─────── WARNINGS | none (reader has long hair/long enough to have to tie it up), female nickname used (princess), one suggestive joke
THE AFTERNOON SKY turned into pretty shades of pink and gold, sunlight casting down on where your class was perched on top of a hill.
Class 3-E—the class for losers and hopeless people, kids with no future, or so the teens on the main campus liked to call it. Failures. Violent people. Students with bad grades and even worse behavior, in their eyes.
What their false egos didn’t let them see was that those same so-called losers were both students and assassins. In Class 3-E, every teacher and student lived two roles. Two lives. Two opportunities.
You were trained to be talented at more than just academic subjects like physics and math, or passing exams. You were also trained to be fast, strong, tactical—and most importantly, able to kill your teacher.
And today was one of those days where you trained to get one step closer to becoming an assassin.
P.E.
Not your least favorite subject, but not your most favorite either. Still, training with Karasuma-sensei always made it more interesting. Not only was watching him fight a sight to behold, but it was also fun going up against your classmates.
If only your hair wasn’t sticking to your face like glue.
You didn’t have a hair tie. No banana clip. Nothing.
You huffed, wiping the sweat off your forehead with the back of your hand, annoyed at how your damp hair clung to your cheeks like ivy on stone. The late afternoon sun made everything glow—except you, apparently. You felt more like a soggy mop than a trained assassin in the making.
“Looking a little rough there, [Name],” a voice drawled from behind you.
You didn’t have to turn to know who it was. That smug, smooth tone could belong to no one else but Karma Akabane.
“I’m fine,” you muttered, fingers still trying—and failing—to push your hair out of your eyes.
Karma walked up beside you with a lazy grin, the sun catching in his crimson hair and making it look like it was on fire. Typical. He was barely sweating, despite going just as hard during training.
“Sure you are,” he said, reaching toward his wrist before pulling out something small.
“Come here.”
His fingers combed through your hair, and you blinked.
Was Akabane Karma… tying your hair up for you?
You did a double take.
Yep. Still Karma.
Just a lot stranger than usual.
Feeling his fingertips brush lightly against your scalp, your eyes fluttered closed before you could stop yourself. He gathered your hair, carefully combing through it with his fingers, then quickly wrapped a black hair tie around it.
You narrowed your eyes, but couldn’t stop the small smile from tugging at your lips. You took the hair tie from his outstretched fingers, the tips of his knuckles brushing yours for only a split second.
He pulled out a few loose strands to frame your face before shoving his hands back into his pockets.
“There. Better, right?”
You nodded, lifting your head to look at him. He was grinning—but not in that usual arrogant Akabane Karma way.It was genuine.
“Thanks.”
“Careful, princess. People might think you’re falling for me.”
And there he was—back to being an asshole.Well, at least he did a good job tying your hair up.
“You look hot like this. I should tie you up more.”
You sputtered, snapping your head toward him with wide eyes.
“KARMA-KUN, THAT IS VERY INAPPROPRIATE!”
“You’re the one having dirty thoughts, teach.”
Koro-sensei turned a shade of rose, cheeks flushing before letting out an embarrassed scream and zooming away at Mach 20—making your hair messy all over again.
▸ WARNINGS | shotgunning, smut, oral (giving), fingering (receiving), dazai has a spit kink, should be gender neutral (tell me if I slipped into fem, I want yall to be able to enjoy this), lots of dirty talk, praising and degrading, cursing (the usual), nicknames, masturbating mentioned, freak dazai at his finest, no beta we die like oda, MDNI (I love my kids, but I will block your ass, go read fluff)
▸ SUMMARY | you were so done with college if you were being honest to yourself. you just wanted to relax for 10 minutes, was that really too much to ask? returning to your apartment you shared with dazai out of all people, you settled down and hoped you'd be able to enjoy yourself for a bit. seems like your roommate wants to help you wind down a little...
▸ WORD COUNT | 4.4k
▸ AUTHOR'S NOTES | this has been in my draft for so long, tbh I didn't know if I should post it but after receiving tons of asks I just did. I'll try to post soon again but for now I need to focus on my exams, science, math, and german exams are coming up and are chasing me in the back of my mind, so does my homework (teach srsly gave me 20 problems to solve till next week- and i got 10 to 11 hours school daily-). since I'm so down for shotgunning I was like, hey why not pair that with dazai, and here we are. anyways, ignore any typos and enjoy <3
Living with Dazai was never boring. Between his unpredictable antics, sharp wit, and occasional bouts of quiet introspection, he was the perfect mix of chaos and charm.
Tonight, though, the vibe in your shared apartment was slower, lazier—a soft haze of smoke curling around the living room as the two of you passed the joint back and forth.
Dazai leaned back on the couch, his legs spread in that annoyingly cocky way, his long fingers cradling the joint like it was a precious artifact. His half-lidded gaze drifted to you as you leaned forward to take it from him, your fingertips brushing his for just a moment.
“You look good like this,” he said, his voice low and lazy. “All relaxed. It’s a rare sight.” You rolled your eyes, though your cheeks warmed.
“Shut up, Dazai. Pass me the lighter.” He didn’t move, just grinned at you with that knowing look that always made your stomach flip.
“Say please,” he teased, holding the lighter just out of reach.
“Fine,” you huffed, leaning closer, the smoke from his exhale ghosting over your face. “Please, Dazai.”
He didn’t hand it over. Instead, he brought the joint to his lips, took a long drag, and leaned forward until he was inches from your face. His voice dropped an octave as he said,
“Come and get it.”
Your heart stuttered, but you didn’t back down. Leaning closer, you pressed your lips to his and inhaled the smoke he exhaled, the intimate exchange leaving your head spinning in more ways than one.
“Good job,” he murmured against your lips, his tone laced with mischief as he leaned back and let you process the hit.
“You’re insufferable,” you muttered, coughing lightly as the smoke burned your lungs.
“And yet, you’re still here,” he quipped, his hand reaching out to toy with the hem of your hoodie, his fingers brushing your thigh. “Admit it roomie—you like me.”
You didn’t answer, but the way your body leaned into his touch spoke volumes.
Dazai leaned back, his grin growing wider as he patted his lap. “Alright, here’s the deal,” he said, holding the joint just out of reach again. “If you want another hit, you’re going to have to come here.”
You hesitated, your heart pounding. His tone was playful, but the heat in his gaze made it impossible to tell if he was joking or not. “Seriously?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Oh, I’m dead serious,” he replied, taking another slow drag before exhaling the smoke toward the ceiling. “No lap, no weed.”
He said it so nonchalantly, like it was the most reasonable demand in the world. With a dramatic sigh, you got up from your spot on the couch and walked over to him.
Dazai didn’t bother hiding his satisfaction as he spread his legs slightly to make room for you.
Curse his sweatpants.
The fabric hangs low on his hips, just loose enough to hint at the definition of his body but tight enough to leave nothing to the imagination. The slight V of his hip bones peeks out from beneath his shirt whenever he stretches or leans back lazily, drawing your eyes down whether you want to or not.
It’s maddening, the way his toned abdomen transitions seamlessly into that sharp cut of muscle leading lower—almost like an arrow, guiding your gaze. His sweatpants rest teasingly low, the waistband threatening to slip further down, exposing just a glimpse of the dark hair trailing beneath it. When you perched on his lap, he let his hands settle casually on your hips, his touch light but firm.
“There we go,” he said, his voice softer now as he brought the joint to his lips again. After a moment, he leaned forward, his face inches from yours. “Open up.”
You obeyed, your lips parting as he exhaled the smoke into your mouth, his dark eyes locked on yours. The closeness sent a shiver down your spine, your hands instinctively gripping his shoulders for balance.
“That' it,” he murmured, his fingers tightening slightly on your waist. The air between you felt electric, charged with something unspoken but undeniable.
Dazai took another hit, this time pressing his lips to yours directly to share it. His kiss was slow and deliberate, the taste of smoke and him mingling in a way that left you dizzy.
Before you could fully process what was happening, he set the joint aside and pulled you closer, his hands slipping under your hoodie to rest on your bare skin.
“You’re so warm,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your jawline. “I think I’ve been way too patient with you.”
“Dazai…” you started, but the words died in your throat when he tilted your head to capture your lips again.
“You want this,” he said against your mouth, his tone a mix of teasing and certainty. “Don’t try to deny it.”
And he was right. As fucked up as it was to want a man like him, you did.
He shifted, guiding you onto your back on the couch as he hovered over you, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your thighs. His touch was maddeningly slow, like he was savoring every second, every reaction.
“You’re so pretty when you’re high, baby,” he said, his voice dripping with affection and mischief. Your body arched into his touch as his hands roamed higher, his lips trailing down your neck. He paused for a moment, pulling back just enough to look at you.
“Tell me you want me,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.
“I want you,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.
“Good,” he said, his fingers dipping beneath the waistband to tease you. “Because I’m going to make you feel so good you won’t want to get off this couch.”
Dazai sat back on the couch, legs spread wide, his head tilted as he watched you with an amused smirk. The haze of smoke hung between you, wrapping everything in a slow, intoxicating warmth. You were already flushed, eyes half-lidded and glassy as you reached for the joint in his hand.
“Ah-ah,” he teased, holding it out of reach. “You want it, sweetheart? Then come show me how much.” You knew exactly what he meant.
Shifting onto your knees, you crawled closer, settling between his thighs. His smirk grew as he brought the joint to his lips, taking a slow drag before leaning down. “Open up,” he murmured, exhaling the smoke directly into your mouth.
You inhaled, the familiar burn hitting your chest as you gazed up at him through your lashes. His free hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing your lips as he pulled back to admire the way your lips parted.
“You’re so pretty like this,” he murmured, his voice low and full of heat. “All fucked up on a little smoke.” He leaned back again, his other hand stroking himself lazily as he watched you.
“Now, be good and show me what that mouth can do.”
You didn’t hesitate, your lips wrapping around the head of his cock as you sank down slowly. The saltiness of his precum mixed with the lingering taste of smoke on your tongue, and the combination made your head spin. His groan above you was low and sinful, his fingers tangling in your hair as he guided you deeper.
“That’s it,” he muttered, his voice thick with pleasure. “Take me just like that.” The joint burned idly in his other hand as you worked him, your tongue swirling around the thick length of him.
You felt his hips buck slightly, a sign of his growing impatience, but you couldn’t resist teasing him a little. Pulling back just enough to lick along the underside, you glanced up at him, your lips glossy and swollen.
“Tease,” he growled, his grip on your hair tightening as he pushed you back down. You took him deeper, hollowing your cheeks as his cock hit the back of your throat, making him groan again. “Fuck, you’re too good at this.”
He brought the joint back to his lips, taking another long drag before pulling you off his cock with a wet pop. You blinked up at him as he leaned down to press his mouth to yours. Smoke and the taste of him mingled as he kissed you deeply, his tongue sliding against yours, tasting his own cum from your lips, before he pulled back slightly.
“Spit,” he commanded, his voice soft but firm.
Slut, you thought.
You obeyed anyways, the motion making your cheeks burn as he grinned wickedly. You watched as Dazai groaned once your spit reached his tongue, hazy brown eyes rolling to the back of his head.
“So fucking good for me,” he murmured, then spat back into your mouth. The heat in his eyes as he watched you swallow sent a shiver through you, and he kissed you again, biting at your lips before pulling away.
“Now,” he said, his hand sliding between your legs, “let’s see how high you really are.” His fingers slipped beneath your waistband, teasing your clit before sliding inside.
Your head fell back, a moan escaping your lips as he set a slow, torturous rhythm. “You’re so sensitive,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. “So wet and needy. You're just as fucked up as I am—you like this, don’t you?”
“Yes,” you gasped, your hips bucking against his hand.
“Of course you do,” he said, his tone dripping with amusement. “You’re my little mess.” He didn’t stop until you were trembling, your body writhing as he pushed you closer to the edge.
When you finally came, your vision blurred, your head spinning so hard you almost blacked out. Dazai chuckled, pulling his hand away and licking his fingers clean.
“You’re adorable when you’re like this,” he said, his eyes glinting with mischief. You barely had time to catch your breath before he leaned down, his voice soft but insistent in your ear.
The joint laid forgotten in the ashtray as Dazai pressed you into the couch, his chest flush against your back, his lips trailing hot kisses along the curve of your neck. His breath was warm against your skin, carrying the faint scent of smoke and the sweet tang of lust.
His fingers slid beneath your shirt, pulling it over your head to expose more of you to his wandering touch. His cock, hard and insistent, pressed against the curve of your ass, making you squirm beneath him. Dazai chuckled, his teeth grazing the sensitive spot just below your ear.
“Impatient, are we?” he teased, his tone dripping with amusement. “Don’t worry, I’ll give you everything you want.”
He undid his belt with practiced ease, the sound of leather sliding through metal making your heart race. You felt him push your legs apart, his hand slipping between your thighs to tease your already slick entrance.
“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he groaned, his voice thick with desire. “All this for me?”
You nodded, your breath hitching as he slid a finger inside, followed quickly by another. His pace was slow, deliberate, driving you to the brink before he pulled away, leaving you aching and desperate for more.
“Tell me you want it,” he said, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.
“I want it,” you gasped, your voice barely above a whisper.
“Louder,” he demanded, his teeth nipping at your neck.
“I want it, 'samu,” you said, your voice trembling with need. “Please.”
“Very well,” he murmured, positioning himself at your entrance. The stretch as he pushed inside was almost overwhelming, his cock thick and unrelenting as he filled you completely. You cried out, your hands gripping the back of the couch for support as he bottomed out, his hips flush against yours.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groaned, his forehead resting against the back of your neck. His thrusts started slow, each one deliberate and deep, his cock hitting spots that made you see stars. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you back to meet his movements.
“Look at you,” he said, his voice dripping with praise. “Taking me so well. Like you were made for this. Fuck I should've done this way sooner–agh‐, this is so much better than I imagined....so much better than fucking my fist whilst tasting your pretty panties, baby- fuck.”
You whimpered, your nails digging into the couch as his pace quickened, the sound of skin against skin filling the room. His chest was pressed against your back, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered filthy things.
“Guess you know now why your panties keep getting 'lost'- agh~ damn-, this is so much better than humping against your pillows, sweetheart- goddamn- ngh~ better than I ever imagined-” he whimpers out, feeling like he's about to bust any second.
“You fucking freak, agh~, that was all you-?” you spat, feeling so disgusted deep inside but also so turned on even though you know you shouldn't be.
“The wet pillows, the stolen underwear, the messy wardrobe, the white stains on the couch, my wet sweatpants I need you to wash every 2 days because I get so fucking wet whenever I see you, that was all me,” he whines, hands not leaving your body for once.
He remembers it all so clearly. Not like the latest sinful action of his was too long ago.
It started with a harmless visit to your room while you’re out, his excuse being to "borrow" something or check on a nonexistent issue. But the moment he stepped inside, the sight of your bed—perfectly made, your pillow fluffed and untouched—sparks something in him. He walked over, fingers grazing the soft fabric of your pillowcase, and the faint scent of you clings to it.
It’s maddening.
He brought it closer to his face, inhaling deeply as a low groan rumbles in his chest. His body reacted immediately, his cock twitching in his sweatpants as filthy thoughts of you flood his mind.
Before he knews it, he was climbing onto your bed, your pillow clutched tightly in his hands as he presseed his hips into it. The friction is perfect—enough to make him groan softly, his breath hitching as he grinds against the plush surface.
“God, you’d look so good under me,” he muttered, his voice low and breathy, imagining your body sprawled out beneath his, your moans echoing in his ears.
His movements become more desperate, his cock straining against the fabric of his pants as he rocks harder into your pillow. He didn't even try to hold back. His breathing grows heavier, his moans spilling out as he loses himself in the fantasy. The thought of you finding out—of you catching him in the act—only spurs him on, making his hips buck wildly.
“Fuck,” he groans, burying his face into the pillow as his body tenses. His cock twitches, and he came with a shuddering gasp, hot ropes of cum spilling out and soaking into the soft fabric. The mess is unmistakable, staining the once-pristine pillowcase as he rides out the waves of his release.
For a moment, he stays there, his breath ragged, his body still pressed against your pillow as a sly smirk spreads across his lips. He pulls back, examining the evidence of his actions, and chuckles to himself.
“Oops,” he murmurs, his tone dripping with fake innocence. He knows he should clean it up, but the idea of leaving his mark there, of you unknowingly resting your head on it later, is far too tempting to resist. With a final, satisfied glance, he fixes your bed just enough to hide any immediate suspicion, leaving behind a part of himself that only he—and maybe one day you—will ever know about.
The thought of you lying down later, none the wiser, only makes it that much sweeter.
Or that other time.
Maybe he’s putting away laundry for you, or maybe he just happened to see the lace peeking out of the basket. But once his fingers brushed against the soft fabric of your panties, all pretense flies out the window.
He held them up, his sharp eyes glinting with curiosity and something darker as he ran the fabric between his fingers. The faintest scent of you clings to the lace, delicate and intoxicating, and before he even realized it, he has brought them closer, pressing them to his nose.
“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice low and hoarse, the scent sent a jolt straight to his cock. The reaction was immediate, his length hardening beneath the confines of his sweatpants, and he knew there’s no way he’s stopping now.
Slumping onto the edge of his bed, he palmed himself through the fabric, groaning softly as he imagined you wearing the very panties he was holding. His mind ran wild, picturing the way they’d hug your hips, the way the delicate lace would press against your skin.
With a smirk, he tugged down his sweatpants, his cock springing free, flushed and aching. He wrapped his hand around the base, stroking himself slowly as he held your panties to his nose again, inhaling deeply. His movements quickened, his grip tightening as he pictures your face, the way you’d look if you ever caught him like this—flushed, wide-eyed, horrified.
“Bet you’d love it,” he murmured, his voice dripping with amusement and lust. He dragged the fabric across his lips, his tongue darting out to taste it, to imagine it’s your skin instead. The thought sends a shiver down his spine, and his hips jerked up into his fist.
The room was filled with the lewd sounds of his stroking, his breathing growing heavier as he lost himself in the fantasy. His mind races with images of you, of your body, of the way you’d sound moaning his name.
“God, you have no idea,” he groaned, his pace becoming frantic, the scent and taste of your panties pushing him closer and closer to the edge. His head tilted back, his mouth falling open as a deep moan escaped him.
When he finally came, it’s with a shuddering gasp, thick ropes of cum spilling over his hand and stomach. He chuckled breathlessly, glancing down at the mess he had made and the panties still clutched tightly in his hand.
“Guess I’ll have to wash these for you,” he said to himself, his tone dripping with fake innocence.
Or yesterday.
It was no different then as he had stepped into the shower, the hot water cascading over his skin, masking the heat already pooling in his body. He had pressed his forehead against the cool tiles, letting out a shaky breath, his thoughts spiraling back to you—your voice, your smile, the way you had absentmindedly bitten your lip earlier.
"Fuck," he had groaned, the sound barely audible over the rush of water. He couldn’t get you out of his head, couldn’t shake the image of the way your shirt had hugged your curves or the teasing glint in your eyes when you had laughed at one of his jokes.
His hand had trailed down his chest, his fingers ghosting over the defined lines of his stomach before wrapping around his cock. He had already been hard, the mere thought of you enough to stir him to full arousal. He had given himself a tentative stroke, his hips jerking forward at the relief, a quiet whimper slipping past his lips.
"Shit," he had muttered, his head tipping back as he had stroked himself again, his grip tightening. He could picture it so clearly—your lips wrapped around him, your hands braced against his thighs as you had looked up at him with those big, innocent eyes. The fantasy had made his knees weak, and he had braced himself against the wall, his breathing growing ragged.
"Need you s'bad," he had mumbled to himself, his voice thick with lust. His hand had moved faster, his thumb swiping over the sensitive tip, and he had let out a choked moan, his hips thrusting into his fist. The thought of you beneath him, squirming and whimpering, had made his stomach tighten, the tension building with every stroke. He hadn’t been able to stop the broken sounds escaping him, little gasps and whimpers that he would’ve been embarrassed by if anyone else could hear.
But there, alone with his thoughts of you, he hadn’t cared. He had chased his release desperately, his strokes becoming erratic as he had imagined your voice—soft and needy, calling his name as he had pushed you to your limit.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he had chanted, his body tensing as the pressure had finally snapped. His climax had hit him like a wave, his hips stuttering as he had spilled over his hand, his cum mixing with the water streaming down his body.
He had slumped against the wall, his chest heaving as he had come down from the high, his mind still spinning with thoughts of you. As the water had washed away the evidence of his release, he couldn’t help but chuckle softly, shaking his head.
"God, what the hell are you doing to me?" he had whispered, his lips curling into a smirk. He had known he was screwed, completely and utterly, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.
That's when it hit you.
The moans coming from the bathroom, the undeniably lip biting whenever you scold him about not doing his part of the chores, the motion of his thighs squeezing together whenever you talk about your day- he's such a slut.
“Fuck 'samu, you're such a whore- agh~, a fucking dirty slut-”
“I am, I am, I am-” he repeats over and over again as his hips snap into yours faster, fucking into you like a man possessed.
The pleasure built quickly, the coil in your stomach tightening with every thrust. When you came, it hit you like a tidal wave, leaving you trembling and gasping for air. Dazai wasn’t far behind, his hips stuttering as he buried himself deep inside you, his cock throbbing as he filled you with his release.
He stayed there for a moment, catching his breath before pulling out slowly. You thought he was done, but then he knelt behind you, spreading your legs gently as he leaned in.
“Can’t let any of this go to waste,” he said, his voice soft but full of intent. His tongue licked a slow, deliberate stripe through your folds, collecting the mix of your arousal and his release. The sensation made you shudder, your body still sensitive from your climax.
“Sweet,” he murmured, his tongue diving deeper, swirling and teasing as he cleaned every drop from your aching pussy. You moaned softly, your fingers tangling in his hair as he worked, the intimacy of the act making your heart race. When he finally pulled back—just for a second—his lips were slick and glistening, a wicked grin spreading across his face.
You felt his lips move against your thighs as he licked you clean, his tongue pressing deeper to lap up every drop of your shared mess. The wet, lewd sounds filled the room, and when you turned your head to glance back at him, you couldn’t help but let out a shaky laugh.
“You’re such a fucking freak, Dazai,” you said, your voice a mix of teasing and disbelief. His eyes met yours, dark and glassy with arousal, his mouth still hovering against your slick skin.
He grinned, the corners of his lips curling up sinfully as he licked his lips, savoring the taste like he couldn’t get enough.
“And you love it,” he shot back, his voice low and hoarse, before dipping his head again.
You gasped as his tongue found you once more, his moans vibrating against your oversensitive flesh. It was as if he couldn’t stop himself, his hands gripping your hips to hold you steady as he buried his face between your legs.
The sight of him—so utterly lost in the act, his own release smeared across his lips—was enough to make your head spin. “Oh my god, you’re actually getting off on this.”
He didn’t even bother denying it. Instead, he let out a muffled groan, his tongue plunging into you deeper as he squeezes his thighs together, as if to prove your point.
When he finally pulled back, his chest was heaving, his lips glossy and swollen as he looked up at you with that wicked, unrelenting grin.
“Can you blame me?” he asked, his voice dripping with lust. “You’re irresistible like this. A mess I made, and now I get to taste it. Why wouldn’t I enjoy it?”
You shook your head, a mix of laughter and disbelief spilling from your lips, but you couldn’t deny the heat pooling in your stomach at the sight of him.
As if sensing your resolve cracking, Dazai leaned forward, his breath hot against your skin as he murmured, “Let me do it again.”
You blinked down at him, still trying to catch your breath. “Again?”
“Again,” he repeated, his hands sliding up your thighs. His fingers dug into your flesh just enough to make you shiver as he added, “And again. I’ll keep going until you can’t even think straight.”
You opened your mouth to respond, but he didn’t give you the chance. His tongue was on you again, his moans muffled against your body as he devoured you like a man starved. You writhed beneath him, your body oversensitive but unable to resist the way he made you feel.
“Fuck, 'samu,” you gasped, your fingers tangling in his hair as he pushed you closer to the edge once more. “You’re insane.”
“And you’re delicious,” he muttered between kisses, his lips brushing against your inner thigh. “Now be a good little thing and let me finish what I started.”
By the time he was done, your body was trembling, your mind a haze of pleasure and disbelief. Dazai leaned back, his face flushed and his chest heaving as he grinned up at you.
“See?” he said, his voice smug and self-satisfied. “Told you I was good at this.“
You could only laugh breathlessly, shaking your head as he pulled you into his lap, his lips finding yours in a messy, heated kiss.
“Now,” he murmured, his hands sliding down to grip your ass. “How about we keep this going? I’ve got all night, and you’re not leaving this couch until I’m satisfied.”
Thinkin’ about CHUUYA — who will always buy you lipsticks and lip balms in the prettiest shades.
Soft rose, deep wine, glossy cherry — he remembers which ones make your eyes light up and which ones you absentmindedly chew off when you’re stressed.
This man straight-up refuses to let you carry anything.
Your phone? In his pocket.
Your keys? Already clipped to his belt.
Your lipstick — oh lord, the lipstick—is definitely his responsibility.
Your need to reapply? He’s already there.
Gloved fingers curl under your chin, gentle but certain, tilting your face up toward him. He squishes your cheeks just enough to make your lips pout, a quiet little “stay still” in his eyes, before he glides the color across your bottom lip with careful precision. He’s staring at you so intensely it’s almost embarrassing—like looking away would be some kind of sin he refuses to commit.
Your lipstick is smudged?
A soft click of his tongue. A tiny frown. Then his thumb brushes your mouth, slow and deliberate, wiping the edge clean. He doesn’t even realize he’s leaned closer until you’re sharing the same breath, his voice low and fond.
“C’mon,” he murmurs, “can’t have you walking around lookin’ anything less than perfect.”
And when he’s done—when he caps the lipstick and slips it back into his coat—he presses a quick, almost smug kiss to your lips, just enough to seal it. “There,” Chuuya says, satisfied.
“Now you’re mine again.”
Making out with him with lipstick on is practically a ritual — slow, heated kisses that leave color smeared along his mouth, his jaw, the collar of his shirt — marks he wears like trophies.
You drag him down by the collar, laugh breathless against his lips, and he lets it happen, lets you ruin him, hands firm at your waist like he’s grounding himself while you paint him in evidence.
Chuuya loves it — loves catching his reflection later and seeing proof that you were there, that you claimed him — because every stain is yours, and every time he buys you a new shade, it’s already with the knowledge that it won’t stay on you for long.
MEN who need to be near you 24/7. Thinking about how they would beg to fuck you right then and there, only to whine later about having to pull out. How could they stop? They’ve got you right there, under them, squirming and cumming all over their thick huge dick. The sight alone sends pleasurable shovers down their spines, making them groan in delight. Their movements are anything but slow when he pounds right back into your soaking cunt.
They are pounding into you with a feral speed, an almost animalistic speed, with every intention to destroy your pretty cunt. Their pussy. Their heavy balls full of cum are slapping against your pussy, begging to be spilled inside of you. He‘s groaning and occasionally moaning on top of you while they slam their cock into you before spilling their seed deep inside of your cunt like they want to knock you up.
“Yes, yes fuuuck-, gonna cum baby, gonna cum inside of your pretty pussy. All mine right? Gonna destroy this tight little pussy and fill you up to the brim. Ngh- Just relax and let me knock you up, alright darl‘? Fuck- so tight-“
Kicking my feet like a schoolgirl thinking about JINX who would tap in morse code on your thighs at the most random times without fully realizing it.
... - .- -.--
Fingers slightly scarred and roughed up from her building weapons and bombs, shaking just slightly whenever she does. The careful but firm presses of her fingers against your bare thighs prove just how much SHE cares for you.
.-.. --- ...- . / .. ... / .-- . .. .-. -..
HER who would giggle when she finally convinces you to let her do your nails. The childish grin that's spread across her face reminds you so much of POWDER who now draws little skulls on your nails whilst laughing.
“Don’t move, toots. If I smear it, the skull will look like Sevika in the morning—and nobody wants that.”
Your FIRST DATE also ended with you both running from Enforcers and laughing like maniacs—but that's a story for another time.
JINX who hums off–key whilst braiding your hair or simply tying bows into it, tongue sticking out in concentration before she climbs into your lap like some cat, calling it her 'recharging station'.
HER having introduced you to EKKO and are now the craziest trio no one asked for but always wanted. THEM somehow having come to an agreement to prank the shit out of people (grant them safety) as long as no one gets injured—and of course they are gonna drag you down with them too.
But not before insiting on matching war paint. HER who just starts painting neon lightning bolts on her arms like she’s entering Mario Kart sudden death mode.
EKKO who says something about that you all should at least have matching colours and JINX dips a whole paintbrush in red and smacks it across his face like a flyswatter.
YOU drawing a teeny skull on Jinx’s cheek, and her tearing up like “this is the most beautiful thing anyone’s ever given me” and then paints a dick on your neck (after smooching a kiss onto your cheek with hot pink coloured lips—)
EKKO who says “no explosives this time” while jinx dramatically fake-cries into your shoulder
YOU distracting the target while jinx and ekko argue about whether glitter is “a statement or a lifestyle”
JINX who spray-paints “U SUCK” on the getaway skateboard, just in case they chase you, and you trying to wash it off after and jinx screams “TRAITOR!!” before tackling you into a puddle
Your girl keeping a small photo of you in her boot for 'good luck' and never once threw it away.
JINX resting her head against your chest, letting you trace her scars on her arms without saying a word, distracted by the gentle touches and the sound of your heartbeat before whispering "don't die on me, 'kay toots?"
NAGISA knew he had to check up on you when you didn't show up to school.
He sensed your absence the very moment he had stepped into the classroom. No smile of yours to be seen, no sight of your presence, no sound of your voice or your laughter to be heard. He told himself you might be late, told himself you might've bolted home again because you forgot to bring your earphones with you.
He tried calling you — no answer.
He texted you — no reply.
He calmed himself down and decided he'll just check up on you when he went to your house after school to bring you his notes and inform you about any homework.
Now he's standing at your door, blue eyes taking in your sick body that's leaning against the door you held open, barely keeping yourself on your feet. You hair was a mess, tangled and standing up. Your skin was pale which was a huge contrast to your eyebags and your hands were trembling.
"Hi Nagisa. That the stuff I missed out on?" you rasped, voice cracking as you do.
"Uh, I mean–yes! Yes, these are my notes and everything you need for our assignment. It's a bit tricky though, so I can just help you if you want."
"Come in. And thanks."
Stepping aside to let him enter before locking the door, you turned towards the living room.
"Make yourself at home, I'll quickly finish cleaning the windows and do the dishes. You can grab some snacks if you want."
You could barely keep your eyes open and you wanted to do chores? He doesn't mean to offend you, but you look like a walkinf zombie.
"Wait–were you doing chores the whole time today? Instead of resting?"
"I mean, yeah, I don't want the house to drown in trash and dust. Plus, my parent are visiting my grandparents since they missed them so much. I stayed since I didn't want to miss out on school, but unfortunately, I got sick."
That explains the lack of shoes at the entrance... Nagisa thought.
"You need to rest. I understand that you want the house to be clean and tidy, but you can't do that in your condition. You're on the verge of passing out! Did you even eat today?"
Your groan told him everything he needed to hear.
"Come on, let's get you to bed."
Ignoring your whines and complaints, Nagisa made you go to your room with him, where he tucked you into bed before placing his hand on your forehead. His eyes widened in alarm.
Well that's not good at all...
Nagisa’s heart sank when his hand touched your forehead. It was practically on fire. He hurriedly adjusted the covers around you, his brow furrowing in concern.
"You’re burning up," he murmured, his voice soft but filled with worry.
You blinked up at him, your eyes heavy with fatigue.
"I’m fine, it's just a little fever, nothing too serious," you muttered weakly. But the way you said it—so plainly, like you were trying to convince yourself more than him—made him shake his head and sigh.
He sat down on the edge of your bed, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, his touch gentle. "You’re not fine. I’m not leaving until you’re resting, got it?"
You blinked at him, eyes a little blurry. There was something comforting about his insistence, though it also made you feel a little embarrassed.
"I just don’t want you to feel like you have to babysit me..."
"Well, I do feel like it," he said, with a soft laugh, though it was clear he wasn’t joking.
He leaned over and grabbed the thermometer off your bedside table, holding it out to you with a small smile. "Let’s see what this says, okay?"
You reluctantly took it, only half-convinced it was necessary, but he gave you that look— the one that said he wasn’t going to back down.
After a minute, you handed it back to him with a sigh. "102.3°F," Nagisa read aloud, his voice filled with disbelief.
"No wonder you’re out of it." Your cheeks flushed and you pouted, more from embarrassment than the fever.
"I didn’t want to worry anyone... and I figured I could just power through it."
"Well, you’ve definitely got to rest now," he said firmly. "No more chores. No more doing anything except for relaxing and letting your body heal."
You gave him a small pout, still stubborn despite your exhaustion.
"But... the dishes—"
"Nope." Nagisa interrupted you, shaking his head. "Those can wait. And if you're worried, I can help. But right now, you're need to rest."
"I'm really just helping a friend out, nothing big," he said, his voice just a little quieter now, and you noticed the faint flush on his cheeks. It made your heart race a little faster, though you weren’t sure if it was because of the fever or something else. You bit your lip, suddenly nervous.
"I’m glad you came."
Nagisa shot you a small smile. "I’m staying right here until you get better."
You smiled weakly, your eyelids fluttering as you tried to keep yourself awake for just a little while longer.
"Thanks Nagisa," you murmured, your voice barely audible. Nagisa smiled softly, his heart doing an unexpected flip at your words. He could see how badly you were fighting to stay awake, but he wasn’t about to let you push yourself.
"Of course," he replied, gently pulling the chair closer to your bed. "I’m not going anywhere."
You let out a relieved sigh, and a few moments later, your eyes fluttered closed, exhaustion finally catching up to you. But before you drifted completely off, you felt Nagisa’s hand gently resting on yours, his thumb rubbing over your skin in slow, calming motions.
His voice was low, barely above a murmur, but it made you feel so safe. "I’ll be here when you wake up. I promise."
And, just like that, the warmth of his presence and the gentle rhythm of his touch lulled you into a deep, much-needed sleep.
BONUS SCENE
11 missed calls from Koro-sensei
13 messages from Koro-sensei
2 messages from Karma
— yo, the octupus is spying on the both of you, he's practically glued to your window saying sth abt young love
— did u finally confess or what 😏
A/N — Koro-sensei, give 'em some privacy man
do not translate, repost, edit or copy my works in any way
