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✧･˚ Eli | bsd & yap blog | intj | she/her ✧･˚

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✧･˚ * CHAPTERS ─

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𓆩♡ Request info ♡𓆪

✧･˚ writing category: bsd x reader. before requesting, read my Rules post, and pay attention to the status in this post too! ･˚

⊰ Request status: closed

⊰ Numbers of requests currently pending: 1

⊰ requests from the oldest to the newest:

blow job w/ pm!dazai

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨ ♱ ୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

attention! — if you guys like to chat, feel free to send an ask in being different anons, I'll make a list for it!

༉‧₊˚.˗ˏˋ────── ⋆･✧•⋆ ──────ˎˊ˗𝄞⨾𓍢ִ

© mouthfroth — all rights reserved. Do not feed my work to ai. do not translate or repost my work on any platforms without permission or proper credit.

candy! — chuuya x fem!reader

cw: nsfw, fingering, oral (reader receiving), dirty talk, explicit language in general, reader is teasing and whiny, very slight crack if u squint

a/n: hihi anon, loved this req, thanks for the wait, hope u enjoy it! ♡

your body was an unsatisfied, aching mess. your panties were soaked, your pussy was throbbing with the need to get eaten out until you couldn't take it anymore—and there was no chuuya to soothe it all. you knew he had his work and duties—he was a mafia executive after all—but you were too horny to think rationally. so you decided to go to him this time—you had waited patiently for too many mornings anyway.

chuuya's office was dimly lit, the warm glow of the desk lamp casting flickering shadows across polished mahogany and neatly stacked paperwork. the scent of expensive cologne, aged whiskey, and leather filled the air. you walked in without a word, without a knock, pretty lace under your coat—he didn't lift his head when you came in. he knew it was you even if you didn't announce it, because only you could barge in like you owned the room.

"hey", chuuya muttered. he was at his desk, pen in hand—signing over some documents you couldn't care less about, which meant he was busy, which also meant—it was the perfect excuse to be as needy as possible.

there was a beat of silence—then you moved, muttering a 'hey' that was barely a sigh than a word before plopping onto the luxury couch by the side of his office, stretching your legs out like a spoiled queen lounging in her throne.

you shifted, restlessly rubbing your thighs together, but it wasn't nearly enough. your body was hot, aching, desperate, needy—and he was ignoring you. how fucking dare he?

"chuuyaaa," you whined, the drawn-out syllables slipping from your lips in a breathy, high-pitched slur. one dripping with saccharine sin. "need you..'

he exhaled through his nose, not looking up. "busy."

you groaned, throwing your head back, "ugh, but I missed youu, need your mouth, it's been so long.. since like this morning.."

chuuya clenched his jaw, trying to focus on the document in front of him. he refused to give in so easily, even when you were sprawled out like a goddamn temptress.

"you love me, right?" you slurred, getting up, "then why're you actin' like work's more important than your pretty little girlfriend-" you gasped, sharp and needy, coming up behind his chair and leaning towards him, "-when she's so horny she can barely breathe?"

chuuya kept writing, flipping a page, though his lips twitched.

"I missed you so much," you whispered, your lips grazing the sensitive spot just below his ear. "you have no idea how much I've been aching for you..." you pressed closer, letting out a breathy, needy sigh that had him gritting his teeth. your tongue flicked out, tracing slow, teasing stripes along his ear before you kissed down the side of his neck—wet, deliberate, sending shivers down his back.

he inhaled slowly through his nose. his grip on the pen tightened. you knew exactly what you were doing.

you leaned in close, lips at his ear, "need your mouth," you whispered, high and airy, breathless. "need you to fix it, chuuya.. need you to lick me up," you pressed a hot, open-mouthed kiss to his jaw "need to ride your face, need to tug on that pretty hair," another kiss "need to make you choke on me-"

he finally looked at you, and your breath hitched. for a brief moment, wide eyes looking at him expectantly, lips parting in anticipation, thinking you had finally gone through his head-

until he turned right back to his paperwork without a word.

he—what?

you gawked.

"what the fuck chuuya, are you serious?" you snapped, flabbergasted, watching over him with a seriously.. devastated look.

there was a moment of silence before you heard him let out a chuckle. and before you could say anything, he turned his chair around, grabbed you by the back of the neck and pulled you down into a deep, heated kiss, laughing against your lips once more.

"no babe, 'm just messin with you." he mummered, voice low as he pulled down your panties while gently pushing you back on his couch, hands roaming up your legs before spreading your thighs against the cushions, bare fingers digging into the soft flesh.

"needy fuckin' doll," chuuya groaned, voice rough, breath hot as he pressed a kiss to the inside of your thigh. "so messy.. dripping all over the place, and I haven't even touched you yet."

you moaned—soft, high and desperate. and then finally—finally—his mouth was on you. he dragged his tongue over your soaked folds, slow, languid—licking a long stripe up your slit, hot and wet, savoring your taste with a quiet hum.

"oh fuuck chuuya-"'you let out a sharp gasp, back arching, hand flying to his soft auburn hair, gripping tight, yanking just a bit as your thighs immediately closed around his head. "yes, yes, yes-"

his fingers joined in, sliding between your soaked folds, pressing against your tight, fluttering hole, but not pushing in yet. dragging the pads of his fingers in circles, spreading your slick, just teasing as soft, warm lips wrapped around your clit, pressing a slow, deep kiss to the aching bud before his tongue flicked out, "fuck," you gasped, back arching off the bed "s'good.. so fucking good-"

"shh baby, i know baby I know," his mouth latched onto your clit, tongue tracing little figure eights over the swollen bud, drawing tight circles before sucking it in his mouth. "you're doing so good for me, so patient for me doll", he mummered, groaning into your pussy in a way that showed his own patience was thinning. two fingers slid in deep with ease, stretching you open—your mouth fell open as another loud keen ripped from your throat.

the squelching sounds were filthy—loud, obscene beyond words. you were drenched, slick dripping down his fingers, soaking his palm, as the sound of his fingers pumping into your swollen walls got louder and louder in the so called quiet office.

soft, sticky whimpers filled the air, your toes curling, eyes fluttering closed, letting out these pretty, breathy moans that made him exhale shakily into you as he took his time devouring you, feeling himself getting harder and harder by the second. his grip on your hips tightened—and his mouth worked your cunt like you were the only goddamn thing worth kneeling for.

you whimpered, trying to lift your hips, but his hands pinned them down—your breath start to hitch again—body curling ever so slightly as she lets out a shaky, "m'close chuu... don't stop please, oh god-"

you were flushed, eyes fluttering, lashes casting shadows on your cheekbones. your hips rocked slowly into his mouth, your back arching with each exhale until-

you came with a cry, legs trembling around his head, slick gushing as you moaned, loud, high-pitched, completely gone. you were a mess—ruined, body twitching, head spinning, barely able to breathe. your body locked up before collapsing as waves of pleasure crashed over you, drowning you in white-hot bliss.

"fuck, fuck, there you girl sweet girl, there you go-", chuuya cursed under his breath, feeling you shake, hearing those perfect, sweet little moans as you came undone right there in his mouth. fuck, he lived for this. he held you close, his hands smoothing over your thighs, letting you ride out every last tremor as he gently lapped you up, fingers pressing into your sweet spot and pumping you through it until you started to twitch from sensitivity.

when you finally slumped against the couch, still trembling, still catching your breath, he pulled back slowly, pressing a lazy kiss to the inside of your thigh. "'m not done sweetheart," he murmured with a lazy smirk on his lips, eyes half-lidded, pupils blown as he stared up at you, voice low and hungry. "and you better not be, either."

your head fell back with a satisfied, wanton, as your legs clamped around his ears again.

♡𐙚ּ ֶָ֢.

--

Keep up the awesome sauce work✨✨✨

could i req chuuya finding bulimic reader almost passed out (like shaking n slightly sobbing) in the bathroom after purging and they js panic cause they didnt want him seeing them like this so he starts comforting them n all that

i completely understand if ur not comfortable w it / dk how to portray it

hold still, i’ve got you — chuuya x reader

cw: eating disorders (bulimia), purging, angst, panicking, comfort.

a/n: hello, i loved writing this requests, i hope I've portrayed it well. ♡ just a thing, i decided not to ignore this, bc this was sent when reqs were closed, so please look at my req status before requesting from now on! hope you enjoy! ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ₊˚⊹♡

(take care of urself everyone ♡)

the door shouldn’t have been locked. that’s the first thing he noticed. the silence was next. it was the kind of quiet that felt wrong. not peaceful—just… absent. and chuuya wasn't the kind of person who hesitated when something felt off, and this felt wrong in a way that settled deep in his chest. he pushed it open gently, already halfway calling your name, already expecting something small, something explainable—

the bathroom light was too harsh—tile too white, mirror too honest, every tremor impossible to hide. you were hunched over the toilet when the door opened, hands shaking so badly you couldn’t even hold onto the edge properly. your throat burned with that familiar ache, your stomach twisted in protest, your chest hurt, and there was that awful, hollow dizziness creeping in—you were not properly collapsed but close enough that the difference didn’t matter much.

your breathing was stuttering in uneven pieces, catching and breaking in your throat repeatedly, as if your lungs had forgotten how to work normally. you sharply turned around and instantly felt it—panic, sharp and immediate, your heart dropping. and there was that quiet, broken sound—like you were trying not to sob but your body wasn’t quite listening.

you gripped the edge of the toilet tightly, trying to hold yourself up despite the room spinning over your head like you mind was mocking you, “no— no, fuck, don’t—” your voice cracked, raw, “chuuya, just—just go, please—i’m fine-”

your breath caught again, not letting you finish your words. this was worse than anything. worse than the nausea, worse than the purge—him seeing you like this. the sound that left you wasn’t even a proper word, just a broken, wet breath as you tried to turn away, one hand coming up like it could hide everything—like you could stop him from seeing you, from understanding you.

his voice cut through, shaking and startled—laced with something like disbelief, "hey-"

"don’t—” you cut him off, sounding thin and hopeless. “don’t look at me—”

“no, no, no,” chuuya’s voice dropped instantly to something soft and gentle, like he was talking to something fragile to the tone of his voice. “don’t do that. don’t hide from me.”

he was already moving. his hands were on you before you could pull away—one steady at your back, the other gently but firmly catching your wrist, grounding you when your balance slipped—you hadn’t even realized you were swaying until he pulled you against him.

“i’ve got you,” he murmured, closer now, voice right by your ear. “hey… i’ve got you. easy.”

you shook your head, a weak, frantic motion. “i didn’t—i didn’t want you to—”

“i know,” he cut in softly, not dismissive or sharp—just certain. “i know, sweetheart. i know.”

your breathing stuttered again, and that was it—whatever composure you were clinging to just… broke. you grabbed his shirt, buried your face into his chest, and held on like you were terrified he'd vanish as the sobs started to break through, quiet at first, then harder, messier. the kind that clawed its way out like it was trying to rip you into shreads from the inside. the kind that made your body convulse with the force of it.

chuuya didn't say anything, just pulled you closer, tighter. his hand slid up to cradle the back of your head, and your forehead pressed somewhere against his collarbone. your body folded into his without you meaning to, like something in you gave up trying to stay upright on your own. his arm wrapped more securely around you, hand splayed wide against your back, anchoring you there.

“that’s it… come here,” he murmured, softer now, slower as you felt his thumb gently tracing over your nape. “no need to fight it anymore. i’ve got you.”

your fingers twisted tighter, harder into his shirt, and this time he didn’t just allow it—he leaned into it, like he wanted you to hold on. his fingers gently slid your hair, keeping you close.

your breath hitched again, but softer this time, breaking into him instead of away from everything. your face pressed further in, hiding there, and he adjusted without a word—tilting his head slightly so it wouldn’t be uncomfortable, his chin resting on top of your head.

“shh… i’ve got you, baby,” he murmured, voice barely above a breath now, meant just for you. “you’re okay. you’re right here. stay with me.”

your breathing stuttered again, but it followed his this time. uneven still—but trying. syncing in small, fragile attempts.

the shaking didn’t stop right away either—but it changed. it wasn’t that frantic, out of control trembling anymore. it started to match something steadier, the slow rhythm of his breathing, the quiet rise and fall of his chest under your cheek, the way his hand kept moving in those small, repetitive circles on your back like he was teaching your body how to calm down again.

“there you go,” he whispered, almost like a quiet praise. “that’s it… just like that. don’t rush. i’m right here.”

your body felt heavy all of a sudden. not in that awful, sinking way where it felt like drowning—but more like you didn’t have to hold yourself up anymore, like the tension had somewhere to go, somewhere safe to rest—combined with the exhaustion that only came after holding everything in for too long.

"you’re alright,” he murmured again, softer each time, like he was layering the words into you. “i’ve got you doll. i’ve got you. you’re safe with me.”

and it wasn’t just the words. it was the way he said them—low, steady and unshaken, like there wasn’t a version of this where he'd let go. like holding you, keeping you together when you couldn’t anymore—was the most natural thing in the world. your grip on him shifted, less desperate now, more… certain.

you weren’t clinging because you were about to fall anymore. you were holding on because he was there and he wasn’t moving.

after a moment, he shifted—and you pulled back just a bit, arms still wrapped around his waist, looking at him with glassy, red rimmed eyes, lashes sticking together with already shed tears.

“okay,” he murmured gently, brushing damp hair back from your face. “just gonna take care of you a bit. nothing else. let me help you, yeah?”

you barely nodded, too exhausted to argue. he moved carefully, like everything about you was something that could break if he handled it wrong. he gently scooped you in his arms, standing up with you in his embrace and setting you on the bathroom counter.

he dampened a cloth, testing the temperature before bringing it near you, wiping your face with quiet, deliberate movements—over your sweat-slicked forehead, the corners of your mouth, your hands and slick fingers with no rush, just patience.

“there we go sweet girl…,” he said under his breath, more to soothe you than anything. “you’re doing good. just stay with me.” his thumb brushed under your eye when he pulled back, catching the last of the tears.

“look at me a sec.”

you hesitated, then lifted your gaze just enough. his expression—god, it wasn’t what you feared. there was no disappointment, no frustration—just worry, and something softer, steadier.

“there you are,” he murmured, voice low. “that’s my girl.”

your throat tightened.

his hand came up to cup your cheek, warm, grounding. “i’m here now. okay? you not gonna go through this on your own anymore. not while I'm here."

you swallowed hard, voice small. “i didn’t want you to see me.. not like.. this.”

his expression shifted, pained and firm both at once. “no,” he said gently. “i should’ve. i should’ve been here sooner.”

you shook your head again, opening your mouth to deny it, to stumble over more excuses- but he just leaned in, pressing a slow, grounding kiss to your temple.

“listen. none of that shit. not with me,” he murmured against your skin. “you hear me? you're not gonna disappear right in front of my eyes just ‘cause things get bad." he said again, softer this time. his forehead rested briefly against yours as he let out a quiet exhale, his tone suddenly dropping to something more raw, more honest.

“and i’d rather see you like this, than see you.. once it's already too late. got it?”

his thumb traced a slow line along your cheekbone, before he continued, “you don’t have to hide the ugly parts. i don't want you to. i’m not going anywhere because my girl is struggling. that's absurd.”

something in your chest cracked open at that.

“so next time it feels like too much…” he tilted his head slightly, trying to catch your gaze again. “you come get me. yeah? even if you think you shouldn’t. especially then.”

you nodded faintly, hand coming up to rest on his shoulder. " 'm sorry." you mumbled, looking into his eyes properly this time.

he shook his head, taking your hand in his "don't apologize,* he said, pressing a kiss to the back of it as he pulled you close once more.

"not for trying to survive."

♡𐙚ּ ֶָ֢.

--

She's basically just feels insecure because she saw someone who she thought was better looking taking to him at a bar so she gets all into her head about it and basically pushes him away and it takes him a second to realize his gf is pushing him away and when he says something about it, it ends up in a huge argument and she ends up storming out of the house and HOURS later coming back, tells him the truth and he freaks out cuz HOW COULD ANYONE BE MORE PERFECT THAN HIS BABY

definitely angst/comfort. You can interpret the argument how you like, but I'm thinking that reader argues he was flirting (he wasn't) with this person in the bar and uses it during their argument. If ur feeling up to it, slightly smut LMAO

first time requesting something, kinda nervous 😝

you, every time — chuuya x fem!reader

cw: mentions of body insecurity & comparison, chubby reader, nsfw, arguing, hurt and comfort, pet names, slight fluff turning semi nsfw/suggestive at the ends

it started with something small. it always did.

the bar was loud, dim, gold light catching on glass and laughter, and you were sitting just a little off to the side of Chuuya, nursing a drink you had barely touched.

you noticed her before you meant to.

she was pretty in a way that felt… easy. effortless. the kind of pretty that didn't seem like it had to fight for it. fitted dress, soft laugh, leaning just a little too close when she talked to him.

and chuuya—god—he was just being himself.

charming without trying. answering her, smirking a little, tipping his glass back. he wasn't leaning in, not touching her, not doing anything wrong.

but your brain didn't care about logic. it never did when it was like this.

because she looked like someone who fit beside him.

and you—

you looked down at yourself, the way your dress fit, the way your body curved in places you’d learned to hide, to cover, to shrink. your chest tightened. you didn't say anything. you just… went quiet.

“hey,” he murmured, nudging your knee under the table. “you good?”

you hummed something noncommittal. didn't look at him. didn't look at her. he frowned, but the moment passed. or at least—it pretended to.

it didn't actually explode until later. it didn’t even start as a fight.

it started as distance.

small things, at first—shrugging off his touch, answering with one-word replies, turning your body away when he tried to pull you closer. chuuya noticed, of course. he always noticed.

“what’s going on baby?” he asked finally, voice gentle and confused.

“nothing.”

“don’t give me that,” he said, his tone lower this time. “you’ve been acting weird all night.”

you laughed, but it came out wrong. thin. brittle. “maybe i just don’t feel like being all over you tonight.”

his brows pulled together. “since when?”

“since you were flirting with her.”

it came out sharper than you meant. harsher. like you had been holding it between your teeth all night and it finally cut you open on the way out.

chuuya blinked. “what?”

“at the bar,” you pushed, arms crossing tight over yourself. “don’t act like you don’t know what i’m talking about.”

his brows knit together, confusion flickering in his expression. “i don’t, baby. i was talking, that’s it.”

“yeah?” your laugh was hollow. “you looked pretty comfortable.”

“because i was having a normal conversation,” he shot back. “what, i’m not allowed to talk to people now?”

“not like that.”

“like what?” he said, “you’re being vague as hell, doll.”

because you couldn't say it. you couldn't say she looked better than me. you couldn't say i felt invisible sitting right next to you. you couldn't say i kept thinking you’d realize you could do better.

so instead, you went for the worst possible thing.

“sure i am,” you muttered. “because she was definitely the kind of person you’d go for, right?”

that hit something, you saw it in the way his jaw tightened.

“what’s that supposed to mean?”

you hesitated just for a second, but the damage was already there, sitting bitterly on your tongue.

“she’s prettier than me,” you said, quieter now, but heavier. “it’s not exactly hard to see.”

and for a second, you almost wished he’d just get angry. yell. say something sharp enough to cut through the mess in your head—instead, chuuya just… stared at you, like he was trying to process how the hell you got from point a to that.

like he didn’t recognize what you were saying.

“you actually think that?” he asked.

you looked away. “i’m not blind, chuuya.”

“no,” he said, voice tightening, “you’re just wrong.”

“am i?” you snapped, frustration boiling over. “because from where i was standing—”

“from where you were standing,” he cut in, stepping closer, “you decided what i was thinking without asking me once.”

“i shouldn’t have to ask—”

“yeah, you should!” his voice finally broke through, just a bit louder now, edged with something raw. “because clearly whatever’s going on in your head isn’t reality.”

that stung more than it should have.

“fine,” you said, grabbing your jacket. “if i’m so disconnected from reality, maybe you should go find someone who isn’t.”

“don’t twist this, don't just shut down after throwing accusations at me—”

but you were already moving.

“leave it, chuuya.”

“no, i’m not leaving it—”

“i said leave it!”

the door slammed harder than you meant it to.

—

hours passed. too many.

the night cooled into something quieter, streets emptier, your anger long gone—it left something deeper, doubt, guilt, that hollow feeling in your chest that made everything ache. by the time you came back, your hands were shaking.

the apartment was quiet, and the lights were still on. chuuya was on the couch—head tilted back. there was an ashtray next to him, and you could see faint dark circles under his eyes.

“you’re back,” he said, not angry, but not relieved either. just… steady.

you swallowed. “yeah.”

the silence stretched, then snapped.

“what the hell was that baby?” he said quietly, standing now. “you disappear for hours over something i didn’t even do—”

“i know,” you said quickly. ".. i know you weren’t flirting."

his eyes narrowed slightly. “then why say it?”

... you forced yourself to keep going.

“…because she was pretty,” you admitted. “she looked… perfect, and i just kept thinking—why would you choose me over someone like that, when she looked like someone who makes sense next to you?"

that lands softer. but deeper. there's silence again. then—

“are you serious right now?”

you flinched. “i—”

“baby", he cut in, stepping closer again, hands coming up to cup your face. “look at me."

you hesitated, bet met his eyes. and god, he looked… almost offended.

“do you even hear yourself? how could anyone be more perfect than you for me? genuinely? ” he asked, sounding almost flabbergasted.

you shook your head, eyes stinging. “it doesn’t feel like that.”

“yeah, well, it should,” he pressed a kiss to your cheek, his voice softer now, but no less intense. he paused for a second, giving you time to pull away again. you didn’t. “do you have any idea how i see you?”

you went still. his voice dropped to something more raw, “because it’s not… whatever the hell you’re telling yourself.”

“i see you and I see the girl I've chosen. and I'll choose you everyday. with all i have. you think i’d throw that away over some random person at a bar?” he said, quieter now. “you think that’s all it takes?”

you shook your head again, this time because you couldn’t trust your voice.

his hands slid down to your arms, then to your waist. “you don’t get to decide what i want for me,” he added, his grip tightening just a little.. “and i want you. got it?”

he said it gently, but it was real. you nodded briefly, shifting closer, closing the space you’d created hours ago, your forehead pressing lightly against his chest, just now realizing how much you had missed this familiar warmth.

“don’t do that again sweetheart,” he muttered into your hair. “just… talk to me.”

“i’ll try.”

“not ‘try’,” he corrected softly. “do.” you huffed a quiet laugh against him. “bossy.”

“yeah, yeah.”

a few seconds passed.

and then he pulled you in properly—solid and grounding, arms wrapping around you like he had been waiting to do it all night. you pressed into him, forehead against his collarbone, breathing him in. his hand slid up your back, slow, reassuring—fingers splaying like he was memorizing you.

“…i’m sorry,” you murmured.

he exhaled, tension finally easing out of him. “yeah, you better be.” he muttered, and you could hear the faint smirk curling on his lips just hearing his voice.

your hands curled into his shirt without thinking—his grip softened, thumbs brushing slow, absent circles into your hips. there’s a shift, then.

his gaze dipped, just for a second, to your lips—then back up.

“you done pushing me away?” he murmured.

a beat.

“…yeah.”

“good.”

he tilted your chin up again, softer this time. and leaned down.

his mouth caught yours softly and gently, his hand stayed at your waist, thumb pressing just slightly, grounding you there while his lips move slow, steady—nothing rushed, nothing careless, it's deliberate, like he's trying to prove something.

his hand cupped your face with a kind of fragile awe, like he forgot how soft your skin felt under his fingers, the other one sliding down to your ass while he hooked a thigh between your legs, pulling you flush against him.

you gasped against his mouth, hands coming up to his shoulders, clinging to him before you could think. he groaned, grinding against you slow, just enough pressure to make you whimper.

he hummed, biting your lip lightly with a smirk before letting go, making you gasp. he pulled back just enough, voice rougher, "let me make you forget all about it yeah?" I'll give you somethin' else to cry 'bout my love"

you stared at him with wide, glassy eyes, fingers tightened in his shirt. your slick lips parted instinctively, pink tongue coming out to wet them before answering, voice all high and breathy,

“…yeah.”

♡𐙚ּ ֶָ֢.

--

Like, Reader ability allows them to create portals so they starts working as a "spy" selling information between organizations and one day they encounter Fyodor. Reader finds Fyodor scary but interesting so they start selling information to him exclusively until they realize its enough and decides to search for a better place.

(sorry if bad english)

the things left unsaid — dazai x reader

the agency was quieter than usual. not silent—it never really was—but softened around the edges by late afternoon. papers had been stacked and restacked, ranpo had already drifted off somewhere with a snack in hand, and Kunikida had spent the last ten minutes muttering to himself over a schedule no one could interrupt.

you sat at your desk with a pen between your fingers, pretending to read the report in front of you. pretending, mostly, not to notice dazai, who was across the room, half-curled in his chair with a book he clearly wasn’t reading, looking in your direction every few moments. not that he’d ever done anything obvious, though that was the problem.

dazai never did the obvious. he simply appeared where he shouldn’t, said things that sounded pointless until you thought about them later, and watched people as though he were reading the parts of them they’d forgotten to hide.

“Mm,” dazai said suddenly, voice light. “you’re holding that pen like you’re about to stab someone.”

that drew a quiet laugh from you, though you made yourself to stay focused on the report. “stop distracting me.”

“I’m not distracting you,” he replied. “I’m observing.”

that made you glance up, raising a brow.

he had one elbow propped on the arm of his chair, his cheek resting lightly against his hand. his eyes were on you in that strange, gentle way of his—not empty or invasive, just too attentive to be comfortable if you weren’t used to being seen.

and you were used to being seen. just not here, not like this.

you looked back down, and the quiet stretched. then, after a while, dazai stood and walked over with that loose, unhurried grace of someone who never had to justify entering another person’s space. he stopped beside your desk and set something down near your hand, a cup of tea.

you blinked, before picking up the cup and testing it with a careful sip. it was just the way you liked it. your fingers paused around the handle, you didn’t look at him right away. dazai didn’t speak either.

he just stood there, one hand in his pocket, the other resting lightly against the desk edge, as if he had every intention of waiting until you acknowledged him. that alone told you he’d noticed more than he let on.

you took another sip and tried to ignore the warmth gathering behind your ribs. you let out a quiet breath through your nose and set the cup down. “what do you want, dazai?”

he didn’t answer immediately. his gaze dropped briefly to your hands, then back to your face.

"nothing,” he said. “that’s the strange thing.”you frowned. “that doesn’t make sense.”

“I know.” the corner of his mouth moved, almost a smile. then he reached out, lifting the edge of the report page you were still pretending to read and turn it back a line, indicating a mistake you hadn’t even noticed you’d made. his fingers brushed the back of your hand for a fraction of a second.

you went still.

dazai noticed, naturally. his eyes flicked to yours, calm and unreadable. he reached for the pen in your hand, and when you didn’t stop him, he took it gently from your fingers and set it down beside the tea. then, very casually,

“you have the habits of someone who’s used to leaving quickly.” he simply said it as though he’d noted the weather.

your breath caught just enough for him to notice. you forced yourself to meet his gaze. “and you’re used to saying strange things.”

“that too.” his mouth curved a little. “but you didn’t deny it."

there was a beat of silence. you could have laughed it off, could've asked him what he thought he was implying, could have turned it into one of your easy office exchanges.

before you could, he added, “what matters is that you’re here.”

you stared at him. he looked back without blinking, as though there were no need to hide the fact that he’d noticed your past had edges. he had noticed the old instinct in the way you positioned yourself near doors, the measured calm you wore too neatly, the ease with which you read danger before anyone else seemed to name it, and apparently, he had decided not to touch it until now.

his voice dropped slightly. “I’m curious,” he said. “not suspicious.”

you glanced up at him. for once, there was no trace of performance in his face. his gaze moved over your expression as if checking for something.

something in your chest tightened.

you exhaled slowly, eyes dropping to your hands, to the faint tremor you hadn’t quite managed to hide. for a moment, the agency felt too open, too bright—like there was nowhere left to fold the parts of yourself you’d carefully kept out of sight. “…It wasn’t supposed to follow me here,” you said, quieter than you intended.

dazai didn’t turn back right away. he stayed facing the window, the last of the daylight catching faintly in his eyes, turning them softer, less unreadable.

“things like that rarely ask for permission,” he replied. “you were curious. quiet portals were on your hand unused, the kind of ability that doesn't seem like it can be used for good,” he said. “and he gave you something to be curious about, to fulfill that uselessness.” there was no judgment in it. no curiosity sharpened into something invasive. just… acknowledgment.

he was right.

your ability didn’t bloom or glow or announce itself with something pretty. it tore. a thin, vertical fracture would split open in the air, silent at first—just a distortion, before it widened with a low strain, like something being forced open that didn’t want to be.

you’d stand there, hand raised, fingers slightly curled as if you were holding onto something invisible, and then—pull. the space would give

you had used it everywhere. slipping into buildings that had no entrances. appearing behind people mid-sentence. vanishing before bullets could land. information passed from one hand to another without ever being seen.

“what a useful ability,” Fyodor would say softly, like he was commenting on something trivial. “how lonely it must be, to always exist between places.”

you looked away first this time, jaw tightening slightly. “…He was—” you stopped.

the words felt strange in your mouth, like they didn’t belong here, in this place that smelled faintly of paper and tea instead of cold stone and something far more suffocating.

“…Interesting,” you finished finally, quieter now. “terrifying. but interesting.”

there was a beat. “and you liked that,” dazai said.

you let out a slow breath, a shaky exhale. “…I think so, yeah, I did.” that felt like admitting too much. but when you glanced back at him, expecting—something, anything—dazai just watched you. not with amusement, or with suspicion, something softer.

“I see,” he murmured. “and now?” he asked. your throat felt dry. “now what?”

his gaze dipped briefly, not to your hands this time, but to your face—your mouth, your eyes—like he was piecing something together. “do you still find dangerous things interesting?” he said.

the question lingered between you, quieter than everything else, but heavier. your lips curled a bit.

“…I think I’ve learned to be more careful,” you said.

he leaned in just slightly, not enough to crowd you, just enough that his presence felt deliberate now. like he’d decided this moment mattered.

you felt it before you noticed it—his hand, resting on the edge of the desk near yours. not touching. not yet. just there, like he was giving you the choice to move away.

you didn’t.

the silence stretched, but it wasn’t empty. it was the kind that filled your ears, made everything else in the room fade a little. “…i stopped,” you said eventually. “before it got worse.”

dazai’s gaze shifted back to your face. “i know,” he said.

that made you blink. “you—what?”

he exhaled softly through his nose, almost amused—not at you, but at the situation. “if you hadn’t,” he said, “you wouldn’t be here.” his fingers shifted, just enough to brush lightly against yours, brief and deliberate.

“i’m not interested in who you were when you were trying to survive,” he said quietly. his eyes softened, just a fraction. “i’m interested in who you chose to become after.”

the words settled somewhere deep, somewhere you hadn’t realized was still waiting for something like that. then, almost as an afterthought, dazai tilted his head again, a faint smile touching the corner of his mouth.

“though,” he added lightly, “i do have to admit…”

you narrowed your eyes slightly. “what.”

his gaze flicked over your expression, something playful slipping back in—but softer now, threaded with something else.

“i’m a little jealous.”

you stared at him.

“…jealous,” you repeated flatly.

“mm.”

“of fyodor.”

“well,” dazai hummed, tapping his finger once against the desk again, “you did say you found him interesting.”

your expression tightened, somewhere between disbelief and exasperation.

“he’s a terrorist,” you said.

“and i’m not?”

“…you’re—” you stopped, then let out a quiet breath, shaking your head. “you're worse."

dazai’s smile widened just slightly.

you looked at him again, properly this time. and there it was—that familiar contradiction. the way he could say something so unserious, so light, and still mean something underneath it that you couldn’t quite ignore.

your lips pressed together, then curved faintly despite yourself.

“…you’re unbelievable.”

“i’ve been told.”

another beat passed.

then, softer—almost lost under the quiet of the room—

“i think i prefer being the interesting one.”

this time, when his fingers brushed yours again, they lingered just a second longer.

♡𐙚ּ ֶָ֢.

--

It Could be platonic or romantic, depending on what you're feeling like today.

I just think she would be a fun person to hang out with.

dust, gold, and the way you look at me — yosano x reader

it had been an eventful day—to your relief, today the work had come to an end sooner than expected, so you and your dearest yosano had decided to take a "walk"—which meant shopping until your pockets hurt afterwards, and shenanigans meant only for you.

your hands were full of shopping bags—new clothes, accessories, snacks—all kinds of stuff in them as you walked—shoulder to shoulder with her through a street you hadn't seen before.

"honestly? I wanna see a new store, something we haven't tried before, these are getting boring a little, don't you think?" yosano said, glancing over at you with a slight smirk.

you huffed a quiet laugh, shifting the bags in your hands so they wouldn’t slip. “you say that like you didn’t drag me into three clothing stores back to back.”

“and you loved every second of it,” she replied smoothly, already scanning the street ahead like she was hunting for something new.

you were about to argue—halfheartedly—when her pace slowed, eyes lighting up just slightly.

there, tucked between a narrow bookstore and a dim café, was a shop you would’ve missed if you blinked. the sign above it was old, the paint chipped, the letters barely readable. the window display was cluttered with strange little objects—ornate mirrors, tarnished silverware, a porcelain doll that looked just unsettling enough to make you pause.

“well,” she murmured, tilting her head, “that looks promising.”

before you could protest, she nudged the door open. a small bell chimed overhead, the sound soft but echoing strangely in the quiet shop.

the air felt different—cooler, still. it smelled faintly of old wood and something like dusted paper. shelves lined the walls, cluttered with everything from porcelain dolls to old jewelry boxes, stacks of books, strange little trinkets that didn’t quite have a clear purpose.

you shifted your bags to one arm, looking around. "okay… if something moves on its own, i’m leaving you behind."

yosano hummed, already wandering deeper in, fingers trailing lightly across a shelf of antique mirrors. "if something moves on its own, i’m buying it."

"that’s not comforting."

she picked up a small hand mirror, the silver frame detailed with tiny carved roses. turning it slightly, she angled it toward you instead of herself. "look."

you glanced over, catching your reflection—but she stepped in closer behind you, just enough that she slipped into the mirror’s frame too. "see?" she said quietly. "much prettier like this."

your throat tightened just a little at how casual she made it sound, like it wasn’t something that lingered.

"you’re so annoying," you muttered, rolling your eyes with a smile, but there was no weight behind it. she smiled—small, knowing—and set the mirror back.

you drifted toward another shelf, picking up a tiny music box. it was worn, edges softened with time, a faded floral pattern barely visible. when you twisted the key, it played a slow, delicate tune, slightly off but still soft enough to feel… gentle. yosano leaned beside you again. "that one suits you."

"how?"

"quiet at first," she said, watching the little spinning figure inside. "but it sticks with you longer than you expect." you glanced at her.

"now you’re just making things up."

"i’m not."

the music slowed, then stopped. for a second, neither of you moved. then she reached out—taking the music box from your hands, setting it aside carefully before her fingers brushed yours again.

"you’ve got too many bags," she said lightly, but she didn’t let go right away. "give me some."

"you just want an excuse to look helpful."

"i don’t need an excuse," she replied, already slipping a few of the handles from your grip. "i am helpful."

"debatable."

she laughed under her breath, adjusting the bags on her arm. your hands felt oddly light without them. you wandered further in together, closer now without really acknowledging it.

at one point, you stopped in front of a glass case—inside it, a collection of rings, some simple, some overly ornate. yosano tapped the glass. "pick one."

you blinked. "what?"

"pick one," she repeated, tilting her head. "which one would you steal?"

"that’s very specific wording."

"don’t overthink it."

you leaned closer, scanning them before pointing at one—a thin band with a small dark stone set in the center. simple, but… not plain. yosano followed your gaze, then nodded once. "good taste."

"you?"

she barely hesitated, pointing to a different one—slightly more intricate, curling metal around a pale gem. you squinted at it. "that’s so extra."

"and?"

you rolled your eyes, but there was a faint smile pulling at your lips. "figures."

she stepped a little closer again, voice dropping just enough to feel like it was meant only for you. "if i bought this one that you choose, would you wear it?"

your breath caught for a second—just a second—but it was enough. "you’re not buying it," you said, trying to sound unaffected.

"that wasn’t my question."

you looked at her then, properly this time. she wasn’t smirking anymore—not really. just watching you, calm, steady. you exhaled quietly.

"...of course."

that was enough to bring the smirk back.

she hummed, satisfied, and stepped back, already signaling to the shopkeeper. then she picked up her own choice, the more intricate one, holding it up to the light before nodding once. "and this one, obviously."

you leaned against the counter slightly, smiling faintly as the yosano pulled out her wallet. everything was set on the counter—and somewhere along the way she’d also grabbed a small, old-fashioned hairpin you hadn’t even noticed her pick up.

once everything was wrapped and handed over, the bell chimed softly as you stepped back out into the street, the late light warmer now, brushing gold along the edges of everything.

"hand," she said simply. you looked at her, before holding your out anyway. she took it, her fingers cool at first as she slipped the thin band—the one you’d chosen—onto your finger.

she didn’t let go right away, her thumb brushing lightly over your knuckle like she was checking something, before bringing your hand to her lips, planting a soft kiss onto the back of it.

your breath hitched slightly. "yosano—"

she smiled—soft, a little smug, but not teasing this time, "c'mon, let's go, it's getting late"

she nudged your shoulder lightly as you started walking again, closer than before, hands brushing each other like it was inevitable.

neither of you pulled away, and just tangled your fingers together.

♡𐙚ּ ֶָ֢.

--

© mouthfroth — all rights reserved. Do not feed my work to ai. do not translate or repost my work on any platforms without permission or proper credit.

Thankyou so so much for writing the convo with Dazai fic. 10/10 peak literature i cried, aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

hi anneee♡♡♡ how are u? I've missed u :>

I wanted to request an ada!Dazai x ada!Reader(reader is a newer member) where the reader is shy especially with Dazai(compared to other ada members) because she has a crush on him. So one day after work everyone's going home and reader sees Dazai in a melancholic mood about life and stuff(kinda like he gets sometimes in the anime in general) which is something she's new to. So she stays back after everyone's gone and sits with him(with the lights off in a full moon night in the office so it feels more intimate) and they have their first real conversation and reader gets to know Dazai a bit more deeply and intimately and Dazai is also actually surprised by the depth of the reader(who has been matching him quite well in the conversation) who he wasn't too particularly cognizant of before this.

So it's a little romantic-ish and intimate and again, reader has a crush on Dazai so despite their earnest conversation, she gets flustered quite a bunch of times in the middle, y'know a little back and forth from fluff and comfort.

I hope this makes sense and is according to the rules!! I'd love you for making this!!

moonlight & melancholic words — dazai x reader

tags: sfw, deep convo, nothin special

a/n: hi nonnie, thank u for requesting! and honestly, thanks for waiting this long (im hoping you haven't lost hope lmao) hope u like it!

the sun was already hiding behind the buildings, casting a dark shadow on your desk. the day was ending. you were wrapping up your finished work, thinking about the eventful day you had—and how your life had been recently. ever since you'd joined the agency, life had been like a fresh breath of air. everyday, you were met with new opportunities, jobs, tasks, and new chaos. hell, you'd be lying if you said you weren't a little bit of a admirer of a certain someone.

even though you hadn't talked directly much, or had alone moments together—he had managed his way into your heart without knowing it himself.

today though he—dazai, was in a quite gloomy mood. no suicidal jokes, no eating poisonous mushrooms, he hadn't even messed with kunikida as much today. you brushed it off as just your thoughts getting to you. but there was an itch that maybe it actually was the case. you should find out—or at least attempt to. he never let anyone get closer to him than arm's length anyway.

dazai was by the window, the lights off, his figure cut into pieces by the pale spill of moonlight. one hand rested lazily against the glass, his head tipped just slightly.

you hovered awkwardly by the doorway, fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. you should leave. this wasn’t your place. you weren’t—

“are you planning to stand there all night?” his voice wasn’t playful. that’s what made you stop.

It was quiet. not cold exactly—but stripped of that usual teasing lilt, like something essential had been peeled away. almost like proof of your "suspicions".

“I—” you swallowed, stepping back in before you could talk yourself out of it. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“you didn’t.” he still didn’t turn.

you hesitated, then slowly set your bag down and moved closer, you felt that embarrassing flutter in your chest, and you hadn’t even said anything yet. “…you’re still here too,” you said, immediately wincing internally. brilliant. Incredible observation.

a soft exhale left him, almost a laugh, but not quite. “mm. seems that way.” silence stretched again.

god, this was harder than talking to literally anyone else.

you held your own just fine with others in the organization. but him? just standing near him made your thoughts tangle into knots. and tonight, he felt… different—quieter, heavier.

you shifted your weight, then, before you could overthink it, lowered yourself to sit on the floor near the window. not too close but not too far either, hands resting in your lap.

“you’re not very good at leaving things alone, are you?”

you blinked, glancing up at him. “I—I can leave, if you want.”

finally, he turned. and for a second, your breath caught. the moonlight hit his face just right—softening him, almost. but his eyes… they weren’t focused on you, not entirely. like part of him was still somewhere else.

“that’s not what I asked.”

oh.

you looked down, fingers fidgeting together. “I just… you seemed—” you hesitated, searching for the right word, afraid of choosing wrong. “not like yourself.”

a beat.

“…and you thought you’d investigate?”

“…I thought I’d sit,” you corrected quietly.

that earned you a proper look, something curious. “you’re bold,” he murmured. “I’m not,” you said immediately, heat rushing to your face. “... I’m—really not.”

he hummed, like he didn’t quite believe you. you risked another glance at him. “…you get like this often?”

“like what?”

“…like you’re thinking about something that doesn’t have an answer, where there should have been one.”

that did it. you saw it—the flicker of surprise. small and quick, but real.

“…that’s a very specific observation.”

your heart stuttered. “sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

"no,” he cut in softly. “don’t apologize.” he looked at you now, properly this time, like he was seeing something he hadn’t bothered to look at before, but he should've. “…most people don’t notice that,” he added.

you huffed a quiet, nervous breath. “maybe they just don’t say it.”

“mm. No.” his gaze lingered. “they don’t notice.”

that… shouldn’t have made you feel anything. but it did. you looked away quickly. “well… I just—sometimes you sound like you’re joking about things that don’t feel like jokes.”

for a moment, he didn’t respond. and then—

“…and what do you think they are?”

your throat felt dry. “not jokes,” you said quietly. the air shifted, subtle and undeniable.

he moved then, finally stepping away from the window and—unexpectedly—sitting down next to you. close enough now that you could see the details you usually avoided looking at too long—the bandages, his unfairly long lashes, the faint, unreadable curve of his mouth.

your brain promptly short-circuited. too close. he’s too close.

“and what would you call them?” he pressed, softer now. you forced yourself to meet his gaze. big mistake.

“…I think,” you said, voice smaller than you intended, “they’re things you mean. just… said in a way that makes it easier for other people to ignore.”

he blinked at you like you’d just done something unexpected—like you’d stepped into a space people usually didn’t reach, way you said it made something tighten in his chest.

“…you’re an interesting person,” he said after a moment.

your face heated up instantly. “I’m really not—”

"you are.”

the certainty in his voice made your stomach flip. you looked down again, flustered beyond recovery now, wondering how you've gone this far without exploding. “I just talk too much when I’m nervous.”

“Is that what this is?”

“…yes,” you admitted.

a pause.

“…am I the cause?”

you nearly choked on your own breath. “I—no—I mean—not like—” you pressed your hands to your face for a second, mortified. “you’re just… hard to talk to.”

“…hard?” there was that faint, familiar hint of amusement creeping back in—you could see it you could see it in the glint in his eyes, and the slow curling of his lips. oh how cruel he was.

“In a good way!” you blurted, then froze. “…that sounded worse.”

It didn’t—he thought. If anything, it made something soften in his expression, just slightly. “…you’re honest,” he said.

you groaned quietly. “unfortunately.”

he let out a quiet laugh this time—real, but subdued. and then, after a beat—

“…stay a little longer.” he mummered, voice low and soft all of sudden. you felt his gaze dipping to your face—your mouth, your eyes—like he was piecing something together.

you stayed silent for a second, feeling a small, strange warmth seeping into your heart, tangling up with your nerves.

“…okay,” you said, softer than before.

and this time, the silence that settled between you wasn’t awkward. It was… shared.

the moonlight stretched across the floor, brushing against both of you like a gentle veil, made to only drape on you two alone. and for once, dazai didn’t look like he was somewhere else entirely. he was here. with you.

and somehow… that felt like the beginning of something neither of you quite understood yet.

♡𐙚ּ ֶָ֢. thanks for reading this lovely!

--

I thought it would be funny, but feel free to deny the request🪻

dazai x reader — the touch of life

tags: sfw

a/n: hi lovely, i loved the idea, tnx for requesting! ♡

when you first got into the agency, there wasn't so many chances where you could showcase your ability—since the armed detectives usually did their job thoroughly well. so you just stuck to your paperwork—glad that the agency put people's mind at ease before the situation got dire enough that someone would be in need of your ability.

though that changed on a one particularly challenging mission that was assigned to you and none other than your charm himself—dazai. you were notified of a victim in critical condition—a crime waiting to be solved. though when you got there, the person was on his last breaths—and it had already been too late.

dazai had stood there—face grim—yet his eyes were stoic, almost deprived of any emotion—he was not new to seeing people die, considering his gloomy past. though when he glanced at you, he was expecting a face twisted with sorrow and concern—to his shock however, he was met with serious eyes and a blazing gaze—an expression that displayed a calm, collected serenity in it's certainty.

despite his internal astonishment, dazai remained silent and pondered—as to what could possibly cause you to be this level-headed; as if you hadn't seen a man just take his last breaths in front of you—you seemed unaffected, like you thought he was going to be reborn. he didn't know that was quite the whole truth. it was then that your moment to shine finally had arrived. you made your way to the harmed man—hand steady as you pressed it against his forehead.

it took only a mere second before sound of chocked gasps of breath were heard.

people around you stood surprised—momentarily motionless before the sudden gasps were heard and they were rushing to tend to the victim and his injuries; the questioning for the crime committed could be asked later, you thought.

you turned around with a satisfied smile, ready to go back—and were met with a stunned, wide-eyed dazai. you could swear you even saw sparkles in his eyes for a second—cue to him gushing over how extraordinary and incredible your ability was—why you hadn't used it before—why didn't you tell anyone about it- and so on. it was kind of endearing, actually. it wasn't often that you saw dazai genuinely intrigued by something. so you decided to cut him some slack—and told him all about your ability on your walk back to the agency, about how it worked, what limits it had, what could be the consequences if you used it too much—pinky laced with his as he listened with his full attention on you—eyes soft and gaze adorned with admiration.

after that incident, you now have to deal with a whole new wave of his teasings in the office. he jokes a lot about how apparently—"he can no longer succeed in his long-awaited suicide anymore; because you'll just revive him back", which would be false as his ability clashes with any other—but he can't use it while dead, can he?

you always laugh it off; but deep in your hearts, you both know that it's true. though all jokes aside, all the praise coming from him is true. when you're in Yokohama, you'll be met with all sorts of abilities—and most of them take lives without blinking. other ones do heal—but not many of them reincarnate. and the way you can grant people the gift (or curse) of another chance in life? of being reborn? it's almost holy to him. which is the reason as to why your ability is so special in his eyes.

you ability also puts his mind at ease—that with you, the agency doesn't have to worry—even about dying. and everytime you do your thing—confident and calm, he might not say anything; but you always catch to look on his face—pure, adoring, proud.

tnx for reading this lovely! ♡

--

I'm a bit overindulgent but can I request another 👉👈🤞 maybe like headcanons of ada!Dazai(can you tell i love him) x female ada reader (honestly ada wasn't important i just mentioned it in case) of Dazai being reader's first time? And reader is pretty shy(can you see a pattern in my requests lmao). They can be in an official relationship or smthin more confusing but uhm 👉👈

first sex headcanons — dazai x fem!reader

tags: nsfw, nipple play, piv

a/n: hi nonnie (˶❛⩊❛˵) please overindulge, especially with dazai; I'd be lying if i said I didn't love it, this is the first nsfw post with dazai jkgkgkg, so i was excited to write it, and I love love looveee dazai too. (๑ > ᴗ < ๑) I wrote a little drabble as well bc I couldn't help myself, hope u don't mind lol. thank u for requesting ♡ new a/n: i wrote a drabble but it was half finished so I deleted it.. idk when the fuckin service will be gone again so decided to not keep this in my drafts longer than it has been already

headcanons ♡𐙚ּ ֶָ֢.

it took a hot while for you to have sex. not because you were uncomfortable in any way—you were not; but rather because you were too shy. too flustered to continue every time you thought it was, the night. dazai didn't mind—he found the delay adorable. and more importantly, he was more than happy with just cuddles or make out sessions, or nights that were a thrilling dance upon desire's edge.

and dazai was more than happy to be your first time—especially after you came to him yourself—telling him that you were ready, that you wanted him. and just hearing that from your lips internally got him up on cloud nine only after he relished the feeling of being trusted with such a raw thing, which was a bit of a surprise to him. not that he minded in the slightest.

he takes his sweet time just softly feeling you up. dazai's hands wander more than he kisses. his kisses are slow, one at a time—but his hands don't waste any time cleverly peeling off your clothing without you knowing when—running them over your now unclothed thighs, up to your sides, fingertips grazing your ribs—over every inch like it's owed. all while his lips are on yours, captured in a deep, wet kiss. his tongue dances with yours smoothly, stealing your breathing and making you hazy—all so sensually lewd.

you can't help yourself from blushing—it all feels so raw, so intimate—laid underneath him, bare and exposed yet fully content. his hands are cruel in their patience as he cups one breast, thumb brushing over the hardened peak—making you gasp. his lips leave a lingering heat as they press on your neck, his voice sends a shiver down your spin as he whispers sweet nothings in your ear—a new, yet pleasant feeling—heat—runs through your body, you feel warm from head to toe, thighs squeezing together—because it's too much but not enough.

by the time his hand slides down, you're soaked with arousal. slick drips down your thighs, dampening the mattress. your thighs shyly fall open as you tug on his hair with a wanton look in your eyes, suddenly feeling way needier to care how obscene it looks—it gets him twitching against your thigh. he sinks two fingers into you—stretching slow, careful not to overwhelmed you, making you moan low in his ear.

when he finally sinks his cock into you, it's with his mouth open and wet on your neck and your head tilted to the side since you can't hold eye contact because of how flustered you feel—you feel his breath in hot puffs and a faint smirk on his lips—the shyness makes dazai smirk faintly against your skin. like a relief to the desperation that months of waiting, of needing held for you. he takes your hand in his bandaged one, his thumb gently circling the back of your hand as he starts moving. the pace is slow and deep—the head of his cock hits and fills every aching spot un you so perfectly you can't help but cling onto him, nails digging into his back.

he talks you through it, praising, muttering about how beautiful you look, how pretty you sound fucked-out on his cock—his own voice breaking from how good and warm and wet you feel around him—each word pulls a moan out of you that you don't even notice how lews they sound—head thrown back on the pillow as you feel a tight heat in your lower tummy.

the orgasm comes slowly and steadily with his fingers rubbing your clit and his mouth on that sensitive spot right behind your ear. you cums with a loud moan, body arching sweetly—a slow, lazy, needy release that rolls through your body while your slick gushes around him, dripping down his cock. and when he feels your tight walls fluttering uncontrollably around him? he breaks too, hips thrusting deeper just a little, enough to have you both cumming together in wet, obscene, lazy bursts that leave you panting into each other's mouths.

afterwards, air is hot with your sweat and breath. your thighs twitch around him, and he doesn't pull out. not right away. Instead, he shifts—his arms around your waist. one hand caressing your stomach, where he just filled you to the brim. you're quiet. boneless, still breathing heavy, head tucked under his chin, thigh thrown over his hip as you think about how fucking good it's gonna be every night for now on.

♡𐙚ּ ֶָ֢.

--