Bsd - Blog Posts

You shut yourself away from the world, always content to stay within your own comfort zone. Life is easier that way, isn't it? You have nothing to be afraid of in your own space, you're completely untouchable... You probably like to fixate things; maybe you have a favorite game or show you immerse yourself in- maybe you even make your own. Anything to get away with the cold, hard truth of the world. Anything to avoid expectation. You often experience extreme bouts of anxiety, you are constantly afraid of failure in every aspect, so you try to place yourself in the position of avoidance as much as you can. There's no failure if you never try, right? You're most at peace when your mind is so busy that you don't have time to process your own pain and loneliness; in fact, you seem to only really be able to function that way. Truth is, you're immensely capable. This world has hurt you time and time again, but you need to get back on your feet. Rely on people around you to be your safe space; it will be okay. It's hard, I know, but you can face the world again, one small step at a time.

I took a test. Erm!

Is it lonely, feeling like there is always a glass wall between yourself and others? You see the world through a lens of contempt; not rooted in disgust, but in pity. A third-person spectator of society, you struggle to feel, at times, like you're human at all. Not in a sense that you're a monster or a creature, but that you are simply without which defines man. You watch the motions of existence with a dull sense of separation, untouchably. Even so, you're tired. You're exhausted. You wish it would all end, gently and quietly. You feel, in some sense, it would be a mercy to euthanize the world as a whole, even. You have already accepted that this is a lonely viewpoint, after all, it isn't possible anyone could truly see the world the same way. Not without going through your very same pain. Not without your same wisdom; to see the meaninglessness in human continuance, when we never learn from history. Further, no one else can keep up in a matter of intellect, anyway. Everyone around you is so, so... Dull. Even so, there is an ache inside you that yearns for some form of understanding, some form of companionship so, at least, you wouldn't need to watch the world destroy itself alone. Deep down, I know you're a person who cares so, so much. You're someone with far too much empathy for a heart to hold- have you ever thought, maybe, to direct that empathy towards yourself?

@still-fatemeh -> you'd lowk like this

@jsol1015 -> I need to see if you get sigma lol

He looks exhausted when he walks in—a hectic week altogether—tie loose, hair a mess, the weight of the day still clinging to his shoulders. You only get a proper kiss before he mumbles something about freshening up, leaving you standing there, needy and restless, watching him disappear into the bathroom.

When he comes back, he’s shirtless, hair damp, towel lazily slung around his neck. He settles on the bed against the headboard, long legs stretched out, a book in his hand. The glow of the bedside lamp casts soft shadows over his chest, the definition of his collarbones, the slope of his abs. And yet, he doesn’t seem to notice the way your gaze lingers.

You’re curled up at the edge of the bed, watching him, sulking a little. He must feel it, must sense the heat of your stare, because he barely glances up from his book before tilting his head toward you.

“Come here, baby.” His voice is low, lazy, but there’s something in it that makes your stomach tighten. “Sit on me.”

You first didn't understand if he meant his face or his lap, when he takes off his shorts is when you understand.

Your breath catches. “Aren’t you tired?”

A slow smirk tugs at his lips. “And? C'm on, you know both you and I want it.”

That was enough to make warmth pool at the base of your spine. He sets the book aside for a second, beckoning you with his fingers.

“C’mere, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice like honey, thick and coaxing. “Missed you.”

It’s enough to make you move before you can think better of it, before you can let the last bit of hesitation keep you away. As soon as you settle onto his lap, his hands find your waist, taking down your panties as you lift your hips up.

He lifts you slightly, making you sit on his cock, it doesn't completely fit, of course, thumbs stroking your skin through the fabric of your shirt as his tip teases that spot.

He picks up the book again, but his eyes flicker down to yours,

“You gonna behave while I read?”

You shift slightly, just enough to make his grip tighten.

His chuckle is low, teasing. “Didn’t think so.”

He picks up the book again, pretending to be absorbed in it, but you don’t miss the way his grip tightens when you shift just a little.

“You comfortable, darlin'?” he murmurs absently, eyes flicking over the pages, but there’s a teasing lilt to his voice. Like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

You hum, pressing your palms to his bare chest, tracing slow circles over his skin. “Mhm,” you breathe, leaning in, brushing your lips over his jaw. He doesn’t react, doesn’t move—just keeps reading like you’re not practically melting against him.

So, you move. Just a little. A slow, innocent shift, dragging your body against his like you’re just trying to get comfortable. His fingers twitch against your waist.

Still, he doesn’t say anything.

You try again, shifting higher, rolling your hips ever so slightly before sinking back down, your arms wrapping loosely around his neck.

His jaw tenses, his breath catches—just for a second—but he keeps his face hidden behind the book, stubbornly ignoring you.

“Baby,” you whine softly, dragging your lips along the column of his throat, your fingers slipping into his hair. He’s so warm, so solid beneath you, and the way he’s acting like he doesn’t care makes heat spark in your stomach.

He exhales through his nose, tilting his head back just enough to let you nuzzle into him, but his voice stays even. “What is it, sweetheart?”

You shift again, slower this time, your body pressing flush against his. His hands slide down, palms warm against your thighs now, holding you in place—but not stopping you.

“You’re ignoring me,” you pout, rolling your hips ever so slightly.

He lets out a low hum, flipping a page with maddening calm. “Am I?”

“Mmhm,” you whisper, lips brushing his ear now. “Feels mean.”

His grip tightens, his fingers flexing, but he doesn’t pull you closer, doesn’t stop you. He just lets you move, lets you tease yourself against him while he hides behind the book like you’re not driving him insane.

Finally, after another slow shift of your hips, he exhales sharply, his fingers pressing into your skin. “You having fun, sweet thing?”

You grin, pressing your forehead against his. “Maybe.”

You keep moving against him, slow and teasing, pressing yourself closer, but he doesn’t give in. Doesn’t acknowledge the way your body rolls against his, how your hands roam over his chest, fingertips tracing over his collarbones, his shoulders, the muscles in his arms.

He just keeps his book in front of his face, pretending to be unaffected, though his grip on your waist tightens each time you shift.

Still, you don’t stop.

You press your lips to the curve of his jaw, down his throat, your breath warm against his skin. Nothing. Another slow roll of your hips. Nothing. His chest rises a little quicker, but he keeps reading, keeps ignoring the way you’re growing needier by the second.

So you pull back.

Lift off of him completely, his hands falling from your waist as you shift onto your knees in front of him. He doesn’t say a word, but you can feel his gaze burning into you. Like he isn’t gripping the book just a little too tight.

And then—slowly, deliberately—you pull your shirt over your head. Let it fall somewhere on the bed before you turn around, completely bare.

This time, when you sink on him again, when your skin presses against his, warm and soft, he sucks in a quiet breath. It’s subtle, barely audible, but you hear it—the smallest groan, low in his throat, like he’s finally letting himself react, just for a second.

You smirk, leaning back against his chest, your bare back skin meeting his warmth. His hand finds your waist again, palm splayed across your stomach now, going lower, caressing your public hair, fingers pressing in ever so slightly, then, creeping up to your breasts.

But still—one hand stays on the book, his eyes flickering over the pages like he isn’t affected, like he doesn’t feel the heat of your body against his.

Then—slowly, lazily—his free hand moves up, reaching for the band holding your hair in place. A gentle tug, and your ponytail loosens, hair spilling over your shoulders, cascading down your back.

He exhales, fingers threading through the strands, brushing them over one shoulder before his palm rests lightly against your collarbone. His lips ghost the side of your head, warm and teasing.

You lift again, rolling your hips, teasing yourself against him, but he’s too big—he doesn’t completely fit, and the realization sends a frustrated whimper past your lips. You try again, sinking down only to an extent, but it’s not enough. The slow drag, the aching stretch—it’s driving you crazy.

And then—you feel it. The sharp inhale he takes, the way his fingers dig into your hips, his patience snapping in an instant.

His book is tossed aside without a second thought.

Before you can process it, he grips your waist and pushes you down onto him fully, a deep, strained groan rumbling from his chest as you gasp with a moan, hands flying to his thighs for support. The pressure, the overwhelming fullness—it has your whole body trembling.

Then, he moves.

He leans forward, chest pressing against your back, his warmth caging you in as he shifts, guiding you down onto your elbows and knees. You barely register the change in position before he presses against you from behind, rolling his hips in slow, deep thrusts that knock the air from your lungs.

A strangled moan escapes you, your fingers clutching at the sheets as he moves again, unhurried but devastating, each motion precise, like he’s savoring the way you fall apart beneath him.

His breath is heavy, hot against the back of your neck. “You drive me crazy, you know that?” His voice is rough, strained, and when you whimper in response, he lets out a low groan, his hips pressing even deeper.

He leans forward, to hear you and to feel your skin better—his arm slides around your throat from behind, not tight, just enough to keep you close, to keep you exactly where he wants you.

His grip is firm but careful, fingers resting lightly against your pulse, feeling the way it races beneath his touch. He groans again, voice husky in your ear as he keeps moving, slow and deep, his other hand holding your waist.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he murmurs, pressing a lingering kiss to the side of your neck. “Take it. J—just like that.”

Your eyes flutter open, hazy with pleasure, and that’s when you see it—the mirror straight ahead, mounted on the wall opposite the bed.

The sight knocks the breath from your lungs.

The reflection captures everything—his body towering over yours, his one hand gripping your waist and the other on your heck, the way he moves against you, desperate, like he can’t get enough. His expression is dark with hunger, his lips parted, chest heaving with each deep thrust, biting and kissing your neck.

You can’t look away.

A choked moan escapes your lips, louder than before, your gaze locked on the image before you. The way you tremble beneath him, the way his body fits against yours so perfectly—it sends another wave of heat through you.

Behind you, he notices.

His pace falters for a second, his head tilting slightly before he follows your gaze—and when he sees it, when he sees himself buried deep inside you, his body covering yours, your dazed eyes, drool from your lips, how you tighten around him, how your moans got louder, his grip on your waist tightens.

A low, guttural groan rumbles from his chest.

"You like that view, sweetheart?" His voice is husky, rough with desire.

You can barely manage a response, your moan answering for you, and that’s all it takes.

"Y—yeah? you like that baby?"

His pace shifts—harder, faster, so hard you start moving upwards away from him so he pulls you back on him, as if the sight of you together, of you unraveling beneath him, has pushed him over the edge. His breathing turns ragged, each thrust sending shivers down your spine, and you know he’s close.

So are you.

Your hands clench the sheets, your body arching, the tension coiling tighter and tighter until—

His name spills from your lips, broken and breathless, as the pleasure crashes over you, leaving you trembling in his grasp.

Only then does he let go.

With one final thrust, his body tenses, his own release following yours, a deep groan escaping as he collapses onto you, his weight warm and heavy, pressing you into the bed.

For a moment, neither of you move.

His chest rises and falls against your back, his breath warm against your shoulder, his arms still wrapped around you like he’s unwilling to let go just yet.

Then—softly, teasingly—he presses a lazy kiss to the side of your neck, his voice a deep murmur against your skin.

"Now that," he breathes, a satisfied smirk in his tone, "was a sight worth watching."

A lazy hum vibrates against your skin as he stays draped over you, his weight heavy but comforting, grounding you after the storm you both just weathered. His lips graze your shoulder, soft and lingering, before he finally shifts, rolling off you just enough to let you breathe.

But he doesn’t let go.

Instead, he pulls you back against his chest, wrapping an arm around your waist and pressing his face into the crook of your neck. His breathing is deep, still uneven, but his lips find your skin again, trailing slow, featherlight kisses along your shoulder, up to your jaw.

"You okay, sweetheart?" His voice is warm, thick with exhaustion, but there’s a hint of something else too—concern, devotion, the quiet way he always makes sure you’re alright.

You nod, still catching your breath, and he chuckles softly, his fingers brushing lazy circles against your bare skin.

"Did so well for me," he murmurs, pressing a kiss behind your ear.

You sigh, sinking into his warmth, letting yourself melt as he shifts to sit up, reaching over to grab the blanket from the edge of the bed. With careful hands, he pulls it over both of you, tucking you close against him, his body still warm from exertion.

The weight of exhaustion tugs at your limbs, pulling you toward sleep, but just as you begin to drift, you feel it—

A slow, lazy touch trailing along your skin.

At first, it’s featherlight, almost absentminded, like he’s moving on instinct even in his half-asleep state. His fingertips trace delicate patterns along your stomach before slipping lower, pressing against you with a knowing intent.

Your breath hitches.

"Mm," he hums sleepily against your neck, his voice thick with exhaustion but still laced with that ever-present hunger. "Not done with you yet, sweetheart."

The words send a shiver through you, heat pooling where his fingers tease, slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring the way you react even with his eyes closed. His grip tightens around your waist, keeping you close as his lips press against the curve of your shoulder, a lazy, satisfied smirk tugging at his lips.

"You can take one more for me, can’t you? I can’t believe I lived without this for a week.”

Usually, he takes his time, his mouth and hands working in tandem, drawing you apart piece by piece, only then do you come on his cock, but tonight, there was a crack in the routine.

He’s tired—so tired—and yet, not enough to resist.

Not enough to deny himself this.

His fingers dip lower, pressing against you, and when he feels the heat, the wetness waiting for him, he lets out a low, satisfied hum.

“I almost forgot,” he murmurs, lips trailing along the curve of your jaw, “how gorgeous you are like this. All flustered, sensitive and red and—”

He presses in, two fingers sliding deep, and the breath you take is sharp, stolen from your lungs.

“—so fucking wet for me.”

His fingers move with a practiced rhythm, slow but deliberate, coaxing you closer. His lips press against your shoulder, murmuring against your flushed skin, a litany of sweet nothings that only make the pleasure coil tighter inside you.

"That’s it, sweet, sweet cunt," he breathes, voice thick with exhaustion but dripping with satisfaction. "Let go for me… just like that."

Your head falls back against his shoulder, body melting into his as he works you through it, his touch unrelenting until he feels you come undone, trembling in his arms. He doesn’t stop until the last wave passes, until he’s sure he’s wrung out every last drop of pleasure from you.

Only then does he ease his fingers out, dragging them up over your thigh, slow and reverent, as if he’s memorizing the way you feel against him. His other arm tightens around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer, anchoring you against his chest, clean his fingers by tasting you.

"Missed you so much," he mutters into your hair, voice barely above a whisper. "Don’t think I can go a week without you again."

His lips press against your temple, soft and lingering, before he shifts, reaching for the blanket and pulling it over both of you. His warmth surrounds you, his touch still gentle as he strokes lazy circles into your hip, lulling you into a haze of post-bliss exhaustion.

"You good, sweetheart?" he asks, voice softer now, more tender. You nod sleepily, and he chuckles, kissing the top of your head.

"Sleep," he whispers. "I’ve got you."

And with his arms wrapped around you, his breath steady and warm against your skin, you believe him.

The car ride is silent—dangerously so. His hands grip the steering wheel tight, jaw set, eyes locked on the road, but you can feel the heat rolling off him in waves. You push your luck, shifting in your seat, letting the hem of your dress ride up just a little more, just enough for him to notice.

He does.

His knuckles turn white, and that muscle in his jaw ticks. His possessiveness always simmers beneath the surface, but tonight, you poured gasoline over it. Letting another man get too close, laughing a little too sweetly at a joke that wasn’t even funny, brushing your fingers over someone’s arm like you didn’t already belong to him.

So now he says nothing. And somehow, that’s even better.

“Are you mad?” you ask, tilting your head, voice teasing, knowing exactly what you’re doing.

He doesn’t answer. Just flicks his eyes toward you.

That’s fine. You like a challenge.

Your gaze drops, tracing the shape of him beneath his slacks, the way his pants strained left little to the imagination, and you bit your lip, heat pooling low in your stomach. He catches you looking, and his breath comes out sharper, hands tightening on the wheel.

“Stop” he mutters, but there’s no real authority behind it.

You bite your lip. “What?”

The corner of his mouth twitches, like he’s debating whether to punish you with silence or pull over and make you regret every second of your little game. His patience snaps first.

The car jerks to the side, tires skidding slightly as he pulls into a secluded area off the road. The moment the engine shuts off, he’s turning to you, fingers curling around your thigh, thumb pressing in just enough to make your breath hitch.

“You think it’s funny, teasing me like that?” His voice is rough, thick with barely restrained control.

“You’re hot when you’re mad.” You say it without shame, letting your eyes drag down the length of him again, lingering on his lap.

Something in him breaks.

He tugs you forward with ease, pulling you onto his lap, your knees pressing into the seat on either side of him. His hands grip your hips, rough and demanding, dragging you down so you can feel all of him, thick and heavy beneath you.

Your dress rides up, pooling around your thighs, and his hands waste no time slipping beneath it, fingers pressing into your skin, possessive, claiming. You barely have a second to process the shift before his lips are on your throat, teeth grazing, breath fanning, sucking a mark too close to your chin and low from your face that will be impossible to hide.

You shudder, fingers threading through his hair, but he isn’t done.

A hand slides up your back, tugging at the zipper of your dress, he pulled the fabric down your shoulders, exposing more skin to his hungry gaze.

His palms cupped your breasts, fingers teasing over sensitive peaks before his lips replaced them, warm and wet, sending a jolt of heat straight to your core. you arch into him, pressing yourself closer, chasing more.

His teeth scrape against your collarbone, and before you can let out a full whimper, a sharp smack lands on your ass.

You jolt, a soft gasp leaving your lips, and his smirk is nothing short of sinful. “Now is when you want to behave?” he asks, voice teasing.

Your only answer is the way your hips roll against him, feeling how hard he is beneath you. Oh, how much he wants to wreck you for every second you made him jealous tonight. He grips your hips, guiding you, forcing you to move just how he wants, shifting your weight, he maneuvered you onto one of his thighs, pressing his hands against your hips.

The pressure against your core made you whimper, and he guided you, slow and deliberate, making you move against him.

The windows fog. The air turns thick.

And the way he looks at you? Like he’s going to leave proof of his name on every inch of your skin?

You think maybe, riling him up was the best decision you’ve ever made.

The moment he stumbles into the apartment, you can tell he’s completely, utterly wasted. His shirt is wrinkled, one side untucked, and his hair is an absolute mess, strands sticking to his forehead. and there's a lazy, lascivious grin on his face as he sways toward you.

“Baaaaby,” he drags out the word as if it’s the sweetest thing he’s ever said, arms already reaching for you before he even makes it across the room. “You’re so pretty. So, so pretty.”

You barely have time to respond before he crashes into you, arms wrapping tight around your waist, his weight forcing you a step back. He noses at your neck, warm breath fanning over your skin before he presses a messy, lingering kiss just under your jaw.

“I missed you,” he mumbles, voice thick with intoxication. His lips trail sloppily along your jaw, missing his mark more than once. “I was thinking about you the whole time. Didn’t wanna drink, didn’t wanna talk—just wanted you.”

You exhale, half amused, half overwhelmed by how affectionate he gets when he’s like this. “You’re drunk.”

“I’m in love,” he corrects, pulling back just enough to cup your face in his hands. His eyes are dark, half-lidded, pupils blown out as he drinks you in. “So, so in love with you.”

“I thought about you the whole time. Even when they were talking about boring stuff, I was just thinking about you, and your pretty face, and your hair, and—and—” He hiccups, giggles, then kisses your cheek sloppily, missing his target entirely.

And then he kisses your lips, like he’s trying to make up for all the time he spent away. His lips are warm, a little sloppy, a little desperate, and when his tongue swipes against yours, you can taste the faint burn of whiskey.

“Mm, I love kissing you,” he mumbles against your skin. His hands slip down to your waist, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you. “Like, so much. I could do this forever.”

“You’ll regret it in the morning,” you tease, but he shakes his head wildly, pressing more kisses wherever he can reach.

“Nuh-uh,” he insists. “I’d regret not kissing you. That’s way worse.”

He groans into the kiss, fingers tangling into your hair as he backs you toward the bedroom. He’s trying so hard to be in control, to take the lead—pressing you up against the wall, hands gripping your waist as his mouth moves hungrily against yours. But he’s a mess. A beautiful, intoxicating mess. His lips miss their mark, his teeth graze too hard, and he keeps mumbling your name between kisses like he can’t bear to stop.

When you finally reach the bedroom, he tries to spin you around, guiding you onto the bed—but the second he pulls away to do so, he loses balance. His legs give out beneath him, and he stumbles backward onto the mattress with a dazed look on his face.

You can’t help but laugh. “Smooth.”

“Shh, c’mere,” he slurs, arms reaching for you like a needy child. And you do—crawling over him, straddling his hips as he lets out a breathy moan at the contact. His hands slide down your back, gripping your waistband, and with a drunken sort of determination, he tries to guide your hips against his. He rocks his hips up harshly once, making you fall onto him, kissing you.

“Feel that?” he murmurs against your lips, eyes dark and heavy. “S’all for you.”

You do feel it—the hard press of his arousal beneath you. He rocks your hips against him, slow and lazy, groaning softly at the friction. His fingers dig into your waist, gripping, guiding, needy. His kisses turn even sloppier, missing your lips entirely at times, trailing down your chin, your jaw, your neck.

But then, just as the heat between you starts to build, his movements slow. His grip loosens. His kisses falter. And before you even realize what’s happening, his head falls back against the pillows, breath steadying, lips slightly parted in sleep.

You blink down at him, still straddling his hips, your body burning from the half-finished tension he just left you with.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

A soft snore is his only response.

For a moment, you just stare. Then you sigh, running a hand through your hair before shaking your head with a quiet laugh. You should be frustrated. You should be annoyed. But looking at him like this—his lips still pink and swollen from kissing you, his brows slightly furrowed even in sleep, his arms still loosely resting around your waist—you can’t bring yourself to be mad.

Instead, you press a soft kiss to his temple before carefully shifting off of him, pulling the blankets up over both of you.

“Idiot” you murmur, but the fondness in your voice betrays you.

And despite the ache he left you with, you fall asleep smiling, tangled up in the warmth of him.

In The Beginning Women Was The Sun

Ever since I was a child I never once truly smiled.

I never got to be raised like a normal kid with a loving family, no, the universe hated me I hated me. I guess some part of myself still does, but I could never hate nor blame them. It wasn’t our fault we’re different, but people move on, I moved on,most died sadly sadly, I miss them and I hope they miss me-

“KEIKO IM GOING!!” My brother was hanging out with his friend Akkun, he acts weird a lot, his personality kinda switches, like he’s a new person, but I don’t ask, he’ll tell me when he’s ready.

I walked downstairs. “Bye, have fun” and walked off into the kitchen hearing the door close behind him.

“Alone again huh? Maybe I’ll finish that painting today” I make myself a hot chocolate and go out to the little garden shed where I do my art.

———————

The house phone was ringing, I could hear it even from all the way out here.

“Hello, yes this is she, yes I do, thank you yes I’ll be on my way now thank you.” That idiot landing himself in the hospital. I grabbed my bag and went out the door riding off on my bike. Passing the cars and all the buildings was rather calming, I like to think I’m calm right now but the way my hands were gripping the handles or how much faster I was riding the bike then I normally do said otherwise. The car park was busy, mostly filled up but there was a spot near the door for me.

“Hello” I approached the lady at the desk. “I’m here to visit my brother Hanagaki Takemitchi”.

“Hmmm, room D3 love.” She smiled

“Thank you” I turned to walk away.

“Hi, what room is hanagaki takemitchi in?” A soft voice I recognised asked.

“Hina hey,you can come with me.” I waved at her.

“Ah! Keiko, it’s been a while how are you?” She asked.

“I’m going good, you?”

“I’m great, I haven’t seen you much anymore, you stopped joining me and takemitchi on out walks to school, and our study sessions every Thursday night.” She remarked.

“Sorry, mum got me a new therapist so the sessions had to change” I looked down, eye contact made me nervous.

“Oh! What happened to the old one?” She asked, she knew I didn’t like direct eye contact so she was fine with me looking at the floor.

“She died.” I left it simple, I didn’t know much other then what the news said, all I got told was that she died due to gang violence, she’s lucky it was only a gang.

“Oh..that’s sad” yes it is, she had a life ahead of her, I liked her, but I didn’t know her.

“We weren’t that close but I still feel bad, it was some gang thing.” We arrived at takemitchis room and I held the door open for her. We heard a sobbing like sound. Hina pushes back the curtain.

“Are you ok!what’s wrong?” There was a blonde girl with her head on his lap, she was crying, I think Hina took it differently though, common mistake anyone would make.

“Oh no stop! That’s gross!” She looked disgusted “how dare you” she sounded like she wanted to barf. I think he got the message.

“NO NO NO! It’s not what it looks like Hina I swear!!!” She hit him.

“You good to be released?” I asked not wanting this misunderstanding to continue, I like Hina, can’t have him lose her.

———————

“I’m leaving now is there anything you want?” I poked my head through mitchi’s room to see him doing the puzzle I got him.

“Uhh no thanks just some snacks” he’s actually concentrating for once.

“No medication that the doctors gave you?” I ask for confirmation.

“No they gave me none actually.” He’s still focused on the puzzle.

“Alright I’ll be back soon bye” I wave him off and go downstairs. I stop by the mirror in the hallway to make sure I look good before leaving, it’s not that hot nor that cold so I can wear an outfit with a fair amount of accessories and layers. I open the door and I’m greeted with the sight of Mitchi’s friend group.

“Hello guys, Mitchis in his room.” I let them in. “Don’t cause a mess or get him to move around to much.”

“Thank you Keiko” Akkun says leading the rest up the stairs.

I leave the house and start walking down the street, I can’t take the bike so I’ll walk. I pass by a few people but one sticks out, he’s tall and blonde with the sides of his hair shaven of, the rest pulled into a plate, with a dragon tattoo on the side of his head, he’s a gang member definitely. I go about my day not stopping for him, why should I he holds me no importance but being a stranger on the street.

———————

The shopping got done but the front yard was undone.

“Mitchi and his friends had fun I see..” things were thrown everywhere, his bat was broken, his favourite bike, at least mine was left untouched and unscathed. I made my way through the yard carefully and opened the door with my foot, I slipped my shoes off and put the groceries on the counter. I grabbed my phone and called the bot at the source of all this mess.

———————

Takemitchis POV

“Oh Crap!” Keiko was calling me, I remember the way we left the yard and prayed her bike was ok, I never got to check.

“Hey Kei how’d the shopping go?”

“Good I got all the stuff but I have a question”

“Uhhh yeah..?”

“What happened to the front yard?!”

“Ahhh! I’m so sorry Kei really my friends had a fight and I tried to stop them but it got out of hand look-“ at this point everyone stopped to look at me with the mention of the fight.

“Your lucky my bike is ok.”

“Oh thank god.”

“You and me are cleaning this together tomorrow alright? And where are you anyway it’s late out.”

“I’m ok don’t worry I’m with my friends at the par-“

“But still it’s dangerous past sunset you should come home, what if you got mugged, or beaten up or-“

“Keiko. I’ll be ok, this isn’t Yokohama ok shibuya might not be the safest place ever but it’s not Yokohama.”

“Ah.. I know, sorry I just-“

“It’s ok your just looking out for me, I’ll head home in a minute alright I’m safe.”

“Hmm.. alright we can talk more when you get home, but be safe, by Mitchi, love you to the moon”

“And I’ll love you all the way back, see you soon Kei” I ended the call with the others looking at me.

“What..?” I sweat dropped

“Who was that?” Mikey asks.

“Uhh.. it’s Keiko, my sister.”

“What! You have a sister! And you never told us! And here I thought we were friends.” Mickey complained.

“Yeah what’s up with that takemitchi.” Darken turns to me.

“Well it’s not like the topic came up and she’s a keep to herself kinda person..” I answered.

“But she’s really nice! And pretty, and quite protective, but she’s cool.” Hina adds talking about Keiko. Emma looks at her.

“You know her Hina?” Hina nods her head.

“Yeah, apart from Takemitchi I was her first friend when they took her in.” She had a smile on her face, one she wears for Keiko, it holds sincerity, she treats Keiko like her own sister, it makes me happy that my two favourite girls get along well.

“Took her in?” Draken asks.

“Yeah my mum took her in when she saw her passed out in an alley near her work. She was in bad shape but refused to go to the hospital when she woke up, almost got out the car while it was on the freeway, mum came home to patch her up.” I explained shortly, I didn’t think it was ok for me to explain the whole story, it wasn’t my decision.

“Woah! So she was a street rat!” It was mikey.

“HUH!”

“Uhh..”

“You can’t say that you idiot!” Draken gave him a slap over the head. “Don’t go bad mouthing Takemitchis sister! Now apologies!”

“Hmph! Sorry Takemitchi.” His apology was half assed!

“It’s alright I guess..” I rubbed my neck not knowing how to respond. “Hey, I uhh..gotta go now so I’ll se you guys at the festival yeah?”

“Ask Kei if she wants to come! She needs to get out more and plus she could meet Emma!” Hina stated.

“I’ll try to get her out..” I turn and take my leave home. “Bye!”

NOTE: boom! Done with this first chapter, so idk how this story is gonna go or if it’s gonna be continued but I do have some backstory for Keiko and I think if I do continue this it’ll be really fun, also don’t worry I’m still doing the twst one I’ve got a chapter in the making rn it’s half way there but tell me what y’all think of this, also the first person thing might not be forever I just wanted to give it a shot, anyway bye ✌️ have a good day.

So I am in fact going to try the bsd x tr fanfic but I’m contemplating a love interest because sad love makes it all better and my only options are from tr cause there actually her age so who should be the love interest

Ok like I want a bungou stray dogs x Tokyo revenges fanfic where like our mc (preferably female) has some ability and was either raised at Atsushi’s orphanage and befriended him and when he got thrown out for his ability she did to then she goes to izana’s orphanage or the other way around and it follows tr and bsd and she isn’t some Mary sue evil cringe character like she gets scared she needs help controlling her ability she wants to experience a normal teenage life but her ability and the fact that she somehow got involved in gang business (maybe one of the main toman members mother adopted her or she somehow attracted them) and like she gets involved in the guild and port mafia and decay of angels and meets Atsushi again after these years but also all the gang stuff (maybe cause she’s an ability user she could mess with the timeline and save some tr characters like baji and Emma🤷‍♀️)

If someone would write this PLEASE 🙏 contact me and I CAN and WILL help you with the Mac and the storyline and ideas idc I just need to read it and I have to catch up a fair bit on bsd season 5 and tr so PLEASE 🙏 someone with all this knowledge and good writing PLEASE DO IT PLEASEEEEE.🙏🙏🙏🙏

Dead apple but everyone is still in their pajamas

I think it would be funny if everyone collectively just didnt care to change in to their work clothes for the plot of dead apple cause imagine Chuuya fighting that big ass dragon still in his dog themed pajama pants 🐶

my friend requested that I draw this silly little guy ☺️🖤

be the yuri you want to see in the world

dazai :) i love abstract art stuff so much its so fun and quick to make!!

how the fuck do i animate without a drawing tablet hooked up onto this zamn thing of a laptop (┬┬﹏┬┬)

some warmth for atsushi because he has suffered enough

@evvwenthome tis was I

your secret santa!!

Please take away my internet access I have exams I should not be doing this

Uhm can I request an interaction between Fitzgerald and boothill?

Guess what happens next

The straightest man in bsd

Here's a sketch cuz I ain't getting time to finish stuff

i tried

my submission for @lotus-pear 5k dtiys

its always william and fyodor but never albert and chuuya

FYODOR WILL BE ALL RIGHT SINCE HE ONLY LOST HIS LEFT ARM

I love them 😊

He’s so pretty ☹️❤️

look at this pathetic creature (¬⤙¬ )

Oh my gosh! Thank you so much!! I love this with all my heart ❤️

Hi! Can you please do a 🍉🎈with Dazai and Chuuya?

🍋 Lemonade Special Order 🍋

I want you to know, I had an absolute BLAST working on this prompt. I just HAD to turn it into a tickle fight - the idea of these two idiots rolling around laughing together makes me so happy!

Warning: Some suggestive humor

~~~

“I hope you know,” Chuuya grunted as he staggered to his feet, “that as soon as this is over, I’m going to murder you.”

Dazai made a show of fanning himself. “Ooh, don’t threaten me with a good time, chibi~”

To be fair, he hadn’t meant for the water balloon to hit the side of his boyfriend’s face and send him sprawling to the ground, but it certainly did the trick lighting the competitive fire in the redhead’s eyes, so…worth it?

Chuuya tossed one of his own balloons at Dazai, annoyed when it only grazed his overcoat as he dodged out of the way. He prided himself in being athletically skilled up close, but with this much distance between them? That was more of Akutagawa’s thing than his.

It had been Dazai’s idea to do this, of course. The brunette insisted they go on a ‘proper, fun date’ now that the weather was getting nicer, and while they were strolling through the park they saw some kids having a water balloon fight, and the detective was inspired. The rest was history.

“Fuck me,” Chuuya grumbled, having tossed his last weapon and missing again. Dazai still had one left. Even if he missed, he’d already won by having hit the redhead more often.

Dazai’s brows rose. “Oh, my. Maybe later, Chuuya dearest~”

That did it.

He was much better at up close fighting; why not take advantage of it?

Dazai tossed his final balloon to the side, anticipating Chuuya barreling toward him and crouching down to meet him. They tussled for a few moments before the detective successfully got his boyfriend on the ground, hands finding his ribs and tickling wildly.

“NAHAHAHAHAHA DAZAHAHAHAHAHAI!!” Chuuya laughed, unable to keep his reactions at bay. Curse his extreme ticklishness! He squirmed and kicked. “LEHEHEHEHEHEMME GOHOHOHOHO!!”

“Now why would I do that, when you look so cute like this? Hey!” Dazai suddenly shot his arms to his sides protectively, Chuuya having found a split second to shoot a hand into his armpit. “Fiehehehehehehesty, are we, chihihihihihibi?”

Chuuya hooked a leg around his waist and twisted so that he was the one on top, going for broke and tickling his annoying boyfriend relentlessly. “Go ahead and give up, Dazai. We both know you’ll just roll over and let me win any-WAHAHAHAHAHAY!! AHAHAHAHAHASSHOLE!!” He kept one hand in Dazai’s armpit while frantically trying to dislodge the brunette’s fingers from his thigh. “Juhuhuhuhuhust give uhuhuhuhuhup already!”

Dazai was squealing with his own giddy giggles, but he still managed a defiant flash in his eyes as he shot back, “You fihihihihihihirst!”

It was unclear who won the second part of their battle that afternoon, but either way, they both had to agree it had been the best date in a while.

NEW OC!!

This is my favorite new OC! Her sweater is based of Dazai’s bandages, and a hat for Chuuya! I love both of them so much! They’re prettyyy🥰

PRETTY BOYS🥰🥹❤️💞

HELLOO I HAVE COME TO SPREAD THE SILLY CLOWN AGENDA!!

Damn I haven’t read or watched bsd in a long time last time I watched Fyodor died is he still dead?

Anyways I have no idea why but this guy is so fun to draw really hope I can find more silly clown outfits to draw him in soon

long time no nikolai..