#especially if it’s uncalled for

[ghonorrhead]

ughhhh fucking long ass rant below because I need to get something off my chest but I HATEEE clogging up my stories on insta with drama… I hate drama period… but yeah, gonna talk about icky things below so don’t read if you don’t wanna :T

if you *genuinely* believe I am any sort of p-word (don’t wanna say it because it makes me wanna throw up), you need to get ahold of yourself because you’re fucking stupid and an awful character assessor. if you *genuinely* believe that I draw cp or enjoy any of that sick bullshit, you need to have your head caved in with a heavy ass hammer fr idgaf anymore you’re genuinely a shit person if you’re spreading baseless gossip about me over something as trivial as a fucking art style man

do these people have any fucking idea of the weight that their words hold? I haven’t even been on insta for a week and im already being cancelled. for what you may ask? Because of how I fucking draw apparently??? You’d think that I was drawing heinous and graphic cp by the way people are shitting themselves but no. what started all of this was a doodle of mine I did of gy//jo kissing.

it’s this one ^

to make a long story short, some dickhead reposted my doodle on their story and got their friends to go along with them, saying that J//ohnny looks 14 and that he looks like a child, g//yro looks like a creep, “this is why I left the fandom”, etc etc. They then called me a p-phile and insisted that I was drawing graphic depictions of cp???

I only made a response to that because I don’t tolerate any unwarranted slander to my name, because how tf are you going to be accusing me of drawing that sick bullshit??? where tf is the supposed cp??? you’re a dumb fuck, genuinely. rot in hell and boil alive in liquid shit idfc, I’d normally ignore these haters but this isnt even hate. there are serious ass accusations that hold so much weight behind them??? are you serious right now??? trying to paint me as something im not just because you’re a bit uncomfy with how I draw???? get over yourself holy shit hop off my dick you sensitive prick

I seem to have altered some of the gy//jo fandom fandom on insta, because now im even having some mutuals turn on me. okay great. I didn’t care for you anyways but now you’re spreading that baseless and incredibly harmful bs too? I had never bore witness to such chronically online behavior holy shit… literally a bunch of sheep following their leader, slandering me to no end if it means that they won’t look bad to their audience…

had an ex mutual on insta make their own story post about me. talked about how they like my art but it made them “uncomfy”. okay, perfect. you shouldn’t have followed me first then?? sorry to hear that???

then they talked about how my Johnny looks like he’s 10????? that’s a new one :I

^ funny how nobody bats an eye at these character for example though… even though I’ve heavily based my chibi art off of them… but whatever… (they’re both well over 18, mind you)

then they start legit saying shit like “UwU this makes me uncomfy because g//yro is so much more big than small feminine twink J//ohnny ;-; uguuuu they can do whatever they want though!! 🙈🙈 hope they find the right audience for them…” (whatever the fuck that means. fuck you, actually.)

you see ra//mona and lu//cas here??? see how he looks so much bigger and “mature” than ra//mona? see how she looks small and “feminine”?? great, now have you read the comics? do you see how both of them are adults, despite their appearance??? perfect, now you can see where I get yet ANOTHER big inspo for my gyjos :)

an example of my HEAVILY STYLIZED and CARTOONY-CHIBI gy//jos for reference ^u^

anywayssss…

not to mention that young looking people exist… fuck, im a young adult rn (20-25 age range, no im not going to tell you my age) and i get told EVERY DAY at work by complete strangers, mind you, that i look 14-16. I know, insane. lock up any potential romantic interests of mine because i look young and they’re definitely predators :)

am I so wrong for wanting to project a bit of myself onto Jo//hnny? Is it really so different from doing poc or lgbtq headcanon with a character? God forbid I give Johnny some of my own features… I thought we were in a more progressive mindset now as a community =_=

please, do tell me if you think im wrong here. you’re free to unfollow/block/whatever-the-fuck, but keep my name out of your smelly mouth and, respectfully, rot in hell !!!

[elvishdemigod]

Valdengelo Could've Been

Now I did somewhat enjoy TSATS, I like that both Nico and Will were just kids in their first relationship ever and are far from perfect, and both have their flaws.

But honestly, I feel like Valdengelo could've been. It would still somewhat be that Grumpy x Happy/Light x Darkness dynamic, except they're both working through their issues and have their own ways of deflecting from their depression. Both have their growing to do, and we actually had more time to get to know Leo.

And not only that, it would be a little poetic? Leo's grandpa and Nico's half-sister had liked each other, then later Leo and Nico got together. They already would've had some kind of extended connection.

Leo could've taught Nico how to find joy in the little things, Nico could've taught Leo how to be more serious about situations.

Like Will, Leo might've also had that "I can fix him" attitude, but it would be different. Though it was something he grew from, Will thought he had to fix Nico out of the "doom and gloom" lifestyle. Like the "goth is just a phase" thing. Leo, however, would be a "I need to help him take better care of himself" type. It's still not healthy to try and force someone to like themselves, toxic positivity. But it would be more well-intentioned.

Even if they barely had any interactions, the what could've been is still there. The two would for sure start off on a bad foot, but after a while they would start to warm up to each other.

Solangelo was fine, but left a lot to be desired.

[snixx]

i fucking love ginny miller idc what anyone says <3

[wreckedhoney]

a while ago on the discord i brought up the "which desk at the station is forrest's desk" question when the answer should probably have been obvious. he's been at the job for approx. one week, so it's the desk with all the unpacked boxes. it just didnt occur to me because thats Frankly A Lot Of Boxes and my first thought was this is where all the storage and junk are piled on, but no. it's all stuff forrest brought (/hc). he's a heavy packer. he spite packed all the stuff he didn't want his old job to keep even if he doesnt need or even like them all that much but now that he's blacklisted then no one in the entirety of chicago can have them

[equalperson]

I fucking hate being traumatized because why am I bawling the hardest I've bawled in god-knows-how-long because someone I didn't even like that much berated Me. gasping wailing trembling and snotting over this for several minutes.

[lesbianjudasiscariot]

for like two months back in 2021 it was my job to offer masks to customers as they entered a store in texas, needless to say i was harassed multiple times

[asmallcafethatslove]

I thought my housemates were pretty nice until one of them told me that what I’m studying in Uni which is teaching (he knows because we always introduce ourselves by asking where we’re from and what we’re doing etc) is useless unless I plan to become a mother and have children…. And I told him that I don’t want to have children and become a mother and he was like “but that’s your priority as a woman” and I’m so appalled that I had to explain to him that teacher ≠ mother and that I have my right and my own choice to decide then this mf said “then you’re not a woman, you’re a man” as if I was offended by that…. like be fucking for real, come up with a sensible explanation then

[lonelyzarquon]

:(( just gonna throw some of my disenchantment out there ig.......

literally what in the ao3 fix-it scenario was that. fourteen gets a tardis. he's still the doctor. but suddenly he can just live a normal life™️? pls be fr. and fifteen IS the doctor too so he carries all the memories all the pain and loss, and fresh out of the oven he's fine and behaves like a therapist. yeah. what the fuck

and fourteen. you're telling me that this mf has gone native and lives like a human? while having his tardis to pop to whenever? tenagain? tentooagain more like. EXCEPTTT tentoo is half human hence the ability to heal & have a normal happy life with rose. this doctor is STILL an ALIEN. makes noooo sense to me babes <3

oh rtd. the same man who wrote "this song is ending. but the story never ends" went fUCK IT the song will never end!😁

i loved ncuti he's fucking excellent but if with him they throw away all the alien-ness & make him this accessible human-like no mental burden doctor... don't know if i'll vibe with that but to each their own soo

[season1mac]

i’m sooooooo sorry people don’t look the same as they did 20 years ago im soooooo sorry people age

[sisyphus-prime]

Are you FUNKING kidding me with this? Why don't you have any posts about it? I've been following you for a while, but i didn't realize you selfshipped too! Why don't you have that in your pinned? hwy can't you warn people about your characters? Astarion is MY Major comfort f/o, and you ship with him too. "pretty boy" "Pretty boy" Pretty funked of you to not warn anyone. Blocked, this is absolutely heartbreaking, he's mine! I'm genuinely crying, you complete arse. Warn people.

I hate to tell you this, but I'm saying "Pretty Boy" in an almost entirely derisive way.

[siennaditbot]

Also, be your own biggest fan!

I love to go through my phone gallery and sketchbooks! I remember why and when I drew those things, appreciate things I succeeded at, and smile because I can create things that can make me and other people happy :>

I do see the problems and mistakes, but they're a sign of things that I need to improve at, not failures. (Easy to say, harder to internalize, but you get the gist)

Also also, get active and reblog other people's posts! They'll check out who you are and possibly follow you too if your interests match!

Lol anyway it's 1.30am BUT!!

I just want to say that art is fun, no matter the skill level or popularity, so keep at it! Artists who love what they do are the most precious <3

If you're a creator and you needed to hear this today:

You have no idea how many people lurk on your work. No idea how many times people go back to revisit your work. How big they smile when they simply think about your work. How fast their heart beats, how excited they get when they see that you posted something.

People are shy with their feedback. Sometimes it’s because they’re simply shy. Other times it’s because they assume you already know how great and talented you are. Could be both.

My point is, even if you barely have any likes or reblogs, don’t get discouraged. You have a lot of silent fans, but they are still your fans. Keep on creating. Because there is always someone out there who will love what you have made.

[maryse127]

Kain: Everyone chooses death too hastily

Me: Yeah wtf is up with people in this game

[elizabethiiregina]

Lack of response to tests for life, especially communication based tests, does not prove or even imply lack of sentience. One reason is that many societies work to block uncalled-for communications and effects.

[frothingatthemaw]

normal thoughts normal thoughts normal thoughts

[thebookishwallflower]

Email: You have one message.

Me: Whomst?

Email: The fanfiction.

Me: Oooooh! It’s a review too!!

The Review: I loved it!

Me: Yay!!!!! I can feel the motivation is flooding in~

The Review: Well except for this thing (< one of my personal favorite elements) anyway

Me: *watching the motivation slink away* noooo don’t leave me-

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 LOVERS ROCK

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: there are very few things that leave dazai osamu at a loss for answers. you are one of them. more specifically, it's your relationship (is this a relationship?) with him that has him so disconcerted, and dazai is getting to his breaking point.

(wordcount: 3.6k; nsfw [kind of, very suggestive so will label nsfw], ada!reader, dazai has SEVERE trust issues & paranoia, this is set like half a year after he joined the ada, dazai also has a bad relationship with sex that is mentioned in his narration, he is terrible at communication too, accidentally hurts reader a little [nothing major])

AUTHOR'S NOTES: hiiiiiii guys <.< so i'm actually really proud of this ehehe. this is a universe that i'm tempted to expand on like wykyk, but we'll see.

Dazai hates giving up control. 

Ever since he was a kid, he’s been hyper-independent. First with his family, because they were never around and he had to learn to be self-sufficient otherwise he’d die a slow, painful death. Then in the Port Mafia, he quickly learned that asking for help is a weakness and being dependent on others is a vulnerability that people would take advantage of to subvert his influence and usurp his position as an underboss. As long as he’s remembered, it was all but a death sentence to rely on any other than himself. 

It wasn't until he became a member of the Agency that he finally began to allow himself to depend on others—banking on Ranpo and his mind, Kunikida and his ideals, Yosano and her tenacity. But even then, he never allowed himself to lose complete control over a situation, drawing things out in a way that would always leave him with a firm hand guiding the chess board. 

Until he met you, at least.

He wasn’t sure what made you so different—he still isn’t entirely sure, it’s a thought that frequently plagues him, and because of it, he can never allow himself to be fully comfortable with you. You joined the Agency a month after him with lips that spoke pretty words and gave him even prettier smiles. You’d been kind to everyone, but Dazai likes to think you were especially kind to him. Maybe it was just his imagination, but Dazai liked the idea of it.

Well, he didn’t at first. 

In fact, he was rather hostile to it. To you. The longing he felt for the casual, soft touches you laid upon the other members of the Agency felt more like a weakness than anything else. It scared him. He’d never desired anything of the sort before, he’d always been okay on his own—thrived in it, really—and now he was suddenly seeking you out at all hours of the day, and he didn’t even fully understand why. Every time he sought you out, it ended poorly with him saying something uncalled for and your expression twisting as you tried to hide your hurt. 

And yet he still continued to seek you out. He made the same mistake over and over again: constantly forcing himself into your space after getting jealous watching you doll out casual affection to the other detectives, waiting for you to give him the same attention, and then lashing out in some manner when you finally did.

He supposed it didn’t help that Dazai was uncomfortable in general with people touching him, which naturally made him even more hostile because why was he longing for something that made him uncomfortable? 

He also still isn’t sure how you managed to break through all of his walls—or why you even persisted when it became clear that he was at best incompetent when it comes to dealing with real emotions, and at worst, borderline malicious. 

But you did. And it scared him. Scares him.

Dazai lets out a shaky breath when he feels your lips ghost against his neck, fingers twisting the sheets below him. Your hands are sliding against his sides, gentle and soothing, and a part of him wants to melt into the sheets while another part of him wants to flip the two of you around, press you back down into the mattress and rip control over the situation back from you.

As if you can sense his conflict—maybe you can, Dazai has come to realize that unlike everyone else at the Agency, who he can fool with his mask of exaggerated dramatics and clownlike behavior, that you had somehow learned how to see right through him—you pause for the sparest moment and trace your lips back up his neck to brush them against his own, soft and comforting, as if to soothe his discord.

And it works somehow. Dazai doesn’t know how you do it because he can’t even quell his own mind when it starts to spin out of control, but the brush of your lips against his is enough to ground him again. 

“Everything okay?” you ask quietly, eyes searching his face for the answers that he knew his lips might not give.

“Yeah,” he breathes out, voice rough and cracking over the word. 

He thinks maybe a part of it is the way you always check on him to make sure he’s doing alright. For Dazai, sex has only ever been transactional—he was young when he was first carted off to a whorehouse so he could be taught how to use his body for intel and other miscellaneous advantages. No matter how hard he tried to enjoy it, he always found it to be underwhelming at best and loathsome at worst. And he did try to enjoy it, he forced himself to seek out women in his free time to try to learn to enjoy the activity that so many other people seem to find comfort and pleasure in. 

It wasn’t until you that he could.

His first time with you was earth shattering. He’s not exaggerating when he says it completely altered his perspective on intimacy. It was embarrassing, almost—he remembers giving you quick, flirty smiles, and he remembers the sly comments he whispered to you at the bar the members of the Agency were at to celebrate Yosano’s birthday. 

He knew that morning that he wanted you in his bed by nightfall—partly because he thought it would get you out of his system, that maybe all he needed was a good fuck to stop acting like he was brainless whenever you were around, and partly because he was curious. He was curious to know if that genuine demeanor of yours continued behind closed doors, or if it was all just a mask you liked to put up in public. 

Dazai’s hands were on you before the two of you even left for the night—they were creeping up your inner thigh, lingering on your bicep, he was resting his chin on your shoulder as he stood behind you, warding off any man that might try to approach you with cold looks you couldn’t catch. Eventually, like he planned, you asked him if he wanted to go back to your apartment, and Dazai agreed, of course, eager to get his questions answered. Eager to free himself of whatever shackles you’ve put on him.

And it all went downhill from there.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” you ask again, frown deepening and hands stilling on his waist when you don’t find an answer you like on his face.

Dazai tries to play it off—you’re here for sex, not all of his unstable thoughts. He gives you a practiced smile and slips his hand under your shirt to rest on your lower back, pulling you firmer against him—an easy tactic, one of the first he learned to distract his partner when he slips up.

He should have known better than to think you would fall for it.

Instead of returning to the lingering line of kisses you were leaving on his neck, you sit back to study him, and Dazai feels seen. He shifts under your scrutinizing gaze, averting his eyes to the ceiling and counting the seconds that pass as he waits for you to ask that dreaded question. 

“What's wrong?” you ask him quietly.

Dazai can evade it. He knows that he can—even if the sex is ruined, because he knows you’re not going to have sex with him if you think something is wrong, he can evade this question by refusing to answer. You never press it, although sometimes your lips curve down in a disappointed frown that makes him feel even worse than before.

But Dazai finds himself hesitating.

“I-“ he starts to say before cutting himself off abruptly, horrified by the realization that he was just about to admit to you what he was thinking. “Nothing.” 

The anticipation that had sprung to your eyes when he started to speak dissipates when he blows you off, and it makes his chest tighten. He feels your thighs tense and knows you’re about to get off of him, so his hands fly to your hips to keep you in place.

“Something,” he corrects, voice just a little too raspy for comfort. “… Something.”

You settle back down on top of him, tilting your head to the side. 

“Tell me?” you offer quietly, your hands drop to his arms, sliding up and down the bandages that cover his forearms slowly. Soothingly. He hates it.

“I just don’t understand this,” Dazai admits. “It’s… confusing.”

It's possibly the first time he’s ever spoken these words out loud. It’s a weakness he’s never allowed anyone to be aware of—even when Dazai has no idea what’s going on, he’s careful to put up an impenetrable facade of confidence, one that even the keenest eyes can’t see through.

And here he is, bare of masks and facades, admitting his weakness plainly to someone who could easily take advantage of it.

Oh.

“This as in…?” you prompt with a pondering frown.

Is that it?

“This,” he repeats more insistently as his mind races. “Us.”

You, he accuses silently.

You have the ability to destroy him. Dazai realizes, disconcerted, that this is what is confusing him. He's allowed himself to be weak in front of you. He's lowered all of his guards. He's let you in through his many walls of defenses. You’ve settled down in the treacherous beating thing in his chest that he’s tried to rip out too many times to count, and Dazai waits for you to take advantage of it. He waits for this to go wrong. Waits for you to prove yourself to be a Trojan Horse in the form of dazzling smiles and a beautiful face. 

But you don’t, and that’s what Dazai just can’t understand. He doesn’t understand what you’re getting out of this—he knows what he’s getting out of it. He’s getting comfort, he’s able to pretend he’s capable of being loved, he gets you. But you’re not getting anything out of this, so he feels like he’s just been biding time before the other shoe drops.

“… What about us do you not understand?” You sound perplexed, and it agitates Dazai. Worse, you can tell it agitates him because immediately you run your thumb over the pulse point on his wrist to soothe him. You add quickly with a small smile, “I'm not understanding now, help me?”

It is beyond disconcerting that even though he knows it was a ploy to distract and soothe him, it works anyway. Dazai needs to do something about this.

“What do you get out of this?” Dazai decides to ask the question plainly instead of dancing around his words, partially because of the agitation and partially because he just needs an answer. Desperately. “What do you get out of what’s going on between us? I don't understand why you keep agreeing to meet me, why you initiate it sometimes. I need to know what it is you get."

Sex is transactional—it always is. Each party has to get something out of it, and if you don't know what the other is getting, then you have made a perilous mistake somewhere along the line. Dazai has known this since the beginning, but he allowed himself too long to bask blindly in the comfort of your arms and bed. He can’t keep doing this without knowing what you’re getting, It’ll come back to haunt him.

You’re still confused by his question even with the explanation, he can see it in the way the thoughts race behind your eyes as you try to piece it together. 

Eventually you settle on a smile that’s almost playful as you answer with, “You?”

Dazai’s frown deepens at your words, his expression becomes a bit colder. He thinks you’re evading the question because you don’t want to answer it, and that’s dangerous. You joined the Armed Detective Agency not long after him—were you a plant sent to get close to him by one of his old enemies? By Mori? His thoughts start to spiral dangerously. These are questions he should’ve been having months ago when you first joined the Agency, not now. 

“What are you really getting?” His grip on your hips tightens. “Tell me. Stop avoiding the question.”

Your expression becomes a bit more alarmed when he closes off from you, he thinks maybe his grip on your hips might be painful from your wince but he can’t afford to let go until he has his answer. 

“You, Dazai,” you say again, more insistently this time. “I get you. I get to spend time with you. be with you. That’s what I get.”

“But why?” Dazai presses, raising his voice, holding you tighter. He is hurting you now, he can tell from the way you try to bat his hands away, but he couldn’t let go if he wanted to. His blood pressure is rising as he realizes how badly he might have messed up. All of Ango’s efforts—Odasaku’s last request—all down the drain because of one mistake. “Why? What information are you trying to get? Who sent you? Who are you work-“

“What?” you demand. The confusion in your eyes is almost believable—Dazai thinks you must’ve been sent by someone important if you’re this good of an actress. His thoughts track back to Mori and his mind starts to fog with fury. “Who sent me? What are you-Dazai-I want you because I care about you. I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

The fog clears, Dazai stares at you blankly, hands loosening on your hips. He's not sure he heard you correctly, so he says: “What did you just say?”

Your expression softens a bit, and you repeat, “I care about you. I want you because I care about you.”

“No, you don’t,” Dazai says immediately. Instinctually.

“Yes, I do.” Dazai has never seen you get irritated before, but your face twists when he instantly denies your words. “I do, Dazai.”

“You don’t,” he insists. “You can’t. You don’t even know me, you don't care about me.”

He thinks he almost would have preferred that you had some ulterior motive to this. He hates the way his chest swells with hope—hope is dangerous, more dangerous than any other emotion. Fear, anger, sadness, none of it compares to the light that tries to bloom within his rotted chest. He tries to cut it off before it can spread, but it’s notoriously hard to snuff out; it clings to anything it can get a hold on even as he tries to push it away. 

The idea is… more tempting than he expected. It’s concerning, that should be enough to clear his head, but it’s not. His fingers cling to your shirt desperately, he searches your face, trying to find the sparest indication that you may be lying.

He finds none.

Still, Dazai knows better. He knows this won’t last. you’ll find out who he was, all of the things he did, and then you’ll leave him. You’ll see him for what he is, and you’ll leave him. This will never last. 

Nothing good ever does for him. 

“But I do care about you,” you insist, and you’re cruel now, because you reach out to cup his cheek and Dazai leans into your touch. He can’t help himself from it. “I care about you deeply, Dazai.”

“You can’t,” he repeats, and to his horror, his voice wavers. “You don’t know who I am, you don’t know what I’ve done, and when you do-“

“We all have skeletons in our closet, Dazai,” you interrupt him quietly. “I don't think there’s a single ability user out there that doesn’t. I don't need to know your past to know I care about you.”

That’s not true, he wants to say, but can’t force the words out. Instead, he says hoarsely, “It would change how you see me. I'm not who you think I am. I’m-”

A monster. A demon. His blood is black—has been since the day he was born, will be until the day he dies. He is not someone who should be cared for. He's someone who should be left to rot, someone the world would be better off without. He doesn’t deserve this, not when there are so many other people in the world who are unfailingly good and do deserve it. 

“It won’t,” you say again, but Dazai knows it’s not true, you don’t know what you’re talking about. You don’t know how awful he is. You don’t give him the chance to protest though. “I care about who you are today. I care about who you are tomorrow. The day after tomorrow. Not who you were months ago. The past is the past, Dazai, leave it there.”

“It's not that simple,” he rasps. 

“It can be,” you say softly, tucking a stray strand of hair behind his ear, “if you let it.”

“It can’t be that simple,” he disagrees. There’s an odd lilt to the voice—pleading, almost, begging you not to give him hope only to rip it away when the truth inevitably comes to light. “It can’t.”

“It can for us,” you tell him again, and Dazai finds himself believing you. Wanting to believe you. Wanting to believe things can just be that simple. That easy. 

“Why?” Dazai breathes out, eyes searching your face for answers. “Why me? Why not someone…”

Someone better. Someone good. Someone deserving. 

“Because you’re you,” you say like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, you lean down to ghost your lips against his and it fogs his brain with a pleasant warmth he’s only ever felt with you. “Do I need a reason more than that?”

Dazai wants to say yes, because him being him is a reason for you to not want him. He’s despicable, he’s cruel, he lashed out at you for weeks all the while forcing himself into your space because he wanted to be near you but didn’t understand why. 

“I love your smile,” you say, thumb running along his bottom lip, “and I love even more when I’m the reason for it.”

“But-“

“And I love your eyes,” you continue, fingers trailing up his face to trace under his eyes. “I think they’re the prettiest shade of brown I’ve ever seen.”

“I know that’s not true,” he rasps—he knows very well that his eyes are unnerving, too black and too empty. People have been unable to look him in the eye for long even when he was a kid. “I-“

“But most of all, it’s just you,” you say softly, cupping his cheeks with both of your hands. “You make me happy. I like being around you. I always look forward to the time we get to spend together—missions, at work, after work. I’ll take you in whatever way I can get, Dazai.”

You don’t let him avert his gaze this time, you force him to look at you, force him to see the truth of your words reflected in the adoration on your face. No one has ever looked at him like this before, and it makes him feel bare. Seen. He’s always felt seen with you, but never like this.

“I was… mean to you.” He still tries to argue with you, lashes fluttering shut. “I was cruel for months because-“

You laugh at him. “Mean? You were like a puppy trying to snap at my hand to scare me off.”

Dazai gapes. “A puppy?” he demands, seriously offended. “Don’t compare me to a dog. I’m more like a… A…”

“A…?” you press, a pretty smile flickering at your lips.

“A panther,” he supplies confidently.

“A kitten,” you correct.

Dazai groans dramatically, flinging his head back, but he finds himself smiling. He finds his chest full of warmth, light and bubbly, and when he looks back up at you to meet your eyes, he finds the same emotion swimming on your face. He thinks again that no one has ever looked at him like this before—not with such fondness, not with adoration, not with…

No, Dazai doesn’t dare think that word.

“I care about you too,” he admits. He’s hesitant, like he’s scared to say the words out loud.

“Even with all of the skeletons hidden in my closet?” you tease, leaning down to brush your lips against his again, and then a second time, and then a third. He basks in it, eyes sliding shut as you kiss him gently—it takes a few moments for your words to register.

“They’re not worse than mine,” he replies, the pads of his fingers running up and down your thighs absently. After a couple of seconds pass, he asks, “… What skeletons do you have?”

You tilt your head to the side and say playfully, “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

Dazai isn’t ready for that, so he just tosses you a smile and a wink before murmuring, “How about you show me something else instead?”

You laugh at that, tossing your head back and giggling so genuinely that your hand flies to your mouth to muffle the sound. His lips part to make another suggestive comment, but he finds himself breathless at the sight of you. 

You’re beautiful, and Dazai can’t help but think again that he doesn’t deserve this. You.

“Deal,” you agree.

This time when you lean down to press your lips against his, Dazai’s hands are content to rest on your thighs. His fingers don’t itch to wrangle control from you, and his mind isn’t plagued with paranoia-induced thoughts.

He thinks, maybe, that he can get used to this. Used to you.