#ango drabble

[oikasugayama]

subm!ssive series: Ango

MDNI, sexts, established relationship, EMPHASIZED mommy kink, whiny+submissive ango, soft dom reader, cunnilingus, cum eating, amazon position (click for illustrated reference), creampie

It’s the natural progression of your relationship for you to become the more dominant one. Ango is inexperienced in love so he’s prone to neglect you without realizing it. You, however, are not one to let a good thing slip away so when he gives you the cold shoulder or acts like a brat, you force him to verbalize what’s bothering him and stop taking shit out on you.

More often than not the issue is stress from work and fear that his enemies will hurt you, so you spend a lot of time “taking his mind off” these things and “helping him destress,” ;) which also helps him manage his fears. However, he’s never had the most creativity or confidence in bed, so things gradually turn to you becoming more dominant here as well.

You’re in bed when Ango gets home from work. The door slams shut behind him, his shoes and briefcase thump to the ground, and he quickly makes his way to your bedroom to find you.

You sigh happily, languidly smiling at him when he rushes through the doorway.

“Hi baby,” you say softly. “You’re just in time.”

He watches in awe as your sticky fingers gently pat your messy pussy, leaving trails of cum and wetness in the air between. He nearly falls to his knees right then and there seeing you all spread out and waiting for him.

“Come here,” you coo, holding your sticky hand out toward him. “I need you to clean this off.”

Ango rushes to your side, gently grabbing your wrist and holding it steady as he slips your fingers into his mouth. His eyes flutter closed and he moans softly as soon as the taste of you registers on his tongue.

“Good boy,” you say encouragingly, sliding your free hand up your naked body to caress your tit. You tug your hand away from him after a few seconds of his slurping and licking all of your slick off of your hand. He whines, trying to hold your wrist still.

“If you want a taste you need to use your words, Ango.” He opens his eyes and looks at you in his pathetic, tired, needy way, and you can already tell how this night is going to go. He’ll be putty in your hands the whole evening and crying by the time he finally cums.

“I want another taste of you, mommy. Please let me eat you out.”

“Of course. But you need to take your suit off first, and hang it up so it doesn’t wrinkle. I don’t want to have to iron it again.”

“Yes ma’am,” he says, quickly shaking off his jacket and unbuttoning his shirt. He stares hungrily at your body-- especially at your wet cunt-- as he undresses and hastily hangs his suit in the closet and puts his dirty clothes in the hamper. When he comes back to the bed, crawling up to you from the foot of it, he’s completely naked, just as you are.

“May I please?” he asks, laying between your legs, his face right above your aching pussy.

“Give me your glasses,” you say, holding your hand out to him. He takes them off quickly and places them in your hand. You take your time inspecting them-- making sure they’re not cracked, not too dirty-- and folding the arms closed. You reach to the side and set them carefully on the nightstand, then turn back to him and reach down, pushing his hair back from his face.

“How was work?”

He whines loudly, shifting his crotch against the bed. He doesn’t want to talk about work, just wants to get straight into the action, but you love teasing him.

“[Y/N]--”

“Who?”

“Mommy…”

“Good boy. Answer my question, Ango. How was work?”

“It was fine,” he says, glancing from your cunt to your face. “I finished a heap of reports about the last incident with the Armed Detective Agency,” he answers absentmindedly, not really able to focus on explaining the mind-numbing tasks he spent the last 8 hours doing.

“That’s good. Did you have to save them from trouble again?”

Ango whines again, his lip wobbling slightly. He can’t take his eyes off your cunt now and he licks his lips before he answers. “I was cleaning up after them. They didn’t technically do anything wrong, but I had to… prove it… mommy, please,” he whines, acting like he can barely hold himself back. You can tell that the second you give him the OK he’s going to dive in.

“Please what, Ango?”

“Please let me eat you out now. Work was really boring, I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I want to make you feel good, mommy.”

“Hmm…” You run your hands through his hair, scratching his scalp lightly in the way you know he likes. He nuzzles his head up into your hand and his eyes flutter closed again. You pretend to be thinking, humming a couple more times as you scratch his scalp. Finally, your hand stills and he looks at you.

“Okay,” you say, pushing his face down to your cunt. “Make me cum, Ango.”

His tongue immediately lunges out to taste a fat glob of your wetness and cum-- he knows you’d been playing with yourself before he got home; you’d been sending him pictures for an hour. He wants to know how many times you’ve cum already, but there’s no way in hell he’s stopping to ask you now.

He selfishly slurps up as much of your heat as he can before he finally points his tongue and  starts flicking it back and forth across your clit. He’s very knowledgeable when it comes to your body-- he knows exactly what it can take and what it can do. By the way your hands tightern in fistfulls of his hair and your breath hitches and your hips buck up to meet his face, he thinks you’ve probably already come twice, and now he’s determined to give you your third orgasm.

“Mm, Ango,” you moan, grinding your hips up into his mouth. “Good… good boy.”

His face burns with a blush but he also feels prideful and driven because of your praise. He wraps his arms around your hips, locking them together over your stomach to hold you in place. One of your hands pets his while the other stays in his hair.

He flattens his tongue and draws fat, lazy circles over your clit and hood, making you whimper each time he flicks over a certain, extra sensitive spot. He notices almost immediately and targets that spot next, flicking back and forth relentlessly, trying to work you up fast so you’ll praise him again.

“Mm… Fuck… You’re so good with your tongue, Ango.”

He moans into your cunt and buries his face further, almost lovingly nuzzling into it, getting your juices all over his face from his nose to his chin. He moves back to your clit and slurps and suckles on it given that it’s nice and swollen from your previous abuse of it. Your moans turn high and whiny. Your nails dig into his hand and claw at his scalp.

Cum, he thinks. Please cum. Please, please, please.

It takes a couple more minutes of fast licking and suckling but you do cum hard, grinding up against his face which you hold in place with both of your hands. He loves being used like this, loves when you ride his face even when he’s laying between your legs. He’d let you use him for your pleasure any day, more than happy to make you cum as much as you want.

When you finally let go of him, he doesn’t immediately get up. He kisses your pussy all over, from your clit down to your taint and back up. He spreads his kisses around your inner thighs, then dives back in, unable to help himself. He once again licks into your cunt, trying to slurp out as much of your cum and wetness as he can.

“Ango, stop,” you whine, squirming. “I wanna fuck you. Get up.” You whine again. “I need to be wet to get your dick in me, you dummy.”

“You’re always perfect,” he mumbles against your pussy lips. “So perfectly wet and tight and warm. I don’t deserve how perfect you are.”

“Oh, hush,” you sigh, petting his hair. “Get up and wipe your face, pet.”

Ango gives your pussy one last kiss and greedy lick before he lets go of your hips and shakily gets to his knees. You immediately look to see how hard he is, and just as you expected, he’s not only hard but he’s already oozing pre-cum.

“I love how much you love eating me out,” you say to him as he sits on the edge of the bed and uses a tissue to clean his face. You reach over and trace lines between the moles on his back. “You’re such a sweet boy. I wanna make you feel so good, baby. You deserve it for being such a good boy.”

“Thank you,” he says, tossing the tissue away and turning to face you. “I love you.”

“I love you more. Come here and lay down.” You sit up and get out of the way so Ango can take your place laying in the middle of the bed. He does so, immediately spreading his legs and holding his knees up slightly, knowing which position you’re going to go for.

You kneel right against his ass, your thighs bracing his to hold them further up. You lean down over him and kiss him, also taking the opportunity to push your breasts against his flat chest, knowing that he likes the feeling of your heavy tits on him. You make out with him, both of you panting and moaning softly into each others mouths as you start slightly humping his ass, leaving a small wet patch against his skin where your dripping cunt touches his skin.

“I need you,” Ango whimpers against your lips. “Please fuck me, mommy.”

“I’m getting there, baby, I promise.”

You pull back from his mouth and look down at his cock laying against his belly. You hold it gently and spread his precum around his tip, getting him wet and messy as you start to drag your hand up and down his shaft. He moans softly, biting his lip as he watches you.

“That feel good?”

“Yes, mommy.”

“You want me to put it in?”

“Yes, mommy, yes yes yes,” he pants, eyes widening, his hands reaching out to caress your sides and help you balance as you finally shift so you’re on your feet, crouching above Ango’s cock. You take it in your hand and point it up and slightly back so you can lower yourself onto it. You throw your head back and moan with your mouth hanging open.

“Ango, fuck. You have such a nice, big cock. It fills mommy up so good.”

Ango moans too, hands tightening on your waist. “Thank you, mommy. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

He babbles on, thanking you for fucking him as you start humping him, using his cock as if it’s yours. You make sure to hold his knees up and apart the way he does to you on the rare occasion he takes control, basically folding him in half as you fuck yourself on his cock.

“Touch me, Ango,” you tell him breathlessly after a moan-filled couple of minutes of humping him. “I know you wanna play with my titties.”

“Yes,” he sighs happily, reaching out to cup both of your breasts in his hands. He pinches your nipples, rolling them between his fingers, trying not to let them out of his hands as you keep fucking him. Your tits jiggle in his hands with every thrust and he feels his mouth watering at the sight of it. He wishes he could get them in his mouth, but it’ll have to wait for later.

You readjust your position, finally tired of squatting over him. You gently lower yourself onto your knees with his cock still inside you, making sure he doesn’t yelp or yell out or suddenly get hurt by the way your angle changes and makes his cock point down between his legs.

He only moans and keeps looking at you with love-struck pussy-drunk eyes, so you consider yourself good to continue. Now that you’re kneeling behind him, you can glide your hips back and forward as if grinding on him while riding, but since you’re behind him your thighs smack his ass with every thrust. You push harder, fucking yourself faster on his cock, making your skin slap against his, sending jolts through his whole body that have him shaking up and down on the bed from the force of your movements.

“Mommy,” he mewls, high and throaty. “Mommy, I need to cum. Please! I’m gonna cum. I can’t hold it in!”

“Cum in me, baby,” you tell him through gasping breaths. “Fill me up. Show me you love me and give me all your cum, Ango.”

By the time your hand has reached up to flick at his perky nipples, he’s already spilling deep inside your pussy, painting your walls milky white in thick spurts. He moans your name, and mommy, but mostly your name as he cums, and as he comes down from his high all he can whine is “I love you, I love you.”

You raise yourself up and let his softening cock slip out of your cunt. You both watch as his cum dribbles out of you and lands on the curve of his ass.

“Good boy,” you coo, swiping his cum up with your finger. You suck it into your mouth and taste him, humming happily. “You even taste good. That’s ‘cause you’re my sweet boy, huh?”

[soukokuforthesoul]

and it’s such a small little thing, but as dazai waits, listening to the president speak—

“… the we’ll have him attempt the entrance exam. if he passes, he will join.”

kunikida looks doubtful, though he’s respectful about it, “i do not believe the child is fit for this line of work, he seemed much too skittish to work well here.”

fukuzawa hums. “i trust dazai’s judgement.”

there. dazai freezes. because it’s such an odasaku thing to say, and it brings him back. gives him a funny little sense of déjà vu, and it hurts. oh, god.

[nevertheblood]

66 + dazango !!! 👀 teehee

hello. so, uh. this got so far away from me that I think it is not a drabble anymore or even anything close to it.

the problem is that this song is so damn perfect for dazango-- I actually SCREECHED when I opened my spotify to check it.

and then as usual for me I went on a 'let's emotionally torture ango sakaguchi' runaway train and... here we are.

I may post this to ao3 once it's been proofread lol THANK YOU FOR SENDING THIS I HAD A LOT OF FUN WRITING IT!

probably OOC since it's unbeta'd and i wrote it in two days but ANYWAYS HERE--

dazango x never say die by chvrches ~~

Wasn't it gonna be fun and wasn't it gonna be new?

Wasn't it gonna be different and wasn't it gonna be true?

Didn't you say that? Didn't you say that?

Weren't you gonna be sorry and weren't you gonna be pure?

Weren't we gonna be honest and weren't we gonna be more?

Didn't you say that? Didn't you say that?

All you want is to play at playing God

But I'm falling in and falling out

Never, never, never ever

Never ever, ever say die

“You lied to me.”

It’s not a question. Ango doesn’t ask how he found out – Dazai always knows, somehow or other.

Ango also knows better by now than to make excuses.

“Yes,” he says. “Or rather – obfuscated the truth.”

“They are the same thing,” Dazai says, “When you make your business out of deceit.”

Ango sees his point, but really… it was an inconsequential thing. Sort of.

He’d told Dazai he’d be out of town for a meeting – that much was true. He’d neglected to mention that it was overseas, with one of the Port Mafia’s subsidiaries in Hong Kong.

What does it matter? Dazai is years out of the mafia. His dealings with them, and for the most part Ango’s as well, are a thing that lives only in memory, steeping silently in regret and anger all the while.

It’s not any of Dazai’s business, what Ango does for work. Shouldn’t be anyone’s business, given the layers and layers of secrecy involved. 

It was just a meeting. Surface level intelligence gathering, that was all – no deals, no tricks, no subterfuge.

Dazai’s been four years out of the mafia, it’s true, but his eyes, right now – they carry that same cold steel as back then, the bite of a bullet, the only light therein the flash of a gun’s muzzle.

He is angry.

“I know that we have… a certain arrangement,” Ango says carefully. He doesn’t really know what to call it, the thing that exists so nebulously between he and Dazai. The two of them meet somewhere at a crossroads of misplaced trust and hotel bedsheets and guilty mouths and festering, rotted bitterness. “But my work is my work. It is separate from… what goes on between us.”

Dazai touches his cheek, the gentleness a startling counterpoint to the violence in his eyes, and Ango leans into it, a flower to the sun. It’s perhaps a little pathetic, the way he still takes in every scrap of affection from Dazai like a starving street dog begging for food, the way he craves it and hates himself for craving it. He doesn’t deserve it. He’s worked so hard to earn forgiveness and he still doesn’t deserve it.

“You promised me,” Dazai says softly, the thrum of his anger a quiet undertone, a subtle purr, a getaway car’s engine. “When we began this whole thing – that you would be transparent with me.”

“I am,” Ango insists, “To the best of my ability. You must know, with my work, that there are certain things that I cannot tell you. That I am honour-bound to secrecy.”

“Honour-bound?” Dazai’s low laughter causes something deep in Ango’s belly to burn, shameful, like a brand. “What honour can you say you have left?”

That’s cruel. Unnecessarily cruel, and it's not even wholly true. Ango wants to tell him so, to make him feel the same remorse – he knows it’s not possible, Dazai does not concern himself with guilt and he has never once looked for redemption – but even so, didn’t they cast this aside, when Dazai gave Ango the keys to his heart? Doesn’t Dazai love him, even a little bit?

He doesn’t have an answer to that. And he knows, of course, that he is without honour, without pride, so he stays silent.

“You promised me,” Dazai says again, and – is his voice cracking?

Ango hardly understands it at first. The emotion that has poisoned Dazai’s very veins ever since the Mimic incident – it has always been anger, cold and vicious and calm, murderous intent behind a blithe smile. Toxin in the blood, flowing downstream.

Ango has never once seen Dazai with sadness in his eyes.

“I really thought, this time – this time it would be different. You promised – ”

He is only repeating the same words, over and over, almost like a naïve child who is feeling the unfairness of heartbreak for the very first time. It doesn’t make sense. Dazai is not –

But then. Dazai had been merely eighteen, the first time. A boy, really. No matter how boldly he had worn the heavy black mantle of a mafia executive, that was all he had been, in the heart of him. A boy, who lost his best friend.

Four years down the line, he had only wanted something real to believe in. Something solid and honest and true.

And Ango had – once again – betrayed that fragile trust.

He can feel everything he's worked for, over the last four years, every time he’s put his life or his job or his self-respect on the line for Dazai, to crudely shape himself into something that might be worthy of forgiveness, of love, slipping away all too fast – sand into the bottom of an hourglass.

But it's different this time. It has to be.

He slips his hand into Dazai’s, where it had been resting at his side, and tries to curl their fingers together.

“Dazai,” Ango says, “I – it means nothing, I know. But for what it’s worth – I’m sorry.”

Dazai’s hand remains still and unmoving.

“I knew you would be angry,” Ango keeps trying, all the same. “That I had had dealings with the Port Mafia again, even indirectly. I knew that you would question me about it and that there would be certain answers I could not give, even to you. I wasn’t…” He takes a deep breath, here, the flinch before the inevitable pain of the honesty. “I wasn’t prepared for that conversation. And so I avoided it, like a coward. You are right to be angry. I do not blame you for that.”

Dazai stays silent. Ango isn't sure if there's a light of hope in his eyes or if it's the shine of unshed tears. Somehow he isn't as shocked by the idea of Dazai crying as he perhaps ought to be.

So many people think of Dazai as a cold machine, especially anyone who knew him in the mafia, but Dazai feels. Of course he does. That's Ango's whole issue. It’s only that... well. Used to being on the receiving end of nothing but Dazai's anger, his petty bitterness, Ango had allowed himself to forget that the man is capable of so much more.

“I did promise you that I would do better by you this time, when we began this,” Ango says, “And I… didn’t wholly live up to that, I don’t think. We should have had a conversation about that meeting. I should have known it would hurt you.”

Dazai shakes his head. “You find it too easy to fake it, still. Am I wrong?”

Ango sighs. Lets his shoulders drop heavily. “Maybe. Are you a saint, yourself? Do you ever drop your masks around your new agency friends? Do they know how many you’ve killed?”

Dazai is quiet for a moment. Ango wonders if he’s struck too deep of a nerve, if those tears are still stinging in Dazai’s half-lidded eyes. He does not let go of Dazai’s stubborn hand.

“I also swore to you that I would be better,” Dazai says hoarsely, “That I would let my anger lie, in the interest of building something new.”

Ango runs his thumb over Dazai’s bony knuckles. “That you did.”

Slowly, ever so slowly, Dazai’s fingers intersect with his.

Ango gives Dazai’s hand a tentative squeeze, as gentle as though his very bones were glass.

“That's exactly why I'm talking to you right now,” Dazai continues, “And not making arrangements for a bomb hoax at your apartment block.”

“Am I supposed to thank you for that?” Ango remarks dryly. To his quiet delight, that makes Dazai giggle. His eyes squeeze tightly shut when he laughs, and the tears gather in the wrinkle of skin at the corners.

“There's my Ango,” Dazai says softly, and oh, god, lovingly. It makes Ango dizzy.

It's confusing.

“What... what do you mean by that?”

“Well,” Dazai says, “Before you insisted on torturing yourself every time you looked at my face – and believe me, I know I pushed you into it, you don't need to remind me – you were quite unashamedly funny with me, in a disparaging sort of way. I'd missed that wit.” 

“Disparaging?” Ango remembers what Dazai means. Oda would meet Dazai's weirdness head on, and Ango was always the foil for their antics, the one who played it straight. None of it feels real, now. If not for Dazai standing in front of him with the same shared memory, Ango could be convinced it was only something he saw in some tragic play, and not something that he lived. It hurts to remember, still, a broken bone that healed wrong and aches in the cold. “You... liked that?”

“Was it really not obvious at the time?” Dazai's expression turns genuinely thoughtful. “You and he were the breath of fresh air I needed. My reality check when I was at my most insane. I thought it was clear that I worshipped you both.”

Ango suddenly finds it very hard to swallow. “No,” he says, with some difficulty, “I only recall seeing... how you felt for him. And... my own guilt, I think. Whenever you smiled at me I only thought of how I'd have to leave you.”

Neither of them can say his name out loud, even now. They tiptoe around the borders of grief, trying to grow something new from the rot within. Flowers pushing through cold concrete in an abandoned lot. 

“You have always held me at arm's length, haven't you?” Dazai says. Ango can't run away from that accusation, not when he's this close, this tangled up with him.

“I suppose I have,” Ango replies, a touch breathless.

Dazai closes what little distance is left between them and presses their foreheads together, cupping Ango's face with his free hand. Dazai has grown taller, Ango notices, and he has to look up now to see into those pretty dark eyes.

“You can let me in, you know,” Dazai tells him. “For fuck's sake, I gave you my heart, didn't I? Literally. I trust you. I hate that I do, I hate that I still need you, but you have to let yourself need me too or this all falls apart.”

“I do need you,” Ango cries out, squeezing Dazai's hand tighter this time. “I need you too much, that's the problem. I'm...” God, he feels flayed raw by all this. It's too much honesty for two men who make their living in lies. “I'm too afraid of losing you, after everything I've done.”

“Then stop pushing me away,” Dazai says. “Just because – what, you think you aren’t deserving of my affection? Because you’re afraid of the intimacy of letting me see the real you? Forget all that, just forget it.” He drops Ango’s hand and grabs his face with both hands. Deliriously, Ango notes the way Dazai’s smallest finger reaches all the way around to the back of his neck. Had his hands always been so big? “Listen. I know I can be… difficult. I know I can be an asshole. But just – let me have you, you fucker. And let me keep you.”

Let me keep you. Those words set something wild loose in Ango’s heart, something that flails and scratches and stings.

You could have this, it wails, rattling the bars of his ribcage. He wants you to stay.

“Dazai,” Ango says, softly. He tilts his head, leaning into Dazai’s touch. He can’t always tell when the man is being sincere – Oda had a knack for it that Ango never quite grasped – but he drops his pretences often enough around Ango now that he thinks he’s starting to see through them. “Don’t be cruel. Are you teasing me?”

“No,” Dazai answers, looking straight into Ango’s eyes, and the truth in it is so clear that it burns; like lake ice in your palm, a shot of vodka in your throat.

Ango feels it prickle in his skin, his hair, his tongue. He reaches up to curl his hand around Dazai’s wrist, feels the rough gauze of bandages under his fingertips.

Dazai’s lips part to take a breath – and Ango kisses him.

Sharing kisses is not new to them, of course. They began their quiet affair shortly before Dazai’s stint in prison, and continued it without pause after he got out. They have exchanged many kisses, spent many nights in each other’s embrace, but this – this is softer.

Pure, somehow, if that were something either of them were allowed to be.

Dazai pulls Ango closer, arms enfolding him, and Ango falls deeper into it, his hands circling around Dazai’s slim waist, his pretty waist –

It’s a lot. Ango starts to pull away first, still a little unsure, offering Dazai the space to back out.

Dazai, though, drags him back in, hands tangling in his hair, an unequivocal I want you. It’d be kind of an asshole move in any other scenario, but much like most things Dazai does nowadays, it’s an asshole move for the greater good, which means it’s allowed to fly.

Ango spreads his hands flat against Dazai’s chest, as though he means to push him away but knows he won’t. This embrace is all-encompassing, safe in its completeness, Dazai’s tongue tracing the edges of Ango’s teeth; his older, stronger hands cradling Ango’s head.

Dazai’s chest is broader, now, too, than Ango ever remembers it being back then – not that he’d held Dazai like this, in those days. He’d kept him at arm’s length, just like Dazai had said.

Not now. Not this time. Trial and error and trial and error and trial and fucking error it may take, but god damn it, Ango wants to make this work. For the sake of whatever shared legacy the two of them have left, and whatever shared future they might be able to build with the sheer force of this kiss.

Dazai is kissing him so hungrily, so fervently, and in the harsh press of his lips and hands Ango feels a sort of mirror image, the same stubborn need that burns in his own heart.

As soon as I want something it is lost to me? Not this time. Not again.

When they finally draw apart, it’s as one, in a single-minded and mutual exhale of breath.

They’re nose to nose. Dazai’s dark eyes are the colour of whiskey on a polished oak bar.

Kisses aren’t new to them – but kisses that feel like a promise? Kisses that are warm and genuine and offered up in totality alongside a bared soul?

Ango’s heartbeat hums in his throat, behind his soft, wry smile. “Does this mean you’re thinking of forgiving me?”

“Forgiving you?” Dazai almost laughs. “Forgiveness is… complicated. It’s not something I put much stock in, anyway.”

“Then what do you put stock in?”

“The now,” Dazai answers simply. “The present moment, and the people in it.”

“How can you?” Ango says, forlornly. It’s halfway between an accusation and a plea for understanding. How, when our past is such an all-swallowing shadow, the mire that we pushed through to make ourselves who we are?

“Don’t misunderstand me,” Dazai says quickly. “I do not forget. I refuse to. I remember the way things were, and the way they ended.”

Something in the sharp and stubborn way he says it… maybe Dazai, too, is beginning to lose the edges of the memories to time. How, exactly, did Oda’s hair fall in his face again? Ango recalls that his voice sounded different after an hour in a smoky bar, but was it deeper? Scratchier? The details are indistinct, a photograph half-developed, like trying to find the shape of the horizon with the sun in your eyes.

 I do not forget. Even now, Dazai is lying, in a way. But it’s a small lie, one Ango will allow him to keep; to hold close in the secretive dark.

“Still,” Dazai says. He takes a breath in, and seems to centre himself again. He doesn’t bother with the happy-go-lucky fake smile, the one that barely even hides the outline of his pain, a thin veneer of paint over scratches in the walls. He knows that Ango knows that he hurts. “You know, I always think it’s bullshit when someone says oh, but it’s what they would have wanted. About someone who’s dead. You don’t know that, and you can’t very well ask ‘em. But, I do… very firmly believe… that us, well, trying – trying to make something newer and cleaner and better, and rebuilding it as many times as it takes because hell knows we’re fucked up people but we want to make it as good as we can get it, and it’s not because we feel like we need atonement but because we just… want to. I think…” He has to quietly pause to take a breath, and Ango understands. Sincerity is a weed, a sick and tangled thing that grows too fast. It makes you choke on the truth.

“I think he’d like that,” Dazai says eventually. “Do you… disagree?”

“You really don’t think he’d still resent me?”

“I do not,” Dazai says, and backs up his point with a kiss to Ango’s forehead. “He was not the same as me. He was better with... forgiveness, and things of that ilk; although not perfect - nobody is. But like I say. I don’t know, not for sure. That’s just something you gotta carry with you.”  

Ango huffs a weary sigh, and leans forward, using Dazai’s shoulder to rest his head. “I know,” he says into the lapel of Dazai’s coat. The tan one – Ango knows why he chose that colour. He wonders if anyone else does, or if he alone gets to share that soft and fragile part of Dazai’s soul.

“I know you know,” Dazai replies.

“Don’t be so damn smug.”

“I’m not.” He rolls his eyes. “It wasn’t like that. I meant to say that… you know. I get it.”

“You don’t do guilt,” Ango accuses him.

“Not really.” Dazai’s smile is pained. Not for the first time, Ango wonders if sometimes he wishes he felt more than he does. If he has ever wanted to atone for his crimes, for his brutality. “But I understand it. And I understand… the circumstances of it.”

Ango is still leaning on Dazai’s shoulder, and Dazai has to twist his head sideways to awkwardly press a kiss to Ango’s cheek. It ends up halfway on his ear, but that’s okay. They’re trying.

“You carry your pain,” Dazai says, “And I’ll carry mine. And that way we’re in it together – sort of.”

“Is this your version of empathy?”

Dazai shrugs. The motion half-dislodges Ango’s glasses. “Take it or leave it.”

Ango straightens up, looks Dazai in the eye. “I’ll take it,” he says, “For better or for worse.”

“For better, I hope,” Dazai says in a whisper so soft Ango can’t even be certain he meant to say it out loud.

“Yeah,” Ango says, “I’d like to think we tend towards the better, now.”

Dazai kisses him again, and the softest wingbeats of a fledgling hope start to flutter in his lungs.

Better this time, they said. We’ll do better this time.

[frankenjoly]

“You believe me, don’t you?” with odango

i like to think they have a more calmer thing going on in beast idk (i just can't with more angst)

“You believe me, don’t you?” Oda stared right at him, with that typical expression of his, and Ango… Ango couldn’t help but laugh a little.

“I do, don’t worry.” He instantly answered, not wanting to make it seem like he was mocking him. Quite the opposite, the whole thing was quite adorable. “It’s just funny to imagine it, first you trying to make that old lady know you really had to go, then your coworkers’ faces when finding out.” Another, briefer laugh escaped from Ango’s lips there. “And during the demonstration too.”

Oda’s gaze moved towards his own plate, and shortly after he simply shrugged. Or, in other words, he didn’t doubt Ango and had visibly relaxed. Well, or at least he hoped so.

“Did it upset you?” Was his next question, now looking down to his own food as well; none of them had infinite free time, and lunch would go cold anyway, so it was better to keep up with the conversation while eating. After all, the original plan was them meeting for lunch specifically.

“More like it surprised me?” In his peripheral vision, Oda shrugged. “I genuinely thought people could distinguish my expressions better.”

Somewhat shyly, more due to being in public than because of the gesture itself, Ango grabbed Oda’s hand and lifted it to leave a kiss on the back, then proceeded to release it.

“Give it time, it’ll happen.”

(Also on ao3.)

[angelicxdisaster]

FIRST TWO CHAPTERS OF BSD FIC ARE POSTED PLS GO READ THEM

hopefully i don't forget to update this but it's my coping project right now so I probably wont.

[miikishii]

To Hold the Sea | Ch. 5

main masterlist

series masterpost | previous chapter | next chapter

Synopsis: It’s been some time since you and Ango last met, in the meantime, you and Dazai have started to get used to living “underground” together.

warnings: drinking :p

It’s been a week since you last saw Ango. You and Dazai have moved into a small apartment together to avoid any trouble with the Port Mafia for now. Your days have been characterized by an unrelenting, heavy feeling. The two of you sit around together mostly in silence; any conversation is centered around ‘What do we do next?’. That is, until Ango gives Dazai a call.

In some last-ditch effort to help the two of you get back onto your feet, he offers you the chance to talk with his boss, who will assist in getting you jobs. Your history will be erased as soon as possible. You both accept, and your days become a little less aimless. 

When the day of the meeting finally arrives, you watch Dazai slip into his coat. There is a distinct, bittersweet feeling that fills you both when he turns around. You give him a simple smile, 

“It looks good on you.” He bites the inside of his cheek, “I suppose it does.”

Dazai rejects the first job quickly, but you suppose you wouldn’t’ve wanted to work in the Special Division either, at least not for long. He gives you a meaningful look you don’t understand, but, for a second, you think he looks happy. 

“Is there a place the both of us could work together, somewhere without a lot of regulations? Somewhere we can help people?”

Ango’s boss, who you now recognize as Taneda, looks a bit puzzled but gives it some thought. He pulls out his fan and leans closer to the table,  “There is an armed organization of gifted individuals.” He says lowly. He explains that the organization deals with cases in a legal grey area that civil workers have trouble dealing with. You breathe in deeply, looking at Dazai to gauge his reaction. He smiles- widely- and it takes you by surprise. 

When you arrive back at your apartment, things seem to have taken a turn for the better, but bad habits die hard. Dazai has bought a surprising amount of liquor to keep here, and the two of you indulge. Time passes in a blur, and when you wake up, lying right next to him (passed out) on the couch, the sun sneaks in through the window. Dazai looks peaceful; you get up slowly and find a blanket to lie on him. You hope that the time you have to spend in hiding isn’t always like this, though. You know how unhealthy your habits are. You know just how self-destructive Dazai can be; he knows it too. When he wakes, he just watches you move around the apartment. You’re tidying it up as best you can, trying to make it feel like more of a home. He smiles again, but you don’t catch it. He moves to your CD player and puts on a nice instrumental album. You finally realize he’s awake when the music starts playing.

“Morning.” He chimes.

You look at him carefully, wondering if he feels as awful as you do; you’re surprised to see him start to dance.

“I see someone’s happy today.” You laugh, but it comes out like more of a question.

“I feel more… alive today.” He says thoughtfully. He walks over to where you’re sweeping dust and puts your broom to the side, slotting his hand in its place.

“What are you doing?”

“We’re dancing.”

With that, he takes your other hand and begins to step gracefully toward the middle of the room. You look at him and laugh.

“How do you have the energy for this right now?”

“We should buy some market lights, put them around the room.”

“Avoiding the question, Dazai, really?”

“Hmm, maybe we can paint the walls. What color should we try?” he looks around the room thoughtfully before you remind him that you’re both unemployed at the moment.

“What does that have to do with it? We have savings.”

You roll your eyes, and he considers that your answer. He lets one hand free and places it on the back of your head. He hugs you close to him as you two sway side to side. 

“Dazai?” he doesn’t respond; he just twirls your hair and keeps you close.

note: sorry, this one's kinda short. It's very sweet tho :)

[osamucide]

⊹ I AIN'T NOTHIN' BUT A NASTY DOG!

. . . BSD MEN AS OVERUSED PORN PLOTS!

wc: 5.3k

cw: MINORS DNI—explicit sexual content, gn!+afab!reader, a lot of anonymous sex, dirty talk, BIG DICK MEN, probably a good amount of ooc, some questionable dynamics/dubcon that can be read through the lens of roleplay and/or prior consent. character-specific warnings—chuuya: public sex, penetration; dazai: penetration, riding, creampie; kunikida: professor/student, oral (m!receiving); fukuzawa: secretary/boss, office sex, oral (m!receiving), facefucking; atsushi: HEAVY DUBCON WARNING, stuck, perv atsushi, penetration; akutagawa: blackmailing if you squint, degradation, choking, penetration; oda: penetration; ango: public sex, penetration, riding; nikolai: dubcon, home intruder f!masturbation, penetration; sigma: a tiny bit of perv sigma, oral (f!receiving); fyodor: priest!fyodor, religion/blasphemy kink, christianity-specific, oral (m!receiving)

reid: putting my dual major in journalism to work by subtitling these like bad porn videos. little not so thought out drabbles many with no definitive ending just silly whore thoughts. some are more stupid than sexy but either way i hope you enjoy because this was a blast to write HAHAHAHA

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

⊹ CHUUYA NAKAHARA—HOT GYM BUDDIES CAN’T WAIT UNTIL AFTER THEIR WORKOUT TO FUCK!

“Yeah, that’s a lot better. Look at you, you got it,” the pretty redhead mutters, his hands still firmly on your hips as he spots your squat. “Give me one more, I know you can.”

The praise prompts you to draw in a deep breath that has nothing to do with your next squat; anyway, this gorgeous man, kind enough to help you with your form, believes in you. So you bend once more, squatting down, down, and pushing back up—until on your way back up, you feel your legs begin to buckle.

“Woah, woah.” It’s sweet how concerned he sounds as his hands fly up to the bar and his feet nudge you forward to help you replace the weight on the rack, but his hips end up pressed to yours, and you’re gasping. “You okay?”

You’re fine, caged between him and the bar as he leans over your shoulder to glimpse your face that’s flushed from exertion. Only exertion, surely, even though your ass is pressed firmly to his pelvis. He doesn’t seem hard, but you can still feel it, and it feels big.

“Yeah,” you breathe, moving to duck under the bar, but it’s low and you’re feeling a little dizzy, so you teeter backwards into him, and as his hands find your waist again. “Yeah, I’m about to be done anyway.”

“You should really stretch after maxing out like that,” he suggests, turning you around. “Don’t wanna be hurting, do you?”

But you can only look into his intense eyes and shake your head lightly before he’s easing you to the ground on your back, settling each of his knees over one of your thighs, and slotting his shoulder beneath your hamstring. He pushes forward, gently, slowly, looking to you for anything wrong; and there isn’t.

There’s nothing wrong, except for the fact that you can feel his huge dick against your pussy through both of your shorts.

It’s all you need to start moving blindly, reaching down for his waistband, pawing at his neck, mashing his lips to yours, and he doesn’t hesitate to do it back—he lets up on your leg only to slip your shorts off before your ankle is back over his shoulder and he’s grinding the head of his cock into your wetness.

“You gonna let me in, baby?” he pants hotly, looking down at you squirming beneath him. “Yeah, I know you will—you’re strong, you can take it.”

His tip catches on your clit, and you gasp before he’s plunging into you, setting a brutal pace. “Oh, fuck!”

“Oh, fuck, yeah,” he groans. “So fuckin’ tight.”

He hits the inside of you perfectly, his soft ginger hair falling loose from its low pony—you wish you knew his name so you could scream it, but you settle for moaning, panting, cussing, as he throws your other leg over his shoulder and drills into you on the gym mat. ⊹

⊹ OSAMU DAZAI—MY OLDER BROTHER ALMOST CAUGHT ME FUCKING HIS BEST FRIEND!

“Shit—I’ll be back, gonna go shower this off. Asshole.”

That was what your older brother, Chuuya, grumbled at Dazai before scurrying off to the bathroom. The three of you had just gotten back from getting ice cream, and Dazai had the brilliant idea of snatching Chuuya’s cone from him and sticking it in his hair. Cursing ensued the entire walk home.

And Dazai popped the tail end of his cone in his mouth and grabbed for your wrists as soon as your brother was out of sight, which leads you to now—in the living room, on the couch, bouncing furiously on his cock as he grunts.

“Osamu—be quiet!” you plead with him, but you’re moaning, too.

His lips fall into a grin. “Don’t worry, cutie, I can still hear the shower—fuck! Just keep—keep doing that, you feel so fucking good.”

So you reinforce your grip on his shoulders and slam your hips down to meet his, over and over, drawing sinful sounds from both of your bodies as you’re separated by a single thin wall from your brother—Dazai’s best friend, who would probably murder both of you if he found out you were fucking.

And then the water turns off. You muffle the choked cry you let out into Dazai’s shoulder, so damn frustrated that you won’t get there, not before Chuuya comes back—but Dazai’s flipping you onto your back, grabbing you by your hips, pulling you into him with such fervor that you almost shout.

“Need it, baby, I need to cum in this pussy—”

“Osamu!”

But even you can’t tell if you’re egging him on or warning him to stop—with no sound buffer and Chuuya undoubtedly coming back any minute, your body decides for you that you need it, too, you need to cum and you will, no matter how much your mind protests; your eyes flick nervously up to the hallway when they’re not rolling back from how Dazai’s rearranging your guts.

“He’s gonna come back—unh—and you’re gonna sit here with my cum in you, and he won’t even fuckin’ know.”

He’s digging his nails into your hips and ass, making you twitch, reaching down to rub your clit hard, and when you cum, clenching around him, he shoves his palm over your mouth and spills into you with a last few wet smacks.

Dazai’s scrambling back into his pants as footsteps pad down the hall; he all but throws himself at the other end of the couch as you curl up, dressed but fucked silly, focused on not letting the evidence of what just happened gush out of you and leak onto the couch.

“Fuck was that noise?” Chuuya mumbles, sauntering out as he’s tying his wet hair up.

“Hm? I don’t know, I didn’t hear anything.”

When Chuuya turns toward the kitchen, Dazai tosses you a wink. Your face burns as you feel yourself leaking. ⊹

⊹ DOPPO KUNIKIDA—COLLEGE HOTTIE SUCKS DICK FOR EXTRA CREDIT!

"You do realize I'm going to have to fail you," your professor informs you, looking into your eyes with a little regret. Truthfully, you've always been personable in class and shown promise as a student, and he's disappointed. Not in you, just in your poor academic performance during your final semester.

"There has to be something I can do to make up for it," you nearly plead, hands clasped together on the edge of his desk as you look to him with hope. You know you've been slacking, but you need this class to graduate.

"I don't know—" He sighs your name, clearly confliced. Your attendance record is less than impressive these days, and Kunikida's enforced a strict class participation policy throughout his years of teaching—as well as no extra credit—something he makes clear to all of his students in all of his classes, and you especially should know better after taking his classes for four years. "I don't know. Like what?" Maybe you can do a few credits in the summer and still walk at graduation, or pick up an internship. But he wants you to take the initiative and accountability.

He doesn't really know how to protest when you're slipping out of your seat and sinking to your knees as a spark starts to gleam in your eyes. You rattle off a few academic ideas for posterity, but ultimately find your hands sliding up his thighs and fiddling with his belt.

Fuck it, you think, you'll be out of here soon enough. Plus, Kunikida's always been kind, compassionate, understanding, and sexy—too invested in his field to even notice that handfuls of students on campus would throw themselves at him given the chance. Maybe he'll finally understand, you muse to yourself, as you work his hardening cock out of his dress pants.

He chokes out your name when you take his length in both of your hands; he's all the way gone when you're swirling your tongue over his tip, giving in to your little idea for extra credit sooner than he'd ever admit to himself.

"Oh, fuck—" He's staring up at the ceiling of his office in pure bliss because his student is working hot, sloppy kisses down the underside of his cock. His hands twist into your hair, and you gaze up at him, doe-eyed, as his head falls forward and he looks at you through his glasses. "Keep going. Don't fucking stop."

He's trying not to thrust into your mouth when you fondle his balls; his pretty blond bangs are dampening with sweat, and you can't take your eyes off him as you bob your head faster, hollowing your cheeks around him and moaning at the taste of your professor's cock heavy in your mouth. He twitches and jumps at your attention to detail—your fingers raking tracks down his thighs, your frantic tongue, your fluttering lashes and sugary moans, gags, and slurps that are music to him.

You know, as he falls apart more and more by the second, you won't have to worry about this class anymore.

"Unh—uh, yes, oh, fuck, we'll work something out, yeah, gorgeous? Just don't stop—d—don't stop, don't fucking stop, I'm gonna cum down that pretty throat, yeah, and we'll get it all figured out." ⊹

⊹ YUKICHI FUKUZAWA—NAUGHTY SECRETARY SEDUCES HOT BOSS!

You're perched on his desk when he returns from the meeting—Yukichi, your boss, who, lately, you can't stop thinking about climbling like a tree. You're sure your coworkers see it, too, but you're his personal assistant; no one gets to be as close to him as you, and he trusts you.

Which is why you'll put the moves on him today.

He runs a hand through his silver hair—obviously stressed—sighing as he pulls his office door shut and turns to you. He speaks your name, holds a few papers in your direction, begins instructing you on what he needs from you next.

But you know better what he needs. The papers that make their way into your hands are quickly forgotten about on his desk as you uncross your legs and hop down, sauntering up to place on hand on his arm, the other on his chest.

"Sir, you look so tense. Are you sure there isn't anything else I can do?"

He makes his way to sit down in his office chair, disregarding your touch in a way that has you following after him like a puppy in need of attention.

He doesn't answer, but he also doesn't protest when you settle between his knees beneath his desk and push his yukata and haori up to pool around his hips. His dick is thick and veiny, even soft; when you spit in your hand and begin to work him up and down his mouth falls open with a sigh, and he grows at least two inches as he hardens beneath your grip.

You didn't think you'd be able to fit his absolute monster cock in your mouth, but you find yourself, throat open, with your nose pressed to his happy trail as you swirl your tongue and breathe through your nose frantically; he holds your face down, speaking very little but making up for it with the way he grunts hotly in that deep, rough voice as he bucks into the back of your throat.

"Unh—ugh..."

You breathe through your nose as his hips fall into a brutal pace; his hands on either side of your head keep you pinned in place as he uses you, takes his stress out on you. Your fingers massage his balls, and you can't help the way you hum around him when he twitches in your mouth.

Yukichi pulls out of your jaw and you gasp for air, wiping the spit that drips down your chin with the back of your hand, but he's not done. When he does speak, it's demanding, low, and it makes your cunt throb with need.

"Get up. Get up, sit on the desk. 'Need to fuck you."

You do as you’re told, open up for him with no hesitation, smiling as he works his fat cock into you—yeah, his stress will be gone in no time with the way he fucks your hole so hard and fast that you shake with each creak of his desk. ⊹

⊹ ATSUSHI NAKAJIMA—STUCK IN THE ELEVATOR WITH MY SEXY NEIGHBOR!

"Ah! Atsushi, open the door!"

"Um," he frets, punching the button until he's sure it'll break. If it's not broken already. "I—I can't, it's not working!"

Not working? Is he fucking serious? You're trapped in the door—all you did was try to reach back out for your bag you'd set by the elevator and now you're stuck, by the waist, between the two sliding maneuvers, your bag dangling from your hands.

"It's supposed to have a sensor! It's not supposed to even close when someone's on the threshold!" you cry through your teeth as you try to squirm out. Atsushi's mind is already working, though, over the way you're pinned in half, wiggling your ass as you struggle against the industrial strength of the elevator door. "Atsushi, help me, please call someone or something—"

But his hands are on your hips, pulling backward, and you can't help the noise of surprise that slips out of you.

"Atsu', I seriously don't think that will work, please, just call—Atsushi!"

His hands shake as he slides your pants and underwear down your thighs, exposing your ass; he tunes out your protesting as he undoes his belt. You hear the clink of it hitting the ground, you feel his fingers dipping into your cunt from behind, and he cannot be fucking serious.

"I'm sorry," he cries like it's out of his control—he feels like it is. "I'm sorry, you're so hot, you're right here, I've wanted this for so long."

And you feel yourself beginning to drip at his desperate tone. You can't fucking believe it—this is depraved. This is some shit you would've never expected from the sweet, cute boy in the apartment across the hall who helped you drag your bedframe and couch from this very elevator to your room but here he is, prodding at you with his pathetically leaky cock while you're stuck in the damn elevator door.

And you'd be frustrated with how your body reacts, but as he slides his dick along your cunt, drenching himself in your wetness, you can't help but arch back into his touch.

"Atsushi, you have to fuck me, please."

And he does, fast and unpracticed—he whimpers for you, tells you you're all he thinks about when he jerks off; he confesses that he looks through his peephole when he knows you're leaving for work or school just to get at least one glimpse of you everyday to fuel his imagination, and you gush around him, the pain of the door trapping you falling irrelevant, drifting out of your mind, as he buries his face in your shoulder and humps into you like an animal, pounding against your cervix.

"Fuck, that's right, so good, so, so good—better than I could've imagined—agh, fuck, that's right, take it all, take it, take it, take it...!" ⊹

⊹ RYUUNOSUKE AKUTAGAWA—HOT BABE HAS NO MONEY, LETS THE DELIVERY BOY DESTROY THAT PUSSY!

You rifle through your wallet and hum when you come up short. "Um, I... know you said you don't have a card reader, but I don't have enough cash."

The delivery boy looks at you with little more than boredom until you invite him in.

"Here, let me look in my room—I might have more stashed somehwere..."

He stands over you, searching you with his curious gray eyes as you dig through a drawer, a bag, another bag, only to come up short again. You even peek under your mattress for good measure, but you're just out. You turn to him sheepishly.

"I, uh... I don't have enough, I'm really sorry."

"Well, I can't leave without some form of payment," he deadpans, and you try to think of something, anything—you have a few giftcards for other delivery services, some jewelry—but he's letting his bag fall off his shoulder and grabbing you by the hips before you can register what he means.

You end up face down, ass up on your bed as a compromise, his hips rutting into you from behind as he holds your wrists behind your back. Ryuunosuke his name tag read—you're quick to adopt a way around that mouthful, moaning out, "Ryuu, Ryuu, please!" as he splits you open and calls you a whore.

"Fuckin' slut—"

When you're able to glance back for a second you can see his pretty black hair swaying with each rough thrust, and you're sure he's hitting your lungs—he's so fucking deep inside you, and you're gasping, moaning for more.

"—so eager to—unh—take this dick. Probably hiding your cash somewhere."

But whether you are or not doesn't matter; your eyes are rolling back to the hard smack of his hips against your ass and the white-hot pleasure that rolls through you every time he plows straight into your g-spot, and he's throbbing inside of you at the way your cunt grips him. Your pizza's getting cold on the counter in your kitchen, but you don't care—not when he bunches his fingers up in your hair to arch you back up to him so he can wrap his other hand around your throat.

You hold onto him as he bends you, pulling air down into your lungs when you can, and his gravelly voice barrages you with more words that make you gush around his cock.

"Gonna let me cum in this pussy so you don't have to fork over a few bucks for a pizza? Pathetic."

His teeth sink into your shoulder, his other hand reaches down to torture your neglected clit, and you're sure he's gonna break you over this, your hot delivery boy who just so happened to have the idea to fill you up as payment. You pant his name desperately between thunderous moans—you're gonna cum soon. ⊹

⊹ SAKUNOSUKE ODA—THIS PLUMBER FIXED MORE THAN JUST MY PIPES!

"Okay, that should do it." The man stands up, back to a height at which he towers over you, and you lean on the doorframe to the kitchen as he shuts the cabinets beneath your sink. "It's all movin' again."

You were in your robe when you answered the door, but you'd be lying if you said you didn't run to the bathroom to fix your hair and swipe on a little lip balm while he was working. Really, you hadn't meant to try to fuck the plumber. But this man was gorgeous, with his auburn hair, stubble-lined jaw, large hands, broad shoulders. You felt your eyes widen when you first laid eyes on him, and now you'd been throbbing thinking about what those thick fingers could do other than plumbing.

You pull your robe tighter around yourself, hoping to subtly accentuate the outline of your body. "Thank you so much, really, I don't know what I'd have done without the sink."

"Probably used the dishwasher a lot more," he cracked dryly, and your previous words suddenly feel stupid, but it only serves to make him hotter.

"How should I pay you?" You stride over to him. "Cash?"

"You can just pay online." He looks tired, but he has a well-meaning smile on his face.

You look a little incredulous. "Really? I can't—do you accept tips? Seriously, top notch work and super quick. I can't not thank you."

"I'm really not supposed to take tips," he drawls, running a hand through his hair. You find yourself biting your lip; you can't look away from him. You must look like a rabid animal right now, but you can't help it.

He doesn't tear his eyes away from yours.

"I mean, unless..."

Those three words are what find you on your back in your bedroom with your robe thrown open, the sweet and efficient plumber named Sakunosuke standing at the edge as he impales you on his cock. He worked you open with those fingers first, fast and harsh, just how you begged him to, but nothing could've prepared your weeping hole for the stretch of his fat dick—and now he's pounding into you, his hands clutching your waist as you hold your legs open for him to thrust deeper, deeper.

“Oh, shit. Unh—so wet—“

His groans come from his chest, deliciously—he looks a little like he knows he shouldn't be doing this, but your cunt is sucking him in like it was what he was supposed to come here for all along. You spasm and clench around him and he throws his head back, your whole body rippling as his strong hips and heavy balls smack lewdly against your ass with each thrust.

“Mmph—fuck—break that sink of yours more often, alright?” ⊹

⊹ ANGO SAKAGUCHI—I JOINED THE MILE HIGH CLUB (EXTREMELY RISKY)!

The man you met in the airport bar—oh, he’s pretty.

He's even prettier in your mind when the pilot announces phone permissions now that you're in the air, and the first notification your phone receieves is from him.

I have an open seat next to me in first class. Come visit.

You don't hesitate for a moment. You stride forward from the economy section, past the flight attendants who protest at you flimsily to search for his seat number—you see his unmistakably gorgeous hair, his glasses, his sharp side profile as he speaks to an attendant, catches you in his peripheral, and then shoos her away.

There's hardly niceties before one of your legs is slung over his knee and he kisses you with fervor. You don't think too hard about the people around you—none of whom can actually see you but without a doubt will know exactly what's happening in a few minutes—as you grind down onto his thigh, bite his lips, draw soft gasps from him when your knee nudges his bulge.

Before you know it, his cock is free and he slides your underwear to the side so you can sink onto him; he groans shamelessly when your wet heat envelops him completely, causing heads to turn in your direction, but you just brace your knees against the airplane seat and your hands on his shoulders make quick work of milking him of everything he has.

He kisses you, hot, heavy; he smells good, he smells expensive, and you tear his dress shirt open to rake your nails down his chest as he grabs your hips, letting his head fall back and a full-bodied moan into the cramped air of the plane as he does so. You lift up to let him thrust, let lewd smacks resonate throughout first class, and with your chest in his face he rides your shirt up to latch his teeth to one of your nipples; you echo him, moaning unabashedly, running your hands through your hair, gripping him as people look on.

"Fuuuck, yeah, feels so good," he praises from beneath you. "Knew I had to fuck you from the second I saw you." His eyebrows draw up in concentration as he looks down at where your bodies meet and continues fucking up into you hard. "Hah—listen to that cunt cry for me. You like being watched, huh? Gonna let me fuck you 'til the plane smells like sex? Huh?"

You nod, messily, desperately, and he quickens his pace ever faster, pulling you back down into a sloppy kiss.

An attendant awkwardly approaches in the aisle, but the gorgeous man who's destroying your insides just holds up a palm, shoos her away again.

"Fuck—so sexy. Keep takin' this dick." ⊹

⊹ NIKOLAI GOGOL—LUCKY INTRUDER GETS TO FUCK HORNY VICTIM!

You're splayed out on your bed, two fingers stuffed deep in your cunt—and he's just surprised you didn't hear him breaking the lock on your front door.

When you meet his eyes, you're so glazed over with pleasure that you barely miss a beat, your gaze only blowing wide when he peers around your bedroom doorway. His snowy white hair, his sharp features—you can't find the sense to be alarmed at this unfamiliar man, the one holding your laptop and—is that your wallet?

Doesn't matter—they're clattering to the ground, another factor here you can't find it in yourself to care about as his gray eyes are locked onto you fucking yourself open on your sheets. The sheen of sweat that covers your skin, your desperate moans as you grind your clit against your palm, the obscene squelching that comes from your wet cunt—they all serve to propel him over to you, prompt him to dig his already-hard cock out of his pants as you just watch, beg him with your stare to come fill you up. You're so lucky he's here, really—you look like you're struggling to get deep enough with your pathetic little fingers; he guesses it's only fair that he repay you for the material goods he's about to rob you of and pawn off on whatever sucker will buy them for cash, right?

"Right? I'll help you out—" He gives his cock a few pumps as he positions himself between your legs, "—looks like you need it, sweetheart."

You can only bite your lip to supress the moan that leaves you as he enters your cunt and lifts your fingers up and out of you by your wrist to swirl his tongue around them, lick them clean. He's huge—even your third and fourth fingers weren't enough to prepare you properly for the burglar’s dick in your needy pussy, so you let out strained combinations of gasps and screams when he starts to drill into you mercilessly. You can't help the way your ankles link behind his back, the way you reach for him—and he smiles wickedly when your eyes roll back.

"You like having a stranger's cock deep in your guts, huh?" he speaks between deep sighs and grunts. You can only babble your incoherent agreement, your laptop and wallet forgotten, the actions of this man forgotten, everything but how desperately you need to squirt all over him forgotten—you reach down and rub your clit, play with your nipples as your mouth is frozen open as you moan, moan for this man who's just broken into your home. "Uh—yeah, you're gonna like takin' all my cum, too, I bet." ⊹

⊹ SIGMA—MASSEUR HELPS HIS SEXY CLIENT RELIEVE STRESS!

"Oh, yeah—right there," you groan softly as the heel of his palm meets the center of your back. You've been looking forward to this full-body massage the whole week, and this man was not disappointing.

He works his way down your back, twisting knots out as he goes—his lithe fingers feel like heaven against you, overworked from hours at your desk hunched over your computer.

But it's a full-body massage, as mentioned before; when his fingers dig into the plush of your asscheeks, you can't help the groan that leaves you.

"That okay?" he inquires; you think you hear a shake in his voice.

"More than okay," you reply, thinking you could fall asleep as he works you into relaxation. You could close your eyes from how good it feels, or you could peek behind you and see his face burning with blush at your sounds. You do the former, but smirk a little at how sweet it is of him to check in.

He checks in again when his hands are inching your underwear down, and you tell him of course, he's the professional.

He's still the professional when he climbs up on the table behind you and buries his flushed face into your cunt. You arch up and back, crooning, as his hands stay massaging you, spreading you apart, kneading your ass with career expertise and plunging his tongue into you with enthusiasm.

"Oh! Oh—feels good," you breathe, grinding back into his face, onto his nose. He laps at you happily, this masseur you've barely looked upon for a total of twenty seconds, but you can't lie to yourself and say you didn't think he was pretty when he led you back to his room; he hums into you, sending you shivering, twitching. "Please, more."

"Mhm," he mumbles, releasing one of your asscheeks to lay back beneath you and insert a long, thin finger into your pussy; you sigh, you settle onto his face, and his tongue speeds up in this new position in a way that rips a high moan from your lungs.

Not hunched, but arched, the stretch feels heavenly on your back in combination with the way he pumps another finger into you; you graciously sit up, throwing your head back, begging, pleading for more until his tongue settles into a tight back-and-forth rhythm over your clit. "Please, please, please—"

You grind against his nose, your moans become more erratic, and you dig a hand into his hair as your hips move in dizzying circles over his head.

"Cum for me?" he asks, muffled by your pussy; you'll ride him until his face is soaked. ⊹

⊹ FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY—CONFESSING MY SINS ENDS IN HUGE CUMSHOT ALL OVER MY FACE!

“And I’ve been terribly, terribly lustful, Father Fyodor,” you say with regret. “It consumes me. I really never used to be like this."

"Temptation lurks everywhere," the priest sympathizes. You can barely see him through the grate, but his soft, forgiving voice sounds close to you. "The Devil and his army are constantly exploiting our vulnerabilities to try and turn us to sin, but worry not, child of Christ; we're human. I'm here to guide you. Continue."

You shift on the wooden seat in the booth, crossing your hands tighter over your lap. "That's really all. It's been very concerning to me. I think about it... I think about it so much."

"About what?" Father Fyodor prompts, and you bristle even more at being asked to elaborate.

"Sex," it barely comes out as more than a whisper. "I can't help it—it's everywhere. It leaves me feeling so... exhausted and frustrated, and the only thing that helps is... Well..."

But you're met with silence. You know he wants you to go on. You're here to confess, after all.

"...touching myself. I do it at least once a day. It's like a burning within me—nothing helps but—but—cumming all over my fingers." Your voice is laced with shame—the throbbing of your cunt as you talk makes you feel all the more guilty, and you can only imagine how he's shaking his head. "That's all. That's all."

"You'll do penance," he says, comfortingly. "When we bring our sins to the Lord and repent he cleanses us of them."

The grate pops out of the window, and you see the the waist of his alb as he speaks his next words.

"You'll take communion, now—" the cinctures around his waist fall undone beneath his hands, and the alb is hiked up to reveal a leaking cock, pretty and pale and bobbing in the air of the confessional. "—and be saved from the flames of perdition.”

"Yes, Father, please. Anything to be saved." But your mouth waters in a way that you know has little to do with your thirst for salvation.

"Take this; eat. This is my body," he recites the scripture as his length reaches through the window; your hands, eager and already on the threshold, accept him willingly. As you wrap your mouth around him, he groans, and it's like seraphim singing their holy, holy, holy.

"That's it—child of God, follower of Christ; I absolve you of your sins," he gasps as his tip hits the back of your throat which was begging for forgiveness moments ago. His hands reach through the window to stroke either side of your face, and then hold you in place to fuck your throat. "The Lord will forgive you for this." ⊹

[ribbonedreverie]

Can't help myself, have to request again because I was thinking about this the other day, and I need to see what you would create out of this scenario:

The men of BSD reacting to their lover calling them drunk. (reader insert) just like a mini-drabble of how they'd be in this situation because we know they'd all have drastically different takes.

If you're not comfortable with this specific scenario maybe just them reaching out to them when they need help (like they're out late at night and they're scared) just like an interesting/vulnerable-ish moment is what I'm interested to see how they would each handle.

You can do whatever men you want but I was hoping for: Ranpo (I love how you write him), Dazai, Chuuya, Akutagawa, Fydor, Mori, Fukuzawa, Oda, and Ango if at all possible. Just because I'm most curious about them. I know that's a lot though so no worries if it's less or not possible.

It was just an idea I had and was curious about how you'd handle but never feel like you have to. I know you're working on other things and if this doesn't fall within things you'd like to write about, no worries at all. I just love seeing your natural dialogue flow and wanted to see where you'd go with this interesting scenario and cast of characters.

I hope you'll consider the request <3

Whispers Between the Lines

This contains several heavy psychological and emotional themes, including psychological manipulation, gaslighting, Stockholm syndrome, unhealthy dependency, emotional coercion, control, power imbalance, toxic relationship dynamics, alcohol use, intoxication, loneliness, isolation, emotional vulnerability, implied emotional abuse, existential despair, and feelings of entrapment. (Most of these are for Mori)

Chuuya Nakahara: “Love Spilled Between Midnight Calls”

The moment he picks up, the world stills.

His breath catches, sharp, and when he speaks, his voice is edged with urgency.

“Where are you? What happened?”

He thinks something’s wrong.

But then you speak—soft, trembling, a quiet storm of love and longing spilling from your lips.

And oh—

Chuuya goes silent.

You tell him how much you love him, how he is everything, how you never thought you’d have this kind of love.

How you don’t deserve him—but God, you love him anyway, with every trembling, aching piece of yourself.

And Chuuya—

He is drowning.

His chest is too tight, his heart hammering like it’s trying to break free. He presses his fingers against the bridge of his nose, his breath uneven, his grip on the phone unsteady.

You don’t say these things often—not like this, not in this raw, unguarded way.

And you’re drunk, which means you are honest.

“Damn it.” His voice is thick, heavy with something he can’t name.

“You really think you don’t deserve me?” A breath—sharp, unsteady. “You—God, you’re my whole damn world, you idiot.”

And if your voice wobbles, if you sniffle even a little—he’s done for.

“Alright, that’s it. Stay where you are—I’m coming to get you.”

He doesn’t care if you tell him you’re fine.

He doesn’t care if you say it’s nothing.

Because the thought of you, alone, drunk and overwhelmed with love, is unbearable.

And when he finds you—wherever you are—he doesn’t speak at first.

He just pulls you in.

His arms are strong, steady, unyielding, as if holding you tight enough might press all your shattered pieces back together.

You can feel it, the way his heart slams against his ribs, how he clings to you like you are something sacred.

“You love me, huh?” His voice is low, teasing, but there’s a tremor beneath it, something fragile, something breaking.

You nod, small and hesitant, as if love could slip through your fingers like sand.

And then—he kisses you.

Your hair, your forehead, anywhere he can reach. Soft, reverent, like a vow written into your skin.

“Good,” he breathes, his lips ghosting over your temple. ”‘Cause I love you more, and I’ll remind you every damn day if I have to.”

Dazai Osamu: “Whispers at the Witching Hour”

The phone rings, slow and syrupy in the late-night hush.

A lull of static, then a voice—soft, silken, and just the slightest bit unsteady.

“Dazai~,” you purr, your words curling like smoke, slipping through the receiver in lazy ribbons. “It’s late, isn’t it? Or… early? I can’t tell. But does it matter?”

A pause—just long enough to feel like a caress, just long enough to let the silence hum between you.

Dazai leans back, the corner of his mouth twitching into a knowing smirk. He recognizes that tone, the way it drips with something dangerous, something intoxicating.

“I’m bored,” you continue, sighing, and he can hear it—the delicate tilt of your lips, the way amusement colors the edges of your voice like the last traces of dusk. “And I thought of you… Isn’t that dangerous?”

“Dangerous?” Dazai hums, fingers twirling the cord of the phone absentmindedly. “My dear, you wound me. Are you saying I’m a bad influence?”

A giggle, light as the clink of ice in a glass. “Oh, Osamu… don’t play coy. You know exactly what you are.”

There’s a shift in your tone now—something teasing, something languid. It trails down his spine like fingertips dragging over silk.

“Won’t you come play with me?” you muse, voice dipping into something rich, something molten. “The night feels lonely without a little trouble to keep it company.”

Dazai chuckles, but there’s something sharp beneath it—something intrigued.

“And what kind of trouble are you looking for, my sweet?”

A laugh, breathless and honey-drunk. “Wouldn’t you like to find out?”

Dazai exhales slowly, staring at the ceiling, a lazy grin pulling at his lips. He can picture it—the way you’re likely sprawled out, limbs loose, eyes heavy-lidded and glittering with mischief. The way your lips would part just so as you speak, as if inviting him closer even through the distance.

His fingers twitch against the receiver, the weight of the moment settling over him like a silk sheet—thin, delicate, and undeniably electrifying.

“Come find me, Dazai. If you dare.”

And then, just like that, the line goes dead.

Dazai blinks. For a beat, he simply sits there, the air thick with your lingering presence. Then, a slow, breathy chuckle escapes him, rolling through the quiet like the first drop of rain before a storm.

“Ah…” he murmurs to himself, running a hand through his hair. “What an interesting little game you want to play.”

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his mind already spinning. He should let it go—chalk it up to drunken whimsy, let you stew in your own mischief.

But where would the fun be in that?

A dangerous game, indeed.

And Dazai has never been one to resist temptation.

Ranpo Edogawa: “Dial Tone Confessions”

Ranpo doesn’t answer immediately.

His phone buzzes once, twice—persistent, an insistent little thing that refuses to be ignored. It’s late, too late for reasonable conversation, but curiosity flickers in the depths of his knowing eyes as he finally picks up, bringing the device lazily to his ear.

“Hmm~,” he drawls, the syllables of his greeting stretching like melted caramel, smooth, slow, indulgent. “It’s past your bedtime, isn’t it?”

A giggle bubbles through the receiver, unfiltered and weightless, like the clinking of glass bottles on a city curb. Ah. He tilts his head, amused. There’s a slur in your tone, subtle but telling, a looseness that drapes over your words like silk slipping off a shoulder.

“Ranpooo,” you sing, voice syrupy, teasing, like you’re calling for a stray cat that refuses to be tamed. “Guess where I am.”

He exhales through his nose, a smirk curling at his lips. “On the floor.”

A beat of silence. Then a dramatic gasp.

“Okay, that was a lucky guess.”

“It wasn’t.” He yawns, stretching an arm over his head, already sinking further into his couch. “You’re drunk, and when you drink, you get clumsy. And when you get clumsy, you fall. You should be thanking me for my genius, really.”

Another laugh, softer this time. “What would I do without you?”

Now, that’s interesting.

His eyes glint with something keen, sharp, something infinitely amused but not entirely unserious. It’s always been like this between you two—an intricate push and pull, a game of cat and mouse where neither wants to admit who’s chasing who.

But here, in this hazy hour where the world is quiet and the walls are thinner, the game bends just a little.

“You’d be lost,” he murmurs, voice dropping into something quieter, something almost fond. “Obviously.”

You hum, and for a moment, there’s nothing but the faint crackle of the call, the weight of something unsaid pressing between you.

Then—

“You know,” you whisper, conspiratorial, as if telling a secret meant only for him. “If things were different… if I didn’t—if I wasn’t—” You hiccup, cutting yourself off. “We would be something.”

Oh.

Ranpo stills, lips parting slightly.

A lesser man might have asked something what? But Ranpo isn’t lesser—he is all-knowing, all-seeing, and the answer is already curled around his ribs like an old, familiar ghost.

Something ruinous.

Something catastrophic.

Something that would burn too brightly, too quickly, until all that’s left is the memory of its light.

But instead, he only chuckles, airy, effortless, a magician tucking a trick up his sleeve. “Oh, you,” he muses, closing his eyes. “You say the sweetest things when you’re drunk.”

You whine, half-complaint, half-laughter. “You’re so mean to me.”

“And yet, you keep calling,” he counters smoothly.

A pause. Then, barely above a breath—

“Because you always pick up.”

Ranpo’s eyes flicker open, caught, for the first time, off-guard.

But then, his grin returns, sharp and knowing, curling like the last move in an unwinnable game.

“Well, of course,” he murmurs, voice lighter than air but grounding all the same.

“I already knew you would.”

Mori Ougai: A Late-Night Conversation Between a Caged Bird and Its Keeper

The world was spinning.

Not violently, not chaotically—just in a slow, dizzying waltz. Like a star drifting off course, like the ocean tide lapping at the shore in endless repetition.

You lay sprawled across the floor of your dimly lit apartment, the ceiling blurring in and out of focus. A forgotten bottle of wine rested at your fingertips, its contents long since emptied.

Drinking away the silence had been the plan.

It didn’t work.

Loneliness settled deep in your bones, unshakable and cruel, whispering the same tired truth over and over: There is no one. You are alone. You will always be alone.

Your numb fingers fumbled with your phone. There was no thought behind the action, only instinct, only the need for another voice—any voice. The names on the screen blurred together until one stood out, sharp and clear.

Mori Ougai.

A dry laugh broke the silence. What a ridiculous idea. Calling Mori was like calling the executioner when already on the chopping block—foolish, dangerous, and yet… strangely inevitable.

Your thumb hovered over the dial button.

Don’t.

Pressed it anyway.

It rang. Once. Twice. Then—

“My, my. What an unexpected surprise.”

His voice was smooth as silk, sharp as a scalpel. He didn’t sound tired. He never sounded tired.

A shaky exhale. Hanging up now would be the right choice. Tossing the phone across the room and pretending this never happened would be the safest option.

But the line remained open.

“…Mori.”

His name slipped out, barely more than a breath, slurred just enough to betray your state of mind.

A chuckle. Soft. Knowing.

“What a rare occasion. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

You press a hand to your fevered forehead, warmth from the alcohol spreading beneath your skin.

“I… I don’t know.”

A pause. He was listening. He was always listening.

“Are you drunk, my dear?”

A small, breathless laugh. “Maybe.”

“And yet, you called me.”

The implication lingered.

Your fingers tightened around the phone. Maybe this had been a mistake. Maybe a distraction was all you needed—something to chase away the unbearable quiet, not… this.

But there was no taking it back now.

“Lonely, are we?” Mori’s voice was almost mocking, but not quite.

Silence.

He didn’t push, didn’t demand an answer. He didn’t need to.

“…Yes.”

A slow inhale. Then—

“How tragic. Loneliness is such a cruel thing, isn’t it?” His tone softened, coaxing. A doctor speaking to a patient on the verge of breaking. “No one to talk to, no one to hold you. It must be unbearable.”

A lump formed in your throat.

“It is.”

“But you called me.”

Not a question. A claim.

Shame coiled in your chest. What was the thought process behind reaching out to him of all people? Comfort from Mori? A joke. A pathetic, laughable joke.

“I should go.” The words were weak, barely convincing, but you said them anyway. The phone was halfway pulled from your ear when—

“Ah, but… if you hang up, you’ll still be alone.”

Your breath caught.

Because he was right.

It didn’t matter how dangerous, how cruel, how suffocating he was—he was still the only one answering the call.

Tears burned at the edges of your blurred vision. They weren’t welcome.

“Why are you doing this?” The voice that spoke barely sounded like your own.

“Doing what?”

“Being… this.”

A pause. A smirk, audible even through the phone.

“Being what, my dear? The only one who picks up the phone when you call?”

Damn him.

“If you need me,” he continued, smooth as a blade sliding between ribs, “all you have to do is ask. You know I take care of my own.”

Your breath hitched. His own.

Was that what you were now? Just another piece in his careful arrangement of pawns?

The worst part was that you couldn’t even argue.

Silence stretched between you. Long. Unspoken. Dark.

“Go to bed,” Mori commanded, voice deceptively soft.

A quiet rebellion flared in your chest. “And if I don’t?”

A chuckle. “Then you’ll stay on the line with me all night.”

A shiver ran down your spine—not from fear, not from warmth, but from something worse.

“…Goodnight, Mori.”

The call ended.

The phone slipped from your numb fingers, clattering against the floor.

But the damage had already been done.

The call had been made.

Ango Sakaguchi: A Call at the Edge of the Night

The phone rings at an ungodly hour.

You don’t expect him to pick up.

You don’t even know why you called—only that the weight in your chest was too much, too unbearable, and for some foolish reason, he was the first name your trembling fingers found.

It rings once. Twice. Three times.

Then, a click.

“Angoooo…”

His name slips from your lips, loose and unguarded, tangled in something fragile. Something you’ve spent too long trying to swallow down.

A long silence.

Then, a sigh—one you feel more than hear.

“Where are you?”

Of course that’s the first thing he says.

Not why are you calling me?

Not what do you need?

Just the same, measured question he asks when dealing with people who have become problems—something to be contained, something to be handled.

You laugh, but it’s small. Hollow.

“Does it matter?”

You hear him shift. The rustle of paper, the faint scrape of glasses being adjusted.

You can picture him now—sitting in that dim, quiet apartment, surrounded by papers that dictate the fate of people he’ll never meet.

Maybe you’re just another name on a list to him.

Maybe you always have been.

“You probably think I’m pathetic.”

You don’t mean to say it. But the words are already there, slipping through the cracks in your chest before you can stop them.

Another silence.

Not denial.

Not agreement.

Just Ango, sitting in the space between words, like he always does.

“What happened?” His voice is quieter now.

You close your eyes. Nothing. Everything.

It’s too much, and yet not enough to explain the weight pressing against your ribs.

Because maybe it wasn’t just tonight.

Maybe it was the months of exhaustion settling in your bones, the ache of always giving and never being given to, the unbearable loneliness of knowing someone cares but never quite enough.

And maybe—maybe—that’s why you called him.

Because Ango never lets himself care.

And somehow, that makes it easier.

“Ango,” you murmur, voice barely above a whisper, “If I disappeared… would you come looking for me?”

The silence is deafening.

Your heart twists.

You shouldn’t have asked.

You shouldn’t have asked because you already know how this ends.

Because you know what happened the last time he lost someone who mattered.

Because Ango doesn’t allow himself to want. To hope. To save.

Not anymore.

But then—his voice, low, steady, aching.

“Yes.”

Your breath catches.

It’s a lie.

Or maybe it isn’t.

Maybe it’s worse than that. Maybe it’s the truth he doesn’t want to admit.

You swallow hard, chest tight, fingers gripping the phone like it’s the only thing keeping you tethered.

“You shouldn’t say things like that, Ango.”

It comes out softer than you intend. A warning. A plea.

And maybe you imagine it, but for just a second, you think he wants to say something more.

But he doesn’t.

Because Ango always stops himself before he gets too close.

Before he lets another name become something more than just another loss waiting to happen.

The line goes dead.

And you’re left sitting there, staring at the empty screen, wondering why you ever thought he could be the one to pull you back from the edge.

Wondering why, despite everything—you still wanted him to.

────

Apologies for the delay; I found myself immersed in capturing these gentlemen as I perceive them. Admittedly, I might have enjoyed a drink or two while penning some of these. Additionally, I was engrossed in my psychology and philosophy classes, both demanding papers recently. I will post the remaining characters soon. ♡

[ilovechuuy4]

˚ೀ⋆｡˚ I Have an Excellent Father, His Strength is Making Me Stronger!

BSD boy/girl dad HCS/reasoning

Warnings; girl dad I GUESS. (Why are y'all so upset with bsd girl dad's.

A/N: UGH THEY MAKE ME SICK IN A GOOD WAY ANYWAYS!! Do enjoy! Just a drabble before dazais bday post!!!

ADAˏˋ°•*⁀➷

N. Atsushi - Boy dad - It's not that he isn't a girl dad it's just he def is rough-housing, he would still play dress up etc if he was a girl dad but boy dad seems more accurate.

D. Kunikida - Girl dad - If he was a boy dad I fear he'd be so hard on the poor boy. Not saying Doppo won't be hard on his daughter but he'd def have a softer side.

O. Dazai - Girl dad ALL THE WAY - He's going to play dress up with her, tea parties, daddy-daughter dates etc etc he loves it all (also just don't think he can handle a little boy running around.)

Y. Fukuzawa - Girl AND Boy dad - Take that he hypothetically raised Yosano AND Ranpo just proves he's a big boy and girl dad, taking them out and having fun with them anywhere they'd like.

PORT MAFIAˏˋ°•*⁀➷

N. Chuuya - Girl dad - Daddy-Daughter dates, take your kid to work, daddy-daighter dances etc etc. Even though he's busy with his work he still want a to put time and effort to have fun with his kid.

P. Verlaine - Girl dad - He would let his kid basically play dress up with him. He'd let his kid put plastic tiaras and princess dressed on him. Let his daughter braid his hair and try to put those fake plastic highheels on that refuse to fit but his daughter would still try to make it work anyways.

R. Akutugawa - Boy dad - Making little monster trucks out of Rashomon so they can have little truck battles. Making little fits out of Rashomon too.

S. Oda - Both, leaning boy - Let's be serious, dazai and oda were father and son. Oda would be such a good dad. When it comes to being a boy dad he's gonna help his son with everything like when he hits puberty and doesn't now how to shave facial hair he'll help. When it comes to his daughter he's going to try understanding minstruals and any drama she's having.

S. Ango (former) - Girl dad - He definitely reads his kids bedtime stories regardless if they ask or not. He also let's them pull at his glasses just as long as they don't break them.

THE GUILDˏˋ°•*⁀➷

F. S. Fitzgerald - Girl dad - It's canon, literally. But he's definitely spoiling his daughter, toys, candy etc etc spoiling her to death (metaphorically)

E. A. Poe - Both leaning boy dad - He def wouldn't know how to give much attention to his child since he's all too focused on his novels.

H. P. Lovecraft - Girl dad - I feel like he wouldn't want kids take he might be scared they would be scared of him cause of his tentacles but if he would have had one, it would be a girl. They would def braid each other's hair.

J. Steinback - Both, leaning boy dad - I just couldn't see him being a girl dad though if he had a diaghter he would treat her just the same as if he had a son.

M. Twain - Both, leaning boy dad - I feel like Twain wouldn't care all too much but I feel like he'd enjoy teaching his son how the sniper works when his son gets older (not me saying girls can't learn how guns work)

DOAˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Bram S. - Girl dad - Hes definitely very protective over his daughter (like how he was protective over Aya) He's definitely giving a Vlad and Mavis (Hotel Transylvania) relationship, he'd do anything to make sure his daughter is happy.

Fyodor D. - Girl dad - He doesn't purposely neglect he child but take he's a terroist and literally on the run he tries his best but when he's not home he definitely sends Nikolai over to go give his daughter attention and love.

Sigma - Girl dad - If he had to choose, he'd be a girl dad. Not saying he wouldn't be a good dad, he'd be amazing but he wouldn't know how to deal with the drama or menstruals for the very first time but he'd definitely understand as time goes by.

Nikolai G. - Girl dad - ALL. THE. WAY. GIRL DAD NIKOLAI CANON. He'd let his daughter do his makeup for dress up or just for his clown outfit. No matter how messy it was he'd wear it out if she wanted him to (to carnivals, circuses, fairs etc.) Also hair braiding and tea party's are a big thing with Nikolai and his kid.

HUNTING DOGSˏˋ°•*⁀➷

S. Jōnō - Girl dad - It may sound ridiculous but they are playing hide and seek but the only way that Jōnō was always able to find her was his daughters soft giggles through the house where she was hiding, he's a really good dad.

S. Tetchō - Girl dad - He'd teach his daughter how his ability works, a smile would almost always appear when he heard her laugh and cheer as he demonstrated.

[confusedemiposts]

Hi! How are you?? I hope you are okay! Are you still taking requests? If you are, I have a request: What if s/o is Oda Sakunosuke's little sister/brother and s/o REALLY looks like Odasaku(Oda Sakunosuke) Their hair colour, eye colour is the same as his And s/o joins to Agency. What would ADA would do? If you aren't taking requests, you can ignore this! But if you are taking requests and if you do this, it would make my day! Thank you!!

I'm on the floor I loved this! I hope you don't mind I did a small drabble for the whole agency as one at the start but only went into details with characters that knew Oda and added Ango. I didn't know what s/o was till half way so this could be seen as platonic or romantic. I hope you liked it and feel free to tell me if there's anything I'm missing

Familiar Faces 𓇢𓆸

Includes: Fukazawa (platonic), Ranpo, Ango, Dazai x Oda's younger sibling

Genre: Angst, hurt/comfort

Notes: Dark Era and season four spoilers!!! Slight Beast! mention but no spoilers (Fukazawa), Probably oc, not proofread, bad grammar, gn reader, reader is unaware that Oda was in the mafia, reader is implied to be over 18

Format: Headcannons/ Drabbles

Summary: Being Oda's younger sibling

The Agency

You suprisingly grew up a very normal life thanks to your older brother. You knew he had a dangerous job and admired him greatly, after all who wouldn't? He took in orphans and visited them daily, bringing you along too. It became your whole life.

The day everything changed left an indescribable ache in your chest, like a piece of your world vanishing, leaving behind a void filled with quiet memories. You had just finished up school that year but your whole life was gone, everything you had was gone and you didn't even know why. It took you a few years till you decided to use your abilities for good and find out what happened.

You ended up joining a detective agency filled with ability users who are all very helpful and kind. It felt so welcoming that you genuinely enjoyed working here..but however, you couldn't help but notice three who looked at you with a certain, almost sad familiarity—as if they knew you. You hadn't met them before but they knew you- or at least some part of you that you didn't know how, they knew him. It's unnerving because how do they know?

Fukazawa Yukichi

He'd recognise you immediately

Well at least who you're related too

He only met Oda once as a teenager

I don't think he met him again so I doubt he knows what happened (tell me if I'm wrong)

Might've heard that he wasn't an active assassin anymore

Definitely on guard when he meet you

Like a relative of a former assassin willing applying to be a detective?

But you were different

He could see it in your eyes that were full of emotions,loss and compassion

Unlike those eyes he saw years ago

You have never killed

It was a bit unsettling though

He needed to know of your intentions

He glanced at you and then back at the application form. He knew he recognised that name, he knew that tinge of red hair and those empty brown eyes that mirrored the features of that boy—an exact replica. To him it made sense to have this interview in the cafe instead of his office.

But the eyes he was looking into were different this time; instead of being void of any emotion it glinted with loss and nervousness. This was an interview, of course you were nervous as the older man continued to keep silent, you felt like he was judging your very soul but in reality he was wondering something else.

Finally he puts the sheets down and clears his throat "What motivated you to apply for this job?". He was curious, you were undoubtedly related to the assassin so why are you applying to be a detective? What were your intentions?

Trying to calm your nerves, you took a deep breath. "I want to do good. I want to help people, like my brother."

He didn't react, but it was evident he was waiting for further explanation, especially regarding the mention of your brother. The silence hung in the air, prompting you to delve into the details.

Hearing your explanation of Oda surprised him

He didn't know any of this (I think)

To know that kid changed into a caring young man and raised his sibling and the orphans

Those eyes that were once lifeless, with no care for his life or anything, had changed

Said he must've been a good man

I think Fukazawa would've tooken Oda in like Ranpo back then :( maybe that's what happened in beast

He gave his his condolences when he found out he died

The waitress in the café came and asked if you two were ordering

Fukazawa ordered something small

You ordered a curry, spicy specifically you said

Fukazawa officially hired you when you passed your entrance exam

He knew you were a good person

I'd like to think later on he might tell you that he met Oda when he was a teen

Edogawa Ranpo

He met Oda twice

First as teens

And last in passing as adults

He tried to stop him :(

When he first met you he instantly knew you were related

He also knew that you were trying to find out how everything happened

I don't think he'd tell you at first for your sake

But as you get closer as friends maybe he would

Somewhat guiding you into figuring it out yourself

Ranpo doesn't act like it but I think he cares

You're having a bad day and about to snap?

You find a sweet you don't remember putting in your pocket

It's very small acts but it comforts you

Alone at your desk, with everyone gone home , and you asked if you could stay over a little to longer to finish something you'd been working on for months– finding out what happened that day.

Coming home from school, you headed to the curry place where you and your older brother always ate, where the orphans were cared for. Instead, you found chaos – police, bystanders, and a devastating revelation from an officer.

Devastated, you waited in grief for your brother, only to discover he was gone too. Everything you knew and loved vanished, leaving you desperate for answers.

You've been building up this personal case for months, you weren't that suprised to find out Oda was a mafiaso and former assassin but god still not knowing why everything happened still gnaws at you, Your world was taken, and the lack of understanding weighs heavily on your chest.

You groan and slump against the desk, the frustration of not knowing amplifying the ache in your chest. You felt like you were getting nowhere.

You felt a tug on your shirt and you lift your head up startled to see Ranpo leaning behind you. He doesn't bother asking why you're still here because he already knows but when you're about to ask him the same question he shushes you with his finger and pulls out a bag of sweets "I left these behind". That's a lie- unless he really wanted these specific sweets that he so happened to leave behind.

He pulls up a chair beside you, the wheels squeaking from only slight movement and plopping himself down.

Silently he offers the bag of sweets, you presume he wants you to open it and you do, going back to your papers after but he offers you the now open bag again, a silent invitation to take one.

You mutter a quiet thank you and take a sweet. It's silent as you both eat the sweets but it's a comfortable silence.

Osamu Dazai

Oh my god

I can't

You knew Dazai back when Oda was alive

When he came to the house or orphans

I'd say you got along

Oda definitely told Dazai to refrain from mentioning the mafia to you

And he kept to that no matter how many times you asked Dazai about how he knew your brother or what his job was

You were probably somewhat friends :(

Didn't see each other for four years until you joined the agency

At first you didn't recognise him

He's wearing less bandages

But he certainly recognised you

An exact image of your brother

I feel like there's two ways this could go

1. He completely ignores, distancing himself from you

2. He's completely all over, absolutely protective of you and making sure your okay at all times

I think it be both

You found that everyone was quite welcoming at the agency and you got along with everyone... although there was one who always avoided you no matter what.

And that was Osamu Dazai.

The moment you stepped into the office his heart dropped as if he seen a ghost, his facade halting only for a moment before he picked up his usual demeanor again. Quietly slipping away before you see him

He'd be stupid to think you wouldn't recognise him but he ignored you anyways. Oh you're coming back from a case? Where did Dazai go? He suddenly vanished (sarcasm). You try to approach him? He is sprinting the other way.

He cannot look at you at all without thinking about Oda, he will not let you close to him again because everything he never wants to lose is always lost and he doesn't want to lose you too.

He is trying to distant himself from you, he doesn't want you to get hurt, he wants you to be safe, he wants you to live the normal life that Oda tried to give you, he wants you- your gaze, your words, your touch-and it scares him, everything worth wanting is lost the moment he obtains it, that is the life of Osamu Dazai.

Though he ignores you directly, he watches over you through other means, making sure in any plans your safety is first, that your teamed up with someone dependable and your getting home safe after work.

But Dazai can't run away from ghost's forever, not when that ghost is at arms length. He always manages to slip away when you try to even speak to him but not this time- you got him cornered, he has no choice but to see his past once again.

I don't know how to write confrontation so just wheater you argued or broke down crying

He will realise he can't keep you away

Perhaps he'll let you close again

But not too close

He knows very well that you see his facade

Being with you he doesn't have to keep his bubbly mask on

You'd both sit silently together by Oda's grave

The silence is not deafening with you, it's calm, a silent mutual understanding between you

He would definitely have nightmares of losing you too

Too the point I don't think he'd leave your side

Constantly hovering around you, partnering up with you everytime so he knows your safe, knocking at your dorm in the dead of night because of a nightmare

It's silly he thinks but still it worries him deep down, after all he is human

Ango Sakaguchi

I know he's not part of the agency

But I think he helped you get into it

I think Ango would've taken care of you:(

Not directly but from afar

He'd feel too guilty

Finding out that you were looking for a job involving where you could get hurt he immediately directed you to the Agency

Partially because of Dazai

He knew he would watch over you no matter what

And you'd have each other :(

[oikasugayama]

IT'S!

MY!

BIRTHDAY!

YAYYYY!!!

[bonne-chanson]

✑ click here for my stormbringer x reader suite masterlist!

✎𓂃 𝒉𝒊 ! 𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒎𝒆 𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒏𝒆𝒕 ᝰ.ᐟ

i’m a 21-year old university student (they/she) trying to make their way through life at the moment! i love all things classical from music (forever a twosetter) to literature, birds of all kinds, and anime / manga (currently obsessed with bungo stray dogs, especially stormbringer)!

as music is primarily the focus of my life (and my major, hehe), i’ve recently come back to writing to give myself something else to look forward to. i figured i’d pick up the pen again after having spent an entire lifetime holding the violin. ♡ i’ve been on tumblr for a while as a lurker, but this is the first time i’m actually writing for my blog and interacting with people!

that being said, i’d love to try my hand at doing x-readers and connecting with more people, so here’s a list of fandoms and characters i’m currently open to and willing to write for / comfortable with as well as my boundaries and interaction rules!

✑ click here to view my latest work!

tags: sonnet sings! 𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋ (posts) ; sonnet answers! ✉︎⨾𓍢ִ໋ (asks)

slots taken for requests: 6/5

✎ᝰ.ᐟ 𝒇𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒐𝒎𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔:

bungo stray dogs (masterlist, works in progress)

armed detective agency: dazai osamu, nakajima atsushi, kunikida doppo, yosano akiko, edogawa ranpo, fukuzawa yukichi, tanizaki jun’ichiro

port mafia: nakahara chuuya, akutagawa ryuunosuke, akutagawa gin, higuchi ichiyou, tachihara michizou, mori ougai, ozaki kouyou, sakunosuke oda / odasaku, arthur rimbaud

stormbringer: paul verlaine, adam frankenstein, piano man, lippmann, iceman, doc, albatross

decay of angels / rats in the house of the dead: fyodor dostoyevsky, nikolai gogol, bram stoker, sigma, ivan goncharov, oguri mushitarou

hunting dogs: fukuchi ouchi, suehiro tecchou, saigiku jouno

the guild: f. scott key fitzgerald, lucy m. montgomery, louisa may alcott, edgar allan poe (more soon…)

government: sakaguchi ango, ayatsuji yukito, tsujimura mizuki

others: shibusawa tatsuhiko, agatha christie

STRICTLY PLATONIC / FAMILIAL: izumi kyouka, miyazawa kenji, tanizaki naomi, kyuusaku yumeno, buichirou shirase, yuan, okura teruko

note: for those who aren’t that far into the anime / manga yet, as there is a lot of double-crossing in the series, i’ve placed the characters in one group each to make them easier to find! and yes, i also write for BEAST!

✎ᝰ.ᐟ 𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔:

i can…

write for almost all genres! i’m open to doing things from tooth-rotting fluff to heavy angst, headcanons to one-shots and drabbles, or a good ol’ comfort fic!

also write for smut / yandere! 18+ requests are allowed, but i will have to emphasize that MINORS SHOULD NOT INTERACT. although i can’t completely control what you decide to click on, i would be more comfortable if those under 18 don’t interact with any of my adult / nsfw content.

do requests! i’m currently accepting requests so as long as they’re within what i’ve listed above and the boundaries you are currently reading.

write for all sorts of pairings for character x reader! feel free to specify and i’ll try my best to write them for you (as long as those specifications are within boundaries, of course).

(for bungo stray dogs) write for light novel characters! they will, however, most likely be tagged with spoilers for those who haven’t read them yet.

i will NOT…

write any 18+ / nsfw content for minors—that includes both writing for the characters below 18 and entertaining the nsfw requests of anyone who is also below 18. any work regarding characters who are below 18 is STRICTLY PLATONIC / FAMILIAL. i also refuse to age them up to write them for romantic / nsfw works.

write for rape / non-con, pedophilia, heavy abuse, incest, etc. dark themes in general / dark fics / interactions with blogs who have dark themes are okay with me and i do enjoy them every now and then as long as they remain fiction, DO NOT INVOLVE CHILDREN / MINORS and aren’t too extreme nor do they promote / romanticize any of those listed (and those that fall under those terms) in real life, but writing for those topics and the process of writing for them in general makes me uncomfortable, so i personally don’t write for things like that. also, absolutely NO proshipping (ESPECIALLY with things that involve children / minors) here!

tolerate the usage of AI for creative work, and that includes sampling any of my work for any AI outputs. please refrain from using my written works as references to train / feed AI!

accept requests if i do not feel comfortable writing them in general. if it feels too extreme for me, i won’t bother. sorry!

be able to guarantee that i can publish things on time. i am still a full-time student and have other responsibilities outside social media!

✎ᝰ.ᐟ 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒓𝒖𝒍𝒆𝒔:

as usual, please be respectful! i generally don’t mind nsfw talk, but nothing directed at me or from ageless blogs / blogs run by those below 18.

DO NOT INTERACT if you are against the lgbtqia+ community / homophobic / transphobic, xenophobic, lolicon / shotacon, identify as a “MAP” (minor attracted person), ableist, sexist, proshipper, make jokes about rape, etc. this is a strict rule of mine as i do not want to make anyone uncomfortable on my blog and because you disgust me if you fall under any of those terms. you will not be tolerated and you will automatically be blocked. GO AWAY!

no personal venting / ranting, please. it is very likely that i do not know you personally, so please refrain from bombarding my inbox with personal issues!

no stealing, reposting, or copying any of my works! translations are allowed, but please ask first and credit me! i also have an ao3 account which i will link here soon.

IMPORTANT: if i’m doing something / have said something that makes anyone uncomfortable, PLEASE DO NOT HESITATE TO REACH OUT AND TELL ME! i’m still new to this whole tumblr thing so the last thing i want is to leave sour interactions with anyone here. ˊᴖˋ

now that all of that’s out of the way, thanks for scrolling this far! i hope to make friends with you guys and have some fun bringing back an old hobby of mine through my fandoms! feel free to fire away in my inbox! ♡

✎ . . . ᝰ.ᐟ

[lavandulawrites]

Lavandula’s Valentine Event

Duration: February 14th- February 28th

I have always been a hopeless romantic, so I thought it was suitable to do a Valentines Day event ♥︎

There are going to be two “mini events” in one: match-up and love letters from a character of your choice.

The rules are further down in the post. Read my rules before requesting. I only take requests for male characters.

The Cupid’s Matchmaking Service

Wondering who would suit you best as romantic partner? Look no further, The Cupid’s Matchmaking Service is here to help you ♥︎

Amor’s Love Letters

Love is in the air and what isn’t more fitting than love letters from your secret admirer? It is Valentine and Amor is making sure every single love letter finds its way home to its receiver’s heart ♥︎

Love Stories

The Cupid is a sucker for some good ol’ love stories. Because who can say no to romance stories?

Rules

The Cupid’s Matchmaking Service:

Tell me a little about yourself: hobbies, personality, likes and dislikes, favourite things (not obligatory), MBTI (not obligatory), zodiac sign (not obligatory) and etc. Please do not write unnecessary long paragraphs, but do give me something to work with (do not share any sensitive information). A Cupid’s needs some sort way to find your soulmate ;) Let me know is if you want your matchmaking profile to include yandere or not. Let me know what fandom/ fandoms you want to be matched with. You can choose up to 4 different fandoms.

If you wish for the matchmaking profile to including short NSFW headcanons, you have to be over 18 plus non-anonymous and you need to have your age in bio and/or pinned post. If you wish to remain anonymous for everyone else (except me), you can send me a DM (you still have to be over 18 with your age in bio and/ or pinned post).

Amor’s Love Letters:

Tell me what character or characters you want to receive a love letter from (max 2 characters per request). If you want the love letter to include anything specific, let me know in the request, though don’t go overboard with the details (no angst is allowed). If you want the love letter to have yandere themes, let me know, if not I will automatically write it as non-yandere/ normal.

If you wish for the love letter to include NSFW, you have to be over 18 plus non-anonymous and you need to have your age in bio and/or pinned post. If you wish to remain anonymous for everyone else (except me), you can send me a DM (you still have to be over 18 with your age in bio and/ or pinned post).

Love Stories

Tell me what character/ characters you wish to be included in your request. You can either request some headcanons (romantic and/ or valentine themed) or a short drabble/ fanfic. You can request max 3 characters per request. Let me know if you want yandere or non-yandere/ normal. Angst is not allowed. If you want me to include something specific, let me know (don’t go too overboard).

If you want your request to be NSFW, you have to be over 18 plus non-anonymous and you need to have your age in bio and/or pinned post. If you wish to remain anonymous for everyone else (except me), you can send me a DM (you still have to be over 18 with your age in bio and/ or pinned post).

Fandoms and Characters You Can Request From:

♥︎ Attack on Titan

Armin

Connie

Eren

Erwin

Jean

Levi

Porco

Reiner

Zeke

♥︎ Bungo Stray Dogs

Akutagawa

Ango

Atsushi

Chuuya

Dazai

Fukuzawa

Fyodor

Jouno

Mori

Mushitaro

Nikolai

Ranpo

Sigma

Tachihara

Tetchō

♥︎ Death Note

L

Light

Matsuda

Matt

Mello

Mikami Teru

♥︎ Demon Slayer

Akaza

Douma

Enmu

Giyu

Muzan

Obanai

Rengoku

Sanemi

Tengen

♥︎ Genshin Impact

Albedo

Alhaitham

Ayato

Baizhu

Capitano

Childe

Cyno

Dainsleif

Diluc

Dottore

Gorou

Heizou

Itto

Kaeya

Kaveh

Kazuha

Kinich

Lyney

Neuvillette

Ororon

Pantalone

Pierro

Sethos

Thoma

Tighnari

Venti

Wanderer/ Scaramouche

Wriothesley

Xiao

Zhongli

♥︎ Honkai Star Rail

Anaxa

Argenti

Aventurine

Blade

Boothill

Caelus

Dan Heng

Dr. Ratio

Gallagher

Gepard

Jiaoqiu

Jing Yuan

Luocha

Moze

Mr. Reca

Mydei

Phainon

Sampo

Sunday

Welt

♥︎ Jujutsu Kaisen

Choso

Geto

Gojo

Mahito

Nanami

Toji

♥︎ Love and Deepspace

Caleb

Rafayel

Sylus

Xavier

Zayne

♥︎ Tears of Themis

Artem

Luke

Marius

Vyn

[kowwpow]

The Painter and the Muse

A/N: dude I love torturing Dazai sometimes, he’s not tragic enough in my eyes. This was heavily inspired by this headcanon/drabble I wrote, and this art by @drlqra (title was also inspired by their work, go check it out, its freaking awesome) (Some parts might not be accurate to canon, and I apologize for that)

TWs⚠️: mentions of death, panic attack(?), lmk if I missed anything^^

Dazai wasn’t quite sure when it started, but the sense of disarray had begun to overtake and cloud his mind. At first, he believed it was because he didn’t think he deserved the job Taneda offered him. Him? Working as a detective? After all the things he’d done?

But as time went on and as Dazai lived under the radar for longer and longer, he realized it was something entirely different. The feeling of something being so vastly wrong persisted, even when he grew accustomed to the idea of working in the light.

It didn’t strike Dazai that Oda could be the center of this… wrongness, that he could be the cause of Dazai’s distress.

It didn't hit him. Until it did, like a brick. He had been lying on his motel bed with his head hanging off the side, staring at Oda’s coat that was hanging off the back of a chair when it did.

What… did Oda even look like?

The revelation that he couldn’t even recall the face of his best friend, the man he was doing this all for, made him startle, and badly at that. He felt the hair on his arms begin to rise as he stared blankly at the coat. He didn’t feel like he could move; he couldn’t think, which scared him. He relied so heavily on his brain that the moment he couldn’t properly use it anymore, he quickly spiraled into panic.

And boy, was this one of the worst panic attacks he’s had in a while. Wh—how could he forget what Oda looked like?! How could he let that happen!?

Dazai hastily sprung up from his position and desperately reached for Oda’s coat. He felt like he had just committed the worst crime in existence, and maybe it was to Dazai. In his panicked daze, he wanted nothing more than to see Oda again. Not only because he missed him so terribly, but to reassure himself that he could remember his face.

The distraught boy draped the beige coat over his shoulders and hugged it so very tightly to his body as he moved to ball himself up in the nearest corner.

He bounced his leg rapidly, but the stimulation did nothing to calm his increasingly disturbed mind. Oh god, oh why, why why why? He didn’t even have the pictures they took in the bar the last time he, Oda, and Ango were together as friends; why didn’t he push to keep at least one?!

Dazai stared blankly and silently at the floor, trying to process why exactly he could remember. Oh, he hated this so much; he didn’t want to forget him.

Not for the first time, he wanted Oda back. He wanted him to tell Dazai it was okay and that he wouldn't be mad if he couldn’t remember him. But no, Oda was dead, and Dazai would never get his reassurances again.

Dazai wanted to snap out of it; the logical part of his brain was screaming at him to get a grip already. But the emotional part, which he’d worked so hard to tame, just ran rampant. Dazai couldn’t explain how much this hurt him; it destroyed him, like he was being eaten alive from the inside out.

He felt like this was the worst punishment he could have been given for all his wrongdoings, and maybe he deserved it. But wasn’t this too cruel a consequence? Even for him…?

He knew that, logically, there had to be some sort of solution; there just had to be, but finding a solution felt impossible for his overwhelmed mind.

He gave the idea of trying for a fix to his problem another go once he had regained control over his panic and had calmed down. He wracked his brain, frantically trying to think of anything. He couldn’t do photography, because, again, Oda wasn’t here, and he refused to go to Ango for the pictures. He’d live for the rest of time before he asked for anything from that man.

What solutions did that leave him, really? He couldn’t ask if anyone knew him, being a mafia member, Oda’s identify would be unknown to almost everyone.

So that left one last option. Art. Music, drawing, anything in the genre. But painting stood out the most to him, because paintings were always beautiful. And if he could preserve Oda in beauty, he’d be happy.

See, the problem wasn’t that Dazai forgot every single aspect of Oda’s appearance, it was that he couldn’t piece the individual features together.

He remembers the exact shade of auburn Oda’s hair was, he could picture every eyelash on his eye, but together it felt like a giant mess of blurred colors and shapes.

So maybe, just maybe, he could figure out how to perfectly paint his dear friend’s features, and figure out how to put the pieces together like a puzzle.

He needed to remember again, it’d kill him if he didn’t. He would do anything to remember. He spent the little money he had on canvases, paintbrushes, and paints of the highest quality he could afford. Anything he couldn’t afford, he just stole.

He was going to perfect the art of painting Oda to preserve his memory, and perfect it he did.

Atsushi thought it was odd, it perplexed him. Dazai didn’t seem to be the type of person to enjoy painting of all hobbies. Sure, he saw mini canvas with sceneries that held more than twice the effort than Dazai put into his work, but painting seemed like something so much tamer that he’d envision Dazai doing?

Well, at least Dazai enjoyed it. Or, he seemed to, at least.

Atsushi had only been to Dazai’s apartment a handful of times, and to say it was cluttered was an understatement. Not only was it filled with empty bottles of alcohol and canned crab, the entirety of one corner of Dazai’s room was absolutely littered with paint and artistic mediums alike.

Paint, brushes, pencils, charcoal, pastels, you name it.

But what far outnumbered any other item in the cramped room were canvases. Filled canvases, of the same person, over and over again.

Atsushi often wondered who that person was, what the name of the gentle looking muse that filled every inch of Dazai’s small, artistic space was. Whenever he asked, Dazai would gush about the paintings, but would never once identify the strange man. Atsushi figured it to be a touchy subject, so he eventually stopped asking.

It wasn’t until he found Dazai at a grave, sketching out a new painting of the same figure, that he realized the connection.

Maybe, painting would be good for Dazai.

If you enjoyed, please consider reblogging! It helps in reaching a larger audience^^

Taglist 🏷️: @larz-barz @mooechi @saffron0v0 @zenitsustherapist @gyutarowritings

@muichirolover14 @midnightmah07

[softmeetscreatureplz]

https://www.tumblr.com/softmeetscreatureplz/775677985212743680/chuuya-plays-versions-of-gta-and-mostly-sandbox?source=share

Pleeeeeaase write drabbles based on this I'm begging you

~ 🪼

Ejejrnfbsha yayyy!! I hope you enjoyyy then!!! :33

----

Chuuya was always fiercely protective over his games, much to Dazai's displeasure.

"I can't even snoop properly- the dumb Chibi always fights me the second I try to switch out of his stupid GTA or our Mario cart," Dazai had whined to Oda and Ango before, completely tuning out the ensuing moral talks of not snooping or invading privacy or whatever.

He didn't care! Dazai just wanted to know what his dumb dog was hiding! Was it some kind of embarrassing game, like candy crush or toddler games? Maybe a a bunch of saved Sims games where Chuuya made Sims of them both dating? It made Dazai itch with curiosity.

He hated the fact that his dog was hiding things- from him! How unfair was that! Chuuya was his! Obviously, Dazai should know everything about Chuuya!

And- to add insult to injury- Chuuya didn't even like his games either! He found yandere simulator dumb, FNAF too complicated, online poker boring, even Genshin impact Chuuya only enjoyed for a bit before he got annoyed by all the quests!! How rude!!!!

Dazai had spend AGES trying to find good games, and even longer trying to find good games that the dumb slug would enjoy- only for Chuuya to be completely indifferent!

It only made his need to find out what games, exactly, Chuuya played, even worse. He needed to know.

(It definitely wasn't because Dazai wanted to play with Chuuya.)

(It wasn't because playing with Chuuya on Mario cart and GTA 5 was some of the most fun and freeing nights. It wasn't because he enjoyed being curled up on Chuuya's bed and racing on Mario cart, shoving eachother off the tracks and daring eachother to pick rainbow road. It wasn't because playing GTA 5 and being annoyed or suprised at rhe accuracy of various things, or challenging eachother with new crimes to do both for fun and in the game)

He just wanted to be able to know what his dumb little dog was hiding! Obviously, so Dazai could tease him and stop getting full on TACKLED when he tried to snoop!

------------

Chuuya... could admit that he didn't want Dazai to know what kind of games he liked. To himself, at least. He'd never tell that dumbass, but he could admit it to himself.

Chuuya had, infact, tried each and every stupid game his bandaged annoyance had shoved at him- he was a bit of a sucker for Dazai looking excited about fun shit, sue him.

But- all of them were so fucking boring! Either they were so focused on the main game thing; you couldn't do fuck else, you were constantly nagged by the game to focus on the big main quest, or it was just a plain stupid plot! Or some combo of those!

He couldn't even finish most of em, they were just.... too- bleh. Chuuya didn't fucking like 'em.

What he did, for some stupid reason, enjoy, were stupid games where he got to just fuck around and enjoy shit.

Minecraft was the first game he'd found that he actually liked, that Dazai hadn't introduced him to.

He had around 30 worlds right now- and in most it was just a progression of 'how good can I make my farms'.

Like- how lame was that?! If Dazai found out that he handt even beaten the- whatever dragon yet, but 23 out of his 30 worlds was just him making bigger and bigger farms- the stupid beanpole would tease him even more!!

And that's not even getting started on his damn Stardew Valley saves!

Chuuya was fairly proud of how big his farm was, and maybe he was stupidly attached to his animals, but fuck if he would let Dazai see all that!

The fuckface would just tease him relentlessly, he already knew.

Chuuya's games were the kind of stupid, idyllic, open world bullshit where he got to farm and have animals and fuck around with the world. There is no fucking way Dazai wouldn't think it was fucking pathetic or stupid!

(Maybe Chuuya liked them because it was a taste of a life he'd never gotten or would get. Maybe it was nice to take a moment and enjoy a taste of life where new blood didn't stain him every other day. Maybe it was him trying to grasp at any semblance of peace.)

(Maybe those nights playing stupid games with Dazai were also peaceful. Maybe they were another nice taste of that type of normal peaceful life. Maybe Chuuya enjoyed them enough that Dazai was the reason he even bothered to try and find good video games)

(Fuck if Chuuya would admit any of that though, even to himself.)

So- obviously, Chuuya would just keep on hiding his games from that prying asshole at any cost. Dazai could handle a new concussion or two, especially since the fucker was obviously just looking for more excuses to tease the ginger.

-------

15/16/17 sillies,, the downside of making a friendship build on teasing </3. :33

[tenjikufag]

Different.

Osamu Dazai x Male Reader

-this one took awhile! Sorry! Not sure if this is what you thought of but I hope you like it anyways.

-hurt/comfort(?), angst, toxic attachments, sui/ideation, manipulation, drabble (not a concise oneshot)

What happens when Oda survives, therefore keeping Dazai confined in the claws of the port mafia and held within the endless roulette of that life?

-He’s possessive. Protective, he will not allow you any leeway when he has told you something with concern for your safety.

When he thought Oda was going to die, he knew he would leave and that he would take you with him whether you liked it or not- in this frame of mind, he would not grown to know better than to force you into things.

Force you into this dynamic with him, he desperately needed you to live. For as long as he was stuck here, so were you. Of course, his depression and ideation never went away but it was far more volatile and pointed towards others, not towards the harm of himself.

“If you go, I’ll do it in your bedroom so you know the repercussions.”

“Do you really want me to confine you? I have no problem with that, if it means you’re safe.”

Such phrases rang in your ears like a persistent alarm, trying to wake you from the ‘insanity’ he had deemed you had. Why would you want to subject yourself to a danger that would take you away from him?

He thought this was a selfless act of his, holding you close with an iron grip whenever you were assigned missions without him.

You did have a job to do, you weren’t a random port mafia member- you were a “big dog”, had your own team to work with and look over.

Dazai had other things to do, but he became messy with his work. With haste, he would finish his own missions and leave ends not yet tied, strings loose for the others to clean up after him.

Just to get back to you.

—

“You can’t keep treating him like this. It’s selfish Osamu, it’s not fair to him.”

Odas voice cracked, the bitter liquid and feeling of unease around his friend burned at the end of his tongue and eased in his throat.

Dazai has not been a good friend ever since, not that he was the greatest to begin with but.. he distanced himself from Oda and Ango which is odd, but he deemed them too easy to fall from his grasp. But he knew you would be in an arms reach at all times, emotionally and physically he knew he could prevent you from meeting any similar fate to his friends..

“How is it selfish to keep my partner safe?”

Ango only glanced at Oda, uncomfortable with the nonchalant tone that their friend had gained.. Dazai wasn’t the most stable or even sensible person to begin with but this pushed boundaries that they had yet to see from him.. and they’d seen everything. They knew everything. They knew him.

The bar door opened, a faint jingle from the door handles bell notifying all patrons of a new person.

You came into view, warmly greeting your friends and taking the empty seat beside Oda, putting him in between you and your partner. Ango, not wanting to be apart of this quickly paid his tab and apologized to you for having to leave..

Dazai watched intently as you ordered your drink, and watched with hawk-like eyes as the bartender poured it, making sure there was nothing slipped into it or anything wrong with the drink.

“Y/n, come sit over here.”

Ducking over Odas shoulder to hear Dazai better, you nodded and switched seats.

Dazai stood up, letting you take his seat only to rest himself in your lap.. you huffed and tried to push him off but he didn’t budge.

Oda was no stranger to his friends outwards affection towards you but this was a bit odd..

“Oda, how’s the wound healing?”

You poked his chest, he sighed and pushed your hand away.

“It’s fine, not as bad of a scar as I expected..”

Humming, you took a sip from your drink and continued conversing with your older friend, Dazai only periodically chiming in.

He listened to the way your heart beat in your chest, how you breathed, how your skin became flush with each passing drink. He knew your blood was flowing, your heart was pumping, he knew you were here.

You were safe.

You were his.

“Osamu, we should get going. You look tired.”

His visible eye drooped, weighed with the washed anxiety of you not being present. The male nodded, Oda mentioned staying for another drink before heading out himself, leaving to two of you to go on your way.

—

“You were late.”

His grip tightened on your arm, making you wince. He laid beside you on the couch, eyes widening at your sound of pain.. quickly he stripped you of your shirt and noticed a large wound on your arm..

“It’s nothing-“

“Don’t you tell me it’s nothing. You were late, who did this? Where were you? Why did this happen? Who sent you to do that?!”

Dazai shook in fear, it was truly nothing but a flesh wound and would heal on its own without intervention but for someone to dare wound you without any form or repercussions that he would know about?

It was unacceptable.

“What would I do if you didn’t come back?! You can’t do this to me!”

He cried as if it was a life threatening wound, collapsing ontop of you- shaking in fear with your arms wrapped around him.

“Calm down. I’m fine. I’m here, I made it back.. you made me promise, right?”

Nervously, you laughed at your partner.. you didn’t want to deal with being at the end of his breakdowns, this is why you hid these things from him.

You’d become secretive as a defence for not only his sanity but your own.

You had to hide a lot from him since the incident. It was no longer a relationship to escape from that part of your world but instead a direct extension because of how he’s changed.

There would never not be blood on his hands when it came to you. He’s murdered many in cold blood for you, whether you knew about it or not.

He was going to keep you from any sickly dead fate, it was his purpose.

Until he decided he had enough, then he’d decide your fate together.