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soukoku piece i have been working on as a vent

content warnings: mentions of alcohol, suicidal thoughts, and emotions in general

reader gets to decide the type of relationship. because op is a little shit and left things rather ambiguous! hope you like it ~

(Filed under the cut for length)

Nakahara Chuuya

• Doesn't mind if his partner is timid or boisterous. Seeing as he has worked with both kinds before he doesn't see a problem with using this experience with potential partners.

• Very patient. Willing to take time out of his day to listen to you if and when you have things you would like to discuss.

• A good listener but disastrous at supplying advice that does not have a very violent undertone.

"Ah well, I can show them what it's like to be in pain if you'd like?"

"I think I can do that all on my own, it's appreciated though."

• Genuinely intrigued by your interests whether they align with his or not. Very supportive of your hobbies.

"You collect these?"

"Yeah, it's a bit embarrassing.."

"Oh no, they're cute. Do what makes you happy. It never matters what other people think."

• Acts as a caretaker whenever you think you may need one. Allowing you to delve into whatever vice that helps to keep the thoughts away. Several times he has allowed you to raid his wine cellar and cry on his shoulder.

• Keeps tabs on physical, verbal, and emotional barriers. Your gloves that almost match his own do not go unnoticed. The way you flinch before, during, and after a colleague touches you in a friendly manner is one of the first things he picked up on. And so, he refrains from touching you at all unless it is entirely necessary.

"I'm not weak." You murmur after an evening of his eyes constantly examining you.

"Never said you were."

• Seemingly out of nowhere he will gift you things that he thinks you will enjoy. Ranging from expensive bracelets, necklaces, gloves, and flowers. His only excuse being 'They reminded me of you. How could I not get it for you?' A sly smile playing at his lips.

"Am I allowed to do the same?"

"Give me things? I'd rather you didn't but I suppose I cannot stop you."

Osamu Dazai

• A bit of a hypocrite. Though suicide-crazed he will drop everything if you so much as mention the topic. He can joke around with you about it but can always tell when you using it as a coping mechanism instead of fun.

• Being experienced in his antics of a 'refreshing and painless' suicide he will go into full detail about techniques with you. Gauging reactions based off your body language is easy enough. Having been in the mafia and now the dectective agency has taught him everything he needs to know.

"Are you going to commit a sweet death with me today, lover?"

"I'll get back to you on it."

• Depression, anxiety, stress, and everything few and far between are all things Dazai has managed with for quite a while. And so when it all gets too much he will whisks you away from boring paperwork to try and cheer you up. Revealing that he was stolen money from Kunikida's wallet to buy you takoyaki and then red bean taiyaki make you laugh. And your laughter warms his heart even while you reprimand him breathlessly.

"I think it's funny how people say, 'you know you can talk to me right?' It truly makes the other person feel like a burden. Shouldn't it be natural."

Even if it's meant to be a question you have known Dazai long enough to know that it a statement. A rhetorical question if anything.

"That's what you are saying though. Dazai, I know. But we both know it is always much easier said than done."

"As long as you know, darling."

"I trust you to know the same, Osamu."

• Before meeting Dazai you were not aware how ridiculous the feeling of bandages rubbing against your face would feel. Especially after they have been wet with tears.

"Do you feel better, love?"

You huff while sniffling then managing a dry laugh through your stuttering ribcage.

"You know I don't."

"And you know what I mean."

".. A little but I feel worse as well."

"That's how these things go I'm afraid."

You also find that you don't mind when his bandaged fingers sift through your hand. They lull you to sleep at times which is something your body is always craving aside from the warmth from another human being.

• Afternoons that slowly meld into nights and early mornings lying on Dazai's chest become more and more frequent. You navigate yourself around his messy apartment. Clothes, broken glass, suicide pamphlets, prose, and poetry strewn left and right. In due time you have several sets of clothes to change into on his dresser. A toothbrush in his stainless steel cup that he keeps on his sink. And a collection of socks decorated with kittens that he has gifted to you.

• With your permission while he lies on his back, head hanging off the bed, he will recite poetry. It brings a small smile to your face when he stutters and clears his throat repeatedly while reading the more romantic works.

Slowly his apartment is cleaned up by you. Glass is swept up and properly disposed of. Books are tucked away in his bedside drawers. Clothes are cleaned then stuffed away because folding clothes helps neither of you. The refrigerator is stocked with fresh fruit and vegetables just in case either of you would like to cook.

• Eating with Dazai is, in one word, engaging. You have never minded but to this day it amuses you to see a man play with his food the way he does.

"Look it's drowning. Oh no, save him!"

"Mm, maybe he wants to join our club huh?"

"Oh! You're right, how careless of me."

And so you watch inquisitively, as you hold your head in your palms, while Dazai tries to revive a grain of rice dipped in green tea.

• Walks in the evening while the warmth of the atmosphere Dazai sets around you feels almost euphoric. Reluctantly you will accept his trenchcoat as the wind whips violently against your body. It smells like him which happens to make you feel rather happy. Though you feel a little bad as the back end does drag along the floor despite your best intentions of holding the fabric between your fingers.

• Dazai is not too fond of tea or water. But will give in if you hold your own dehydration over his head. With a very evidentiary petulance in his actions the bottle is gulped down in a matter of seconds.

"Thank you darling."

"Oh, of course. Anything for you, my sweet." The menace in his voice dripping hot and fast like fresh blood on a blade.

[futilescript]

chamomile

Pairing: Shin soukoku

Rating: G, it's fluff

Word count: 450

"What do you mean by that?"

It's about five. Morning light is just beginning to break through the windows casting dim shadows. Birds are chirping, traffic is starting up as citizens head to work, and they should be sleeping.

It's harder to pretend when this exhausted.

Two pairs of weary eyes fixate gazes at the low-hanging cremé ceiling. The chill of the morning seeps in, sticks to the walls, makes itself a guest alongside them.

"I'm not too sure. It's new."

A small smile tugs at Atsushi while a thrumming sits comfortably in his chest. Of all the things Akutagawa is good at - it's surprising him.

"Does it feel nice?"

It's lovingly juvenile to ask. Curious and curiouser is his partner.

Akutagawa pinches wisps of grey hair as they lie side by side on the floor. They are both cold but the little contact is enough. Cheeks warmed by the company of each other.

"Sometimes."

Atsushi turns to meet grey eyes already intent on devouring his existence. A bit intense albeit it forces his body to shiver in a way that he doesn't seem to hate. Waves of warmth mist over his body as he smiles brighter.

Things are different with him. Akutagawa makes him feel a multitude of feelings and it's bothersome when he feels them all at once. But maybe it'll all be okay.

"I agree."

In a gentle manner Akutagawa places his hand on Atsushi's neck to close the space between them. Their noses brush while their foreheads bump.

"Oh, is that right?"

Maybe it will be a ways away for him to reciprocate properly. But Atsushi doesn't mind waiting. It's endearing because in a way, and maybe it's presumptuous, he feels it already.

It's subtle and very tricky. It's the way he says his name sometimes, soft but with a caring edge when he isn't doing such a good job of taking care of himself. The way Akutagawa breathes his name - three syllables - into his phone when he calls him after getting off work. His not so subtle way of knocking his knuckles against Atsushi's fingers only to look away when the tiger gives in and holds his hand. Because Akutagawa would never do it on his own at least not yet. Wrapping his scarf around Atsushi even though he himself is freezing. Buying Atsushi little trinkets for his house keys.

Even if at times he can seem unloving Atsushi understands that he is trying. And he's so proud of him.

"Don't push it."

There's a split second of irritation before teeth nibble at his cheek. A gentle smile graces his sharp features as Atsushi brings a hand up to cup his cheek.

Yeah, he's trying.

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:::^^^^^^)))))))))))))))

blocked!

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im doing it thot

god, you're the worst. how dare you read my shitty fucking writing. the audacity!i should block you.

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high on you (soukoku)

Pairing: Soukoku

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Brief mentions of drugs 

  Chuuya is stressed. Was stressed? He was, maybe, he can't tell or remember anymore anyway so does it even matter? Why is he thinking about having been stressed when there is a fucking cock inside him?

Shoveling a fistful of fries, however, is something he does know and does while on top of Dazai. While Dazai is in him, blurring the line between fiction and non-fiction. His mouth isn't cooperating, slackened and suddenly his motor functions failing him miserably. The salty fries fall unceremoniously from his mouth, god he's trying, but they fall onto Dazai's bare torso.

Yet Dazai's too fucked to even care. Honey eyes blown comically wide enough to be scary while he pants.

It's hot. So fucking hot. And Dazai's hands are in his hair, demanding and insistent. Pulling him this way and that while rocking up into him.

Time has either slowed or sped up but he doesn't care. All he cares about is chasing this high, and maybe drinking some water. His hips barely move as Dazai rakes blunt nails down his back.

How did he get here? All he can remember is the complete agony of having to study.

I'm tired, he whines/thinks/sighs all at once.

"Yeah, I fucking know." Dazai responds and suddenly Chuuya's self conscious. Red in the face with embarrassment.

If he heard that what else could he be hearing? God, he wishes his brain would just shut the hell up. He wants some fucking chicken nuggets and wine. His mouth is dry, probably from the bong hits but he lurches forward, leaning his forehead onto Dazai's shoulder.

Dazai looks slightly scared as they fall backwards from Chuuya's sudden wish to be kissing him. Drinking in the terrible and disgusting saliva that his mouth is deprived of trying to gain sustenance from it. 

Chuuya's legs wobble terrified out of his mind that they'll freefall into forever- into oblivion. Because he forgets that they are on a matress. Dazai hits it with a noise of irritation. His lips taste disgusting - smoke, weed, and energy drinks. But he's kissing him like there's no tomorrow, sloppy and needy.

Hands come up and clasp around his neck, sending his anxiety through the roof.

(If he chokes me I won't be able to breathe and then I'll die and then what? And then fucking what?)

Heartbeat hammering is his chest as he tries to get away from the grasp only to end up doing nothing but looking like he's on the verge of tears. Dazai must see the alarm as his fingers go down to grasp at his cock instead. A whine escapes him but the alarm stays. Ringing in his mind while his nerves attack the fire building in the pit of his stomach. It feels good. Really fucking good. Chuuya could die like this. Absolutely. In Dazai's arms. His eyes and hips roll while the noises that leave his mouth crescendo.

His voice doesn't sound right.

Is he making the right noises? Does he sound desperate? Will Dazai see through him?

Dazai is salivating enough for the both of them and damn his edibles must have been fucking fantasic. Hips move in time with Chuuya's lips and the fingers on his cock make him shudder. Drool is dripping down their chins, but neither of the two care.

"Gonna.." Slack jawed and teary eyed, lips pressed too hard against Dazai's - he can't find himself finishing his sentence because he's already forgotten what it is he was going to say.

Gone with the wind, he chuckles to himself.

Terror runs in his veins - white lightening - as he clasps a hand around his mouth.

Is he being too loud? Cops are going to show up, they'll get a noise complaint or worse arrested.

Dazai groans against his throat while rutting up into him. Despite it all he is a lot more decent than Chuuya right now.

"Stop thinking, god." Dazai chastises as if reading Chuuya's thoughts and his heartbeat is pounding too hard in his chest. Threatening to put him in his grave. It might as well explode. Maybe he's said it all out loud again. He's dizzy but the warmth in his stomach is fighting for control of his paranoid mind.

"C.. C.." Chuuya trails off again and he has half a mind to think that that it is his cum on Dazai's fist - his stickiness that an all too familiar shade of mauve is licking off of stupidly bandaged fingers but he's getting a little too tired to thoroughly think it through. Right now he's afraid he's going to pass out entirely.

He falls forward again as his eyelids grow so so heavy.

The last thing he hears is a "are you fucking kidding me right now" right by his ear.

He falls asleep on Dazai's shoulder with a content smile.

[futilescript]

aLRIGHT LEMME ORDER A “now you owe me a kiss” OR WHATEVER THAT PROMPT IS ON THE PROMPT LIST WOTH AKU X READER BECAUSE ID DIE OF HAPPINESS PLS THANKS BYE THANKS AGAIN

It’s been so long, I’m sorry. Thanks for the request haha.

I am so terrible at this, I’m so sorry. I’m still fairly new to the x reader and fluff genre.

(Under the cut because for convenience)

“Ryuu.” You warn, firmly.

Slender loving arms encircling your waist, sharp chin digging into the space between your shoulder and neck. The warmth against your back is all too distracting as you fumble through your phone. Your fingers begin to shake, skittering uselessly, aimlessly.

“Sweetheart?” Akutagawa whispers into your ear, earning a jolt.

“I can’t focus like this.” Warm hands travel to the sides of your waist and you can’t help but melt into the touch.

“Consider focusing on me instead then.” The whisper assaults your senses raising the hairs on the back of your neck with a shiver.

“I’m busy.” You try which elicits a huff directly onto your neck.

“Too busy to play with me?” He asks with a definite pout in his tone, knowing how to push your buttons. You sigh shakily as he noses at the nape of your neck. Soon open-mouthed kisses are being pressed into the skin just below your chin.

“You owe me a kiss now.” Akutagawa jests while mouthing the words just behind the sensitive skin of your ear.

Turning around in his embrace proves to be rather easy as he welcomes it. He pulls you flush against his body with a pleased smile.

“But, do you deserve a kiss?” You counter with a playful quality.

His eyebrows furrow while he tries his best to form a pout with his lower lip. You hate that it brings butterflies to your weak body.

“I think I do, you were neglecting me.”

“Neglecting? You were distracting me!” You accuse resulting in a chortle of breath on his behalf.

“I’m not a distraction. I’m the one thing that should always have your attention. You know how I get when I don’t have your attention.” You hate to admit it but he is absolutely right. Inattention makes Akutagawa a dull and irritated boy.

“One.” You offer, as if cutting a deal with the Devil. There’s a glint in his eyes that you don’t quite trust but you lean foward to close the space.

Ryuunosuke scoffs as he moves to hold your face within his hands, fingers caressing your neck and cheeks. He steps forward until you nearly trip backwards. It takes a few seconds for you to realize that he’s backed you up into a wall.

His lips are tainted with the strong taste of black tea. A comforting taste as he explores your mouth with a lazy pace.

“Thank you.” Akutagawa whispers against your lips before pulling away to plant a chaste kiss on your forehead. “See what you get when you listen?”

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:^)

Vile, vile, child.

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praise kink???????¿¿¿¿?¿¿?

Kei, d a r l i n g. You come into my house and-

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Hello there! I was wondering if I may have a shout out? I’m a new bsd writing blog @bsd-babes-imagines and it would be a big help. Thanks so much!!

Yeah, you got it, darling.@bsd-babes-imagines

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Could you do head cannons for Chuuya with an S/O who is WAAAAAAAAY taller than him? （＾－＾）

Here are the headcanons for Chuuya and a significantly taller lover. No specific height but I was aiming for anywhere between 5'9 - 6'0 while writing these (since Chuuya is only 5'3). This was a fun request, thank you Nonny!

Warnings: 6th bullet point mentions violence (not to his s/o), Sexual content (NC-17 at best), and cameos from the Akutagawa siblings.

* Keep in mind that clothes have no gender

Chuuya bites back his tongue a lot. (A lot for a person that has trouble doing so, that is.) Out of fear that his smart mouth will result in snarky remarks but also to prevent himself from trying to police what it is you decide to wear. You can be as flashy as you want, he doesn’t care- it’s your body wear whatever you want or don’t want to. But god he wishes you would stop wearing shoes that made you even taller. It’s enough of a height difference as is.

With a pink hue across his face he sits in your lap. Usually while doing paperwork for the day he’ll press his back into your chest while you lovingly thread your fingers through his hair. Secretly he enjoys it. Small pleased noises coming out of his throat as the pen in his hand shakes. Sometimes he’ll get too distracted by you resulting in having to kick you out of his office.

Seldom does he allow you to sit in his, as it doesn’t proportionally make any sense to him. Unless it is in a bedroom setting. When he does he feels extremely awkward which makes him hide his face in your chest or back, depending on how you are sitting.

Though he adores when you lay your head in his lap. As it makes him feel tall, for once, towering over your relaxed body with a kittenish smile playing at his lips. He knows how ticklish you are so he drapes his hair onto your face to pull out your precious laughter that he treasures.

“Hey shortstack.” You say this a lot more than you should considering the career Chuuya has. It is usually met with two answers. The first being a frustrated yet flustered groan, his cheeks betraying him with red splotches. The second response is for him to close the gap between you two. Leading him to make what you like to call his ‘demanding grabby hands’ before asking to be lifted into your arms. He’ll kiss you feverishly, arms wrapped around your neck while gloved fingers run through your hair. You two move against each other slowly, ocean waves crashing against one another, while he whispers empty threats about how you shouldn’t be disrespecting him at his workplace and how scary of a mafiaso he is against your lips. This always elicits a chuckle from you.

All bite and no bark? Quite the opposite actually. Chuuya may not be secure in his height but he is secure is his ability to flaunt words and weapons. Anyone who dares poke fun at your height or relationship with him is met with fierce words followed by even fiercer actions. Usually ending up with you having to hold him back. If you decide to that is.

The body count is getting rather high at this point and the Akutagawa siblings were getting tired of having to clean up bodies- even going as far to talk about it with you.

“Can you talk to him about it?” Ryuunosuke murmured low enough for only the three of you to hear while his sister nodded eagerly in agreement behind him. It didn’t take long for you to understand what it is he is asking about. So you nod, “I’m sorry he just gets so worked up, you know?” The words leave your lips sorrowfully. The siblings look down in unison, nodding, in horror as if remembering some specific instances. “Thank you.” Gin whispers while dragging her brother away by locking arms with him. You can hear whispers about how Chuuya-san sure is happy now though. This earns an uneasy noise from the male Akutagawa sibling.

Since he laid eyes on you he has been hoarding clothes to gift to you. Only to take off but that’s besides the point. *Anything from ballgown dresses, silk dress shirts, pants, skirts, and lord neckties. At first the closets full of clothes for you were alarming but the show of dedication made your heart flutter. Chuuya even went as far as you have his work clothes replicated just to see how beautiful you would look. His breath caught in his throat immediately. That night seemed to stretch on for forever as he showed you just how much he appreciated how good you were to him.

After that, it was a long week of trying to convince you to wear it all the time.

On his days off he relishes in the way you try the clothes on for him. The mafiaso thinks of you as his own personal model. Even going as far as to offer if you’d actually like to model because he could offer that to you with a couple of phone calls.

Pokes playful fun at your height from time to time. Using the synonym “tall” in front of your pet names. “My tall darling,” “My tall lover,” “My tall sweetheart,” etc. You allow it. Only to counter with “Pocket lover,” “Pocket monster,” “Chibi,” amongst others.

In the bedroom he enjoys nipping at your waist until he’s crawled all the way up your body. A small smirk playing at his lips when he straddles your waist. Your body is a playground that he never grows tired of. Chuuya likes to pay special attention to your weak spots. He knows them all. That one just below your chin, behind your ear, the insides of your thighs. Your height pleases him in this setting the most, he can see you clearly.

“Come over.” He’ll demand but you know that it’s meant to be phrased as a question. It’s just the way he is. Chuuya will pout if you don’t respond right away or ignore him altogether. At this point you know that he’s using excuses to bait you to the Port Mafia headquarters. “I need your help.” Sounds dire at first but after a few tries you realize that the help he needs is something he could have asked Ryuunosuke for. High shelves are a short individual’s enemy of course, but using it as an excuse to see you? You think it’s rather cute.

With the aide of the Port Mafia it’s become a workplace game to snatch Chuuya’s hat and place it atop your head. Gin is great at this due to her agility. Though Chuuya is cunning he is never a good match for the female assassin. Sometimes he’ll allow her and Ryuunosuke to snatch his hat on purpose. As seeing him without his fedora amuses the two for short periods of time.

The hat looks so cute on you so Chuuya never finds himself too angered by the antics.

Tachihara, Mori, and Kenji are far too slow for Chuuya though so they never manage to touch a hair on his head. On the other hand, Kyouko politely asks permission to place it on your head. Chuuya can never refuse her.

[futilescript]

Poe/Ranpo, #11 please!

To the anon that suggested the number 11 (ask game) for Ranpo and Edgar Allan Poe. I was confused so I wrote all three 11’s that were up at the time. Hope you enjoy it.

Pairing: Ranpo Edogawa and Edgar Allan Poe (RanPoe)

Warnings: A healthy combination of fluff and angst!

11. (who) pulls pranks on the other, and which one somehow loves them more even while planning their murder?

Of the two, Ranpo is more likely to be planning something deliciously devilish. Pranks are not a daily (anymore, because a true sleuth thrives off of the element of suprise) but semi-weekly occurrence. He changes the pattern up every so often. The lighthearted pranks involve “misplacing” Karl until Poe is a stuttering and rambling mess. On the verge of tears as be begs Ranpo to reveal where it is he’s hidden him away.

Both boys love another wholeheartedly. Though their tiffs last for short periods of time. Even if Poe is being dishonest about his feelings they always work things out. A detective is only as good as his super deduction skills, you see! Planning murder? No, of course not. They both plan their crimes to be framed as manslaughter. If it comes to be in the court of law. Less jail time as it is.

(The rest is under the cut for length)

11. “you owe me a kiss.”

Saturdays consist of lounging around, sprawled out on Ranpo’s lap while he uses Poe’s chest as a reading table.

“Hey.” Poe whines as he nudges his head into Ranpo’s stomach, fingers coming up to graze at the latter’s chin. The detective makes a noise in the back of his throat, that of vague annoyance, while tipping his head up and out of his boyfriend’s reach.

“What is it?” Ranpo hums as he flips through his book that he finished ages ago. Fingers grazing the words as he reads silently, letting his lover sulk in his emotion. Rereading books to let Poe process his extreme thoughts and feelings has become a sort of passive action now.

“You owe me a kiss.” Poe declares, a pout pulling at his lower lip.

“Oh, do I now?” Ranpo chuckles. “For what?”

“…Because you love me.” Edgar mutters out through shaky breaths, as if unsure of his own statement. Which now seems to be turning into a question in his mind. The more he thinks it over the more his eyes see stars. Blood rushing to his cheeks alarmingly fast.

Ranpo smiles while grasping one of Poe’s hands, he plants a tender kiss to his fingertips. Immediately he moves Poe’s fingers to his own mouth, “An indirect kiss but a kiss no less, darling.”

“No, but that’s not-” Poe protests until Ranpo leans down to capture his lips.

A furious blush paints his cheeks as Ranpo grins down at him. 

11. “it’s over, it’s done, just leave it be.”

“Hey, I want to-” Ranpo starts only to be stopped by the ruin on his lover’s face.

“Stop. I don’t want to hear it.” For once in his life the poet’s voice is steady and unyielding. Being able to express his sorrow properly.

“Oh c'mon you know that-” Once more the detective is not able to finish his sentence.

Oh, how he despises being interrupted.

“It’s over. It’s done, just leave it be.” Poe’s voice turns down into a mumble again as he turns on his heel to leave. Ranpo grabs his wrist to turn him around, demanding his attention.

“It was just a game, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, but I lost!” Poe whines while burying his flustered face in the latter’s neck. “Again, no less.” These word come out as a mutter against Ranpo’s nape.

“I’ll let you win next time, stop pouting.”

[futilescript]

How about Fyodor with “maybe in another world?" Thanks!

Warnings: Angst, Major character death, and biblical references/god complex

Pairing: Fyodor Dostoevsky x ReaderSummary: You are both in love

Under the cut for length

It was wrong to speak up. To be honest with a man whose personality is riddled to the core of paranoia. A miscalculation on your part. This could have been avoided.

The look on his face is forlorn as lavender irises that seem to glow in this setting pierce into you. With a heavy heart you find yourself mirroring his gaze. Usually his eyes are knit with concern asking why it is that you continuously associate and waste your time with him. This time, you cannot find it in you to crack any jokes about how ridiculous he manages to look with his ushanka hat snugly resting on his head. Though you could try to lighten the situation you understand it is not in your best interest to do so.

Your heartbeart thrums anxiously, your stomach turning violently, as his fingers tip your chin upwards.

“I did not hear that correctly.” Fyodor speaks, smooth and deft. In the glint of the moonlight you spy the notsosubtle moue of his bottom lip. “You are absolutely foul to be spouting such nonsense.”

Heartbeat pounding in your ears now urges you to grasp at his face. A last ditch effort. Instinctively he leans in the warmth of your fingers, a dreamy sigh escaping his lungs through a shudder. Your gazes are trained on each other but with every passing moment it grows increasingly difficult to not stare. Stare at one another’s lips. Yearning to go past the point of no return. Fyodor quickly catches himself, shrugging himself out of your gentle grasp. His gaze hardens to reflect the anger boiling beneath the surface.

His gloved hand trails down to your neck, rubbing at your jaw with his thumb. Touch far too tender. At the drop hat it changes to a harsh grip, the pressure behind it enough to leave bruised marks.

Seemingly torn between wanting to reciprocate your actions and snap your neck, he chooses the latter at a leisurely pace. At his pace. His game, his turn. It’s always something with him but you knew that going into this.

The blackened night sky threatens to swallow you whole as the ache in your chest increases. He had decided to meet under an oak tree at midnight. Foolishly you agreed, unable to refuse such a request from someone who made your life worth living.

Frantically searching for a way out, you find nothing, no one. Though close you are not and never wished to be close enough for Fyodor to reveal his ability. But now, it incapacitates your choices. The inability to calculate his actions makes your fingers tremble. You have got to try to get this situation under control, so you opt to open your mouth. Speaking should save some an ample amount of time. Maybe even change the infamous Fyodor Dostoyevsky’s mind.

“I love you.” You reinstate for what seems like the hundredth time within the late late evening. Trying to get it through your head that this cannot and should not be happening is rather difficult considering your current position. For once in your life, you are telling the solemn truth. Yet you seem to have still landed in quite the compromising position.

He ignores you, turning his nose up at the words. A show of disgust washing over his features. It was hard to miss as the river reflects moonlight on his skin beautifully.

“Are you an ability user?” It’s impossible to not catch the distain laced in his voice. Though you feel suffocated to be in this predicament, as it is fairly obvious what the answer is, you shake your head from side to side.

“I am human, Fyodor.” The sudden use of his name causes him squint quickly before adjusting to his neutral gaze.

He does not trust you anymore. Though, it’s likely to assume he never trusted you.

“Lie.” He breathes with an air of irritation, eyebrows knitting together. The grip on your neck tightens, thumb pressing into your neck while his fingers splay messily against your trachea,

“If not an ability user then a witch. I will burn you at the stake for your sins. You will not be forgiven.” Your breath wavers under his fingertips, coming out in small puffs.

Cautiously you lay a hand upon the one digging into your neck. He arches an eyebrow but allows this, likely to see what it is you will counter with.

“Am I wretched for wanting to love you?” It’s a broken cry as silent tears make their way down your face, you can’t help it. You know what is going to happen but you do not see why. You have done nothing but dote on him, praise him, be there for him. Steadily fall in love with him.

Maybe it was foolish to believe that love was a game meant for two.

Fear runs lightning fast in your veins as he tightens his grip even more, blood rushing too quickly to your cheeks. It’s a bruising grip.

You’re gasping now, choking, looking at him with sorry eyes that seem to please him. A wicked smile painting his features. The glint in his eyes all too familiar. One you had seen quite an alarming amount of times over these past few months. The expression he wore so proudly when he played with his prey. He allowed you to watch several times. Thinking back, it may have been a power move on his part. A scary show of his sadistic pleasures.

‘Impossible.’ You would swear on your life, that you will be losing soon enough, that you hear it under his breath, spoken incredulously.

“Die a peasant’s death with a poet’s wish.” Fyodor speaks with his chest, low intonation accompanied with a rumbling of rage.

“Please,” You try once again digging blunt nailbeds into his wrist desperate to convince him of your innocence. This action seems to please him tenfold. His cruel gaze unwavering, as if to say yes beg, for your life it is now in my hand. It seems your response lacks conviction as his punishment ensues. “Fyodor, I would never-”

But the words are losing their air while his chuckles fill the cool air. They fall upon your ears as the strength soon leaves your body. You want to tell him that it isn’t betrayal that you never used a trick or ability on his mind. That it was pure and unabashed love that he was feeling not a manipulation on your part. Tears fall down your face as the breaths you take in start to stutter down your throat. It burns. It all burns. The red painting your cheeks from the pressure of being choked soon transforms into a beautiful mauve.

Against your wishes your eyes fall closed, air running thin with the vice he has around your neck. Fingers bloody from the feeble attempt to pry his own away from your throat. You want to say it again even if they happen to be your last words but his grip won’t allow them to slip from your tongue. Even if he does not believe you.

“And you never will.” He manages to finish your dying fragment with a devilish grin.

“Meet your fate. Repent for your sins.” Fyodor’s voice is devoid of emotion, speaking blankly as your struggling gradually ceases. For a few seconds he holds your body weight up with his hand just to ensure you are indeed deceased. Feeling no trace of a heartbeat, he throws your corpse to the ground.

“Your tactics were demonic. Increased heartbeat, manipulating feelings of romance and happiness? General feelings of helplessness? Deplorable.” He doesn’t understand the pang in his own heart while gazing upon your limp body. It shakes his core.

“Vile.” He whispers to himself not entirely sure what to do now that the deed is done.

His chest feels empty. Crouching down by your body, he lets out an annoyed sigh. He brushes your hair behind your lukewarm ear.

“You did me in.” A finger strokes against your cheek gently, lovingly then digs in a little to the flesh dying in front of him. It draws blood that stains underneath his nails. Clicking his tongue disappointedly he withdraws his touch altogether. Not entirely too sure whose actions he is let down by.

“Maybe in another world.. A world that I will build with my bare hands.” It’s barely above a whisper.

Betrayed, his brain supplies, ‘If only you were able to see it.’

A few more silent moments pass until he decides to leave. Your corpse is left overnight for one of his subordinates to dispose of.

[futilescript]

Tea party headcanons

Some fun headcanons I thought of while working on requests! Edit: the Fyodor x reader has been posted [x]

(@ohitsavibealright)

  Atsushi: Limits himself to one sugar cube for hot drinks. Favors Green tea and Matcha drinks. Has a cat's tongue, so cold rather than hot. Would like to drink tea as it is intended to be had but cannot. Lukewarm or icy cold. Absolutely no in-between. Has recently been trying more floral teas with Yasano but has yet to find a favorite.

Ryuunosuke: No sugar. Might add honey, cowering in the demanding presence of his sister since he's been told time and time again that it'll soothe his throat. Likes earl grey and black tea. Will admit that he enjoys a good chrysanthemum from time to time as it reminds him of his training days.

Gin: Lavender tea with milk and honey, cold. Seldom adding lychee jelly. Usually paired with loads of pastries that Ryuunosuke is always paying for (he does not believe that she should be wasting money on such frivolous things). Will, sometimes, drink Earl Grey with her brother if it's the only thing available at his apartment as he is very forgetful of her special needs. Other times she will outright refuse and pester him to either order tea in from a shoppe or force him to a café with her. Gin always gets her way with her brother.

Dazai: Dabbles in bitter strains. Oolong, Kuding, and Gunpowder to name a few. Enjoys a heavily steeped Chrysanthemum with two sugar cubes. For cold teas (and coffees) he has a preference for anything with caramel. Adores the taste of a smooth vodka more than anything. Does not particularly care for Whisky but will drink it, begrudgingly, if it is the only alcohol available.

Chuuya: Sips tea in polite company but otherwise alcohol is the way to go. A glass of fine wine or whiskey will do him in for the night. Cheeks flushed while cursing the person who has most recently scorned him until he's finally fallen asleep. Red over white. Hates that he loves mimosas. Despises Vodka says it tastes like rubbing alcohol.

Kyouka: Typically drinking the same variation as Atsushi. If not that then a simple bottle of water will do. The only sweet tooth she has developed so far is reserved for crêpes. Atsushi is trying to find the best strain of strawberry tea for her birthday.

Kenji: Drinks barley tea, bottles upon bottles of it. No one is quite sure how or why it is he has so many bottles at all times. Doesn't seem to drink water, ever. Tries to offer everyone his tea with a happy smile. Atsushi has been the only one to accept so far and hasn't since, claiming it to be too bitter to bear.

Kunikida: Jasmine and/or White Water lily tea. Hot. Would rather it taste floral than be steeped for too long and run the risk of being bitter. Enjoys a good semi-sweet slice of cake with it. He prefers a quiet café rather than the usual one the ADA occupies. A quaint place not terribly far away from the building itself so he can catch up on some alone time.

Yasano: Doesn't have any sort of preference. Appreciates the fact that no variation of tea ever tastes the same. Has a collection of blooming flower teas in her cabinet at home. Habitually drinking water to keep herself replenished.

Tanazaki: Hot hibiscus tea, hybrid or not. Basks happily in the sour taste mixed with floral extract. It is the tea he and his sister enjoy together.

Ranpo: Hot White tea, to clear his head. Cold Rose milk tea as a dessert with his candies and snacks. 

[futilescript]

I'm sorry

Some soukoku angst (mixed in with minimal fluff) for @daughterofsinsloth Thank you for requesting! I'm not very good at fluff, I apologize.

Warning: Angst and heavy emotions

Pairing: Dazai & Chuuya (Soukoku)

Summary: Chuuya struggles to come to terms with Dazai's actions while battling

   Anger washes over Chuuya's small frame in waves, feeling as though the heat from the flames licking fiercely at his body would burn him up. It starts at his neck, an unforgiving red reaching his cheeks in no time then mists itself to the very tips of his toes. Fists and jaw clenched as the fog before him clears. The Port Mafia executive pivots his body to face his former partner. Gloved hands grip furiously at the lapels of the brunette's trenchcoat, pulling him closer to his own body. "Are you listening to me?! I can’t believe you’re so stupid! How could you do something like that! Why would you-“

Dazai blinks, dumbfounded. Of course he does not realize what he has done wrong. Yet he relaxes into the grip his lover has on him, even relaxing into it; body having no choice but to flail with the movements. Chuuya's breath catches in his throat a lump forming which adds to his vexation.

"Chuuya, I made a choice." While the auburn haired man know this in his heart of hearts he realizes that it does not matter. Throwing one's own life on the line for any reason, Chuuya despises it. He did not need to absorb the damage, he should not have had to. Inwardly the anger is dissipating as Chuuya comes to the conclusion that he is the one to blame. That maybe his aggression is wildly misplaced.

Fire still wildly prods at Chuuya's veins burning his body up from the inside out though. Then as if upon instinct his hand reaches up to slap Dazai across the face. Nothing has ever been so loud. The latter does not make a single effort to stop him or rather catch his wrist to prevent him from even causing any harm. The inaction on his beloved's behalf proves to add additional fuel to his fire.

"You are reckless." Chuuya bites out through gritted teeth and what seems like will manifest into lockjaw from the mere pressure of the clench of his teeth at the moment. "Absolutely fucking reckless."

"Are you done?" No longer is the playful lilt present in Dazai's voice as his mouth moves at a leisurely pace. Seemingly burdened by the conversation. Chuuya finds that his heart is in his stomach faster than lightning strikes the night sky.

"You know what?" Nakahara spits with an obvious tone of annoyance, dropping his hands from the offending cloth he had previously been fisting, "Yeah."

It takes everything in his being to hold back the two words that sum up his thoughts, fuck you.

With that, the two former partners go their seperate ways.

   Maybe he's being unreasonable. Chuuya ponders this all with his first drink of the night. Something light, a little red wine. With every tip of his head his brain supplies reasons on top of reasons to both be and not be upset.

This is stupid. He groans into his second glass of wine. Realistically speaking Chuuya knows and understands that Dazai cannot die. But it doesn't and will never stop him from reprimanding his beau's methods of "beautiful suicide" or outright selflessness. It's selfish, he knows. It's impossibly irrational to be upset at Dazai for something he cannot control. Something that wouldn't effect him in the long run. This being so the part of his brain that is constantly screaming at him never seems to die down.

What if one day it does not work? He's no longer immortal? ..Dazai dies.

Chuuya cannot fathom the thought.

Simmering in his raw emotions post-battle is never an ideal situation. Especially with alcohol. To say his tolerance for spirits is low is laughable. Chuuya does not have a tolerance if anything the alcohol tolerates him and his whining. A few shots of vodka in evolves the mafia member into a slurring mess. Consonants, syllables, and the messy grip on reality meshing together as another one of his fever dreams. Akutagawa watches with a grimace on his face, that of vague discomfort, while keeping an eye for broken glass around the table. Last time he had to press against a pressure point of his boss's to force him to submit.

Assumptions aside, it is rather obvious from the outside looking in to see what has happened to Chuuya. Seldom does the smaller boy ever turn into such a wreck. The additional blubbering of a familiar ADA detective's name is proof enough on its own. Chuuya's breath is ragged as he chugs down a glass of whiskey. It burns his throat. Alas it is nothing compared to the damage his heart took seeing Dazai injured on that field filled with still bodies. Back to the moment when he thought Dazai was going to join in and just be another body. His heartbeat stutters in his chest as he goes to rest his cheek on the wooden table. It's cold and wet but he doesn't mind. It reminds him of Dazai and his silly obsession with drowning himself. It's warm and salty. He's not entirely sure when tears started running down his face but within seconds everything cuts to black.

   Chuuya wakes to the sound of running water being louder than he remembered previous to saying goodbye to the world for a while. The throbbing of his head coupled with the grating sound of water running has his body curling up. His arms cover his ears out of the fear of going deaf. The air in his chest is dead while there is a shuffling of feet behind him. Turning around he is greeted by a somnolent looking Ryuunosuke.

"What are you doing here?" Chuuya asks through a throat dry beyond comprehension. A glass of water is handed to him while he sits up in his bed. Obediently, he sips at it.

"I wanted to make sure you got home safely." His associate replies matter-a-factly while Rashomon peaks out behind his slender frame to shut off the sink water. "How are you feeling?"

"Like garbage." Chuuya laughs wryly through the brutally honest answer.

"Right then, I'll get going." Shuffling towards the door only to shout through it when closed. "Dazai wanted to talk." Chuuya spits out his water upon hearing the muffled words. As if on cue Dazai steps out of the shadows of his kitchen.

    He's got to be kidding.

    “I’m worried about you…” Dazai begins only to be cut off by a hungover Chuuya that absolutely does not want to be having this conversation right now.

"I can take care of myself!” Given the situation that Akutagawa was kind enough to fill him in on, Dazai knows better. Just a few hours apart and Chuuya is freefalling back into his messy habits of coping. Dazai even goes as far as to look at Chuuya pointedly, earning a mixture of an accusatory and exasperated gasp followed by a rather deep sigh.

“I just came to see how you were doing.” This earns a squint from the man sitting up shakily on his bed, a petulant pout forming on his lips. Dazai laughs nervously, trying to make light of the situation as he always does.

“And now it’s time for you to leave.” Chuuya deadpans aiming the glass of water at his lover out of pure spite. But of course Dazai expects it and dodges in time. It shatters against the wall leading into the kitchen much like how his heart shattered when Dazai decided to be an absolute halfwit.

"Chuuya." The soft tone plucks at his heartstrings, the years of companionship flooding his brain, tears form silently. His lower lip trembles as Dazai approaches him with hesitantly open arms. Chuuya rises to his knees to meet him halfway, falling into the chest that he is always sleeping on. "I'm sorry, Chuuya." The words are whispered just above his ear. Bandaged fingers rub at his neck in the form of a sorry that Chuuya will remember later. "I'm sorry."

Chuuya's shaky arms around Dazai's neck make his heart clench impossibly tight. As much as he teases his darling he does not enjoy upsetting him so. Chuuya hugs him suffocatingly close as if he were going to leave him at any second. Desperately clinging on while sobbing into Dazai's shoulder.

"Don't do it again, please." Staccato breaths patter across Dazai's collarbone. Dazai hums in agreement while pressing apologetic kisses into his hair.

“I love you.” A smile tugs at the bandaged man's mouth, to the naked eye it would be hard to find. Everything Dazai does is calm, calculated. Deliberately slow with meaning behind every action even if it's hidden. To say that attempting to read into his thoughts or actions is difficult is an understatement.

“I’d rather you didn’t.” Jokingly the auburn haired mafiaoso responds through sniffles. Chuuya on the other hand is easier to read. Almost as if he were made of glass. His expressions are earnest, even when he does try to muddle them into something else entirely try to dissuade his company. Pink tongue sharp but the conviction behind such pretty words are always clear. The tone is cold, unforgiving with a bite of adoration. One that Dazai recognizes all too quickly.

After a few moments, Chuuya pulls Dazai down onto the bed with him. Though it's an awkward position Dazai understands the sentiment.

"I love you too."

[futilescript]

Luring cats into traps

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Chuuya & Atsushi

Summary: Chuuya has a crush on Atsushi while Dazai stalks them on their date.

As of late, Chuuya has been asking for more of Atsushi's freetime effectively intruding on Dazai's tutoring time with his mentee. Though Dazai trusts Atsushi wholeheartedly it is his distrust towards Nakahara that leads him to an ice cream parlour. Well, a store mirroring the parlour.

Upon first glance from the glass across the street, Dazai can make out Chuuya's sly smile and Atsushi's polite smile.

"Do you like sweets, Jinko?" Chuuya asks with a hand resting, a little too high for Dazai's taste, on Atsushi's thigh. The nickname doesn't sound half as threatening coming from Chuuya's mouth, Atsushi lets it slide. Coming it of his associate's mouth though? Utterly frightening.

"I do like popsicles." Atsushi supplies with a lilt to his voice, one that Chuuya catches quickly enough. A tone asking to be bought said sweet.

"You've been a good boy agreeing to hang out with me today. I'll reward you with all the sweets you can stomach." Chuuya's fingers move up to Atsushi's suspenders, playing with the stretchy material. Atsushi shoots a grateful smile while his body bows on instinct to thank the man. "That sound good?"

Atsushi nods eagerly leading Dazai to look away momentarily. Everything seems too friendly. The exchanges between the two raise his suspicion but he carries on with his spying. He fears that interrupting would not be advisable.

"Will you eat with me? I don't want you to have to suffer while looking at me devouring this whole shoppe." A light sort laughter, that Chuuya decides he likes very much, fills the air as Atsushi tries his best at cracking a joke.

Chuuya can feel his heart swaying already. Needless to say, he can definitely see the appeal in dating Atsushi. It makes him wish he would have swooped in a little sooner, seeing as he is quite sure that the tiger is well spoken for.

"Yes, of course. Anything for you." The words roll off his tongue with ease.

In no time their popsicles arrive. Truthfully Chuuya prefers gelato but he licks at his popsicle with enthusiasm to sate Atsushi. It tastes like sweetened water, he doesn't quite see the appeal. The man-tiger on the other hand is adamantly sucking at the head of his ice lolly, it sends shivers down both Chuuya and Dazai's spines respectively. That is until Atsushi makes direct eye contact with the Port Mafia member to bite off a huge chunk of his frozen dessert. A phantom pain strikes Chuuya's most private parts as he chokes on the spit that formed in his mouth while watching Atsushi innocently devour his treat.

"Are you okay, Nakahara-san?" Purple eyes cloud slightly eyebrows knitted in concern, as Chuuya coughs repeatedly to clear his throat of the burn.

"I'm alright." Chuuya offers before playfully reprimanding the younger detective, "I thought I told you to call me my first name, hm?"

"I'm sorry, Chuu... ya.. san." Atsushi speaks deliberately slow in an effort to gain confidence. This brings an endearing smile to the older mafiaso's face. Oh, how he wishes he could have taken Atsushi under his wing before the Armed Detective Agency managed to.

"I'll accept it, since you're so cute Atsushi." Chuuya sing songs the last bit, eliciting a giggle from Atsushi.

"Maybe I should give you a nickname instead?" This lights a fire behind Chuuya's eyes, anything that came out of Atsushi's mouth would sound beautiful at this point and time. Absentmindedly Atsushi munches away at his lolly whilst disregarding the liquid dripping onto his fingers. Chuuya on the other hand found himself hyperfocusing on the liquid as it traveled down the boy's forearm. How could he not feel it?

Using his free hand Atsushi fingers the fabric of the mafia member's plain black collar resting against his neck. A smirk tugs at Chuuya's features when Atsushi stares at him while deep in thought.

"I like your smile, it's very feline-like. What about kitten?"

Chuuya's stomach and heart drop immediately. Atsushi using a pet name unknowingly with him? It sounds so good when he uses it.

"Well now, I think out of the two of us you are the kitten here." His smirk never falters as he grasps the hand Atsushi is using to eat his popsicle with hand that he was using prior to fondle with the boy's suspenders. Chuuya brings the arm close enough to breathe his next sentence out against, "Quite a clumsy kitten at that, Jinko." A tongue makes contact with Atsushi's skin lapping at the sickeningly sweet syrup running down his forearm and fingers.

Chuuya swears that he saw a glint of yellow peeking through Atsushi's purple irises as he licks all the syrup away. The confused tiger shoves his popsicle into his mouth on instinct to muffle his noises signalling Chuuya to let go.

"Nice reflexes, Kitten." Atsushi may be the feline in this situation but it's impossible to not pick up the purr behind Chuuya's words in an instant.

Atsushi's heartbeat picks, pounding heavily in his chest. Wide eyed, he stares on at the man opposite of him in bemusement.

Dazai wishes he could pick his jaw off the floor at this point, absolutely just as bewildered if not more at the situation unravelling in front of him.

"Do you uh," Atsushi finds that the lolly has melted inside his mouth as the liquid in his mouth splatters in his lap when he opens his mouth because swallowing had become something foreign. A sudden flush is painting his neck as he realizes just what he's done.

Chuuya chuckles as Atsushi just looks between his soaked lap and him with an open mouth. Opportunistically Chuuya lifts his gloved hand to Atsushi's chin and shoves his lolly in his mouth, using his fingers to help Atsushi close his jaw.

After a few moments Atsushi finds himself in quite the sticky situation. Both literally and physically. Chuuya has been patting his dampened crotch for a good minute now and he is absolutely mortified.

"You don't-" Atsushi tries only to be cut off.

"Oh no, it's okay. I absolutely do not mind." It's the sticky sweet tone that causes the blush on his neck to reach his cheeks in doubletime. "Maybe I can get you a change of clothes."

A shiver runs up Atsushi's spine but he can't track whether or not it was Chuuya or the lolly that caused it. "Yeah, I'd like that." He finds himself speaking before mulling it over in his mind.

The drive over to Chuuya's apartment is enveloped in silence as the two were trying their best to not address the situation. Atsushi shifted his legs countless times while Chuuya watched out of the corner of his eye. Perhaps a one-sided silence that Atsushi thought would eat him whole.

Atsushi feels his heart stuck in his throat and butterflies fluttering violently in his stomach. Chuuya pushes the him onto the bed, kneeling over his lap.

"Gonna pretend you're not hard underneath your clothes, Kitten?" The nickname elicits a small whine from Atsushi while Chuuya's hands make busy in undressing his partner. "You're cute when you're panicking."

Atushi arches into Chuuya's warm palm when he cups his erection, "What about Bird of paradise?" He shudders against the curve of Chuuya's neck, trying to ease himself to calm down.

"Mm, too lengthy." He hums into Atsushi's ear while stroking his cock through the fabric slowly. "Think a little harder, hm?" The speed of his hand has Atsushi cursing under his breath and skittering his teeth along Chuuya's jaw shakily.

"P.. nngh, poppy?" The tiger half jests through a pant with his mouth attached to Chuuya's neck now. He bites hard enough to leave reddened marks in their wake. Chuuya laughs wryly at the pain coursing through his veins, revels in it. While tugging Atsushi's pants low enough to pull his cock out of his dresspants. Chuuya sighs dreamily.

"You think I'm dainty? Or maybe you think I am sweet enough to be compared to flowers? That's real cute, Atsushi." A hand shoves the tiger flat on the bed.

"You're as beautiful as everything good in the world, Chuuya." Atsushi manages out as he falls gracefully against the bed.

A wild blush finds its way to Chuuya's cheeks. Out of spite he leans down to capture Atsushi's lips, just to shut him up. Such sweet words made him feel funny. He doesn't want to process it right now. Right now he wants to devour the boy under him. Chuuya makes sure to rake his gloved fingers all over Atushi's body. Pressing into Atsushi, suffocatingly close while grinding down onto him.

The orange haired minx delivers on swallowing down the grey haired boy's noises. The whines and pleas muttered aginst his lips bring him great joy as his hand speeds up. The detective helplessly arches up into his hand for more delicious friction which he grants for a short time. Atsushi reaches up to tug at the man's vest desperately whispering him to remove his clothes. Chuuya melts into the plea but does not move until the tiger is close. Eventually they break apart for air and when they do - Atsushi's lips are red and abused; glistening with spit.

"Please, Chuuya." His head spinning while his chest is rising at an impossible rate.

"Please what?" Chuuya asks with a particularly hard squeeze and a coy smile.

Atsushi gasps around the slight pain, he isn't sure what he wants. So he leaves it up to the latter. "Please do something."

[futilescript]

For the sweet anon that requested a hesistant kiss with Edgar Allan Poe. First time writing for him/bsd in general so feedback is appreciated. Hope you enjoy, haha.

(Build-up/background because I don't think Poe would go around kissing anyone if he didn't fancy them at least a bit first.)

• At first, Poe didn't want to admit to himself that he fell for you. At all. Though keen about the idea of love from his own poetic writings, the act of falling into it terrified him. Lack of knowledge of another's feelings towards him caused feelings of anxiety and frustration.

• Usually he wouldn't fathom courting a soul but the way you viewed the world while expressing it so vibrantly drew him in. So radically yet brilliantly incompatible. Entrapment, really. He was wise enough to know that opposites attract just like moths to a flame.

• What has he to lose?

• With arms clasp tight around your waist he sighs into the back of your neck as if a weight has been lifted off his chest. You tilt your head just a bit only to turn around in his embrace to see what the fuss is about. There is a petulant frown painted across his features.

• Warm puffs of air meet your lips but the body flush against your own does not budge. The poet cannot comprehend just how to initiate this. But is competent enough to realize that he would adore your lips melding with his own. Something he has been dreaming of for quite some time now.

• Poe hovers skittishly mulling over whether or not the humiliation of being rejected is worth the effort. He hovers for a few more seconds as he notices the red brandishing your cheeks which has his arms locking around you even tighter. Giddily he finds his frame gravitating closer to yours, lips almost touching.

• Quirking a brow, you are admittedly amused by the childish display. Whilst the hummingbird heartbeat in your chest in threatening to burst, you find yourself leaning in as well. A flame brushing against your body in waves. Your lips brush against his eliciting a suppressed noise of confusion.

• Timing is key, but the both of you know that. That's the exact reason why the two of you lean in to close the space simultaneously.

• The reciprocation of his action manages to encourage him enough to press a quick peck to your cupid's bow. While you ghost his lower lip, breath fanning against him.

• Though his hair is at that odd length that you always decided was rather unique, it allows you to glimpse at the rouge painting his own cheeks.

• The next kiss is sweet, gentle, albeit inexperienced on both ends. Neither of you are complaining.