I'm offering longform, highly personalized fiction (2000-8000 words), including fandom and original works. Expect character-driven writing, slow build, and detailed scenes rather than short snippets.
Fandom requests depend on what I'm familiar with
LGBTQ+ friendly
Reader-insert / OC welcome
18 + fiction
I also offer comfort fanfiction for $5, or sometimes free depending on the scope. This is not medical or professional advice, just writing meant to offer a little comfort or escape. Requests are accepted at my discretion.
I'm offering longform, highly personalized fiction (2000-8000 words), including fandom and original works. Expect character-driven writing, slow build, and detailed scenes rather than short snippets.
Fandom requests depend on what I'm familiar with
LGBTQ+ friendly
Reader-insert / OC welcome
18 + fiction
I also offer comfort fanfiction for $5, or sometimes free depending on the scope. This is not medical or professional advice, just writing meant to offer a little comfort or escape. Requests are accepted at my discretion.
You couldn't help but smirk as Dazai's face twisted in that classic mix of disbelief and dramatic horror. The two of you had been together for over a year now, long enough that you knew exactly how to push his buttons—and tonight, you'd pushed one right into a win. It started innocently enough: a stupid bet during one of your lazy evenings in his cluttered apartment. He'd been so cocky, insisting he could outdrink you without even flinching, all while lounging on the couch in his usual bandages and coat, that lazy grin plastered on his face like he owned the world.
'Come on, darling,' he'd drawled, swirling the glass of whiskey you'd poured him. 'You really think you can keep up with the great Dazai? I'll have you tipsy and begging for mercy in ten minutes flat.'
You'd raised an eyebrow, matching his challenge with a sip of your own drink. 'Big words for a guy who once admitted to passing out after two shots. Loser has to do whatever the winner says—no questions, no backing out.'
He'd laughed, that rich, teasing sound that always made your stomach flip. 'Deal. Prepare to be my personal servant for the night.'
But here you were, two hours later, with empty glasses scattered on the coffee table and Dazai slumped against the armrest, his cheeks flushed and his eyes a little glassy. You'd won—fair and square, though he'd swear up and down that you must have cheated somehow. Maybe slipped something in his drink. Or maybe the universe just hated him. As if it didn't already.
'This... this is a travesty,' he groaned, rubbing his temples with exaggerated flair. 'I demand a rematch. Or a recount. Or perhaps I should just end it all right here—' He flopped his hand dramatically toward his chest, as if clutching an invisible dagger.
You rolled your eyes, standing up from the floor where you'd been sitting cross-legged, and crossed the room to the bag you'd hidden in the corner. 'No rematches, Dazai. A bet's a bet. And since it's your birthday tomorrow, I figured we'd get an early start on the celebrations.'
He peeked one eye open, curiosity cutting through the whine in his voice. 'Early start? What, you got me a cake? Balloons? A noose—wait, no, that's my gift to myself.'
You pulled out the costume, holding it up with a grin that you knew would make him squirm. It was a full kitten getup: soft black fur with white paws, little ears that perked up on the hood, a collar with a bell that jingled softly, and—tucked discreetly in the bag—the tail attachment. The one that wasn't just sewn on.
Dazai's eyes widened, and he sat up so fast he nearly toppled off the couch. 'What the hell is that? Is that... a cat costume? For me? No. Absolutely not. I refuse. This is betrayal. This is worse than the Port Mafia ever was.' He crossed his arms, sinking back into the cushions like a sulking child, but you could see the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth—the part of him that was intrigued, even if he'd die before admitting it.
'Come on, you lost,' you said, dangling the outfit in front of him. 'And it's consensual, remember? We've talked about trying new things. Besides, it's adorable. You'll look cute as a kitten.'
He snorted, waving a hand dismissively. 'Cute? Me? Osamu Dazai, the man who's stared death in the face a hundred times, reduced to a fluffy animal? This is humiliation. Pure, unadulterated—' He paused, eyeing the tail piece as you pulled it out. His flush deepened, not just from the alcohol anymore. 'Wait. Is that... oh, no. No way. That's a plug? You're kidding. On my birthday eve? This is some kind of elaborate prank, right? Tell me Kunikida put you up to this.'
You shook your head, stepping closer and tossing the costume onto his lap. The fabric landed with a soft thud, the bell tinkling mockingly. 'Not a prank. And it's not that bad. Lube's in the bag if you need it. Just... try it on for me? For us? It'll be fun.'
He stared at it like it was a bomb, poking the hood with one finger as if it might bite. 'Fun? For who? You? Because I assure you, this is not my idea of a party. I could be reading Chuuya's embarrassing fan mail right now, or plotting world domination, or—'
'Or being a good boyfriend and honoring the bet,' you interrupted, sitting on the edge of the couch beside him. You rested a hand on his knee, giving it a gentle squeeze. He didn't pull away, but his body tensed, that familiar mix of resistance and reluctant curiosity flickering in his brown eyes.
Dazai sighed, long and theatrical, running a hand through his messy brown hair. 'You're evil. You know that? Pure evil wrapped in a cute package. Fine. But if anyone finds out—'
'No one will,' you promised, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his cheek. 'It's just us. Now go change. Bedroom's that way.'
He grumbled the whole way, snatching up the costume and shuffling off like he was marching to his execution. You heard him muttering from behind the closed door—something about 'double suicide with a cat' and 'why me'—and it took every ounce of willpower not to laugh out loud.
When he finally emerged, you had to bite your lip to keep from bursting into giggles. The costume fit him surprisingly well, hugging his lean frame under the fuzzy exterior. The hood was pulled up, those little black ears flopping slightly as he moved, and the collar sat snug around his neck, the bell jingling with every step. He held his arms out awkwardly, the paw mittens making his hands look comically oversized, and the tail... well, he'd managed to get it in place, swaying behind him with a slight swish.
'Well?' he demanded, spinning slowly with all the enthusiasm of a man facing a firing squad. 'Happy now? I look ridiculous. Like a depressed stray cat that wandered into the wrong alley.'
You stood up, circling him slowly, taking in the sight. He did look ridiculous, but in that endearing Dazai way—vulnerable, playful, a far cry from the suicidal detective you usually saw. 'You look perfect,' you said honestly, reaching out to tweak one of the ears. 'Adorable. My little kitten.'
He swatted at your hand with a paw, the bell on his collar chiming. 'Don't. Just... don't say that. And stop staring. It's creepy.' But there was no real bite in his words, just that whiny edge he always fell into when he was out of his depth.
You grinned, stepping closer and hooking a finger under his collar. He froze, eyes locking onto yours, a spark of something heated flickering there despite his protests. 'Come on, kitty. Purr for me.'
'I'm not purring,' he shot back, but his voice hitched as you gave the collar a light tug, pulling him forward just enough that his chest brushed yours. 'This is undignified. I feel like an idiot. Can we call it quits now? Birthday gift revoked—'
Before he could finish, you reached back and gave the tail a gentle yank—not hard, just enough to make him jolt. The plug shifted inside him, and he let out a sharp, involuntary gasp, his knees buckling slightly. 'Hey! Warn a guy—'
You yanked the collar again, firmer this time, drawing him into a kiss that cut off his whining. His lips were soft, tasting faintly of whiskey, and for a second, he resisted, mumbling against your mouth. 'Mmph—not fair...'
But then he melted into it, his bandaged hands—paws, really—coming up to grip your shoulders. The kiss deepened, tongues brushing in that familiar dance, and you felt the tension in his body start to uncoil, just a little.
When you pulled back, he was breathing harder, cheeks pink under the hood. 'You're playing dirty,' he accused, but his voice was breathier now, less whiny.
'All's fair in bets and birthdays,' you teased, yanking the tail again—softly, experimentally. He hissed, hips twitching forward involuntarily, pressing against you. 'See? Not so bad.'
Dazai glared, but it was half-hearted, his eyes darkening with that mix of annoyance and arousal you knew so well. 'I hate you. So much. This thing is... uncomfortable. And weird. And—ah!' Another tug, and he stumbled into you, the bell jingling wildly.
You caught him, hands on his waist, feeling the soft fur under your fingers. 'Good pet,' you murmured, nipping at his earlobe. He shivered, a low whine escaping despite himself.
'Pet? I'm not your—don't call me that,' he protested, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he leaned in, stealing a kiss of his own—quick and fierce, like he was trying to regain control. 'This is temporary insanity. Tomorrow, I'm burning this thing.'
You laughed softly, guiding him backward toward the bedroom with tugs on the collar, the tail swaying behind him. He followed, grumbling the whole way. 'You're enjoying this way too much. Sadist. Pervert. My girlfriend, the cat torturer.'
In the bedroom, you pushed him gently onto the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. He sprawled there, looking up at you with that bratty pout, ears flopped to one side. 'Now what? You gonna make me chase a laser pointer?'
'Something like that,' you said, climbing onto the bed and straddling his hips. The costume's fur was soft against your thighs, and you could feel him hardening beneath you, the outline clear even through the fabric. You leaned down, capturing his lips again, slower this time—kissing him deeply, pouring all the adoration you felt into it. He responded, hands roaming your back, but still muttering between kisses.
'Too tight... the tail's annoying...'
You reached back, giving it a playful yank, and he arched up with a groan, breaking the kiss to bury his face in your neck. 'Stop that! Or don't—wait, no, stop.'
'Which is it?' you whispered, nipping his jaw. Your hands slid under the costume, pushing it up to expose his chest, bandages and all. You kissed along his collarbone, tasting salt and skin, while he squirmed beneath you.
'You're impossible,' he breathed, but his fingers tangled in your hair, holding you close. 'Fine. Keep going. But I'm complaining the whole time.'
And he did. As you peeled the costume down his legs, careful with the tail, he whined about the cold air, about how exposed he felt, about how this was 'definitely not birthday material.' But his body betrayed him—hips lifting to help you, cock springing free and already leaking pre-cum, hard and eager.
You wrapped a hand around him, stroking slowly, and he bucked into your touch with a curse. 'Fuck—easy there, kitten.'
He glared up at you, but it dissolved into a moan as you tugged the tail again, the dual sensation making his eyes flutter. 'That's... not fair. You're cheating.'
'Winning,' you corrected, leaning down to kiss the tip of his cock, tongue flicking out to taste him. He tasted salty, musky, and he let out a strangled whine, paws clutching the sheets.
'Don't—oh god, your mouth...' He trailed off, head falling back as you took him deeper, sucking gently while your free hand worked the plug in shallow thrusts. His protests turned to gasps, body trembling under you.
But he was still fighting it, bratty to the core. 'This doesn't count as submission or whatever you're aiming for. I'm just... tolerating this. For you.'
You pulled off with a pop, grinning up at him. 'Tolerating, huh? Looks like more than that.' You yanked the collar—still around his neck—and pulled him up into another kiss, tasting yourself on his lips. He kissed back hungrily, hands fumbling to strip your clothes, all whines forgotten in the heat of the moment.
Soon you were both naked, the costume discarded except for the collar and tail, and you pushed him onto his back, straddling him fully. 'Good pet,' you praised, guiding his cock to your entrance and sinking down slowly. He was thick, stretching you perfectly, and you both moaned at the fullness.
'Don't call me—ah, fuck,' he gasped as you bottomed out, clenching around him. His hands gripped your hips, guiding you as you started to ride him—slow at first, building the rhythm.
You yanked the tail in time with your thrusts, each pull making him thrust up harder, deeper. 'Yes, like that. Good boy.'
He whined, but it was weaker now, his eyes glazing over just a bit. 'Not a boy... not a pet... yours, maybe.' The admission slipped out, and he bit his lip, like he regretted it.
You kissed him again, soft and adoring, whispering against his mouth. 'Mine. My perfect kitten.' Your pace quickened, the bed creaking under you, skin slapping skin. He was close—you could feel it in the way he throbbed inside you, the way his breaths came in ragged pants.
'Tug it again,' he muttered suddenly, surprising you. His voice was hazy, protests fading. 'Please...'
You did, yanking the tail firmly, and he cried out, arching off the bed as he came, spilling hot inside you. The sight of him—compliant, dazed, eyes half-lidded and trusting—pushed you over the edge too, waves of pleasure crashing through you.
Afterward, you collapsed beside him, pulling him into your arms. He nuzzled into your neck without a word, the bell jingling softly as his breathing evened out. No more whining, just quiet surrender, his body lax and warm against yours.
'Happy early birthday,' you murmured, kissing his forehead.
He hummed, a content sound that was almost a purr. 'Best worst gift ever.'
'And ....Osamu ? I did spike your drink.' I mumble smiling at him .
The morning started off like any other, but Dazai had that glint in his eye from the moment you woke up. He was lounging on the couch in your shared apartment, scrolling through his phone with that lazy smirk, bandages peeking out from under his shirt sleeves. You could tell he was in one of his moods—bratty, testing boundaries just to see how far he could push. It wasn't new; Dazai loved poking at things until they snapped, especially with you.
You were in the kitchen making coffee when he sauntered in, leaning against the doorframe. 'Morning, beautiful,' he said, voice all smooth and teasing, but his eyes were on you like he was already plotting. You ignored it at first, handing him a mug, but then he started up. 'You know, I ran into Chuuya yesterday. He was looking good. Really good. We should double date sometime.' He winked, sipping his coffee like it was nothing.
Your grip tightened on your own mug. 'Osamu, cut it out.' But he just laughed, that light, airy sound that always made your stomach twist because you knew it hid something sharper. 'What? Jealous? Come on, it's just flirting. Harmless.' He set the mug down and stepped closer, tilting his head. 'Or are you gonna do something about it? Tie me up and show me who's in charge?'
That was it. He was baiting you, plain as day. The flirting wasn't even the worst part—later that afternoon, when you both stepped out to grab lunch, he held the door open for some random lady passing by. She smiled at him, and he flashed that charming grin back, saying something low that made her laugh. You stood there, arms crossed, heat rising in your chest. He glanced over, catching your glare, and his smile widened just a fraction. Yeah, he knew exactly what he was doing.
Back home, the tension hung thick in the air. Dazai flopped onto the bed, stretching out like a cat, watching you with those dark eyes. 'So, what now? You look pissed. Gonna punish me? Be rough? I mean, you could tie me down, make me beg...' His voice trailed off, playful but edged with that real challenge. He was pushing, wanting the reaction, the fire.
You didn't say a word at first. Just grabbed the soft ropes from the drawer—the ones you'd used before, thick and forgiving but strong enough to hold. His eyebrows shot up, but he didn't protest, just held out his wrists with a grin. 'Kinky. I like where this is going.' You tied him to the headboard, wrists secured above his head, ankles to the footboard so he was spread out on the bed. He tugged lightly, testing, then settled back, looking up at you expectantly. 'Alright, what's the plan? Gonna make me scream?'
Instead, you sat on the edge of the bed next to him, leaning in close. Your hand cupped his cheek, thumb brushing his skin, and you pressed a slow, soft kiss to his lips. Not hungry, not demanding—just gentle, lingering. He blinked, pulling back a little. 'Wait, that's it?'
You kissed him again, deeper this time but still affectionate, your lips moving unhurried against his. He responded at first, tilting his head to meet you, but when you pulled away after a minute, he frowned. 'Hey, come on. Don't tease like that. What are you doing?'
No answer. You just shifted closer, your fingers tracing lightly down his arm, and kissed the corner of his mouth, then his jaw. Soft, warm presses that made his breath hitch, but nothing more. He squirmed a bit, the ropes creaking. 'Not a fan of slow dancing here. Talk to me. Are you mad?'
Silence. You kissed his neck, slow and tender, feeling the pulse jump under your lips. He let out a small huff, turning his head to try to catch your eye. 'This is... different. Usually you're all fire when I push like this. What's the game?'
You ignored him, settling in beside him, your body half-draped over his in a way that was comforting, not dominating. For the next fifteen minutes, it was just kisses—his forehead, his eyelids when he closed them in confusion, the tip of his nose. Each one deliberate, affectionate, like you were savoring him without any rush. His body relaxed at first, but then he started to fidget, the agitation building.
'Okay, seriously,' he said after a while, voice pitching up just a touch. 'This is weird. Untie me or... or do something. You're freaking me out a little.' You kissed his collarbone, exposed where his shirt had slipped, and he shivered, but his words kept coming. 'Is this punishment? Because if it is, it's lame. Boring. I want the rough stuff, remember?'
Twenty minutes in, he was twisting against the ropes more, his cheeks flushing not from arousal but frustration. 'Hey! Answer me. Why are you being all... sweet? It's not fair.' You pressed a kiss to his temple, your hand stroking his hair gently, and he groaned, dropping his head back against the pillow. 'This is torture. Actual torture. I flirt a little, hold a door, and you... you kiss me like we're in some rom-com?'
The half-hour mark, and he was breathing heavier, not from passion but from the sheer annoyance bubbling up. 'Please, just say something. Are you ignoring me on purpose? That's cold.' You kissed his lips again, slow and deep, your tongue brushing his lightly before pulling back. He chased after you for a second, then stopped, glaring. 'Tease. Fine, be like that. But this isn't what I asked for.'
By forty-five minutes, his voice had softened, the bratty edge cracking into something almost whiny. ' I'm sorry, okay? That lady was nothing. Chuuya too. Untie me, and I'll make it up to you. Properly.' You didn't respond, just kissed his knuckles where the rope bound him, your lips warm against his skin. He tugged harder, the bed frame rattling faintly. 'Damn it, this is worse than yelling. You're killing me here.'
The full hour dragged on like that—kisses trailing over his cheeks, his ears, the soft spot under his chin. His agitation turned to restless shifting, sweat beading on his forehead from the restraint more than anything else. 'I get it, alright? Lesson learned. Now what?'
Finally, as the clock ticked past the hour, you sat up straighter. His eyes locked on yours, hopeful, a bit wild. 'About time.' You reached for his shirt, unbuttoning it slowly, one button at a time, your fingers grazing his chest. He watched, breath catching. 'Yeah, okay, now we're talking.' The fabric parted, revealing the bandages wrapped around his torso, and you leaned down to kiss the exposed skin just above them—soft, still affectionate.
He thought it was ramping up, you could tell from the way his body tensed in anticipation. You slid his pants down next, careful with the ropes on his ankles, leaving him bare and exposed. His cock was half-hard already from the proximity, the teasing build-up, and he let out a relieved sigh. 'Finally. Do your worst—or best. Whatever.'
But you didn't rush. You started with kisses again, trailing them down his chest, over the bandages, avoiding the sensitive spots at first. Gentle presses to his ribs, his stomach, making him squirm. 'Come on, touch me already.' Your hand finally wrapped around his cock, stroking slow, so slow, from base to tip. He gasped, hips bucking up instinctively. 'Yes—'
'You're doing so well, Osamu,' you murmured, voice calm and praising, thumb circling the head lightly. 'Look at you, all patient for me.' He stared, eyes widening. 'What?'
Another stroke, deliberate and unhurried, your grip firm but the pace torturously gentle. 'Such a good boy, letting me take my time.' You kissed his hip bone, then licked a stripe up his thigh, close but not quite there. He whimpered, the sound surprised out of him. 'This... this is the punishment?'
You nodded, stroking again, praising softly. 'You're beautiful like this. So responsive.' His cock twitched in your hand, hardening fully now, but you kept the rhythm steady, never speeding up. He tried to thrust into your fist, but the ropes held him down. 'Faster. Please, just—'
'No, Osamu. Nice and slow. You've been so brave today.' Kiss to his inner thigh, breath hot against his skin. He groaned, head falling back, frustration mixing with the building ache. 'You're evil. Praising me while... ah—' You squeezed lightly at the base, cutting off his words, then resumed the languid strokes.
Ten minutes into this new phase, he was panting, sweat slicking his skin. 'I'm sorry, okay? For flirting, for the door, for everything. Untie me. Let me touch you.' You kissed his navel, hand never stopping its slow pump. 'Shh, you're perfect. Taking this so well for me.' His eyes squeezed shut, a whine escaping. 'Stop saying that. It's making it worse.'
Fifteen minutes, and begging crept in. 'Please, I need more. It's too much, too slow.' You leaned up to kiss his lips, soft and loving, while your hand twisted just a bit on the upstroke. 'You're amazing, Osamu. I love how you react.' He interrupted with a gasp, 'Don't—don't praise me right now. Just fuck me already.' But you shook your head, continuing the gentle torment.
Half an hour, and he was wrecked—body trembling, cock leaking pre-cum that you smeared with your thumb, praising every twitch. 'So pretty when you're desperate like this.' He tried to apologize again, voice breaking. 'I'm sorry, really. Won't do it again. Please let me come.' You kissed his neck, stroking without mercy. 'You've been so good. Almost there.' But not quite.
The hour blurred into a haze of edging. Each time he got close, hips straining against the bonds, you'd slow even more, whispering, 'Not yet, love. You're handling this beautifully.' By the end, he was a mess—chest heaving, skin flushed red, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes from the overstimulation. The constant build without release had him frayed, every nerve screaming. 'I can't... please,' he sobbed quietly, tears spilling over. 'It hurts. Too much.'
You finally looked satisfied, the calm facade cracking into something tender. 'That's it, Osamu. You've earned this.' You straddled him, positioning yourself over his throbbing cock, sinking down slowly. He cried out, back arching as much as the ropes allowed. 'Yes—finally—'
Tight and wet around him, you rode him at first matching the slow pace, but building gradually. He wanted to hold you, hands flexing uselessly above his head. 'Untie me. Need to touch you. Please.' You leaned down, kissing away a tear from his cheek. 'Not yet. Feel me like this.' His hips jerked up to meet you, desperate thrusts despite the exhaustion.
He came hard, sooner than expected, spilling inside you with a broken moan, body shuddering. 'Oh god—' But you didn't stop, grinding down, chasing your own release. Overstimulated, he whimpered, tears flowing freely now. 'Too sensitive—wait—' His cock softened a bit inside you, but you kept going, the friction intense for both of you. 'Just a little more, Osamu. You're doing perfect.'
He went limp beneath you, spent and trembling, eyes half-lidded as you finally clenched around him, coming with a gasp. The room smelled of sweat and sex, his breaths coming in ragged bursts. You felt a pang of sorry then, seeing him so utterly drained.
Carefully, you untied the ropes, rubbing his wrists where the marks bloomed red. He didn't move much, just watched you with glassy eyes. You kissed his forehead, soft and lingering, then pulled him into your arms, snuggling close under the sheets. His head rested on your chest, body heavy and warm.
'Praise has never been more terrifying,' he muttered tiredly, voice hoarse, a weak chuckle escaping before he winced.
You stroked his hair, concern softening your voice. 'You okay? Want some water?' He nodded faintly against you, eyes closing. You reached for the bottle on the bedside table, helping him sip slowly, the cool liquid soothing his throat. He sighed, settling back, one arm draping loosely over your waist.
'Yeah... better.' His words slurred, exhaustion pulling him under. Slowly, the exhaustion pulled you both under, drifting off tangled together.
The door to your shared apartment clicked open around nine in the evening, the sound pulling your attention from the laptop balanced on your knees. You were curled up on the couch, half-lost in some work email that wouldn't quit, when Satoru Gojo strolled in like he hadn't just spent the day exorcising curses or whatever chaos the higher-ups threw at him. His white hair was a mess, sticking up in wild tufts, and that signature blindfold hung loose around his neck, revealing those piercing blue eyes that always seemed to find you first. He kicked off his shoes haphazardly by the door, not even bothering to line them up, and let out a dramatic sigh.
"Home sweet home," he drawled, his voice carrying that lazy drawl that made everything sound like a joke. He didn't head to the kitchen or his room—no, he zeroed in on you immediately. Long legs carried him over, and before you could even say a word, he draped himself over the back of the couch like a human scarf, his chin resting on your shoulder. The faint scent of sweat and something metallic clung to him, mission grime that you could practically feel settling on the cushions.
You tried to shrug him off without looking up. "Satoru, seriously, I'm in the middle of something. Five minutes?"
He chuckled, low and warm against your ear, his breath tickling your skin. "Busy? With what, boring emails? Come on, I've been out there saving the world. You can't even spare a hello for your hero?" His arms snaked around your shoulders, one hand playfully tugging at the edge of your shirt. He was heavy, all lean muscle and height, pressing just enough to make it impossible to ignore him.
"You're filthy," you shot back, elbowing him lightly. "Go shower. You're getting dust all over the cushions again."
He laughed, that deep, rumbling sound that always vibrated through you, but he didn't move an inch. Instead, he leaned his full weight against you, nearly toppling you sideways. "Dust? This is battle grime, woman. Earned it fair and square. Come on, just a quick cuddle. I'm dying here." He stole your pen from the side table, twirling it between his fingers like a toy, his other arm tightening around your waist possessively.
You finally twisted to face him, catching that smug grin splitting his face—eyes twinkling with pure mischief. He was taller than you by a mile, all lean lines and effortless strength, but right now he was playing it up, pouting like a kid denied dessert. Technically older, sure, but the door closed and poof—back to being your bratty pain in the ass. "Satoru, shower. Now. Or I'll make you sleep on the floor."
His eyes widened dramatically, hand clutching his chest. "The floor? With my back? After saving the world? You're heartless." But even as he whined, he was already straightening up, though not without dragging his nose along your jaw in one last annoying nuzzle. "Fine, but only 'cause you're hot when you're bossy. Don't delete my save file on that game while I'm gone, yeah?"
You rolled your eyes, shoving him toward the bathroom. "Out."
The water kicked on with a hiss, and you heard him humming some off-key tune through the door—probably taking his sweet time just to mess with you. It dragged on forever, steam seeping under the frame, until finally, the faucet squeaked off. He emerged like he'd stepped out of a magazine ad gone wrong: hair damp and tousled, pants slung low enough to show the V of his hips, shirt thrown on haphazardly with half the buttons missing and the hem tucked in one side only. Barefoot, he padded back into the living room, shaking his head like a dog to flick water droplets your way.
"Hey!" You dodged, laughing despite yourself.
"What? Sharing the wealth." He dropped onto the couch beside you—no, on you—his thigh pressing against yours, arm slinging over the backrest to box you in. Up close, he smelled fresh now, all mint soap and warm skin, and his eyes roamed your face like he was memorizing it. "Missed you. Mission was boring without someone to brag to."
The words hit softer than his usual banter, a little crack in the armor, but he covered it quick with a wink. You set the laptop on the coffee table, turning to face him fully. His presence filled the space, heat rolling off him in waves, and you reached up, thumbing away a lingering water bead from his temple. He stilled under your touch, breath catching just a bit, those blue eyes going intense.
"Missed you too, maybe," you admitted, fingers trailing down to fix his crooked collar. He watched every move, unusually quiet, lips parting like he wanted to say something snappy but couldn't quite get it out.
He bumped his forehead against yours gently, voice dropping to that low rumble. "You gonna keep ignoring me? I mean, I get it—work's important—but I'm right here, all clean and ready for attention."
"Dramatic," you murmured, but your hands stayed on him, smoothing the fabric over his chest. His heart hammered under your palm, fast and steady, and he leaned into it, closing his eyes for a second.
"Only 'cause you make me that way," he replied, hands settling on your waist—not grabbing, just resting there, thumbs circling lazy patterns. The air shifted, teasing fading into something thicker, warmer. He was close enough that you felt every inhale, the brush of his chest against yours. "You know what you do to me, right? Driving me crazy all day."
It wasn't cocky this time; it was real, voice rough with that hidden need. Your pulse jumped. "Then prove it. Bedroom. Now."
His eyes snapped open, a grin flashing, but he didn't argue—just stood with you, letting you tug him by the shirt. He followed, steps matching yours, but threw in a cheeky, "Bossy. I like it," under his breath.
The bedroom was dim, lamp light spilling gold over the unmade bed, curtains drawn against the city hum outside. You flicked the door shut, turning to find him already kicking off his pants, but you stopped him with a hand on his chest. "Arms up, brat."
He raised an eyebrow, smirking, but lifted them anyway. "What, stripping me yourself? Eager much?" You ignored the jab, yanking his shirt over his head—damp fabric clinging before giving way. His skin was flushed from the shower, muscles flexing under faint scars, nipples hardening in the cooler air. You twisted the shirt into a quick bind, looping it around his wrists and tying a knot that'd hold if he didn't fight it.
He tugged experimentally, grin widening. "Ooh, kinky tonight. Didn't know you had this in you. Or do I bring it out?" His tone was all brat, eyes challenging even as he let you push him back onto the bed.
You climbed over him, knees bracketing his hips, feeling the hard line of his cock already tenting his boxers. "Shut up and behave," you said, nipping his lower lip sharp enough to make him hiss.
"Make me," he shot back, but it came out breathy, hips rolling up to grind against you. You kissed him then—hard, demanding, swallowing his smartass retort. His mouth opened eagerly, tongue tangling with yours, a low groan vibrating between you. When you pulled back, he chased, lips shiny and eyes dark.
"Please," he muttered, the word slipping out before he could catch it, bound hands flexing above his head.
You ground down again, drawing a whine from him—high and needy, nothing like the strongest sorcerer out there. "What was that, puppy? Begging already?"
His cheeks pinked, but he didn't back down, smirking through it. "Maybe. Or maybe you're just that good. Untie me—I wanna touch." He tugged harder, testing, but didn't break free.
"No." You bit his jaw, teeth grazing stubble, and he arched, a whimper escaping. Your hands explored, nails raking down his sides, over the ridges of his abs. He squirmed, breaths coming faster, cock twitching under you.
"Fuck, that's—do it again," he demanded, voice cracking into a plea. Bratty even now, pushing buttons.
You obliged, scraping harder, then soothed with your tongue, tasting salt on his skin. "Such a mouth on you. The strongest, huh? Out there untouchable, but here you're just my whiny pet, leaking in your pants. Pathetic."
He moaned, head thumping back on the pillow. "Yeah? Your pathetic pet. But I'm still the best, right? Strongest for you." The words were smug, but his hips bucked desperately, chasing friction.
"Damn right," you praised, palming him through the fabric. He was rock hard, pre-cum soaking through, and you squeezed, making him gasp. "So strong, but look—tied up, whimpering like a good boy. Mommy's good boy."
"Mommy," he echoed, voice wrecked, eyes fluttering shut. "Touch me for real. Please."
You shoved his boxers down, his cock springing free—thick, veined, tip flushed and slick. Wrapping your hand around it, you stroked firm and slow, thumb swiping over the slit. He thrust into your grip, babbling, "Yes, fuck—faster. Bite me, come on."
Leaning down, you sank teeth into his shoulder, the muscle yielding under pressure, and he cried out, body jolting. The mark bloomed red, and you licked it, pumping him quicker. "Greedy puppy. Can't get enough, can you? All that power, and you beg for this."
"Can't help it," he panted, wrists straining against the shirt. "You—ah—make me weak. Strongest, but yours."
"You're perfect," you whispered, releasing him to strip off your own clothes. Skin to skin now, you felt every inch of him—hot, trembling. Guiding his cock to your entrance, you sank down inch by inch, the stretch burning sweet, filling you to the brim. He groaned loud, hips stuttering up.
"Tight... so fucking tight," he whined, eyes locked on where you joined. You started riding him, slow rolls building to sharp snaps, hands pinning his chest. He matched your rhythm, but let you lead, bound arms pulling taut.
You bit his neck, collarbone, chest—marks everywhere, each one pulling whimpers from his throat. "Take it, Satoru. Show me how strong you are—holding back for me. Good pet, so obedient under all that bravado."
"Obedient? Me?" He laughed breathlessly, but it broke into a moan as you clenched around him. "Only 'cause it's you. Fuck, harder—own me."
The pace turned brutal, bed creaking under you, sweat slicking slides of skin. His cock dragged against your walls, hitting deep, and you reached down, rubbing your clit in tight circles. He babbled nonstop—"Mommy, please, close, gonna—"—voice high and desperate, brattiness melted into raw need.
"Cum inside me," you ordered, nails digging into his hips. "Fill me up, Satoru."
He shattered, cock pulsing hot ropes into you, a broken cry tearing from him. The clench of your walls milked him, your orgasm ripping through—waves of pleasure making you grind down hard, biting his lip to muffle your gasp. He tasted coppery, real, as you licked the sting away.
You slumped over him, breaths mingling, bodies sticky and spent. His arms, still loosely bound, curled around you awkwardly, holding tight. "Don't pull out yet," he mumbled, nuzzling your hair, voice lazy and sated. "Feels good."
You chuckled, feeling the mess leaking between you. "Sheets are wrecked, Satoru. We gotta change them."
"Nah," he whined, free hand—wait, you'd untied him sometime in the haze—now roaming your back possessively. "Too comfy. Stay put. You're my pillow now." He peppered sloppy kisses along your shoulder, clingy as hell, legs tangling with yours to trap you.
"Come on, lazy ass," you protested, but wriggled half-heartedly, kissing his jaw, his cheek, the bridge of his nose. He hummed, content, but then shifted—and there it was, his cock stirring inside you, hardening again.
You pulled back, eyebrow raised. "Already? God, you're insatiable."
He grinned, smug as ever, blue eyes glinting with that cocky spark. "Of course I am. You make me like that." His hands squeezed your ass, pulling you closer. "Round two? Pretty please?"
Everyone in the Armed detective agency Agency notices it before you do. Edogawa Ranpo only annoys you. Only steals your snacks. Only drags his chair next to yours, close enough that his coat brushes your arm every time he shifts.
You pretend not to care. He pretends you're obvious. It's a stalemate.
And today, he was at it again .
Everyone else went home. Ranpo didn't—because you didn't.
He sprawls across your desk like he owns it, chin propped on his hand as he stares at you with that infuriating “I already know everything” look. The office is dead quiet, just the hum of the fluorescent lights overhead and the faint rustle of papers as you flip through the case file. Your eyes burn from staring at the screen too long, and there's a half-empty bag of gummy candies on your desk—your last resort to stay awake. Of course, Ranpo's already eyeing them.
“You’re thinking too loud,” he says, his voice lazy but sharp, like he's commenting on the weather.
You don’t look up, scribbling a note in the margin. “You’re breathing too loud.”
“Oh?” His smile sharpens—you can hear it in his tone. He reaches over, fingers snatching a gummy from the bag before you can slap his hand away. He pops it into his mouth, chewing with exaggerated slowness. “Your heart rate just jumped. Interesting.”
You swear under your breath, mostly because he’s right. Damn him and his creepy observation skills. The candy's sweetness lingers in the air, mixing with the stale coffee scent from earlier. Your chair creaks as you shift, trying to put some distance between you, but he just leans closer, his elbow knocking into your arm.
Ranpo tilts his head, studying you the way he studies crime scenes—every twitch of your mouth, every shift of your shoulders, cataloged and filed. His green eyes gleam under the harsh light, and there's a smudge of candy sugar on his thumb that he hasn't noticed—or maybe he has, and he's just ignoring it.
“You get all flustered when you lie,” he says, almost gently, his voice dropping a notch. “Is it because it’s me?”
That hits too close. Your pen scratches too hard against the paper, leaving a tear. Heat creeps up your neck, and you push your chair back, the wheels rolling over the worn carpet with a soft thud. “I’m going home.”
“No you’re not.” He stands, blocking your path—not threatening, just annoyingly tall when he wants to be. His coat hangs loose on his frame, and he sways a little, like he's too casual to stand straight. “You didn’t finish the case summary.”
“You didn’t finish it either.” You cross your arms, glaring up at him. The office feels smaller now, the shadows from the desk lamp stretching across the walls.
“I don’t need to.” He leans in, eyes gleaming with that smug spark. His breath smells faintly of the gummies—sweet and artificial. “I just needed you to stay.”
There it is. The honesty underneath all that. It shuts you up more effectively than any teasing. Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Ranpo's lips quirk, like he's won some invisible game.
He sees it—of course he does—and his voice drops into something distracted and soft, like he’s observing a rare phenomenon. “Mm. Your pupils dilated again.” A pause, his gaze flicking to your eyes, then lower. “…You really do like me.”
Your breath catches. “That’s not—”
“You’re lying,” he murmurs, cutting you off smoothly. “And I always know when you lie.”
His hand brushes your wrist. Barely a touch, but enough to make your pulse kick under his fingers. He notices that too. He notices everything. The warmth of his skin against yours sends a jolt up your arm, and you freeze, caught in the intensity of his stare.
Then his smile shifts—not smug, not bratty, something steadier. “You can kiss me, you know,” he says quietly. “You’ve wanted to for a while.”
You stare at him, caught between indignation and wanting. Your heart hammers in your chest, loud enough that you swear he can hear it. Ranpo waits, patient for once. Not pushing. Not teasing. Just… there, his hand still loosely around your wrist, thumb tracing a lazy circle that makes your skin tingle.
So you grab his coat collar and pull him down.
He laughs—breathless, surprised—right before your lips meet his. It's soft at first, tentative, his mouth warm and tasting like the cherry gummy he just ate. But then everything snaps. His hands come up to your face, fingers threading into your hair, and he kisses you back with a hunger that catches you off guard. Like he's been holding this deduction in for months.
Your back hits the desk edge, papers crinkling under your weight as you lean into it. Ranpo's body presses close, his coat brushing your arms, and you tug at the fabric, fumbling with the buttons because who cares about neatness right now? He breaks the kiss just long enough to mutter against your lips, “Eager, huh? Deduced you'd be the one to start this.”
“Shut up,” you gasp, but there's no heat in it. Your fingers shake as you yank his coat open, shoving it off his shoulders. It pools on the floor with a soft whoosh, and Ranpo's hands are already at your shirt, popping buttons clumsily—one skips off and pings against the desk leg.
“Oops,” he says, not sounding sorry at all. His mouth finds your neck, nipping lightly, and you arch into him, hands sliding under his shirt to feel the warmth of his skin. He's lean, not built like the fighters in the Agency, but solid enough that when he pushes you back fully onto the desk, the wood creaks under you both.
Clothes come off in a messy rush. Your shirt joins his coat on the floor, then his pants— he kicks them away with a triumphant huff, nearly tripping over his own feet. “See? I'm always one step ahead,” he brags, but his cheeks are flushed, and when you hook your fingers into his waistband to tug down his boxers, he stumbles forward, catching himself on the desk with a laugh. “Hey, careful! That's my genius body you're manhandling.”
You roll your eyes, but your breath hitches as his cock springs free—hard and straining, a bead of pre-cum already glistening at the tip. He's not huge, but the sight of him like that, all cocky and exposed, makes your core clench. Ranpo notices, of course. “Your breathing's uneven. And... yeah, you're wet already. Deduced that too.”
“God, you're insufferable,” you mutter, pulling him closer by his hips. But you don't stop him when he crowds between your legs, his hands roaming your sides, thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts. He pauses there, eyes narrowing like he's solving a puzzle.
“Hmm. Sensitive here, right?” He pinches one nipple lightly, rolling it between his fingers, and you gasp, hips bucking up involuntarily. “Yep. Nipples harden instantly—classic sign of arousal. But wait...” His other hand trails lower, over your stomach, dipping between your thighs without warning. He doesn't dive right in; instead, he traces the edge of your panties, pressing just enough to feel the dampness through the fabric. “You're soaked. That's not just from the kiss. You've been thinking about this all night, haven't you? Stealing glances while pretending to read the file.”
“Ranpo—” It's half a whine, half a protest, but he just grins, that bratty overconfidence shining through as he hooks his fingers into the waistband and yanks them down your legs. The cool office air hits your bare skin, making you shiver, and he chuckles, low and smug.
“Shh. Let the detective work.” He drops to his knees—clumsy, knees thumping against the carpet—and spreads your thighs wider, his breath hot against your inner skin. But he doesn't go straight for it. Oh no, Ranpo's too much of a show-off for that. He starts at your knee, pressing open-mouthed kisses up your thigh, nipping at the soft flesh like he's marking evidence. “Soft skin here... but tense muscles. You're holding back. Why? Afraid I'll find out how much you want my tongue?”
You grip the desk edge, knuckles white, as his fingers join in—two of them sliding along your folds, not entering, just teasing the slickness. He spreads you open with them, watching intently, like he's examining a clue. “Look at that. Clit swelling already. And your pussy's clenching around nothing. Bet it'd feel amazing around my cock, but first...” He circles your entrance, dipping just the tip of one finger in, then pulling back. “You're dripping. That's impatience. Or desperation?”
“It's you being a tease,” you snap, but your voice cracks, and he laughs, the sound vibrating against your thigh.
“Guilty. But accurate.” Finally, he leans in, tongue flicking out to lap at your clit—slow, deliberate, like he's tasting a new flavor of candy. You moan, head falling back, and he hums in approval, the vibration sending sparks up your spine. His free hand grips your hip, holding you steady as you squirm, but he's not done deducing. Between licks, he murmurs, “Tastes sweet. Like those gummies you hoard. Your thighs are trembling—orgasm building? No, not yet. I can tell by the way your toes curl.”
He's right, infuriatingly so. His tongue works you over, flat and broad one moment, then pointed and flicking the next, while his fingers press inside—first one, then two, curling up to hit that spot that makes your vision blur. It's messy, uncoordinated at times; he fumbles a little, his nose bumping your clit accidentally, but it only adds to the heat, making you laugh breathlessly even as pleasure coils tight.
“Ranpo, please—”
“Please what? Faster? Deeper?” He sucks your clit into his mouth, and stars burst behind your eyelids. Your first orgasm hits hard, walls fluttering around his fingers as you cry out, hips grinding against his face. He doesn't stop, just keeps that steady rhythm, drawing it out until you're shaking.
When he pulls back, his chin's shiny with you, and he wipes it with the back of his hand, grinning like he just cracked the case. “One down. Deduced you'd come quick—pent-up tension from all that denial.” He stands, a little wobbly, cock bobbing as he steps closer. “My turn to feel it.”
You reach for him, wrapping your hand around his length—hot, velvet-hard, twitching in your grip. He groans, thrusting into your fist once, twice, before batting your hand away. “Nuh-uh. Inside. Now.”
He's forward like that, no hesitation, even as his hands shake as he slides your panties down from your legs where he pushed them before. You kick them off, and then he's there, lining up, the blunt head of his cock nudging your entrance. He pushes in slow—too slow, his breath hitching as your heat envelops him inch by inch.
“Fuck,” he breathes, eyes squeezing shut. “Tight. So—ngh—wet. Deduced it'd be good, but...” He bottoms out, hips flush against yours, and freezes. A frown creases his forehead, that overconfident mask cracking. “I can't move.”
“What?” You blink up at him, still hazy from your high, clenching around him experimentally.
He whimpers—actually whimpers—and grips your hips harder, nails digging in. “I can't move because if I do, I'm gonna cum. I know I deduced you'd feel so good, but I... I underestimated the reality. You're too—ah—too perfect.” His voice is strained, bratty edge softened by raw need, and it's almost funny how his genius brain short-circuits right there.
You can't help the laugh that bubbles up, even as you rock your hips just a little. “The great Ranpo, stumped?”
“Shut—oh god—” He thrusts shallowly once, twice , and that's it. His rhythm stutters, clumsy and desperate, and he buries his face in your neck, groaning as he comes—hot spurts filling you, his cock pulsing deep. It's quick, over too soon, but the feel of him losing control like that, all smugness gone, makes your chest tighten with something affectionate.
He slumps against you, panting, but doesn't pull out. “Told you,” he mumbles into your skin, voice muffled. “Underestimated. But... worth it.”
You're still throbbing, nowhere near done, and he senses it—because of course. He lifts his head, eyes sharp again despite the flush on his cheeks. “You didn't finish. My bad. Let me fix that.”
Before you can protest, he slips out— a wet sound, his cum trickling down your thigh—and drops back to his knees. “Round two. Or three. Whatever.” His fingers slide back in easily, three now, stretching you with the mix of your arousal and his release. He curls them relentlessly, thumb circling your clit, while his mouth latches onto your breast, sucking the nipple hard enough to make you arch.
“Ranpo—fuck—” It's intense, overstimulated, but he doesn't let up, muttering between licks, “See? G-spot right here. Swelling again. You're close—heart racing, breaths shallow. Come on, let me deduce the exact second.”
He does. Your second orgasm crashes over you, harder than the first, legs clamping around his hand as you sob his name. He works you through it, smug grin against your skin. “Two. Told you I'm good at this.”
But he's not done. He crawls back up, kissing you deeply—tasting of you and salt—and guides your hand to his cock. It's softening, but he strokes himself with your help, hardening again quickly.
This time, he flips you over clumsily—the desk chair rolls away with a clatter—and bends you forward, hands spreading your ass. “Ass up. Perfect view.” He teases your entrance with his tip again, then pushes in, slower, more controlled. “Better now. Can actually—thrust.”
He does, hips snapping forward in uneven bursts, one hand fisting your hair lightly, the other reaching around to rub your clit. It's filthy, the slap of skin echoing in the empty office, his deductions turning dirty. “Pussy gripping me so tight. Like it wants more cum. Bet you do—flushed cheeks, bitten lip. Yeah, you love being filled.”
You push back against him, meeting his thrusts, the angle hitting deep. Your third orgasm builds fast, coiling with his, and when it breaks, you shatter around him, crying out. Ranpo follows seconds later, coming again with a choked groan, spilling inside you until it leaks out around his cock.
He collapses over your back, both of you sweaty and spent, the desk a mess of scattered papers and candy wrappers. “Three for you. Two for me. Fair trade,” he pants, pressing lazy kisses to your shoulder.
You turn in his arms, and he pulls you down to the floor—onto the pile of coats for a makeshift nest. He snuggles close, arm draped over your waist, face tucked into your neck. The office is warmer now, air thick with the scent of sex and sweets.
“Deduce we're gonna do this again tomorrow,” he murmurs, voice sleepy but cocky. He fishes a stray gummy from his discarded pants pocket, popping it into his mouth before offering you one. “After all, you've got more snacks to steal. And I know you won't say no.”
You take the candy, chewing as you lace your fingers with his. He's right—as usual. And for once, you don't mind.
( Thank you for reading! And I'm taking requests )
The door to the apartment clicked open with a soft creak, the sound barely cutting through the quiet hum of the evening. Yosano Akiko stepped inside, her shoulders slumping just a bit as the weight of the day finally hit her. It had been one of those endless shifts at the agency—patients who wouldn't stay down, paperwork that piled up like it had a grudge, and that nagging ache in her feet from pacing the sterile halls. She let out a long breath, rubbing the back of her neck as she kicked off her heels by the entryway. The familiar scent of home wrapped around her: faint lavender from the diffuser on the shelf, mixed with the cozy warmth of the living room lamp she'd left on earlier.
She padded quietly toward the bedroom, her stockings whispering against the wooden floor. The door was ajar, and as she pushed it open, her eyes adjusted to the dim light filtering through the curtains. There you were, curled up tight under the rumpled bedsheet, your knees drawn up to your chest like you were trying to make yourself smaller. Your hair spilled out messily over the pillow, and even from across the room, she could see the tension in your shoulders, the way your fingers clutched at the fabric. It tugged at something deep in her chest—her girlfriend, her love, looking so fragile, like one wrong word might make you unravel.
Yosano's expression softened immediately, the exhaustion from her day melting into that protective instinct she always felt around you. She moved slowly, not wanting to startle you, slipping out of her coat and letting it drape over the chair by the dresser. 'Hey, sweetheart,' she murmured, her voice low and gentle, like she was coaxing a skittish animal. She eased onto the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under her weight, and reached out to brush a strand of hair from your face. Your skin felt warm under her fingertips, but you didn't uncurl, just let out this tiny, almost-whimper of a breath that made her heart twist.
'Are you alright?' she asked, tilting her head to try and catch your eyes. You peeked out from under the sheet, your gaze flickering up to hers—tired, a little distant, like your mind was miles away tangled in whatever worries had you knotted up. She didn't push, just shifted closer, sliding under the covers behind you. Her body molded against yours naturally, her chest pressing to your back as she big-spooned you, one arm wrapping around your waist to pull you in snug. She nuzzled into the crook of your neck, pressing a soft kiss there, her lips lingering on your skin. It smelled like your shampoo, that soft floral one you both shared, and she breathed it in deep, letting it ground her.
You tensed a little at first, your body rigid against hers, but she didn't let go. Instead, she trailed another kiss along your shoulder, her hand splaying flat over your stomach, thumb rubbing slow circles through your shirt. 'Rough day for you too, huh?' she whispered, her breath warm against your ear. She could feel your heartbeat, quick and uneven, and it told her more than words ever could. You mumbled something incoherent, burying your face deeper into the pillow, and she chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through her chest into yours.
Minutes ticked by like that, her holding you steady, but you weren't melting into her like usual. Your muscles stayed coiled, breaths coming in shallow hitches. Yosano lifted her head slightly, propping herself up on an elbow to look down at you. Her dark eyes were full of that quiet concern, the kind that came from years of being a doctor—reading the signs, knowing when someone needed more than just a hug. 'Can I help, sweetheart?' she said, her voice dropping even softer, laced with that nurturing edge. 'My baby's so tense... I can feel it all the way through you.'
You shifted then, turning your head just enough to meet her gaze, and there was this vulnerability in your eyes that made her chest ache. She smiled, small and reassuring, leaning in to kiss your temple. 'Let me take care of you, okay? Just like Mommy knows how.' The word slipped out natural, affectionate, not forced—her way of wrapping you in that safe, cared-for feeling without making it a big thing. Her hand slid lower, fingers hooking gently under the hem of your shirt, brushing against the bare skin of your belly. It was warm, soft, and she felt you shiver under her touch.
She guided you slowly, rolling you onto your back so she could hover over you, her body a comforting weight half on yours. 'Shh, easy now,' she murmured as your breaths quickened, her lips finding yours in a slow, deep kiss. It wasn't rushed—tongues sliding lazy, her tasting the faint salt of your worry-sweat. She pulled back just enough to whisper against your mouth, 'You're safe with me. I've got you, baby. It's okay... just relax.' Her free hand came up to cup your cheek, thumb stroking your jawline, while the other dipped beneath the waistband of your pants, fingers tracing the edge of your underwear.
You let out a soft whine, hips twitching instinctively, and she hummed approvingly, kissing along your jaw. 'That's it, good girl. Let Mommy make it better.' Her fingers slipped inside, finding you already slick—your body's way of saying what words couldn't. She moved slow, deliberate, one finger circling your clit with feather-light pressure, watching your face for every cue. Your eyes fluttered shut, a gasp escaping as she pressed just right, and she smiled wider, leaning down to nip at your earlobe. 'Feels good, doesn't it? You're doing so well for me...'
She read you like a book— the way your brows furrowed when she added a second finger, sliding them inside your pussy with a gentle curl, or how your back arched when she rubbed that spot deep within. 'Breathe, sweetheart,' she coaxed, her voice steady and warm, kissing your neck again as her thumb kept up the slow rhythm on your clit. 'I've got you. No rushing... just let it build. I love you so much, you know that? My perfect girl, all tense and beautiful.' You clutched at her arm, nails digging in lightly, and she didn't mind— it spurred her on, her strokes turning a bit firmer but still oh-so-slow, drawing out every whimper, every hitch in your breath.
'Tell me if it's too much,' she said, though she already knew from the way your thighs parted wider, inviting her in. You shook your head, words tumbling out in a hesitant rush—'No, please... don't stop'—and she laughed softly, the sound breathy against your skin. 'Wouldn't dream of it, baby. Mommy's right here.' Her other hand roamed your body, rubbing soothing circles on your back, tracing the knobs of your spine through your shirt. She could feel the knots there, the stress you carried, and she worked them out with her touch, syncing it to the rhythm between your legs.
It built gradual, your body responding to her praises—'So pretty when you let go like this... I love seeing you relax for me'—until you were trembling, breaths coming in pants. She kissed you through it, swallowing your moans as your pussy clenched around her fingers, cum slicking her hand. 'That's my girl... come for me, just like that.' You shattered softly, waves rolling through you, and she didn't stop until you were spent, fingers easing out to rub lazy patterns on your thigh.
After, you went pliant in her arms, all the fight drained out, your head lolling against her shoulder. Yosano pulled you close, wrapping both arms around you now, her chin resting on your head. She pressed a kiss to your hair, inhaling that familiar scent. 'There we go... finally relaxing.' You looked up at her, no longer miserable, just soft and sated, and she grinned, brushing her nose against yours. 'Hmm... I knew I liked it much better when you're not overthinking yourself to death. My poor baby. Come here.'
She shifted you both, tugging the sheet up higher as she settled in for some proper cuddling. Her legs tangled with yours, one hand stroking through your hair in slow, rhythmic pets, the other tracing idle patterns on your arm. The room felt warmer now, the tension from earlier dissolving into this quiet intimacy. You nestled closer, your hand fisting in her shirt, and she hummed contentedly, letting the silence stretch but filling it with little murmurs
'Love holding you like this .You're everything to me, you know?'
Time blurred and you stayed in each other's arms , just staying in the moment for now . After a while she gently tugged at your shoulder, coaxing you to sit up a bit. 'Hey, love... have you eaten anything today?' Her hand slid to your belly, rubbing soft, circular motions over the fabric, feeling the slight give there. You shook your head, a sheepish look crossing your face, and she tsked playfully, though her eyes were all fondness. 'I'm gonna get you something to eat. Can't have my girl running on empty.'
But as she started to pull away, you clutched onto her desperately, fingers wrapping around her wrist with a whine that bordered on a plea. 'No... stay,' you mumbled, voice thick with that post-relaxation haze, and she paused, looking down at you with a soft laugh bubbling up. It was warm, genuine, the kind that made her eyes crinkle at the corners. She leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead, her lips cool against your skin. 'Okay, okay... maybe after a while. But you have to eat, baby. Promise me?'
You nodded, still holding on tight, and she settled back down, pulling you half onto her chest. Her hand resumed its gentle rub on your belly, a silent promise that she wasn't going anywhere just yet. She knew tomorrow would bring more agency chaos, more worries for you both, but right now? This was enough. You were enough.
The evening light filters through the half-drawn curtains of your shared apartment, casting a soft golden glow over the couch where you and Dazai are tangled up. It's been a year now—exactly a year of his teasing smiles and your quiet laughs, of him pulling you close just to watch your cheeks flush. The air smells like the takeout you shared earlier, mixed with that faint cologne he wears, something woody and warm. His arm is draped lazily over your shoulders, fingers tracing idle patterns on your arm.
Dazai tilts his head, his dark eyes sparkling with that familiar mischief. 'You know,' he says, voice low and playful, 'if I didn't know better, I'd think you were trying to distract me from my genius plans tonight.' He pauses, letting his thumb brush your collarbone. 'But here you are, looking all cute and snuggled up. What's a man to do?'
You roll your eyes, but you can't hide the smile tugging at your lips. His hand squeezes your shoulder gently, pulling you closer. 'Distract you? Please. You're the one who wouldn't let go of me after dinner.'
He chuckles, a soft sound that rumbles in his chest. 'Guilty as charged. Can you blame me? You've got that look—like you know exactly what you're doing to me.' His fingers pause, hovering just above your skin before dipping down to trace the edge of your shirt. His eyes lock on yours, intense for a split second, before the playfulness returns. 'Admit it. You love when I get like this.'
'Get like what?' you tease back, shifting so your knee brushes his thigh. The couch creaks faintly under the movement, the fabric warm from your bodies.
'Like this.' He leans in, his breath warm against your ear. 'All wrapped up in you, forgetting the world exists.' His hand slides to your waist, fingers splaying out possessively. But then he pulls back just enough to grin. 'Or maybe you're the one forgetting. One year, and you still blush every time I say something sweet. It's adorable.'
You swat his chest lightly, feeling the steady beat of his heart under your palm. 'You're impossible. Sweet? That sounds more like a trap.'
'Oh, it's definitely a trap.' He winks, but his voice softens, eyes flickering with something real. 'The kind that catches you forever.' He cups your cheek, thumb stroking your skin in slow circles. The room feels quieter now, the distant hum of the city outside fading away.
You lean into his touch, your hand covering his. 'Careful, Dazai. Keep talking like that, and I might believe you.'
'I want you to.' His words hang there, simple and honest, before he closes the gap. His lips meet yours softly at first, a brush of warmth that lingers. You sigh into it, your fingers threading into his hair, tugging gently. He responds with a hum, deepening the kiss, his tongue teasing yours.
The makeout builds slow, like always—his hands roaming your back, pulling you onto his lap. You straddle him, feeling the heat of his body through his shirt. His fingers dig into your hips, guiding you closer, and he nips at your lower lip with a playful groan. 'See? Told you you'd fall right into it.'
You break the kiss, breathing a little heavier, your forehead against his. 'Always do.' But tonight, something shifts. His hands start to wander lower, slipping under your shirt, and you catch his wrist. 'Wait.'
He freezes, eyes widening just a fraction, that teasing glint still there but curious now. 'Wait? From you? That's new.' His thumb rubs soothing circles on your skin, but he doesn't push. 'Everything okay?'
You nod, biting your lip as you meet his gaze. Your heart races, but you hold steady. 'Yeah. I just... I want to try something. I want to take control tonight.'
Dazai blinks, then a slow smile spreads across his face, dramatic as ever. He leans back against the couch, arms opening wide like he's surrendering. 'Oh? My sweet girl wants to lead ? How could I say no to that?' His voice drips with amusement, but his eyes watch you closely, fingers twitching like he's itching to touch. 'Go on, then. Show me what you've got. I'll even give you tips if you need them.'
You laugh softly, the sound easing the tension in your chest. 'Tips? From you? I think I can manage.' You push his shoulders gently, making him lean back further. His hair falls messily over his forehead, and he tilts his head, pretending to look impressed.
'Alright, alright. Boss me around. I'm yours.' But even as he says it, his hand reaches for your thigh, trying to pull you closer.
You swat it away lightly, your fingers lingering on his wrist. 'Nuh-uh. Hands to yourself. For now.' The words come out firmer than you expect, and his eyebrows shoot up, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. But he complies, folding his hands behind his head, elbows out. The muscles in his arms flex slightly, and you can see the way his chest rises a little faster.
'Tough crowd,' he murmurs, voice laced with that playful edge. 'Didn't know you had it in you.' His eyes follow your every move as you lean in, kissing his jaw first—slow, deliberate. You trail your lips down his neck, feeling him swallow hard under your mouth. His skin is warm, tasting faintly of salt.
Dazai lets out a breathy laugh, but it catches when you nip at his collarbone. 'Hey, that's—' He pauses, tilting his head to give you better access. His fingers curl into his own hair, gripping lightly. 'Okay, yeah. Keep going.'
You smile against his skin, your hands sliding under his shirt, pushing it up to expose his chest. Your fingers trace the lines of his bandages, careful but teasing, circling his nipples until they harden. He arches slightly, a soft hum escaping his lips. The room's atmosphere thickens, the air heavy with his quiet breaths and the faint rustle of fabric.
'You're... full of surprises,' he says, voice dropping lower. His eyes half-lid, watching you through dark lashes. But you don't rush. Instead, you kiss lower, your tongue flicking over his skin, hands working his pants open slowly. His cock twitches under the fabric, already half-hard, and you palm it through his boxers, squeezing just enough to make him gasp.
' Osamu,' you whisper, looking up at him. 'Tell me how it feels.'
He groans, dramatic as always, but his cheeks flush. 'Like torture. The good kind.' His hands twitch behind his head, like he wants to reach for you, but he doesn't. 'Don't stop. Please.'
Your hands move to his pants now, fingers working the button open slowly, zipper rasping in the quiet room. You palm him through the fabric of his boxers, feeling the heat and the twitch of his cock hardening under your touch. He bucks up once, instinctive, and groans. 'Fuck, yes. Touch me. Please.'
You tug his pants down his thighs, just enough to free him, and his cock springs out—hard, flushed pink at the tip, a bead of pre-cum glistening there. Your fingers wrap around the base, stroking slow and firm, thumb swiping over the head to spread the wetness. He hisses through his teeth, hips lifting off the couch. 'That—god, your hand feels perfect. Tighter. Yeah, like that.' His eyes lock on where you're touching him, pupils blown wide.
But you edge him right from the start. You stroke faster, twisting your wrist at the top, feeling him throb in your grip. His breaths come quicker, chest heaving, and when his abs tense, warning he's close, you pull your hand away completely. He whines, low and frustrated, eyes snapping open to stare at you. 'Wait, what? Come on, don't stop now.'
'Not yet,' you say, voice steady, leaning down to lick a long stripe up his length, from base to tip. Your tongue swirls around the head, tasting the salt of him. He shudders hard, thighs tensing under your hands as you hold them down. The couch creaks as he shifts, fingers digging into the cushion now, knuckles white.
'You're killing me,' he pants, peeking one eye open, gaze hazy and pleading. 'This is torture. The good kind, yeah, but—fuck, your mouth. Do it again.' He tries to sound playful, but it comes out wrecked, his usual dramatics undercut by the raw need.
You take him into your mouth then, sucking slow and deep, lips stretching around him. You hollow your cheeks, bobbing your head, tongue pressing flat against the underside. Your hand works the base in tandem, twisting gently. He moans loud, head falling back against the couch with a thud, his hips twitching up despite your hold. 'Yes, just like that. Deeper—oh god.' Saliva slicks him, dripping down, and you hum around him, the vibration making him curse under his breath.
But again, when his breaths turn ragged, body coiling tight, you pull off with a wet pop. You blow cool air over the sensitive skin, watching it twitch. 'Please,' he begs, voice breaking on the word. His hands finally drop from behind his head, reaching for your hair, fingers tangling in the strands. 'I need more. Let me touch you. Let me—'
'No.' You catch his hands, pinning them to his sides against the couch, your body leaning over him to keep him down. He's stronger, but he doesn't fight it—his wrists go slack in your grip, eyes wide and dark. 'Told you. My turn. You stay put.'
He nods, swallowing hard, a sheen of sweat on his forehead catching the light. 'Okay. Okay, yours. All yours.' But his cock leaks steadily now, desperate, and you climb up, straddling his hips higher. You grind against him through your clothes first, feeling him press hard against your core. The friction makes you both gasp—he moans, loud and unfiltered, eyes squeezing shut as his head tips back. 'Fuck, that feels—do it harder. Please.'
You strip slowly, peeling off your shirt first, letting it drop to the floor with a soft whisper. His eyes snap open, drinking you in, pupils dilating further. 'Beautiful,' he breathes, voice reverent for a moment, no tease. Then, 'Take it all off. Let me see you.' You unbutton your pants next, shimmying them down, kicking them aside. Underwear follows, and you're bare above him, skin prickling in the warm air.
His cock throbs against your thigh, hot and insistent. You guide it to your entrance, rubbing the tip against your folds, slick with your own arousal. 'Ready?' you ask, voice low.
'Yes. God, yes. Now.' He sounds wrecked already, hips lifting to meet you.
You sink down inch by inch, feeling him stretch you open—thick and pulsing inside. The burn is perfect, and you both gasp at the fullness. His hands clench at his sides, nails digging into his palms. 'So tight. You're so fucking tight around me. Move—please, move.'
You set the pace, slow rolls of your hips at first, clenching deliberately around him. He whimpers, eyes locked on yours, dark and pleading. The golden light plays over his face, highlighting the flush on his cheeks. You lean forward, kissing him messy—tongues tangling, teeth clashing as you ride him deeper. His breaths mingle with yours, hot and fast.
He tries to thrust up, but you press a hand to his chest, holding him down. 'Stay still.' The words are breathy, but commanding, and he obeys, whimpering softly. You grind deep, circling your hips, feeling him hit that spot inside you. Pleasure builds, but you focus on him—watching his face twist, his lips bitten red.
Faster now, you bounce, skin slapping against skin in the quiet room. The couch rocks with the motion, cushions shifting. His cock drags inside you with each thrust, slick and hot. 'I'm—close—' he warns, voice high and broken, body trembling under you. Sweat beads on his temple, trickling down.
'Hold it.' You slow to a torturous grind, buried to the hilt, clenching hard. He whines, actual tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, frustration etching his features. His hands fist the couch fabric, knuckles white. 'Please, I can't—let me cum. I need to.'
'Not yet.' You pull off him completely, his cock slipping out with a wet sound, glistening with your combined arousal. He sobs out a breath, hips bucking into the air emptily. You stroke him with your hand then, firm and fast, while your other hand dips between your legs, fingers circling your clit. You let him watch—eyes hazy, mouth open—as you finger yourself, moaning softly. 'Look at me. See what you do to me.'
'Fuck, you're—gorgeous. Touching yourself like that... for me?' His voice cracks, cock twitching in your grip, pre-cum spilling over your fingers. He bucks helplessly into your hand, tears spilling over now, tracking wet paths down his cheeks. 'Please. I need you. Can't take it.'
You mount him again, sinking down fast this time, taking him deep in one go. He cries out, back arching off the couch. You ride rough, nails digging into his chest, leaving red crescents. His hips jerk up despite your command, meeting your thrusts, but he doesn't fight—just surrenders, sobbing moans filling the room. 'Too good—too much—'
You edge him twice more—slowing when he's on the brink, pulling off to lick and suck him until he's babbling. 'Stop teasing. Please, I'll do anything. Just let me—' Tears stream freely, his face a mess of sweat and emotion, but his eyes stay on you, adoring and wrecked.
Finally, you give in. 'Cum for me, Osamu. Now.' You bounce hard, clenching tight, and he shatters—spilling hot inside you with a broken cry, body convulsing, cock pulsing deep. His hands finally grip your hips, fingers bruising, pulling you down as he rides it out.
But you don't stop. You keep riding through his orgasm, overstimulating him mercilessly. He thrashes beneath you, oversensitive, tears flowing. 'Too much—fuck, stop— no, don't stop—' His voice is a mess, whines and gasps, cock softening but still twitching inside you. You chase your own release, grinding fast, and cum with a sharp gasp, walls fluttering around him.
He cums again, weaker, a dry shudder with a whimper of your name, body limp and spent. The room reeks of sex now, heavy and intimate, skin slick and sticking where you touch.
You collapse onto him, both panting, hearts pounding in sync. Gently, you lift off, his cock slipping free with a soft sound. He winces, still twitching, oversensitive. You shift to the side, wrapping your arms around him, pulling his head to your chest. He goes pliant, curling into you like a cat, face buried in your neck. His breaths even out, body limp and warm.
You kiss his forehead, soft and lingering, tasting the salt of his sweat. Your fingers stroke his damp hair, untangling the messy strands. 'You okay? That was... intense.'
He nods against you, silent for a long moment, just breathing you in. His arm drapes over your waist, holding loose but secure. Then, muffled into the pillow you both share now as you adjust, he groans . 'What the fuck just happened? I mean... wow.'
You chuckle, fingers tracing lazy patterns on his back, feeling the bandages under your touch. 'I took control. Like I said I would. You survived.'
He lifts his head slowly, eyes red-rimmed and glassy but sparkling with awe and lingering haze. His cheeks are still flushed, hair a wreck. 'Survived? Barely. I'm so ruined.' He pauses, dramatic flair creeping back, but it's softer, genuine. He buries his face in the pillow again, groaning louder, voice muffled. 'Why have we not done this before? You were so hot taking charge like that. Commanding me, edging me until I cried... fuck. I didn't know I needed that.'
You smile, kissing his temple, then his cheek, tasting the drying tears. 'Maybe we should've tried sooner. But hey, now we know.
He hums, turning to nuzzle your neck, lips brushing your skin lazily. 'Yeah. Now we know. Don't tell anyone, though.'
But his arm tightens around you, pulling you closer, and he sighs contentedly. 'Do it again sometime? Please?'
You mumble “maybe,” and he snorts a laugh, pulling you closer like you’re a pillow he’s aggressively claiming. The two of you end up wrapped around each other, half-asleep, hair a mess, absolutely no intention of moving ever again.
The office lights were buzzing like they were pissed off, throwing this harsh, cold glow over everything. It was way past regular hours—probably closing in on ten now—and the place felt dead quiet except for the rustle of papers and the occasional sigh. You and Nanami were the last ones here, stuck dealing with this mountain of mission reports that nobody else wanted to touch. The desks were buried under stacks of half-finished debriefs, coffee stains spotting the edges, and the air smelled like old takeout and that sharp tang of fresh-printed forms. Overtime sucked, but for Nanami? It was like salt in a wound. The guy lived for clocking out on time, and now he was trapped with you, the one person who could make his eye twitch just by breathing.
You leaned back in your chair, feet propped up on the desk like you owned the place, flipping through a report without really reading it. 'Man, this is ridiculous,' you muttered, tossing it aside. 'Why do we gotta format these like they're some kinda novel? Just bullet points, done. The sorcerers don't care about flowery language.'
Nanami didn't even glance up from his own stack, his pen scratching away in that precise way of his. But you caught the way his shoulders tensed, that telltale sign he was holding back. 'Because protocol exists for a reason,' he said, voice flat and clipped, like he was talking to a kid who wouldn't listen. 'If we cut corners on the reports, we cut corners on safety. One sloppy detail, and someone's out there blind to a risk they could've avoided.'
You snorted, swinging your feet down and leaning forward. 'Oh, come on, Nanami. Lighten up. It's paperwork, not brain surgery. We've got real curses to worry about, not whether the margins are exactly one inch.' Your tone was all sarcasm, the kind you knew poked at him. It was your thing—pushing buttons, seeing how long his cool lasted. And yeah, maybe part of it was 'cause he got under your skin too, with his whole Mr. Perfect routine.
He set his pen down a little too hard, finally looking at you. Those hazel eyes were sharp, narrowed just enough to show he was done. 'That's your problem right there. You treat everything like it's optional. Sarcasm instead of substance, shortcuts over thoroughness. It's careless, and it reminds me why I quit that soul-sucking corporate job—people like you, always gambling with the rules.'
You raised an eyebrow, smirking as you crossed your arms. 'People like me? What, fun? Spontaneous? God forbid I don't color inside the lines like you do. Bet you were a riot back in your suit days, huh? All stiff and serious, probably cried into your briefcase when someone suggested happy hour.'
His jaw clenched, and he pushed back from his desk, standing up slow like he was reining himself in. 'You have no clue what you're talking about. I left because of the burnout, the endless overtime from folks who couldn't be bothered to do it right the first time. And now here we are, pulling another all-nighter because you 'forgot' to double-check half these assessments.' He gestured at the piles, his voice dropping lower, edgier. 'It's not about fun. It's about competence. You're good at this job—damn good—but you waste it on this attitude.'
That hit a nerve, the compliment buried in the criticism. You stood up too, mirroring him, the space between your desks feeling smaller already. 'Wasted? Says the guy who acts like every form is a life-or-death contract. Controlling much? Maybe if you trusted people to handle their shit without micromanaging, we wouldn't be at each other's throats.' You stepped closer, poking a finger at his chest—light, teasing, but enough to make him freeze. 'Admit it, you just hate that I don't need your approval to get things done.'
Nanami's hand shot out, grabbing your wrist—not hard, but firm enough to stop you. His touch was warm through your sleeve, and up close, you could see the faint stubble on his jaw, the way his tie was loosened just a bit from the long day. 'I don't hate you,' he said, but it came out rough, like he was lying to himself. 'I hate the way you challenge everything. The risks you brush off, the way you mock the structure that keeps us alive. It's infuriating because... because it works for you. And I can't stand watching you flirt with disaster like it's nothing.'
You twisted your wrist free, but didn't back off—instead, you got right in his space, chin tilted up defiantly. 'Flirt with disaster? That's dramatic, even for you. Maybe I challenge you 'cause you're too damn rigid. What, scared I'll drag you back to that old life you ran from? Loosen up, Nanami. Life's not all protocols and ties.' Your voice was bratty now, laced with that edge you couldn't help, heart picking up as the air thickened.
He exhaled sharply, his breath brushing your face. 'You think this is a joke? That you can just poke and prod until I snap?' His free hand came up, hovering near your shoulder like he wasn't sure if he wanted to push you away or pull you in. The room felt hotter, the fluorescent buzz fading into the background as tension coiled tight. 'You're playing a dangerous game.'
'Yeah?' you shot back, grabbing his tie and giving it a tug, yanking him closer. Your lips were inches from his, voice dropping to a whisper. 'Then make your move. Or are you all talk under that composed bullshit?'
Nanami's eyes flashed, something snapping in that composed facade. 'You really want to keep pushing?' he murmured, his hand sliding to your waist, fingers digging in just enough to hold you still. 'Fine. But don't say I didn't warn you.' Before you could fire back, he closed the gap, crashing his mouth against yours in a kiss that was all teeth and fury—no gentle buildup, just raw need exploding. You kissed back hard, nipping his lip, hands fisting his shirt as the argument melted into something hotter, messier.
He broke it first, breathing heavy, forehead pressed to yours. 'Still got something to say?' he rasped, voice thick with want.
'Yeah,' you shot back, breathless but smirking. 'That all you got?'
That did it. With a low curse, he spun you around, bending you over the desk in one fluid move. Papers scattered—reports fluttering to the floor like confetti—as his body pinned yours, hard and insistent. 'Brat,' he growled in your ear, one hand tangling in your hair and yanking your head back to expose your neck. His other hand hiked your skirt up roughly, fingers hooking into your panties and shoving them aside. 'Let's see how mouthy you are now.'
You arched against him, ass pressing back defiantly. 'Promises, promises—ah!' Your taunt cut off as he smacked your ass sharp, the sting making you gasp, but you wiggled more, goading. 'That your best shot?'
That was the spark. Nanami's eyes darkened, as he pressed in behind you, his body hard and unyielding against your back. 'You want to brat like that?' he growled right in your ear, one hand fisting your hair and pulling your head back just enough to arch your spine. 'Fine. I'll shut that mouth of yours.'
You gasped, a thrill shooting through you, but you weren't done fighting. 'Oh, big man now, huh? Gonna—' Your words cut off as his other hand slid around your throat from behind, squeezing firm, not enough to hurt but enough to make your pulse race under his fingers. 'Gonna what? Lecture me more?' you managed, voice strained but still snarky, pushing back against him with your ass just to mess with him.
He chuckled low, dark, the sound vibrating through his chest into yours. 'Keep going. See how far it gets you.' His grip tightened on your throat as he yanked your skirt up again with his free hand, rough fingers hooking into your panties and ripping them down your thighs in one swift pull. The cool air hit your bare skin, and you shivered, but you bucked against him anyway. 'That all? Thought you were gonna put me in my place, not play dress-up.'
'Insatiable little shit,' he muttered, unzipping his slacks with quick, efficient movements. You felt his cock spring free—thick, hot, pressing insistent against your ass cheek. He didn't waste time teasing; he lined up and thrust in hard, burying himself balls-deep in your pussy in one brutal stroke. The stretch was intense, a burn that made you cry out, walls clenching around him as he filled you completely.
'Fuck—Nanami!' you yelped, hands scrambling for purchase on the desk, knocking over a stapler. You tried to twist, to brat more, but he pinned you down with his weight, hand choking you tighter as he pulled back and slammed in again, deeper, harder. Each thrust rocked you forward, the desk creaking under the force, his hips snapping against your ass with a sharp slap.
'Stop talking,' he ordered, voice rough and breathless now, laced with that heat he'd been burying—the frustration twisting into something raw, hungry. But you couldn't help it; the words bubbled up even as pleasure coiled tight in your gut. 'Make me—ah—stop, then. If you're so—shit—good at control.' You arched back, grinding against him mid-thrust, trying to take some power back.
He growled, releasing your throat for a second to deliver a sharp smack to your ass—the sting blooming hot and immediate. 'You don't learn, do you?' Then his hand was back, choking you as he fucked you relentlessly, cock dragging out slow before pounding in fast, hitting that spot inside that made your legs shake. The rhythm was punishing, wet sounds filling the office as he stretched you wide, his free hand gripping your hip hard enough to bruise.
Your brattiness cracked under the onslaught—retorts turning to moans, body betraying you as you pushed back to meet his thrusts. 'Nanami—harder, fuck !,' you gasped, voice hoarse from the chokehold, but still defiant. He obliged, thrusting deeper, his fingers digging into your skin as he leaned over you, breath hot on your neck. 'Like that? Or do I need to fuck the attitude out of you completely?'
'Yes—fuck, yes,' you whimpered, the words spilling out as the tension built, your pussy fluttering around his cock. He choked you tighter, cutting off your air just enough to make everything sharper, the edge of dizziness heightening the pleasure. His pace quickened, hips pistoning, balls slapping against you with every rough drive. You clawed at the desk, orgasm crashing over you in waves—walls spasming, soaking his cock as you came with a muffled scream against his palm.
But he didn't stop. 'Not done,' he grunted, voice strained, pounding through your release until his own hit. He buried deep, groaning low as hot cum flooded your pussy, pulsing inside you. You both stilled, panting, his body heavy on yours as he finally eased the choke, hand sliding down to rub soothing circles on your throat.
You slumped there, boneless against the desk, thinking—hoping—that was it. The fight drained out, leaving you wrecked and satisfied. But then he pulled out slow, a trickle of cum leaking down your thigh, and his touch gentled. He turned you carefully, cupping your face, and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead—tender, almost affectionate, cutting through the roughness.
'I don't think you've learned your lesson yet,' he murmured, voice low and steady, eyes locking on yours with that intense gaze. 'Rest up. We're heading to my place.'
Your stomach flipped, a fresh wave of heat mixing with exhaustion. Shit. You were so fucked—literally spent, and now dragged into whatever this was turning into. Metaphorically? Yeah, that too. No escaping him now.
( Thank you for reading. New writer on Tumblr! Please leave suggestions in the comments. Love y'all)
The Armed Detective Agency's office fell quiet as the last rays of Yokohama's sunset bled through the blinds, casting long stripes across the cluttered desks. Everyone had trickled out—Kunikida muttering about deadlines, Atsushi waving goodbye with that shy smile, even Yosano vanishing into the evening with her medical bag. You lingered, pretending to finish a report, but really, it was Dazai's fault. All damn day, he'd been at it, poking and prodding like he was testing how far he could push before you snapped.
It started with his hand brushing yours during the morning briefing, fingers lingering too long on your knuckles. 'Oops,' he'd whispered, eyes twinkling with that fake innocence. By lunch, he'd cornered you in the break room, backing you against the counter while pouring coffee, his body heat pressing close. 'You look tense, bella. Need me to loosen you up?' His breath had ghosted your neck, lips almost—but not quite—touching your skin. You'd shoved him away lightly, cheeks burning, but he just laughed, low and teasing, following you back to your desk with his foot nudging yours under the table.
Afternoon dragged on with more of the same. While you typed up witness statements, he'd lean over your shoulder, chin resting on it, murmuring, 'That sentence is almost as stiff as you are right now. Let me help—maybe a massage?' His fingers had trailed down your arm, thumb circling your elbow in a way that sent shivers straight to your core. Ranpo had glanced up from his snacks, smirking but saying nothing, though his knowing look said he saw everything.
Now, the office was empty, just the hum of the old air conditioner and the faint tick of the clock. You stood by your desk, stacking files with more force than necessary, when Dazai sauntered over, hands in his pockets, that infuriating grin plastered on his face. 'Everyone's gone. Finally alone, huh? You've been ignoring me all day—hurtful, really. I might just have to stage a dramatic exit to get your attention.'
You turned, grabbing his tie before he could dodge, yanking him close. 'Ignoring you? Osamu, you've been glued to me like a bad habit. Teasing, touching—enough. Time to shut that mouth of yours.'
Your voice came out sharp, laced with the frustration that had built all day, but underneath it, heat pooled low in your belly.
His eyes widened a fraction, surprise flickering before it melted into amusement. 'Oh? Feisty tonight. What's the plan, darling? Going to tie me to Kunikida's chair and interrogate me?' But he didn't pull away, letting you drag him toward the couch in the corner—the worn one tucked behind a partition, away from the main floor but still risky as hell in the agency.
You pushed him down onto it, the springs creaking under his weight, and straddled his lap in one swift move. His coat bunched up around him, but you didn't care, fisting your hand in his brown hair and pulling his head back hard. Strands tugged free, soft and messy, and he hissed through his teeth, a real sound that made your pulse race. 'That's for the coffee incident,' you growled, leaning in to bite his jaw, teeth scraping stubble. 'And this—for the desk whispers.'
Dazai's hands came up to your hips, gripping but not guiding yet, his breath hitching. 'Mmm, aggressive. I like this side of you. Keep going—show me what else you've got.' His voice was rougher now, cock already stirring against your thigh through his pants, but you slapped his hand away, pinning both wrists to the armrest with one hand while the other wrapped around his throat.
Your fingers pressed into the soft skin there, feeling his pulse hammer under your thumb. Not too hard at first—just enough to make his eyes glaze, his Adam's apple shifting as he swallowed. 'No touching. You don't get to call the shots tonight, Osamu. You've been begging for someone to put you in your place all day.' You squeezed a little tighter, watching his lips part, a soft groan escaping.
He tested the pressure, tilting his head back further into your grip, but his hips bucked up, grinding his growing erection against your core. 'Begging? Me? Never. But if this is your idea of payback... fuck, don't stop.' His words came out strained, voice dropping an octave, and you felt a rush of wetness between your legs at how he yielded, even if his eyes still sparkled with that defiant spark.
You released his throat just enough to yank his shirt open, buttons popping and scattering across the floor like tiny accusations. His chest rose and fell fast, pale skin flushed, bandages peeking from under his undershirt. Leaning down, you dragged your tongue along his collarbone, tasting salt and faint soap, then bit down on the juncture of his neck, hard enough to leave a mark. 'You like that? Being marked up in the office where anyone could walk in?'
Dazai chuckled, but it broke into a moan when you sucked the spot, your hand sliding back to his throat for a light choke. 'Risky... I love it. But what if Kunikida comes back for his notebook? Think he'd join or lecture us?' His free hand—wait, you'd only pinned one—slipped under your skirt, fingers brushing your thigh, but you caught it, slamming it back down.
'Told you—no touching. Always such a brat...' You ground down on him, feeling his cock throb fully now, hard and insistent against your soaked panties. Shifting, you reached between you, unzipping his pants with deliberate slowness, the zipper's rasp loud in the quiet room. His boxers tented obscenely, a wet spot already forming. You palmed him through the fabric, squeezing the base where he was thickest, and he arched, breath catching. 'Look at you, leaking already. All that teasing, and you're the one desperate.'
'Guilty as charged,' he rasped, eyes locked on yours, dark with want. 'Touch me properly.... Make me beg , Bella.'
You obliged, but on your terms, pulling his cock free—hot, veined length springing up, the head flushed and slick with pre-cum. Wrapping your hand around it, you pumped slow, twisting at the top to spread the wetness. His hips jerked, chasing your fist, and you tightened your choke, cutting off his next quip mid-breath. 'Not yet. First, you tell me how bad you want it. Say it—beg like you mean it.'
Dazai's face reddened slightly, but he didn't fight, voice gravelly. 'Please... fuck, I need you. Ride me, choke me harder—use me until I can't talk back.' The words sent a thrill through you, and you rewarded him by leaning down, licking a stripe up his shaft, tongue flat against the underside. He shuddered, a whine slipping out—rare from him—as you swirled around the tip, tasting salt and musk.
But you pulled back, stripping your blouse off, letting it fall to the floor. Your bra followed, breasts spilling free, nipples hard from the cool air and his gaze. 'Watch,' you commanded, cupping them, pinching the peaks until you gasped. Then, hiking your skirt up, you shoved your panties aside, exposing your dripping pussy. Rubbing two fingers through your folds, you gathered slickness and brought them to his lips. 'Taste how wet you make me, even when you're being a pain.'
He sucked them in eagerly, tongue laving your digits, eyes never leaving yours. 'So sweet... now sit on my face? Or are you gonna torture me more?' His cock twitched in your other hand, begging for friction.
Instead, you positioned yourself over him, knees bracketing his hips on the narrow couch. Teasing the head of his cock against your entrance, you sank down just the tip, clenching around it. 'Fuck—Osamu, you're so thick.' Inch by inch, you took him, walls stretching around his girth, the burn delicious. He filled you completely, bottoming out with a wet squelch, and you both moaned in unison.
Starting to ride, you set a torturous pace—slow rolls at first, grinding your clit against his pubic bone. Your hand fisted in his hair again, yanking to arch his neck, exposing more throat for your fingers to squeeze. 'Like that? Me owning your cock, choking the sarcasm out of you?'
'Yes—harder' he grunted, thrusting up shallowly, but you pinned him with your weight, controlling the depth. Sweat slicked your skin, the office air thick with the scent of sex—musk and arousal hanging heavy. You bounced faster, breasts jiggling, his cock dragging against that spot inside that made stars burst.
'God, you feel good... keep clenching like that.'
Dazai's hands strained against your hold, but he played along, breaths ragged under your choke. 'You're killing me... in the best way. Fuck, baby ,ride me till I come inside you ...'
He continued to mouth off breathlessly
'Bet you thought about this all day, didn't you? Bet you wanted me to bend you over your desk'
'Shut up and take it,' you shot back, but the words lost edge as pleasure coiled tight.
But you amped it—reaching to fondle his balls, rolling them gently while you rode, feeling them draw up. He groaned, head thrashing in your grip, hair pulling taut.
Midway, as your thighs burned and orgasm hovered close, Dazai's eyes sharpened, that cunning glint returning. 'Enough playing,' he murmured, voice deceptively soft. In a blur, he bucked hard, wrapping an arm around your waist and flipping you beneath him on the couch. The cushions dipped, his body covering yours, cock slipping out only to slam back in deep. Your legs splayed wide, skirt bunched at your waist, and he pinned your hands above your head with one large palm.
'Osamu—what the—' you started, but he crashed his mouth to yours, tongue invading, biting your lip until you tasted copper.
'Told you, bella—control's mine to take.' His free hand circled your throat, squeezing firm . He thrust hard, hips snapping, balls slapping your ass with each plunge. The angle hit deeper, his cock spearing you, stretching your pussy around him relentlessly. 'Feel that? Every inch owning you now.'
You arched, the choke making your vision spot, pleasure sharpening to a knife's edge. 'Bastard... Fuck ..harder–.' Legs hooked around his waist, pulling him closer, nails digging into his shoulders where you could reach.
He laughed, dark and breathless, pounding faster. 'Demanding little thing. You love it when I switch—admit it.' Releasing your hands, he fisted your hair instead, yanking your head down to latch onto your neck, sucking bruises that'd show tomorrow. His other hand stayed choking, pressure pulsing with his thrusts—tighten on the in, ease on the out. 'So wet, dripping down my balls. Gonna fill this pussy up.'
The office door rattled then—keys jingling. Ranpo pushed in, nose buried in a candy wrapper, freezing mid-step. His eyes swept the scene: you sprawled on the couch, Dazai buried between your legs, the air thick with moans. 'Tch, figures. Agency's turning into a brothel. Dazai, if you're gonna defile the furniture, at least buy new cushions. And you—' he pointed at you with a lollipop, smirking smugly—'don't let him off easy next time.'
Dazai didn't stop, just glanced back with a wicked grin, still thrusting shallowly. 'Ranpo-kun! Join the fun? Snacks on the table.'
Ranpo rolled his eyes, popping the candy in his mouth. 'Pass. You two sound like a bad romance novel—keep it down or I'll deduce your kinks for the whole team tomorrow.' He turned, door clicking shut behind him, leaving the echo of his chuckle.
The interruption only fueled Dazai, his pace turning brutal. 'Hear that? Even Ranpo knows you're mine.' He flipped you onto your stomach, pulling your hips up so you were on all fours on the couch, ass in the air. Sliding back in from behind, he choked you with one hand around your throat from the side, the other in your hair, arching your back. 'Ride back on it—show me how much you want my cum.'
You did, pushing against him, the new angle letting him hit even deeper, cockhead nudging your cervix. 'Fuck—yes, just like that. You take my cock so well Bella , like you were made for it .'
He reached around, fingers finding your clit, rubbing fast circles slick with your arousal. Orgasms built in waves: yours first, crashing as you clenched around him, crying out muffled by his grip. 'Osamu—cumming—'
He followed, groaning low, hips stuttering as he pumped hot spurts deep inside, filling you until it leaked down your thighs. 'Take it all... good girl.' Collapsing over you, he eased the choke, kissing your shoulder. 'Worth the teasing?'
Panting, you twisted to glare, but smiled. 'Maybe. But next time, I lock the door.'
The couch creaked as Dazai pulled out slowly, his cum trickling from your pussy, warm and sticky. He didn't let you up, instead flipping you to face him, settling between your legs again. 'Not done yet. You started this—now let's make it last.' His fingers dipped into you, scooping his release and pushing it back in, thumb on your clit. 'So sensitive... still twitching.'
You whimpered, oversensitive but craving more, hand tangling in his hair to pull him down for a kiss. Tongues tangled messy, all teeth and heat, as he finger-fucked you lazily, adding a third digit to stretch you wider. 'Osamu... too much—'
'Never too much for you.' He curled them, hitting that spot, and you bucked, chasing the pressure. Dialogue murmured between kisses: 'Tell me what you want next. My mouth? Cock again?'
'Your tongue—eat me out, taste us.' He grinned, sliding down, shoulders nudging your thighs apart. His tongue delved in, lapping at the mess—his cum mixed with yours—broad strokes that made you keen. 'Fuck, you taste perfect. Salty-sweet.' He sucked your clit, fingers still pumping, choking you lightly with his other hand across your throat from below.
Orgasm two hit quick, your thighs clamping his head, grinding against his face. 'Yes—don't stop—' He hummed, vibrations sending you over, body shaking.
Rising, lips shiny, he kissed you, sharing the flavor. ' You did so well ,Bella . Always such a good little slut for me. '
'Tired already?' he asks gently smiling softly and you nod and let out a little whine as an answer . Spent, he wrapped around you, both sinking to the couch in a heap. 'Love you... even when you fight for top.'
You huff a tiny laugh against his chest, the last of your breath still shaky. 'I love you too…' you murmur, words muffled in the warm space between you. After a beat, you tilt your head just enough to glance at the couch beneath you. 'We should probably clean this up, though. Otherwise Kunikida’s going to murder us.'
He snorts, tightening his arm around you in defiance. 'Let him try. I’m not moving.'
You smile, letting yourself sink into him for one more stolen moment—even as you both know he’s right, and Kunikida absolutely will lecture you for the rest of eternity.
( Thank you for reading. This is my first time writing smut on Tumblr. Writing tips are appreciated. And yes , i take requests )
