Well, Hes A Fine Young Man. If You Overlook The Atrocisties

Yooooo that dark Mic anon might be onto smthn...u just know he’d get off to the thought of flipping up his favorite student’s skirt and bending her over his desk while she calls him Mr Yamada

The Mr. Yamada tho ♡♡♡♡

That makes my coochie flutter so much ♡♡♡♡♡

Hold on just a second. Just one itty bitty second. I just- I need to-

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

He thinks about it more often than he should.

He likes to think that you think about it, too.

His favorite little student- so easily flustered and so very sweet, so eager for praise and such a good little girl that gives it all for her beloved teacher. You’re so fuckin’ cute- a real sweetheart- and, god, Yamada loves sweethearts- you’re his true weakness with your innocent face and shy smiles, your soft giggles and sparkling eyes. He loves you and he loves how good you look in your uniform. He loves how soft your thighs look and how hard you work to please him, how you savor his compliments with an eagerness that can’t be faked.

Such a good girl. So genuine. So pure.

He’d love to see the faces you make while grinding on his cock. He’d love to see how sweet you’d look with teary eyes dazed with pleasure and your lips trembling with anxious desire.

He’d love to bend you over his desk and flip your pleated skirt up, get a real good glimpse of your cotton panties.

You’d like it, he knows- you’d like the attention from your sensei and you’d like him teasing you over your wet little pussy and your soft, whiny gasps of “Mr. Yamada!” You’d like him eating your tiny little cunt and you’d like him stuffing you with his cock, making you cum and filling it up and fixing your pretty little panties. You’d like having to sit in your own come for the rest of the school day and you’d like whimpering and rubbing your thighs together, trying not to pant as you wait out the time until you can suck his cock like a good little student and let him fuck and fill you all over again.

A grunt leaves Yamada and he arches up into his fist, bites back a groan as he fucks his hand to the thought of his most favorite little student.

He gets so close to cumming thinking about your tight little peach of a cunt and he gets so close to getting off to your sweet whimpers and mewls as the thought of turning you into his darling little slut.

He gets so close but then-

The bell.

A snarl of a sigh leaves Yamada and he huffs to himself, stuffs his cock back into his pants and wipes his hand down his jacket. He pouts as students begin to file back into the classroom, but a small smile melts it away when he alights his eyes on you.

Yamada licks his lips as he watches you sit down, as he catches a flash of striped panties as you cross your legs.

Maybe he’ll keep you after class today...he knows you wouldn’t mind some one on one time with Mister Yamada.

Lips twitching with a smirk, Yamada picks up and his chalk and begins to teach.

There was a mouse in the house

Haarlep x Female Tav and Raphael x Female Tav (kind of) | NSFW

Warnings: cunniligus, p in v sex, voyeurism kind of? So I have not been able to play this game yet but this man has possessed me and something happened and yeah. I am going purely off a couple of youtube videos, vibes and horniness. It all started when Haarlep said that the host of they body they use feels everything they are doing which obviously means Raphael was well aware of what was going on in the boudoir.

He felt it the moment she set foot into the House of Hope. His fist tightened around the glass of wine he was holding and his artfully designed smile turned brittle at the edges as he felt the not unremarkable wards around his sanctuary open for an unauthorised portal. The potential client he was currently entertaining was none the wiser to his sudden inattention but he had hardly been paying attention to their prattling to begin with. His little mouse had decided to bite the hand that would have so willingly fed it, if she had only agreed to his generous offer. He hated to admit it even now but her continued refusal to work with him, even when he had already offered her so much had stung. He had allowed his ill advised affection for this particular client to cloud his typically impeccable judgement and as he should have foreseen, it was now being thrown back in his face. 

There was only one thing she could possibly be after, that which he would have freely given, well not freely but for such a reasonable price. But his house was not so hospitable to intruders. There was time yet to finish his business here. It may not be the soul he wanted but it was a soul nonetheless. He refocuses his attention on the task at hand, carefully choosing his words as he weaves his web around the man sitting before him. It’s easy work so he has to try that little bit harder to temper the simmering rage that is growing inside him. But then it is done, business concluded and he can see to his little thieving mouse.

As he is preparing to travel he feels the first shiver run down his spine. Surely Haarlep was not entertaining when there was a little thief on the loose and yet there was no mistaking that feeling. He pauses in the doorway of his rented room, uncharacteristically affected by his Incubus’ antics but something tells him to wait. There were only a few plausible possibilities for who could be the target of his servants attentions but before he can squash it his traitorous mind informs him exactly who he wants it to be. As soon as her name flits across his mind his body begins to betray him. 

His desperation for her to sign his contract, become one of his souls, well deep down he had been aware that this masked a much deeper, more primal want. How he wanted to own her body and mind as much as he craved ownership of her soul. Better not to dwell on those things, he had told himself, over and over. His needs were simple and really he could only rely on himself so why even risk letting anyone else close. But as he succumbs to the ghostly feeling of his body being touched by another he knows he is at the brink of his undoing. 

With a snap of his fingers his clothes are gone and as he falls back onto the suddenly convenient bed in his rented rooms, he concentrates on the vague tingling caresses in a way he hasn’t indulged in such a long time, until they begin to feel almost tangible. It seems his incubus is taking his time with this one, feeling and tasting as much as he can. He feels soft warm skin against his tongue, the taste unfortunately alluding him but he can almost imagine it as he recalls the spicy earthy scent that lingers around her every time they meet. In his hand he feels a soft breast cupped in his palm, a pebbled nipple circled by the pad of his thumb. He yearns to pinch it between his fingers, pull and twist it until she was gasping her pleasure into his mouth but he is restricted by whatever it is Haarlep choses to do next and when he feels her other perfect nipple against his tongue he can’t suppress a groan.

The floodgates were opened as his phantom teeth nibbled at her, every thought he had buried about her ample bosom, always so perfectly displayed in her coquettishly revealing armour, situated just so to tease and tantalise. He had never allowed the thought to linger previously, as well as any potential attraction she may have had towards him but now, knowing that she had requested Haarlep to take his form was confirmation enough. He could picture her as easily as he could feel her, she would be completely nude, the incubus would have insisted, spread out against his crimson sheets, her skin glowing in a beautiful contrast. He would find every mark and blemish on her left by any other inferior being and cover them with his own, made by his claws or his teeth until there was no doubt who she belonged to. He only hoped that Haarlep mapped her body as carefully as he needed so he could explore them all at his leisure. The smooth expanses of skin passing over his hands and lips filled him with hope that that was exactly what was happening at his house. 

He was more aroused then he could remember but he needed more even as he was hesitant to take things further himself. His cock even in his human shell stood erect between his legs, untouched though it was, and he had to fist his hands into the coarse sheets below him to avoid ending this encounter before it had truly begun. He felt his tongue trace what he only could guess was her belly button and his heart began to race at the destination the incubus was journeying towards. He settles back against the pillows as he imagined himself settling between her legs, his fingers spreading open her sweet cunt which would be already glistening with the slick evidence of her arousal just tempting him to taste. He feels her folds against the flat of his tongue, his own watering mouth simulating her wetness for him. He doesn’t need to but he finds himself simulating the movements he can feel, rolling his tongue against thin air as he would if he had her there to feast on himself.  

His hands must leave her thighs because he is all of a sudden blindsided by the vice like heat around his fingers. How excited she must be for the incubus’ thick fingers to sink into her with so little resistance although her cunt doesn’t seem to want to relinquish them as she clenches tight around them as they slide out of her. So close, she must be so close to cuming for him and he writhes, desperate to hear the sounds she would make as he pushed her to the point of oblivion. How her laboured breathing might feel against his heated skin, how she might moan or gasp or scream his name in her ecstasy. The feel of her around his fingers and tongue is suddenly gone, ripping him gasping from his fantasy and he feels bereft, sucking in heaving breaths as he remembers where he is but he is not left adrift for long, his hands finding contact with her soft skin once again. The feel of her grounds him even as the real sensation belongs to his incubus. In his fevered arousal he struggles to catch up with the pair of them, heated hands grasping at his shoulders, frantic lips biting at his own, a strong leg hooking over his hip pulling him in as close as he can get.   

It’s only when he feels the head of his cock lining up to her entrance that everything comes back into focus. He knows Haarlep and he knows exactly how he will tease her now he has her exactly where he wants her. He feels the drag of her folds over the head of his cock coating himself in her slick and stroking against her clit. He hopes she is begging now, begging to be filled by him. He would keep her waiting too, until there were tears falling down her cheeks and she could do nothing but whimper his name. He feels the tip breach her and then stop. He can’t bring himself to move as he waits with bated breath for her to be forced to take him fully and he waits and waits. He feels the spasms in his abdomen as everything is pulled taught and he spares a thought as he often does for his incubus’ impossible will power as he resists the temptation of her clenching hole. 

He begins to move so slowly, easing his thick cock into her inch by inch. Every time he thrusts he pushes a little deeper. She opens up for him so beautifully and he yearns to feel how wet she is for himself. He can’t help thrusting in time with Haarlep as he imagines her there with him now, riding his needy cock and having to work her way down his length until she could take all of him. He is straining against his horribly empty bed when his cock is finally sheathed in her soft wet heat and even the ghost of the sensation is enough to finish him. His climax hits him like a wall, muscles clenching as the pleasure shudders through his body. He arches off the bed as he spills his seed across his own chest, too high on his pleasure to even begin to feel shame at finishing untouched.  

He should move, he knows this but his limbs feel heavy and light simultaneously and he wishes to bask in this feeling for a moment longer. It is as he catches his breath he realises that the portal his little thief had used to breach his walls has closed. How curious. He acknowledged that he had lain here perhaps a little too long but surely not long enough for them to fight their way through the house and claim their stolen prize. Perhaps this little adventure of hers needn’t be the end of their game. He sits up preparing to rebuild his composure and return to assess the damage her and her party of misfits had left in their wake but he can’t keep the smile from his face. ‘Oh little mouse, you know not what you have started.’

do you like men

man is a hopeless creature. i don't like much of anyone

your anime husband greeting you in the morning- shirtless and in low slung sweatpants, holding out a cup of coffee or tea for you, a soft smile on his face and a raspy, “good morning sugar.”

I should be on someone’s lap getting my neck kissed and ass grabbed right now 🙄

sorry I always felt undesirable my entire life and it gave me kinks of wanting someone to desire me so extremely it's uncontrollable for them as if that's my fault

Heya! Could you write a little something about f! reader getting a massage from Dutch? It can get nsfw if you feel up to it :D Thanks if you decide to do this 😊🤍

send me a smutty rdr2 request!

a/n: @woman-with-no-name might fuck around and write a sequel to this (i'm already in the middle of writing a sequel to this), so let me know if you want to be tagged in that too <3. also, i am very much aware of the irony of this being a dutch fic and the title being a line from a song named 'no plan'.

rating: teen and up for vague descriptions of being horny and heavy suggestiveness, but nothing explicit.

warnings: sowing needles, dutch being bad at flirting, slight power imbalance, vague descriptions of getting shot.

Thrilled By The Still Of Your Hand – Part 1 (1.7k words)

The needle moves as if it has a mind of its own. In fact, it kind of does.

You've been mending clothes for hours now, hands working on their own volition, confident in their movements after years of doing the exact same menial task, as you stare at the shirt you're repairing as if transfixed.

In truth, your mind is blank, exhaustion permeating every part of your being, muscles sore and tender from the heavy workload you've taken onto your shoulders.

It's all thanks to Williamson. Because of course it is.

The asshole had fucked up so bad that you had to move camps once again, leaving behind a sizeable amount of potential stolen goods and money, and thrusting more work onto the shoulders of everyone in the gang; Especially you and the other women.

What you wouldn't give for just a few minutes of peace and quiet and stillness.

A voice, deep and rough, halts your fingers. It lashes at you like a whip, in spite of the pleasant tone, the peace and quiet disturbed – a rock thrown into still water.

"Ah, hello, miss."

Your start, feel the pinprick of your needle before you see it, thin metal sliding through the flesh of your forefinger. It hasn't just breached your skin though; It's sunk into your finger so almost a fifth of the needle is embedded in you, and there's a slow trickle of blood emitting from the prick when you pull it out, all gentle and careful. The quiet rush of scarlet glides over your skin and you watch in tired defeat as it drips onto the white fabric you've been working on for the better part of half an hour.

Great. More work.

"Mr. Van der Linde," you reply, polite but short-handed, too fatigued to make real conversation, and cast him a sidelong glance.

He's looking as impeccable as ever, well put-together and handsome, his white sleeves rolled up above his elbows, revealing long expanses of sun-kissed skin and the dark hair strewn across his forearms. You wonder, as impulsive and brief as the thought is, what he would look like all disheveled and raw – what he would look like if he worked even half as much as you or miss Grimshaw or even Abigail, heavily pregnant as she is.

He's got a cigar curled between his fingers, a faint shroud of smoke floating in the air, curling around his head and throat with the familiarity of the gentle caress of a lover.

You press your bleeding finger past your lips and place it on your tongue. Its warmth and wetness soothe the sting, the metallic tang of blood spreading in your mouth.

"It's Dutch," he says, but it's strained, twisted – a mockery of the gentle cheeriness in his voice just moments before, and you turn yourself to face him better, to get a proper look at him, only to falter and freeze, caught in the stare he gives you. His eyes are dark, jaw set tight, and you can do nothing to stop the quiet shiver flowing forth within you. "How are you doing on a fine day like this?"

You slide your finger out of your mouth. There's spit sticking to it, your stained skin glistening in the sun, and you wipe it off in your already grimy skirt.

You think you see Dutch following the motion, the dark irises of his eyes shifting around until they eventually land on your face, but you're not sure.

Probably just the fatigue getting to you.

However, you are certain that his grip on his cigar has tightened, a small dent in the tobacco visible even from where you're sitting.

"I'm fine, sir."

Dutch looks as if your voice has snapped him out of thought and he clears his throat, takes a drag.

"I've seen you working, much more than usual. You must be terribly sore."

"Oh, I guess I am. It's been a busy few days. You know how miss Grimshaw gets."

Dutch chuckles, a low, rumbling thing that sends tingles down your spine. "I sure do."

He watches you for a moment, gaze searching in a way you're unused to, feel a scarlet flush rising in your cheeks. You avert your eyes, and focus on the needle and thread going in and out of the fabric instead.

Then, there are hands on your upper arms. Though you thought it impossible, you grow tenser, shoulders rising, breath catching in your throat. That is, until those hands – those big, warm hands – start making a path up and down your upper arms, soothing in a way that has the tension crawling beneath your skin dissolving like sugar on a wet tongue.

When they come to rest where your shoulders meet your neck, fingers dig into tender muscles.

A moan brushes past your lips, faint and pitiful, but inevitable. You're aching, beneath it all, stressed and on edge after working yourself to the bone. Yes, it's somewhat miss Grimshaw's fault, but you wanted to help out as much as you could on your own accord too. She pushes you, but you're the one taking the leaps, damn near wrestling any and all heavy workloads out of Abigail's hands, even if she is only five months along.

It's like heaven, the way his hands move across the expanse of your back and work at the strain and stress contorting every part of your being, something strange yet tempting curling in your stomach when he delicately pulls at your sleeves, exposing the naked skin of your shoulders to the tepid weather.

"So tense."

Your mind, in that exact moment, catches up to what's going on, Dutch's voice much closer to your ear than before. Close enough to feel faint puffs of breath brush against the shell of your ear. He's moved behind you, rendering you unable to see him, your only point of contact being his strong hands on your shoulders. Your back. Your collarbones.

He's so soft-spoken, every word spoken with gentle charisma and sympathy, tongue curling around syllables in the most delectable way. And yet, he's so close that you can feel the vibrations in his chest when he speaks, giving his voice an air of menace – a predator soothing an unsuspecting prey.

"It has not escaped me, miss, that you've been working extra hard these past couple of days. Trying to make up for Mr. Williamson's blunder?"

Yes. That's exactly what you've been doing. Miss Grimshaw too. As much of a pain in the ass she is from time to time, you have to admit that she's only trying to do right by the gang, and you do your best to follow in her footsteps.

And you attempt to express this, say, "It's the least I can do,"

His laugh is a rumble. "Now you're just selling yourself short, my dear."

He tears another groan from you, thumbs digging into a particularly sore bundle of nerves in your shoulders. His fingers, deft as they are, grab onto and exterminate any point of stress or tenderness they can find, working over naked, pliable flesh, and you just sit there and take it, caught up in the wonderful relief of it all, eyelids fluttering close. Exhaustion takes over.

"I, too, have found myself in need of relief from all this stress, you know."

And you're wide awake.

You open your mouth to reply, to protest – assert that you never meant to imply otherwise and that you're grateful for everything he's done and does for the gang; For you. However, as your lips part, the words get stuck on your tongue, breath hitching at the exact same time your stomach swoops.

Dutch rests a hand on your throat.

It's a heavy thing, his rings cold against your flushed skin, fingers curled just enough to apply a gentle, yet unyielding pressure against your larynx, his skin coarse against yours. Your heart picks up speed, fluttering in your chest with the speed of hummingbird wings, and you know he can feel it because his thumb rests on your pulse point, pressing down slightly

"You know, there are other more pleasurable ways of helping you relax. Really relax. Take your mind off of things."

You were shot once. In the gut. You remember so vividly the suddenness of the wound, the swell of equal parts warmth and mind-numbing pain in your abdomen. It rendered you lost and helpless – as if you were drowning – in the middle of a shoot-out, vision blurry, like you were watching everything through a window while it's raining. The only thing you could focus on through it all was the warm hands on you – the dash of bright scarlet by your side.

It feels like déjà vu.

Except now, along with the warmth in your gut and feeling of helplessness seeping into your skin, bone-deep, there's a throbbing. Lower than your gut. Between your legs. And coursing through your veins is something gushing and fiery and impossible to rule.

He moves further up, cups your jaw, fingers digging into bone. There is pain there, but it pulses along with pleasure. He could crack your jaw if he wanted to.

A part of you – a foreign part you did not know existed – would let him.

The tip of his thumb is on your lower lip, pulling down, barely dipping in. A brush of his fingertip over the dryness there has you releasing a shaky exhale. His touches are delicate but purposeful, akin to how an artist runs a paintbrush across his canvas. You cling to it, blooming beneath his caresses. They warm you like bright rays of sun from the inside out, flames licking beneath your skin in a way you've never experienced before.

"My tent is always open, dear." Breathless. Helpless. What can you do? "Come to me if you need anything. Anything at all."

He pats you on the cheek – his fingers like claws – and walks off as if nothing happened. As if he hasn't left you a blushing mess, heat curling and burning in the pit of your stomach, thighs rubbing together in a vain attempt to ease the pressure that's gathered at the crux of them, sensitive skin flush with goosebumps.

The promise in his voice, carefully wrapped in pretty words and resolute touches, is delectable and lascivious and terrifying all at the same time.

You carry on with your work. It's all you can do. Except, now, your mind is everything but blank.

Unpredictable (Nighteye X Reader X Mirio) NSFW

Summary: Even with his Foresight, Mirai doesn’t predict having a threesome with his old mentee and said mentee’s new girlfriend. He isn’t upset about it, though. Some things are better left as a surprise.

Pairing: Mirai Sasaki (Sir Nighteye) X fem!reader X Mirio Togata Word Count: ~ 7.3K Warnings: spoilers for season 4 (but everybody lives), swearing, graphic sex, threesome, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, squirting, spitroasting, no condom, spitting, improper use of Quirk Author’s Note: Y’all pray for me. This is definitely the most explicit thing I’ve ever written. So much sinning involved, good god. After reading this, make me feel better about my disgusting self.  ~

Keep reading

Nighttime Adventure (Erasermic dabble)

Okay! So I had a dream last night where the reader of @weebsinstash Ereasermic series felt so starved of affection that they couldn't fall asleep, and went over to their bedroom to snuggle - and of course when I woke up I just felt this ungodly need to write a little something based on it. 

The inspiration was there and I wasn't about to not capitalize on that opportunity. That being said here's a little dabble for you based on that scenario. 

Please note that this is literally the first time I’ve written something like this, so i’m unpracticed to say the least.

Nighttime Adventure

Your steps are slow and deliberate, trying to mask every noise emitted for the floorboard beneath you. You’re sure they can still hear you, they can hear every little sound in this blasted place. Though you were so sure just minutes before, you now feel your legs trembling with every step. Your feet feel like weights tied to you, like somewhere deep in your subconscious your own body is trying to stop you from what you’re about to do. Surely nothing good can come from it in the long run - but you can think about that now, you’re too caught up in the here and now. 

With your heartbeat blaring through your body, leaving a slight ringing in your ears, you finally reached their door. It looms over you, tall and foreboding. Behind it you can hear the two men uttering small whispers of concern and confusion, ready to spring out of bed at a moments notice. You can’t help the small snort that escapes you at the irony of the situation, after all this must be the first time their vigilance would not be necessary. 

As your hand make contact with the cold surface of the door, a slight shiver runs through you. The thought clears its way to the front of your mind; There was no turning back now, they knew you were standing there just as well as you did. If you tried turning back now to escape into the sanctity of your own room, they’d surely come right after you looking for answers as to your little nighttime adventure.

Taking a deep breath you begin to push the door open, it’s hinges screech loudly as if to beg you to stop, as it slowly slides open. You reflexively tilt your head to the side, eyes screwed shut. Maybe if you refuse to look then the reality of it all won't shift in just yet. But as you finally soak up your last bit of bravery you look up you see their dark forms looming in the distance. A heavy fog of uncertainty rolls over you, leaving you breathless. The silence among you is deafening as each of you wait for something, anything, to break it. 

Surly what comes next would change everything for the foreseeable future. You can’t do anything more than wish upon the stars that you’ve made the right decision...

-ˏˋmineˊˎ

｡･:*˚:✧｡

genre ; nsfw / +18

warnings ; nsfw, smut, vaginal fingering, hair-pulling, edging / orgasm denial, unprotected sex, jealous / rough sex, degradation, swearing, established relationship.

taglist ; @normiewrites​ @kingtamakimurder​ @briswriting​(they helped me), @brattyquirks​

.+☼☾✯꧂

[osamu dazai x fem!reader]

request ; Do you think you can write something about Dark Era!Dazai or ADA!Dazai being jealous and how he would remind his S/O who they ‘belong to’ pretty please? Also can it be NSFW?

ok so i’ll admit, this was rushed, it’s sloppy and not as good as my others. i’m sorry.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

it wasn’t like dazai to be jealous.

he trusted you. he had shown the most vulnerable part of himself. white silky bandages covering his milky skin, soft brown curls shaping his face while a feeling of uneasiness overwhelm the weight in his stomach. those dark honey coloured eyes staring down at you with uncertainty while your soft fingers danced over his lithe form, slowly unravelling the material that covered his body ; hidden from the cruel world.

so why was he jealous now?

sounds of shuffling papers, the clack of keyboards and quiet chatter filled the agency. it sounded and smelt exactly like a usual workplace would, except if jealously had a smell, it would have a bitter aroma of burning chemicals.

your e/c glistened with joy as ranpo continued to ramble and boast about how “utterly amazing” he was. dazai watched from his desk, his chestnut eyes analytically observing every facial expression the pair of you made. 

dazai’s fingers twitched in annoyance as you giggled. dazai huffed softly and tried to focus back on his work, knowing that kunikida would yell at him about it…again.

“dazai-san?” atsushi’s meek voice sounded from beside him, dazai’ head turning slightly to face the grey-haired boy.

“hm?”

“if you don’t mind me asking…  why do you keep looking at ranpo-san and y/n-chan?” dazai’s eyes widened slightly. was he really that obvious?

“oh, no reason!” dazai quickly dismissed atsushi, giving him that bright smile he always did. “just interested in their conversation!”

“oh ok,” atsushi gave a small smile before quickly scurrying back off to his desk. dazai smirked as you briefly glanced at him, his eyes glistening with mischief. you turned back to ranpo as he whined your name, much to dazai’s displeasure.

the dull thud of dazai’s fingers hitting the oak wood table beneath him and the small melody he hummed did nothing to cure his everlasting boredom. the paperwork stared back at him, almost as if it was taunting him. he huffed, letting his eyes wander around the room until he felt his eyebrows raise at the sight he came across.

ranpo’s bright emerald eyes were staring directly at you, a smirk on his face as he watched you shake your head, a light pink blush warming your cheeks. Your hands reached up to cover your blush, a small shy smile tugging at your cheeks.

dazai felt his eye twitch, the feeling of jealousy swelling up in his stomach, boiling red and green while his lips tugged into a deep frown. deciding that he had enough of ranpo’s antics, dazai pushed himself up with his palms on the desk, walking over to you in long strides.

you shivered as you felt the warmth of dazai’s body pressed against your side, one arm snaking around your waist and pulling you closer to him while a bittersweet smile stretched across dazai’s face. his fingers almost painfully dug into your side, making sure you knew that he was there.

“well what do you have here, m’lady?” he shamelessly winked at you, a groan leaving ranpo’s mouth at dazai’s antics. your heart lurched as you felt his fingers dig into your side, even more, his fake cheerful expression never wavering.

but, you knew better.

“we were just talking about stuff!“ you smiled up at dazai, making him look down at you curiously.   

”‘stuff’, hm?“ you nodded in response, hardly noticing how hard ranpo was staring at you. dazai did.

"dazaiii, do you know if we have any more snacks?” ranpo whined, interrupting dazai. “…besides y/n of course.”

ohohoh?

“I don’t know ranpo-san,” you almost shuddered at how vicious he sounded. “why don’t you go find out for once instead of leeching off everyone else, since you’re ‘so utterly great’?” 

the dark look covered over his eyes, his smile turning into the bitter smile that could make anyone quiver. he almost giggled when he saw you visibly swallow, either out of anticipation or nerves, you both didn’t know…

“dazai-san! get back to work, you idiot!”

Keep reading