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    Summary

    Dazai sobbed, thighs twitching as he tried to escape the painful intrusion. “Can’t—I can’t—nngh—’m trying—”

    “Trying what?” Mori looked at him. Cold. Flat. “I told you to be a good boy and take it. That is your one job. Are you such a useless child that you need help?”

    “I—no—yes—” Dazai broke off with a soft cry as the mafioso shifted, brushing something inside that made stars shoot behind his eyes. “I don’t—I don’t know—I’m trying—”

    “What do you need to be a good boy and take it, Dazai-kun?”

    Dazai hiccuped on a sob, head dropping. He didn’t know. He didn’t know.

    Mori hummed. Then he cupped the flushed, neglected head of Dazai’s cock in his palm. His fingers barely stroked the tip, soft and circular, like swiping a smear of ink. Dazai wailed. The plushie at his chest was soaked with drool and tears; he curled tighter around it, sniffling.

    “There we are,” Mori said pleasantly. “That’s better.”

    or: the port mafia meeting goes on, dazai sobs on a stranger’s cock or two, & mori barely looks at him.

    BSD Dead Dove Week 2026 - Day one - Stockholm Syndrome, “This is what you fantasized about, right?”, Painful Sex (Alt)

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