godddd can you imagine a threesome between you, akutagawa, and atsushi?? atsushi trying so hard to please you from behind while akutagawa fists your hair and fucks you dumb, choking you on his cock??
and the whole time atsushi is asking you how you feel, if it’s good, forgetting that you have his rival’s cock stuffed deep down your throat, and being like “oh, right. uh, just, like… wiggle a little if it’s good..?” and anytime you try to reply, the vibration of your hum rips a groan from akutagawa and makes his tighten his grip on your hair.
“i told you to keep quiet, filthy slut,” akutagawa scolds, tapping your cheek with his palm to force your eyes back on him. “focus on me. that man-tiger fool will manage on his own.”
atsushi let’s out a pitchy whine and complain quietly to himself as he speeds up his movements, leaning forward to litter kisses along the curve of your spine as you try your best to stay quiet despite your pleasure…
… until atsushi’s index finger discovers your clit, rubbing quick circles as he breathes that he’s gonna cum. you try to pull off of akutagawa’s cock to warn him that you’re close, but he forces you further down by the back of your head, snapping his hips to meet the way your head bobs.
“not yet,” akutagawa coos when atsushi shudders behind you, his pretty moans blessing your ears as he grabs your hips to stabilize himself. the hot feel of his cum filling you nearly sends you over the edge, but you heed to akutagawa’s warning.
hollowing your cheeks, exhaustion making you slow, you jolt when atsushi attaches his lips around your clit. your thighs tremble violently, unable to fight back a sigh when the vibrations of him hum send you reeling.
thankfully, akutagawa seems to peak as well. his movement jerks, slows, stills, and he almost growls as he paints your mouth and throat white. you gulp it down, popping off his cock with a cry when you cum all over atsushi’s tongue.
your head feels heavy post-orgasm, and would have hung if not for akutagawa’s rough grip on your chin. he grins. “next time, i wanna see how long the fool lasts with your pretty lips wrapped around his cock.”
“longer than you!” atsushi shouts, still breathless and leaning against the baseboard behind you.
“oh, yeah?” akutagawa mindlessly taps your cheek with his finger. “we’ll see about that.”
when they’re 15, chuuya kisses him inexperienced and messily. he says he’s probably kissed more people than dazai before, but dazai has read plenty of books on how to kiss so he naturally kisses better. chuuya disagrees, but they disagree on most things. and dazai is usually right anyway.
when they’re 16, chuuya kisses him through the only outlet for his anger. he suffers loudly, and dazai drinks in his fury, egging him on purely because it makes him feel alight to see chuuya so alive.
when they’re 17, chuuya kisses him with teeth and tongue. his rage is less hurt now, but dazai indulges him either way. their lips bruise and their tongues bleed, and it lingers for far longer after they part, and it’s nice all the same.
when they’re 18, chuuya kisses him like he’ll disappear any minute. he holds him still, and then pulls him closer where they clash over and over. he bruises him and then soothes the wounds. he’s angry but settled down, and still he can feel dazai drifting from his grasp with each minute.
when they’re 19, 20, 21, dazai hopes chuuya kisses no one else. he doesn’t deserve for the wish to come true, but he crosses his fingers and prays that chuuya finds nobody the same. really, he just longs for something to be his own. forever. for always.
when they’re 22, chuuya kisses him the same way he used to, and in the newest way possible. he kisses him like he’s never kissed before, like he’s pained, like he’s angry, like he’s clinging onto him as if he’ll vanish if he doesn’t. he kisses him like there’s nobody who will kiss him the same way dazai does, and he holds him like he’s hoped that dazai has found no one else who can kiss as chuuya does.
when they’re 22, chuuya kisses him because it’s everything he wants. dazai kisses him because it’s all he’s wanted. it’s soft and tender and almost
Dazai is a lazy slacker. And annoying at that. News, right?
“Would you rather be deaf or blind?” Dazai asks, laying upside down on the office couch. His long legs are resting against the wall, his hair dangling down in a soft fluff, a lollipop between his fingers.
“Deaf” The deadpan can be heard through your flat tone, fingers tapping away at your keyboard at an efficient speed – quick and loud to drown out Dazais voice.
“Deaf so I don’t have to hear your bullshit” Dazais smile is clear as day in his teasing, pleased lilt to his tone, prompting you to send a tiny glare his way over your work computer.
He brings the blue lollipop to his lips again, smile widening behind it. “You love seeing me, that’s why” He closes his eyes, looking like he’s in pure bliss. “I get it”
You ignore him, your keyboard tapping growing harsher and louder.
“Do you think whales get cold?” He tries again, and you can see him from the corner of your eyes. Still smiling.
He doubles down once he gets no response out of you. “Don’t you think its weird that clouds float when they are evaporated water? Shouldn’t they fall down if they hold water?” He tries again
Sighing, you drop your head into your hands, massaging at your sore temple. “Why do you use this type of mental abuse on me, Dazai”
He sticks his blue stained tongue out for you, grinning widely with his forehead in full view.
Dazai is like a sleep paralysis you cant shake off or wake up from.
a/n: quick something i wrote before bed. writing is consuming all of the time from my other hobbies lately. im not entierly unhappy about that, just a little >-<
with this treasure, i summon: @xhslvt @xiyizhouswife @hartistasinombre @melancholicreaper @goatkkotsu @nightmarenyxx @sleazysaltedcat @defenestratehumanity @shhhhiamreading @totallynotashieldagent @vyxeen @hartistasinombre @angeliure-0 @septembermoonchild @1isabelfox (let me know if you wanna be tagged for certain fandoms only!!)
Dazai can never beat the high maintenance allegations. He needs you with him at all times. I mean what would he do without his belladonna, he's convinced that if you leave his side he'll die.
That also translates to the bedroom, his long slim fingers have to be on you during ever moment of your love making. He needs to know that you're real. But his way of always having his hands on you always ends up in you being oh so overstimulated. I mean you need to feel as good as you make him.
He loves when you orgasm. His mission every time you two have sex is to break the record of how many times he can make you cum. Not to even mention he has such a high sex drive. He needs sex like all the time. And oh boy his stamina you could be going for hours if you have the right amount of time.
Most of it is just him between your legs coaxing one orgasm after another. Once he's satisfied in how many times you've come all over his face then and only then will he sink his cock into you.
But if you think that once he comes inside you that you'd be done, you are dead wrong. I mean you made him so pent up with the sweet whines that came out of your mouth. So why wouldn't he need to cum 2-3 times inside you?
Would you be willing to write a story that's Dazai x reader who keeps "accidentally" interrupting his suicide attempts by trying to drag him into silly or distracting arguments?
a/n: i could NEVER say no to writing dazai this was soo fun for me to write hope u like it:3 /cw:mentions ofsuicide,mdni
<𝟑 .ᐟ fire escape, 3:47 am.
you find him perched on the rusting fire escape, legs dangling into the night like he’s flirting with gravity.
a faint breeze pushes at the hem of his shirt, ruffling his hair, but he doesn’t move - doesn’t flinch, even as you kick open the window with all the subtlety of a freight train.
he looks like a painting that’s been left out in the rain, all smudged charm and casual disaster.
you climb out beside him with a plastic bag in one hand and something annoyingly determined in your posture.
“i brought snacks,” you announce, letting the bag crinkle just loud enough to be obnoxious.
his eyes flick lazily from the bag to your face. “are you bribing me out of suicide with convenience store melon pan?”
you hand him a drink. “no, bribing would imply you’re useful.” he takes it anyway, because of course he does.
you settle beside him, your shoulder brushing his. his body is warm, and his skin smells like whatever soap was closest to the sink. he doesn’t lean in, but he doesn’t move away either.
“also, i need to know - if i legally adopt a pigeon, does that make me a single parent?”
he pauses mid sip, then glances sideways, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “only if you’re prepared to fight the father for custody in a dramatic courtroom scene involving feathers and emotional testimony.”
you snort. “osamu.”
“fine,” he sighs, leaning back until his spine rests against the cold iron railing. “i suppose dying can wait until after your avian custody battle is won.”
you grin, victorious, and he lets you have it.
<𝟑 .ᐟ the train tracks, 11:11 pm.
you catch him sprawled across the train tracks like a victorian heiress in the third act of a melodrama, limbs loose, coat spread out beneath him like a makeshift funeral shroud.
he looks absurd.
“seriously?” you ask, stepping over the gravel, your breath fogging in the cold night air,
his head turns slightly. “i was waiting for fate.”
“you missed the last train by forty minutes.”
he groans dramatically and flops back down. “then let fate reschedule.”
you nudge his ribs with the toe of your shoe, not unkindly, but harshly. “get up. i brought your laundry.”
you didn’t mean to, truly. you were halfway through folding it on your bed when the silence in the apartment felt wrong - too still, too sharp. something in your chest had twisted, pulled taut with a sick kind of instinct.
you ran without thinking.
he probably saw it - the flush in your cheeks, the breathlessness you tried to hide, the way your voice came out a little too hard.
he lifts his head just enough to peer at the bag slung over your shoulder. “and here i was - hoping to meet a tragic end, tangled in steel and regret, belladonna.”
you let the bag drop beside him with a soft thud. “your socks are all gone. are you eating them in your sleep again?”
he blinks up at you with infuriating ease, his face upside down from your perspective, “you think i’m charming even like this, don’t you?”
“i think you're high-maintenance and way too annoying.” he grins, bright and completely unbothered. “ah, love.”
you roll your eyes but don’t move until he stands. you wait, hands in your pockets, as he stretches and yawns like this was just a nap with extra drama.
you walk home side by side - him humming a dumb, off key tune about suicide, swinging the laundry bag like it weighs nothing at all.
<𝟑 .ᐟ the riverbank, 6:12 pm.
he’s standing knee deep in the river, sleeves rolled to his elbows, the evening light casting long shadows across the water. his coat is folded neatly on the grass behind him, almost reverent in its placement - like he couldn’t bear to let it drown with him.
the river moves slow and shallow. barely up to his calves. it wouldn’t take him, not really. but he stands there like he’s daring it to.
you spot him from the top of the slope and make your way down with careful steps, boots sinking slightly into the soft earth. when you reach the edge, you stop just shy of the waterline.
“you left your phone unlocked on the office desk,” you say. “kunikida’s sent you about seven messages. one of them might be a restraining order.”
he doesn’t turn around. “how tragic. the world will move on without me - and kunikida’s blood pressure will finally stabilise.”
you shift your weight, watching the way the current curls around his ankles. “they’re short staffed. he wants someone to follow up on a missing girl in yokohama.”
a beat passes.
then he glances at you, over his shoulder. “why would they send me?”
“because you’re good at it, obviously.”
his mouth tilts into something that’s almost a smile, but not quite. “flattery? how manipulative. are you trying to lure me out with responsibility?”
“no, just reminding you you’re not as disposable as you keep pretending to be.”
that sinks deeper than most things you say, even you surprise yourself. he turns back to the water. the surface glows with the last of the sun, soft orange and bruised violet.
“do you think the girl’s still alive?”
“i think if anyone can find her in time, it’s you.”
he doesn’t speak for a long moment. the water runs past, indifferent. still, he steps out.
there’s no grand decision, no announcement. he just walks out of the river like it never wanted him in the first place.
you wait while he brushes off his coat, his expression unreadable. he slips it back on, shaking out the damp at the hem.
“fine,” he says, voice low. “but you’re buying dinner.”
“deal.”
he looks at you then - longer than usual. and for once, he doesn’t smile. doesn’t joke. just watches you like he’s trying to commit something to memory, you don’t ask what it is and he doesn’t jump.
for @reapkusho <3 . insp. by pictures of you by the cure
no matter how hard he puts his mind to it, saigiku jouno just can’t get rid of his pictures of you.
or any media or memories he has of you, after he pushed you away. to focus on work, and to keep you safe, he claims. its not like he lied! fully, anyway.
before anyone asks, “but how does he even see the pictures?”—he doesn’t. its this notion of having physical proof—evidence—, that you loved him, that keeps him going. there’s something about having a piece of you, of sorts, wherever he goes.
in his wallet, in his phone case, framed in his bedroom—oh, what will he do, if he gets rid of his pictures of you? what would he do with himself, if not stay devoted to you?
sometimes, he holds his pictures of you, begging his foolish heart to get a grip. to stop believing that they’re real, and that you’ll come back.
what makes pictures more dear to him—especially when he can’t see what they looked like, upon clicking the button on the camera—, are that you never really knew he took them, until after you heard the click.
one time, in the rain, you spun around, splashing in the puddles with your giggles echoing through the street he was walking you down. the street wasn’t fully-packed—it had the occasional passer-byer—, but his senses closed in on you.
the way your shoes splashed in the puddles, the way the rain showered down on the floor and rippled through your clothes and overflowing gutters on the side of the road. the way your laughter filled the bustling street, and was all he could hear. the way you suddenly grabbed his hands, dancing with him in the rain.
once you let go of his hands to keep frolicking around, he pulled out his little camera in his right pocket—where you always put it—, turning it on and taking a spur of photos.
you never looked at the camera and kept moving around, which made them feel so real. so special, so uniquely yours, so you. the way your whole body blurred around, but your smile was always in all of them—oh, he misses it.
he misses you.
in dreams, he tries opening his eyes. but it wouldn’t stop you from leaving. it wouldn’t help him find the right words to hold onto your heart.
when he wakes up from those dreams, it hurts. a deep-rooted ache swells through every part of him. through every breath, twitch, sound, movement—his body, no, his whole being aches to be beside you, again.
maybe he’ll put off breaking apart his pictures of you, for another day.
hiii, i was wondering if you could write drabbles for dazai and akutagawa reacting to their s/o panicking because she killed one person, considering they had killed lots of people in their lives
Dazai and Akutagawa reacting to s/o panicking because she killed someone
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Dividers by @cursed-carmine
Characters: Dazai and Akutagawa
Synopsis: Dazai and Akutagawa react to their respectable partners's anguish at having killed someone. Ironically, both of these men have probably killed more than they could count.
Tw: Mild angst, very subtle mention of Dazai's past, reader is implied to be crying, mentions of blood and bloodshed, mentions of death, comfort, mild fluff? I think that's about it.
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Osamu Dazai:
“Bellaaaa” Dazai whined.
When you wouldn't answer, and continued to hide under your blanket, he finally asked about it.
“Are you upset because of what happened in the mission?” he softly asked, making you stiffen. He approached you and gently pulled down the blanket, revealing your tear-stained face.
“I'll take that as a yes. Everyone knows that was an accident; mistakes happen, my beloved blue hydrangea” he gently comforted, caressing your face and wiping your tears.
“Furthermore, there are people who have done worse than you have” he muttered.
But nobody heard it. After all, no one ever hears him.
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Ryuunosuke Akutagawa:
You were Akutagawa's s/o, and as much as it sounded nice, it had its drawbacks. He worked for the mafia, and had enemies. This meant that they would target you, which would result in bloodshed.
“I know you find killing…illicit.” Akutagawa quietly mumbled, sitting down next to you.
“But what you did had to be done. That scum had tried to kill you. You simply defended yourself against him.” he continued, gently putting a hand on your shoulder and pulling you closer.
“Your intentions weren't to murder him, but to incapacitate him. It resulted in his death, and that’s…okay.”
“…the quiet understanding that, even in chaos, they are each other’s home.”
oo.1 :: during a sudden rainstorm, chuuya insists you dance with him in the middle of the empty street. he spins you around dramatically, ignoring how soaked you both get. he even lifts you off the ground in a final, cinematic twirl, laughing at your breathless smile.
oo.2 :: chuuya pretends to hate it when you ask to braid his hair, rolling his eyes and muttering something about how it’s “a waste of time.” but the second you start, he’s completely still, leaning back just enough for you to reach comfortably. he’ll grumble under his breath—“don’t make it look stupid”—but the soft way he closes his eyes gives him away. he secretly loves the feeling of your fingers in his hair, and though he’ll never admit it, he refuses to take the braid out until he absolutely has to.
oo.3 :: if a fight gets particularly heated, chuuya has this infuriating habit of silencing you with a kiss mid-sentence. he’s not doing it to dismiss your feelings—he just can’t stand the thought of you being upset with him for too long. “i hate seeing you mad at me,” he’ll say, his forehead resting against yours, voice quiet and sincere.
oo.4 :: one night, you convince chuuya to graffiti a wall with you. at first, he acts too dignified for it but eventually gets into it, creating surprisingly artistic designs. by the end, he’s smeared in paint, laughing, and calling it a masterpiece.
oo.5 :: chuuya challenges you to a cooking duel, complete with dramatic commentary and music playing in the background. he pretends to be a judge for your dish, acting overly critical, but it’s just to cover up how much he loves your cooking.
oo.6 :: sometimes, after a particularly stressful day, chuuya will wordlessly walk up to you, throw his arms around your waist, and bury his face in your shoulder. he doesn’t say much, just breathes you in like you’re the calm in his storm. if you run your fingers through his hair, he’ll let out the softest sigh, “just needed to hold you right now.”
oo.7 :: when you’re walking side by side, chuuya has an oddly romantic habit of grabbing your wrist. he’ll lift it up and press a small kiss to the inside, lingering for just a second longer than necessary. when you ask him why, he’ll shrug and smirk. “your pulse is there,” he’ll say, as if it’s the most obvious answer in the world.
oo.8 :: he sets up a city-wide treasure hunt for your anniversary, complete with clues written in elegant script. each clue leads to places that are significant to your relationship—like the first place you met, or where you shared your first kiss. he acts all serious as you solve each riddle, but when you finally find the “treasure”—a simple, heartfelt note from him—he admits he just wanted to see your smile as you pieced everything together.
