OK OK hear me out....minific idea of Dazai w a reader whose chest is his pillow - but not even in a kinky way. Like when, they're hugging she'll naturally guide his face down into her chest and let him rest it there and he gets used to it. he doesn't even associate it with sex (even if he's probably putting it to use in a different way during THOSE moments), it's just....their thing. A comfort thing, if you will. Feel free not to do this, stay safe and drink loads of water <3
Bad のay and S♡ft Pillows
⌯⌲ hi, i’m in a strange mood today and this seems comforting to try to help. i get what you mean by your description, it’s very sweet. same fem!reader from sleep aid.
Dazai had a hard day at work, the case he’s been placed on just not going the way he planned; he’s bothered it seems things in life just aren’t going the way he wants in general. His train ride home consisted of him brewing silently, his expression deepening worse and worse as it went into a scowl, fingers tapping away on his phone screen to let you know he’d be home soon. In actuality, he wanted to run away again, disappear and start over once more, see if he could get something right the second go around.
When he stepped over the threshold, seeing you standing there in the kitchen preparing dinner, headphone in one ear, knife chopping away at vegetables, he stopped for a brief moment, and the idea of taking off didn’t sound too good unless you went with him. The only thing he truly felt he got right. Would she run off with me wherever I decide to go?
Movement catches your eye, making you do a double take to see him shrugging off his coat and undoing his tie, a beam stretching across your face, and immediately wiping your hands on your pants to rush over and hug him. “Hey, I’m so happy you’re home! I missed you!” You tell him, truthful, an arm wrapping around your shoulders to pull you closer, kissing the top of your head.
“I missed you too,” he murmurs, and you can hear it in his voice instantly that he’s upset. You pull away, just enough to look up at him, and he tries giving you a smile, but it’s hard. Not one to wear his emotions, especially not like this, but he can’t seem to hide whatever it is that’s bothering him from you. Oh, it must have been a really bad day. You glance toward the kitchen, abandoned veggies sitting on the cutting board, then your fingers slip up to your ear to remove the earbud and set it on the counter. Well, now even I don’t want to do anything.
“Do you know what sounds great?” You ask, wearing another sweet smile, but he just lets out a questioning ‘hm’ in response as he slips out of his shoes. “Getting some take out, lying down on the couch, and watching that movie you love.” You suggest, your voice gentle, eyes expectant as you gaze up at him with blind hope that would make him happy. He pauses, the idea enticing after such a shit day, and he glances down at you with his hair hanging over his eyes. “I’ll even take my bra off and let you use my boobs as pillows?” You add, biting your lip, and that’s enough to gain a small bout of laughter from him. God, I love you.
“Yeah, that… that does sound great,” he softly agrees, his lips pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead before heading to the bedroom to change. You sigh inwardly, rushing to put everything you started for dinner away, turning off the stove, and looking through the takeout menus while you shimmy out of your bra — as promised.
He shuffles out, hands tucked away in his sweatpants, his bandages gone, and you can’t help looking at his back, the scars raised on his skin so prominent you can see them from where you stand. You may have promised him time and time again you’d never take pity on him for their existence, you still can’t help your heart sinking to think about everything he’s gone through to get to here. To get to you.
“I got something ordered, all your favorites,” you tell him, walking over and laying yourself out on the couch, arms extended out, and making grabby hands toward him. He smiles, light, better than before, and climbs on top of you, feeling your fingers already tangling in his hair and guiding him toward your chest. His eyes close the moment his cheek is squishing into your breast — soft, comforting, better than any real pillow he’s ever used, and he snuggles down into your body more. Melting over you, a long, heavy sigh of relief exhaling, and you can feel the tension drift away from his tired muscles and weary bones as you hug him closer. Gentle fingertips dance along his back, tracing previous injuries with care, and he didn’t realize something like this was allowable in his life. Something beautifully captivating about being loved.
His lids crack open, the television screen already playing his favorite movie, and he’s tangling himself further into your limbs, legs tying together, arms wrapping securely around your waist, cheek smooshed into your chest, content. Had you told him when he was younger, or even just a few years ago, that he’d be snuggling with someone he loves on a couch to watch a tragic romance together, he wouldn’t have believed you. Scoff and roll his eyes at the mere prospect. Tell you that you’re insane and naive to think something like that would be remotely a possibility. But somehow, you have him cuddling you, letting you coddle him out of his bad mood, and he isn’t upset in the slightest. If anything, he looks forward to this, to you, on his bad days.
“You make everything better,” he murmurs. “Don’t let me runaway, okay?” That request doesn’t faze you, knowing exactly what it means, having heard it once before when he almost did take off long ago, in the beginning, and you made him regret even trying.
“I’ll chase you down, don’t worry,” you promise, gently scratching at his scalp, feeling his soft strands twirling around your fingers. “I’m just as annoying as you are. You won’t get rid of me that easily.” He chuckles, feeling better already, and he turns his head to bury his face down between your boobs, then places his chin on your sternum to gaze up at you — those previously big, sad brown eyes sparkling again with adoration.
“I’m faster.”
“I’m meaner,” you tell him without missing a beat, proving a point by gently grabbing a small fistful of his hair and forcing his head back down on your chest. “Now quit moving around.” You playfully scold, wrapping your entire body around his to keep him in place, and his smile grows as he restates his head back comfortably on your chest.
“Yeah, alright,” he mutters. “Whatever the princess says.”
You two ended up falling asleep on the couch about midway through the movie, the food sitting outside on the front door until around two in the morning when Dazai lazily stepped outside to sneak a forbidden smoke, and his foot nudged against the plastic bag. He peered down at it, head tilting as his eyes refocused, and shrugged. Should still be edible.
my husband my everything why isn’t he real!!!!!!!!!!!
- ghxst
mini fic masterlist
tag list//: @dazaisfavoritemistake @luanniidae @starr3i @grubluunch
Someone asked me for Zanka Husband Headcanons, but for some reason Tumblr won’t let me reply to them. Anyways, here’s your request, enjoy! ˘³˘
— Zanka Nijiku as your Husband
╰┈➤He knew he wanted to marry you from the moment you stood up for him against Kyoka and Goka. It wasn’t something he admitted out loud, but that scene stayed with him far more than he’d ever like to acknowledge.
╰┈➤He proposed after a particularly easy mission. The two of you worked in perfect sync, as if you could read each other’s minds, and for Zanka, that was enough, he knew he didn’t need anything else to make his decision.
╰┈➤He didn’t realize how nervous he was until the day of the wedding. He threw up three times before the ceremony, while Enjin did nothing but take pictures, laughing the entire time and thoroughly enjoying his misery.
╰┈➤When you walked in wearing your dress/suit, the world around him stopped. Zanka could barely look away, wishing that moment would last forever as he thought about how unbelievably good you looked.
╰┈➤He loves it when you fix his clothes: his ties, the clasp of his sash, his sleeves. A lot of the time, he even messes himself up on purpose, just so you’ll notice and come closer to adjust him.
╰┈➤After getting married, the two of you continued working as Cleaners and living at headquarters, but now with a ring on your hand. Zanka would never say it outright, but without a doubt, this is the happiest stage of his life.
╰┈➤If you had children, Zanka would absolutely be a “girl dad.” And if you had a son, he would make sure that child never had to go through a childhood like his.
╰┈➤His behavior doesn’t change much from when you were dating… it’s just multiplied by ten. He’s more possessive, more present, and far more insistent on staying by your side, as if marriage gave him a legitimate excuse to never be apart from you.
╰┈➤He isn’t particularly verbal with affection, but he shows it through constant actions: he always walks slightly ahead of you in dangerous places, scans the surroundings without you noticing, and makes sure you’re okay even when you don’t think it’s necessary.
╰┈➤He has a habit of leaning on you when you’re alone. He doesn’t admit it as a “need,” but he ends up resting his weight against your shoulder or tilting toward you without realizing it.
╰┈➤He gets irritated easily if someone crosses boundaries with you, but now, as your husband, his patience is even thinner. He doesn’t make unnecessary scenes, but his presence becomes intimidating enough that no one wants to keep pushing their luck.
╰┈➤He’s surprisingly territorial about the spaces you share. Not in a toxic way, but in a quiet one: he always leaves some piece of his clothing near yours, takes the side of the bed closest to the door, and adjusts small details as if “marking” that the space belongs to both of you.
╰┈➤He isn’t good at expressing jealousy, but it shows in small gestures: he gets quieter, stays closer to you, or cuts into conversations with short, dry remarks.
╰┈➤If you come back injured from a mission, the way he takes care of you is almost rough. He’s not gentle with his words, but he is with his hands, cleaning wounds, checking injuries, making sure you rest, even if he has to stay up watching over you.
╰┈➤He loves it when you wear “traditional” clothing like the kind he or his family wear.
╰┈➤Sometimes he just watches you in silence when he thinks you won’t notice. It doesn’t look romantic on the surface, but there’s a strange calm in his expression, like he still hasn’t fully processed that you’re really there with him.
╰┈➤He doesn’t celebrate anniversaries in a traditional way, but he remembers every important detail: the day you started dating, the mission where he decided to marry you, the wedding day. He might not say anything… but he never forgets.
You know what would be a funny crack fic? Dazai is just flirting/messing around w a girl and the reader instead of getting pissed they just flirt with the girl like 'is be bothering you queen' and she actually wins the girl dazai was flirting w over. So dazais is just like this 🧍♂️
ꌗteal ꌩour ꁅirl
⌯⌲ say less. put that man in his place!!!
You don't really know why you agreed to let Dazai try to flirt with someone at the club, but here you are, listening to him drone on and on with some smooth talk that wouldn't even work on you to some poor girl hanging around the bar — her hand subtly covering the top of her cocktail as she politely smiles at the things he's saying, but definitely not impressed by his meaningless, empty words. Even she can tell he's just messing around, not taking any of this seriously, and kind of wants him to leave her alone.
You sigh, not sure how much more of this you can handle, leaning against the opposite end of the bar behind him as he continues with his faux coolness that you one hundred percent know he doesn't have an ounce of, his annoyingly suave nature that only comes out when he wants something more or less off-putting in a crowded club with other sweating bodies — but at least he isn't touching her.
With a small roll of your eyes, you push yourself off the ledge and saunter over, lightly brushing past Dazai with a subtle flicker in his direction before stepping in between the two to face the random girl and tossing a thumb over your shoulder. "Hey, babe. Is this loser bothering you?" You ask, completely disregarding your boyfriend behind you that is giving an incredulous look, offended by your audacity and the fact he felt like he was wearing her down enough. She hesitates before nodding, giving you the 'help me' eyes as she wears a forced smile. You gently wave her off, lightly shaking your head. "Don't mind him, he's stupid but harmless. Just loves to hear himself talk, as all men do." You offer her a sincere smile with reassurance. "You look so cute, by the way. I love your top; where'd you get it?"
Dazai has been standing there behind you, listening as you talk with your "new friend", sipping on his drink in silence for the past half hour. Pouting. You and the stranger giggle periodically during your conversation, learning her name is Hinako, and every so often she twirls a piece of hair around her finger while speaking with you or touching your shoulder or even overexaggerating her laughter — you entirely oblivious to what's happening as you laugh along while his dark eyebrows are raising while overhearing the conversation, and he can't believe you have no clue what's happening, that you were successful in winning this girl over instead of him. Unless you are just... ignoring it.
"You are so funny!" Her words slur, a few more drinks in that you have "bought" — from Dazai's tab — with him still off to the side, standing there confused, bored, and a little miffed, watching as she is beginning to physically cling to your body as a crutch. Her nose nuzzles on your cheek, and it actually makes you blush some while you try keeping her held up. "Much better to talk than that dumb guy." She giggles more before placing a big, elongated, sticky kiss on your same cheek with an emphasized mwah!
"Okay, okay!" He finally decides he needs to interrupt, carefully peeling her off your body — all while ignoring her drunken protests and 'who do you think you are's, doing his best to maintain his cool; however, he's tired of watching helplessly as someone else tries to steal his girlfriend away from him. "Get off of her, she's mine!" His nose wrinkles as he wraps his arms around your shoulders, protective, possessive, and gives her a disapproving look. "I wanna go home!" He suddenly whines in your ear, the alcohol he's been drinking all night getting in his system, mixing with his mild irritation.
"Yours? No way! She's going home with me!" Hinako argues, trying to cling to you too, and you sigh heavily, getting caught in this silly tug of war with two increasingly drunk individuals that are actually fighting over you.
"No! She's mine! I am her boyfriend, go away!" He laments, attempting to shoo at her, as if she's some pesky animal, and you roll your eyes again at the two, struggling against them to break yourself free as she shouts something along the lines of 'I don't care if you're her boyfriend, she was flirting with me', and you kind of wish you had just let him crash and burn on his own. While accidentally bumping into a few people walking by, them giving you some weird looks that cause your cheeks to flush with immense embarrassment at the scene being caused in public, like a couple of school kids arguing over who gets to date their crush. While it was pretty flattering to have Hinako practically wrapped around your finger in a means to rub it in Dazai's face that he isn't the only one successful in obtaining a pretty girl's attention, it's now just gotten way out of hand. And you hate being smothered by more people than him.
"God, I'm leaving you both here and going home alone!" You shout over the bumping of the exceptionally loud EDM straight from an early 2000s house party movie, storming off to the bathrooms for hopes of some peace and quiet, and a way to call a taxi home. Hinako, on the other hand, glances at Dazai before sticking her tongue out and chasing you down, meeting you in the one place he won't dare try to follow you in.
"Wha— hey! That's playing dirty!"
got a bit distracted while watching a silent hill f play-through :p probably gonna have nightmares
- ghxst
mini fic masterlist
tag list//: @dazaisfavoritemistake @luanniidae @grubluunch
𓂃⋆.˚ the biggest surprise is definitely that, for once, dazai is unusually quiet. after spending the entire day making everyone laugh, teasing kunikida during the reception and somehow convincing chuuya to dance just to annoy him, the moment the hotel room door closes behind the two of you, all of that energy seems to melt away. he just stands there for a second, looking at you with an expression you’ve only seen a handful of times before: completely genuine, without a single joke to hide behind.
𓂃⋆.˚ he smiles the second he notices you still wearing your wedding ring, gently taking your hand in his and absentmindedly turning it so the light catches the band. “you’re stuck with me now,” he murmurs with a tiny laugh, but the joke sounds softer than usual, almost like he’s trying to convince himself that this is actually real.
𓂃⋆.˚ i think he’d ask if you’re tired before anything else. weddings are exhausting, and dazai is surprisingly attentive when it comes to noticing when you’re pushing yourself too hard. he’ll quietly help you take off your shoes and hanayome ishou, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear and telling you there’s absolutely no rush for anything tonight. after everything he’s lived through, simply ending the day together already feels like more than he ever expected to have.
𓂃⋆.˚ he’ll probably spend the next hour just talking with you while the room is finally quiet. reminiscing about little moments from the day, laughing about whoever caught the bouquet, joking about how he almost cried during your vows before immediately insisting it was “just dust in his eye.” it’s one of those conversations that wanders aimlessly because neither of you really wants the day to end.
𓂃⋆.˚ would he make love to you? yes, but not in the casual and detached way people often reduce him to. dazai is flirtatious, he jokes about women constantly, and he has a reputation as a womanizer, but beneath all of that, he’s also someone who struggles immensely with intimacy, vulnerability and believing that he’ll ever truly be understood due to past traumas.
he’d approach that intimacy as an expression of trust more than passion alone. for someone who spends so much of his life hiding behind masks, choosing to be completely emotionally open with the person he married would probably be one of the most vulnerable things he’d ever do.
he would talk you and guide you all the way through, keeping a slow and arousing pace but without taking it too far. he’d pay meticulous attention to every reaction, whimper, sound or touch that could make you uncomfortable, even the slightest.
he wound definitely worship you.
i also imagine there would be a quiet moment afterward where he’s lying beside you, a bit sweaty and tired, absentmindedly turning your wedding ring between his fingers. he’d probably smile to himself and say something half-joking like, “you know… it’s a little late to change your mind now.”
when you laugh and tell him you’re not going anywhere, he’d relax in a way that’s almost imperceptible, but real real. for someone who has spent so much of his life believing he didn’t quite belong anywhere, ending the day with the certainty that he gets to wake up beside the person he loves every morning would mean far more to him than any grand romantic gesture ever could.
𓂃⋆.˚ at some point, when the excitement has settled, he’ll become noticeably more affectionate than usual. not dramatically so, just quieter. he’ll hold your hand a little longer, rest his forehead against yours while you’re both smiling, steal slow kisses in the middle of conversations simply because “we’re married now. i get to call you my spouse, can you believe it??”
𓂃⋆.˚ he’d become unexpectedly sentimental once he thinks you’ve fallen asleep. he’ll brush his thumb over your wedding ring, study your face for a long moment and whisper something embarrassingly honest that he’d never admit while you’re awake, something like, “thank you for choosing me.” by the time you quietly smile and squeeze his hand to let him know you heard him, he’ll immediately groan into the pillow because now you’ll tease him about it for the rest of your lives.
𓂃⋆.˚ years later, whenever people ask him what his favorite part of the wedding was, everyone expects him to mention the reception, the cake or one of his ridiculous pranks. instead, he’ll glance at you with that tiny smile that only you recognize and answer, “finally getting to go home together.”
⊹ ࣪ ˖ PM!Ranpo Edogawa as your boyfriend .ᐟ.ᐟ `` ʰᵉᵃᵈᶜᵃⁿᵒⁿˢ
— art credits go to their rightful owners .ᐟ
⊹ ࣪ ˖ before you read...
pairing(s) : PM!Ranpo Edogawa x executive gn!reader
work type: headcanons
a/n: ignore if there are any grammatical errors gulp.. this is not proofread TT also, this will obviously be kinda ooc hehe... I still tried to incorporate ranpo's canon personality even in an alternate universe tho!!(♯ihopeididagoodjob)
⊹ ࣪ ˖ PM!Ranpo Edogawa ノノ 𝓦ho's often in your office more than his own. if someone looks for him and he's not found in his office, they'd know exactly where to check next. it's turned into a habit by now.
it's actually quite hilarious, actually. a subordinate would knock on your door asking for Executive Edogawa and the man is sprawled on your couch with his coat covering his face, his unfinished snacks on the coffee table next to him.
“give him a moment”, you'd say, still skimming through paperwork without looking up. ranpo would eventually wake up and very irritably address the subordinate whose come to ruin his beauty sleep.
⊹ ࣪ ˖ PM!Ranpo Edogawa ノノ 𝓦ho knows how your mission went without you even having to tell him. you didn't NEED to tell him anyways, he already knew before you even walked stepped foot into headquarters.
you'd walk into his office with a smile and he'd immediately deadpan you with, “you got shot on your left shoulder and you're refusing to get it checked. are you trying to bleed on my couch or something?”
you have to pause for a second, have to mentally remind yourself that this was RANPO EDOGAWA. of course, what were you even thinking? trying to hide these kinds of things from him was pointless.
he immediately drags you to the infirmary after or he just slides a first aid kit over to you and instructs, no, ORDERS you to get the wound dressed(lovingly). he will be watching the entire time.
⊹ ࣪ ˖ PM!Ranpo Edogawa ノノ 𝓦ho absolutely REFUSES to join combat missions unless absolutely necessary. it simply was not his thing at all. he'd rather sit back and deduct missions from his office with an open bag of candy.
but if Mori were to personally order him to go into the field due to certain circumstances, the only person he'd willingly stand beside during the whole mission is you. not because he needs your protection, God no. it's because aside from Mori, you were the only other person who knew how to translate his impossible deductions into immediate action without questioning him.
you never ask "why" when he suddenly tells you to shoot the third floor's 5th window to the left instead of immediately going for the sniper on the roof, or whenever he suddenly orders a change of route in the middle of a mission.
you trusted him and his brain more than anyone.
݁⊹ ࣪ ˖ PM!Ranpo Edogawa ノノ 𝓦hose greatest act of love isn't grand declarations or dramatic promises, It's trust. in a world where he sees through every lie, every motive, every hidden agenda, you become one of the very few people whose words he accepts without needing to analyze them first.
if you tell him “I'll come back”, then you'll come back. not because his deductions guarantee it—but because, for once, he chooses to trust your promise over his own endless calculations.
coming from the man who can see through literally everything and everyone, there is no greater proof that you've become home to him.
⊹ ࣪ ˖ PM!Ranpo Edogawa ノノ 𝓦ho doesn't—NEVER—tries to comfort you with empty words. cause every word he says is never empty. it was always simply just the truth. and who was to ever question Ranpo Edogawa.
everytime you wake up from a nightmare, breathing unevenly, shoulders shaking, he'd just roll over and wrap a lazy yet grounding arm around you.
“..go back to sleep, you know none of it was your fault. I've told you this 67 times now”, he'd mumble into his pillow before turning his head and opening his eyes to look at you.
“it wasn't your fault, none of it was”. simple words, but it was enough to ground you and get you back up on your feet.
⊹ ࣪ ˖ PM!Ranpo Edogawa ノノ 𝓦ho has absolutely no shame when it comes to using his executive privileges for ridiculous reasons. he knows damn well he can do anything, cause the mafia needs their greatest strategist to be satisfied at all times to ensure 100% success rate.
“...ranpo, why is there an invoice for 15 boxes of imported candy?”
“Mori approved it ^^”
you're not even surprised cause of fucking course he did😭😭😭😭
⊹ ࣪ ˖ PM!Ranpo Edogawa ノノ 𝓦ho refuses to let you accompany him on any missions that he'd been specifically assigned to. alone.
it's not that he doubted your capabilities or combat abilities, no of course not. never. but because he knew exactly how dangerous a mission could get whenever Mori sends him on a one-man. an unpredictable mission that can even push an executive down a peg or two.
sometimes you argued with him over it. but he'd never budge. he just silently and patiently listens to you and let's you finish before saying:
“If you're beside me, I'll spend more time calculating how to keep you alive than solving the case”. you'd stare at each other and he'd look away first, surprisingly.
“...it's inefficient”. he's not trying to downplay your feelings, that's just his silent way of telling you he didn't want to think of any scenario where he's forced to choose between you and an objective.
PM!Ranpo Edogawa ノノ 𝓦ho notices whenever you're having a hard time with yourself after work, be it mentally or physically.
work in the mafia was gruesome, everyone knew that. and surprisingly, it sometimes even takes a heavy toll on executives.
whenever these rare moments occur, ranpo always makes sure he's near you or is constantly in your space. if you're both in your office, ranpo would scoot a little closer to you while you're doing paperwork. during executive meetings, he would make sure he's always seated across from you or next to you. he's a silent, grounding presence.
⊹ ࣪ ˖ PM!Ranpo Edogawa ノノ 𝓦ho treats your presence like a guaranteed constant, and your attention like something he can demand without ever saying please.
he'd lean into your side during important conversations with other executives, unbothered by the fact that you're talking about infiltrating another organization's base and eliminating all of them.
“is it really necessary for Ranpo-san to be listening to us like this?”, an executive would ask while staring at a very distracted ranpo. (is reading a detective novel probably)
“he wouldn't listen if I told him to go away anyways, just ignore him. now where were we—”
⊹ ࣪ ˖ PM!Ranpo Edogawa ノノ 𝓦ho, despite everything, has moments of startling vulnerability that only you are allowed to witness. these moments are rare and unplanned. you never know when they could happen, but you're always prepared.
after long days, when even his mind feels heavy, he will lean against you without any commentary. no teasing, no whining, no playfulness. just silence.
and you've learned to stay absolutely still whenever he needed you during these times.
In these moments, he's not the Mafia's "greatest strategist"—he's just a boy whose brain never stops, finally choosing one place to rest even if its only for a short while.
and he trusts you not to move.
a/n: there wasnt enough ranpo works here so I decided to write PM!ranpo for my own guilty pleasure. please take note that this is my own version of PM!ranpo and he probably wasn't accurate to your own interpretations of him (≧∇≦)/
♡ synopsis :: It was supposed to be a quiet, detached escape from the crushing weight of the Port Mafia—just a heavy haze, low music, and the slow burn of smoke filling the dimly lit room. But when Dazai is high, the carefully constructed walls around his mind don't just crack; they completely dissolve. Spaced out, lazy, and dangerously unraveled, his focus narrows entirely onto your soft, trembling frame. You’re so easily startled, a wide-eyed little deer caught in his dark orbit, but he has no intention of letting you run. He traps you in the center of the mattress, his touch slow, heavy, and intensely possessive as the chemical delirium takes over. In a slow-motion blur of sensory overload, he uses your soft cries and pure innocence to anchor himself to reality, dragging you under the waves of his haze until you're completely ruined for anyone else.
♡ word count :: ~ 5,500
♡ warnings :: NSFW :: hazy sex :: high sex :: bsd dazai :: protective dazai :: possessive osamu :: bambi reader :: praise kink :: crying during sex :: sensory overload :: heavy dirty talk :: slow pace :: bedroom sex :: body worship :: marking :: overstimulation creampie :: multi-round :: lazy grinding :: breathy groans :: tracking marks :: desperate praise ::
The thick, heavy smell of sweet, herbal smoke hangs suspended in the stagnant air of the bedroom, catching the dim, fractured slivers of moonlight filtering through the heavy velvet drapes.
The room is a sanctuary of absolute shadow and rich, dark tones—the sprawling bed draped in rumpled, midnight-black velvet sheets that seem to swallow what little light remains. On the center of the mattress, Dazai is completely unraveled, a man utterly untethered from the crushing, violent gravity of his reality.
He is lying flat on his back, his long, lanky frame stretched out with a dangerous, boneless lack of coordination.
His black dress trousers are unbuckled at the waist, and his dark silk shirt is completely unbuttoned down the front, the fabric spilling away from his sharp shoulders to expose the stark, pale expanse of his chest. The signature bandages that usually wrap tightly around his torso and neck are partially unraveled, trailing across the dark velvet like discarded ribbons.
Dazai is completely spaced out, staring blankly up at the ceiling with heavy, half-lidded eyes.
His right arm is lifted slightly, long fingers drifting through the heavy, fragrant air as he traces lazy, uncoordinated patterns in the floating smoke rings, completely detached from the world around him.
You stand just inside the threshold of the room, your soft, hesitant presence radiating a pure, easily startled energy that contrasts violently with the suffocating darkness of his space.
Your fingers twitch against the hem of your soft clothing, your wide, curious eyes tracking the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of his bare chest. You take a single, tentative step forward, the faint rustle of your bare feet against the floorboards cutting through the absolute quiet of the bedroom.
The subtle sound breaks through his chemical delirium.
Dazai's drifting hand freezes mid-air.
Slowly, almost painfully so, his head lolls to the side against the pillows. His dark, dilated gaze snaps directly onto you.
Under the influence of the haze, his dark brown pupils are blown out so wide that his eyes look almost entirely black, completely stripped of their usual sharp, calculating corporate veneer.
For a long, breathless moment, he just stares at you through the smoke, as if trying to determine whether your soft frame is a vivid hallucination or a tangible reality.
A slow, lazy, entirely unpolished smile spreads across his lips—a look that is fiercely possessive and dangerous.
"Ah... look at you," Dazai rasps, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly vibration that rolls over your skin like a physical touch, heavy with a substance-induced slur. "My sweet, quiet little deer... wandering straight into the dark. Come here."
You hesitate, your heart jumping into your throat as your soft personality makes you want to step back from the raw, feral hunger radiating from his gaze. But before you can even think of retreating, Dazai’s long arm shoots out with a sudden, surprisingly fast sweep.
His hot hand hooks firmly around your wrist, his long fingers anchoring deep into your flesh with an unyielding, iron-clad grip.
With a low, breathless grunt, he yanks your arm down into his space.
You let out a soft, startled whimper as your balance completely shatters, your body falling forward onto the mattress.
Before you can even attempt to push yourself up, Dazai shifts his physical weight, rolling his broad, lean frame directly over yours.
With a heavy, suffocating lurch, he pins you flat against the center of the dark velvet sheets, trapping your soft, trembling body completely beneath the burning expanse of his torso.
The sheer contrast is electrifying.
His long limbs trapping you entirely, his heavy chest flattening your breasts as he settles his lower belly firmly against your thighs.
He is completely unpolished and lazy, his movements heavy and uncoordinated, yet there is an absolute, commanding authority to the way he uses his physical bulk to render you completely immobile.
"You're shaking, sweetheart," Dazai murmurs against your cheek, his hot, smoke-scented breath scalding your skin as his face buries into the side of your neck. He lets out a deep, animalistic groan, inhaling sharply to drink in your clean, natural scent, completely unhinging himself over how soft and innocent you feel beneath him. "So soft... so easily frightened. It makes me want to tear you apart just to see how much you'll cry for me."
He begins a relentless, slow-motion assault of heavy, lazy touch.
His palms move frantically yet sluggishly over your body, dragging up from your waist to smooth over your bare ribs, his fingers digging deep into your skin with a needy, bruising pressure that makes you violently shiver against the sheets.
He doesn't have his usual elegant restraint; the chemical haze has stripped him down to his most primal, possessive instincts.
His mouth slides down your jawline, his lips wet and heavy as he presses a succession of slow, bruising open-mouthed kisses along your throat, deliberately tracing the frantic, rapid beating of your pulse. You let out a soft, stuttery gasp, your fingers flying up to grip the open edges of his black silk shirt, your nails digging into the tense, rigid muscles of his shoulders as his blistering heat begins to completely melt your soft composure.
Hearing your breathy vocalization breaks the final shred of his detachment.
Dazai groans deeply straight into your ear, his hands traveling up your spine until his fingers wind tightly into the hair at the nape of your neck.
He doesn't pull roughly enough to hurt your sensitive skin, but his grip is absolute—a light, dominant hair pulling that forces your head back, exposing the long, flushed line of your throat to his dark, dilated gaze.
"Look at me," he gasps out, his breathing a rapid, panting hum as he stares down at your parted, trembling lips. His thumbs press hard into your jawline, tilting your face up entirely to his whim as the smoke continues to swirl around the bed. "Wide eyes, completely trapped under my weight... you’re mine tonight, baby. You don't get to run from the me."
The heavy, sweet smoke hangs thick over the midnight-black velvet, trapping the two of you in a private, suffocating pocket of the dark bedroom.
Dazai is hovering directly above you, his lean, lanky frame bearing down with a heavy, boneless pressure that forces every bit of air from your lungs.
As you lie there, pinned flat beneath him, your wide, frightened eyes track the messy way his black silk shirt spills completely open.
Your breath hitches as your soft, observant nature catches a subtle shift in the shadows. The pale gauze bandages wrapped around his lean forearms are sliding downward, loosened by his sluggish, uncoordinated movements.
Beneath the fraying white fabric, a series of fresh, raw red cuts peek through—sharp, angry lines sliced into his skin from a recent night of violent reality. It is a striking, devastating reminder of the dark, bleeding underworld he rules when he isn't lost in this substance-induced delirium.
Dazai notices the exact moment your focus shifts.
A low, raspy whimper catches in his throat, and his dark, completely dilated pupils narrow tightly onto your wide eyes.
Instead of pulling away or hiding the damage, the chemical haze in his mind turns the moment entirely feral.
"Don't look away from me, baby," he whispers, his voice dropping into a gravelly, slurred vibration that brushes heavily against your lips. He lets out a soft, breathy growl, his lean, long fingers locking firmly around your wrists and pinning them flat into the velvet pillows. "You see how ruined I am? You see what the outside world does to me? But you... you’re so soft. So fucking clean and innocent. It makes me want to corrupt every single inch of you."
He is completely unhinged by the stark contrast between your fragile, easily startled personality and the violent, blood-soaked reality of the Port Mafia. He wants to drag you straight into his darkness, to stain your pure innocence with his heavy, unpolished touch.
Slowly, with an agonizing, lazy pace, Dazai begins to strip away your soft clothing.
His touch is light yet completely dominant, his long, slender fingers trembling slightly against your skin as he hooks into the fabric, sliding it down your body with a needy, possessive insistence. He handles you like a fragile prize—something precious he has stolen from the light and has absolutely no intention of giving back.
"Ah... look at you," he moans softly, the sound deep and completely unrefined as your bare skin is exposed to the cool air of the bedroom. His eyes trail down your body, drinking in the sight of your trembling frame under the stylized shadows of the room. "So beautiful. So wide-eyed and scared for me. You’re shaking so bad, sweetheart. Do I scare you that much?"
"Osamu," you whimper out, your soft voice breaking into a high, stuttery sob as your hips instinctively try to twist away from the intense, focused heat of his gaze.
"Stay still for me," he commands, letting out another low, dominant growl that instantly freezes your muscles against the mattress. He shifts his lean hips, slotting himself perfectly between your thighs to pin you wide open beneath his weight. "You don't get to move away from me. You're my good girl, aren't you? You're going to stay right here and let me mark what's mine."
He leans down, his face burying directly into the soft crook of your neck.
Dazai completely surrenders to the sensory overload of your warmth and your clean, natural scent, his breathing turning into a rapid, panicked pant.
He begins a slow, merciless assault on your skin, using deep, open-mouthed bites along your neck and your prominent collarbones. He doesn't rush; he sinks his teeth down with a deliberate, agonizing pressure, letting out soft, needy moans into your skin as he leaves dark, bruising tracking marks across your chest. The pain is sharp and sudden, making you let out a series of breathy, startled cries, but he immediately follows every bite with the wet, hot slide of his tongue, soothing the wound while firmly cementing his brand on your body.
"You taste so fucking sweet," he whispers against your wet skin, his long fingers trailing up your spine to wind tightly into the hair at the nape of your neck. He pulls back just enough to force your head back, his grip unyielding and dominant as he forces you to look up into his dark, substance-hazy gaze. "Look at how pretty your neck looks when it’s ruined with my marks. The whole world wants to tear me apart, baby, but tonight... you belong entirely to me. You’re my favorite little distraction."
The heavy dirty talk and desperate praise hit your soft nervous system like a physical shockwave.
You are completely overwhelmed by the pure, unyielding dominance radiating from his lean frame.
Your fingers fly up to grip the open edges of his black silk shirt, your nails digging into the tense, wire-tight muscles of his shoulders as his blistering heat begins to completely melt your composure.
"Please, Osamu... it's too much," you sob out, your head thrashing side to side against the dark velvet sheets, your wide eyes swimming with hot, helpless tears from the intense overstimulation.
"It’s not enough," he growls softly, his lips pressing a hard, wet kiss directly into the center of your throat, tracing the frantic, rapid beating of your pulse. He lets out a low, breathy whimper, his lean pelvis grinding forward in a heavy, lazy circle that drags his rigid length firmly against your hyper-sensitive core. "I want you completely unraveled before I even touch you. I want those pretty eyes crying my name until the smoke completely clears."
He shoves his mouth down onto yours, breaking your lips open in a deep, sloppy kiss that tastes heavily of herbal smoke and his raw, desperate need for your focus.
He moans directly into your mouth, his tongue driving deep, mimicking the heavy, ruthless pace he is about to inflict on your soft body as the bedroom turns into a den of pure, breathless heat.
The thick, intoxicating haze of the herbal smoke continues to pool over the midnight-black velvet, trapping the room in a slow-motion blur.
Dazai breaks the deep, sloppy kiss with a breathy, slurred groan, his lips glistening and his dark, blown-out pupils fixed entirely on your flushed, trembling face. He is completely unbothered by speed, his chemical delirium stripping away any sense of urgency as he drinks in your wide-eyed, helpless expression.
With a lazy, heavy shift of his lanky frame, he begins to slide down your body. The cool fabric of his unbuttoned black silk shirt drags slowly against your bare skin, his loose, fraying bandages brushing across your stomach like a phantom touch. He drops his head lower and lower until he is kneeling perfectly between your parted thighs, his sharp chin resting right against your soft inner skin.
You let out a soft, panicked gasp, your hips instinctively twitching to close the distance, but Dazai lets out a low, warning growl that vibrates heavily against your flesh.
"Don't you dare close your legs for me, baby," he whispers, his voice dropping into a raspy, dominant slurr. His long, slender fingers reach up, wrapping around the curve of your hips in a sudden, white-knuckled grip. Despite his lazy, boneless posture, his fingers anchor deep into your skin with a bruising, unyielding pressure, pinning your pelvis flat into the dark mattress. "You stay right here. Look at how wide open you are. So pure... but you’re already soaking wet for me, aren't you?"
He doesn't wait for an answer.
He buries his face directly into your soaking, hyper-sensitive heat, his tongue moving with an agonizingly slow, calculated precision designed to completely shatter your soft composure.
Dazai works with an unhurried, flat pressure, dragging the broad muscle of his tongue upward from the very base of your slit.
He licks through your clear, glistening lubrication with an agonizingly slow tempo, forcing your sensitive pink folds open.
The sheer weight and heat of his tongue makes your whole body violently shudder, every nerve ending between your thighs immediately catching fire from the intense, focused friction.
He tracks the exact line of your seam until he hits your swelling, hyper-sensitive clit. But right when you think he is going to press down and give you the relief you are starving for, he stops.
He merely brushes the very tip of his wet tongue against your bud, letting out a hot, teasing breath that makes a high, breathy whimper explode from your throat.
"Osamu—please," you sob out, your hands flying down to grip his unbuttoned shirt, your nails digging deep into the dark silk as your hips try to buck upward against his mouth. Hot, helpless tears begin to spill from your wide eyes, tracking down your cheeks into the velvet pillows from the sheer overstimulation.
"Not yet, my sweet little deer," he moans softly against your wet skin, a deep, lazy chuckle vibrating directly into your core. He completely ignores your breathless tears and whimpers, his white-knuckled grip on your hips tightening until you are locked completely immobile beneath his mouth. "I say when you get to break. Look at you, crying so beautifully for me. I haven't even slid inside you yet, and you’re already begging."
He plunges his tongue back in, deeper this time, using a slow, drilling motion that stretches your tight opening wide.
He swirls his tongue deep inside you, gathering your sweet, sticky fluids, before drawing it back out with a heavy, sucking motion that makes a loud, wet sloshing sound echo through the quiet, smoky bedroom.
To make the torture even more unyielding, Dazai slips his free hand between your bodies.
His long, slender fingers are completely slicked with your own moisture as he drives two fingers straight inside your tight opening, while his thumb presses down heavily on your hyper-sensitive clit.
He begins a lazy, unpolished rhythm—his fingers stretching you from the inside with a slow, deep curve, while his heavy tongue laps at your bud in a torturous, unhurried rhythm.
The double sensation is a total sensory assault on your soft personality.
Every single stroke pushes you right to the absolute precipice of a shattering orgasm, your inner muscles twitching and clamping down around his slick fingers in pre-climax spasms.
But whenever he senses your body preparing to shatter, his dominant, possessive edge takes over entirely. Dazai intentionally edges you. He lifts his head just an inch, pulling his mouth away from your soaking core and freezing his fingers perfectly still inside you.
He lets the cool air of the bedroom hit your exposed, throbbing skin, forcing your arousal to ache painfully in the sudden absence of his heat.
"Look at those pretty, crying eyes," he whispers, a low, breathy whimper catching in his own chest as he glares up your body. His lips are completely glistening, smeared with a messy combination of his own spit and your clear fluids. His chest is heaving violently, his unbuttoned shirt completely unraveled around his lean shoulders as the substance-induced haze drives his focus entirely onto your ruin. "Look at how desperate you are for me. Tell me what you need, sweetheart. Beg me for it."
"Please... fuck, Osamu, just let me cum," you cry out, your head thrashing side to side against the dark mattress, your fingers tangling frantically in his messy brown hair to drag him back down to your core. "I'm so sensitive, it hurts, please—"
"I’ve got you," he growls softly, his protective edge breaking through the delirium as he surrenders to your soft, broken pleading. "I’ve got you, baby. Let it break right here for me. Show me how ruined you can get."
He buries his face back into you with an unyielding surge of intensity.
Keeping his fingers buried deep inside your tight opening to stretch you wide, he flattens his tongue and begins to lap at your clit with a sudden, driving speed, using a fierce, wet suction that pulls your hyper-sensitive bud straight into his mouth.
He sucks on you mercilessly, his tongue working in a frantic, unpolished rhythm that matches the rapid, echoing pulse in your veins.
The intense, targeted suction on your clit hits your nervous system like a physical shockwave.
Your spine arches completely off the velvet sheets, your body curling as a devastating, blinding orgasm rips through your soft body. You let out a loud, uninhibited scream into the smoky room, your inner walls clamping down in a succession of violent, rhythmic contractions that coat his fingers and tongue in your release.
Dazai moans deeply against your skin, swallowing down every single drop of your climax, holding your shaking hips perfectly still as you break completely beneath his mouth under the quiet, starless night.
The blinding white heat of your climax is still vibrating violently through your core, leaving your thighs trembling and your breath hitching in weak, shattered gasps against the rumpled velvet.
Dazai lifts his head slowly from between your legs, his chest heaving under his unbuttoned black shirt.
His lips are soaked and glistening with your clear, slick fluids, and his dark, blown-out pupils look entirely black in the dim, smoky light. Seeing you completely unraveled and weeping from the overstimulation, his protective yet dominant edge takes over entirely. He has absolutely no intention of letting you recover.
He slides back up your body with a lazy, boneless coordination, his lean, lanky frame crowding you so closely that the heavy, burning heat of his torso traps the cool bedroom air completely out of reach. The fraying white bandages around his lean forearms slide down further, exposing the raw, recent cuts to your wide, tear-filled eyes, but he doesn't care about the outside world anymore. His focus has narrowed entirely onto your soft, trembling frame.
He grabs your thighs, dragging your legs wide until your knees are bent and pinned flat against the mattress on either side of his lean hips, locking you into a deep, completely exposed angle. The thick, throbbing length of his cock is completely rigid, pressing hard against your soaking, freshly ruined opening.
"Look at you... look how wide open you are for me, baby," Dazai groans, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly whisper that slurs heavily from the chemical haze. He presses the blunt, aching tip of his length directly against your seam, grinding his pelvis in a slow, torturous circle that drags your own slick lubrication all the way to his root. "You’re completely covered in your own sweetness, sweetheart. And you’re still shaking so beautifully for your Osamu."
"Osamu—please," you sob out, your hands flying up to grip the open edges of his silk shirt, your knuckles turning white as you try to brace yourself for the sheer size of him. "I need it, please—"
"Tell me what you need," he demands, his long, slender fingers tightening their grip on your hips to anchor you firmly against the bed. His dark, dilated eyes are locked directly onto yours, forcing you to look at him as he prepares to completely possess you. "Say it. Tell me exactly whose cock is about to ruin you."
"Yours... yours, Osamu," you cry out, your voice breaking into a high, stuttery whimper.
Hearing his name completely breaks his remaining restraint.
Dazai lets out a deep moan, and without a single shred of hesitation, he drives his hips forward, sinking his thick length entirely inside you in a single, deep, lazy plunge.
"Ah—fuck..." A loud, breathy scream explodes from your throat into the empty bedroom, your eyes rolling back as his sheer depth completely takes your breath away, stretching your raw, swollen walls to their absolute capacity.
The angle of the bedroom sex is completely devastating.
With your hips pinned flat against the velvet and your knees bent wide, your core is stretched completely open, allowing him to penetrate deeper than you ever thought possible. He sinks all the way to the absolute root, his lower belly slamming heavily against your backside with a wet, echoing slap.
Dazai stays locked inside you for an agonizing second, his entire frame shuddering as his drifting mind suddenly anchors itself against the reality of your tight, hyper-sensitive walls squeezing around his rigid length. He lets out a ragged, stuttery gasp against your neck, his hot breath scalding your skin as he buries his face into your collarbone.
"God, you’re so tight... you’re squeezing me so fucking hard," he pants, a low, dominant growl vibrating straight into your chest. He begins to move, establishing a deep, slow-motion rhythm that completely disregards your mutual exhaustion. He pulls back slowly, dragging his thick shaft against your raw, freshly ruined walls, before slamming all the way back in with an unyielding, possessive force.
It is a relentless, heavy grinding rhythm.
Dazai is driving into you with an agonizingly slow speed, his lean hips rolling with a needy, crushing pressure that forces the air straight out of your lungs with every single stroke. He uses your tight, twitching reactions to keep himself grounded, his long fingers trailing up your spine to wind tightly into the hair at the nape of your neck, pulling just enough to force your head back so he can glare down at your unpolished, breathless expression.
"You're taking all of it... every single inch," he chants against your skin, his lips hot and wet as he presses a succession of bruising, open-mouthed kisses along your jawline. "Look at how loose your mouth is, sweetheart. Look how easily you let me break you. You’re my good girl. I’m going to ruin you so bad you won't be able to run from me tomorrow."
The dirty talk is a total sensory assault on your soft personality, breaking your mind just as fast as his hips are breaking your body.
Every single downward plunge hits your cervix with a brutal, heavy impact, sending sharp shockwaves of pure pleasure-pain spiking through your spine. You are completely overstimulated; the soft velvet beneath your back, the raw texture of his bare skin, and the deep, unyielding depth of his cock are driving you straight toward a shattering, unyielding peak.
Your inner muscles begin to clamp down around him, twitching in frantic, pre-climax spasms that threaten to pull him over the edge along with you. Dazai lets out a high, stuttery whimper, his growly tone breaking completely into a needy moan as he feels the tight squeeze of your walls. He picks up the pace just a fraction, his movements turning frantic and heavy, driving himself into you with a raw speed that echoes loudly through the dark, smoky bedroom as you both climb toward the absolute precipice together under the quiet, starless night.
synopsis.: dazai accidently confesses his feelings for kunikida while they’re having a sleepover
pairing.: dazai osamu x kunikida doppo
cw.: sfw, no established relationship, history would call them anything but lovers, fluff with a bit of angst i suppose, mentions of self-harm, typical dazai mentions of suicide, 15 / teen au, accidental confession, clothes sharing
word count.: 1.4k
۶ৎ note.: lovelovelove kunizai, i’m such a sucker for them. anyway, be prepared for a whole week of those cuties!! (if i can manage my schedule) you can find the original prompt list for the kunizai week 2025 here, in case you still want to participate yourself, and the mlist for the works written by me here (coming soon!)
it wasn’t unusual for dazai to climb up the espalier of the blonde’s house and sneak onto his balcony at night. it was raining—storming, to be exact. the wind was howling, and it felt like sharp little daggers cutting into his skin. nothing he wasn’t used to, but unpleasant nonetheless.
dazai gently knocked against the glass to make himself known. kunikida, who was still up doing homework, didn’t freeze or flinch at the sound—he merely groaned, having expected dazai sooner or later. he always showed up when it was raging outside.
he didn’t know why, but he had figured out a long time ago that dazai’s parents didn’t seem to care where he was, even at such an ungodly hour and in such weather. it made him feel sympathy for the boy, so he always let him in, no matter how much he dreaded his presence—or pretended to.
kunikida eventually got up and opened the balcony door. “what do you want, dazai?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest while dazai clumsily stumbled inside and shut the door behind him.
“why, am i not allowed to visit my dear friend~?” dazai simply smiled, tilting his head slightly to the side. his eyes were hollow.
“not at such an ungodly hour, you’re not. besides, it’s raining. you’re completely drenched,” kunikida said before disappearing into the bathroom to fetch a towel. he wrapped it around dazai’s head, messing up his hair a little as he dried it.
dazai only continued to smile, leaning into the warm, soft fabric. but kunikida soon realized a towel wouldn’t do much. he sighed deeply, his gaze drifting over dazai’s form. he was trembling, if only slightly.
without another word, kunikida walked to his closet and pulled out some dry clothes, handing them over. “here. change into these. the bathroom is right around the corner. but be quiet. my parents don’t like it when you show up unannounced.”
“aww, how sweet of you to lend me your clothes. i wouldn’t have expected anything less from you, kunikida~” dazai teased, standing in a small puddle of water.
“get going. you’re making a mess in my room,” kunikida said sternly, grabbing dazai’s wrists to push him forward so he’d hurry and change.
dazai winced ever so slightly at the contact. it stung. but he masked it with yet another teasing comment before finally leaving the room for the bathroom.
kunikida, ever observant, cursed himself internally. early on in their friendship he had noticed dazai’s self-harm. sure, dazai tried to hide it, and he did it well, but even he couldn’t keep it hidden every time.
sometimes his sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal bloody bandages he claimed to wear out of fashion. yeah, as if. kunikida didn’t understand why he did it, and neither did he want to ask. he knew dazai would never tell him the truth anyway. it’d be a waste of time—and where was the efficiency in that?
while kunikida mulled over his thoughts, dazai was changing in the bathroom. he locked the door, just in case. it gave him a sense of security that his shipping container could have never offered. neither did it offer warm clothes, gentle light, or such cleanliness. he liked kunikida’s house—very much so. he felt comfortable here.
he hung his wet clothes over the edge of the bathtub and continued to dry his still damp hair with the towel until it was at least somewhat better. while doing so, he caught sight of himself in the mirror. his movements slowed until they came to a stop.
dazai didn’t look good. pale skin, dark circles under his eyes, sunken cheeks. he was sure he’d get sick soon from wandering around in the cold so much, too. he could already feel it in his bones. the sight of his reflection disgusted him just a little, so he turned away, trying to drown out the insecurity.
he tugged on kunikida’s clothes, hoping they’d stay clean and that no blood would seep through his bandages. he buried his nose in the fabric. it smelled fresh but also faintly of kunikida’s own scent. it calmed his racing mind, almost like homemade melatonin.
eventually, dazai sneaked back into kunikida’s room, where he found him making the bed. it made sense to him, considering how late it already was.
“am i sleeping beside you again?” dazai asked, walking up behind him, his chest almost touching kunikida’s back.
“where else would you sleep?” kunikida replied, as if it were obvious. and it was. kunikida always shared his bed when he visited. still, the friendliness felt foreign to dazai. to him, it wasn’t a matter of course.
dazai smiled widely before jumping onto the bed, claiming kunikida’s side as usual. his scent lingered stronger there. and dazai liked the thought of his body sinking into the mattress, specifically into the light shape kunikida left behind from always lying in the same spot.
kunikida only rolled his eyes before slipping in beside him, turning off the lamp and removing his glasses. he stared at the ceiling while dazai shifted closer, warm breath tickling the hairs at his neck. he could feel the weight of dazai’s stare. oddly enough, he didn’t mind it as much as he thought he would.
for some reason, he couldn’t help but ask, “why do you always come to my place when it’s raining? don’t your parents care or something?” he wasn’t sure why he asked or what he expected, but some part of him hoped dazai would at least answer this one question truthfully.
“your house is warm. mine’s not.” dazai said simply, his smile dropping for just a fraction. he didn’t tell him the whole truth, though. he didn’t define what his “house” really looked like. nor did he want to talk about his parents. kunikida respected that, even if he couldn’t wrap his head around it.
he had already formed theories—that dazai’s parents were dead, that they were abusive, or that he had simply run away. but dazai never gave him enough information to confirm any of them. and kunikida didn’t want to pry either.
he sighed, closing his eyes and giving up, for today at least. he figured he could still ask again tomorrow if dazai stayed long enough. but most of the time, he was gone before kunikida woke up, always leaving behind a note that he was off to try a new suicide method.
as much as it concerned kunikida, he found relief in the fact that dazai always came back when it rained. so, he often hoped for storms—if only to hold on to the idea that dazai would stop by and bother him some more. after all, kunikida considered dazai a friend, even if he was odd at times.
later into the night, after a few hours had passed, dazai still hadn’t fallen asleep. he wanted to, but at the same time he wanted to spend as much time with kunikida as possible. sleeping would mean not being able to trace the shape of his face with his eyes or listen to his soft breathing.
he would have liked to hear his heartbeat too, but he was too afraid to lay his head on his chest. what if he fell asleep like that, or kunikida woke up and caught him? he wouldn’t know how to explain. the thought scared him more than life itself.
at some point, though, even dazai couldn’t fight off the fatigue any longer. he’d been awake for several days, and sleep sounded so good right now. it whispered sweet nothings to him, soft encouragement. or maybe he was just hallucinating.
either way, his body instinctively moved closer to kunikida’s, seeking the warmth and comfort he offered. “i love you...” dazai whispered unknowingly as sleep finally claimed him. his voice was soft, warm to kunikida’s ears—who, unfortunately for dazai, was still awake.
his brows furrowed at the probably accidental confession. he wasn’t sure how to feel. his heart fluttered, sure, but he doubted whether he could reciprocate dazai’s feelings for him. he wasn’t even sure if he wanted to.
a relationship wasn’t his focus, and he was certain it wasn’t what a person like dazai needed. especially if it was doomed to fail eventually. either by dazai’s own suicide, or by their incompatibility.
but perhaps in another life, they were finally partners—maybe even meant for each other. he found comfort in the thought, at least, and it soothed the ache he felt in that moment
“you were so talented. i couldn’t have asked for a better partner.” — k.d.
“i’m impressed, kunikida. nothing gets by you, does it? incredible. i’m so glad you were my partner.” — d.o.
note.: i would have liked to have written something longer for the first prompt and i feel like it’s a bit of an uncreative setting, but oh well. i still love this, which is why i’m posting it. ♡ (this was written a month prior, sooo apologies if it’s a bit stiff)
i just learned that bsd is on netflix in some countries and These are two of the thumbnails you can get for it. like Ok might as well slap on the LGBT category while you’re at it god damn
boyfriend!atushi who doesn't know how to accept gentle touch.
the first time you cupped his face, he flinched. not because he was scared of you — but because he's not used to hands that don't hurt. he stared at you like you were something he didn't deserve. you didn't pull away. you just waited. and eventually, he leaned into your palm like a stray cat who finally realized he was safe.
boyfriend!atushi who falls asleep on you after every mission.
he never means to. he always apologizes afterward, flustered and embarrassed. but you've noticed — he only falls asleep around you. he feels safe with you. he doesn't know how to say that, so instead he just keeps showing up, keeps falling asleep, keeps trusting you without realizing it.
boyfriend!atushi who thinks he's too much.
he apologizes for everything — for taking up space, for needing comfort, for existing. you've lost count of how many times he's said "sorry" in one conversation. but you don't get annoyed. you just say "stop apologizing for being human" and hold his hand. he doesn't know what to do with that. he's learning.
boyfriend!atushi who gets quiet when he's overwhelmed.
he doesn't lash out. he doesn't yell. he just goes quiet — smaller, like he's trying to disappear. you don't push him to talk. you just sit beside him. sometimes you read out loud. sometimes you just sit in silence. he always thanks you afterward, voice barely above a whisper.
boyfriend!atushi who loves when you play with his hair.
he never asks for it. but if you run your fingers through his hair, he melts. his eyes flutter shut. his whole body relaxes. he falls asleep like that more often than he'd admit. if you stop, he unconsciously leans toward your hand, chasing the warmth.
boyfriend!atushi who writes you clumsy love notes.
he's not good with words out loud, so he writes them down instead. short notes left on your pillow, on the counter, tucked into your bag. they're always messy, a little awkward, and full of crossed-out words. you've kept every single one. he doesn't know that. you'll tell him someday.
boyfriend!atushi who gets jealous quietly.
he doesn't get angry — he just gets quiet. he watches you talk to someone else and shrinks into himself, like he's already losing you. you always notice. you always find him afterward and hold his hand. he doesn't say anything. he just holds on tighter.
boyfriend!atushi who doesn't think he's worth staying for.
he tells you this sometimes — not dramatically, just quietly, like he's stating a fact. "you could do better," he says. you look at him and say, "i don't want better. i want you." he doesn't know what to say to that. he just holds you closer and tries to believe it.
boyfriend!atushi who loves you in the quietest way possible.
he's not loud about it. he doesn't make grand gestures. but he remembers the way you take your coffee. he buys you snacks you mentioned once. he walks on the outside of the sidewalk to keep you safe. he loves you like it's the only thing he knows how to do.
boyfriend!atushi who finally says "i love you" like it's a secret.
he says it late at night, when he thinks you're asleep. it's soft, barely a whisper, like he's afraid of how much it means. you pretend not to hear. but you hold his hand a little tighter. he feels it. he smiles — just a little — and falls asleep with his forehead pressed to yours.
boyfriend!atushi who apologizes for taking up space in your life.
he says it quietly, like he's confessing something shameful. "i'm sorry i'm always in your way." you look at him and say, "you're not in my way. you're in my life. there's a difference." he doesn't know what to say. he just holds your hand and doesn't let go.
boyfriend!atushi who doesn't know how to ask for what he wants.
he never says "i want to hold you" or "i want you to stay." he just hovers nearby, waiting. hoping you'll notice. you always do. you open your arms, and he's there in a second, like he was just waiting for permission to exist in your space.
boyfriend!atushi who still expects you to leave.
he catches himself thinking it sometimes — that one day you'll wake up and realize you could do better. he doesn't tell you this. he just savors every moment with you, like it might be the last. you notice. you stay a little longer. you hold him a little tighter.
boyfriend!atushi who lets himself be soft with you.
he doesn't realize he's doing it at first. he just knows that when he's with you, his shoulders drop. his voice gets quieter. he laughs easier. you don't tell him. you just let him be soft — because he deserves to be.
boyfriend!atushi who finally learns that love doesn't hurt.
he used to think love was something you survived. something that left marks. but with you, it's different. you don't hurt him. you don't leave. you just stay — steady, gentle, real. and one day, he realizes: this is what it's supposed to feel like.
A/N. a special gift for my lovely @ver2xq and for anyone who wants to give him the love he deserves. hope you guys enjoyed!! cred to @ithemes for the div ₍^. .^₎⟆
Plagiarism not authorized. Do not feed my work to AI. Feel free to req!! <3
૮ ․ ․ ྀིა contents ; SPOILER AHEAD! Mentions of events that happened in the manga !! I warned you , Light(?)Angst , fluff & sfw , not exactly his birthday but I wanted to make a fanfic based off the art. Ctto of the art as well.
(SPOILER WARNING!!)
February 2nd. A day before his special day. Zanka laid on the ground, blood gushing from his stomach after taking a blow form mymo. As his blood escapes his body, he feels like his life is too. So many things flash before his eyes—one stood out. You.
Your smile, your laughter, your eyes..god, even your stupid jokes.
He was too arrogant. Thinking he could handle himself through this mission. He was just an average joe, so how come he thought he could always come back home to you..alive and well? He's pathetic, he thinks to himself before finally growing limp.
He doesn't remember the disastrous fight between mymo and rudo, the hell guards joining the fight, his own older brother picking him up after years of not talking before uttering something..no, all he remembers is begging himself to stay awake. To help enjin and the others. To at least come back to you so you wouldn't cry anymore.
He made a promise. He made a promise to only help rudo with finding the white crow and more clues about the choker maker and perhaps the sphere and then celebrate his birthday with you. He wanted to fight, to win..so he could brag about it when he gets back. But can he? Will he just keep disappointing you like this? Keep getting injured during missions and keep making you worry? He tries not to blame himself, saying no one can really one up against the enemies he's fought.
I mean, really, jabber? He's basically a crazier version of Freddy Krueger with dreadlocks! And now, to suddenly get a massive blow by a god-obsessed news caster? He should start asking himself “Why is it always me?” more often.
But still. He can't bring himself to see himself worth anything.
That self conscious and self hatred feeling sticks to him until his heart monitor finally signals up. His eyes open slowly, pupils dilating. Almost immediately, his head aches. His body stiffens and his mind began to feel aware of every wound on his body, especially the now stitched hole on his stomach. He winces, fingers twitching to feel something..or someone.
However, only the boss and eisha was in the room. Including..his big sister. Kyoka.
“Zanka. You're awake.” The boss gives him a smile, his posture not faltering when kyoya gives him a look before glancing at zanka. Zanka feels it instantly, the tension. Eisha does too so she quickly speaks up and make her excuse. “I've done all I could to patch him up..h-however, he's still very fragile. He should refrain from moving too much..o-oh and I suggest a temporary break from missions..” Eisha musters all her courage to speak in the presence of zanka's sister before quickly leaving the room.
Now with only the two intimidating bosses left, zanka feels more suffocated. He didn't need the both of them right now. Especially not his big sister. He tries to open his mouth to speak, but the boss was already ahead of him.
“She's busy too, zanka. She'll be here once I let her know you're awake.” The boss gives him another smile and a look that also told him to be careful because now, by his big sister's request, he should leave. He has a bad feeling about doing so but he doesn't need anymore issues at the moment. Especially not with the hell guards.
Once the boss shuts the door behind him, the room immediately falls into silence and intense yet quiet judgment. He doesn't need to look at her, he could already see her disappointed and almost disgusted face.
Kyoka takes the initiative and sits down beside his bed. Placing a box of cake by the bedside table, a small strawberry shortcake. She's silent as she slices a piece and putting the sweet cake on a plate. He finds it hard to believe that his sister would go out and make her way to do something like this after years of cutting them off. He tried to sit up, failing at first but refused to look even more weak infront of her.
It only made his wound bleed out. Coating this bandages as red as the fresh strawberries on his ‘supposedly’ birthday cake. “Here.” His sister simply says as she hands the plate to him along with a fork. He can't even eat this, he thinks to himself. His mouth opening just slightly, his head already spinning.
He doesn't look at her. He could already feel her gaze on him. If he was bold enough, he would've scoffed. Whined about how he can't eat like this. But he's embarrassed himself quite enough so he might as well just suck it up. He doesn't even like this kind of cake..it's too sweet. But he'd be expecting too much to think his sister would actually remember things he likes and dislikes.
“Happy birthday, zanka.” Kyoka says with a firm tone. The same tone she uses when giving out orders. It stings. Zanka feels like she's only doing this out of anything but will. He wanted to speak so badly, to say something, anything. But he can't. He can't even think straight right now. His throat hurts too much and his mind is too worked out from everything.
He isn't hungry. He isn't happy. He's not going to blow any candles right now.
“He doesn't like strawberries.” A voice at the door catches both of their attentions. Zanka's eyes widens, while kyoka's darkens at the sight of you. You return the look before walking towards zanka, a box of vanilla cake in hand. Kyoka finally realizes her honest mistake of not knowing her little brother's taste in the simplest things but doesn't speak. Only stands up with a defeated scoff before leaving.
“..Zanka?” Your hands immediately goes to his stomach and back, taking away the plate of cake Kyoka gave him before aiding him to sit back properly. His body relaxes immediately, his shoulders going limp. He takes a good look at you as he feels all sorts of emotions. Relief, happiness, embarrassment, everything.
“Sorry, y/n.” Were the first thing that came out of his mouth. Like everything was his fault. You couldn't help the small irritated scowl forming on your face as you adjusted his pillows. “It's not your fault, you know.” You finally take a seat beside him. Opening the box of cake. He watches you as you sliced him a piece, careful not to give him too much. “..I made a promise. I couldn't keep it. Again.”
“You promised to come back to me, didn't you? You're here right now.” You take the fork instead, taking the initiative to help him eat. You align it to his lips, a warm smile on your own. A smile that said,
“You did great. As always.”
And that was enough to make him break. If his body wasn't so fragile right now, he would've broken down. But all he could manage was short, broken sobs. “I-I still failed—I let rudo and the others get hurt. I didn't even get to hel—”
“But you are alive.” You cut him off by placing a palm on top of his hand. Stopping him from gripping his chest too hard. “You helped them and saved them the trouble of losing you. That's enough for them..for me.” You take his hands to yours before giving him a sincere, relieved smile. Almost like you were also on the verge of crying as well. Which, you were.
“Thank you for your hard work, zanka.”
╰┈➤ A/n ; Can u tell I love zanka? No? Okay. I'll do more.
Hello! How are you? If it's not a bother, I'd like to ask for a reaction from the BSD guys (any, but based on my request, I'd like DOA) to a female reader who's a sweetheart? She's very kind, naive, and innocent. Although it's cute because of her delicacy... it can be worrying because she doesn't see the bad intentions of others and believes any stranger, because for her... people don't lie, right? And if you want to do a scenario, or whatever. You could have her make them a flower crown to unite them!If you don't like this request, that's fine! Thanks for reading! You write beautifully~ ❤️
hii!! sorry for taking SO LONG 💔💔 anyways i loved this request. i originally wanted to add bram and fukuchi, but i have no idea how to write them in character, sorry 😞
𖦹 DOA with a sweetheart reader
Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Nikolai Gogol, Sigma.
ADA + Hunting Dogs version
☆ FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY
he probably finds it either really amusing or pitiful.
such a naive person is perfect for him, so easy to manipulate and use as he wishes.
slightly surprised when you don't question anything.
like literally
oddly attached, but he'll barely show that, and only in private.
once you two get together, you'd be under very very strict protection.
very controlling, specially since you don't seem to notice.
sweet gestures, but very subtle.
luckily, for you it's more than enough. your innocence makes you think everything he does for you is sweet, so you don't expect big gestures.
which is great, because he will not show his affection widely.
When you show him a flower crown, with different, bright colors, he blinks.
"And what may this be?" he asks, not really understanding the purpose of your creation.
"A flower crown! For you," you say, holding it out to him.
He takes it, staring at it for a moment. If your plan is for him to wear it, you've chosen some... bold colors.
"Put it on!" you say, smiling like a kid.
"... I appreciate the gift, but I fear I am not accustomed to wearing... things like this."
"Oh, please," you plead, giving him your best pout. "Just for a moment?"
He sighs, and looks at the crown again. Then, reluctantly, gives in and puts it on his head.
Your smile widens, something he didn't believe was posible, and he can't help the way his lips twitch upwards.
"You look great! You should keep it on," you say, clasping your hands together.
He lets out a huff of laughter, and takes the crown off.
You pout again, but it isn't enough to make him wear it again.
However, unknown to you, he keeps it secured in a small box. He knows the flowers won't last long, but he keeps them anyway.
☆ NIKOLAI GOGOL
you're so adorable!
his favourite thing in the whole world.
he'd love to tease you, both before and after getting together.
shameless. absolutely shameless.
high-key obsessed.
your naivety is so entertaining to him. he finds it hilarious.
really likes to confuse you.
you're just so cute when you tilt your head and raise an eyebrow, he can't help it.
he likes to say very questionable things just to see how you'd react.
you're perfect for him, really.
Gasps loudly as soon as you show him the crown.
"For me?!" he exclaims, absolutely overjoyed.
"Mhm!" you hum, nodding.
He takes it and immediately puts it on, smiling widely.
"Do I look like a princess?" he asks, and you giggle.
"Oh, yeah."
He refuses to take it off. Doesn't care who sees him with it, he has no shame.
He tries to make you one as well, but it doesn't go well.
You try to teach him and, when the second crown he makes also ends up in a tangled mess, he gives up with a dramatic sigh.
☆ SIGMA
so protective. he understands what's like to be lost and vulnerable, even if you don't realize you are.
so worried. he'd go out of his way to try to keep you any dangers. he's always wondering where you are, who you're talking to...
would like to keep you by his side all the time, but he knows he has to let you live.
at first, he was extremely confused by your kindness. he thought you weren't being genuine.
he thinks he doesn't deserve you. you're so pure, so kind.
he adores you so much and feels so extremely lucky to have you.
before you got together, he was so nervous around you. fidgety, sweaty hands, awkward, very flustered.
feels very safe around you, and really hopes you feel just as safe with him.
(i love him)
When you show him the flower crown, he freezes.
"Uh... Is that for me?"
You nod enthusiastically, and carefully put it on his head.
His whole face turns red.
His hand comes up and touches it gently, careful not to move it too much.
"You look good!" you say, giving him the purest smile he has ever seen.
His heart is beating so fast he swears it's going to come out of his chest.
He keeps it on while you're around, but takes it off as soon as you leave.
He keeps it safely in a drawer, though, where he has every little thing you have ever given him.
Could you please write some headcanons or scenario with fem reader who is into science? Like she adores the theory of relativity, quantum physics and can chat endlessly about it. With Sigma
hey... guess who's back...
yeah, so, i took a while to answer this request and i'm genuinely sorry. i don't really have an excuse, just that i was trying to get into college and all that. so, yeah, sorry.
apologies aside, i looveee this. i actually love science, and i'm doing a physics degree, so i deeply relate to this :3
𖦹 Observation
sigma x reader
Sigma loved you.
Not just loved you—he adored you. You were everything to him.
He loved waking up next to you in the morning, the way you grabbed his hand and played with his fingers, how you carefully brushed his hair at night.
But most of all, he loved how you would rant about science.
He didn't understand half of the things you said, and definitely didn't have the passion you had for the universe itself. But he did enjoy listening to you.
You were intelligent—extremely so, and he was amazed by how much your mind could hold, and how effortlessly you spilled that knowledge into ordinary moments.
"Did you know that quantum particles don't really exist until someone looks at them?" you said one day.
You were sitting at the table, your head resting on your palm as you watched Sigma doing the dishes.
"It's called observation."
"Ah... Really?" he mumbled, looking at you over his shoulder.
You nodded excitedly, your hand dropping to the table.
"Do you know about Schrödinger's cat?"
That he remembered. You'd told him about Schrödinger before, more than once.
"The cat in the box, right?" he asked, turning back to continue cleaning.
"Yeah! You remember," you said, grinning.
He looked at you, again, and smiled.
"You can tell me again."
He’d listen to you explain it a thousand times if it meant seeing that light in your eyes.
One night, you were watching a movie, cuddling on the couch. Sigma was half-sitting, half-laying, leaning on the armrest. You were laying on him, your head against his shoulder and your hand playing with his fingers.
"... We're not actually touching," you muttered, your eyes on your intertwined hands.
He looked down at you, gaze flickering between your face and your hands.
"No?"
You shook your head.
"Electrons repel each other. You never truly touch anything."
Then, on a Tuesday morning, you started talking about thermodynamics while you made coffee.
Sigma was half asleep as he sat at the kitchen table, trying to make sense of your words.
"Entropy always increases, which means everything drifts towards disaster."
"Uh-huh," he nodded, rubbing one of his eyes.
"But life still exists. Isn't that amazing?"
You sat down in front of him, the biggest smile on your face.
He nodded, smiling as well, but not for the same reason as you.
He couldn't care less about entropy, or electrons, or quantum physics.
But he did care about you, and how passionate you were about all that.
AUTHORS NOTE: giggling wtf is this. take this while i work on other requests :D
— DAZAI OSAMU๋ ࣭ ⭑๋ ࣭ ⭑
"THINK FAST IM A RANDOM GIRL—"
immediately you jump in your boyfriend's arms, dazai's arms quickly pushing you back. he tripped over his own two feet trying to keep you from kissing him—screaming and throwing hands to keep you back.
"NO! NO—IM GAY!😰 STAY AWAY!!"
you couldn't help but cackle at his reaction, getting back on your feet.
you keep fighting him back grabbing at his arms to try and pry them away from his body—suddenly he pushed you back enough you fell over on your back; laughing as he just ran away.
— CHUUYA NAKAHARA๋ ࣭ ⭑๋ ࣭ ⭑
"THINK FAST IM A RANDOM GIRL!!"
"WHAT THE FUCK—"
catches you on instinct, only needing a split second to realize what you said until he dropped you.
you laugh and grab his ankle as he yells, tumbling down to the ground after you.
"NO! IM A TAKEN MAN—TAKEN!"
you and him fight, using all his might to keep you from pinning him down.
eventually he uses his ability on you🙌🏻😭 next thing you know your floating just above him—a cheeky smile on your face as you got a good look at him.
hat flown off his head, messy hair, and wrinkled dress shirt.
— ATSUSHI NAKAJIMA๋ ࣭ ⭑๋ ࣭ ⭑
"THINK FAST IM A RANDOM GIRL—"
he screams. just screams in your face as you fall to the ground laughing; he holds your arms as you laugh at his feet.
it took him a moment to understand what you were doing and then when he came to realization—
you immediately went back at it again, trying to kiss your boyfriend who used all his might to keep you from getting close to his face.
"NO!! IHIHI HAVE A GIRLFRIEND—SHES SO PRETTY AND—AAH!😰"
eventually pins you on your stomach as he is sitting beside you, a leg keeping you from getting up and keeping your wrists behind you back; all while you're a giggling mess.
he has a goofy smile on his face as he lets you up.
— AKUTAGAWA RYŪNOSUKE๋ ࣭ ⭑๋ ࣭ ⭑
"THINK FAST I—"
you don't even have two seconds before your arms are wrapped around in black and red tentacles; pinning you to the closest wall.
your boyfriend looks at you with a deadpan reaction—"are you five?" is all he would ask.
you eventually explained what you were trying to do, and you just wanted to see his reaction. as much as you should have just let this be the reaction he gave you—he agreed.
take two. saying the iconic line; you graze his shoulder blade before you at once again wrapped around his rashomon, flipped over and laid on your back in front of you. you blinked once, then twice—"ok aku, you can let me go."
silence.
"aku?..im done with my prank, you can—"
"RYŪNOKUKE AKUTAGAWA— YOU CANT LEAVE ME HERE—"
more silence.
— KUNIKIDA DOPPO๋ ࣭ ⭑๋ ࣭ ⭑
"THINK FAST IM A RANDOM GIRL—"
literally almost falls out of his office chair when you suddenly jump on him.
glasses half off his face as you lay down on his lap and smile happily up at him.
he questions the fuck out of you; "what do you think you're doing??!"
you quickly bring him up to date—and he's just staring at you. blinks once...then twice—immediately tried to get you off of him as you try to kiss him.
he is holding you back, grabbing your arms as you laugh up a storm—saying how this inappropriate behavior in the workplace, trying to scold while keeping you back at the same time.
"Y/N—THIS IS ENTIRELY INAPPROPRIATE BEHAVIOR—OH NO, YOU DONT—"
i find it funny how he scolds you whilst playing along with you at the same time.
at the end of it, clears his throat—fixes his dress shirt and glasses and tells you to get back to work.
hey, he passed the test at least.
— RANPO EDOGAWA๋ ࣭ ⭑๋ ࣭ ⭑
"THINK FAST, IM A—"
he steps to the side as you collide with the carpet beside him—face first.
he munches on his candy he held in his hand—watching you groan in pain and turn on your back.
"telling the world's greatest detective to "think fast" is one of the dumbest things i've heard you say.." he'll you as he kneels down, booping your nose with his finger.
you grab at his hand, pouting at him. "you want me to pretend you're a random girl—this is what you find entertaining? ...ok, ill entertain you—up, up." he taps your cheek as you both stand from the floor.
you stand a good bit away from each, not waiting for him to get ready you run at him again—only for him to spit the hard candy in his mouth to your face, thankfully hitting your forehead and you once again collapsed to the ground.
patting your head with a cheeky grin, he stands up and leaves you in your puddle of shame.
