you off, he'll do it.

Shinjuro is a man who lost almost everything, and now that he has you, he has no intention of wasting a moment.

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flametrashiraarchive · 1 month

Note

please Flamey feel open to share your fukuzawa thoughts with us he's so [redacted]

Cover Ranpo's eyes please, I'm going in.

Yukichi Fukuzawa NSFW Headcanons

NSFW. F!reader. Face-sitting, cunnilingus, p in v.

In many respects, Yukichi values tradition, and romance is no exception.

Beautiful evenings watching the stars, quiet yet heartfelt declarations of his feelings, picnics beneath the sakura trees, gifts to show his adoration.

This man will treat you like royalty.

And of course, a queen needs her throne.

There's nothing he loves more than lying beneath you while you ride his face.

Slender fingers gripping your thighs, as you use his skillful mouth to get yourself off.

He adores the taste of you, the silken texture of your flesh. You're exquisite.

And he can take it for as long as you need him to. Fukuzawa isn't some silly boy desperate to cum.

He desires you, but he's wholly focused on your pleasure. He very much enjoys making you feel good.

So if you decide one orgasm isn't enough and you want to keep riding his face, he's more than happy for you to continue.

If you'd like to rest and let him take care of you, he'll roll you over and lie between your thighs, caressing your pussy with tender kisses before utterly devouring you until you tell him to stop.

He's only ever semi-erect during all this.

Make no mistake, he finds it all incredibly arousing (the fact he's at half-mast is a testament to that) but he exercises such control over his body and emotions that he won't actually get fully hard until it's necessary. That way he can truly put your needs first.

There is one exception though, one thing which gets him so hard he gets a little lightheaded sometimes...

Lingerie.

Dear god. If you were to walk into his office in a trench-coat with nothing but lacy underwear beneath, you would unleash an altogether different breed of animal.

There's just something about such pretty, delicate items of clothing, covering you, yet not.

He tries very hard to restrain himself, breaths heavy, lips pressed into a thin line as he wars with his treacherous libido. But it's a battle he'll always lose.

His favorite position is the lotus, so he can gaze up at you as you ride him. And that works very well in his office; the door firmly locked, your panties pushed aside as you bounce on his cock...

Which, by the way, is above average, curves right, long, thick, and fairly smooth.

His balls are huge and heavy too,

and very, very sensitive.

Which is useful information if you plan to disrupt his tranquility and make him fall apart.

Caress his balls, play with his nipples, kiss the dimples at the base of his spine. His moans are beautiful; that deep, commanding voice reduced to helpless sighs of pleasure.

It still takes him a long time to cum, but that just means you have even longer to make him blush and groan, to hear him thank you for feeling so good, to watch him utterly fall apart before he reaches his peak.

He throws his head back when he climaxes and likes to be as deep inside you as possible. Deep, gravelly grunts and growls through clenched teeth.

Also enjoys the sight of his cum on your stomach or your breasts (though he will always clean up after himself.)

He won't necessarily tell you, but he was certainly touch-starved before he found you. As such, he loves to cuddle with you. He curls up, holding you to his chest with his lips pressed to the top of your head.

Depending on the situation, his kisses are either soft and gentle as a breeze, or so passionate they make your legs weak. He's a big fan of holding your face between his hands, cherishing you, caressing the contours of your face and luxuriating in your beauty.

Do it to him.

He'll melt. Seriously.

All those years practicing control over his body and his breathing mean nothing when you look at him like he's precious. His breaths shutter, his skin pebbles... he simply adores it.

"Your love is beyond precious, my love," he says softly as you lie in his arms, stroking your fingers through his silky silver hair. And he means it. Your love grants solace to his weary heart, and in your arms he feels such peace, as if his hands never once had to wield a sword.

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flametrashiraarchive · 1 month

Text

Ango Sakaguchi NSFW Headcanons.

NSFW obviously. Sub!Ango. Soft dom!reader. Brief mentions of: Phone sex, masturbation, fingering, blowjobs, cunnilingus, vaginal sex, pegging, Ango wearing your underwear. F!Reader.

Time spent with Ango is precious.

Not just sentimentally, but because his free time is extremely rare.

He works so hard it's almost like he's trying to atone for something.

And he's often so exhausted it seems like the fate of the entire world rests on his shoulders.

It isn't uncommon for him to sleep in his office, calling you to apologize for spending another night away from your bed, his voice frayed and weary.

He truly appreciates your understanding

And he shows his gratitude in the in the soft whines which escape him while he jerks off and listens to you describe all the things you'll do to him when he makes it home.

He gags himself on his tie as you talk him through it, blushing at your praise when you tell him just how much you miss him and how well he's stroking his cock for you.

He loves when you tell him he's pretty, and that when he gets home you're going to let him lay back while you treat him like the immaculate pillow prince he is.

Phone sex isn't only beneficial to your relationship. Sometimes making himself cum is the only way he can switch his mind off long enough to fall asleep.

When he does finally get away from the office it often takes him a while to get his head out of work mode.

As such, he needs to lay in your arms for a little while, or share a drink with you and hear about your day. Changing out of his suit helps too.

If you're bigger than he is, he has no qualms about wearing your clothes. Behind closed doors he'll happily walk around in just his underwear and your shirt. (Or hell, your underwear and shirt.)

If not though, he'll just wear his own comfy clothes, hair swept back and slightly damp from the shower, grateful that you help provide a sanctuary where he can tune out the constant pressure.

His kisses are either brief and chaste, or slow and lazy depending on the level of privacy. He loves to be in a position where he's looking up at you and has to tilt his face up toward your lips.

But kiss him with caution; if it's been a while since his last orgasm he may very well cum just from the sensation of your tongue slipping past his lips.

You'll suddenly feel him tense as he moans wantonly into your mouth, gasping, gripping your shirt, frustration and bliss battling for dominance as he shoots his load inside his underwear.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

Please assure him it's alright.

But yes, once he's relaxed and in the mood, he will absolutely be your pillow prince.

He'll lie there, moaning his thanks as you suck his cock,

slender thighs trembling as covers his face with the pillow, always a little bashful that you can unravel him so easily.

He blushes a lot.

Can't see shit without his glasses so you have to guide his hands sometimes.

He is, however, extremely good at fingering you. He has a knack for getting the pressure and pace just right.

He loves to lay in your arms and service you with his hands, face buried against your neck as he rides your thigh and listens to your praise.

Ango is also excellent at eating pussy. He adores it when he has the energy for it. Once he's between your thighs the rest of the world ceases to exist. He loves when your thighs clamp around his head, or if you hold him down so all he can do is fuck you with his tongue. Having his entire existence reduced simply to a tool for your pleasure is extremely comforting.

Of course he'll top you if you want him to, but the poor man is exhausted. He'll give it absolutely everything he has though.

But his favorite thing is to lay back and let you use his body for your pleasure. Ride his dick or flip him over and peg him, fuck him into the mattress with his wrists handcuffed together. He moans so prettily.

If you're not in the mood or not around when he's horny, he'll use his ability, Discourse on Decadence, to read the memories of the places you've fucked him or the toys you've used on him.

It makes him feel like a voyeur, especially when he sees the memories of you fucking yourself and gasping his name when you cum.

He sleeps very soundly after orgasm, preferably curled up in your arms, clinging desperately to you even while dreaming.

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