navi-the-flying-bee

[navi-the-flying-bee]

We were promised that "dates gone wrong" is a series?

Please <3

Well what a surprise I was actually thinking of making a part 2, but just THINKING I will try to start so I actually do it, but there's a high chance I would do it.

btw I actually liked some of the requests you guys sent so I may do them.

Bro I only answered two questions and getting tired.

[navi-the-flying-bee]

When are you going to make a Masterlist, oh miss?

Guess who's alive. ME!

Anyway, I am not really active frequently so I don't have much posts so I don't think there's a need for a Masterlist currently, but if you think i should make one do tell me.

[navi-the-flying-bee]

Valentine's day

(a/n): okay. I know i am VERY late,but to arrive late is better than not arriving. So... Forgive me?

Characters: Atsushi, Fukuzawa, Dazai, Fyodor, Mori, Chuuya, Ranpo, Poe, Nikolai.

Warnings: use of y/n. This took me too long but mostly because i had writing block while writing it (which was a month ago? Or two?) then i had to drag myself to continue it.

Nakajima atsushi

Valentine’s Day at the Armed Detective Agency was… chaotic.

Not that you were expecting anything less.

You had no real plans for the day. romance wasn’t exactly your forte. You were more of a “wait until the 15th and buy discounted chocolate” kind of person. But apparently, Ranpo had figured that out.

And that was a mistake.

“You’re telling me,” he said, eyes gleaming like he had just solved the world’s greatest mystery, “that you, didn’t think ahead about Valentine’s Day? How tragic.”

You groaned, burying your face in your scarf. “Leave me alone. It’s a capitalist trap.”

Ranpo took a slow, exaggerated bite of the expensive chocolate he had somehow acquired (probably by guilting Kunikida into buying it for him). “Ooooh, Kunikida’s gonna lecture you again.”

And just as he said that-

“Y/N!”

You flinched.

There he was. Kunikida Doppo, standing in the doorway, arms crossed, looking every bit like a disappointed teacher about to give a very long lecture.

“As a member of the Agency, you should have at least some consideration for your coworkers,” he scolded. “Valentine’s Day is about appreciation, not just romance.”

You nodded. “Understood.”

Kunikida blinked. “...Wait. Really?”

“Yeah,” you said, already sidestepping toward the exit, “I’ll write you all a heartfelt letter about how much I appreciate you later. Sound good? Okay, bye-”

“come back here-!”

You turned too fast and crashed right into Atsushi.

“Oh!, I was actually looking for you,” he said, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly. “I got you something.”

You blinked. “...For me?”

Atsushi held out a small box of chocolates, tied with a golden ribbon.

“Well… yeah,” he said, smiling shyly. “You always make sure everyone’s okay, so I figured you deserved something too.”

Your heart melted a little. “That’s-” You shook your head. “Atsushi, that’s unfair. Now I feel bad for not getting you anything.”

“No, no! It’s not about that,” he said quickly. “I just wanted to. You don’t owe me anything.”

You stared at him for a moment before smiling softly. “...Thank you.”

And that’s when it happened.

From across the room, Dazai smirked.

“How sweet,” he teased. “Ciel, did you just get a confession?”

You choked on your own words. “I- NO. Dazai, stop.”

Atsushi, now bright red, waved his hands wildly. “I didn’t mean it like that!”

Dazai, clearly enjoying the chaos, dramatically clutched his chest. “Ah, young love! So pure, so fleeting-”

Ranpo, still munching on chocolate, leaned over. “Ten bucks says Kunikida tries to shut him up in the next five minutes.”

You scoffed. “Two minutes.”

And sure enough.

“DAZAI, GET BACK TO WORK.”

Fukuzawa Yukichi

Look. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to give President Fukuzawa something for Valentine’s Day. You just… didn’t know what.

I mean, what do you give someone so wise, composed, and effortlessly cool?

You couldn’t just hand him some cheap chocolates and call it a day.

“Just write him a letter,” Atsushi had suggested.

“Or get him cat-themed tea,” Ranpo had added with his usual knowing smirk. “He’ll love it.”

And that was how you ended up standing outside Fukuzawa’s office, holding a neatly wrapped box of cat-shaped tea bags (shoutout to Yosano for the shopping advice) and a small letter.

You hesitated.

What if this was weird? What if this was too much? What if he thought you were trying too hard?

Before you could spiral any further, the door slid open.

Fukuzawa looked down at you, calm as always. “y/n?”

You straightened up. “Happy Valentine’s Day, sir.”

His gaze shifted to the gift in your hands. “For me?”

“Uh… yeah.” You hesitated before handing it over. “It’s nothing special, just some tea. And, um, a letter. You don’t have to read it or anything-”

Fukuzawa accepted the gift with a small nod. “Thank you.”

You exhaled. “Oh. Cool. Okay.”

You turned to leave when-

“I will read it.”

You froze. “Huh?”

Fukuzawa regarded you thoughtfully. “You are an expressive person. If you took the time to write something, it must have meaning.”

Oh.

Your face suddenly felt warm. “I- Uh- Yeah, I guess so.”

For a moment, there was silence. Then, in an uncharacteristically soft tone, he added:

“I appreciate your thoughtfulness.”

…

Did you just get praised by the President of the Armed Detective Agency?!

Atsushi and Kunikida found you five minutes later, sitting in the hallway, staring into space.

“She looks like she just saw a mythical creature,” Atsushi whispered.

“She basically did,” Ranpo replied, grinning.

Dazai Osamu

You messed up.

The second you hesitated in front of Dazai’s desk, you sealed your fate. Because that was all the invitation he needed to turn your day into a performance.

“Ohhh?” His eyes lit up with the thrill of chaos. “Could it be? y/n-chan, are you giving me a Valentine’s gift?”

And that was when you knew.

You were done for.

“No,” you deadpanned.

“What’s that in your hand, then?”

“Nothing.”

Dazai gasped. Full, dramatic, hand-to-chest levels of betrayal. “A confession?! Oh, Ciel, I’m flattered! But you should know, my heart belongs to the endless embrace of-”

“It’s chocolate, Dazai.”

He stopped mid-monologue. Just froze.

“Eh?”

With the patience of someone who had long accepted their suffering, you dropped the small box onto his desk.

“It’s just chocolate. Because it’s Valentine’s Day. And because if I didn’t get you something, you’d be insufferable about it.”

Dazai picked up the box, turning it over in his hands like it held the secrets of the universe. “So this is how much I mean to you, huh?”

“Do you want it or not?”

“Oh, I want it.” His smirk returned, far too pleased with himself. “I just didn’t expect you to be so bold”

You saw red. “I swear to God-”

“Did you put poison in it?”

“No, but I should have.”

“Ah, how cruel!” He collapsed against his desk like a tragic widow. “To think, my dear Ciel-chan, the one person I trusted, has betrayed me so—”

So you threw a piece of chocolate at his forehead.

It hit with a satisfying thud.

“Just eat it and shut up.”

And that should have been the end of it.

But then, Dazai looked at you, a real smile tugging at his lips.

Not the teasing kind. Not the act.

A small, genuine one.

“Thank you.”

…And for some reason-

That threw you off way more than the flirting.

Fyodor Dostoevsky

You weren’t sure why you were doing this.

Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was stupidity. Maybe it was some self-destructive impulse that made you think, Wouldn’t it be interesting to see how Fyodor Dostoevsky reacts to a Valentine’s gift?

So now you were here. In a dimly lit room. Sitting across from him.

Fyodor watched you with an unreadable expression, fingers tapping lightly against his teacup. “A gift? For me?”

His voice was smooth, polite-like he already knew your intentions and was simply indulging you.

You cleared your throat and placed a small box on the table. “Yeah. It’s… nothing special. Just chocolate.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Ah. How thoughtful.”

He picked up the box, examining it with unsettling amusement. “Tell me,” he mused, violet eyes gleaming, “is this an act of goodwill? Or do you simply wish to see how I would respond?”

You hesitated. Damn it. He saw through you so fast.

“I mean…” You leaned back, crossing your arms. “Maybe both.”

Fyodor chuckled. “Honest. How refreshing.”

He unwrapped the box with deliberate slowness, as if savoring the moment. “You intrigue me,” he admitted, plucking one of the chocolates between his fingers. “A human with a unique power… yet you walk willingly into the lion’s den.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Are you saying you’re the lion?”

He smiled. a slow, knowing smile. “And what else would I be?”

Oh.

Oh.

You suddenly felt very, very aware of the fact that you had voluntarily given Fyodor Dostoevsky a Valentine’s gift. This was probably a bad idea.

He took a bite of the chocolate, his gaze never leaving yours. Then, tilting his head slightly, he asked:

“Tell me, … do you believe in fate?”

Your pulse quickened. “That depends,” you said carefully. “Are you about to make me regret this?”

Fyodor chuckled again, slow and deliberate. “Perhaps,” he murmured. “Or perhaps… this is just the beginning.”

You swallowed. Yeah. This was definitely a bad idea.

Mori Ougai

You would never give Mori Ougai a Valentine’s gift. Ever.

It wasn’t even about him being the leader of the Port Mafia-hell, you’d already given Fyodor chocolate, and he was arguably worse. No, Mori was just… dangerous in a different way.

The kind of dangerous that smiled too kindly while pulling the strings behind the scenes.

So imagine your absolute horror when you walked into your regular café, to your daily table and found a beautifully wrapped gift box waiting for you.

With a card.

Signed: Mori Ougai.

…You stared.

No. No, no, no. This was bad.

You immediately turned on your heel-only to find Mori standing right behind you.

“Going somewhere, y/n-chan?” he asked pleasantly.

You barely stopped yourself from jumping. “Nope.”

Mori smiled. Too kindly. “I heard you were handing out gifts today, so I thought I should return the favor.”

“…I didn’t give you anything.”

“Not yet.”

You narrowed your eyes. “I’m never giving you anything.”

Mori sighed dramatically. “Ah, so cruel. Even after I went through all this trouble?”

Your gaze flicked to the box. Suspicious. “Is it poisoned?”

He chuckled. “Now, now, what kind of man do you take me for?”

“The exact kind who would absolutely poison a gift.”

Mori only laughed. “It’s nothing dangerous, I promise. Just a small token of my appreciation.”

Yeah, right. That sounded ten times worse.

“…Appreciation for what?”

“For being so interesting, of course.” His smile widened. Too wide. “I do hope we continue to cross paths.”

You picked up the box like it might explode.

“Great. That’s definitely not ominous.”

Mori simply chuckled, stepping away. “Happy Valentine’s Day, my dear.”

You decided right then and there that you were never opening that box.

Nakahara Chuuya

You had debated this for days.

Giving Chuuya Nakahara a Valentine’s gift? Risky.

He wasn’t exactly the romantic type... well, not in the cheesy way, at least. And honestly? You weren’t even sure if he’d want chocolate from you.

But after hours of overthinking, you finally decided: screw it.

Worst case scenario? He’d mock you and move on.

Best case scenario? …Well, you weren’t sure yet.

So here you were, standing outside Mafia HQ, clutching a small bag of premium dark chocolate truffles and second-guessing your entire existence.

Before you could change your mind, the door swung open.

Chuuya stepped out.

And paused immediately when he saw you.

You blinked. “…Oh.”

He frowned. “What are you doing here?”

“I-” You hesitated, then just shoved the bag at him. “Here.”

Chuuya looked down at it, confused. “What the hell is this?”

“It’s-” You sighed, rubbing your forehead. “It’s chocolate, okay? For Valentine’s Day.”

Chuuya stared.

Then, slowly, his lips curled into an amused smirk.

“Well, well,” he drawled, taking the bag. “Didn’t take you for the type to hand out gifts.”

You groaned. “If you’re gonna make this weird-”

“Nah.” He shook his head, opening the bag and popping a truffle into his mouth.

Immediately, his eyes widened.

“…Shit. This is actually good.”

You crossed your arms. “Of course it is.”

Chuuya chewed thoughtfully, then glanced at you. Something unreadable flickered in his gaze.

“…Tch.” He looked away, a little flustered. “Thanks, I guess.”

You blinked. “Wait, did you just-”

“I swear to god, don’t make a big deal out of it.”

You grinned. “You totally just-”

“Shut up.”

You laughed, watching as he pointedly refused to meet your eyes.

For someone so tough.

He sure was easy to fluster.

Ranpo Edogawa

You should have known this would happen.

Giving Ranpo Edogawa chocolate on Valentine’s Day? That was practically signing up to be made fun of for the rest of your life.

But at this point, you’d already given chocolate to Dazai, Chuuya and Fyodor (questionable life choices). What was one more?

So you marched up to Ranpo’s desk, dropped the small box of sweets in front of him, and crossed your arms.

“Here.”

Ranpo didn’t even glance up from his snacks. “Oho? A bribe?”

“It’s Valentine’s Day, you idiot.”

He finally looked up, grinning like the little menace he was. “So… a confession?”

You rolled your eyes so hard you saw the ceiling. “It’s just chocolate. Don’t make this weird.”

Ranpo picked up the box, turning it in his hands with a thoughtful hum. His green eyes twinkled like he was already three steps ahead of you.

“Hmmm… I already knew you were gonna give me some, of course.”

“Sure you did.”

“I did! After all, I’m the greatest detective in the world.”

You smirked, leaning forward. Oh, you were gonna enjoy this.

“Okay then, Mr. Detective.” You crossed your arms. “What flavor is it?”

Ranpo blinked.

You saw the exact moment the gears in his head stuttered.

“…What?”

“You heard me.” Your smirk widened. “If you’re sooo smart, you should already know what kind of chocolate it is.”

He squinted at the box like it might reveal its secrets if he stared hard enough. Then-without breaking eye contact. he popped the box open and ate one.

“Hazelnut.”

Your jaw dropped. “You-”

“See?” He grinned, smug as hell. “Told you I knew.”

“YOU JUST TASTED IT.”

“Still counts.”

You groaned, resisting every violent urge in your body.

“I should’ve given it to Kunikida instead.”

Ranpo was already reaching for another chocolate. “Nah. You like me too much for that.”

You did not dignify that with a response.

Edgar Allen Poe

You hadn’t originally planned to give Poe a Valentine’s gift.

Not because you didn’t like him. Poe was actually one of your favorite people. It was just that… well, you weren’t sure if he even cared about Valentine’s Day.

But then you thought about how happy he’d look if he received a gift.

And, well… how could you resist?

So you made your way to a quiet, dimly lit corner of Yokohama’s library, where Poe usually hid away to write. You found him at his usual table, Karl curled up beside him, as he scribbled something in an old notebook.

You placed a carefully wrapped package in front of him.

Poe jumped slightly, blinking up at you. “y/n?”

You grinned. “Valentine’s gift.”

There was a long pause.

Then-

“Karl! She brought me something!”

You barely had time to react before Poe snatched the package with surprising speed, unwrapping it as if it held some ancient secret.

Inside was a beautifully bound, leather-cover notebook with delicate gold-embossed edges.

Poe froze.

His hands trembled slightly as he picked it up, eyes scanning every little detail. “This is…” His voice was almost a whisper.

“I figured you might like a new notebook,” you said, shrugging. “Y’know, for all your writing.”

Poe slowly looked up at you.

You blinked.

Was he… tearing up?

“…Poe?”

“This is the most thoughtful gift I have ever received,” he declared dramatically, clutching the notebook to his chest. Karl squeaked in agreement.

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Glad you like it.”

Poe nodded furiously, then froze-as if remembering something important.

“Wait here!” He rummaged through his bag, then returned holding a small, carefully wrapped package.

“For me?” you asked, surprised.

Poe nodded eagerly. “Karl and I prepared it just in case!”

You opened the package to find a collection of beautifully handwritten short stories, bound together in a small book. The title page read:

“To y/n, A Collection of Mysteries & Dreams.”

Your breath hitched. “Poe…”

He flushed slightly. “I, um… I hope you like it.”

You grinned, holding the book close. “I love it.”

Karl climbed onto your shoulder, squeaking happily.

Best Valentine’s exchange ever.

Nikolai Gogol

You knew something was wrong the second you stepped into the Agency.

Everyone was staring at you. Some with curiosity. Others cough Kunikida cough with visible irritation.

You blinked. “Uh… what?”

Dazai smirked, nudging you forward. “Why don’t you check your desk, (Y/N)-chan?”

A sinking feeling settled in your gut.

Slowly, you turned-

And froze.

Because sitting on your desk was a massive, gift-wrapped box with a tag that read:

“To My Dearest, From Your Secret Admirer (Guess Who~!)”

You felt actual fear.

“No.” You turned to the others. “I am not opening that.”

Ranpo, casually eating a snack, snickered. “Smart choice.”

Before you could destroy the box yourself, the lid burst open-

And out popped Nikolai Gogol.

“SURPRISE, MOYA LUBOOOOV!” he sang, arms spread wide.

You screamed. Kunikida almost had a stroke.

Nikolai cackled, hopping out of the box. “Did you like my present, my dear? A gift from the heart- ME!”

You stared at him in horror. “Get back in the box.”

“Aw, but I worked so hard on this!” He spun dramatically. “I even thought about filling it with doves-maybe a few fireworks, but apparently, that’s ‘too dangerous indoors’ or whatever.”

“You-” You pinched the bridge of your nose. “What do you even want?”

Nikolai grinned. “Just your reaction, of course! And to see if you’d join my villain arc!”

You crossed your arms. “Hard pass.”

Nikolai pouted. “Booooring.” Then, with a snap of his fingers, he vanished.

You sighed in exhaustion.

Then, from somewhere above you, his voice echoed:

“Check under your desk, love~!”

You did not. You simply walked away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Help! I feel the writing block coming back again. So i may disappear till then if you have any questions or requests? You know where to send them. Anyway i am going to my corner rn. Bye..

[navi-the-flying-bee]

Echoes of forgotten moon

(A/N): this been in my drafts for soooo long. So i decided to let it free into the wild.

(Story): went out on a mission supposedly to fight a lower-ranked demon that caused trouble in a nearby village, but fate had its own decision

(Warnings): kinda angst. I picked the breathing. Contains Blood but just if you look closely.

The moon hung high, casting a pale glow over the battlefield. You stood at the edge of the clearing, your hair shifting in the breeze, the threads catching the light like the remnants of a dream. Before you, standing still as a statue, was Kokushibo-Upper Moon One. His six haunting eyes locked onto you, unreadable.

You had always heard the legends. The fallen samurai. The twisted brother of the strongest demon slayer. A warrior who had abandoned his humanity for eternity.

Yet… something about him felt painfully familiar.

“You reek of sorrow.”

The words slipped from your lips before you even realized you had spoken them.

Kokushibo's expression did not change, but there was a pause barely noticeable, but enough.

"Sorrow?" His voice was deep, resonant, filled with something unreadable.

You tilted your head, clutching your sword loosely in your hands. You weren’t afraid. Maybe you should have been, but you weren’t.

“Yeah. Not just the kind that festers, but the kind that lingers. Like a dream you don’t want to wake up from.”

Kokushibo frowned. “You speak in riddles.”

You smiled slightly. “I know. I do that a lot."

Kokushibo attacked first. A single motion, faster than thought, sharper than reality. But you were already moving, your Dream Breathing swirling around you, making you seem like a mirage. His blade cut through air, through afterimages, through illusions that barely had time to fade.

"Your movements… they are like a trick of the light."

You flipped backward, your bare feet barely touching the grass. "Maybe they are."

You didn’t try to overwhelm him. You didn’t try to match his strength.

Instead, you weaved between the threads of fate, bending the rules of reality just enough to keep yourself alive.

But Then, You Stopped.

You stood there, in the moonlight, your sword lowered.

Kokushibo hesitated.

“I get it,” you said softly.

The wind stirred between you, carrying the scent of distant wisteria.

“You weren’t meant to be a monster,” you continued. “You wanted to be seen. To be more than someone else’s shadow.”

Silence.

His fingers tightened around his blade. “You do not know me.”

“I know the feeling.”

Kokushibo stared.

Your voice was gentle, but unwavering.

"I grew up being told I wasn’t enough. That I wasn’t strong, that I wasn’t worthy. I’ve fought my whole life not to disappear under someone else’s expectations.”

A pause.

“I think… you did, too.”

For the first time in centuries, Kokushibo felt something stir in his chest.

Something he thought had died long ago.

A memory. A voice. A warmth.

But then

He crushed it.

His blade rose again, not out of anger, but necessity. "Your words are meaningless," he said, but his voice had lost some of its certainty.

You exhaled, closing your eyes for a brief moment.

You had hoped. You had reached. But some nightmares do not fade so easily.

You lifted your sword once more.

"Then let's dream a little longer, shall we?"

As your blades clashed, Kokushibo’s six eyes followed every shift of your movements, dissecting each step, each breath, each illusion. Dream Breathing was unlike anything he had seen before fluid, deceptive, always slipping through his grasp like mist beneath the moonlight.

But there was something else.

Something painfully familiar.

“This footwork…”

You vanished into an afterimage, reappearing behind him, your sword cutting through the air like a crescent of silver light. He blocked, but his mind was elsewhere.

The elegance of your strikes. The curved, sweeping angles. The way your blade sang as it moved.

His grip on his katana tightened.

"This is not merely an illusionary technique…"

You spun away, confused. “Noticed something, did you?”

Kokushibo remained silent, his expression unreadable.

But deep inside, a name echoed in the empty halls of his mind.

Yoriichi.

It wasn’t the same, of course. Your stance lacked the overwhelming presence of the Thirteenth Form, the devastating raw power of Sun Breathing.

And yet-

The way you moved… it was a shadow of the style he once knew.

No, not a shadow.

A dream.

A Fragment of a Forgotten Moon

“Your technique,” he finally spoke, his voice dangerously low. “It is a distortion.”

You blinked, tilting your head. “Huh?”

“You carry traces of Moon Breathing.”

You stopped, your breath hitching.

“…I do?”

Kokushibo's gaze bore into you. "You were never taught it, were you?"

You hesitated, then slowly shook your head. "No. I just… made it up, I guess?"

His expression darkened.

"Impossible."

Breathing Styles were not "made up." They were passed down, honed through blood and battle. And yet your movements, your angles, the way you bent reality just slightly out of reach…

It was there.

A diluted, altered, fragmented piece of his own past.

The realization disgusted him.

A descendant of the Tsugikuni line, wielding a technique that-by all logic-should not exist.

“You have no right.”

The weight of his words fell heavy between you.

You furrowed your brows. “No right?”

“You twist a legacy you do not understand. You wield a blade that dances between illusion and truth, yet you know nothing of the history beneath your feet.”

You flinched at his tone.

But then you exhaled.

“…Maybe you’re right.”

Kokushibo stiffened.

“I don’t know the full history. I don’t know what you’ve been through.” Your fingers tightened around your sword. “But I do know this-”

Your eyes locked onto his, unwavering.

“I don’t need permission to exist.”

And with that, you charged once more.

This time, when Kokushibo met your strike, his hands were shaking.

The clash of steel rang out like a bell, a reverberating echo that seemed to pierce through time itself. Kokushibo’s six eyes narrowed, tracking your every move, his once-calm demeanor now disturbed. There was something raw in your strikes. something too real, too dangerous for someone who should’ve been nothing more than a shadow of the past.

Your Dream Breathing twisted the air around you, creating a fog of afterimages that shifted and warped the space between you. You weren’t just fighting-you were dancing, weaving in and out of his range with a beauty that made it difficult to keep track of where you truly were. And each time he thought he had you cornered, you vanished, only to reappear in a new position, a new angle.

Kokushibo’s katana glinted as he struck, his speed and power overwhelming. But you were slippery like mist, like the memories of a fading dream. Every time your blades met, there was a brief moment where the world seemed to bend around you, as if reality itself was questioning what was happening.

Your technique.

It was… a reflection.

It reflected the endless glistening moonlight of his past, but distorted. It was not the relentless force of Moon Breathing; no, it was the elusive beauty of the dreams he could no longer touch.

"You…" His voice dropped to a growl, his frustration mounting. “What are you?”

You didn’t answer immediately. Instead, you let the air thicken around you, your breath steady as you focused, pulling the shadows around you like a cloak. You felt the weight of your heritage in your blood, the weight of what Kokushibo represented. the legacy of a family shattered, scattered across generations. You felt it in the rhythm of your heart, the deep pulse that connected you to everything lost.

For a moment, you almost understood him. The loneliness, the burden of his twisted past, the pain of knowing that his very existence was a mirror of what could have been.

You struck again. this time without hesitation.

"Dream breathing: third form, Reverie Waltz."

Your blade twisted through the air, creating illusions of countless slashes that seemed to come from every angle. Kokushibo parried, his katana flashing with deadly intent, but the strike didn’t land. You were somewhere else.

And yet, he still felt it.

It was the sensation of being lost in time, lost in a moment of reflection that brought him back to when he was first learning the Moon Breathing. a time when he too had wondered if his power could change the world.

For the briefest instant, Kokushibo felt the weight of his own regret.

And then, the mist cleared.

You reappeared behind him, your blade extended as the shadows of the forest danced in tandem with your movements. In the span of a heartbeat, you delivered a strike, a pure, decisive cut aimed directly at his side.

But Kokushibo moved faster than you anticipated, a sudden flash of moonlight as his sword met yours, the power of his attack slamming into you with force that sent you sprawling back.

You landed gracefully, your breath ragged but determined. You gripped your katana, your gaze unwavering as you met his six eyes.

“You’re right.” You panted, still catching your breath. “I don’t fully understand it. But maybe I don’t need to. All I know is I’m doing my best… for the people I care about.”

For those lost.

Kokushibo’s eyes flickered with something almost human. a fleeting trace of something buried deep.

He stepped forward, his grip on his katana tightening, but before he could strike, something in the air shifted.

It wasn’t just the moonlight.

It was the weight of the moment, the slow realization that you, in your own way, were fighting for something just as real as his struggle, even if you didn’t have the centuries of pain to draw from.

He looked at you, truly looked at you, as if for the first time and saw the fractured reflection of the Tsugikuni bloodline, still holding onto hope despite the darkness of the world.

Kokushibo’s voice, cold and venomous, cut through the silence, but it was quieter now. "You will never be free of it."

You nodded. “Maybe. But I’ll keep trying.”

Your grip on your katana tightened. "I won't let my past control me."

And as the two of you faced off, the dreamlike illusions swirling around you, it was clear neither one of you would ever be the same.

You-unknowingly the reincarnation of a woman from over 400 years ago, a woman Kokushibo once loved. A woman he could never have, because his brother, Yoriichi, loved her too.

Back then, he never said anything. Never acted on his feelings. He watched from the sidelines, suppressing the emotions that shouldn’t have existed, because how could he ever compete with Yoriichi?

And then, he lost everything. His brother, his humanity, the life he could have had.

Fast forward to the present-you exist.

A girl with hauntingly familiar eyes, a voice that echoes something from the past, a presence that stirs ancient, buried feelings he thought had died centuries ago.

At first, he convinces himself it’s coincidence. Just another swordswoman. But then he watches you move your breathing, your stance, the way you carries herself. The way your Dream Breathing mirrors things he used to know.

And then, the final blow-her personality.

It’s different, but too close. Too eerily close to what it once was.

And for the first time in centuries, Kokushibo feels something. A painful, unbearable mix of longing, rage, and sorrow.

Because the universe-fate itself-is cruel.

It has placed you before him once again. Not as his. Not as Yoriichi’s. But as a girl who can never belong to either of them.

And worse-you don’t remember.

You don't know who you used to be. You don't remember him.

And you never will.

The night air was thick with tension, the moon casting an eerie glow over the battlefield. You stood your ground, your lavender-blue blade shimmering like a mirage in the darkness. Across from you, Kokushibo towered, his six haunting eyes fixed on you watching, analyzing, remembering.

For a long moment, neither moved.

Then, the first strike.

Kokushibo's blade extended unnaturally, a crescent arc of Moon Breathing: First Form, Dark Moon, Evening Palace

tearing through the air. You barely had time to react, your instincts screaming.

Dream breathing: second form: Slumbering Mirage.

You flickered out of sight, an afterimage left behind as you dodged. The very ground where you stood was carved apart in a jagged crescent, but you reappeared at his flank faster than he expected.

CLANG!

Your swords met in a blur of violet and deep crimson, sparks flying as you twisted mid-air, your movements fluid, dreamlike. A nightmare given form.

Kokushibo did not underestimate you.

Not after what he had seen. Not after what he felt.

But the way you moved-the unpredictability, the illusions, the seamless way your blade danced-it was too familiar. Like a ghost from centuries past had taken shape before him.

His six eyes narrowed. “Where did you learn that technique?”

You didn’t answer. Not because you was being secretive—but because you didn’t know.

Your Dream Breathing had always felt natural, like something that had existed long before you was even born. As if it had always been waiting for you.

And now, as you fought against him, your instincts screamed at you, like muscle memory from a life you couldn’t remember.

Dream breathing: first form, Midnight Phantasm!

A swirl of shadowed illusions bloomed around you, flickering between reality and deception. Kokushibo’s keen vision caught all of them, yet even he could not predict which was real.

He hesitated.

And for a brief, fleeting second, he saw her-not you, but her.

The woman from the past. The one who never belonged to him.

That hesitation cost him.

You closed the distance, your blade mere inches from his throat.

But Kokushibo was still Upper Moon One. A demon who had lived for centuries, who had perfected the art of combat beyond human limits.

His body twisted unnaturally, his katana curving in an impossible direction-

SLASH!

Pain.

You barely dodged, but a deep gash cut through your shoulder. Your breath hitched, but you refused to stop.

Kokushibo, however, stared at you not in triumph, but in silent conflict.

“Why,” he murmured, his voice like a whisper carried by the wind. “Why do you fight me, when your soul remembers?”

Your breath was ragged. “I don’t-” you clenched her blade. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

But he saw it.

The way your body knew his movements before he even made them, that's why you lasted against him this long. The way your breathing felt aligned with something old, something that should have been lost in time.

Even if you didn’t remember. your soul did.

And that made this fight even crueler.

Because in another time, in another life-you would have been his.

But now?

You was just another Demon Slayer, standing against him.

And he was just another demon in your way, a monster

The battle wasn’t over. But Kokushibo knew. this wasn’t a fight he wanted to win.

The battle raged on, but Kokushibo’s heart-or whatever was left of it-was no longer in it.

Your movements were slowing, exhaustion creeping in. Your breathing was uneven, your wounds deep, yet your determination never wavered. You was still fighting. Still standing against him.

And it hurt him more than he expected.

With a flicker of inhuman speed, Kokushibo closed the distance. Ciel barely had time to react-his blade was already there.

SLASH!

A deep cut tore through your side.

Pain erupted, your vision blurring. Your knees buckled, but you refused to fall, gasping for breath as blood soaked your haori.

You looked up expecting another attack, expecting him to finish you off.

But Kokushibo stood still. His six eyes bore into yours, unreadable, but in them, for just a moment, you saw something she didn’t understand.

Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he spoke.

“Leave.”

Your breath hitched.

What?

You should be dead. A demon like him would never let a slayer go. So why-?

“Why are you sparing me?” you rasped, clutching your side.

Kokushibo didn’t answer. He simply turned away.

He couldn’t say it.

Couldn’t say that seeing you fight, seeing the way your body instinctively moved like hers once did, made something deep inside him ache.

He couldn’t say that even now, after all these centuries, after all the bloodshed, after all the choices that led him to become this-he still couldn’t bring himself to strike you down.

Instead, he left you with nothing but silence.

A silence filled with unspoken truths, with echoes of a past you didn’t remember, and a pain he would never escape.

clutching your wound, watched him disappear into the night.

You should have chased him. should have finished the fight even if it meant death.

But you didn’t.

Because for some reason-you felt like you had already lost something.

[navi-the-flying-bee]

Dates gone wrong

(A/N): i am backkkkk. Okay so this may be a series or may not be. You know i ghost a lot.. Story: going on dates with BSD men, what could possibly go wrong? (Nikolai) (Mori) (Fukuzawa) (Kunikida) (Akutagawa) Warnings: my horrible sense of humor, Kidnapping, used Y/N one time. Nearby death?. Kinda short?.

🎭Nikolai Gogol...

A Chaotic Circus of Madness

You should have known better.

You really, really should have.

The moment you agreed-no, were tricked into agreeing to a “friendly outing” with Nikolai Gogol, you should have known it would be anything but normal.

And yet, here you were.

Tied to a spinning wheel.

Suspended three meters in the air.

With Nikolai blindfolded and holding a set of throwing knives.

“Alright, my lovely assistant!” Nikolai’s voice rang out cheerfully from below. “For tonight’s performance, we shall test fate! Will I hit the target, or will I hit… YOU?!”

Your soul left your body.

“NIKOLAI, STOP—”

A knife whizzed past your ear.

“I WON’T MISS! PROBABLY!” Nikolai laughed, tossing another blade in the air and catching it effortlessly. “Oooh, this is so exciting! Don’t you love it? The thrill, the suspense, the idea that at any moment BAM! I could accidentally kill you!”

You struggled against the ropes binding you to the spinning wheel. “THAT’S NOT EXCITING. THAT’S A CRIME.”

“Eh, details, details.” Nikolai grinned. “Now, let’s raise the stakes! I’ll do the next one upside down!”

You watched, horrified, as Nikolai leaped into the air, flipping upside-down mid-throw.

A knife soared through the air-

_and sliced the ropes binding you.

You barely had time to scream before you plummeted downward.

And then-

You landed straight into Nikolai’s arms.

For a moment, everything was silent.

Nikolai grinned down at you, holding you like a damsel in distress. “My, my, you~ If you wanted to fall for me, you could’ve just said so~”

You, still recovering from the near-death experience, punched him in the face.

END RESULT:

You almost died. Multiple times.

Nikolai thought it was the best date ever.

You disagree.

1/10. Negative points for attempted murder.

Will there be a second date? Nikolai says yes. You say no.

>>>Ougai Mori

A Victorian Horror Romance

You weren’t sure how you ended up here.

One moment, you had been walking home from a bookstore, your arms full of newly bought novels. The next? You woke up in an extravagant Victorian-style room, draped in deep crimson and gold. A soft silk kimono replaced your sweater, your shoes were gone, and most concerningly a tea set was waiting at the table in the center of the room.

And across from it, Mori Ougai sat, smiling.

“Ah, you’re awake.” His voice was smooth, too pleasant for the deep unease curling in your stomach. He gestured to the seat across from him. “Come, sit. I took the liberty of preparing tea for us.”

You did not move.

You stared at Mori, then at the closed door behind him. How long had you been out? Was this a kidnapping? More importantly... did you have time to run?

Mori let out a light chuckle, tilting his head. “You’re looking at the door quite intently. Would you like me to escort you out instead?”

You narrowed your eyes. Why did he sound so amused?

“…What is this?” you finally asked, your voice carefully steady. “A kidnapping? A warning? A-"

Mori sighed, almost disappointed. “No, no. You wound me, my dear. This is simply a date.”

A date.

Your brain broke for a moment.

“A… what?”

Mori smiled. “A date.”

Your stomach flipped. “Why?”

Mori shrugged, pouring himself a cup of tea. “Curiosity. You are quite the interesting girl, you know.”

“Interesting?”

“Yes.” He took a sip, watching your reactions carefully. “Your ability. Your connections. Your potential.” He paused, setting the cup down with a quiet clink. “Wouldn’t it be much easier if you simply came to my side?”

Your fingers twitched.

You inhaled slowly. “I don’t recall agreeing to a date, let alone joining sides.”

Mori hummed. “No, you didn’t. But I like to… negotiate in more intimate settings.”

Your eyes darted to the teacup in front of you. Was it poisoned? Drugged? Or was Mori simply waiting for you to refuse it?

Checkmate situation.

If you didn’t drink, he’d call you paranoid. If you did, you might not wake up again.

“…I’m not thirsty,” you said finally.

Mori only smiled wider. “Good girl. Always cautious. That’s what I like about you.”

You felt your skin crawl.

This was not a date. This was a game. And you needed to get out.

Mori leaned forward, resting his chin on his hands. “Shall we begin the real discussion, then?”

You forced a small smile. “Actually…”

You grabbed the teapot and THREW IT AT HIS FACE.

Mori barely dodged as scalding tea splashed over the table, shattering porcelain.

You ran.

You vaulted over the table, making a break for the door. Behind you, Mori let out a low chuckle, almost as if he had expected it.

“Oh dear… I think I like you even more now.”

You did not stay to hear the rest.

END RESULT:

You successfully escaped.

Mori is now more entertained than ever.

Was it a date? No. It was a psychological hostage situation.

0/10. Never again.

😺Fukuzawa yukichi

A Respectable Outing…

You prided yourself on your intuition.

You could sense when someone had an ulterior motive, read between the lines, and even when you weren’t using your ability rarely got caught off guard.

Yet, here you were.

Sitting across from Fukuzawa Yukichi at a quiet traditional teahouse, on what you had assumed was a date.

You hadn’t questioned it when he invited you out. Sure, he wasn’t exactly the “romantic” type, but he was kind, respectful, and well, Ranpo did always say you had a thing for older men with silver hair (you did NOT).

It had all seemed normal at first.

You had tea. Talked about work, philosophy, even the agency’s latest antics. Fukuzawa wasn’t much of a conversationalist, but he listened attentively, nodding at your words, occasionally offering sage insights.

It was… nice.

No mind games. No threats. No throwing knives.

A peaceful, quiet date.

At least, that’s what you thought.

“y/n,” Fukuzawa said after a comfortable silence. “What do you think Ranpo would prefer?”

You blinked. “…Huh?”

Fukuzawa gestured to the table between you. Laid out in front of you were several neatly wrapped gift boxes.

One was filled with limited-edition sweets. Another held a handcrafted wooden puzzle. The last contained a silk scarf, embroidered with tiny detective motifs.

You stared.

“…What are these?”

Fukuzawa gave you a patient look. “The gifts we’re choosing from.”

“…For what?”

Fukuzawa paused, then frowned slightly. “Ranpo’s birthday.”

Silence.

The teahouse suddenly felt much colder.

You slowly sat up straighter. “Fukuzawa… why are we picking a gift for Ranpo? …On our date?”

Fukuzawa blinked. Then, in the calmest voice possible-

“…Date?”

Your soul left your body.

Fukuzawa tilted his head slightly, his brows knitting together in a rare expression of mild confusion. “I told you on Monday that I needed someone to accompany me on Thursday to pick out a birthday present.”

You froze.

Your mind raced back to Monday. You remembered him mentioning Thursday. You remembered nodding.

…You did NOT remember hearing the rest.

Oh god.

You zoned out.

You had completely, entirely zoned out! probably lost in thought about a new story idea or distracted by Dazai’s latest juicy gossip.

Fukuzawa had never asked you on a date.

You had assumed this was a date.

And you had been sitting here for two hours thinking you were on a date.

You wanted to die.

You buried your face in your hands. “Kill me.”

Fukuzawa, ever the dignified leader, refrained from commenting.

Instead, he simply reached for his tea and took a sip.

After a long, thoughtful pause, he set the cup down and said, completely deadpan,

“…I apologize for any unintended misunderstanding.”

You groaned. “That makes it so much worse.”

END RESULT:

You mistook a normal outing for a date.

Fukuzawa was too polite to correct you earlier.

You wanted the ground to swallow you whole.

Ranpo, upon hearing about this later, would never let you live it down.

5/10. It was actually a nice outing… until it wasn’t.

Would Fukuzawa take you on a real date? …Unclear.

Would you ever recover from this embarrassment? No.

📖Kunikida Doppo

A Well-Planned Disaster..

You weren’t sure how you got here.

You had agreed to go on a date with Kunikida Doppo probably because you weren’t fully listening when he asked, but now you were standing at a train station, watching him check his perfectly organized itinerary.

“Alright,” Kunikida said, adjusting his glasses. “We’ll start with lunch at precisely 12:00, followed by a museum visit at 13:30, then a walk along the harbor at 15:00. After that, we’ll have tea at a traditional teahouse at 16:15 before concluding the day with a sunset view at the botanical garden by 17:45.”

You blinked. “You planned all that?”

Kunikida frowned. “Of course. A proper outing requires structure and efficiency.”

You had never been on a date with a man who scheduled time for breathing, but hey, new experiences.

They started with lunch, which was actually great. Kunikida had picked a quiet, traditional restaurant with a carefully balanced meal, clearly taking your preferences into account.

Then came the museum.

“Did you know,” Kunikida started, “that this exhibit contains artifacts dating back to the Meiji era, symbolizing—”

You nodded along, pretending you were listening.

Honestly, you were more entertained watching him get genuinely excited about historical facts than the actual museum itself.

By the time you reached the harbor, things started going wrong.

A pigeon stole Kunikida’s snack. He was offended on a deep, personal level.

A kid accidentally ran into him and spilled juice on his pristine white shirt. Kunikida visibly struggled to keep his composure.

A street performer’s act went wrong, and a bunch of confetti somehow exploded directly onto him. He looked like he was questioning all of his life choices.

You were having the time of your life.

By the time you reached the teahouse, Kunikida was tense. The schedule had been completely ruined, and he was clearly on the verge of a breakdown.

You, attempting to be helpful, said, “Hey, at least we’re still on time for tea.”

Kunikida exhaled deeply, rubbing his temples. “Yes. That’s true. If we follow the plan for the rest of the day, this won’t be a total failure.”

It was a total failure.

A thunderstorm rolled in out of nowhere, forcing you to abandon the garden plan.

Kunikida looked at the rain like it had personally betrayed him.

You, soaked and barely holding back laughter, finally said, “Okay. Maybe this wasn’t the perfect day, but hey, it wasn’t boring.”

Kunikida sighed. “That’s… one way to look at it.”

He pushed his wet hair back, looking utterly exhausted. “…I don’t suppose you’d want to reschedule?”

You tilted your head, pretending to think. “…Maybe if you promise not to fight any more pigeons.”

Kunikida groaned. “That pigeon was a menace.”

You ended the day soaked, exhausted, and completely off schedule.

You wouldn’t have changed a thing.

END RESULT:

Started as the most structured date ever.

Turned into absolute chaos.

Kunikida lost a battle to a pigeon.

You had a great time.

Kunikida… will need time to recover from this.

7/10. Would do it again just to see him suffer.

♣️Akutagawa Ryunosuke

A Miserable Obligation

You knew this was a bad idea.

Akutagawa clearly didn’t want to be here.

He was standing stiffly beside you, hands in his coat pockets, his usual scowl even deeper than normal. The only reason this was happening at all was because, a few weeks ago, you had saved his life during a mission.

And apparently, this was his way of repaying the debt.

“You didn’t have to take me on a date,” you pointed out as you walked through the city.

Akutagawa scoffed, barely sparing you a glance. “You insisted.”

“No,” you corrected. “I said you didn’t have to repay me at all. You insisted.”

He didn’t respond, probably because he knew you were right.

The tension was palpable.

You went to a quiet café first. Akutagawa hated it immediately.

Too many people. Too much noise. When the waiter came over, he glared at them like they’d personally offended him. You had to order for him before he scared them off.

Then came the silence.

You stirred your drink, watching as Akutagawa sat across from you, drinking his tea like it was a chore.

“So… do you go on dates often?” you teased, trying to lighten the mood.

Akutagawa gave you a flat look. “No.”

You figured as much.

Still, you tried. You asked about books, about his missions, about his interests, anything to keep the conversation going. But every response was clipped, cold, and mostly unhelpful.

Finally, you gave up.

The rest of the date was a disaster

You tried going to a bookstore. Akutagawa got annoyed when someone accidentally bumped into him and almost started a fight in the middle of the shop.

You went for a walk. Akutagawa walked way too fast, completely forgetting that you had shorter legs. You had to light jog just to keep up.

It started raining. Akutagawa, of course, didn’t care. You, meanwhile, were getting drenched.

At some point, you snapped.

“Okay, enough,” you groaned, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk. “Are you even trying?”

Akutagawa turned to you, frowning. “Trying what?”

“To have a good time!” you threw your arms up. “Or at least pretend you’re not miserable?”

Akutagawa looked at you like you’d just said something ridiculous. “…I am not miserable.”

You gave him a deadpan look. “Right. That’s why you’ve looked like you were about to kill someone all day.”

Akutagawa sighed, glancing away. “…I repaid my debt. That is all that matters.”

You stared at him.

Finally, you let out a dry laugh.

“Oh my God,” you muttered, running a hand through your hair. “This wasn’t a date for you. This was a chore.”

Akutagawa didn’t deny it.

And for some reason, that stung more than it should have.

You sighed, shoving your hands into your coat pockets. “Fine. You did your part. We’re even.”

Without waiting for a response, you turned around and walked away.

Akutagawa didn’t stop you.

END RESULT:

Awkward. Miserable. A complete failure.

Akutagawa treated it like an obligation, not a date.

You actually got mad, which almost never happens.

You left early.

0/10. Would rather die alone.

[navi-the-flying-bee]

Weirdly enough i was checking BSD characters birthdays and i found out Fyodor Birthday is on the 11th of November?? Which is weird because i am on the same day? Like woah?

[navi-the-flying-bee]

Training season?

A/N: okay i don't know how in the 5 oceans i posted without disappearing for a year or two but here i am.

Story?: fukuzawa-San saw potential in your sword skills. Guess it's time to learn and trying to beat your teacher.. Or hope so Warnings: Dazai mention of suicide. Being beaten up. My horrible sense of humor. Second-hand embarrassment. (i guess that's all)

You stared at the wooden training sword in your hands, then at Fukuzawa, who stood calmly before you in the Agency’s private dojo.

“…Are you sure about this, sir?” you asked.

“You have potential,” Fukuzawa said simply, adjusting his grip on his own bokken. “Your ability is strong, but you rely on it too much. A warrior must also be skilled in combat.”

You pursed your lips. Fair.

Atsushi sat nearby, watching like a curious student. Ranpo had shown up just for the snacks.

“Alright,” you sighed, shifting into a stance. How hard could it be?

Fukuzawa moved.

You barely saw him coming.

The crack of wood hitting wood echoed as you barely managed to block. The force shook your arms.

You winced. Oh, he’s fast.

“Your stance is weak,” Fukuzawa noted, stepping back. “Again.”

You reset, adjusting your footing. You could do this.

Fukuzawa struck again—this time, you dodged. You swung for his side, but he effortlessly deflected your attack, his counterstrike knocking your sword away.

You sighed. “This is embarrassing.”

Atsushi winced. “You’re doing great?”

Ranpo, eating cookies, added, “You’re losing spectacularly.”

You glared at him.

Fukuzawa chuckled. “You rely on reaction speed. But in swordsmanship, instinct alone won’t be enough. Read your opponent.”

You took a deep breath. Read him.

You watched his stance, his breathing¬when would he move?

When he did, you anticipated it.

You blocked more smoothly this time, adjusting mid-movement, your body beginning to understand the rhythm.

A small smile crossed Fukuzawa’s face. “Better.”

You smirked. You were getting the hang of this.

Then, without warning-

He knocked you flat on your back.

You groaned. “Never mind.”

Atsushi looked concerned. Ranpo looked amused.

Fukuzawa extended a hand to help you up. “You improve quickly,” he said, “but you still have much to learn.”

You sighed, taking his hand. “I guess that means more training?”

Fukuzawa nodded.

Ranpo snickered. “Have fun getting beat up every day.”

You threw your training sword at him.

The Day After "Training™"

You woke up feeling like you had been hit by a truck.

Everything hurt.

Your arms. Your legs. Your soul.

You groaned, rolling over in bed. bad idea. Even your ribs ached. “Ugh… I think Fukuzawa broke me.”

After struggling to get dressed, you made your way to the Agency, moving like an old grandma.

Atsushi noticed immediately.

“oh my god! Are you okay? You’re walking weird.”

You shot him a deadpan look. “No, Atsushi. I’m not okay. I am in pain.”

He winced. “Fukuzawa’s training?”

"yes"

Tanizaki nodded in sympathy "yeah... he trained me once. I couldn't move for three days"

Your soul left your body.

Three days?! You were doomed.

Ranpo, of course, found your suffering hilarious.

“Oh nooo,” he said, munching on a donut, “did little Y/N get beat up?”

You glared. “I will throw you out the window.”

“Not with those weak arms,” he teased.

You tried to lunge at him—your body refused. Instead, you just groaned in pain.

Ranpo laughed harder.

Dazai walked in, saw your struggling, and immediately lit up. “I have the perfect solution for your pain!”

You narrowed your eyes. “If you say suicide, I will actually hit you.”

Dazai put a hand over his heart. “How could you accuse me of such a thing?”

“Because it’s you.”

“…Okay, fair,” he admitted. Then he grinned. “But seriously, have you tried dying? It would solve everything.”

You grabbed Atsushi’s notebook and threw it at him.

Dazai dodged effortlessly. “Such violence! You should rest, Y/N-chan~”

You groaned, dropping into your chair.

Fukuzawa walked into the office. The room went silent.

You froze.

The others slowly turned to look at you.

Fukuzawa approached. “How do you feel?”

You, still in pain, forced a polite smile.

“Great! Totally fine! No issues at all!”

Fukuzawa nodded. “Good. Then we’ll train again later.”

Your smile died.

Atsushi looked horrified. Ranpo was crying from laughter.

Dazai just whispered: “Rest in peace.”

You mentally screamed.

~~~Later

You considered running away.

You really did.

But Fukuzawa was too fast. And also, you respected him too much to just ditch training (unlike Ranpo, who would absolutely fake an illness to avoid work).

So here you were, back in the dojo, holding a wooden sword with arms that still felt like jelly.

Fukuzawa watched you with his usual calm expression. "You’re still sore."

"Understatement of the century," you muttered.

Fukuzawa simply nodded. "Good. Then you’ll be more aware of your mistakes today."

You stared at him. He was serious.

Oh no.

The moment Fukuzawa moved, you knew you were doomed.

You tried to block—your arms were too slow. The next thing you knew, your sword went flying.

"Ow—!" You barely dodged as he aimed for you again, forcing you to roll across the mat.

Atsushi, watching from the side, flinched. "That looked painful…"

Ranpo, eating a snack, just grinned. "This is the best entertainment I’ve had in weeks."

You ignored them. You scrambled to grab your sword, heart pounding.

Fukuzawa gave you a single moment before attacking again.

This time, you focused.

Read him.

You saw the subtle shift in his weight, the slight movement of his wrist-

He was aiming low.

You reacted instinctively. Instead of blocking, you sidestepped.

Fukuzawa’s strike missed.

Atsushi gasped. Ranpo stopped chewing.

You took the opening. you swung at Fukuzawa’s side.

For half a second, you thought you had him-

Then, with ridiculous speed, he spun his sword and blocked your attack perfectly.

And then, as if to humble you even more-

He knocked the sword from your hands. Again.

You stood there, defeated.

Fukuzawa lowered his weapon, giving you an approving nod. "You improved."

You, sweating and out of breath, stared at him. "…I lost again."

"You lasted longer."

"By five seconds!"

"Five seconds can decide a battle."

You paused. Okay, fair.

Atsushi clapped. "That was amazing!"

Ranpo finally swallowed his snack. "Eh, you’re still getting wrecked, but at least it’s not immediate."

You shot him a glare.

Fukuzawa nodded at you. "Tomorrow, we’ll focus on endurance."

Your soul left your body. "…Tomorrow?"

Fukuzawa turned to leave. "Rest well."

You dropped to the floor. "I AM IN PERMANENT PAIN."

Atsushi gave you a sympathetic pat. Ranpo just laughed.

Dazai, who had been watching silently, finally spoke.

"Hey, y/n," he said, grinning. "Have you considered faking your death?"

Next Morning

You woke up and immediately regretted everything.

Your entire body felt like it had been run over by a train. No. several trains.

Your arms? Destroyed. Your legs? Useless. Your soul? Gone.

You groaned into your pillow. "I am never moving again."

Atsushi knocked on your door. "Ciel? Are you awake?"

"No," you croaked.

Atsushi, bless his kind heart, actually hesitated. "Oh… okay, I’ll just-"

Ranpo’s voice cut in. "She’s faking, let’s go."

A second later, Atsushi and Ranpo burst into your room.

You barely lifted your head. "What do you want."

Atsushi held up a bag. "I brought breakfast?"

You considered. Food… or staying in bed?

Your stomach growled.

"Fine," you muttered, slowly forcing yourself up. Every movement hurt.

Ranpo smirked. "You look like an old lady."

You threw a pillow at him. Your arm barely moved.

Ranpo dodged effortlessly. "Pathetic."

You swore under your breath.

You limped into the Agency. Everyone noticed.

Kunikida raised an eyebrow. "You’re still sore?"

You slowly turned to look at him. "Kunikida. If Fukuzawa trained you, would you be fine the next day?"

Kunikida opened his mouth. Paused. Closed it.

You smirked. Exactly.

Dazai appeared, draping himself over your shoulders. "y/n~~chan~, you’re alive! I was sure you’d die in your sleep."

"Not for lack of trying," you muttered.

Fukuzawa entered the room. The entire Agency went silent.

You froze.

He looked at you. "Are you ready for training?"

Your soul left your body.

Atsushi winced. Ranpo grinned. Dazai whispered, "May you rest in peace."

You sighed. "…I’m going to die, aren’t I?"

Fukuzawa simply nodded.

You stood in the dojo, sword in hand, heart pounding. You had survived enough of this grueling training, and you were ready.. at least, in theory.

Today was the day. You could feel it. You would finally win. You would impress Fukuzawa.

You would not be humiliated.

"Are you prepared?" Fukuzawa asked, his calm voice breaking through your intense focus.

Your grip tightened on your sword. "I was born ready."

The room was silent. Everyone watched. All of the agency members watching (having heard from Ranpo that it would be fun)

Atsushi, Ranpo, Kunikida, and even Yosano, who somehow had a front-row seat, were all fully invested.

You could do this. You had trained, studied his moves, read his body language, and no more mistakes.

Fukuzawa nodded. "Begin."

You moved first.. a confident swing, targeting his shoulder. Fukuzawa, of course, blocked effortlessly.

But then, something unexpected happened.

You, for a split second, felt a surge of determination. you would take him down this time. You aimed a low strike, the one you had been practicing all week.

But instead of executing a graceful swing, your foot slipped.

Your face met the floor with a very loud thud.

A collective gasp filled the room, followed by silence.

"…I meant to do that," you muttered, face pressed into the mat.

Fukuzawa stood there, unmoved.

Ranpo snickered. "Such grace. Very elegant."

You, still on the ground, raised your hand weakly. "Shut up, Ranpo."

You pushed yourself back to your feet, brushing off the embarrassment like it was nothing.

It wasn’t nothing.

You were in pain. Your pride? Crushed. But it wasn’t over.

You re-focused, and with one swift motion, you went in for another attack. this time, a horizontal swing.

You thought you had it.

But as you swung, your sword got stuck in the floorboards.

Of course.

Now you were frozen in place, trying to yank the sword free while Fukuzawa watched you struggle like you were a toddler trying to pull a toy out of a box.

Fukuzawa didn’t even flinch.

Atsushi covered his face in second-hand embarrassment.

Ranpo laughed so hard that he fell off his seat.

"Well, that’s one way to lose," he snickered.

You yanked the sword free at last, and by some miracle, you weren’t completely defeated. You were still in the fight.

You took a deep breath and charged again. This time! this time! you were sure.

You lunged-

But the sword slipped from your hands mid-swing.

It flew across the room, clattering against the wall.

You stared at your empty hands.

And then, slowly, you turned back to Fukuzawa.

Your expression was completely blank. "…I’m done."

Fukuzawa lowered his sword. "You’ve improved."

You blinked, still processing. "I’ve… improved?"

"Yes. Your effort is commendable."

"I can’t feel my arms. Or my dignity," you muttered.

Atsushi rushed over, genuinely concerned. "Are you okay? You look like you’re dying."

Ranpo wiped a tear from his eye. "That was the best fight I’ve ever seen. I thought you might actually win, but then-"

You glared at him. "I don’t want to hear it, Ranpo."

Kunikida adjusted his glasses before talking. "You fought valiantly. I’m sure you’ll recover from this."

"Yeah, after I spend the next week in bed with an ice pack," you grumbled.

Fukuzawa, still stoic, nodded once. "Your training is not over. Tomorrow, we begin again."

You mentally screamed. "Tomorrow?! Are you trying to kill me?!"

Fukuzawa remained unfazed. "No. Just making sure you learn patience."

You let out an exaggerated sigh, collapsing to the floor. "I’m done. I’m quitting. I’ll be a librarian."

"Doesn’t sound like a bad idea," Ranpo added, still chuckling.

You turned to him, deadpan. "You want me to chase you with a sword?"

Ranpo snickered. "Please do. It’d make my day."

Dazai leaned over and whispered, "I think you're actually good at this. You're just a walking disaster."

You closed your eyes and resigned yourself to your life of eternal failure. "Yeah. Pretty much."

~~~~~~~~~

Wait! You actually thought you would win? (⁠●⁠_⁠⁠●⁠)⁩

[navi-the-flying-bee]

babysitting..

(A/N): yes, i disappeared and yes i am sorry. Story: in this you're a member of the ADA, Mori has been trying to recruit you for some time now. Your sister asked you to babysit her daughter while she is abroad. Warnings: nothing literally, just my horrible humor. Use of y/n around three times.(sorry guys, had to) English isn't my first language.

The small apartment was eerily quiet as you sat on the couch, your legs stretched out on the coffee table as you absentmindedly flipped through a book. You weren't used to babysitting, especially a child as energetic as you niece. The little girl, no older than six, was a whirlwind of energy—her bright eyes constantly exploring, her small hands tugging at everything she could reach.

"Auntie, what’s this?" The child held up a small trinket—a silver charm that you had left carelessly on the table.

You looked up, not overly concerned but still feeling the weight of responsibility. "It’s just something I don’t need to be messed with, sweetie," you said coolly, carefully taking the charm from your niece’s hand.

The little girl pouted, crossing her arms. "But I wanted to play with it."

You sighed, leaning back into the couch. "It’s fragile. If you break it, I’m not fixing it." you smiled to soften the words, but your expression remained one of mild annoyance. Babysitting wasn’t your idea of fun, and your niece had a tendency to get into everything.

Just then, the child darted across the room, her small feet thudding on the wooden floor as she tried to climb onto the kitchen counter. "Auntie, can I help you cook?"

You stood up quickly, your calm facade cracking for a moment. "No. No kitchen for you." you gently pulled the girl away from the counter, your tone slightly firmer now.

"Aww, but I want to cook like you!" the little one whined.

You raised an eyebrow. "You really want to help me cook?" you paused for a second, glancing at the chaos that was her kitchen. It had been hours since you’d cleaned up, and the thought of letting a child help make it worse didn’t sit well with you. "Fine, fine, but you’re not getting near the knives."

You half-smiled. It wasn’t that you didn’t like spending time with your niece, but the girl’s boundless energy was hard to match. You often felt more at home in your quiet space, using your mind to strategize or think through problems. This... was different.

The little girl quickly grabbed a plastic bowl and some toy utensils, pretending to mix something in the bowl as she chattered endlessly. "I’m making soup, Auntie! It’s gonna be the best soup ever!"

You smiled slightly but couldn’t help but think about your own life. There was a certain innocence in this, the simplicity of a child just enjoying the moment. You realized you were actually starting to enjoy the girl’s company. It wasn’t as bad as you thought it would be, even if you weren't quite used to the responsibility.

You glanced back toward the window, your eyes flicking toward the street below. You were used to more serious matters, and yet here you were—babysitting. A small part of you felt a sense of pride that your niece trusted you enough to rely on you like this. Maybe it wasn’t about control and strategy for once, but about connection.

"Okay, I’ll tell you what," you said after a beat, your voice softening. "After we clean up, you can help me with dinner—real dinner, though. Not toy soup."

Your niece’s face lit up instantly, her excitement palpable. "Yay!"

As you helped your niece pick up the toys scattered across the floor, you couldn’t help but chuckle at the sheer amount of mess a single child could create. Maybe babysitting wasn’t so bad after all, even if it was a bit chaotic.

But the thought didn’t last long. From the corner of the room, the child shouted suddenly, "Auntie, I can’t find the cat! Where is it?"

You froze.

The cat, who was usually curled up in a corner, had disappeared. You glanced nervously around the room. The last thing you needed was to search for a mischievous cat who could be anywhere. "Uh... let me go check," you said in your usual calm, collected tone, but inside, your mind was racing. Where did that cat get to?

The child’s innocent voice brought you back to reality. "Auntie, did the cat run away?"

"I sure hope not," you muttered, standing up and walking toward the back room. I really hope not.

It seemed that babysitting was about to take a turn for the worse... or maybe it was a turn for the better. Either way, you was in for quite an eventful afternoon.

Just as you were about to turn the apartment upside down in search of the cat, a sharp knock echoed through the room.

You narrowed your eyes. That knock was too familiar. Too calculated.

Your niece, still blissfully unaware, gasped excitedly. "Auntie, someone’s here!"

"I noticed," you murmured, already feeling a headache coming on. Sighing, you rubbed your temples and made your way to the door, dreading what you already knew was behind it.

You swung it open.

And, of course, Mori Ougai stood there, smiling like he’d just dropped by for tea.

"Y/n," he greeted smoothly. "What a lovely surprise."

You blinked, unimpressed. "You knocked on my door, Mori. That means you are the surprise."

Mori chuckled. "Fair enough. But what’s truly surprising…" He crouched down slightly, picking up something small, furry, and very smug-looking. "...is that your cat wandered right into Mafia territory. Now, tell me—was that intentional?"

You deadpanned. "Yes, Mori. I trained my cat to infiltrate the Port Mafia. Clearly, this was my master plan all along."

Mori grinned. "I knew you were intelligent. But I must admit, I never expected you to resort to espionage via household pet."

You sighed, crossing your arms. "What do you want?"

Before Mori could respond, a small voice piped up from behind you.

"Auntie, who’s that?"

You tensed. Slowly, you turned your head to see your niece standing behind you, looking up at Mori with wide, curious eyes.

Mori’s grin widened as he leaned forward slightly. "Oh? And who’s this little one?"

You immediately stepped between them. "No."

Mori blinked. "No?"

"No, you are not talking to her. You are not influencing her. You are not getting anywhere near her, Mori."

Mori put a hand over his chest, looking deeply wounded. "I would never corrupt a sweet, innocent child."

You raised an eyebrow.

"...Well, not on purpose," he amended.

Your niece, still blissfully unaware of the tension in the room, beamed up at Mori. "Are you Auntie’s friend?"

Mori beamed back. "Oh, my dear girl, I am much more than that."

You slammed the door shut in his face.

A second passed.

Then, another sharp knock.

"Y/N," Mori called through the door, sounding more amused than anything. "I still have your cat."

You groaned.

Your niece tugged at your sleeve. "Auntie, you can’t leave the cat with the scary man."

"...I know," you muttered, reluctantly reopening the door.

Mori stood there, still holding the smug-looking feline.

You reached out to take it.

Mori held it out of reach.

You glared at him.

Mori smiled. "Say please~."

You shut the door again.

After a moment of silence, Mori’s laugh rang through the hallway. "You are so much fun~."

You exhaled slowly, then looked down at your niece.

"Sweetheart, go play in the living room for a bit. I need to go handle... a situation."

Your niece blinked up at you, then at the door, then back at you. "...Are you gonna fight the scary man?"

You patted her head. "Not today."

With that, you opened the door again, ready to negotiate—or, more likely, tolerate—whatever nonsense Mori had planned next.

Because, knowing him, this was only the beginning.

You stared at Mori. Mori smirked at you. The cat smirked at both of you.

Your niece peeked out from behind you, whispering, "Auntie, I think the cat likes him."

You muttered under your breath, "Traitor."

Mori gently scratched the cat under its chin, looking far too pleased with himself. "Such a smart little creature, running right into my arms~."

"Mori," you said flatly. "Give. Me. My cat."

"I will," Mori hummed. "But first, I need an answer. Did your cat truly wander into Mafia territory by accident? Or..." His eyes gleamed with amusement. "Did you send it as a message?"

You pinched the bridge of your nose. "Mori. I don’t send messages using domesticated animals."

Mori sighed dramatically. "Ah, what a shame. That would’ve been rather impressive." He suddenly brightened. "Oh! What if I recruited the cat? It does have a good sense of navigation—"

You snatched the cat from his hands.

"Absolutely not."

Mori pouted. "You wound me."

The cat immediately climbed onto your shoulder and started licking its paw, as if it had seen far worse in Port Mafia than Mori’s antics. Which, knowing Mori, was probably true.

You sighed, adjusting the cat before turning back to Mori. "Is there any other reason you’re here, or was this just an excuse to bother me?"

Mori grinned. "Oh, do I need an excuse?"

"...Yes."

Just as you were about to shut the door in his face again, another voice cut in.

"I agree."

You froze.

Mori froze.

Your niece blinked up in confusion. "Auntie, who's—"

Before you could react, a hand calmly reached past Mori and placed itself on the doorframe.

And just like that, Fukuzawa Yukichi stepped into view.

"Mori," Fukuzawa said, his voice calm but firm. "Why are you harassing my daughter?"

You choked on air. "I—what?!—"

Mori smirked immediately. "Your daughter? My, my, Fukuzawa, is this a confession?"

You covered your face with one hand. "Oh my god, can both of you leave?"

Fukuzawa stepped fully into the doorway, his expression unreadable, but the slight narrowing of his eyes was enough to send a silent warning.

"Mori," he said again, "leave."

Mori hummed, clearly delighted by the situation. "But Fukuzawa, I was simply delivering a lost cat! Surely that’s not a crime?"

You scowled. "You held it for ransom."

"Details~."

Your niece, still watching all of this unfold with fascination, tugged on your sleeve. "Auntie, is the fluffy man your dad?"

Fukuzawa blinked.

Mori burst out laughing.

You almost dropped the cat. "What?! No—"

Fukuzawa, as always, remained composed. "...If that is how she sees it, I do not mind."

Mori grinned wider. "Oh? So you admit it, Fukuzawa?"

You turned to your niece, desperate to salvage the situation. "Sweetheart, I work with him. He’s just a—"

The girl gasped dramatically, eyes sparkling. "Auntie, do you have TWO dads?!"

Mori WHEEZED.

Fukuzawa, stoic as ever, simply nodded. "I suppose, in a way, she does."

You let out the longest sigh in human history.

"I can’t do this."

You had had enough. You were seconds away from kicking both men out when—

"(y/n)-chaaaan~!"

A new voice echoed down the hall.

You closed your eyes. "...No."

"Yes~!"

Before you could react, Dazai Osamu waltzed right up to your door, his usual smug smile in place as he took in the scene.

"Oh my, what do we have here? Fukuzawa-sensei and Mori-san at your house? Together? Ohhh, this is interesting~!"

Mori, still recovering from laughter, smirked at Dazai. "Ah, Dazai-kun, just in time. Did you know our dear Aoi-chan has two fathers?"

Dazai gasped dramatically. "Eh? I didn’t know you came from such a loving home~!"

You were going to throw something.

Your niece, meanwhile, clapped her hands. "Auntie, is this your friend too?"

Dazai beamed. "Oh, I’m much more than that!"

"NO, YOU’RE NOT," you snapped.

Mori leaned closer to Dazai, still grinning. "Actually, we were discussing whether Fukuzawa or I am the better parental figure to (y/n)-chan."

Dazai tapped his chin, pretending to think. "Hmm~! That’s a tough one! But I think I know the answer."

You glared. "Dazai—"

Dazai grinned wider. "It’s obviously me!"

You officially gave up. You walked back inside, shut the door, and left them all outside.

Your niece blinked up at you. "Auntie, what about the fluffy man and the funny man and the weird man?"

You sighed, rubbing your temples. "...If we ignore them, maybe they’ll go away."

Outside, the three men continued their completely unnecessary debate.

Mori: "I’m clearly the better parental figure, I raised Elise—"

Fukuzawa: "You created her to obey you."

Dazai: "Okay, okay, but I’m the one who understands (y/n) best~."

Mori: "Are you saying you’re trying to take (y/n)-chan from us, Dazai-kun?"

Dazai: "Who’s ‘us’?! Why are you including Fukuzawa?!"

Fukuzawa: "I am leaving."

Mori: "Wait, come back! We haven’t established custody yet~!"

Inside, you sat down, picking up the cat and holding it close.

"...Next time, I’m locking the door."

Your niece giggled, then whispered, "Auntie, I like the fluffy man."

You groaned. "Of course you do."

The cat simply purred smugly.

End of Babysitting (For Now).

Who really won this battle? The cat.