Istg My Percentage Would've Been Solid 98% But Maths Had To Ruin Everything For Me. I Hate Maths So Much

This is getting me obsessed with Dazai AGAIN

Dazai would breed you at the bathroom stall, changing room of a dress shop, anywhere but the bed to make it more interesting. And then ask you : "Where was it that you got pregnant bella?"

- anon 👀

Just dropping here and asking for a short drabble bestie....

thank you sm for clarifying what you want from me. i be struggling sometimes. this was definitely longer than a drabble, though😭 also, welcome, new anon!! i’m glad you’re here <3

dazai is a WHORE, let me tell you.

but, only truly for his sweet, little girlfriend who he’s been frequently fantasizing about knocking up and completely claiming as his own. don’t get me wrong, though. he knows that you’re his. it’s crystal clear in the way you haul him into bed every night and tangle your limbs with his so that he can’t escape, in the swirly, illustrious initials of his name adorning the golden anklet he’d gifted to you for your one-year anniversary that you hardly ever leave the house without, and in the way you seek him out when you’ve had a rough day so that you can faceplant into his chest and gripe about everything that had gone wrong.

still, he couldn’t help but yearn to seal the deal. he desired more from you—something that, unbeknownst to him, has crossed your own mind more times than you can count. he wanted to watch your stomach swell with his seed and poke fun at you when you struggle to roll out of bed, to fondle and kiss all over your tits once they’re heavy with milk and far more sensitive to his touch than they’ve ever been, to simply tend to his pregnant wife.

so, he made it happen. he accompanied you into boutique fitting rooms under the guise of you needing his “expert” opinion on fashion, only to have your clothes pooling on the floor and you caged against the wall with his hand clapped over your parted lips and his stiffened cock stuffing your pussy in seven minutes’ time. he’d made it his personal mission to breed you, to fill you so full that by the time he’s finally pulling out, you’re overflowing and dripping down your legs in nacreous rivulets. whenever your legs caved, he held you up. whenever you whined that you couldn’t take it and wept into his palm, he pacified you with a slower pace and praises cooed into your ear, yet he never ceased his movements entirely, hellbent on fucking his load as far into your cunt as possible.

it became a common occurrence for him to breed you in as many places as possible, save for the bed, where he’d been taught is the most romantic place to conceive a child. maybe he enjoyed teasing you about how easily you let him slut you out in even the most scandalous places, or maybe he merely wanted to spice things up as much as possible. whatever the case may be, he avoided the bedroom entirely. you never really minded, though. as long as he was satisfying you, you didn’t really see any reason to object to him bundling you into a bathroom stall and fiddling with your belt or him pressing your face into the leather backseat of your own car as he railed you in the middle of a movie theater parking lot. time and time again, he filled you up over and over, damn near ruining your cervix from how many times he’d battered and bullied it with the leaking tip of his cock in his urge to get you pregnant.

you’d be a fool to be surprised when you’re rewarded with a positive pregnancy test. however, you’d be even more of an imbecile to not expect the tilting of dazai’s lips into an impish smirk and the stooping of his head to make direct eye contact with you. mf would have the gall—the absolutely audacity—to hum quizzically, eyes glimmering with faux innocence as he asks you, “how ever do you think that could have happened, bella? i only came in you a few times, didn’t i?” if you try to interject or rebuke his statement, he’ll press onward as if you hadn’t even opened your mouth. “so, when do you think it took, hm? maybe the bathroom stall—or, maybe the dressing room. i think it was the dressing room.”

I've seen alot of memes on this topic but this one is the best so far like the drawings are *chef's kiss*

Istg 😑

Dazai has affected my thoughts on so many things it’s scary ;-;

my parents would be very disappointed on me if they knew that my mental stability depends on a fictional character...

YOU'RE A FREAK LIKE ME ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

summary. your rich, older brother drops you off for your first day of college—but he doesn't leave without giving you a pep talk about boys first. | wc. 3.8k+

cw/ tw. dark content (when I say the dove is not dead but it's on life support), dubcon, naive reader, jealousy, possessive behavior, stepcest, corruption kink, pet names (ex. baby), daddy kink, age gap (reader is 19, gojo is 27), intended for 18+ readers

pairing. gojo x fem!reader

an. hello! me again because I guess I can't stay away, heh. I hope you've all been doing well, though :3 reblogs are appreciated!

You’re ten when Satoru comes into your life as your new older brother. An Ivy League sweater and soda-stained jeans hanging off of his tall, lanky frame, his face twisted into a scowl because he’d tripped over one of your Mary Janes you’d left in the middle of the entryway.

It takes several years for the looks of mild disdain to turn into him kissing your scraped palms when you try rollerblading for the first time. Another few years and he's taking you and your friends for a ride in the new sports car he gets when he graduates from business school. Slowly, you form what some might call a weird relationship—a quasi-parent in regards to yours never being around—closer in some ways that would make other siblings look twice. 

“We’re all we’ll ever need,” he’d told you after your stepfather steadily fell out of the picture and when your mother never returned from the grocery store, “just you and me.”

A promise. One you know he intends to keep.

Your brother—stepbrother, he likes to remind you as if it makes a difference—always ensures you’re taken care of. Stocks the freezer with your favorite ice lollies, gets you whatever shiny thing catches your eye, and decorates the spare room in his house for you. It’s nice laying in a big bed that’s all your own, safe and warm under a mountain of soft blankets—no limit to the lengths he’d go to make you happy.

You should feel so lucky to have ended up with such an amazing brother, and you do.

There's just one rule (because, of course, there is) that he holds over your head: no boys.

The air in Satoru’s car is tense, and you tap your fingers against your leg to the music quietly pouring through the speakers to alleviate some of the tension. It’s been like this since you told him you wanted to live in the dorms, have new life experiences, and do adult things he won’t let you do.

That last one didn’t go over well.

His long days at the office have been your only saving grace from his sour mood, or else he’s pouting and stomping around the house, clearly unhappy but unwilling to break whatever thin layer of peace is left. 

For most of the drive, you keep your gaze averted through the passenger window. It's not until the last several blocks stretch from campus that he finally speaks up. 

"You could've stayed with me, you know.”

“I’m an adult now, Toru.”

“And?” 

You nearly forget how stubborn Satoru can be when he doesn’t get his way. 

"Wouldn't living with my stepbrother take the fun of experiencing my freshman year?” you argue weakly, with your tongue petulantly poking your cheek. 

When he doesn’t say anything, you continue with a small sigh. “You also forget you'd have to drive me to classes." Because even though you’re trying to make the case of being a big girl, you’re still not ready to get your license.

"It's not that great, trust me," he tells you for the nth time since you brought up moving out. "And I wouldn't mind, kiddo. I've been doing it for how many years now?"

“But don’t you get tired of chaperoning me everywhere? Plus, what if you bring girls over? They'd be turned off by your little sister still hanging around." You ignore the little niggling ache that sprouts in your chest at the thought of Satoru being with someone.

"You wouldn't have to worry about that. Girls, I mean.” He says the words slowly as if it was stupid of you to suggest that his sex life could possibly benefit from having the house to himself, and again, that feeling grows tenfold.

But if you really think about it, you can’t recall the last time he attempted to date. Maybe back when he was still an undergrad in business school? Either way, you drop the subject because he’ll continue pressing the issue until he’s blue in the face. 

You give a little hum when the campus comes into view, your mouth spreading into a smile when you glance at him. 

And for a split moment, you’re reminded of how handsome he looks in his sunglasses and the neatly pressed bespoke suit you convinced him to buy for his birthday last year. His long fingers impatiently tap along the shiny steering wheel while he waits for the stoplight to turn green. It’s almost hard to ignore how your stomach flips pleasantly (it always is) when you catch him in moments like these. 

It’s another feeling you bury underneath years of calling him your brother—because it’d be dirty to think of him any other way.

“Well, we’re here,” you manage, throat tight all of a sudden. “There’s no turning back now.”

He leans over and places a large hand on your exposed thigh—a gesture meant to be comforting, you’re sure, but it does nothing more than make you squirm in your seat with how close his pinky is to the edge of your skirt. 

Satoru squeezes your thigh. “We can always turn around and go back home.” 

“But then you’d be late for work.”

“Baby, I’m the boss. I can be late every once in a while.”

Whatever retort you had ready fizzles into white noise the moment he uttered the word baby. 

He hasn’t called you that since he used to tease you for being a crybaby. Now, though, it feels different. Sounds different.

“Just say the word,” he continues, oblivious to the unsisterly thoughts that have taken over inside your head, “and we’ll stop by at that little sweets shop you like on our way home.”

The more he brings it up, the more you’re tempted to say yes , to tell him that you already prefer your soft bed over the standard (and most likely hard and well-used) one in your dorm. How you’ll miss his too-large breakfasts for two people and cuddling on the couch in your softest pajamas with your favorite shows playing on the TV—and you feel that he knows this, too.

But you also want to prove to him (or yourself) that you can live independently for a year.

“I’ll be fine, Toru. I’m a big girl, remember?”

You’re practically clinging to him from excitement (or maybe it's nerves) as you scope the residence halls packed with students and their families.

Satoru insists on carrying most of your luggage, even though you tell him you can take it yourself. But he laughs at you struggling to lift the bag full of shoes before he plucks it from your hands and throws it over his shoulder with the other two bags like they weigh nothing. 

It takes thirty minutes of wandering around the campus to realize you’re lost, regretting never showing up for orientation in favor of staying at home with Satoru because you’re positive you walked past the Fine Arts building twice. 

Luckily, help comes from a cute boy with pink hair sitting at a long plastic table, stacks of paper neatly piled on top, and you finally stop to ask for directions.

His smile is a mile wide when he notices you—a contagious thing that has you shyly smiling back. You quickly disentangle yourself from Satoru so as not to seem lame in front of the boy for hanging onto your older brother. "Hi, I'm Yuuji," he says cheerily. “How can I help you?”

“I can’t find my dorm.” You’re almost embarrassed with how timid you sound. 

When you give him your building and room number, Yuuji shuffles through the papers on the table. Then he says your name, pointing at a column marked with a yellow highlighter. 

You feel your face grow warm at the little smile he gives you, playing with the tiny S pendant on the gold necklace Satoru gifted you as a graduation present. "Uh, yeah, that's me."

“You just have to take the first left past this courtyard, and it’ll be the building at the very end on the right.” He hands you a map of the area—not before underlining the part that’s your dorm.

“Thanks,” you tell him sheepishly, grabbing the paper from him.

Yuuji gives you another bright smile, head tilting to the side. "I can swing by when my shift ends in forty minutes and show you around if you want?"

You don’t miss the little once-over Yuuji gives you, making you subconsciously tug at your tennis skirt. You’d only picked it out knowing how hot it’d be; now, you are all too aware of how much skin you have on display. Satoru takes that moment to make his presence known behind you by tossing an arm around your shoulders and glaring down at Yuuji, who slightly shrinks back in his chair. 

"Uh, sure, thank you," you say quickly, turning away to avoid Satoru embarrassing you further before following Yuuji's directions.

After the little exchange with Yuuji, Satoru stays quiet instead of returning to his montage of making terrible points about why living on campus is the worst idea you’ve ever had, his expression unreadable, stony even, until you open the door to your dorm.

You spin in a circle with your arms spread out. "Look how big it is, Toru!" 

He doesn't say anything, and when you look over, his lips are pressed into a thin line as he closes the door and locks it. You assume he’s probably tired from the drive, thinking about work, the suit still sitting at the cleaners— 

Those thoughts shatter into tiny pieces at your feet once he sits on your bare mattress and crooks a finger. 

“Baby, come here.”

There he goes with that nickname again, your stomach flipping without your say-so.

It’s hard to tell what he’s thinking with his glasses still covering his face, and you huff. 

“Toru—”

“I said, come here.” Something in his voice makes you hesitant to disobey. You want to please him. You like it when he’s proud of you, and unlike the months before spent arguing over nonsensical things, you care that he might actually be upset right now—because it’s not often that he’s upset with you.

Satoru watches you with an even stare as you move on shaky legs to stand between his. You’re about to open your mouth to ask him what his problem is, but his fingers grip your jaw, not hard enough to hurt but firm enough to bring your face forward.

“It wasn’t very nice of you to ignore me back there. Are you embarrassed of your brother?”

A shudder runs through you at the feel of his minty breath fanning over your lips. He’s too close for you to think clearly. 

You shake your head. “I-I’m sorry.”

“Sorry, she says.”

His brows knit together as he mimics the little nod you give. “So you’re not going to let that boy in here? He’s not going to touch what’s mine, right?”

His?  

None of the questions you should ask make it to the surface as you wonder about this new development—being his —how you’ve maybe always known but too scared to put it into words.

The hotsweetwrong feeling of his name on your tongue at night while you have your hand underneath the elastic of your sleep shorts is your own terrible secret, and the one time you smothered the word Daddy into your pillow (because you've long since weighed the idea of him filling the place of Daddy and brother) and you couldn’t look him in the eye for three days straight afterward. 

One thought layers over the other, and you part your lips to take in more air in hopes of parsing them out but dominating them all—

“Toru,” you whisper.

“Go on,” he nudges, ever patient. “Don’t be a brat. Answer me.”

“No.” It’s an effort to form a proper sentence, every syllable lodged in the back of your throat. “No, he won’t.”

“Oh, baby,” he says, low and patronizing. He clicks his tongue, head cocking to the side. “I think you’re lying.”

Part of you doesn’t know what to say or how to react. Satoru has never talked to you this way or held you in a way that a brother shouldn’t. You can feel him through your skirt, where one of his large hands keeps you planted between his legs, and the callouses on his fingers are so rough against the soft skin of your cheeks. 

Sure, you’ve thought of this before when you couldn’t sleep. But that’s all they were, thoughts, small fantasies to help take the edge off on muggy summer afternoons and restless nights—shameless secrets you kept to yourself in the safety of your soft sheets.

This, however, cracks the glass boundary that should never be crossed between family. Even if Satoru isn’t the blood of your blood and his hands stay high above your waist, his lips not quite touching yours. One slight head tilt could change that.

You cling to this small amount of reason and hope to find the same amount of conflict etched into the curve of his mouth, in the crease on his forehead, or in the hard set of his eyes; there’s none, just raw want.

Your bottom lip starts to wobble before you can stop it. You’re not upset as much as you are overwhelmed. “Toru, why are you being so mean?”

“Because you’re mine, baby.” The pad of his thumb smooths over your cheek. “And I have to get that through your pretty little head.” 

Then he brings your mouth down to his, licking away the little squeak that falls from your lips. His teeth catch your bottom lip, drawing it into his mouth and kissing you in the heart-stopping way you usually see in movies. 

There’s another soft sound that escapes your throat when he pulls you into his lap, your thighs falling on either side of him, barely balanced by your hands on his broad shoulders. His fingers pull apart the tiny buttons on your blouse until it’s falling open to the sides to reveal your baby pink lacey bralette. 

“Cute,” he mumbles against the curve of your jaw, and you wonder if he’s also thinking about the time he went with you to buy it. 

You whine when his fingers find your nipples through the sheer material, rolling them between deft fingers until they’re flushed and sensitive to the touch. “Daddy!”

It takes you a full moment to realize what you’ve done: how it easily slipped between your teeth in a way it shouldn’t have, just from a few simple touches—not that you could have helped it. Regardless, you feel heat crawl up your neck and his thumb hooking under your chin.

“Say that,” he rasps, jaw clenched, “again.”

And when he drags your hips down against the prominent bulge in his neatly pressed pants, you’re sure the sound of you moaning the word Daddy is loud enough to be heard past the door.

“Fuck,” he breathes, gaze tilting down to where your bodies meet. He pulls you closer, bucking his hips against yours and, this time, bumping into your clit.

“Right there, right there.”

He glances up at you, mouth tilted up ever so slightly. “Yeah? Does that feel good?”

You nod vigorously, tears that had been clumping in your lashes finally falling. 

Satoru thumbs them away. “I bet you’re wet, baby. Just from me playing with these pretty tits, huh?”

You’re positive he can feel the wet heat leaking through your underwear, staining his suit. And you can’t say anything other than whimper in embarrassment. 

“Poor thing,” he croons. “How about I make it better, okay?” 

He brings a hand down between you, and it feels like a little shock runs through you at the feel of him running a finger over the damp fabric of your panties under your skirt—easily finding the pulsing little bundle of nerves there. 

“O-oh,” you gasp. Your hands tighten around his shoulders, nails biting into the expensive material of his jacket. “M-more, please.”

“So polite. You like it when Daddy rubs your little clit?” he hums, tongue swiping across your shuddering flesh. “Can you handle more if I give it to you?”

At the first shake of your head, he’s sliding your panties down, helping you sit up on trembling legs until the delicate fabric drops to the floor. 

“Look at you,” he runs a thumb through your wet slit, spreading your puffy lips and smearing the slick that's gathered there with imprecise little circles. “All soft and wet. You’re so good when your Daddy plays with you, huh?”

You’re too focused on his finger tracing up to your clit and down to your entrance to answer—shocked at how different Satoru’s fingers feel from your smaller ones. How they bring goosebumps to your skin and make your back arch, how no boy has ever touched you like this—not that your brother has ever really given them a chance to try. 

There’s a mix of shame and something else in your gut that the one making you feel this way isn’t just any boy. The problem is that you want this with someone you shouldn’t, and you’re sure no one can give it to you the way he can.

The moment his finger finally sinks inside you to the first knuckle, you jolt in his lap with a choked moan. “Daddy.”

He starts to pump his finger in and out of you, sucking a spot into the underside of your jaw that’s meant to mark. “There you go, baby,” he kisses over it, adding his middle finger to join the first.

They’re easily thicker than your own—two of them feeling like three—touching a soft patch deep inside you that has you squealing and squirming on his lap. Your shaky breaths and the sound of Satoru fingering your cunt fills your room, and you’d be embarrassed if not for the fluttering in your stomach.

And just as you’re about to ask him to make you cum, his fingers slip out of you.

“Not yet,” he says with a smirk.

The whine dies in your throat while watching him unbuckle his belt and tug down his pants to reveal a cock that belongs in porn. It’s thick and long, twitching and leaking from the purpling head. There’s no way it will fit, and you don’t realize you said this aloud until Satoru chuckles.

“It will trust me.” 

You cry out when he presses the velvet tip against your clit, until he drags it down, parting you open over and over again to coat himself in the mess between your legs. Then he holds himself at your entrance.

“Go on,” Satoru groans at the feel of your dripping cunt fluttering against him, teeth gritted, and pulse jumping in his neck. “Slide down on it.”

Gnawing on your lip, you try, you really do, but you feel like he’s stretching you to your limit, splitting you in two just from the tip pressing into you alone. Shaky arms and thighs burning to keep you from sinking too fast on his cock.

Your breath sticks in your throat as you slide up his thick length, and then it comes out in one large exhale as you stretch yourself down on him again.

“I-I can’t,” you whimper, huffing. “S’too big.”

“What would those guys say if they knew you didn’t know how to take cock, huh?” he teases, but there’s an edge to his words that swarm your stomach with butterflies and make your eyes well up in humiliation. “Trying to be a big girl, yet you can’t even do this.”

“I’m trying,” you hiccup, wiggling your hips and gasping when he slips in another half-inch.

He grips your hips in large hands, “Here, lemme help. Hold still...Fuck. Fuck—there you go, baby.”

Your eyes roll back when he presses into the hilt, and you can do nothing more than hold on as he starts to bounce you onto his fat cock—working you open until you’re just a pulsing thing for him to use. You clench down hard around him on a particular thrust that makes you see white dots, and Satoru twitches inside you with a feral groan.

"God, baby, look at you," he growls, sucking another mark into your right breast. “So fuckin’ filthy for letting me ruin you like this, letting me stretch this pussy until it’s only fit for me.”

You sob a garbled series of yesyesyes and DaddyDaddyDaddy.

A knock on the door jolts you out of your haze, but he only holds you against him tighter as you try to squirm away—the grip on your hips almost bruising. And his thrusts turn rough and quick at the mere fact that the person on the other side can hear him ruining you for anybody else.

“I’m not stopping until you cream on my cock. I want them to hear how good your Daddy makes you feel.”

Then he reaches down to thumb at your clit and—

You break.

Wrapping your arms around his shoulders, hands clawing at his back, you release a moan that rings in your ears. Satoru fucks you through the wave cresting in your belly while you shake in his arms, telling you how good you are against your ear until he cums, too, hot and thick inside you. 

And again, you’re reminded of how handsome he is as his jaw falls slack and white strands of hair messily fall onto his forehead.

After a moment, his lips trail kisses from the tops of your breasts to the hollow of your throat, rasping, “This is my pussy. Nobody else gets to touch it. You understand?”

Tired but sated, you nod.

He helps you straighten your skirt and button your shirt, kissing your forehead as he stuffs your ruined underwear into the pocket inside his jacket.

A sniffle, his big hand smoothing the hairs away from your face just as you slowly drift through the vast sea of fucked-out bliss and back to your body. “Toru…take me home.”

The smile that slowly splits across his face gives you the smallest inkling that he'd planned for this to happen all along. You were just slow to catch up.

"Stay here. I'll go move the car," he says as he leaves your dorm with the same bags he carried there and his cum still dripping down the inside of your thighs, smirking at the blushing boy with pink hair who still has his hand raised to knock on your door.

...and Yuuji remained there, confused and horny. Thank you for reading:3 I hope you have a lovely day!

『03』 ブルーロック: blue lock recs

冴糸師: sae itoshi

lost to time by @syriiina

nostalgia. it’s delicate but potent. “nostalgia” literally means “the pain from an old wound” in greek. it’s the twinge in your heart far more powerful than memory alone – a feeling of a place where we ache to go again. but in sae’s case, it’s the painful ache in his chest to return to someone that’s already been buried by the sands of the past; the yearning for someone that’s already been lost to time. notes: this fic emotionally destroyed me; heavy angst paired with audio recordings; basically the most gut-wrenching combination ever; smooth chronological plot development; encapsulates the dichotomous pain and pleasure of love; i felt like my heart was healing and hurting at the same time

merry go round by @syriiina

what if you were given another chance? another chance to say all the things you’ve wanted to say, cry all the tears you couldn’t and hear the voice of the person you’ve cherished all your life? sae itoshi was given that chance. just one more chance for your birthday that he’ll never get to spend with you. just another chance at goodbye. notes: at this point this author needs to pay for my therapy; examining the process of grief; almost dreamy and hallucination-inducing atmosphere; idea of letting go; new beginnings; childhood nostalgia; sequel to first fic

to my first love / to my last love by @by-moonflower

when you agreed to date itoshi sae in mid-october of 1993, you never imagined he'd be your first love—whose presence would continue to linger in your life, hauntingly, even if a year, two, or ten came to pass. notes: high school sweethearts to exes to lovers again; examines insecurities of girlhood; idea of love being a process of trying and trying again; reader discovers herself before she discovers others; happy ending; pre-2000s nostalgia; montage/vignette style

come out and haunt me by @alaboadoa

sae is 13 years old when he moves to madrid. his temporary apartment is old and cheap, and worst of all it's haunted. but he finds your company better than nothing, even if you do tend to knock all of his belongings over. notes: incredibly well-written study of sae’s character especially as a pre-teen; honestly would've never expected a ghost AU; this author has such a beautiful mind; finding commonality in exclusion and lack of belonging; a unique rendition of right person, wrong time; loving someone but still not being enough

hungry hearts by @sanzu-sanzu-sanzu

You are Itoshi Sae’s Manager. Fielder of dumb reporter questions and keeper of his schedule. Among many others. notes: their dynamic reminds me of miguel and lyla from the spiderverse or that one kdrama about secretary kim; sae denying that he is in love yet noticing every little detail about reader; their witty banter is so funny; gradual realization of feelings; honestly i think this is how canon sae would fall in love

find love by @tenjiiku

“Mama?” “Yes, little bunny?” You call her by such a name because when she was a toddler she had somewhat of an obsession with playing leap frog with others. The original pet name had been little frog, but it had caused a rather large tantrum, so you never used such a term with her. Her father suggested it. It was the only thing he made that you still used. notes: i don't even need a rec to tell you how good this is; nuanced portrayal of divorce; honestly hit too close to home; idea of marriage not being endgame; slight hint of second-chance romance; love that never fades; sae being emotionally oblivious; for the hopeless romantics

the hanshin expressway by @tenjiiku

He remembers how sad you had looked — gentle, sweet and kindhearted you. And he remembers feeling the urge to hold you. Because it was the first time he voluntarily felt such a gripping emotion. He recalls the way your nimble fingers trembled around your second mug of jasmine tea, and he looks back on the way you turned to him with a forced smile, as if it was the easiest thing to do — to bear yourself and all of your little idiosyncrasies in front of him, no walls, no windows. Just you and him. You, reprimanded for your selfless displays of kindness. Him, admonished for his lack of expressing his. It was hard not to let himself fall into you. notes: literally even the premise of this fic is not for the weak; amnesia tropes are the death of me; prose is so tender and beautiful; sae being the one who now teaches the reader how to love; role reversal; reliving grief; idea of being unable to equate the past and present versions of the person you love; people change and you are helpless to stop it; being unable to return to what once was

rezkinoff / prelude by @tenjiiku

07.01. It is the first day of my break. I am going to journal both my fitness levels and caloric intake because my nutritionist has told me to. I will also note a daily observation so as to look back on my time with certainty that I have spent it properly and because you have told me to. Today’s observation: the heels of my feet are growing calluses and I found a single strand of white hair, still on my head. I need better shoes and hair dye. Perhaps something is in the water. — Itoshi. S notes: one of the most authentic portrayals of sae’s character; sae being emotionally inept but slowly learning; aging but as a graceful process; daily observations of life; the epistolary style makes it a smooth reading experience; ambiguous enough for interpretation

us, again by @ode2rin

in which: itoshi sae returns to the only place on earth he vows to never set foot again. notes: one of the best second-chance romance fics out there; i still think about this fic at night; just the right balance of hurt and comfort; sae and reader both messing it up and finding each other again; dilemma of both loving and hating a person; has a coffee shop scene and a dramatic airport reunion so what is there not to like

scraps by @itoshiexx

you give him all you have. it's time to collect the scraps before there is nothing left. notes: short but packs the most brutal emotional punch at the end; idea of love not being enough; sae pushing reader away; miscommunication; hurt people hurt people; giving up on someone you love most; falling out of love

conversations by @saerins

he’s back home, and you recall the times you’d spoken to him. all the calls you made, then all the calls he made, and then all the times it went to voicemail. notes: i was having a good day until i read this and started violently sobbing; honestly it's a pretty accurate reflection of fame and the troubles it brings for both you and sae; the voicemails crushed something within me; i was grieving for a relationship that never existed; please read when you want a good cry; thank god for the alternate ending here

do stars return? by @hanyjar

your childhood friend leaves, and you question if he’ll ever come back. notes: the way that i ate this shit up with no crumbs. sae itoshi and star metaphors go hand in hand. picture this: you and sae grow up and then he leaves you and then he comes back again. now amplify that and add childhood angst and a sprinkle of poetic language. you're welcome.

凛糸師: rin itoshi

the first snow by @tenjiiku

It’d take him 3 lonely nights for Rin to admit to himself he wanted to see you again. He wonders if he torments you as much as you do him. notes: two-shot that changed the trajectory of my life; this author absolutely nails the slice of life genre every single time; finding beauty in the mundane; realistic depictions of modern love; somewhat slow-burn; dialogue and internal conscience are beautifully written

riptide by @misssleepless12

Concerned with how things were left after U-20, Isagi goes to visit Rin before the end of break. They address it. Sort of. notes: not necessarily a rinsagi shipper but this fic has a stunningly accurate portrayal of MLM romance; no sense of false idealism or over-romanticization; rin and isagi’s natural dynamic is perfectly captured; strong imagery and cultural setting of kamakura; rin’s sarcasm is on point

カイザ: michael kaiser

five dates and a proposal by @by-moonflower

all it takes is five dates for kaiser to fall in love with you and you in him, much to your surprise. notes: this fic actually made me believe in love; strong female character; fear of love and gradual opening up; basically what it feels like to fall in love with someone you never thought you’d actually love; realistic depiction of insecurities

color me blue by @saekkas

in which you need to wrestle your boyfriend, michael kaiser, out of his bed to fulfill a promise: re-dye his hair. notes: domestic fluff; michael being childishly cute; imperfections as perfections; heart-warming snapshot of established couple life; never fails to make me smile when i reread it

Dream A Little Dream - G.S.

Synopsis. For the strongest, it was a privilege to dream. Especially when his dream is you. 

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. fem! reader, established relationship, implied sex, fluff, soft and sleepy Satoru, very slight manga spoilers, just Satoru loving on you and your future together.

Word count. 0.8k

A/N. Probably gonna delete. Art by @_3aem on X.

It’s times like this - when the quiet morning sun is just peeking in through your window, in the still haze of your naked body peacefully intertwined with his that Satoru allows himself to dream.

He dreams of everything - from the strawberry lollipops he snuck into the Gojo Estate as a kid to the time when he forgot Megumi at the mall. 

But mostly, he dreams of you.

Eyes still veiled with sleep, wandering the expanse of your face, a hand tenderly running along the features he’s mapped a thousand times over. Thumb softly catching on the corner of your mouth, slightly quirked up, he wonders what you’re dreaming of. 

Do you dream of him too?

Because Satoru’s favorite dream will always be the one with you. 

Your laughter in the morning light as he smothers you in kisses, how it rings in his ears and carries through his day. If there’s one thing Satoru knows, it’s that he would burn this entire godforsaken world down to keep it there. Even in the face of violence, his favorite song.

Reaching out to softly kiss your fingers, the hands which hold his heart and his future. 

Unhurriedly, he caresses that empty spot on your ring finger. Soon. 

Little black box burning a hole into that hidden corner of his dresser, Satoru absentmindedly wonders whether you would go for a flowing gown or more of a sleek design? He dreams of the delicate lace under his fingers, the gentle sway of the fabric and the blue bouquet to match his eyes. 

A huff of laughter, followed by a melancholic twinge of his heart, finds its way into the still morning air as he imagines the way Nanamin would have been crying very reluctant tears of joy.

Long fingers deftly run along the expanse of your body, drawing patterns on the marks he’s left to remember him by, resting on your stomach. He dreams of a world where he is there to see you run around with a few white-haired bundles of joy. All of them with your personality of course - he couldn’t handle having to fight with some mini versions of himself over you.

And they may be closed for now, but he dreams of the twinkle in your eyes as they meet his, the promise of a beautiful day ahead. 

He can only pray that they always look at him that way. Even when the shine of your eyes dim with age, the chapters of your story showing on your face. The dream where you two complain about your first gray hairs - him cackling about you finally joining the club. 

It might not seem like it, but in the blood and merciless gore of jujutsu, a part of the strongest always thinks back to the heaven he’s found in you. 

The heaven where you both cry over your kids leaving the nest, and later he’d fervently deny his teary eyes - secretly wiping the tears off his glasses. 

Where you spend quiet evenings on the porch, wrapped in blankets and reminiscing about the adventures of your youth. Did he ever tell you that story where he lost the tickets to a movie and had to sneak into the theater with Shoko and Suguru? Boy, did he get an earful from Yaga that day.

The dream where he’s surrounded by you and all your warmth. In the cold pain that comes with being the strongest, he can only hope that a day will come where his strength - rather than being used to kill - holds your future with ready arms. 

Ripping his eyes off of your face, they wander the room bathed in the soft morning glow. Mapping the empty spaces which you two would fill with pictures. The walls which would echo with laughter and whisper tales of serenity.

First days at school, graduations, all the friends and foes lost along the years - and one big picture of you in that beautiful white dress, right in the middle. All beauty and grace. His beautiful bride. A dream where his last name is a melody not a death sentence.

He dreams he’s there to fetch your walking cane to stroll through your little garden with a cup of his famous morning tea. He’d hold your hand as he always does, both trembling and frail with age. He dreams he would kiss the beautiful wrinkles on the corners of your eyes, only for you to push him away bashfully complaining about the grandkids seeing.

Blue eyes faded and the joy of the years showing on his face, not as strong or as vibrant as he once was, limitless nothing more but a trick to make his grandkids smile. Not a weapon, but just your Satoru. He hopes you’ll still be there to love him.

And he dreams he’s there.

He wants to be there. 

“Satoru?”

Satoru’s heart lurches as those beautiful eyes crack open, still foggy with sleep. A glimpse of that smile he found heaven in, and you pull him closer. Understanding. Skin heated against his, no one but you two in this quiet world.

All is well in your little heaven.

Today, the strongest will face Ryomen Sukuna, the fate of the world burdened upon his shoulders. But for now, Satoru is held fragilely in your arms.

For now, he is yours. 

He only dreams he can be forevermore. 

A/N. Tony writing something that isn’t smut??? The world is coming to an end.

Plagiarism not authorized.

won't you kiss my tears away, i look pretty only for you anyway.

tw ; dilf!dazai, daddy issues, fem!reader, older!dazai, a bit of a snippet from my dilf!dazai fic xoxo.

mmm . . . imagine sitting on dilf!dazai's lap and whining as you try to make him stop from kissing and sucking on your neck to leave lovebites, not putting any actual effort cause one -- you are tired from having a breakdown and second, you don't really want dazai to stop.

imagine dazai's tongue licking you neck before he begins to suck that spot, that one sensitive spot you have, it makes you whine as you complain to him to not leave marks but the arrogant man only chuckled, not stopping.

you dug your nails into his shoulders as you whined at him to stop, the sweet pain causing him to let out a small breathy moan mixed with a hiss. he didn't stop, he only bit you harder as a response.

in the middle of the night when everyone is sleeping, you are straddling dazai's lap, in his office as you whine and whimper in pleasure at his bites and kisses.

you gasped as you dug your nails a bit too hard into his shoulder, immediately you pulled back your hand and stuttered out a shakily apology. your emotions were still high from your recent breakdown and so, your eyes got teary again at the thought of how much it must've pained him.

dazai's expression grows panicked and worried as he cupped your cheek, tilting your head up to press a kiss on your wobbling chin and and at the tip of your nose.

"shh. shh, i am fine sweetheart. it was just a scratch. doesn't even hurt. you didn't hurt me, okay? don't cry. I'm fine." he cooed as he continued to press soft kisses on your cheeks, chin, tip and bridge of your nose, between your eyebrows and over your eyelids with each word he spoke.

you don't answer as you know if you try to speak, only more broken sobs will leave your lips so you sniffle, continuing to look and nod at dazai who is oh so gentle with you.

you lean up to press your lips against his for a shaky and messy kiss, pressing your lips against his even more to feel as much as you can of his lips moving against your's, his tongue teasing you, his sighs and breaths which hits your own lip or mouth.

you look down after the kiss, unbuttoning his black shirt and pushing it down his shoulder (the one you were digging your nails into) to see small beads of blood merged into his bandages.

"sorry osamu." you whisper shakily, leaning down to kiss his shoulder, ". . really, 'm sorry." you continue as you kiss his shoulder with each apology you mutter.

dazai hums, brushing your hair back with his fingers. he leans forwards to kiss the top of your head, muttering, "go ahead and cry all you want little girl."

Me asf

i watched bungou stray dogs, which led me to vanitas no carte, and then i found yuukoku no moriarty.

conclusion: i enjoy animes with detectives, vampires, and the rivals-to-partners-but-still-rivals trope