writingnightmare

[writingnightmare]

Okay slight update. The flooding is better now, water levels are dropping, so I’m getting little bits of time to write.

On the amusing side though, when it floods in the northern regions of Australia, Crocodiles become speed bumps. I normally prefer when the road doesn’t bite, but this is fine for now.

Sorry for disappearing, town is currently flooding so I’m dealing with a lot of water right now. I’ll be back to writing as soon as I’m done drowning 🫠

[writingnightmare]

Sorry for disappearing, town is currently flooding so I’m dealing with a lot of water right now. I’ll be back to writing as soon as I’m done drowning 🫠

[writingnightmare]

A/n: okay so it’s like 0130 for me, however I really wanted to post this for y’all. This hasn’t got my normal decorative formatting, and I’ve only briefly proofread this in my half asleep state. I’ll make her prudy when I wake up for my long overdue hibernation, but for now, please enjoy! ♡ God I love Tachihara this glorious bastard.

─── ✶ ───

Characters: Michizō Tachihara

Content summary: Tachihara and you could never quite get along, until one night it clicked.

Warnings: Creepy guy at bar, not edited yet, implied angst

Tags: [SFW] | [Fluff]

Word count: 2.2k

Category: Oneshot

─── ✶ ───

𝘾𝙖𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙗𝙚𝙩𝙬𝙚𝙚𝙣 𝙗𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙬𝙝𝙞𝙩𝙚,

𝙉𝙤𝙩 𝙦𝙪𝙞𝙚𝙩 𝙚𝙞𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙙𝙖𝙮 𝙤𝙧 𝙣𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩,

𝙋𝙚𝙧𝙛𝙚𝙘𝙩𝙡𝙮 𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙖𝙡𝙞𝙜𝙣𝙚𝙙.

‘𝘼𝙡𝙠𝙖𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙚’ - 𝙎𝙡𝙚𝙚𝙥 𝙏𝙤𝙠𝙚𝙣

Not Acid nor Alkaline - Michizou Tachihara x Reader⌖

──────────── ⌖ ───────────

Michizō Tachihara, he thought he was the person he was meant to be by the time he turned 19. He was an adult now, he’d settled into his life and his role in the world. His brother had been a similar age when he told him he would find himself one day, and his twisting, dynamic personality would settle.

Until you came along. Whilst Tachihara proclaimed his existence as a fire, you seemed to be his flood.

Someone’s whose eyes burnt with a raging passion, yet they could switch to the calm of a sheltered bay on sunrise. Whose body was tough, resilient not matter what the world threw at you, yet seemed to soften under his touch. Someone who outwardly seemed to challenge and yet mirror his very existence.

And God, you annoyed him sometimes, the way you seemed to just dance through life, as if unaware you were slowly unraveling his person to the very core, only to cradle and meld the broken pieces back together. This wasn’t a secret to you, you knew the young man seemed to loathe your very presence, but could never place why. Between the harsh words you both exchanged, to the physical blows you would hurl at each other, it was evident to anyone who saw the scenes that you were both frustrated.

You could never quite pinpoint it, but the man was odd. On missions he was not all that dissimilar to a feral animal, shooting anything that moved, yet at the briefings before such he was calculated and cold. His mind was sharp, teeth bared and ready to tear anyone apart who looked too closely, yet he was barely an adult much like yourself; he was clumsy, a lightweight with alcohol, and a downright idiot at times. If anyone were to ask him the what he thought of you? He would say the exact same thing. Never ending contradictions.

You could never quite pinpoint it, but he was odd himself. On missions he was not all that dissimilar to a feral animal, shooting anything that moved, yet at the briefings before such he was calculated and cold. His mind was sharp, teeth bared and ready to tear anyone apart who looked too closely,

The first time you both seemingly gotten along, you were drinking at a bar near the Port Mafia headquarters, far too many drinks in to count. You didn’t mind though, letting the alcohol numb your ever busy and observant mind. It was the night something seemed to click into place for you both.

You sat at the bar, hunched over as you flicked the ice in your whiskey, yellow light blaring down on your dull skin. You were completely exhausted by your last mission, having spent weeks gathering intel for a hit on a gang who had started shit in Yokohama. The many sleepless nights were finally catching up, the bags under your eyes hung like unwilling wittinesses to your job, seemingly wanting to tell everyone around you what you had been doing.

“You look like shit,” a voice snarked, a body shifting into the stoop beside you as you grumbled, recognising it well. You looked over lazily, eyes red and glassy as you took in the man before you.

“You don’t look much better yourself,” you remarked, observing the purple bags under his own eyes, his skin pale, posture slumped onto the wooden bar, not all that dissimilar to yourself. He shrugged, cracking a smirk as he put his drink down, unfazed by your observation.

“At least no one will talk to us lookin’ like this,” he mused, and you could only nod in agreement. Last thing you wanted, was some jackass coming over to strike up conversation, unfortunately that was exactly what you got. The man slid into the seat next to you, slinging an unwelcome arm around your shoulder as you sipped on your drink. You alcohol hazed eyes rolled over towards him, glowering at the older man.

“You don’t look so good dollface, why don’t you let me take you home,” he cooed, the smell of vodka from his breath hitting you square in the face as he shook your head, shrugging his arm off.

“Thanks, but I’m good,” you muttered, eyes going back to your drink, watching the small waves in the amber liquid from the vibrations of the bar. You felt his breath hitting your neck, a wave of disgust rolling through you as you felt his hands wander once more.

“Oh come on, you don’t gotta be like that-!” As you jabbed your elbow back, the man was swiftly thrown off you and onto the ground. You blinked for a moment, trying to clear your vision as Tachihara stood over the man, blurry boot pressed onto his chest.

“Oi, they said no. Get the fuck outta here,” he grunted, voice rumbling with anger as the man struggled. Clearly he had been drinking a bit too much himself.

“Get off me brat-!” Tachihara delivered a swift kick to the man’s head, knocking him unconscious before he made his way back to the bar, unbothered by the stares he was receiving. You watched as he sat back down, muttering under his breath about the creepy bastard before taking a swig from his drink.

“I was gonna punch him myself…” you grumbled, but Tachihara scoffed, resting his head in his hand as he observed you. You seemed to be broken down tonight, disassembled from your usual tightly wound facade, uncaring of who saw. You were clearly bothered by the man, yet your eyes were devoid of their usual spark.

“You can’t even see straight right now, how’d you think you could punch straight,” he asked, eyebrow raised as you shrugged. As he looked at you, it was as if he was staring into a mirror of sorts. Your hazy gaze, broken posture, eyes raw and unengaged from doing your thankless job for hours on end. He finally understood why you annoyed him so Goddamn much. You and he both had a fire and flood existence, personalities that ranged from quiet to unruly, shattered to whole, a mess of broken pieces of your own choosing to fit into an existence of pure spite. This wasn’t who you were, it was simply who you had been pushed off a ledge to become. A beautifully tragic mess of a shattered human. And here he was spiting you, for being the very same thing that he was.

You were both one and the same, existing as opposites and counter partners, a room of shadowed mirrors. Not acid nor alkaline, but some mixture of both. Willing to give everything of your being to others, yet having nothing of yourselves.

He sighed at the realisation, before he looked back at you. At least there was something dissimilar between the two over you right now, the way your cheeks were flooded with redness from the effects of the alcohol, and how you were now currently asleep on the bar top. He smiled slightly, before paying for your drinks and lugging you out of the bar, not trusting the evidently too friendly patrons to leave you alone.

After this, your relationship improved wildly; it went from harsh and blazing fire, to a quiet swelling of waves. You were confused by this in the beginning, but soon wrote it off as you both maturing. You began to spend time in his presence, eyes no longer glowering at each other, but instead cracking jokes and making snide remarks on boring missions.

“Fifty if you can hit that can,” he challenged, smirking as you scoffed, snatching the gun from his holster. He was surprised by the brazen act, but said nothing of it.

“Yeah right, I totally can,” you muttered, confident as you took aim. You let out a breath, focusing on lining up the shot, remembering how he would often shift his behaviour when he was on the shooting range. Your finger hovered lightly over the trigger, before pulling it firmly. Your eyes traveled down the range, focusing in on the soda can in the alleyway. It exploded with orange liquid, a cocky grin making its way onto your face as Tachihara groaned, leaning on the rusty metal railing. “Pay up.”

“Fuck, since when are you a good shot? You’ve always been shaky with guns if you have time to think,” he drawled, reaching into his pocket to pull out the money, slapping it into your hand begrudgingly. You shrugged handing back his handgun. He flicked the safety on before sliding it into his holster, eyeing you in lighthearted annoyance. “Well?”

“Been watching you shoot for a long time Tachihara, I’m bound to pick up some of your habits.” He paused for a moment, before raising an eyebrow, a smirk spreading on his lips as he looked back at you. Any trace of his prior annoyance was gone, replaced by something else you could quite place; something between pride, amusement and affection.

“You been watchin me? You tryin’ to tell me something?” You flushed at his words and implication, scowling as this only seemed to encourage him on. “Damn, I’ve got an admirer. I see.”

“It’s not like that, asshole,” you grumbled, swatting his hand away when he reached out to flick your face, his amusement ever growing.

“Then what is it like, y/n,” he teased, watching as you scoffed, turning to climb down the ladder. “Heyyyy, where ya’ goin?”

“I got things to do, unlike some people,” you called, looking up as he grinned down at you, your cheeks still tinted with red. You were prepared for whatever smartass comment he would normally throw back, but you were surprised when it was something out of his normal.

“Whatever you say, y/n. Red looks cute on you though.” You wouldn’t admit it, but you thought about that small remark for weeks after he had said it. He really knew how to live rent free in your mind, even unintentionally. You wish you could say you still hated him or he annoyed you, but you found you couldn’t anymore. Not that you’d tell him that, he’d never let you hear the end of it.

Several weeks later, you found yourself with bloodied footprints in your apartment, the injured man leaving bloodstains on your couch cushions. However for once, you weren’t particularly worried about the mess Tachihara tended to cause to his surroundings.

“Can you not be a fucking idiot for one day,” you muttered, eyes bordering somewhere between concerned and relieved as you pulled bullet after bullet out of his stomach. The ginger man glared halfheartedly up at you, amber eyes narrowed from his spot on your couch. He had gone out to clear some goons who had hauled up in a Port Mafia warehouse with his battalion, and caught some stray bullets in the process. He hadn’t faired nearly as his enemies, but it certainly wasn’t something to gloat about.

“I wasn’t aiming to get hit ya know,” he mumbled, trying to keep level as he laid under your ever observant mind. It took him a while, but he had eventually realised that your gaze seemed to strip him bare before you, leaving him as a mess of his functioning parts and pieces, all scars and broken parts to be observed by you, barely held together as a person. He knew what you saw, and he hated that he craved the feeling. You didn’t know everything of the man, no one truly did, but you were the closest he’d come to feeling understood. He revelled in the mixture of excitement and anxiety that brought to him.

However if he were to look at you, you weren’t all that different. A tangled mess of pieces and parts, like a barely functioning machine held together by barbed wires and a prayer, a prayer that no one would notice it. He did, and you felt his eyes pick you apart as your fingers worked delicately, stitching his torn and tattled skin back together, as if scared to break his pieces apart.

“I’m not made of glass, Y/n,” he stated, cracking a smile as you looked up to his eyes, unconvinced as he spotted an opening. “I like it rough anyway.” Your lips tried to press into a flat line, pushing down a laugh as the corners of your lips pulled up ever so slightly, something he quickly caught. “It’s okay to admit I’m hilarious, I know- OW!” He jolted as you pulled sharply on a stitched, entertained as his bravado faded away bit by bit.

“You sure don’t seem to like me rough, Michizō,” you mused, amusement dancing across your features as his ears turned red, the colour slowly creeping onto his cheeks. He scowled, aware of the heat growing on his face as he struggled for words. He moved over closer to you, eyes flicking from your eyes to your lips as you sat there, smirking at the man. You noticed his behaviour, your face flooding with heat of its own before he moved in, pressing a hesitant and quick kiss to your lips before lying back down, observing the way your face bloomed with colour from the action.

“You’re a contradicting pain in my ass, that’s what I like you as, Y/n,” he mumbled, both of your respective blazing fires quelled to the soft sea, calmed an intimate.

“Just let me stitch the rest of you up, before you confess your love more,” you muttered, face still blazing red as he mumbled, draping his arm across his own to cover the colour on his own.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

[writingnightmare]

Okay, so y’all really like Chuuya. I’m not quite sure why I didn’t expect that, but I should have. Do we have any other personal favourites?

[writingnightmare]

please could you do dating headcanons for chuuya please. Like first date and early in the relationship and then when it is established. ❤️

A/n: of course I can! I love writing for Chuuya, and coming up with these was super fun. Thanks Anon!

─── ✶ ───

Characters: Main - Chuuya Nakahara

Content summary: Dating HCs for Chuuya in an early relationship, then progression to an established one.

Warnings: Slight language warning, Reader and Chuuya are implied to be highly competitive at boardgames.

Tags: [SFW], [Fluff]

Word count: 1.9k

Type: Headcannons

─── ✶ ───

Dating Headcannons - Chuuya Nakahara x Reader ⫘⫘

─────────── ⫘⫘ ───────────

Okay so, we all know Chuuya is an outwardly confident man, arrogant even.

In the beginning, he had to actively remember he didn’t have to be arrogant with you. You know he’s great, you’ve not questioned his talent or skill once, but it’s a tough habit to break.

He’s a busy man, and he warned you as such. So, he gets you to text him your work schedule at the beginning of every month, at first it feels weird, but you quickly get used to it. When he gets time to take you on a date, you don’t really get a warning in advance, not more than a couple hours at most.

The first time this happened, he only told you 10 minutes prior. And of course, he wanted to go to an incredibly fancy restaurant. By the time he got there, you were not ready. You opened the door without your shoes on, smelling of minty toothpaste, much to his surprise.

He quickly learned if he wanted to take you somewhere nice, you needed more than 10 minutes, especially since you had to dig your fancy clothes out of the back of your closet.

Chuuya goes easy on the wine. Last thing he wants to do, is get absolutely plastered on your first date.

The definition of a gentleman. Opens any doors, helps you get seated, whole nine yards. He is absolutely trying to impress you, and could listen to you talk about your life for hours.

However, if you ask him about himself? Well, he might get a little vague.

That aside, he walks you back to your door, pressing a light kiss to your cheek. Won’t go for a proper kiss, unless you initiate it first. It’s not that he’s shy, more uncertain of your boundaries yet, and doesn’t want to cross them.

After a few weeks once you both become more comfortable, will 100% show you off to Koyo if you come to the office.

Whilst she isn’t the end all, her impression of you is important to him, so he is absolutely looking for her approval of you.

Your doorbell will begin to ring at random times in the day, and every time you open it, it’s something different. It could be a package with a designer outfit he bought for you, or it could be a bouquet of flowers. You never get told in advance, but it’s always addressed to you, so you figure it’s fine, right?

His name is never on the packages, so the first couple of times it happened you were kinda freaked out. You definitely didn’t order these shoes that cost well over $1000, but it was your name, address and all, with no note. How did they know your shoe size?

A call to Chuuya quickly settles any concerns you may have of who sent it to your doorstep. He will cut off your rambling about the random packages with a light hearted laugh, amused by your reaction.

“Babe, I got those for you, who else would know your shoe size.”

No amounts of complaints about the price of said gifts will sway him. It is his money, and if he wants to spend it on you, he’ll do it regardless of what you say.

Will sending you music at random points of the day. Any song that he thinks you’d like, you’ll be having a link sent.

I hope you like wine, because he will invite you to come drink at his place.

You knew he liked to drink before you started dating, you’d seen the ginger man drunk before, but never quite like this.

He is very touchy, playing with your hair as he complains about his day, drawing patterns on the palm of your hand as you tell him about yours, the man just wants to touch you. You will end up cuddled up on his couch, pressing delicate kisses into your skin. He doesn’t mean anything sexual by it, he is just incredibly affectionate when he’s drunk.

Will tell you in detail about his conversations with his colleagues when he’s like this.

“-and then Akutagawa came around the corner, ‘n ya’ know what he asks? He asked if he did the wrong thing by killing the hostage- YES, THAT WASN’T THE PLAN! But I can’t just yell at him and beat him, cause then he’ll be reminded of that bastard Daz-“

“-but then Hirotsu told me I should jus’ lock you away, because society would ruin you. I don’ even know what he means by that….”

You never get enough context in these talks, but that’s fine with you. So long as he’s less stressed by the end of it all, you’re happy to listen. You would later find out that Hirotsu just has a particular distaste for society en masse, which you can appreciate. What you don’t, is him giving your boyfriend advice to lock you away.

A few months later you even get a call from Hirotsu himself, asking for help at a bar with the ginger himself. You were curious as to how he got your number in the first place, but realise you probably don’t want to know anyway. By the time you arrive at the bar, Chuuya was completely trashed, face smushed into the table as he left enraged voicemails to his old coworker. You tried to help him out of the booth, but the man pushed you off, indignantly proclaiming he had a girlfriend.

You were almost mad, almost, if it wasn’t for the fact of how he was saying it.

“I ‘ave a girlfriend, I don’t want anyone else touchin’ me!”

At least he was a loyal drunk, if not an idiot one too.

You eventually coaxed him home, but only by promising you weren’t trying to steal him from his girlfriend, and you in fact had a boyfriend yourself.

By the time you got him home, he collapsed onto the bed, mumbling of how he would still warn his girlfriend of you in the morning, which was fine by you.

He was genuinely surprised to see you still there, shocked even. He had vague memories of the night before, of stumbling home with you, but Chuuya never expects anyone to stay in his life for very long. Finding painkillers and water by his bedside, and you cooking in his kitchen, he was far too stunned to realise you were teasing him about the night before, asking if he needed to warn you of yourself yet. He wasn’t sure how to react to it all. Was this what falling hard into love felt like? Maybe Koyo wasn’t exaggerating.

From this point, the floodgates to Chuuya’s life suddenly opened. He no longer dances around tough questions of his past, and you find yourself bombarded by seemingly endless facts about the man. Did you know he sucks at tennis?

It’s not that he didn’t trust you or love you before. For Chuuya, there is a distinct difference between having love for someone and being in love with them. If he wasn’t sure you’d stay long, why tell you the small things.

Your dates become more intimate after this too. He comes over to your place to cook for you, you didn’t even ask him to do it, he just wanted to.

You end up having more dates at home, and he seems to relax with you like this. You still go out for fancy dinners and the like, but he only ever truly lets the stress of everything go when it’s just you and him at one of your places.

Once your relationship gets close to a year, he wants to live with you. Seeing you as he does now is difficult to say the least, and he would much rather be able to come home to you (even if you steal all the damn blankets).

Not against moving himself, but will insist the place have good security for both your sakes.

When you do move in together, you learn something else about your lover. Something no one could have prepared you for.

This son of a bitch steals your damn pillow in his sleep.

This continues to happen, and you reluctantly buy pillow after pillow, until you have amassed a collection of five pillows. You dread the day he manages to snatch all five in one night, but refuse to buy anymore until it does happen. (It does.)

Luckily, living together means you get to listen to his tired mumbling of affection for you. How you are his diamond, his cherished person who is impossibly precious to him. You genuinely mean the world to this man, he just sucks at saying it. You are his person, his home, his tiny bit of peace in his hectic life. It’s an intimate moment, and one you often find solace in when he again takes your pillows multiple times in his sleep. (You know he’s asleep, so how he manages to solely target your pillow is a mystery to you to this very day. You would be mad, if he didn’t apologise so much every morning.)

“You’re perfect, you know that? I don’ want my life any other way…”

He realises you don’t actually need or want him to spend a ton of money on buying gifts for you. You actually get happier when he brings home a bouquet of your favourite flowers, instead of a diamond necklace.

Now every three days he goes to a local florist on his way home, and brings home a new bunch. It gets to the point that if there isn’t flowers in a tall vase, you both feel as though something in the house in wrong.

You have late boardgames nights, but it quickly becomes apparent that you are both far too competitive for it to ever work. On the last night you played monopoly (referred to by Chuuya as the monopo-geddon incident), your neighbours called the police to your house. Turns out your heated “disagreement”, on who owed who rent money, sounded like quite the violent affair to those without context.

Monopoly and boardgames are thereafter forbidden from the household.

You both try baking together instead, and it turns out this man is great at it. He gives the excuse that he’s just talented, little do you know he once lost a bet to Dazai related to baking, and learnt it out of spite. He will never admit this.

Will want you to come to every work event. If he has to sit through them, he at least would like the comfort of your presence.

And it’s an excuse to show you off to his subordinates. When they see their boss, the way he kisses the top of your hand, arm draped around your waist, they almost couldn’t believe it. They of course knew he had a partner, one who seemed to lessen his wrath when she called him, but they’d never seen the man quite so happy. They first thought you had drugged the man, from the bright spark in his eyes when he watched you adoringly, the way his cocky grin turned into a genuine smile, how arrogantly he would introduce you as his partner, to how delicately he touched you as if you might break, it all seemed odd. They quickly realised this wasn’t the case, when he was still more than willing to yell and discipline them regardless of your presence. The man is simply smitten.

[writingnightmare]

Story Prompt

𝕋𝕖𝕣𝕦𝕜𝕠 𝕆𝕜𝕦𝕣𝕒 Gets handed a paintball gun. Chaos ensues.

I think she deserves to have fun.

I love this, the complete and utter chaos energy. She does deserve to have fun! The real question is, who does she shoot first. Not Fukuchi, that’s for sure.

─── ✶ ───

[writingnightmare]

─── ✶ ───

Characters: Main - Doppo Kunikida | Background - Osamu Dazai Content summary: Kunikida always had a temper with his work partner, luckily you were always there to calm his storm. Warnings: None! Tags: [SFW], [Fluff] Word count: 500 Type: Drabble

─── ✶ ───

Rising Tides - Kunikida x Reader

──────────── ✎ ───────────

Kunikida was a professional man, a passionate worker, a respected member of the Armed Detective Ageny. At least, that was his idealistic version of himself. His coworker often brought out the worst in him, however you were always there to calm the rising tide.

By the time you were walking into work, you were typically met by the sounds of screaming, or choking, or some form of violence from the hands of your boyfriend to his work partner. Today was no exception.

“I swear to god, I will kill you one day Dazai,” he boomed, voice tuning out through the door as you gripped the handle, a tired smile gracing your lips. You opened the door quietly, bracing yourself for the raging storm, only to be met by a book flying at your face. You hauled your bag up, shielding yourself before the heavy pages hit you, instead bouncing off your messenger bag with a thud. You peered over the top of it, smiling wider as Kunikida looked towards you, holding the file in his hand as if it was a weapon he could wield. The anger and frustration marring his face flickered when he saw your amused expression, eyeing Dazai as he crouched behind his desk, clearly ready for war.

“Y/n, good morning,” Dazai sang out, grinning as Kunikida looked back at him, narrowed eye glaring furiously at his partner. “I’m heartbroken, Y/n. Your beloved boyfriend is trying to kill me, can you believe this?”

“I wouldn’t need to, if you didn’t try to commit double suicide with our client!” You sighed, moving inside and shutting the door, before moving swiftly over to your lover. “Do you know how many complaints we’ve gotten this week alone about you?!” You grabbed his hand, thumb tracing circles on the top of his skin, quickly catching his attention away from the conniving man once more. He cleared his throat, setting the file down as you peered up at him, your free hand reaching up to brush the crease on his forehead. “Good morning, I didn’t….sorry about the dictionary,” he muttered, leaning into your touch as the frustration slowly left him. You could see slight discolouration under his eyes, a clear sign he had been up far too late.

“I’ve walked into far worse of your arguments before, but thank you.” He nodded, and you could feel his emotional outburst quelling, now settling into contentment. “Did you get enough sleep last night? You look tired,” you mused, and he opened his mouth to talk, but Dazai cut him off.

“He was up drinking with me last night, he couldn’t sleep because he was worried about breaking his 4 year relationship plan with you,” Dazai cooed, a coy smirk on his face as Kunikida was quickly angered once more, his face bursting into flames.

“DAZAI!”

You were there as always, as Dazai brought back the furious tide from Kunikida once more. It was going to be a long day…that much you were certain of.

[writingnightmare]

A/n: I think I might write a follow up to this, but I’m not sure. Fukuzawa is a character that always just draws me in, I didn’t even mean for it to be this long.

─── ✶ ───

Characters: Main - Yukichi Fukuzawa | Background - Ranpo Edogawa, Akiko Yosano, Doppo Kunikida

Content summary: Yukichi and office staff!reader [fem] slowly catch feelings for each other, Ranpo catches on and decides to play wingman with Yosano.

Warnings: None!

Tags: [SFW], Light![Fluff]

Word count: 1.9k

─── ✶ ───

The Butterflies of Affection - Yukichi Fukuzawa x Reader

𝚂𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚜 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛, 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚗 𝚜𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎.

─────────── =ᗢ= ───────────

Denial was not something you associated with yourself. You were logical, organised, professional, you prided yourself on your work.

The first time you truly noticed it, you were ferrying important paperwork to your boss, low heels clicking across the floor as you hauled the mammoth mound of paperwork. He watched subtly, metallic blue eyes peering through his hair every few moments as he wrote on the document before him, the actions going unnoticed by you. You laid the paper onto his desk, before hurrying away once more, ready to collect the remainder of the pile, before his voice stopped you.

“Y/N, don’t rush.” It was only a few words, but the fact he took a moment to ensure you weren’t overburdening yourself was touching. You paused, glancing back with a light smile directed at the man, nodding slightly.

“It’s no bother sir, I’ll be back with the second half in a moment.” He nodded, looking back to his paperwork as you made your way back into the office. Fukuzawa had never been unpleasant to you at any stage, if anything, he was exceptionally kind, even if he was a man of few words. You grew to enjoy his quiet company, finding comfort in the silence.

As you walked back into the office, he looked up at you once more, the corner of his mouth pulling up in an ever so subtle smile; if you hadn’t known the man for over two years, you would have missed it. You set down the papers once more, meeting his eyes with a sense of accomplishment. “I have the case files organised by completion date as you requested, instead of by detective. Hopefully that makes it a bit easier for you sir- oh! And before I forget, I did some light editing to Dazai’s work, just in regard to spelling.” He hummed, giving a slight nod in acknowledgement.

“Y/n, thank you. I appreciate the work you do greatly.” There it was, that childish giddiness you had been feeling recently around the man. You were too old to be feeling such things, you were simply appreciative of his acknowledgement. Yes, that’s all it was. Sure, you had been noticing how your heart sped up every time he offered a small smile, or how every compliment he gave felt like it meant so much more to you, but that was simply because he was your boss after all. Everyone got nervous with their boss, it was completely normal.

In spite of shoving the feeling to the depths of your mind, they seemed to become ever more present in your work life.

“Ranpo, you really must eat something,” you insisted, collecting the glass bottles that littered the Lead Detective’s desk as he spun on his chair. His glasses frames sat proudly on his face as he spiralled into a whirlwind of thoughts, legs crossed and face focused.

“I don’t want to eat, I want a good case,” he whined, leaning back in exasperation, his head tipping backwards and hat dropping onto the floor. You smiled lightly, observing the boy affectionately. You walked to the bin, letting the bottles clatter into it, their clinking sounding almost pretty, despite the boy groaning behind you. “Everything has been so boring lately, Y/n.”

“It can’t be helped, sometimes life slows down unexpectedly in this city, you know that.” He grumbled, knowing full well that you were right, but still. It did nothing to quell the devastating boredom he was experiencing, nor the annoyance he felt. “But if you don’t eat soon, you’ll feel particularly unwell, and then you won’t be able to solve the interesting cases when they do come back around.”

“She has a point, Ranpo.” You looked up at the unexpected voice, blinking in surprise as Fukuzawa moved into the room. “You must look after yourself.”

“But I-“

“Come, I will buy you lunch,” he stated, causing the black haired detective’s eyes to spark up brightly. His head snapped up, a slight smile on his face at the offer. You couldn’t help but laugh at the sight. No matter what Fukuzawa had offered, or how much of it, Ranpo would always get excited at anything the man gave him. You were aware of their close bond, but seeing the boy’s reactions in person simply made it much more evident.

“Can we get donuts?”

“That isn’t enough to sustain you,” he lectured, drawing an overdramatic groan from Ranpo, but the boy jumped up anyway, walking towards the door.

“I guess,” he drawled out, before glancing back at you, looking between yourself and the President. “Are you coming, Y/n?” You shook your head, smiling as you turned to face him.

“I have a lot of work to do unfortunately, and I’d hate to fall behind.” Ranpo simply looked at Fukuzawa, who was staring intently at you, before shrugging.

“Y/n, you should come,” he stated, arms crossed in front of his body. Happiness bloomed at his offer, but you quickly pushed it down, swallowing as you laughed lightly, waving him off. He seemed to slowly be becoming more relaxed around you, but his face gave nothing away either way.

“While I would love to, I really shouldn’t-“

“You are ahead on your workload, I insist you join us.” And that was how you ended up joining the pair on lunch, hands clasped in front of your form. The pair indulged in lunch together regularly, at least twice a week Fukuzawa would usher Ranpo out of the office, insisting he eat something more than candy. Occasionally your coworkers would join them, but you could never find time to join yourself, head buried in paperwork no matter who nagged you. The fact that Fukuzawa had managed to convince you seemed to be a miracle in of itself.

Over time, it became a recurring theme at the agency, the detectives watching as Fukuzawa walked into the office, lips turned upwards with the smallest hint of a smile. It was the same thing twice a week, insisting you take a break, you’d done more than enough after all, and you could never find it in yourself to say no. It wasn’t exactly a secret that the pair of you were fond of each other, the space between you both seeming to grow ever closer as days turned to weeks, then months.

The small touch you left on his shoulder when you delivered the case files, the way his eyes seemed to be ever so slightly more gentle when he spoke to you, it didn’t take long for Ranpo to catch on to the changes in both parties behaviours. He sat at his desk, chewing on a piece of candy as Kunikida worked intensely at his desk, Yosano sorting the files of her latest case. He stared at you both through the doorway, ankles crossed as he leant back on his hands.

“You see it too, right?” Yosano looked up, following Ranpo’s eyes. Her purple eyes landed on your smiling form, desperately clutching onto your files and folders as Fukuzawa spoke. His voice was too hushed to hear in the office, but she could quickly tell what was happening in the scene unfolding before her. The way the president reached over, gripping onto the ends of the paperwork in your arms, lightly trying to pull it from your grasp. Amusement danced across his features at your obvious protests, your voice also hushed as you tried to maintain your ownership of the folders. “They’re behaving differently.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen the President so… light hearted,” she added, drawing Kunikida’s attention as she grinned. She looked over at Ranpo, eyebrow raised as the man hummed, deep in thought. “What’s your thoughts, Ranpo?”

“They’re clearly experiencing affection for each other,” he observed clinically, drawing a light laugh from the Doctor.

“It appears so.”

“You think? I don’t see it,” Kunikida muttered, adjusting his glasses.

“You don’t? He’s in there every second day, inviting her for lunch, not accepting a no. I can’t recall the last time the President was so…persistent. And you should see how she looks at him when she brings in his documents. I’ve never seen her look that way at any of us,” she stated, Kunikida humming in acknowledgement as he sat back.

“Actually, now that you mention it, the President thought she was sick last week. When he pressed the back of his hand to her forehead, I don’t think I’ve seen anyone go so red before. I just figured Y/n was sick from overworking herself…”

Ranpo’s mind was settled on that day. If you two would interact like such at work, but never see each other out of work, he would simply have to ensure it happened.

One day Ranpo stopped Fukuzawa and yourself at the elevator, sucking on a lollipop as he stared at the man, face blank. Yosano and Kunikida watched on from a few metres behind him, intrigued by the apparent stand off.

“I’m not coming today,” he stated plainly, watching as Fukuzawa raised his eyebrows in silent question. Ranpo shrugged, turning his head away as your brow pinched in confusion, eyes dancing his form in concern.

“Are you feeling okay, Ranpo,” you asked lightly, drawing his eyes back.

“I don’t feel well, isn’t that right, Yosano,” he called, twisting the candy in his mouth. Fukuzawa’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly, observing the man curiously. His complexion was fine, his behaviour was normal, and he certainly wasn’t loudly announcing his complaints of his illness as he normally would do. Why would he lie about such a thing?

Yosano nodded, hurrying over with a smile, more than willing to assist her close colleague’s plan. “Yes, he’s caught a stomach bug, it’s a shame,” she stated, standing behind Ranpo. Your brow pinched further, perplexed by their behaviour. Fukuzawa clocked onto them quickly, a quiet sigh leaving him, but a smile gracing his lips nonetheless.

“I see, well that’s okay, we can go tomorrow-!”

“No, you should definitely go today,” Yosano stated, ushering you both into the open elevator. You tried to protest, but were merely silenced by their goodbyes and the closing doors. You stood there for a moment in silence, feeling the elevator shift underneath you, before Fukuzawa broke the quiet air.

“If you would still like to, I’d more than enjoy to have lunch with you, Y/n,” he offered, watching as you looked back quickly, face flushed and expression tentative at his offer. He was calm as ever, but you could spot a hint of colour near the tips of his ears.

“I wouldn’t wish to make you uncomfortable, sir. As your employee it would be rather improper of me, and I wouldn’t want to give anyone the wrong impression,” you rambled, but he only hummed as the doors opened, his hand resting on the small of your back to guide you out. You swore the butterflies that bloomed under his touch would surely be the death of you.

“What do you mean by the wrong impression?” You paused for a moment, collecting your words carefully before you spoke, the man waiting patient as ever.

“Well, it may appear as a date to onlookers, and I wouldn’t want to tarnish your name.”

“Well yes, it would be a date. I would hope it would appear as such. If you are so inclined to join me.” You stood there, processing his words, a genuine smile on his lips as he waiting once more. His presence was never pressuring for you, if anything, it only made you feel more comfortable as you laughed lightly, the situation clicking in your mind.

“Well, in such case I would love to join you sir.”

“Please, called me Yukichi.”

Songs I listened to whilst writing:

[𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐒𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐞 - 𝐂𝐨𝐲𝐨𝐭𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐨𝐫𝐲]

1:03 ──⚬──── 3:45

⇆ ◃◃ ıı ▹▹ ↻

[writingnightmare]

Fukuchi and the Hunting Dogs leaving the office every morning like-

You cannot convince me otherwise, this is exactly how it goes down and I will die on this hill. There’s no way these little shits are organised in any capacity, definitely fighting each other to be the first out the door.

[writingnightmare]

I don’t know why I did this to myself, but it was nice to write. I’ve always wanted to explore who Ango Sakaguchi is as a character, and I really want to do more. He’s definitely an underrated character, and one of my personal favourites in the series.

─── ✶ ───

Characters: Ango Sakaguchi

Content summary: To sum Ango up into one word, a challenge issued to you by your friend, but things were never quite that simple. He is a man of many complexities and contradictions. Slight character analysis.

Warnings: Light![ANGST] with comfort, Guilt

Tags: [SFW], [ANGST], [COMFORT], [L!FLUFF]

Word count: 1.5k

─── ✶ ───

The Man made of Porcelain - Ango Sakaguchi x Reader

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘥, 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯, 𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘥, 𝘰𝘳 𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘦𝘥.

𝘐𝘵 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘦 𝙖𝙘𝙘𝙚𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙙.

──────────── ⚯ ───────────

“One word Y/N, one word to describe Ango,” your friend challenged, sitting beside you at the bar. Warm lights shone down on you both, igniting small flames of light in your hair, drowning away your stress from work as you gazed at your friend’s infectious smile. As simply as she had framed the question, it wasn’t that simple to you. It never was. Ango was a man of many qualities, to describe him in one? It seemed impossible. You loved every facet of his complex and contradictory being, with all your heart no doubt.

Ango Sakaguchi was a man made of porcelain. Strong, brittle, soft, yet sharp.

Every morning, he was soft and loving. Pressing a kiss to your forehead and mumbling apologies as he climbed out of bed, more than agreeing with you when your tired voice broke the quiet air, claiming it was far too early. It was, it always was. Waking every morning for work, it was always too early, no matter the time. It was never enough time for him to take in the sight of you. Your messy, tangled and twisting around your face, the small crinkle you got on your nose when something in your mind was bothering you, the way your lips moved ever so slightly with every breath.

The way he looked at you when you begrudgingly opened your eyes, with just reverence and adoration, you never quite understood what he was seeing, but it didn’t matter. He looked at you and saw his person, his world, his home. You were everything. His hands ghosted your body, leaving trails of stardust and warm white light in his wake, his love palpable through the smallest of actions.

At work, he was strong and dependable, a man of stoic, composed, and calm. The voice of reason, but often also the voice of compassion. His job is one of immense pressure, impossible choices, and danger; it was something he couldn’t escape. Behind the quiet and quick typing of keys, rested the weight of a city on his shoulders, the weight of all the lives that lived within the bounds of Yokohama. His colleagues saw the calm, careful, sleep-deprived man. The man that would bring you to every work event, the small flame of love flickering behind his eyes at every action you did, every word you said, every kindness you offered. What they didn’t get to see, was the storm that rumbled inside of his mind.

It was also a job filled with heartache. Watching thousands of slowly dying sunsets, setting on the lives of those he crossed paths with. Be it by his hand, or another’s; it was filled with dead and despair. All too often he would be sent to a scene that emanated the scent of death and decay, blood and iron burning his nose as he had to carefully navigate every crime scene with care. He felt as though he was cursed to be the messenger of death itself at times, as even unwillingly he would bring heartache, despair, and tragedy to the doorsteps of unknowing families; delivering the news of their loved ones passing felt as if it could crush him at times.

He was detached from his work, calculated even, that’s what he told himself anyway. Yet he was all too crushingly emotional at times. The weight of his memories, his job, his past deeds pressing down on his brittle body constantly. The burden of his own actions, betrayals he had committed against people he had somehow loved, in spite of his objectives being inherently bloodstained. His mind seared with guilt-ridden memories, of smiles and warmth, unique understanding and spirited conversations, and ones in which the strain and tension could not be remedied by words nor action.

His own actions had driven his friendships to such a state, that much was clear. Yet as he grappled and grasped at the storm, a whirlwind of harsh words, a blizzard of self-hatred and loathing, the calm, composed, and stoic man slowly broke. On days such as this, when he came home he was an inconsolable, destroyed man. He felt as though any God there was had truely forsaken him.

You could tell as soon as he walked in, calling out a quiet, “I’m home, love.” His voice was full of fragility, marred with unspoken feelings, taunted by the memories he hated but dare not forget. On nights like this, he was brittle, delicate, his facade breaking and crumbling; his beautiful illusion of stability and endurance shattering under your touch and words. He was so beautifully raw, his skin soft and fragile like porcelain, ready to break under the slightest touch.

You approached him with care every time, hands delicately reaching up to cup his face as he gave you a tired smile, eyes struggling to hide the blustering storm that raged havoc in his mind. His skin was cold under your light touch, and he slowly leant into you, arms wrapping around your form.

“How was work? I made us dinner,” you mused, eyes bright and smile soft as you gazed up at the man you adored. He saw how you looked at him, and it was something he could never understand. You admired him as if he was a sanctified man, your view never once clouded by the weight of his past actions. With you he felt as if his humanity was there, his benevolence restored; fragile and flimsy, but there nonetheless.

His head rested in the crook of your neck, taking comfort in your warmth as he dropped his briefcase, uncaring of the noise it made. You knew every time he came home like this he was never hungry, yet your uneaten labour never drew outrage against him, something he wouldn’t have blamed. You were unwaveringly gracious in his mind, with a capacity for love he dared not believe existed until he met you.

“I’m sorry, I’m not hungry tonight,” he murmured, and you simply nodded, grasping his hand to lead him in towards your shared bedroom. As you curled up with him, arms holding him as if to shut the outside world out, you spoke once more, and his steadfast grip on his emotions finally crumbled.

“Are you okay,” you whispered, eyes meeting his as he paused, taking in a shuddering breath. His eyes burned as he buried his face into your shirt, his body tense as tears dripped from his eyes. “It’s okay, we can stay here as long as you need.”

How could you be so patient with a man like him? He couldn’t understand it; it wasn’t something he deserved, not after what he had done. The storm in his mind raged on inside the bedroom, his tears falling, filled with repentance as he let out muted apologies. Nothing would ever be enough to fix what he had done, not properly, and that devastated the man in a way he couldn’t quite articulate. “I’m sorry…I’m so sorry,” he whispered, but you knew it wasn’t to you. They were words to the many ghosts who stood around your room, the phantoms of people he cared all too much for, to ever discard them. You weren’t sure how long you laid there, it could have been mere minutes, or hours, time never flowed properly when you were with your love.

By the time he looked back up, his tender cheeks were red from crying, hazel eyes bleary as he looked into yours. He lips pressed to yours in a hesitant kiss, one filled with love and dedication, tenderness and devotion. You reciprocated delicately, nimble fingers lightly dragging against his scalp, a feeling that he loved. When you pulled apart, his eyes, once dull and desolate, were brighter, staring at you with unadulterated love.

“What did a terrible man like myself do to deserve someone like you?” His voice was barely audible, but you heard him nonetheless. You stared at him for a moment, before pressing a kiss to each of his cheeks, and a third for his forehead.

“You can tell me every terrible action you’ve ever done Ango, and I will love you anyways. One mistake does not outweigh the good you’ve done,” you whisper, lips grazing his skin as you spoke. He wanted to believe you, to believe his road of guilt could lead to a road of redemption and good, but in the depths of his mind he couldn’t. For now, your words quelled the raging storm, the storm clouds dispersing in his mind. He knew they’d be back, they always came back; but for now, he just wanted to be with you.

You were brought back to reality as your friend laughed next to you, eyebrow raised in amusement. “You’re thinking hard about this one Y/N, it can’t be that hard.” You smiled lightly, letting out a small breath through your nose as you leaned onto the bar. You smiled genuinely at them, cheeks flushed from the alcohol you had been drinking.

“In one word? I don’t think I could.”

Songs I listened to whilst writing:

[ᵂᵃᵏᵉ ᵁᵖ ⁻ ᴱᴰᴱᴺ]

[ᴴᵉᵃˡ ⁻ ᵀᵒᵐ ᴼᵈᵉˡˡ]

1:03 ──⚬──── 3:45

⇆ ◃◃ ıı ▹▹ ↻

[writingnightmare]

Pain in-the-ass-ception.

I’ll see myself out.

Man, what if Fyodor was actually created by the book as the perfect foil for Dazai and there's actually an even bigger pain in the ass controlling the narrative

[writingnightmare]

Kenji Miyazawa ☀︎ - ARMED DETECTIVE AGENCY

Had a lot of fun drawing him yesterday, and I’m pretty happy with how he turned out.

[writingnightmare]

If anyone has any ideas they want to see written, feel free to send them my way. I don’t bite I promise.

I’m super keen to write for Ango and Tachihara, I won’t lie.

[writingnightmare]

you should definitely do a nsfw alphabet for chuuya too!!

I read this at 1:30am, and I am fighting the urge to write it right now

I didn’t write this at 1:30am, I promise Anon. ♡

─── ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ───

Characters: Chuuya Nakahara

Content: [NSFW], [MNDI], Alphabet

Warnings: [NSFW], [18+]

─── ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ───

NSFW Alphabet - Chuuya Nakahara ⫘⫘⫘

𝘈 = 𝘈𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦 (𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺’𝘳𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘦𝘹)

Chuuya is super attentive emotionally after sex, keeping you in his arms as you both calm down. Whispered sweet nothings into your skin, ghosting his fingers across your body, he wants to make sure you’re okay. Anything you need, he’ll see it done.

𝘉 = 𝘉𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 (𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘭𝘴𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘯𝘦𝘳’𝘴)

Chuuya is particularly fond of your neck. You will have hickeys and light bite marks up and down your neck, something about it is just so intimately beautiful to him. For his own favourite body part, definitely his hands.

𝘊 = 𝘊𝘶𝘮 (𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘰 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘤𝘶𝘮, 𝘣𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺)

He’s not too picky about where he cums, it doesn’t really matter to him. He is however a fiend for making his partner cum, you are going to cum once before he even thinks about going inside of you properly. From the faces you make, to the moans and whines, he loves everything you do during an orgasm.

𝘋 = 𝘋𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘺 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘵 (𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘺 𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺, 𝘢 𝘥𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘺 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳𝘴)

One word, mirrors. He loves doing it in front of a mirror, making sure his partner can see their own lewd expressions, and the way his hands roam their body. Not to mention they get to watch his own expressions of pleasure.

𝘌 = 𝘌𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 (𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺? 𝘥𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺’𝘳𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨?)

Chuuya isn’t a saint, but he definitely isn’t to Dazai’s level either. He sits somewhere in the middle, more towards the lower end of partners, but he knows what to do to please you. He takes a long time to trust people, so he’s picky about who he becomes intimate with. But once he is, he can read his partner pretty well, and notices when he grazes the right spots.

𝘍 = 𝘍𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 (𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘴𝘢𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨)

Doggy or missionary, it depends. If you or he need something more intimate, missionary all the way.

𝘎 = 𝘎𝘰𝘰𝘧𝘺 (𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵? 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘴? 𝘦𝘵𝘤.)

He’ll start off lighthearted as he teases you with foreplay, but as the night goes on and the evening progresses, he gets more serious and passionate. By the time your both cumming, he’s murmuring words of praise to you, his hands roaming your body in adoration.

𝘏 = 𝘏𝘢𝘪𝘳 (𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺? 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘱𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘦𝘴? 𝘦𝘵𝘤.)

Well groomed. This man has standards. He opts to trim to keep himself neat, and would prefer if his partner would do the same.

𝘐 = 𝘐𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘤𝘺 (𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘥𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵? 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘤 𝘢𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵)

More intimate towards the end. Reaching his orgasm means he has to let go, and when he does, words of love, affection and praise are common.

𝘑 = 𝘑𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘧𝘧 (𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘣𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘯)

This ginger is busy, so he doesn’t always have time to be intimate with you. He would hold off masturbating for at least a day or two, and finally give in to his urges. He would never wake you up to help with something that in his mind, is minor, unless you specifically tell him too.

𝘒 = 𝘒𝘪𝘯𝘬 (𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘴)

Praise, both giving and receiving. He also loves to slightly overstimulate his partners, to whatever boundary they give him. He just loves to see how they squirm under his touch.

𝘓 = 𝘓𝘰𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 (𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰)

Chuuya is private so most things will take place at home. However, if it’s a quiet day in the office, he can lock his door and have some fun with you? If you initiate, he is down.

𝘔 = 𝘔𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 (𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘰𝘯, 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨)

Small touches. Your fingers grazing his neck, a finger hooked through his belt loop, dirty words whispered in his ear. If he sees you in a dress and heels he bought for you? He wants you on the bed now.

𝘕 = 𝘕𝘰 (𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘥𝘰, 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯 𝘰𝘧𝘧𝘴)

Doesn’t matter how you ask him, he won’t insult or degrade you, nor would he want it in turn. You are his prized person, everything about you is perfect for him, why would he want to tarnish that? He also isn’t a fan of hitting or slapping. A slap on the ass is fine, but never the face.

𝘖 = 𝘖𝘳𝘢𝘭 (𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘦𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭, 𝘦𝘵𝘤.)

Loves giving more than receiving. This man is incredibly sensitive under your tongue, so be kind to him. When he’s giving, it feels like he’s spent a large portion of his life doing just that. His tongue is deft and nimble, and seems to know exactly where to go.

𝘗 = 𝘗𝘢𝘤𝘦 (𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩? 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘶𝘢𝘭? 𝘦𝘵𝘤.)

He varies between past and slow, but he is never rough enough to hurt you. He loves to go deep, and he will hold you there to watch your reactions.

𝘘 = 𝘘𝘶𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘦 (𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘦𝘴, 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘯, 𝘦𝘵𝘤.)

Not often does he find himself wanting one. He wants to enjoy his time with you, not rush through it.

𝘙 = 𝘙𝘪𝘴𝘬 (𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘨𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵? 𝘥𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘬𝘴? 𝘦𝘵𝘤.)

He is game to experiment in anything, so long as it won’t potentially harm his reputation. He has an image to uphold, after all. He’s open to trying most things, so long as they don’t involve actual pain. He trusts your judgement enough that if you want to surprise him with something new, he’s absolutely willing to try and go into it blind.

𝘚 = 𝘚𝘵𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘢 (𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘨𝘰 𝘧𝘰𝘳? 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵?)

As the Port Mafia’s top martial artist, he has stamina for days. He’s going well into the night, no questions asked.

𝘛 = 𝘛𝘰𝘺𝘴 (𝘥𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘵𝘰𝘺𝘴? 𝘥𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮? 𝘰𝘯 𝘢 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘯𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘴?)

I don’t think he’s one for toys, not when he could have you whimpering at his touch instead. He’d much rather it just be your hands and mouth be exploring his body too. Toys honestly bore him, whereas you as his partner excites him a lot.

𝘜 = 𝘜𝘯𝘧𝘢𝘪𝘳 (𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦)

He is a tease, he is completely unfair about it too. If he finds a spot that makes your toes curl and eyes roll, he will tease it until it hurts, asking you questions and giving praise all the while too. If your body reacts to anything he says, he is absolutely be relentless in drawing out your adorable reactions. You just look so pretty when you unravel under his touch, and you’re being so good. How could he not reward you for that. If it becomes too much you’d best use your safe word, because he won’t tire of your reactions.

𝘝 = 𝘝𝘰𝘭𝘶𝘮𝘦 (𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘢𝘳𝘦, 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦, 𝘦𝘵𝘤.)

Despite being a loud man, Chuuya is fairly controlled with his moans and groans. He definitely groans and growls more than he moans, and the deep sounds are enough to drive anyone mad.

𝘞 = 𝘞𝘪𝘭𝘥 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘥 (𝘢 𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘮 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘯 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳)

Will not have sex with socks on. Absolutely not. It’s like nails on a chalkboard for him. Unless they’re thigh highs and on you, he’s not doing it.

𝘟 = 𝘟-𝘳𝘢𝘺 (𝘭𝘦𝘵’𝘴 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵’𝘴 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴)

5 inches, average thickness, and he knows how to use it well. It’s odd to say, but if you had to describe it in a word, it’s surprisingly pretty.

𝘠 = 𝘠𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 (𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘴𝘦𝘹 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘦?)

If he doesn’t have an active partner, it comes and goes, nothing too insane. If he doesn’t have a partner though, he wants to be all over you at least once a day.

𝘡 = 𝘡𝘻𝘻 (𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘴)

This man is forever tired, but he’s surprisingly awake after it all. He lays there, arms wrapped around you, almost mesmerised as he gives you as Eskimo kiss. He’ll probably fall asleep only after you do.

[writingnightmare]

I know what I’m drawing next

i cannot believe recruiting a twelve year old for the hunting dogs was something fukuchi did TWICE oh my god. patron saint of child soldiers my guy holy shit

i need a "if i had a nickel" meme for this dsfdghf

[writingnightmare]

𝙺𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚒 𝙼𝚒𝚢𝚊𝚣𝚊𝚠𝚊 & 𝙺𝚢𝚘𝚔𝚊 𝙸𝚣𝚞𝚖𝚒

The agency sets something up so the kids can go to school and the kids are nervous. Kenji’s never been to school before, and Kyouka hasn't been since her parents died.

Kunikida helps them cache up on their academics over the summer so no one is worried about them falling behind in classes, but the kids are worried they won't be able to make friends at school .

What happens next?

You know anon, I’d never thought about this before. Why aren’t these kids in school, they should be. I’m also disappointed by the lack of interaction we get with these two, I think they’d be really good friends despite their opposing demeanours. I need to write more of them in the future I think. ♡

─── ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ───

Characters: Kenji Miyazawa ☀︎ & Kyoka Izumi ❀

Minimal - Doppo Kunikida ✎

Content: [SFW], Kenji and Kyoka go to school for the first time in a long time.

Warnings: None!

─── ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ───

Not by the Textbook

To say Kenji was nervous wouldn’t be wrong, the usually sunny boy was unusually quiet, bright eyes locked onto the building that stood before him. Kyoka didn’t fair much better, the young girl was stiff in her uniform, dark eyes glowering upon the school, as if to make it yield before her. Kunikida stood between the pair, adjusting his glasses as he was flooded by memories of late nights writing up syllabus, just the thought of the yelling kids was enough to make the man violently shudder.

“You two will be fine. Now, head in before you’re late. The Agency will come get you once your day ends,” he directed, lightly encouraging the pair to walk forward. Education was important, and the chance to interact with their peers would be good for their mental development, surely. That was the idea of this after all. Get them away from conflict, keep their education up to date, make sure they were prepared for the outside world as adults if they ever wished to change professions.

Many things had to be taken into consideration for such a plan to work, however the first detail that was unfortunately glossed over was breakfast. By the time Kenji and Kyoka were hurrying into their second class of the day, the blond boy’s stomach could be heard throughout the whole school. Kyoka looked at him, subtle concern playing on her features as he laughed nervously, scratching the back of his head.

“Kenji, are you hungry?” He nodded sheepishly, clutching onto his books with his free arm.

“I forgot to have breakfast, but I’ll be fine! I’ve dealt with much worse in this city, and back at home,” he joked, earning a hesitant nod from the quiet girl. They ducked into the classroom, and it quickly became evident that it would not indeed be fine. “Miss Kyoka, come sit with me! We can look out the window,” he offered, beaming when she moved in his direction. Their class buzzed around them, far too busy getting ready for class, until Kenji pulled out a chair for Kyoka.

The cracking of the wooden back was sharp, rippling through the air as the chair legs dragged along the floor. Kyoka stared at the back of the chair, blinking calmly at the now shattered and splinted wood. Their classmates stared on in shock, before murmurs broke out, eyes burning into Kenji.

“It would seem you are hungrier than expected.” He ducked his head down, mumbling apologies as Kyoka reached into her bag, quickly pulling out a cereal bar for the boy. She held it out to him, watching as his eyes lit up, gently taking the food from her grasp.

“Thank you, Miss Kyoka. I promise I will eat breakfast tomorrow!”

The classes flowed quickly together for Kyoka, watching on as Kenji appeared to seamlessly interact with those around him. People seemed to gravitate towards the boy, whilst they would hesitate to approach her. When a girl named Hiruko did approach the introverted Kyoka as she sat at lunch, the interaction did not seem to go as the friendly young girl had intended. She moved up behind where Kyoka sat, her lunch sitting in her lap as she watched Kenji toss around the heavy wooden benches for the boy’s amusement. Hiruko only lightly placed her hand onto Kyoka’s shoulder as she began to talk, but the action was enough to startle the young lady.

“Hey, you’re one of the new-!”

The clattering of her bento filled the room, food scattering across the floor going unnoticed, as Kyoka pressed a blade to the neck of Hiruko. Where had she gotten the knife from? Why did she have a knife in the first place? Hiruko’s thoughts went without answer, as Kyoka slowly lowered her knife, her calculating eyes realising that the brunette was not a threat to her. Their fellow peers watched on, whispering as Hiruko slowly stepped back, watching Kyoka bow in apology after she slipped her knife away under her skirt.

“I apologise, you startled me.” The brown haired girl blinked, before she brought out into laughter, expression shifting to one of enthusiastic curiosity as Kyoka blinked.

“I knew you were interesting! Where’d you learn to do that, can you teach me?” Her excitement was unexpected, but not unwelcome by the purple haired girl, a small smile as she went on to tell Hiruko about how one should always be prepared for an attack.

Kunikida had made an interesting choice by picking up his phone in the afternoon, that much he was positive of. He had previously been an enthusiastic supporter of sending Kyoka and Kenji to school, knowing the importance of education from his prior stint as a teacher himself, he even offered to put his name and number down as a point of contact. What he was not so enthusiastic about, was the bill sent to his email for a broken chair and five broken benches, nor the long lecture about how he must ensure Kyoka no longer attended the grounds with a lethal weapon. He was unaware she even took the damn thing.

Needless to say, there would be a long talk about weapons and the importance of breakfast, not only for their health, wellbeing, and safety, but also his very fragile sanity.

[writingnightmare]

Hello! May I please request cuddling hc's for Bram? like maybe the reader likes to sleep in a lot too

Of course! Honestly writing this just made me so soft for Bram. ♡

─── ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ───

𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓈: Bram Stoker

𝒞𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉: Fluff, Cuddle headcannons, SFW

𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: None!

─── ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ───

Quiet Comforts - Bram Stoker 𓉸

Oh this man.

He has been stuck in his coffin for lord knows how long, the most touch he got was from Aya. Be patient with him please.

Hugging is very intimate to Bram, he is from Victorian era England after all. He would have a hard time initiating any such contact. The first time he had you curling into him, arms lazily draped around his form, he wasn’t sure what to do.

Push you away? No, simply too rude. You looked so comfortable after all, tension fading from your face as you snuggled into him, murmuring apologies of how you simply couldn’t keep your eyes open, how you only needed a minute.

He wasn’t sure tense for a good while, until he realised you were drifting off to sleep. Hesitantly, his arm would settle around you, barely ghosting your figure in the beginning. As the minutes ticked by however, he got comfortable, finding the warmth of your body a welcome relief he wasn’t expecting.

Once this becomes a regular occurrence, he finds enjoyment in having you so close to him. Listening to you as you draw in light breaths in your sleep, it seems to be as relaxing for him as it is for you. Eventually one of his hands would find its way to your head, dainty fingers threading through your hair while you slept. Finding solace in the touch your hair, the strands dragging between his fingers was almost mesmerising to him. He is always ever so gentle, so as not to wake you.

After a while, he may simply look at you when he notices your eyes drooping, knowing full well what was coming. A simple brush of his hand on yours, red eyes meeting your gaze when you look over, softly and simply asking, “are you feeling tired?” His own way to offering the physical contact he has quietly come to cherish so much with you.