helpilikeobjects

[helpilikeobjects]

ᴍᴇʟʟɪꜰʟᴜᴏᴜꜱ ⟡ ݁₊ ⏾

sfw. edogawa ranpo x reader. no gendered pronouns used for reader. fluff, ranpo is the biggest sweetie (nothing new) and spoils reader a lil bit, blatantly written as sleep aid for dorothea. 1.4k words.

the tradition of reading to each other before bed turns into your favorite way to fall asleep.

“You’re gonna fall asleep if you lay on me like that.” Well, Ranpo already knows this is the case.

It happens every single time - without fail - after all. How you’ll turn out all the lights save for the single dim one left to rest amongst the clutter on the table next to your bed; random misplaced objects and trinkets, balled up store receipts and many candy wrappers.

He can’t help but feel a little irritated at times from this, and he has tried to voice it - albeit, not pursuing the complaint with as much persistence as he normally would when bothered by something. He has to strain his eyes to see in these conditions, and it’s like you want his eyesight to diminish. Of course, Ranpo knows this isn’t your intention. Anyone with eyes could see what your true motives are. Like clockwork, you’ve burrowed your way under his arm and taken your place; resting your head on his chest, snuggled up to his side in your usual attempts to siphon all of his warmth. Although, he produces plenty of it much to your apparent delight this time of year. The fleece of his sweater, soft and warm against your cheek as you use him like a pillow, peering up at him so innocently through your lashes even though you’re both aware that you clearly know exactly what you’re trying to pull. And his heart stutters in his chest as he silently curses you just a little, because it’s unfair just how much you have him wrapped around your finger despite the fact that it’s supposed to be the opposite here. At the very least, he’d much rather you hand him an encyclopedia, or even the back of a shampoo bottle to read at this rate, something mindless– although, maybe not. It would be incredibly boring. 

Ranpo lets out an unconcealed, exasperated sigh. “...Let me guess. You want me to start over.” He gestures vaguely to the novel in his hand; the very one he’s attempted to read outloud to you over the past three nights now. And that’s three nights he’s had to read the same thing over and over, only to find you fast asleep a mere five pages in. You made it to eight last night, but– oh, you’re already yawning. He sighs again. 

“Mm…” You mumble softly, smacking your lips a little bit as you settle in a little more. “You don’t have to, I guess. You can start from wherever you left off.” Well, that would be ideal for him, too. He can recite the first chapter alone from memory easily at this point. But he also knows you well enough that you’ll be a little disappointed if you miss out on key details of the plot - or perhaps more likely, the entire story all together. 

“Let’s do this, then. What’s the last thing you remember happening?” He inquires gently. “Um…” You narrow your eyes, your face scrunching up adorably in thought. “The main character was y’know…Introduced.” 

“...” That’s the very first scene. Not to mention how incredibly vague of an answer that is in the first place.  “...Most books start like that, y’know. You just don’t remember, do you?” “Uh…” You pinch your lips together, at least having the humility to look the tiniest bit bashful as you avert your gaze. “...No?”

Ranpo huffs out of his nose, the sound at least somewhat amused. Even so, you’re incredibly obvious. You’re not even trying to hide it. It’s that conspicuous display of disregarding the original intent of this little tradition the two of you have started - that is, reading together before bed. And although it’s not difficult to put two-and-two together in this scenario, less so for himself in many situations, it doesn’t stop the visible proof of heat rising to his cheeks - even if just subtly enough to dismiss as a trick of the barely present, warm glow illuminating the small room. 

A low noise gathers in his throat as he prepares to confront this inconsequential, yet growing elephant in the room. “You just like the sound of my voice, huh?” “Well, yeah…” You don’t hesitate to agree, burying your cheek further against his chest like you’re trying to snuggle into his fluttering heart. And if you notice the acceleration of his pulse, you don’t comment on it as you continue to perpetuate it. “I love it a lot. It makes me–” You cut yourself off with another yawn. “...Sleepy.”

With every little bit as loud and boisterous as Ranpo can be with both presence and voice, you’ve clearly grown to enjoy the contrast of those intimate moments between the two of you. When his voice dips into a lower tone - even and so soft; as if even the slightest reverberation would have you shattering like glass in his arms. So very precious to him. To ever have it demanded of you to feel anything but safe and protected in moments like these is simply unfair. He’s not surprised, honestly. Not at you for deeming him as your own personal sleep aid like this. But maybe it’s not so bad. The plot is kind of cliche and silly, but well, you laying on him like this is kinda nice. So maybe it’s something he can endure for a little while. You’ve been falling asleep quick enough as it is, anyways. Ranpo lets out his one millionth sigh for the night, but this time it ends with a soft, breathy chuckle. “Well? Make yourself comfortable, I guess.” 

And you do. Shifting under the blankets to pull the duvet snuggly over the two of you, you drape an arm over his narrow chest as you somehow manage to press even closer into him, leaving no significant gap between either of your bodies. It’s habitual how you melt into him and go all the more limp the moment he cracks open the book and begins, this time where he last left off. His voice is nothing short of mellifluous; so incredibly calming and familiar in every sense of the word. Of course it has your eyelids drooping, and why would you ever bother to fight that off? 

His arm bends at the elbow at a slightly awkward angle in order to run his delicate fingers through your hair; just the way he knows you prefer it. It’s a little uncomfortable, sure, and his arm will be asleep in minutes at this rate, but he does it regardless. And it feels worth it; peering down at you - albeit from his periphery - to catch even the smallest glimpse of your slightly parted lips and fluttering lids as they shut for good for the night; utterly blissed out from even the most simple affections that he gives you. You’re incredibly easy to please sometimes, he thinks. But that’s just because he’s special to you, isn’t it?

It’s for the third time that Ranpo questions to himself why he’s willing to go through such inconveniences for you. The question gains intensity each and every time it’s asked, as does the feeling that accompanies it. It confuses him, how he isn’t met with annoyance or even more than the vaguest form of amusement at the fact that he lets you get away with this as often as he does. More so, he’s met with this warmth in his chest that has been present for you for what seems to be an incredibly long time now. He very silently ponders this for only a brief moment as he reads the words on the page to you in that soft tone you’ve grown more than fond of. Because the answer is the most obvious one in the entire world, and can be found immediately.

Simply put, he loves you. 

It doesn’t take long at all. Mere minutes, really. And he eyes you every once in a while as if to check on you when you shift all that little bit closer, or let out a soft, contented sigh. And there’s nothing short of deep adoration he has for you the moment he finds you fast asleep on his chest with the smallest smile on your lips. 

Ranpo’s heart doesn’t skip a beat, nor does it stop. But an all too concurrent sense of warmth blossoms in his chest the moment that he quietly realizes that he’d like to be around you forever. Perhaps that alone would be more than a decent trade for indulging you like this every once in a while. 

He leans down a little, and ghosts his lips against your temple. “G’night. You’ll probably expect me to spoil you some more tomorrow too, hm?”

dorothea: "hey...so remember when i said i was taking a break? lmao. i realized that writing wasn't so much the issue as much as it was me not letting myself write the things i really want to make! ever since i've been operating under that mentality, i've actually been writing SO much and am having fun with it again!! i hope you enjoyed!!"

[helpilikeobjects]

₊˚⊹ ᰔ Add Up My Love

or ( hyper- ) specific romance imagines with dazai, chuuya, ranpo, akutagawa, fyodor

You had never seen Dazai so quiet. The late evening light painted the room in shades of amber, casting a golden halo around him as he sat at his desk, pen gliding smoothly over paper. His expression was unguarded, almost vulnerable, lips moving faintly as though he were whispering the words he was writing to the empty air. There was a stillness to him, an absence of his usual dramatics, that made you pause in the doorway, hesitant to disturb the rare peace. But curiosity, that insistent pull, eventually dragged you closer. “Dazai?” you called softly.

His hand stilled mid-word, shoulders stiffening as if caught in a secret. Slowly, he turned to face you, his usual grin making an appearance, but it lacked its usual spark. “Ah, bella,” he drawled lightly, “what impeccable timing. Caught me in the middle of my dull, bureaucratic duties.” But your eyes had already fallen to the letter on the desk, its ink still glistening, the words “To my dearest, whenever you find this,” staring back at you. As your chest tightened, and realization dawned, you reached for the paper. Surprisingly, he didn’t stop you, only sighed, and leaned back in his chair. “Just leaving something behind,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “For you. In case there’s ever a day I can’t say these things myself.”

dt siyun xo

Chuuya’s boots echoed through the hallway as he entered your apartment, his gaze immediately snapping to you, barely standing on your own. As you swayed slightly, the wine still clouding your mind, his expression darkened. “You’re a mess,” he grumbled, his voice sharp but laced with something that wasn’t quite anger. Without waiting for you to respond, he was already at your side, his hand steadying your waist with surprising firmness, his other arm around your shoulders, guiding you toward the bathroom. “C’mon, you’re not going to bed like this.”

You mumbled something incoherent, but he paid it no mind, already pulling a chair out in front of the mirror and gently sitting you down. His movements were surprisingly tender as he grabbed the makeup remover. There was no hurry in his hands as he carefully pressed the cotton pad to your skin, wiping away the smeared mascara with an attention to detail that caught you off guard. His eyes, though gruff, softened as they traced your face, erasing the evidence of your night out. “Can’t believe you let yourself get this bad,” he murmured, though there was no real bite behind the words. When Chuuya moved to your hair, his fingers slid through your tangles, gentle but insistent, working through each knot with a patience that felt almost reverent. “Don’t move.” With a touch softer than you had ever expected from him, he brushed your hair with careful strokes. “I’m staying with you until you have sobered up.”

Akutagawa lingered at the edge of the room, watching you with a quiet intensity. The dim glow of the streetlights outside bathed your form in a soft halo, your chest rising and falling in a gentle, almost hypnotic rhythm. Replaced by an unfamiliar stillness as he observed the delicate vulnerability you wore in your sleep, the cold edges of his usual demeanor melted away. Every line of tension in his body seemed to ease, and for a fleeting moment, the weight of the world felt distant. His eyes, usually sharp and calculating, softened as they traced the curve of your face, the way your hair fell carelessly around you. He found himself held captive by the simplicity of the moment, as if your presence alone grounded him.

You shifted in your sleep, muttering something barely audible, and Akutagawa froze. The sound of your voice, though muffled by sleep, stirred something deep inside him—a pull he couldn’t resist. His heart thudded a little louder, and before he could stop himself, a quiet, gruff sound slipped from his lips. “Tch, idiot,” he murmured, his tone betraying an uncharacteristic tenderness. He quickly turned away, a faint flush rising to his cheeks, his pulse quickening in a way that both startled and unsettled him. Gripping the doorframe to steady himself, as if the weight of this strange emotion might overwhelm him, he retreated into the shadows while his mind raced with feelings tangled into something more profound than he’d ever expected.

Dim lights of the room flickered as soft piano notes drifted through the air, barely audible, as if the music itself were hesitant to interrupt the silence between you. Fyodor stood before you, his presence commanding, even in the stillness. His hands hovered near your waist, their tension palpable, a silent request for you to take control. There was no impatience in his gaze, only a quiet insistence, a rare vulnerability from the man who always held everything so tightly. His eyes, dark and unreadable, bore into yours, waiting—no words, just a soft, unspoken command that he would follow you, if only you dared. A test? Yeah, definitely.

As you took the first step, his hand settled against your back, fingers brushing against the fabric of your clothes with surprising tenderness. The faintest tremor of control still lingered in his touch, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he let you lead with quiet confidence, as if testing the limits of his restraint. The stillness between your movements was thrilling, charged with an electricity neither of you dared to acknowledge. Steady yet barely noticeable, his breath became the only sound that mattered to you as you swayed together, the dance becoming something far more intimate, a shared language only the two of you understood. Although the tension in his body was almost imperceptible,you felt it—his willingness to surrender, if only for this moment.

The quiet morning wrapping you in a serene haze, you woke up slowly, but it was the weight of Ranpo’s arm around you that pulled you fully from sleep. Though, the moment he felt your gentle movements under his touch, he instinctively drew you closer, his form curling tighter against yours as though the intimacy was a need he couldn’t deny. Completely unaware of how tightly he was holding you, his lips buried in the crook of your neck, his breath warm and steady. He was deep in sleep, yet his grip continued to tighten, as though afraid of losing the radiating warmth of your presence. His legs were tangled with yours, and his hand rested possessively but gently on your waist, each little movement of his body a subconscious plea to stay as close as possible.

You couldn’t help but smile at the way he clung to you, his face peaceful and unaware of the vulnerability he was showing. It was a side of him you rarely saw—the brilliant, always composed detective reduced to nothing more than a boy seeking comfort in the quiet security of your arms. Even if he didn’t realize it, his soft sighs and the faint tugging at your shirt as he shifted closer made your heart swell. Before giving it much thought, you gently brushed his hair back, savoring the stillness, content to let him rest. For now, you simply stayed still, lost in the intimacy of that moment—where Ranpo, so often the one with all the answers, was nothing more than a quietly clinging soul seeking warmth.

dt dorothea

a/n: oh alright, need me a chuuya to brush my hair. can yall see the vision? it’s a physical need atp.

xoxo

[helpilikeobjects]

If you'd be interested, could you write a story about the reader having to take care of Ranpo when he's sick?

a/n: this is perfect timing actually bc i’m down with a cold rn HAJDBKDN eurgh :(( anw, i hope you enjoy this (reverse?) sick fic! not sure if i captured ranpo’s personality enough, but i tried :’> there’s an established relationship here, so if this isn’t your cup of tea and you just wanted reader taking care of ranpo in general, feel free to tell me so i can whip smth up quickly for you! :>

under the weather and your care

✑ character/s: ranpo edogawa x reader

✑ short desc: his immune system is struggling way too much after playing in the rain and eating lots of candy.

✑ content includes: fluff ; sfw ; established relationship ; sick fic ; nothing to warn anyone about, reader just has to take care of ranpo

✑ word count: 1.6k words

"I told you to drink more water."

Ranpo could only huff at your berating words, crossing his arms childishly while he turns his head away to avoid your stern gaze. As much as he was the world’s greatest detective, his boyish behavior still makes him refuse to acknowledge the fact that you were right to say that too many sweets without drinking enough fluids and having a fever was, indeed, a terrible decision.

A few days earlier, the both of you were assigned to a mission that somehow ended in having to travel to Shibuya for the final piece of evidence. Ranpo, as always, lived up to his title by piecing everything together within half a minute, and the next train to Yokohama wasn’t going to stop by the station any time soon, so he asked himself (and you)—

What harm is there in exploring the city for a little while?

It turned into a spontaneous date of sorts, enjoying all kinds of tourist spots from dressing up and playing around with many colorful fashion pieces in Harajuku to riding go-karts around the emptier streets (which ended in chaos). His favorite, however, and not much to your surprise, was visiting Totti Candy Factory with you in tow, immediately heading over to the buy a big serving of rainbow-colored cotton candy to munch on before grabbing at least two baskets to put the rest of his chosen sweets in (and unfortunately, you ended up going home with five).

Of course, being the ever-loving darling you are to your sugar addict of a boyfriend, you paid for everything. How could you not when he pouted at (coerced) you into bulk-buying them for him?

Everything was fine, even with the amount of candy bags you both had to carry, up until it started to rain.

Shibuya crossing was surprisingly emptier than usual considering it was already late in the afternoon on a weekday, and the freedom to prance around in the rainwater gave him enough thrill to begin jumping on the bigger puddles of the street, yellow rainboots creating the biggest splashes. Pedestrians and passersby eyed him strangely before avoiding him as they walked along, and you, charmed by his adorable character, thought it was funny—

…Until his boyish antics made him roll around in the puddles simply because it was fun.

It didn’t take much longer before you were dragging him away from the street and bowing your head apologetically at the surrounding people crossing as he whined helplessly. Soon after, you found yourselves sitting on a train back to Yokohama, the cushions wet with rainwater as you sat across each other. The poor detective complained about wanting to cuddle closer to you for some warmth, but you rejected his advances, trying not to get the seats any more wet than they already were.

You awkwardly avoided eye contact with him on the way home, guilt gnawing at your insides, and when you gathered enough courage to catch a glimpse of him in front of you all shivering and grouchy, the tug on your heartstrings made itself known. Though, it wasn’t really enough to justify getting your clothes wet in the process, so you forced yourself to look away instead.

(You’d regret that later.)

Yosano could only sigh at the condition your boyfriend was in when the two of you first entered her office, but after prescribing some medicine and her usual advice for common colds and fevers, his body temperature slowly began to go back to normal.

Or so you thought.

The problem is that at some point, when his fever began to simmer down, he remembered the five bags of candy you two had bought the other day and began indulging himself in his sweets instead of sipping the miso soup you’d made for him.

So, his fever is back.

And here you two are, about three days later, with Ranpo currently suffering from a clogged nose and a terrible headache, not just because he was drenched and cold for too long and because you both didn’t have anything to dry him off with on the way back to the agency that day, but also because he refused to follow the doctor’s advice and ate too much sugar while avoiding all the soup and water you would bring him.

And now he has a very itchy sore throat to boot.

You sigh, handing him a cup of lukewarm water as he sniffles and scrunches his nose, looking away.

“Ranpo,” you chide, raising a brow. “Come on… your fever won’t die down if you don’t drink enough fluids. You keep refusing tea and soup because they’re too bitter for your taste, so water is your best option. Yosano-sensei said so, remember?”

He sticks his bottom lip out, pouting at you, and for a moment, you almost give in just because you pitied the red-and-stuffy-nosed detective sitting up on his bed.

“But I don’t like the aftertaste of the candy when I drink water!” he barks back. “And I already drank my medicine for today!”

You roll your eyes, but the gesture is followed by a small chuckle. It’s hard to stay impatient with him.

“Yes, but you need a lot of fluids and sleep so the medicine can work. Otherwise, you’ll be out of business for another week,” you explain, bringing the glass closer to his lips. “The agency wouldn’t be anything without their best detective, after all.”

“Their best detective?”

“…The world’s greatest detective.”

It takes him a few moments, but his pouty face is eventually replaced with a big grin and a laugh interrupted by a few coughs. As you rub his back comfortingly, the gesture soothing his coughing storm, he takes the glass from your hand and hums.

“Okay, fine… But only because the agency still needs me!”

A sigh of relief escapes your lips and you smile again, watching him chug the glass down before wiping his lips with his pajama sleeve. Much to his own comfort, the water did, in fact, help with his sore throat, its cooling nature soothing the itchiness irritated earlier by all the sweets he consumed in one sitting.

“See? That wasn’t so bad.”

Refusing to acknowledge that you were, yet again, right, he places the glass back down on the bedside table before grabbing at your wrist to try and pull you closer to him, shoving the blanket out of the way momentarily.

“Ranpo—?”

“Cuddle me,” he says, still trying to drag you onto the mattress. “You didn’t cuddle me on the train back home the other day, so I was all cold and ended up with a fever. The least you could do is to cuddle me now because I’m still all chilly.”

The sheets of his bed begin to rustle when he traps you in his arms, keeping you next to him like a cat with its favorite toy. Your struggle for some space doesn’t go unnoticed — he grins when he spots this, only engulfing you with the tightest embrace he can give and all the affection he has to offer. He doesn’t hesitate when he nuzzles your neck and curls up closer to you, your body heat helping him relax a little from the headache that came with his stuffy nose and high temperature, allowing him to feel a little more at peace with his current condition.

So, with a final grunt, you take the edge of the blanket and use it to cover yourselves as you turn to your side to let him bury his face in the crook of your neck a little more, your fingers threading through his hair. A nap for now would be good for him, you figure, and if your presence helps calm him down enough to lull him to sleep, then you’d gladly stay for hours on end on his bed with him like this.

But he doesn’t fully close his eyes — not yet. He grabs a tissue or two to blow his nose every now and then, dropping the crumpled trash onto the floor next to the bed (you make a mental note to clean up later), but he can’t seem to drift off to dreamland.

“Something on your mind?” you murmur into his hair, petting it fondly.

He lets out a deep sigh in response.

You’re the only person who can ever come close to reading his thoughts as he had allowed himself to open up enough to be vulnerable around you. Despite being able to catch up to him most of the time, there are still moments that are foggy enough to make you ponder about the thoughts whirring about in his head. So, you make it a point to communicate with him as much as possible and ask him whenever the situation needs to be addressed.

And he’s grateful for that. He may very well consider himself a better mind-reader than you, but to have someone care for him in such a way that they also want to know what’s going on in his head when the world often tends to alienate him for being him is a blessing in itself that, although he never mentions it aloud, he’ll cherish forever.

Ranpo opens his mouth.

“…You didn’t give me a good night kiss.”

You blink.

“What?”

“You always give me good night kisses before we go to bed,” he points out. “It’s part of our routine. You didn’t give me one yet, so I can’t sleep.”

It’s almost impossible to hold back the giggle creeping up your throat.

“Ranpo,” you call, stifling the little laughs between words, “I can’t do that right now. I might get sick if I kiss you. You’ll be passing your fever onto me.”

“But if I can’t go to sleep, then I won’t get any better, and I need you to give me a good night kiss to help me go to sleep.”

Damn him and his (childish) logic.

“…Okay.” Deciding to get this done and over with, you cup his cheek. “But only on the forehead, alright? I’m not risking getting your germs right now,” you jest.

Yet the moment you lean in closer, your lips ghosting the skin of his forehead, he tilts his head upward to allow his lips to meet with yours. Your eyes widen and you scrunch your nose a little when he releases a rather obnoxious mwah! after, and as soon as you pull away, you are faced with the cheekiest expression he can muster.

“Ranpo!”

He yawns as you scold his name, snuggling back into your arms again. “Good night, [Y/N]…”

That initial annoyance of yours quickly fades away and you can’t help but shake your head and smile as you cuddle him closer to keep him warm.

You can never stay mad at him no matter how many times fate (rather, the rain and all of his candy in this case) has to put him under your care. You love your detective too much, after all.

a/n: feel free to let me know how i did! this was also my first time writing for ranpo, so i hope i captured him well enough :’>

[helpilikeobjects]

' IS IT CASUAL NOW?

dazai osamu chuuya nakahara ranpo edogawa

sum. needy! lover boys—your relationship is not labeled, not defined by any means, but, god, they need you like air.

notes. suggestive ⤸ bottom dazai, top chuu fluff ⤸ painfully unaware ranpo

“It’s pathetic how much you’re trying to cling to control,” voice low, your fingers hover over the buttons of his shirt. “Especially when you keep crawling back to me every goddamn time.”

Your gaze slices through the unsheathed bravado, zeroing in on the way Dazai’s breath hitches, that fleeting crack in his confident mask—enough to send a shiver of triumph through you. Shifting in his lap, you hold him in place, and momentarily, his eyes flash, a tell that would go unnoticed by anyone else, but you catch it. He’s slipping, unraveling under the weight of your presence, and you haven’t even begun to dig in.

One by one, you undo his buttons, savoring the deliberate slowness, relishing the burn of discomfort that begins to cling to the air around you. His fists clench at his sides, knuckles pale, but you know—oh, you know—that this facade of restraint is nothing but a thin veil stretched too tightly over something far more volatile. You’re pushing him, probing the limits of his composure, searching for the breaking point where he shatters into something unrecognizable.

“You know I’m right,” your lips brush his ear, warm breath hitching in the space between you. His eyes flutter shut, a futile attempt to block out the heat pooling in his stomach, the magnetic pull he can’t escape. Yet, the evidence is there; muscles tighten beneath your touch, every feather-light caress igniting something primal within him. He wants this, wants you—each moment a descent into madness and desire.

With tantalizing slowness, your hands drift down his chest, fingers grazing the taut skin of his abdomen. Dazai shudders in response, a sharp intake of breath escaping his parted lips as he remains ensnared. Doing so, he allows you to peel away the layers of his defenses, one agonizing inch at a time. And, heavens, he needs you to.

When silence reigns, you dig your fingers into the flesh of his waist. It sends a jolt of heat through him, and rather than recoiling, he leans into it, breath hitching and back arching, desperate. Every inch of him seems to scream for more, yet you hold him there—caught in a tormenting limbo between fierce control and reckless surrender. He wouldn’t fight it. Couldn’t.

Pathetic.

The shirt falls open, and you take a moment to truly see him. Rapid breaths dance in concert with the frantic rhythm of his heart, skin flushed with a heady mix of frustration and something darker, deeper. You pull him closer, inch by inch, and he is letting you. Naturally.

With him, it’s always been the same. Out there, he’s a viper, a reaper, the ice-cold mafia executive everyone fears. But with you? He’s nothing but a mess, ready to get wrecked by the same power he held over others. He never stays long, never talks much—too consumed by his unapologetic needs.

But he always returns.

“You hate this,” you say, voice a whisper but charged with a devastating clarity. “You hate that you need this. That you need me.”

Dazai’s jaw clenches, a silent protest etched on his face before his dark eyes lock onto yours—searching, undone, half-lidded. “You sure do talk a lot.”

Yet, despite his foolishness, the truth, raw and wounding, is this: Dazai does hate it. But not in the way he wants you to believe. He hates that he can’t stop wanting this, wanting you, wanting the sweet release of surrender. He aches for it in a way he can’t express, in a way he’s never allowed himself to feel. Years of cold stone walls, the need for control, and yet they suffocate him, a noose tightening around his throat, while the thought of letting go shatters him anew.

You lean in closer then, tracing the edge of his belted waistband, the final barrier between you and the truth beneath. He doesn’t stop you. No fight left, only an acquiescence that settles heavy in the air. What resides here is undefined, a feral dance of power and submission, untamed and dangerous.

After unbuckling his belt, your eyes never leaving his, your fingers slip beneath his pants. Dazai gasps as he feels your fingers brush against his sensitive skin, the touch tentative yet purposeful, igniting a storm within him. He’s lost, and he knows it—his grip on those carefully crafted emotions fading like whispers in a tempest. You’re unraveling him, thread by thread, and he can do nothing but surrender, over and over again.

“Your body’s betraying your wicked mind, dear,” you whisper, lips brushing his jaw. “Stop holding onto your selfish dreams.”

In response to your words and tightening grip, his hips lift subtly to meet your hand, the soundly inhale that escapes like a confession, the way his chest trembles with each shallow breath. It’s instinctive, a primal response that overrides the sharp precision of his mind, leaving nothing but raw need in its wake. He doesn’t just crave this—he starves for it, the hunger etched into the taut lines of his frame, his skin burning beneath your fingertips like kindling ready to ignite. Every nerve is alight, every inch of him unraveling under your deliberate torment, each brush of your hand pulling him deeper into a haze of helpless desire.

He falters further, a low, guttural sound slipping past his lips as his head tilts back, exposing the vulnerable line of his throat. His body answers you without hesitation, chasing every flicker of heat, every promise of release. The tension he carried like armor moments ago melts into something molten, spilling into the cracks of his carefully constructed facade. There’s poetry in his surrender, the way his body bows to you as if your touch were both a command and a sanctuary. He is undone, not just by touch but by the cruel truth in your gaze—the knowledge that you hold all the power he swore never to relinquish.

And still, he aches for it, again and again, day by day, for you, for the ruin you carve into him with every devastating touch.

The room throbs with heat, heavy with the remnants of desire and tension. The sheets cling to your damp skin, barely draping over the curve of your hip, yet even that scant barrier feels unbearable to him. Chuuya’s arm tightens around your waist, his hand sprawled possessively across your stomach, as if he’s afraid you’ll slip away. His lips—swollen and red from what just transpired—trail soft kisses along the curve of your neck, each lingering touch a silent claim that mirrors the grip of his fingers.

His mind flickers back, replaying moments etched into the haze of passion. The way his hands roamed over your body, desperate to map every inch of you. His gloves abandoned long ago, he’d let his bare hands glide over the smooth expanse of your back, tracing the delicate dips and curves of your form. Rough yet reverent, his touch had left a trail of yearning in its wake. Even now, the memory only sharpens his hunger.

Desire courses through him, a need far from sated. He has touched, kissed, claimed—but it isn’t enough. It never is. Every soft sound you make, every shiver beneath his fingertips, only deepens the craving that burns within him. He wants more. He needs more.

When you shift, muscles tensing as if preparing to rise, his grip tightens instinctively.

“Don’t,” he murmurs, his gravelly voice sending a tremor down your spine.

You freeze, glancing over your shoulder. His crimson hair is a wild mess, damp strands clinging to his forehead. His blue eyes, usually sharp and calculating, smolder darkly, heavy-lidded and brimming with something raw and unfiltered. In this moment, he looks utterly wrecked—and yet entirely unyielding.

“Chuuya, I need to—”

“You don’t need to do anything,” he interrupts, his tone low, dangerous. His hand slides lower, brushing against your hip, igniting a pulse of heat beneath your skin. “Stay.”

The other hand presses against your stomach, grounding you, pulling you closer. His lips graze your shoulder, trailing down to the sensitive spot where your neck meets your collarbone, plunging you into a sea of sensation.

“This isn’t—” you begin, but your words falter as his teeth scrape lightly against your skin, followed by the warm glide of his tongue.

“I know exactly what this is.” Voice thick with desperate urgency, he adds “And I don’t care. You’re not leaving.”

Your breath hitches as his lips find the pulse in your neck, sucking just hard enough to leave a mark. He doesn’t relent, kisses turning into nips, his teeth grazing your skin like he’s intent on branding you, ensuring you’ll remember this.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” you whisper, though your voice trembles, unconvincing beneath the weight of his touch.

A low chuckle rumbles against your skin, his lips curling into a smirk. “Doesn’t it?” he drawls, his hand sliding up to trace the edge of your ribs. “Then why are you still here?”

Your silence betrays you. His hand moves, brushing the sheet aside entirely, tracing lazy patterns over your bare skin.

“You’re shaking,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, brushing the shell of your ear. “Trying so hard to deny it, but your body’s honest, doll.”

His words melt the last threads of your resolve, the mockery within them tinged with a need he can’t voice.

“Stay,” he repeats, his breath hot and insistent. “Stay with me. Tonight.”

And as his arms wind tighter around you, pulling you flush against him, his silent promise is undeniable: tonight, you’re not going anywhere.

Ranpo exists in his own untouchable world, one of brilliance and ease, where the weight of actions doesn’t hold meaning, and consequences are but distant whispers. He’s blissfully unaware of the intoxicating effect he has on those around him—on you, specifically. Why would he question it? He doesn’t notice how your breath catches like a startled songbird when his hand brushes against yours, nor how his mere proximity unravels you, thread by delicate thread. To him, it’s all so simple, so natural. You’re here, by his side, and that’s where he believes you belong. He doesn’t need to ponder why that feel so profoundly right.

He sits far too close on the couch, the soft press of his thigh against yours sending ripples of awareness through you—an illicit thrill, though you both know it isn’t intentional. He doesn’t spare a thought for the way the air between you has vanished, charged with unspoken promises. His attention, as fleeting as moonlight, flits lazily over the file in his lap, fingers flipping pages he’s not truly reading, his mind adrift in its own vibrant sea. The golden glow of the lamp bathes his face, casting light over the unruly strands of his dark hair and highlighting the serene expression he wears like a crown.

You’re acutely aware of him, of the faint scent of sweets that clings to him, of the steady rhythm of his breathing, of every casual move he makes as if they’re notes in a symphony composed just for you. And then, without even lifting his gaze from the file, he takes your hand in his, his grip light yet possessive, as though it belongs there—as if the universe conspired to create a perfect fit between you.

“Hold still,” he murmurs absently, as if you’d moved at all. The deep, velvet softness of his voice rolls over you like a warm tide, pulling you under its spell, and before you can muster a response, his lips kiss your knuckles, warm and fleeting. His touch is tender, unthinking, like a gentle breeze brushing over your skin, yet it sears into your consciousness, igniting you from within. Your chest tightens, heat swirling in your cheeks, but he remains blissfully ignorant of the way you stiffen under the weight of his gaze. To him, it’s nothing—just a moment of thoughtless affection. He shifts slightly, leaning closer into your space, the warmth of his shoulder brushing against yours. His presence is consuming, enveloping you like a silken cloak—so achingly casual that it steals the breath from your lungs.

Ranpo pulls back just enough to allow the air to shimmer between you, eyes still glued to the paper, his thumb now tracing lazy circles along the back of your hand. The touch sends delightful shivers racing down your spine, but he doesn’t even glance up. And then, as if curious about the very fabric of your connectedness, he brings your hand to his lips again. This kiss lingers a heartbeat longer, soft and steady, his breath fanning across your skin, igniting butterflies in your stomach that flutter wildly.

“You’re warm,” he remarks offhandedly, his voice low and almost hypnotic, like the languid murmur of a summer breeze. “Maybe a little too warm.” Finally, he turns to you, and his green eyes twinkle with light amusement, a mischievous edge that makes your heart leap. “You’re not getting sick, are you?”

The words are nonchalant, drifting carelessly through the air, yet they strike you like lightning, leaving you flustered and helpless against the enchanting spell he’s unknowingly woven around you. He tilts his head slightly, studying you in that whimsical way of his, completely unaware of the way your resolve crumbles beneath his gaze.

Your cheeks burn as you nervously look away, praying he won’t see the vivid flush spreading across your skin. But he remains blissfully oblivious—of course, he doesn’t notice. He’s still holding your hand, still tracing slow, teasing patterns across your skin, still sitting far too close. He doesn’t realize the storm he’s ignited within you, fierce and unrelenting.

And yet, there’s a softness in the way he stays there, in the gentle cadence of his thumb moving in circles against your palm, in the way he breathes so steadily beside you, each rise and fall a hushed promise. He’s unaware, yes, but there’s an unmistakable thread of intention woven into his presence, buried deep within his unconscious mind.

You glance at him, trying to calm the tumult rage within your chest, but his face is turned back to the file, completely at ease in his world. He doesn’t see the chaos he’s left in his wake, doesn’t comprehend how every touch, every lingering kiss to your hand feels like a revelation, a realization of all the unspoken wishes you yearn to voice. But maybe, just maybe, some part of him knows—some deep, unspoken part of him that draws him close to you, closer than he’s ever been to anyone else.

And so, you let him stay, the warmth of his thigh pressed against yours, his hand loosely holding yours like it’s the most familiar thing in the world. Because for now, this quiet, undefined intimacy is enough. For now, he is more than enough.

join my taglist: @amvpk01 @sophistication-as @ezzyrainrunaway @xumyuii @cultluvin @cryptidfuckerofficial @dazaistn @dietcolavape @grayshadeofpurple @naviiq @vasarii @poekaryote @cheriboom @lurulu-ru @unlikelyfoxunknown @baldgirl212 @akutagawasprettygirl @rottenstawberrygirl @akutagawasinhaler @liv1ng-de4d-g1rl @loveyjjuliana @gyukivs @esotericsaints @emmilszzaie @whitehairedanimeboyskillmesoftly

a/n: HELLO i am alive, no further comments. idek why i wrote this. and it’s probably highly ooc i‘m sorry (i am not, i need bottom dazai biblically) also, i couldn’t bring myself to make ranpo‘s part suggestive ㅤ:,) yikes but it’s, at least, cute. in a way ?

[helpilikeobjects]

Quickly slams my laptop shut before anyone can see that my search history is open to “sexy mad scientist yuri” but it’s too late and now I’m losing my internship at the lab.

[helpilikeobjects]

[helpilikeobjects]

LAZY AFTERNOONS

"Lazy Afternoons"

fluff

784 words

SUMMARY: you spend a lazy afternoon at the Armed Detective Agency with Ranpo. Bored, Ranpo playfully challenges you to solve a "mystery"

The sunlight filtered through the thin curtains of the detective agency, casting a soft, warm glow across the room. It was one of those rare days where the workload was light, and the whole office seemed to move at a more relaxed pace. You were sitting at your desk, aimlessly flipping through a book, occasionally glancing at the clock. Time felt like it was crawling.

Then, you heard the familiar creak of the door opening, followed by a soft yawn.

Ranpo.

Of course, it was Ranpo. The great detective of the Armed Detective Agency, though, right now, he hardly looked like someone capable of solving the world’s greatest mysteries. Instead, he looked like a sleepy child who had just woken up from a nap. His disheveled hair and the bag of snacks in his hand confirmed it.

“Bored?” he asked, plopping down on the couch without waiting for an invitation. He stretched his arms above his head, and you caught a glimpse of a small smirk pulling at the corner of his lips.

“Just a little,” you admitted, closing your book with a soft thud.

Ranpo tilted his head, his green eyes narrowing slightly in thought. “Well, lucky for you, I’m here to entertain you.”

You couldn’t help but smile at his confidence. "Oh? And how exactly do you plan on doing that, Ranpo-san?"

He tore open his bag of chips and popped one into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “Simple. You’ll solve a mystery with me.”

You blinked. “But… there’s no case right now.”

Ranpo grinned, mischievous and full of energy despite his earlier yawn. He tapped the side of his head with two fingers. “Ah, but you forget. I’m Ranpo Edogawa, the greatest detective. I can make any situation mysterious.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued but skeptical. “Go on.”

He leaned back, resting his arms behind his head, eyes gleaming with playfulness. “I bet you can’t figure out what snack I have hidden in my pocket.”

You stared at him for a moment. “That’s your mystery?”

“Exactly,” he said, crossing his legs. “You’ve got three chances to guess what it is. If you get it wrong, you owe me a favor.”

It wasn’t exactly what you’d had in mind when you thought of solving a mystery with Ranpo, but there was something endearing about the challenge. You could never quite resist his energy.

“Alright,” you said, sitting up straighter. “I’ll play along. Is it sweet?”

Ranpo shook his head, his smirk widening. “Strike one.”

You frowned, thinking hard. Ranpo had a sweet tooth, so naturally, you assumed it would be candy or chocolate. But if it wasn’t sweet, then…

“Is it salty?”

Ranpo paused, a gleam of amusement flashing in his eyes. “Mmm, getting closer. But no, strike two.”

Your eyes narrowed at him. He was enjoying this far too much. Ranpo loved to watch people struggle with simple things, relishing in the fact that his deduction skills were always ten steps ahead.

You thought about his usual snack stash, mentally going through what you had seen him munching on in the past. And then, an idea hit you.

“Is it… beef jerky?”

Ranpo’s smile faltered, just for a split second, and you knew you had him. He clicked his tongue, digging into his pocket and pulling out the packet of jerky, tossing it onto the table.

“You cheated,” he pouted, though there was no real malice behind his words. “You’ve been watching me too closely.”

You grinned, leaning back in your chair with a satisfied look. “Maybe I have.”

For a moment, the room fell into a comfortable silence. Ranpo unwrapped the jerky and nibbled on a piece, his gaze flicking over to you every so often. You were content with the quiet, but Ranpo, ever the energetic one, wasn’t done with you yet.

“Alright,” he said suddenly, sitting up and looking at you with a challenging glint in his eyes. “Since you won that round, I’ll give you another mystery. One that’s harder.”

You raised an eyebrow. “I’m listening.”

Ranpo leaned forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “What do I like the most?”

It was such a simple question, and yet you could tell from the way his eyes sparkled that there was more to it than met the eye. You thought for a moment, going over all the things you knew Ranpo loved—snacks, mysteries, praise, his detective title—but none of them seemed quite right for this moment.

Finally, you met his gaze, feeling a warmth creep up your neck. “Is it… me?”

Ranpo’s smirk softened into a rare, genuine smile. “Ding ding ding. You’re sharper than I thought.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and you found yourself unable to look away from his gaze. He always had a way of throwing you off balance, and this time was no different. But instead of teasing you further, he simply leaned back, looking satisfied with himself.

“You should feel lucky,” he said, popping another piece of jerky into his mouth. “Not everyone gets to be the favorite of the greatest detective.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head at his playful arrogance. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Ranpo stretched again, yawning as if the conversation had tired him out. “Alright, I’m taking a nap. Wake me up if something exciting happens.”

Before you could respond, he flopped down on the couch, closing his eyes, a content smile still on his face. You watched him for a moment, warmth blooming in your chest. Even on lazy afternoons like this, Ranpo had a way of making things interesting.

And maybe, just maybe, being his favorite wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

[helpilikeobjects]

UNSOLVABLE MISTERY

Romance, Fluff SFW

word count: 991

"𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒕’𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒂 𝒎𝒚𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒚𝒐𝒖’𝒍𝒍 𝒃𝒆 𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒐𝒍𝒗𝒆," 𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒂𝒊𝒅 𝒔𝒐𝒇𝒕𝒍𝒚, 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒆𝒚𝒆𝒔 𝒈𝒍𝒆𝒂��𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒂𝒎𝒖𝒔𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕.

"𝑾𝒉𝒚 𝒏𝒐𝒕?" 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒔𝒌𝒆𝒅, 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒑𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒔 𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒅 𝒄𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒆𝒓.

𝑹𝒂𝒏𝒑𝒐 𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒏𝒆𝒅 𝒊𝒏, 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒗𝒐𝒊𝒄𝒆 𝒂 𝒕𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒓. "𝑩𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝑰 𝒅𝒐𝒏’𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒐."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

It was late afternoon, and the usual bustle of the Armed Detective Agency had quieted to a murmur. Most of the staff had already left for the day, leaving you and Ranpo alone in the office. The sky outside was painted with soft shades of pink and gold, casting a warm glow over the room. You had been tidying up, trying to stay busy, while Ranpo lounged on his couch, seemingly lost in thought.

Despite the quiet, something was gnawing at you.

Ranpo, the greatest detective, always had a way of knowing everything—everything—even things you hadn’t told him. But lately, he’d been… different. Subtly different, in the way he looked at you or the way he lingered near you, though he said nothing. It was driving you mad.

He had solved countless mysteries, cracked impossible cases, and yet, there was one thing you didn’t understand: him.

You sighed, tossing a file onto your desk with more force than necessary.

"What's bothering you?" Ranpo’s voice cut through the silence, lazy but sharp. He didn’t even open his eyes, but you could tell he was watching you, as he always did.

"Nothing," you muttered, turning away from him. You had no idea why you even tried to lie to Ranpo. He’d see right through it anyway.

Ranpo made a small sound of amusement, stretching his arms over his head. "You’re a terrible liar, you know."

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore how your pulse quickened. "And you’re insufferable."

"Part of my charm," he replied smoothly. There was a pause, and then he added, "Come on, spill it. I already know you’re frustrated."

"Of course you do," you mumbled, though a smile tugged at your lips. This was Ranpo, after all—he always knew. "I just… don’t get you."

He finally opened his eyes, sitting up a little as if intrigued. "Me? I’m pretty simple, actually. Greatest detective, lover of snacks, solving mysteries before breakfast. What’s not to get?"

You hesitated, unsure if you wanted to go down this road. It wasn’t that Ranpo scared you—he didn’t—but his sharpness, the way he could dissect people’s emotions without effort, made you nervous. What if he already knew how you felt?

But, well, this had been bugging you long enough. You took a deep breath and turned to face him. "How come you know everything about everyone else but keep so much of yourself a mystery?"

Ranpo blinked, seemingly caught off guard by the question. For a moment, he said nothing, just looking at you with those piercing green eyes, and you almost regretted asking. Then, with a soft smile, he leaned back against the couch again.

"I don’t keep things a mystery. I just think no one bothers to ask."

You raised an eyebrow, skeptical. "Really? No one?"

He shrugged. "Most people assume they already know me. Why ask about someone who seems to have all the answers? Besides, I’m not that complicated."

You frowned, crossing your arms. "But you are complicated. You’re always so sure of yourself, so confident. It’s like nothing ever gets to you."

Ranpo tilted his head, watching you curiously now. "Why do you care?"

You opened your mouth to answer, then stopped. Why did you care? It wasn’t as if you hadn’t been asked a thousand times by Kunikida or Dazai about how Ranpo could be so infuriatingly calm about everything. But this was different. You didn’t just want to know how his brain worked, like some detective game—you wanted to understand him.

You wanted to know why he never seemed vulnerable, why he never opened up. And, though you barely dared to admit it to yourself, why he never seemed to notice you the way you noticed him.

"I don’t know," you said softly, suddenly feeling exposed. "Maybe because… you act like you don’t need anyone. And I don’t understand how someone can be so sure of themselves all the time."

Ranpo was silent for a long time, studying you with an intensity that made you want to squirm. Then, much to your surprise, he smiled—a softer, almost fond smile.

"That’s not a mystery you’ll be able to solve," he said, his voice quieter than usual.

You furrowed your brows. "Why not?"

Ranpo stood up, walking toward you with an ease that made your heart race. He stopped just in front of you, his eyes meeting yours, and for once, you couldn’t read what was going on behind them.

"You won’t solve it because I don’t want you to," he said, his voice low, almost teasing.

Your heart skipped a beat, confusion swirling in your chest. "You’re not making any sense."

Ranpo chuckled, leaning closer, his face inches from yours now. "I make perfect sense. You’ve been trying to figure me out, haven’t you?"

You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry. "Maybe."

"Because you like me."

Your breath hitched at his bluntness. "That’s… not…"

Ranpo’s grin widened, eyes gleaming with amusement. "Don’t bother lying. I already know."

Heat rushed to your face as your heart pounded. He was doing it again—getting under your skin, seeing right through you. And worse, he wasn’t wrong. Not even a little bit.

"I’m the greatest detective, remember?" he said softly, his voice teasing but with an edge of something deeper. "I’ve known for a while."

"Then why didn’t you say anything?" you blurted out, feeling both embarrassed and annoyed. How long had he been keeping this to himself, just waiting for you to crack?

Ranpo’s smile softened as he reached up, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. His touch was gentle, almost tender, and it made your heart race even faster.

"Because I wanted you to figure it out," he murmured. "I wanted to see when you’d realize that maybe… just maybe, I’ve been thinking about you, too."

Your eyes widened, your breath catching in your throat. "What?"

Ranpo’s gaze softened, his usual arrogance fading for a moment as he looked at you—really looked at you.

"You think I’m hard to understand," he said, his voice gentle. "But when it comes to you, I’m pretty simple. You’re the only one I want to be around. The only person I actually enjoy spending time with. And if that’s not obvious enough for you, then maybe you’re not as sharp as I thought."

You stared at him, heart pounding in your chest. Was he… was Ranpo actually admitting to feeling the same way?

He leaned in closer, his face just a breath away from yours, his eyes searching yours for a sign. "Now that I’ve solved that for you," he whispered, "what are you going to do about it?"

Your pulse raced, and without thinking, you closed the distance between you, pressing your lips to his.

Ranpo smiled against your lips, and for once, he didn’t have anything clever to say.

[helpilikeobjects]

Sweet Nothing

Fluff, cozy

word count: around 1250 (i think!)

you and Ranpo enjoy a simple morning togheter at home!

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Waking up next to Ranpo was always an experience. The early morning light spilled through the curtains, casting soft shadows on the walls of your shared apartment. You shifted under the blankets, slowly coming to your senses as you felt the familiar warmth beside you. Ranpo, unsurprisingly, was still sound asleep, his head buried under the pillow as if to ward off the sunlight.

He was not a morning person, that much was obvious.

You smiled to yourself, watching his peaceful expression for a moment longer before slipping out of bed. Your feet padded quietly against the wooden floor as you made your way into the kitchen, still half-asleep but determined to start the day.

Living with Ranpo had always been a bit of an adventure. Despite his brilliance, the man had a tendency to be…well, a little lazy. Especially when it came to the more mundane tasks like cooking, cleaning, or waking up before noon. But you didn’t mind. You’d fallen into a rhythm with him, a gentle back-and-forth of taking care of each other in ways that suited you both.

You hummed softly to yourself as you put the kettle on the stove, the quiet sound of water boiling filling the kitchen. While you waited for it to heat, you glanced over at the small, cluttered desk in the corner of the room, which was littered with Ranpo’s various snacks and unfinished puzzle books. He’d probably be hungry when he finally decided to roll out of bed, and you knew better than to wait for him to do something about it.

The toast popped up from the toaster, and just as you were about to butter it, you heard a faint shuffle behind you.

“Smells good…” came a groggy voice from the hallway.

You turned, catching sight of Ranpo standing in the doorway, still wearing his pajamas and rubbing sleep from his eyes. His hair was a mess, sticking up at odd angles, and his eyes were half-lidded with exhaustion. But even in his half-asleep state, he wore a lazy, lopsided grin.

“Morning,” you said with a soft laugh, holding out a piece of toast for him.

He shuffled closer, taking the toast from your hand without hesitation and immediately biting into it. “Mmm,” he mumbled, though it was hard to tell if he was actually awake or just moving on autopilot. Ranpo had a special ability to sleepwalk through breakfast, yet still be fully functional when it came to enjoying his favorite foods.

“Tea’s almost ready,” you told him, pouring a cup for yourself as he sat down at the table. He gave a sleepy nod, still munching on the toast with a content expression.

You sat down across from him, watching as he slowly came to life. It was a quiet moment, the kind you’d come to cherish since you started living together. Mornings weren’t always rushed or chaotic; sometimes, they were just filled with simple, peaceful routines like this.

“Are you going to sleep all day again?” you teased, sipping your tea as you watched him stretch lazily.

Ranpo flashed you a cheeky smile, finally seeming more awake. “Probably. I don’t have any cases today, so I might as well take it easy.”

“You always take it easy,” you replied, rolling your eyes with affection. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t help me with some of the chores later.”

He groaned, letting his head fall dramatically onto the table. “Chores? You’re really going to make me work on my day off?”

You leaned forward, resting your chin in your hand as you gave him a playful look. “It won’t kill you, you know. Besides, you promised you’d help me reorganize the bookshelves.”

Ranpo lifted his head, peeking up at you with a pout. “But I hate cleaning. And organizing. It’s so boring.”

“You’re the world’s greatest detective,” you reminded him with a raised eyebrow. “I’m sure you can figure out a way to make it fun.”

He sighed, but you could see the small smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “Fine, fine. But only if you promise to reward me with snacks afterward.”

“Deal,” you said with a grin, knowing full well that he’d probably make you do most of the work anyway. But that was just how things went with Ranpo—he had his way of doing things, and you’d learned to work around it.

After breakfast, the two of you settled into your respective routines. Ranpo sprawled out on the couch, fiddling with one of his puzzle books, while you started tidying up the living room. You couldn’t help but glance over at him from time to time, smiling to yourself at how relaxed he looked.

Living with Ranpo wasn’t always easy, but moments like this made it all worth it. There was a quiet intimacy to it—the way he would lounge around the apartment in his pajamas, completely at ease in your presence. The way he’d steal bites of your food when you weren’t looking, or the way he’d snuggle up to you during movie nights without a second thought.

You were lost in thought when Ranpo suddenly called out from the couch.

“Hey, come here,” he said, his voice playful.

You looked over at him curiously, setting down the dusting cloth as you walked over. “What is it?”

Ranpo patted the empty space beside him. “Come sit with me. You’ve been working too hard.”

You raised an eyebrow, though you couldn’t help the smile that crept onto your face. “Is that your way of saying you’re bored and want attention?”

“Maybe,” he replied with a grin, stretching his arms out as if to invite you into his embrace.

With a soft laugh, you sat down beside him, letting him drape an arm around your shoulders. He pulled you close, resting his chin on top of your head as you both relaxed into the cushions. The warmth of his body against yours was comforting, and you found yourself sinking deeper into the moment.

Ranpo sighed contentedly, his fingers absentmindedly tracing circles on your arm. “You know,” he said quietly, “I’m pretty lucky to have you around.”

You blinked, surprised by the sudden softness in his voice. “Where did that come from?”

He shrugged, though his grip around you tightened slightly. “I was just thinking. Living with you… it’s nice. It feels right.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you tilted your head up to look at him. Ranpo wasn’t always the best at expressing his feelings directly, but moments like this—when he let his guard down—were rare and precious.

“I feel the same way,” you said softly, reaching up to brush a strand of hair away from his face. “Living with you… it makes everything better.”

Ranpo’s expression softened, his usual teasing demeanor replaced with something more genuine. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Good,” he murmured. “Because I don’t plan on letting you go.”

You smiled, your chest warm with affection as you cuddled closer to him. It wasn’t often that Ranpo was this openly affectionate, but when he was, it made your heart race. He had a way of making even the simplest moments feel special, like the two of you were the only ones in the world.

The two of you stayed like that for a while, wrapped up in each other’s warmth as the quiet hum of the city filled the background. Ranpo’s fingers continued their lazy tracing on your arm, and you felt yourself drifting into a peaceful daze.

“I guess we’ll have to postpone those chores,” you mumbled, your voice drowsy.

Ranpo chuckled softly, his breath warm against your hair. “I don’t mind. This is way better.”

You couldn’t argue with that. The apartment could wait. For now, all that mattered was the quiet, gentle moment between you and Ranpo—just the two of you, living together in your own little world.

As you closed your eyes, you felt Ranpo’s lips brush lightly against your temple. “Love you,” he whispered, so quietly you almost didn’t hear it.

Your heart fluttered, and you smiled against his chest. “Love you too.”

In the peaceful comfort of your shared home, you knew that no matter what the day brought, you and Ranpo would always have these quiet moments to fall back on—moments filled with lazy mornings, sweet nothings, and the kind of love that made even the simplest days feel like something extraordinary.

[helpilikeobjects]

Spoilers for BSD ch 117

Oh boy.

Max copium! I choose you!

After the little scene with... Fukuchi, I did some slight research.

My conclusion? The ADA and verse will live.

As you can see, the symbol behind Fukuchi is the similar to a the symbol to the right, which belongs to a religion known as Tenrikyo.

Tenrikyo is a religion where their deity is viewed as the parent of all of humanity.

In the image above, you can see Fukuchi showing almost "motherly" care for Kunikida. As if he's comforting his hurt child.

When Fukuchi kills someone, they become bubbles and then he swallows them.

Bubbles, are clean and clear. The opposite of dust.

Now, I hear you guys "Eloqiu, what does this have to do with the ADA being alive? Are you off your meds?"

No, I am not off my meds, and let me continue.

Something to note about Tenrikyo, is that it doesn't believing the afterlife. It instead believes in reincarnation.

"The soul comes back to this world after borrowing a body from God."

Along with that:

When Fukuchi "kills" someone, the only thing left of them is their clothing. Which may be symbolic of death. (Osayama is the creator of the religion, for anyone who didn't know.)

And also...

(Which could mean that Fukuchi is still alive)

Taking in the reincarnation, bubbles, and symbolism...

Fukuchi is currently collecting the good deeds of each person. So that he can give them a new body. (AKA reincarnate them)

However, considering that the real Fukuchi is probably still in there, there's still a chance that this could be stopped.

So here's my (maximum copium) plan on how this will end:

The ADA must defeat Fyodor first, he seems to be thing that's ordering Fukuchi.

Once they've defeated him, the real Fukuchi will take back his body. (Most likely with some encouragement from the remaining Hunting Dogs, and Fukuzawa)

Then Fukuchi will release the souls by offering his "body from God", ultimately sacrificing himself.

The live happily ever after

Easier said then done...

(I did this all in like, 20 minutes. So forgive me if some information is incorrect)

EDIT:

I found this detail interesting, and decided to screenshot it. While I was researching any relations Tenrikyo had with books... (Like the book in the BSD verse)

(This was written by the creator of the religion. Featuring all the teachings of the religion.) Coincidence??? (Probably.) I THINK NOT!

(EDIT 2: I need a life...)

The god form of Fukuchi, was introduced in chapter 115. (Is that was chapter 114.5 exists? So that God form Fukuchi would be introduced at exactly chapter 115?)

[helpilikeobjects]

There's doomed yuri... in my FNAF ruin?

[helpilikeobjects]

hi justin!! will there be a livetream of the 2024 meetup for those who cant go?

Probably not, sorry! There's not much that we'd be able to show on livestream. The main show is the episodes that we couldn't show, followed by a Q&A where the audience will have then seen the episode. Same with the VIP segment after (plus, wouldn't want to put pressure on people to be on camera when they talk to us). I'm hopeful that we can get people to film the Q&A and such for after, though!

I may perhaps still have multiple audio records from my phone from multiple shows last year that I'll play to myself when I want to feel overwhelmed again by the audience reactions haha. To the commercial, to the Spring-contestants popping up, to Springy being pushed off the ledge to their doom, to the votes coming in for Silver and Yin-Yang, to the Bot elimination, to the Bot-TT reunion. It was a wild time. Brings me back to how in every showing last year, whenever the Bot elim was coming up, I'd sink deeper and deeper into my chair, knowing it ain't a happy ending for no one (until it later becomes a happy ending, ofc).

[helpilikeobjects]

WHEN YOU CAN’T FALL ASLEEP

ft. dazai, chuuya, ranpo, fyodor

p.s.! ₊˚. for all my sleepy girls (gn) we’re in this together

DAZAI ー dazai’s futon doesn’t allow you much space to move. you try to shift again, as delicately as you can with his body curled around yours. no matter how hard you tried to match your breathing to his, close your eyes, and relax, you just couldn’t seem to fall asleep tonight.

the last thing you want is to disturb him. dazai barely got enough rest, only sleeping through the night occasionally; he looks so pretty when he does, with his eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks, letting out soft, shallow breaths against your chest through his parted lips.

you sigh, squeezing your eyes shut and dropping your head back onto your pillow, when you hear a familiar whine, and your stomach drops.

he lifts his head, mumbling your name. his eyes are lidded, cheeks warm and imprinted by the wrinkles from your shirt. “what’s wrong?”

“nothing,” you try to urge his head back down, rubbing his scalp in the way you know he loves. “i’m okay. go back to sleep, ‘samu.”

you tilt your head to the side, looking down at him. he folds his arms against your chest, looking up at you from beneath his lashes.

“you’re not a good liar,” he smiles. it’s small and sleepy, and you wish you had enough energy to kiss it off his face.

“i can’t sleep,” you sigh. “but you should. it’s still early, i think.”

you try to peek at the time on your phone as he leans up on his elbows, turning your face towards his. he kisses your forehead, trailing down until his lips press against the space between your eyebrows, then down to the bridge of your nose.

“how am i supposed to kiss you awake if you don’t fall asleep first?” he whispers, tracing his thumb beneath your eye. you kiss the side of his wrist, leaning into his hand.

he pulls himself up until your positions are swapped, with his head on the pillow, and your head on his chest. he rests his cheek against your hair as he drags his fingertips down the back of your neck, rubbing little circles between your shoulder blades.

he hums softly, a song you can’t quite place. even barely murmuring, you can hear the sweetness in his voice, like he simply couldn’t hold in his adoration for you.

the calm beat of his heart and the soft vibrations from his chest soothe your mind. all your thoughts slip away, only a faraway whisper of sweet dreams, my love and the soft press of lips against your forehead before you fall asleep.

CHUUYA ー you can hear chuuya’s quiet movements as he comes home from a late night mission, a mumbled curse slipping from his mouth when he’s a little too loud taking off his shoes. he cracks the bedroom door open, eyebrows raising when he sees you.

“you’re still awake?” he opens the door further. “you okay, baby?”

you nod into your comforter, watching blearily as he pulls his gloves off by each finger before he brushes your bangs away from your face.

“i’ll be right back,” he whispers, bending down to kiss your forehead. “don’t wait for me if you can help it, alright?”

you nod again, eyes falling shut as he kisses your forehead one more time. you hear the gentle thud of his dresser drawer closing, the sound of leather hitting the bathroom floor. you don’t know how much time has passed when you open your eyes again, looking up at him in a t-shirt and sweatpants.

“c’mon,” he squeezes your hand, sheets falling to your waist as he pulls you to sit up. “let’s go for a drive.”

the cool leather of chuuya’s car seat isn’t as comfortable as your bed, but you can already feel the heaviness in your chest start to dissipate as he drives.

you rest your head on the tinted window, looking out at the passing buildings. his hand rests against your thigh, and you lift it off, just enough for you to slide your fingers in between his own.

there aren’t many people out on the road this late, but he’s still careful, only sneaking glances at you from the corner of his eye. with the security and warmth that comes from chuuya’s presence next to you, and the gentle movement of the car, it doesn’t take long for your eyes to fall shut.

when he looks over and sees your face, completely relaxed, he exhales, sagging in relief against his headrest. he can’t get enough of you, bundled up in his passenger seat, holding his hand firmly, even in your sleep.

he’ll drive around a little longer, he decides, just to watch the way the lights wash over your pretty face, highlighting the curve of your cheekbones, the pretty pink of your lips.

at least it’d be no problem for him to carry you back to bed.

RANPO ー every night, ranpo curls on top of you with the lingering scent of freshly baked pastries clinging to his skin, and his messy hair tickling your jaw from how he nuzzles his face against your neck.

his body is always a comforting weight, but sleep evades you tonight. you stare up at the ceiling, gently drawing little shapes through his shirt with your finger.

“i know you’re awake.”

you jump when he whispers in your ear, heart rate spiking painfully in your chest. he lifts his head up; his eyes are open, bright green and staring at you. the tips of your noses brush from how close he is.

“your thoughts woke me up,” he answers before you can ask, poking your forehead. “they’re too loud.”

“sorry,” you sigh, wincing when he flicks your forehead.

“why are you apologizing?” he whispers, tilting his chin up to kiss the spot he flicked. “go to sleep.”

“i can’t,” you whine, childishness rivaling his own.

“that’s ‘cause you’re not trying hard enough,” he mumbles, pout evident in his voice. “your eyes aren’t even closed.”

he traces his finger down the bridge of your nose, then up again. he grazes your hairline as he travels across your forehead next, and your eyes grow heavy with each movement, slowly falling shut.

“ranpoー”

“shhh,” he smooths his thumb along your eyebrow, making his way back down your nose. “go to sleep.”

he keeps tracing your features, even after your eyes are all the way closed and your face is completely relaxed beneath his hand. he brushes his fingers across your cupid’s bow, tracing down to the plush of your bottom lip.

“there,” he whispers, leaving butterfly kisses along your jaw as he nuzzles back into you. “that’s better.”

FYODOR ー you’ve been teetering on the edge of sleep ever since you first laid down, hours ago. you’re sure it’s the early hours of the morning by now, and you sigh, stretching your arm to the other side of the bed. it’s cold, sheets still untouched.

it was rare fedya came to bed at night, no matter how much you wished he would. curling into his side always helped you rest easier. his presence is a calming one, maybe only to you.

you bundle up your blanket, holding it in place around your shoulders as you get out of bed. the ends trail along the hallway floor like a cloak as you tiptoe to his office. the steady sound of him typing comes to a stop as soon as you open the door, and he turns around in his chair, just enough to look at you.

“what are you doing up at this hour?” his eyebrows furrow, like the hypocrite he is.

“i don’t know,” you mumble around a yawn. “i just missed you.”

he swivels completely to face you, opening his arms. he makes no complaints about accommodating you as you sit on his lap, curling yourself around him, cheek falling to rest against his shoulder. you shift to look at his screens, monitor light seeming so much brighter to your tired eyes in the darkness of his office.

“don’t look at those,” he tilts your head further into his shoulder. “you’ll only keep yourself awake longer.”

you press your face into his neck, seeking out the soothing chill of his skin. you arch further into him when his fingertips sneak beneath your shirt, rubbing along the knobs of your spine. his typing is rhythmic, fingers gently pressing into your skin each time he pauses to think as you feel the rise and fall of his chest against your body.

he feels your breaths, deep and even against his shoulder, and spares a glance at you: asleep. he brushes a stray strand of hair behind your ear, lips curling up as you try to snuggle impossibly closer to him.

“rest well, my dear,” he pulls the edge of the blanket tighter around you. “i’ll be here when you wake up.”

BSD MASTERLIST

[helpilikeobjects]

[helpilikeobjects]

Posted 5/1/24

"Let's play a game"

Includes: Ranpo Edogawa x gn!reader (reader's perspective)

Genre: Romance

Relationship: Romantic ; short-term lovers (about six months) ; implied top!Ranpo + bottom!reader.

Summary: You try to convince Ranpo to give you some snacks, but things don't turn out exactly as you planned.

A/N: I have never written for Ranpo before so please tell me if I messed anything up :') I'm spoiling you guys with such a long fic. This was in response to the poll!

CW: Making out, implied smut.

"What are you doing?" Ranpo asked, causing you to jump and slam your head on the bottom of the desk. You swore loudly, causing Kunikida to look over with a frown.

"Watch your language in the workplace, Y/N!" He scolded you before going back to the paperwork he was doing. You rubbed the back of your head with your hand, scowling and tears welling in your eyes.

"Yeesh, why did you scare me like that?" You demanded, straightening up. Ranpo smirked. "I saw you snooping around my desk, so I figured I'd see what you were up to." He replied, sitting down on the top of his desk, legs swinging. "Speaking of, what were you doing?"

You froze for a second. "I dropped something and it rolled under your desk. Or not, apparently."

Ranpo laughed. "You mean you weren't trying to find my snack stash?" He asked you, a smug smile on his face. You felt your ears turning red, realizing you'd be caught in a lie.

"... Maybe I was." You muttered, pouting and criss-crossing your legs as you sat in his chair. Ranpo stuck his tongue out at you, then said, "Well, you're not going to get any!"

"Why not?" You glowered at him as he hopped off his desk. He snickered. "'Cause I said so. Besides, they're mine anyways." He said, booping your nose with a finger before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a candy bar. He unwrapped it quickly and popped the treat into his mouth.

"Ngow shcoot." He said, barely intelligible, throught the mouthful of food. You crossed your arms and remained stubbornly in the chair. Ranpo made a comically large gulp and began poking your head.

"Fine then, suffer the consequences." He said, then tried to pick you up. Unfortunately for him, his less than muscular arms couldn't even lift you an inch off of the seat. You squirmed around trying to get away, which caused him to give up trying to move you.

"For some great detective, you're not that strong." You teased. "Hey! Don't forget, I'm the world's best detective, the smartest person ever! I don't need muscles or whatever." He huffed.

"If you say so~" You said in a sing-song voice. Ranpo pinched your arm, causing you to jerk back. "Did you just pinch me?!"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Ranpo said, now his turn to pout and he turned his head away, sticking a lollipop in his mouth.

Before you could shoot back a reply, Kunikida stood up and stomped over to the two of you, grabbing the backs of your shirt collars. He lifted you with ease out of Ranpo's chair and dragged you both across the room to the door.

"Kunikida! Hey, let us go!" You exclaimed, Ranpo giving similar complaints. Kunikida opened the door and quite literally tossed you and Ranpo out of the room. "I can't focus when you're both arguing like children! Come back when you actually want to work." Then he slammed the door shut.

There was a moment of silence before you grabbed Ranpo's wrist and hauled him to his feet. "Well, let's go find something else to do." You said, unbothered by the rough treatment on Kunikida's part.

"Now I know what Dazai feels like whenever Kunikida throws him." Ranpo said, rubbing his back. You laughed and started walking down the hallway, leaving Ranpo no choice but to follow, his arms crossed behind his head as he walked.

"Now what?" You sighed. You blinked after a second when you realized Ranpo hadn't said anything, which was a bit out of character. You were suddenly yanked into a room to your right, a hand linked around your upper arm.

"Wh- hey—" You felt a finger press against your lips, effectively stopping you mid shout. You realized it was Ranpo and you breathed a sigh of relief. "Geez, you scared the hell out of me. What did you do that for?"

Ranpo grinned and wrapped his arms around your waist. "Take a guess." He said tauntingly. You glanced around the dimly lit room— the lighting was terrible— but you couldn't see an evident reason why you'd both need to be there. It was a tiny room with only a few boxes stacked in the corner. Likely this was a storage closet, though it appeared to be mostly unused.

"Uh... I don't know. This room's pretty much empty." You admitted finally, turning back to face him. "Well, great detective, enlighten me."

"Let's play a game." Ranpo said. His response was so odd that your confusion must have shown on your face. He finally released you and plopped himself down on the ground near the middle of the room. You sat down as well, facing him with an expectant expression.

You knew you were probably walking right into a trap, but your curiosity was getting the better of you. Which admittedly he probably also predicted too. Oh well. It's not there was anything better to do anyways.

"How about this? You tell either a truth or a lie— and don't make it obvious— and if I get the answer wrong, you get a piece of candy." Ranpo said, dangling a piece of wrapped candy in front of you enticingly. Seriously, where did he keep getting those snacks?

"Fine. Wait- what happens when you guess correctly?" You asked, realizing that he'd omitted that, more than likely on purpose. Ranpo tossed a piece of chocolate into his mouth, then said with a sly grin, "I get to kiss you."

...Yeah, that explained why he'd dragged you in here. This game was rigged from the beginning; you definitely would not be getting a single snack from him. It's a win-win situation for him because he knows he won't lose.

You sighed, mussing your hair with your hand. "I should have expected something like this, but... fine. Let's play your game." Ranpo let out a triumphant snicker and pointed a wrapped lollipop at you.

"Alright, go ahead. This lollipop's on the line." He said. You glared at him but didn't respond. Instead, you started thinking. You decided to go with a lie first. But what lie? Something simple? No, he'd guess that right away.

Okay... "I worked as a bank teller before joining the ADA." You said, being careful not to move around and give Ranpo any hints. Truthfully, you were an English professor at a private college, but you hadn't even told Fukuzawa about your previous job, so you doubt Ranpo knows.

He seemed to think about it for a minute, then laughed. "Nope! That's a lie." He said, leaning forward. You shifted back. "Ah-ah! Where did I work before here?" You asked. If he was going to insist on playing such an obviously rigged game, you were going to make it a bit more difficult for him. Well, as difficult as you could make it.

"That's not part of the game." Ranpo frowned. You gave him a smirk. "You thought I'd make it that easy? I'm adding a new rule: if you correctly guess a lie, you have to guess what the correct answer is, or no kiss for you. After all, the best detective in the world shouldn't have any trouble figuring out a simple lie."

He gave an exasperated sigh, but nodded. "Fineeee." He looked you up and down, his hand on his chin. "Hm.... your posture is super straight and you don't have very evident muscles, so I'd say most likely not a blue-collar job. Your dominant hand has an indent between the finger joint and nail, which means you probably write a lot. You seem to be used to wearing a collared shirt with a tie, so your old job must have had a more formal dress-code.

"A logical guess would have been someone working in a customer service occupation, like a bank teller, but that's incorrect. Plus, I don't think you'd be dumb enough to say such an obvious lie that is closely correlated to your actual job..."

He trailed off for a moment. "Ah-ha! You were a professor at a college, specifically an English professor. Most public colleges don't have really strict dress codes, even for professors, so your college was a private college, wasn't it? Go on, tell me I'm right." He sat back, his arms crossed behind him with a confident smile.

You weren't even surprised. "How'd you figure it out so quickly?" You asked. "I explained most of my thoughts out loud for ya, but the rest is a secret." He replied.

You rolled your eyes, having figured that that would be the response. Ranpo scooted forward and gave you a quick kiss, then leaning back. "Next question!" He exclaimed.

"Okay, okay." You said. Now came the problem. This would be way too easy to overthink. The obvious idea would be to say a truth next, but Ranpo would likely suspect that. On the other hand, if you tried to throw him off by telling another lie, he would likely think of that as well. You mentally flipped a coin in your head.

"I like dogs more than cats." You finally said, taking a minute to think of another lie. "Lie, lie, lie. I said to pick hard stuff!" Ranpo immediately chanted. "I see the way you look at those alley cats when you walk by the café out front. You're a sucker for cats."

"You could have at least pretended to think about it for more than two seconds!" You replied in mock offense. Ranpo waved his hand up and down. "It only took me a second to figure it out, two seconds was enough."

He moved over to you again and in a second, his lips were on yours, though this kiss was more than a quick smooch on the lips like before. He positioned his legs so that yours were in-between his, and he looped his arms around your neck. After a few seconds, you felt his lips leave yours.

The game went on still, predictably with him winning every round. Though in the beginning, you did attempt to come up with more difficult lies and obscure truths; though now, you found yourself coming up with the most obvious things.

Each time he won, the kiss would last a little bit longer, until you finally had to turn away to take a breath. You only got a few seconds to recover though, because Ranpo's lips found yours once more, kissing you more earnestly than before.

Though you weren't sure how you even got there, you found yourself sitting with your back pressed up against the wall, Ranpo still straddling your legs, though his hands had moved down to wrap around your sides. The two of you finally separated, both of you breathing heavily.

"So..." Ranpo said, his breaths slowly returning to normal, and his piercing green eyes met yours. One of his hands slipped up your shirt, the other coming to rest on your thigh. You could feel your face heating up, your legs trembling slightly. Ranpo smirked.

"Cat got your tongue? Go ahead. A truth or a lie. Maybe you'll finally win a round this time."

It didn't take a genius to figure out that he wouldn't let that happen.

You left the storage room, your face flushed as you tried your best to hide the numerous hickeys along your neck with your shirt collar. Ranpo closed the door as he exited the room behind you.

"We should play that game again." He said, linking his arm through yours and leading you back to the main office area.

"No we should not! Ranpo, are you insane? We're in a workplace setting and anyone could have walked in on us!" You hissed.

"Half of the ADA are out on assignments right now or somewhere else in the building. No one would—" He started, but you cut him off. "I think you missed the point of it not being professional."

"You do know that Dazai regularly asks women to—"

"Dazai does what?" A voice came from behind you two, ending your bickering. Dazai slipped between you and Ranpo, then smiled.

"It seems you two had a fun time. Who was that saying I'm unprofessional?" He snickered. Ranpo pointedly turned to you. "See? He doesn't care."

Dazai, likely sensing the tension between you both, wisely slipped away into the office.

"Besides, you did have fun, right?" Ranpo gloated at his victory in the conversation as you immediately became embarrassed again, covering your face with your hands. "I mean, you sure—"

"Ranpo Edogawa, not another word!"

BSD taglist: @edith-is-a-cat @twst-om-lover @l7k-a @lyle-my-beloved @xen-blank @cookiesandbiscuits @mermaidfanficlibrary @eeeeeyyy @casp1an-sea

[helpilikeobjects]

taco ii design for something i wanted to do and test tube slaying the house down

[helpilikeobjects]

commission!! :]