pinkiipeachiikeen

[pinkiipeachiikeen]

ᡣ𐭩 SOMETIMES ALL I THINK ABOUT IS YOU (LATE NIGHTS IN THE MIDDLE OF JUNE)

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: realizing you have no idea when dazai's birthday is, you and chuuya embark on a massive quest to figure it out. and you do—but you also find out something far more worrying in the process, making you question if you ever really knew dazai osamu. the issue? you have no way of bringing it up to him. but you'll have to worry about that later anyway. first things first: you have to plan a birthday that dazai will never forget. {sfw, 14.8k}

AUTHOR'S NOTES: AHHHHHHHH HAPPY BIRTHDAY BABY BOYYYYYYYY im so proud of how this fic came out genuinely its my favorite thing ive written to date. i hope you guys enjoy it as much as i enjoyed writing it (warnings: fem!reader, mostly fluff with some angst sprinkled in at the beginning and end)

“Hey, do you know when Dazai’s birthday is?” 

“Jesus fucking Christ, do you ever stop thinking about him?”

Your jaw drops as Chuuya lets out the loud complaint, head snapping to the side to focus on where he’s sitting in the chair at the tattoo parlor near headquarters, cheek pressed against the headrest, glaring at you as the artist continues to work on the right half of his upper back, finishing up the last section of the art spanning across his entire back. It’s his biggest one yet, you can hardly see an inch of unmarked skin—bright reds of camellia flowers and different types of animals and objects centered around the skull of a ram decorate his back. It’s beautiful, you have to acknowledge that, you don’t think you’ve ever seen such a stunning tattoo before and Chuuya is beyond pleased with how it’s turning out considering how he’s constantly pulling off his shirt to look at it in a mirror whenever he gets the chance.

To honor the Flags, he’d told you when he dragged you along for the first session. You didn’t know most of them—you’d worked with Lippmann a few times considering his job within the Mafia, and you’d met with Iceman to give him the rundown on targets that needed to be handled when Mori would send him to you in Kyoto, but that was about the extent of your interaction with them. Chuuya’d been closer to them—he didn’t like to talk about them at first, but he’s gradually been more and more open with it.

You think it’s because he’s afraid of forgetting them.

“You’re an asshole,” you snap after getting over the shock of his rude comment, turning your head away to look out the window.

Dazai evades the two of you whenever Chuuya has one of his sessions scheduled. You think it’s kind of funny, honestly; you know he does it because he hates pain and he knows that if he joins you guys, Chuuya will somehow goad him into getting a tattoo with a dare or a challenge that he won’t be able to back down from. So, instead, he makes excuses for missions that you both know damn well he doesn’t have.

“No, I don’t know,” he finally says irritably. “How the hell am I supposed to know?”

You give him an appalled look. “He’s your friend, and your partner. What do you mean you don’t know?”

“That bastard is not my friend,” Chuuya instantly hisses, but you can’t help but notice that he suddenly looks troubled by the realization that he doesn’t know Dazai’s birthday.

“Yeah, okay.” You roll your eyes, knowing damn well that it’s a blatant lie. “That’s a fucking lie if I’ve ever heard one.”

“Is not,” Chuuya spits.

“Is too.” 

Chuuya would have kept going with the back and forth, but he’s given a sharp look by the tattoo artist working on his shoulder and he settles down, but not before shooting you one last withering look.

“I bet he knows your birthday,” you add after a few moments of silence, just to trigger Chuuya again.

It works.

He lets out a noise more befitting of an animal, head snapping back to the side to look at you. “He definitely does n-” He cuts himself off before he can even finish the sentence, glaring at you. “That’s because that freak knows everything somehow.”

You only give him an easy shrug. “Just saying, it’s a bit…” You give him a twisted expression, nose wrinkled and lips pressed together rather than saying the word out loud, and Chuuya looks murderous. 

“It’s a bit what?” Chuuya demands. “You don’t know his birthday either.”

“I’m not his partner,” you counter to hide the fact that you are very bothered over not knowing his birthday.

“No, you’re just his girlfriend,” Chuuya says snidely.

Your face heats up. “I am not his girlfriend, Chuuya,” you scowl. “Shut up.”

“Yeah, okay,” Chuuya replies sarcastically, giving the tattoo artist an apologetic look when he gives the ginger another sharp warning with his eyes. “If Dazai wanted us to know his birthday, he would have told us. Y’know how secretive he gets over his personal life—he’d be shouting it off every rooftop if it was something he wanted us to do something about.”

You’re not quite as convinced.

At first glance, Dazai doesn’t shut up—he finds any and every reason to hear himself speak, whether it be random facts about crabs or ranking methods of suicide from least to most painful. Because of his tendency to run his mouth, most people don’t realize just how secretive he is about his personal life. You’ve realized that he probably uses it as a tactic to evade questions, because when people do poke and prod about his personal life, he becomes avoidant, expertly redirecting the conversation to something less personal by subtly changing the subject or pissing off whoever (Chuuya) is talking to him. You always catch it—conversation manipulation is your thing, you’ve finely honed your skills in guiding discussion to your discretion, it’s a skill that comes in handy at the negotiation table and in politics. You know he knows that you catch it too, always watching you carefully to ensure that you don’t call any attention to what he’s doing.

You don’t, of course, you’re not going to put him on the spot like that, but you don’t understand it. Well, you can to an extent—if you had random people prodding at your personal life, you’d also evade the topic. But you and Chuuya aren’t random people. You’re his friends, and you can’t for the life of you understand why he won’t open up to the two of you a little.

Every time you bring up the subject of him to him, he starts acting strange and cagey, like he knows that his evasion tactics won’t work with you and he wants to say something, but simply can’t get the words out. Maybe it’s his mistaken belief that he doesn’t deserve all of the things other people take for granted: comfort, friends, happiness. But still, you can’t imagine that Dazai doesn’t crave the experience of a normal birthday—well, as normal as things can get for teenage mafiosos—because you know that Dazai at his core simply wants to be a normal teenager.

As to why Dazai would rather deny himself happiness than to let you and Chuuya closer than arm's length? The answer alludes you even you.

When Chuuya grimaces, letting out a heavy breath and averting his gaze, you think that he’s come to the same conclusion as you.

“I assume since you’re bringing it up, you have some sort of plan?” Chuuya sighs, tired.

You smile.

“Naturally.”

You think Chuuya might kill you after this.

You can’t help but snort to yourself as you kneel on the floor next to Mori’s desk, rifling through his drawers to find the key to his file cabinet. Chuuya is somewhere downstairs trying to keep the man distracted with a fake medical condition while you try to find Dazai’s file in his office. You can hear him in the ear piece you’re wearing, flustered and stuttering over his words. You can almost picture how red his face is. 

Chuuya isn’t a bad liar, usually—in fact, he can act his ass off on missions—but lying to the Boss is an entirely different story. You think that you probably should have been the one to keep Mori distracted, but you worried that if Mori got up here and Chuuya was still searching, he wouldn’t be able to play it off. So, this was the lesser of two evils. 

Mori is getting increasingly more irritated as Chuuya keeps miswording the symptoms and backtracking, then blaming it on how ‘his head just hurts so bad, he can’t think.’ You’re sure he’s starting to suspect something—or more likely, the man probably figured it out right away—but you also know he’s too hyper-paranoid about losing his strongest ability user to dismiss Chuuya’s blatant lies for what they are.

You let out a victorious puff of air when your hand encloses around the key you’d been searching for, immediately shuffling over to the file cabinet, unlocking it as quickly as you can to shuffle through them, trying to find Dazai’s.

Mori has too many files, you think to yourself frustrated, eyes scanning as fast as you can as you flip through them, trying to spot the one you need, becoming increasingly more frantic when you hear Mori and Chuuya enter the elevator, not sure if they’re coming up to his office or if Mori’s dragging Chuuya down to one of the lower floor infirmaries.

Fuck, you think, finally flipping through to the D’s and letting out a frustrated groan when his file isn’t even there. You go through it again, more carefully this time, and nearly tug out your hair when you realize that either Mori misplaced Dazai’s file or there isn’t one. But you can’t imagine either of those options being true.

Getting increasingly more anxious as the seconds pass, and knowing that Chuuya actually will kill you if he embarrassed himself like this for nothing, you start rifling through the other letters in a panic. From the A’s all the way to the Z’s, it’s only on your second scan through that you pause, spotting a thick, unnamed file in the T section.

You stare at it for a moment, brows furrowed, a gut feeling twisting inside you as you try to pull out the file. It’s a struggle—the file is thick and the drawer is stuffed, but when you finally get it out and flip it open, your eyes widen when Dazai’s face stares back at you in the top left corner of the first paper in the file. He’s younger in the picture—no older than thirteen or fourteen—both eyes uncovered, black and void of life.

You let out a shaky breath, heart racing as your eyes scan dismissively over any information that’s not his birthday, because you know damn well Dazai will not take kindly to yours and Chuuya’s snooping and you want to mitigate the damage, only to halt when your gaze catches on blacked out information right above the date.

His name?

You pause, eyes focusing momentarily as you try to understand what you’re reading.

NAME:  ████████████████ 

ALIAS: Dazai Osamu

What?

You don’t know how long you stare at the file, lips parted and a torrent of emotions clawing at your chest. Mainly confusion, but also something else—tighter, more unwelcome. You don’t even have time to try to figure out what you’re looking at because at once, the remote in your pocket is buzzing, the last signal from Chuuya that Mori is on the floor of his office.

You let out a string of curses, putting the file back where you found it, locking the cabinet and putting the key back before darting to the other side of the desk. You mask the confusion and nerves rattling your mind and body with an irritated expression just as the door opens.

“… ggest that you take some time to rest, Chuuya-kun. Physically, there is nothing wrong with you.”

You look over your shoulder, eyes meeting Mori’s as you frown deeply. “You’re late,” you say. “I’ve been waiting here for ten minutes.”

“Ah, apologies, I’m afraid young Chuuya-kun has spent the past twenty minutes following me around with nonexistent health issues,” Mori replies with a thin smile, purple eyes carding over you before he looks around his office curiously, as if he knows you’d been up to something but doesn’t know what. Chuuya cringes next to him and gives you a withering look, he opens his mouth to protest but Mori is speaking again before he can get anything out. “What did you want to discuss?”

“I’ve been keeping an eye on the situation in Vladivostok,” you say, eyes following Mori, waiting for him to sit down so you can. You watch as he glances around his desk, as if trying to figure out what you’d been doing before he showed up. You almost smile when his eyes narrow after coming empty handed. “I think it would be in our best interest…” 

As you sit down across from Mori, you slip your hands behind your back, giving Chuuya a thumbs up, letting him know that his humiliation was not in vain.

Step one, complete. June 19th.

“I will never fucking forgive you for that,” Chuuya hisses when the two of you finally leave Mori’s office. “Never. That was humiliating.”

You snort. “It was pretty bad.”

“Fuck you,” Chuuya snaps. His face is still on fire, has been for the past twenty minutes as you explained your plan for the new organization rising to power in eastern Russia. “Well? When is his birthday?”

You cringe and Chuuya is instantly glowering at you. “Don’t even tell me you didn’t find it. You gave me the thumbs up. I’ll-”

“No, I got it,” you say dismissively. 

That’s not what you’re cringing over—you’re cringing for two reasons: 1) his birthday is less than five days away and you have no idea how the two of you are going to figure something out before then, and 2) the reminder of Dazai’s file, its misplaced location and the blacked out information where his name should have been, the alias labeling what you thought was his real name.

Your lips part to bring it up to Chuuya, but you hesitate because you don’t know if you should. The last thing you want to do is upset Dazai because you let something out that he didn't want anyone to know.

“Well?” Chuuya demands. “What is it?”

“June 19th,” you say, watching as Chuuya blanches. “Yeah, I know.”

“What the fuck are we supposed to do in four days?” Chuuya hisses, grabbing your shoulder and forcing you to look at him. “I don’t even know what that bastard would want.”

You’re just as lost, grimacing as you rub the back of your neck. “I don’t know,” you admit. “Dazai never really… wants for anything.”

You stare ahead listlessly, leaning against the elevator wall as the two of you head down to the first floor. Dazai likes playing video games, but he gets bored of them quickly. His room is stacked with games he’s played once and then tossed to the side. He likes crab, but you’re not going to get him canned crab for his birthday. He likes suicide, and you’re pretty sure a new edition of that wretched book of his came out, but you also don’t want to get him that for, well, obvious reasons.

“Maybe we can get him a pet crab?” Chuuya frowns.

“He’ll kill it,” you dismiss, “and then he’ll spend months whining over it. And blaming us.”

“Fair enough.”

The elevator door slides open as the two of you reach the bottom floor, and you watch as the subordinates meandering about incline their heads toward the two of you as you pass by. You only absently wave them off, mind racing as you try to figure out what to do for Dazai’s birthday. Crab, suicide, video games—what else could Dazai possibly like?

You think the only other thing is-

Oh. Oh. You have an idea.

A smile spreads across your face. “Chuuya,” you say, relieved, “I have the best idea-”

“There you guys are,” Dazai’s familiar voice rings from the right, and immediately, Chuuya gives you a sharp, panicked look and you shut your mouth, stiffening. “I was…”

Dazai trails off, and you briefly shut your eyes, because wow, that was entirely unsubtle. Dazai’s smile is more strained now and the shine in his dark eye fades, the palpable excitement withers away in a matter of seconds.

Fuck.

“I see,” Dazai says, voice cool and withdrawn. “You guys are busy. It wasn’t important anyway.”

“Dazai,” you call after him, taking a few steps, but the boy has already whirled around, stalking off the way he came. He ignores your call of his name. “Shit.”

“He totally took that the wrong way,” Chuuya says, as if that wasn’t obvious.

“How astute, Chuuya,” you say dryly, chest tight as Dazai disappears around the corner.

“You know, for someone who brags about not needing anyone, he’s pretty fucking sensitive,” Chuuya notes.

“Don’t be a fucking asshole, Chuuya,” you snap at him, but the redhead only shrugs carelessly in response.

“It’s the truth. Anyway, what was your idea?” 

Even with the weight of Dazai clearly being upset heavy on your chest, the reminder of your idea for his birthday still causes a sly smile to spread across your lips.

“You’re gonna love this.”

Not only was Dazai upset, but he was upset enough that he hasn’t come back to your apartment in three and a half days. You figure he must be back at his shipping container, or maybe staying with those other friends of his, but you feel lonely without him. It’s weird not coming back to your apartment to find him lounging on your couch eating your favorite snacks; it’s different when he has missions and can’t be here, right now? He’s choosing to not be here, and that makes you feel gross and uncomfortable.

You feel bad, and no matter how many times Chuuya tells you to look on the bright side—that you guys can plan his birthday without him constantly hovering, figuring out what the two of you are doing—it just makes you feel worse. 

You’re sitting in your apartment waiting for Chuuya when the elevator bings, signaling someone coming up to your apartment—and considering there’s only two people who the front desk let up without your explicit permission, and one of them is still dealing with issues at one of the ports, which flooded from all of the rain the past few days, there’s only one person who it can be.

Your eyes widen as your head snaps up, looking to the elevator as the doors slide open, revealing Dazai fumbling with something in his jacket as he steps out. He doesn’t even notice you until you rise to your feet, and when he does, he’s instantly guarded. 

“You’re supposed to be on a mission,” he accuses, voice low.

You’re a bit hurt that Dazai only showed up to your apartment because he thought you wouldn’t be here but you mask it with a tilt of your head and a curious expression.

“I am on a mission,” you say, and it’s not a lie—the mission is finalizing the plans for Dazai’s birthday, step two starts in four hours and you need to confirm things with Chuuya before it begins. What awful timing, you realize mournfully, because you do want to smooth things out with Dazai but right now you can’t afford to. “It’s one I can do at home.”

Dazai makes a dismissive noise in the back of his throat, gaze focusing on the folders laid out in front of you. Closed, luckily, you’d been skimming through one but you got bored while waiting for Chuuya and decided to scroll on your phone.

“I only came to pick up my other jacket,” Dazai finally says, voice still cold and distant—you hate it.

Your eyes track down to Dazai’s coat, noticing the blood that’s dripping from it onto your wood floor.

You cringe, but then extend an olive branch by asking, “Want me to throw it in the wash?”

Dazai hesitates, a reluctant expression crossing his face but he nods, slipping it off his shoulders and padding over to you slowly, handing it to you carefully so as to not get the blood on your couch. Your fingers brush his as he does and your throat spasms a bit.

Dazai draws back quickly, but then he looks down at the files in front of you, and then back to you and asks, “… Want help with that?”

Shit.

This is Dazai’s olive branch, and you have to reject it. Because then he’ll realize this is no mission, and all of the plans for his birthday will go to waste.

“Nah,” you say easily. “It’s fine. It’s quick, where were you heading out to?”

Dazai looks a little put out by your rejection, but he doesn’t look too bothered, so he probably took your lie as truth.

“Bar Lupin.”

You roll your eyes.

Dazai gives you a dirty look.

“I don’t know why you get so jealous about them,” Dazai says pettily, obviously trying to get a retaliatory dig in for whatever wound he thinks he received the other day. Your eye twitches at the accusation. “I knew Odasaku before you.”

You pause at that.

Does Oda know Dazai’s real name? You’re hit with a wave of vicious jealousy, and faced once again with the back and forth you’ve been dealing with the past three days—do you really know Dazai? He’s always hid a lot from you, you knew that, but to realize that you only know him by an alias… You don’t understand it—is it by choice? Does he just no longer want to associate with that name? If that’s the case, then you don’t even want to ask and make him uncomfortable. 

But what if it’s not? What if Dazai Osamu is just a fake persona he’s built to hide his real self? You doubt he’s a spy, Mori would obviously know but… if it was Mori that forced him to take on a new name and identity? If he wants to let people in but can’t? You remember all of the times when you ask him things and he stares at you as if he wants to answer but doesn’t know how.

“You shouldn’t think too much, your small brain will implode.”

“Fuck you.”

Drawn from your thoughts, you glare at Dazai, who only gives you a simpering smile in return, eye regaining that little bit of shine it’d lost when he ran into you and Chuuya that day. Then he hesitates again and you raise your eyebrows.

“I’ll call things off with Odasaku and Ango? … You picked out that movie last week, we never watched it. We can watch it after you finish up?” His voice is quiet, uncertain and you feel like a cunt, because you have no way of saying no without being a cunt. 

You’d already told him that the mission wouldn’t take long, so you can’t use that as an excuse. You think maybe you should just call off tonight with Chuuya, meet at his apartment later on to try to get things for dawn, when everything is to take place. It would be risky, you don’t know if you can pull off such an elaborate scheme with such little preparation and Dazai, of all people, as the target, but you think you’d rather risk that then say no to him right now. 

Your lips part to agree, mind already racing trying to figure out how to get all the folders out of here before his nosy ass can peak at one of them, but you’re interrupted by your elevator binging. Again.

Oh, fuck.

Dazai stills as his gaze cuts backward, eye sharp as the elevator doors slide open and reveal an irritated Chuuya, soaked up to the waist and covered in mud.

“Fucking hell,” Chuuya seethes. “I’m never helping out at the ports again. They’re fucking incompetent, I-”

Chuuya pauses when he sees Dazai. Dazai doesn’t budge. For a split second, not a single one of you dares to move. You can see the quick cogs within Dazai’s mind turning as he pieces together an answer—why you didn’t accept his help, why you took so long to respond. Dread piles in your stomach as you try to figure out what to say only to come up empty-handed. For someone known for a quick tongue and sharp brain, you always somehow find them failing you when faced with conflict with Dazai. 

Finally, Dazai breaks the silence with a cool smile and a mirthful look in his eye, glancing back at you.

“That’s why you wanted me out of here. Okay.” He leaves no room for questions, doesn’t even bother to go into his bedroom to grab his other jacket before stalking forward and entering the elevator Chuuya just came out of, not even acknowledging his partner before smacking the button to the first floor.

“Dazai!” you call after him, taking a few steps toward the elevator but he only turns his chin as the doors slide shut. You shout after him angrily, “And you say I’m the jealous one!” but you doubt he even heard it.

“That bastard has the worst fucking timing ever,” Chuuya says as soon as he’s gone, unperturbed.

You give Chuuya a withering look, wanting to curl up on your couch and die. So you do that. The weight on your chest that had only just finally started to relieve itself from you returns with a vengeance, and you suddenly feel like you want to cry, unsure of how everything has gone so wrong the past few days when you just want to do something nice for him. You tuck your knees to your chest and wrap your arms around them, placing your chin on top of them.

“Relax,” Chuuya says, tossing himself onto the couch next to you; you don’t even have it in you to be annoyed by the water and mud, shoulders slumping as he tosses an arm around you and lets you lean into him. “It’ll be fine. Blockhead won’t even know what hit him tomorrow. C’mon, let’s get this finished so we’re ready to go.”

“… You want us to… kidnap the Demon Prodigy?”

Your subordinates stare, expressions pale and aghast as they share looks with one another. You stand resolute, head held high, and Chuuya raises his eyebrows next to you. Your eye twitches at the moniker that follows Dazai everywhere.

“That’s what we said, yes,” you say, frowning. “Was I unclear?”

“No, hime-” You roll your eyes at yet another one of Mori’s ghastly titles.

He must find it quite amusing, pleased with himself every time he watches you turn green with disgust when he insists on using the term. Even worse, it seems he’s somehow managed to coax your subordinates into using the shitty moniker too. The old man must really enjoy pissing you off, he’s certainly very skilled at it. 

Your lip curls up in irritation when your subordinate continues.

“It’s just-what if-”

“You will not be punished for targeting an executive,” you say dismissively. “I’ll make sure of that.”

“We fear that the Demon Prodigy will… draw his gun when threatened,” the man continues, grimacing as if trying to choose his words carefully. You don’t recognize him—you think you should probably get to know your subordinates better, you’ve left most dealings with them to your partner, Itou… who you also have to get in contact with for this plan to work. You wince, realizing you still have much more to do within the next few hours. “How should we proceed if he does?” 

“Dazai probably will.” You stress his name, giving the man a withering look. To his credit, he winces and looks away. “But he will also be drunk, and slower, taken off guard, so you will… Well, I suppose you wouldn’t have the advantage over even a drunk and surprised Dazai, but there are more of you, so there’s that.”

“Way to inspire confidence,” Chuuya mutters dryly.

You shrug, “I’m not going to delude them before sending them out. They should be prepared to take a bullet or two. Hopefully nonlethal—you have bullet proof vests.”

“You’re fucked up,” Chuuya snorts, before turning his attention to the dozen or so gathered subordinates. “There will be minimal risk, and remember, nobody is to know about this. Nobody. Not even the other executives, or the Boss.”

“Especially not the Boss,” you add. “For the next day and a half, you’re relieved of duties. Go back to your families, or get shit-faced drunk, but don’t come back to headquarters. Under any circumstances. Clear?” 

The men exchange looks with one another, uncertain. “And if he draws his gun?” the man prods again. 

You share a look with Chuuya from the corner of your eye. “He’s not to be injured,” you finally say, voice firm, not leaving any room for doubt. “Under any circumstances. Inject him with this, you’ll be fine.”

You pull from your pocket a sedative that you’d pocketed from Mori’s office before, dangling it in front of them, waiting for one of them to reach out and take it. When they do, you lean back on your heels and look at them.

“This has to be successful,” you tell them, finally starting to feel the pinpricks of anxiety run through your chest the closer it gets to go-time. Dazai is so mad at you right now, and if this fails, it’ll make things ten times worse. Failure isn’t an option—it never is, but especially not now. “I won’t accept anything less.”

“Yes ma’am,” one of your subordinates murmurs and the rest echo, half of them look as if they’re marching off to their death and you absently make yourself a note to give them a big bonus this month. “Can we at least know why we’re kidnapping the De-Executive Dazai?” 

You smile. 

“It’s his birthday gift.”

Dazai is in a bad mood.

Oda watches curiously as the boy downs his seventh (eighth?) drink, wondering if he should tell him to slow down. From the corner of his eye, he sees Ango cringing, lips parted as if to speak but then reconsidering as he shakes his head and takes a sip of his own alcohol, looking thoroughly concerned. Dazai hasn’t said a word since he showed up two hours ago in a foul mood, and every time Oda opens his mouth to ask, Ango gives him the sharpest look and Oda instantly shuts his mouth.

“I think the slug is dating-” Dazai finally speaks, voice rough, right hand clenched around his glass of whiskey. It’s as if he can’t even bring himself to say the words and Oda’s eyes narrow as he studies him, trying to figure out what’s wrong. “I think the slug is dating… her.”

Her. He must mean you. You’re pretty much the only ‘her’ that Dazai ever refers to—goes on about you nonstop whenever he gets a few drinks in him.

“That’s nice,” Oda says without thinking, until he sees the horrified look cast his way by Ango. “That’s awful.”

“It is awful,” Dazai agrees with a hiss. “It’s awful. I hate it. It’s disgusting.”

Oh, Oda realizes, a bit more amused, grateful that Dazai is too busy glaring into his drink to see the smile that curls to the corner of his lips. Oda had suspected that Dazai has a crush on you just from the way he talks about you—going from long winded rants of how agonizing you are to live with (as if he doesn’t actively choose to live with you) to wistful recounts admiring your missions (although those quickly shift into rants, as if Dazai catches himself yearning and has to make up for it by acting like it never happened). 

Oda and Ango realized that Dazai was obsessed with you months ago—back before the Dragon’s Head Conflict even ended, not long after you showed up, actually, when he first started talking about you. Oda assumed that it was a kiddie crush that he’d grow out of, but here he is a year later, just as infatuated—if not more so.

Cute.

“What-” Ango begins only for his voice to waver, glaring at Oda when he sees the smile on the man’s lips. He sighs, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose before retrying. “What makes you think they’re dating?” 

“The other day I went looking for them and I found them together, and I was gonna ask them to go to the arcade with me, but as soon as they saw me, they got all stiff and uncomfortable like they didn’t want me there.” 

Dazai almost sounds hurt by it—words strung out a bit long, lips curved down. It’s not often that Oda gets to see him act like the sixteen (seventeen now? Oda realizes he doesn’t even know the boy’s age and makes a note to ask) year old that he is, and while it’s unfortunate that this one is stemmed by him feeling rejected by his friends, he also can’t help but smile at it. Which Ango catches from the appalled look that the other man gives him.

Oda smothers the smile again instantly.

“That doesn’t mean that they’re dating,” Ango begins, trying to be reasonable, but is cut off when Dazai tosses him a sharp glare.

“And then,” Dazai continues, “I went home before because I thought she was going to be on a mission, but she was there working on it, and I offered to help her with it so she could finish faster, but she said no. And I didn’t think anything of it, but then I said I was going to reschedule with you guys for another day so we could watch a movie, and she didn’t respond at first, and I thought that was weird, and then guess what? The slug showed up. She was blowing me off to hang out with him.”

Wow, Oda thinks to himself. That’s a lot to break down. 

Home. Oda is careful this time to not let his lips quirk up into a smile but it’s impossible to hide the fond look in his eyes as he looks down at a sulking Dazai, who has slumped over the bar top, absently playing with the spherical ice in his drink. Oda has never heard Dazai refer to anything as home before. His shipping container had always just been the shipping container, and up until, well, today, your apartment had always just been your apartment. Ango catches the wording too from the way his eyes widen a bit.

And then on top of that, Dazai? Offering to help someone with work? Oda thinks there’s a better chance of fire raining from the sky. Oda is realizing that this really is more than a kiddie crush—not that Dazai would probably ever acknowledge that. Oda wonders if he should help him get there. 

“That doesn’t mean they’re dating,” Oda finally says, taking a sip of his drink and ignoring the way Ango gives him a side eye, focusing instead on how Dazai turns his head to the side to look at Oda. If Oda didn’t know any better, he’d say the boy is pouting. “They might be planning something for you, don’t want you around for it. You had that mission recently, didn’t you? The one everyone said would fail?”

Oda realizes, a bit too late, that if that is the case, he just ruined the surprise and silently apologies for it. But Dazai doesn’t seem to take him seriously anyway, rolling his eye as he returns to bouncing the ice in the glass.

“Yeah, right,” he says dryly. “No one does anything like that for me.”

Oda purses his lips, not responding, and Ango sighs as he looks away. Oda tries to figure out what to say, testing some words on his tongue but they all feel wrong.

Finally, he chooses to just be blunt. “Why don’t you just tell her how you feel?”

The noise Ango lets out is all but a whimper, he buries his face in his hands as if to disappear. Dazai’s gaze cuts to the side, head turning slowly as he focuses on Oda.

“What?”

Oda thinks maybe he should stop talking, but he doesn’t, naturally. “Y’know—you could just tell her how you feel,” Oda repeats, seeing the way Ango is shaking his head frantically but he continues anyway. “Telling her would save you from doing this once a week.”

“There’s nothing to tell,” Dazai says icily, taking a tone that he rarely uses with Oda as he pushes himself off of the barstool and turns to leave. “I’ve had too much to drink. I’m heading out for the night.”

Dazai doesn’t wait for either one of them to say goodbye as he all but storms out of the bar. Oda sighs, taking a sip of his own drink.

“That could have gone better.”

Ango slaps the back of his head hard.

“I can’t stand you sometimes.”

“Alright, it’s time.”

You watch the live CCTV cameras from the sleek black car you and Chuuya are huddled in. Your partner, Itou, sits in the front seat, rubbing his temples as he spares you guys a short look. You raise your eyebrows at him but he only shakes his head.

“I don’t know what goes through your head sometimes,” he tells you, tired. “I want no part in this beyond this right here.”

“You’re no fun,” you say, squinting at him, “and we still need you to get the footage from the headquarters.”

Itou sighs so heavily that you think he might be trying to expel his lungs from his body. He glares at you from the corner of his eye. “Nothing beyond that. You’re insane for this. You’re going to get us all thrown in the torture chambers.”

“Relax, don’t be so serious. It makes you ugly. You’ll be fine,” you complain, focusing back down on Chuuya’s laptop, straightening as Dazai finally comes into view on the screen. 

You and Chuuya exchange an excited look with one another, a smile twitching onto your lips as you wait for the scene to unfold. You pointedly ignore the noise Itou makes when he notices how thrilled the two of you are at the prospect of kidnapping Dazai—but Itou doesn’t get it, he doesn’t know Dazai. Dazai will love this, and he’ll love it even more when you get your hands on the footage of Mori’s and Kouyou’s reactions to the kidnapping.

You’ve got your subordinates disguised impeccably as members of a low-rung gang that’s been trying to make moves into the northern wards of Yokohama. You had a meeting with them a few days ago to determine whether they’d be worth absorbing or if Mori should just send Dazai and Chuuya to deal with them. You decided on the latter, and the two of them are supposed to go in and exterminate them next weekend.

You figured they would be the perfect cover to pose as Dazai’s “kidnappers.” They’ve been aggressive and violent in Port Mafia territory, making increasingly larger steps into the Naka Ward. You were honestly curious to see how far they’ll try to go, but you doubt Mori will let it get any farther than he has already anyway, so you thought you might as well get some use out of them to stage a realistic-looking kidnapping.

You think Mori will probably assume this was intentional at first when he gets the report. He’ll call you and Chuuya, the two of you will act bitter and angry as if you’re not on speaking terms with Dazai currently—which, you suppose it’s for the best that he stormed away from the two of you that day in headquarters, because it’ll make it seem legit—you’ll hang up and tell him that you’re busy for the night, tell him not to bother you again. 

When Mori realizes that neither you or Chuuya know what’s going on, he’ll start to get suspicious. He’ll seek out the tapes and see Dazai drunk and lost in thought wandering home, see the way he genuinely struggles against his “captors” before being knocked out—none of the casual arrogance he usually has when getting himself captured by the enemy—and then? Then, you don’t know how Mori will react. You assume that he’ll call you and Chuuya again, get the two of you on it, but by that point, your phones will be off.

You’re giddy as you, again, focus back on the screen, watching as Dazai meanders down the street. His movements are slow and unsteady, and your giddiness fades when you see the downcast expression on his face. It’s hard to tell from the footage, but he’s clearly bothered about something. You wonder if he’s that pissed about what happened earlier, or if something else happened with his other friends—he’s usually at Bar Lupin for at least another two hours.

“Okay,” Chuuya says into his earpiece. “Begin stage one of the operation.”

“He looks kind of upset, doesn’t he?” you murmur when Chuuya takes his fingers off the button on the earpiece.

Chuuya rolls his eyes. “He’ll be fine.”

You ignore the curious, knowing look that Itou gives you through the rearview mirror and instead tunnel your vision onto the laptop screen… although you find you don’t really want to look at that either. You grimace as your subordinates finally make their move—and it’s testament to how lost in his own thoughts he is because Dazai hardly notices what’s happening until they’re on him.

He goes for his gun instantly, but your subordinate—Kirishima, you learned his name was—is quick to disarm him, knocking the gun out of his hands and reaching for his arm. Dazai is still swift on his feet, nimble even with a dubious amount of alcohol in him. He’s able to worm out of Kirishima’s grip, darting backward. The expression on his face is lethal, gaze cold as he tries to assess his situation, and you watch as the realization that he might be in trouble finally hits.

Just as Kirishima is about to motion for two of the others to go for him again. Dazai slips his phone out of his pocket and dials a number.

“Fuck!” Chuuya spits. “If he calls the Boss-”

But Dazai evidently did not call the Boss, which would have been the smartest decision on his part considering Mori would have gotten one of Verlaine’s special ops units to him within a max of three minutes, because after a second, your phone starts ringing.

Oh.

You stare at it, heart lodged in your throat, unsure of what to do.

“Shit,” Chuuya says, just as caught off guard. “I didn’t think he’d call you. You can’t pick up.”

You shoot Chuuya an accusatory look. “I have to pick up,” you hiss. “He called me when he actually thought he was in trouble. I can’t just ignore him, that’s fucked up.”

“We staged the kidnapping, it’s already fucked up,” Chuuya snaps right back, “and he can read your ass like a book. If you pick up, that bastard will figure out it’s us.”

“Chuuya,” you bristle, ready to ignore him and reach for your phone but he’s quicker than you, arm darting forward to grab your phone before throwing it out the window. You stare at him horrified, “Chuuya!”

You think you might throw up when you watch Dazai take one last glance at his phone before an unreadable expression crosses his face. He elbows one of them hard in the gut to get away, but Kirishima is on him with the sedative before he can make a run for it. Dazai grimaces when he feels the pinprick in his neck, and you finally look away when he slumps over onto the ground.

“Don’t start feeling bad now,” Chuuya says, glaring at you. “What did you think would happen?” 

“I don’t feel bad,” you lie, and when Chuuya gives you a doubtful look, you sigh and say, “He just looked so…”

Human. 

He looked surprised, uncertain—it’s rare for Dazai Osamu to be caught off guard by anything. You think in the year or so that you’ve known him, you’ve only ever seen him genuinely thrown off like this once, and it was when the Colonel’s operation against the Bishop’s Staff went haywire during the Dragon’s Head Conflict and you got caught in the crossfire, captured by the enemy.

You’ve always been of the belief that Dazai is one of the most human people you’ve ever met. You’ve fought people over it, you’ve fought him over it. The issue is that he’s also ridiculously intelligent, likes to portray himself as inhuman, be it to intimidate his subordinates or enemies or to fulfill whatever fucked up image he has of himself, you don’t know, but he’s good at it. It’s only when he’s put into situations like this, where he’s got no shot of keeping up his mask, surprised and trying to push away the rising panic when he realizes that there’s no way to think, talk or fight his way out of a situation, that you really see his humanity. It’s stark compared to his usual demeanor, almost palpable.

You sit there simmering in your own thoughts until Kirishima knocks hard on the window to the car. Dazai looks small in his arms—he’s tall, but thin and lanky because he doesn’t eat properly no matter how much Chuuya belittles him for it and you try to get him to eat. His frame is small, and it’s especially apparent without his coat to create the illusion of a larger stature, when his face is lax, visible eye slid shut as he lays limp and unconscious in his arms.

You push open the door and Kirishima bends down to shuffle Dazai into the car with you. His body slumps against you, head falling onto your shoulder and you push your lip out a bit as you reach up to brush his hair out of his face.

“The sedatives?” Chuuya asks, leaning around you to focus on Kirishima.

Kirishima lifts the empty syringe, glancing at Chuuya before focusing on you. “Are we free to go, hime?”

You scowl at the nickname but you nod, more focused on shifting Dazai into a comfortable position. “Go get drunk or go to your families, I don’t care. Don’t come back to headquarters ‘til Monday, but be there early, we’ve got a mission.”

“Yes ma’am,” Kirishima replies, inclining his head to you before shutting the car door and leaving.

As soon as the door shuts, you sigh and let Dazai’s body fall over, head resting in your lap. He looks so completely at peace that you almost forget that it’s because he’s been drugged. He never sleeps well, even now that he’s staying at your place—you hear him wandering around at night, restless, and the few nights he does sleep, he seems to be plagued with nightmares. You rest your hand on his hair and absently brush your fingers through his damp locks before turning to look at Chuuya, who’s watching you with an expression nothing short of judgmental.

“What?” you demand.

“Nothing.” Chuuya rolls his eyes. “How long do you think the sedative will last?” 

“It’s a pretty high dosage,” you say with a frown, looking down at Dazai. “But Dazai’s got some mutant metabolism. Remember when he walked off a whole ass horse tranquilizer during Dragon’s Head. I give it like four hours max.”

“We need to get moving then,” Chuuya sighs, and you nod.

You lean over the center console and give Itou a sweet smile, careful to not jostle Dazai around too much.

“I’ll drive you there, but then I’m gone,” Itou sighs, giving you one last warning look before he puts the car in drive. “Don’t involve me in this any further.”

“Thank you, Itou,” you coo, sharing one last look with Chuuya before letting out a sigh and turning your attention back down to Dazai, gaze lingering and a soft smile on your face.

Chuuya makes a noise of disgust in the back of his throat.

You ignore it.

The beach house the two of you have usurped for the weekend is nicer than you could’ve imagined. You don’t know how Itou found it for the two of you, maybe a friend of his—you’ve found that he has friends everywhere, it’s been quite handy for when you have to deal with politics—or maybe he killed someone for it, you really can’t be sure with him. It’s a neat little place south of Higashikoiso, a little over an hour out of Yokohama—the house is near a cliff overlooking the sea, with an easy path down toward the beach.

There are only three bedrooms though, which is unfortunate considering you and Chuuya plan to coerce Dazai’s other friends into showing up. You might not be the fondest of them for petty reasons, but you think Dazai would like that, so you’ll bite your tongue and suffer through it. Either way, three or four people are going to have to share rooms depending on the set up and you’re fully intent on not being one of them; you already have your argument that you’re the only girl in the house and you think it will be solid enough, unless Dazai decides to be stubborn. 

“This is kind of fucked up,” you note while setting the scene.

Dazai is still unconscious, it’s only been an hour and a half so you should have some time before he wakes up, but you want to get this done as quickly as possible, because you don’t want him to wake up while you and Chuuya are halfway finished to setting up the room to make it look like a ransom scene.

“This is definitely fucked up,” you correct, but you’re smiling as you finish up typing the ropes around Dazai’s wrists, sitting him up in a rickety wooden chair.

You and Chuuya had dragged him down to the basement—Itou had luckily had some interrogation tools in the trunk of his car, and was not inclined to ask any questions when you asked for them, passing them over to you with the most concerned expression you’d ever seen on the twenty-year-old’s face.

The basement looks like any average torture chamber—stone walls, damp and dingy, so it’s easy for you and Chuuya to transform it into an acceptable backdrop for your picture. You adjust Dazai in the seat again, fingers ghosting over his neck from where his head is falling forward, hoping he’s not too uncomfortable.

“This is your idea,” Chuuya shoots back, tilting his head to the side with a frown as he examines the scene. “He’s not roughed up enough. We’ve gotta do something, did you bring makeup with you?”

“No,” you admit, rubbing the back of your neck before an idea pops in your head.

You slink over to Chuuya and grab the knife that he carries at his side, ignoring the perturbed look on his face as he instantly takes a step away. Making your way back over to Dazai, you grimace as you cut the palm of your hand, smearing some blood on Dazai’s face and shirt to make it seem as if he’s been roughed up. You readjust the ropes, tighten them a little more and make sure some of your blood drips down onto the floor above where Dazai’s face is hanging before you take a step back to admire your handiwork before turning to your accomplice.

“... Do you have the burner phone?” you ask Chuuya, wrapping your hand with cloth, figuring you’ll just bandage it up later. 

He rolls his eyes. “Obviously.”

“Take the picture,” you tell him, stepping out of the way to hover over his shoulder, watching as Chuuya squints his eyes and tries to angle it properly so Dazai looks as in bad shape as possible. 

When he’s finally satisfied, he looks to you. Your lips curve up, “I’ll read off the number of that friend of his, you type it in. This’ll get them here for sure.”

As you do that, Chuuya starts snickering, clearly as entertained by this whole situation as you are. “You’re fucking psychotic for this, y’know?” he says, typing out the message to be attached with the image before pressing send and tossing the phone away.

“You helped me,” you accuse, but you're grinning, giddy again as you grab a towel to wipe the blood off of Dazai, pulling off the ropes and forcing Chuuya to help him back to the couch where he can be comfortable.

“Yeah, but it was your idea, you crazy bitch,” Chuuya tells you again with another snort. “What do we do now?”

“Wait.”

Everything happens at once.

Sakaguchi Ango and Oda Sakunosuke get to the beach house much sooner than you thought they would, and Dazai starts stirring an hour earlier than you expected—mutant metabolism, you think again. Luckily, it all happens at around the same time, so you get to see all of their reactions at once.

Neither Sakaguchi nor Oda have made a move into the house, probably trying to figure out the best course of action. Dazai still hasn’t woken up, curled up on the couch while you and Chuuya play cards at the table in front of him, sitting cross-legged on the floor. You’re winning, of course, and Chuuya is becoming increasingly more frustrated from the way he keeps slamming his cards down onto the coffee table.

“They’re about to come in,” Chuuya says, giving you a withering look as tosses his cards across the table—another losing hand. You give him a smug smile and Chuuya bares his teeth at you. “Come here.”

You sigh as you shuffle over around the table so that he can put his hand on your shoulder, ready to activate the Tainted Sorrow in case Sakaguchi and Oda come in guns blazing. On the couch, Dazai starts to shift, a low groan escaping his lips, and your eyes draw back to him, focusing on his face and the way his brows are furrowed and his lips are turned down.

“Here they are,” Chuuya hums, lips quirking up into a sharp smile. “Ready?”

“Yup,” you agree, popping the ‘p’ as you lean back on your hands and stare at the door. “How long do you think it’ll take them to actually open the door?”

“I give it five more seconds,” Chuuya snorts, and you shiver when you feel the familiar sensation of the Tainted Sorrow spreading across your body, an impenetrable barrier to protect you from whatever may come your way.

Just as Chuuya predicts, five seconds later, the front door is kicked open. You frown, hoping that they didn’t break it off of the hinges, because you don't want to hear Itou bitching about it later on. Oda Sakunosuke comes in first, gun steady and finger on the trigger, but the man is cautious and tilts his head to the side when his eyes fall upon you and Chuuya.

“What is it?” Sakaguchi asks from behind the other man, taking a step into the beach house to follow Oda’s gaze to you and Chuuya. “I-what?”

“Sakaguchi,” you say, lifting your hand to wag your fingers; maybe you’re a bit petty when you don’t acknowledge Oda. “Long time no see. I was grateful for your help when dealing with Nishiki and his cronies.”

“I, ah, hime-” You sigh at the moniker, eyes fluttering shut. “What is… going on? We got a picture and a…”

Sakaguchi trails off when he sees Dazai stirring on the couch, and you turn your attention toward him. You watch as he finally lifts his arm to rub his eyes, sluggish and slow. After a split second passes, you notice him stiffen, as if remembering what happened, and his eyes shoot open, cold and sharp.

You smile. “Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” you coo. “Took you long enough.”

The icy mask slips away into genuine confusion, his brows furrow and his lips part. Next to you, Chuuya snorts, “Now, that’s a fucking sight. I almost want to take a picture.”

“What…” Dazai begins, then notices Oda and Sakaguchi still standing near the front door, blinking a few times. “What is going on?”

You’re sure that must’ve been the most painful question for Dazai Osamu to ask—admitting he has no idea what’s happening. Chuuya snickers and Dazai shoots him a contemptuous look, diluted by the fact that he still looks half out of it from the sedative.

“Yes,” Sakaguchi asks dryly, “what is going on?”

You smile proudly and then say, “We kidnapped you. Seemed pretty realistic, didn’t it? Bet you didn’t see that coming.”

Dazai blinks, you can see him trying to force his brain to start moving faster so he can put together the puzzle pieces you’ve handed him. His gaze calculating and lips tight. “You… set up the kidnapping?”

Oda then says: “See. I told you they were planning something.”

“Planning a kidnapping,” Sakaguchi sighs, tired. “Did you guess that too, Oda?”

“Well, no.”

Hardly listening to Oda and Sakaguchi’s bickering in the background, you keep your attention on Dazai, who’s watching you with an unreadable expression on his face. You waver for a second, wondering if he’s mad at the two of you—you’d figured it could be an issue, that he might be put off by being kept in the dark about this. He really does hate not knowing things. 

“Why?” Dazai asks quietly, and you note how Oda and Sakaguchi share a look with one another before quieting down, waiting for your response.

“I’m glad you asked!” you say brightly. “It’s your birthday present!” 

You relish in the way the room goes quiet. Dazai’s dark eye widens, taken off guard for the second time in a matter of a few minutes. You’re even more gleeful when you see how Oda’s expression shifts into one of surprise, how Sakaguchi draws back, stunned. At least your fears of Oda and Sakaguchi knowing more about Dazai than you go unfounded.

“Yeah, shitty Dazai, say thank you,” Chuuya goads, a smug smile on his lips.

Dazai doesn’t respond, staring at the two of you with yet another indecipherable look, an odd shine to his dark eye. You feel a bit exposed under his stare, wondering what he could be thinking.

“How did you know?” Dazai finally asks, and oh, you realize that’s not the question he’s asking. Dazai knows that there’s only one way the two of you figured out his birthday—his file in Mori’s office. What he wants to know is which of you got hands on it.

“It was a grand plot,” you say, tossing your hair over your shoulder as you look up at him. “Chuuya kept Mori distracted while I ransacked his office looking for your file… part of your gift is going to be the recording of Chuuya trying to distract him. It was quite funny.”

“Hah?!” Chuuya demands, whirling on you. “That wasn’t part of the deal.”

You ignore Chuuya, keeping your gaze trained on Dazai instead, trying to figure out what he’s thinking. Is he angry at you? Upset? It’s impossible to tell from the heavy gaze he has laid on you, thousands of conflicting emotions swirling behind the black of his eye. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, chewing the inside of your cheek as you wait—god, only one person evokes this type of nervousness in you and you swear he enjoys it.

After what feels like an eternity, Dazai finally lights up, flinging his arms out to his side, a wide, borderline facetious smile painting his face as he says, “So, I get an entire day to order you guys around to do my bidding.”

“Hey!” Chuuya shouts, equally incensed by Dazai’s words as he is by yours, head snapping to look at him. “That’s not the fucking gift, bastard.”

“What’s the plan then?” Oda asks curiously, and then adds, “... I’m glad you brought us here… as unconventional as the method may have been.”

You notice Dazai gives Oda and then you a curious look, but before he can ask, Chuuya is leaping to his feet, talking quickly as he waves his hands around, making subtle digs to get a rise out of Dazai, but Dazai is more focused on you.

You push yourself to your own feet, trying to ignore Dazai’s lidded stare and focus on what Chuuya is saying but it’s hard, especially when you see Dazai standing from the corner of your eye. He’s still a bit unsteady, movement slow and sluggish, and you’re sure that’s the excuse he has for when he meanders a few steps over to you, dropping his chin on your shoulder. You don’t dare to turn your face to the side to look at him, his lips brush your ear as he murmurs:

“Talk later?”

“... ‘course.”

Luckily, later doesn’t come for a long while. Chuuya was insistent on going out to the beach—you think he was more eager to see Dazai wear the ugly Hawaiian shirt that the two of you had brought along for him more than anything else, but he quickly found interest in the large waves coming in from the sea, running back to the beach house to seek out the boards that you’d found in the basement.

Dazai doesn’t go in the water, but you think he’s having a good time considering there’s a shine in his eyes that’s rarely there. Right now, he’s sitting in the sand in front of Oda and Sakaguchi; the former listening to Dazai ramble on about whatever he’s talking about, the latter tapping away on his computer and occasionally nodding along.

You spend most of your time watching Chuuya cheat at surfing, using his ability to keep him on top of the surfboard as he seeks out the biggest waves. You’re standing in the water yourself, no further than knee-deep because you don’t want to get your clothes and hair wet. You’re kind of annoyed that Dazai’s been spending all of his time with Oda and Sakaguchi when you and Chuuya were the ones who did all of the work, and again, you can’t help but wonder if he might be mad at you. He didn’t seem to be on the walk down to the beach but you can honestly never know with him.

You drag your gaze from where Chuuya is hooting and hollering as he catches another big wave, rolling your eyes when you see the red emanating around his feet and the surfboard, so you can look back at Dazai. He’s stopped talking, listening to whatever Oda is saying instead as he stares at you with a contemplative expression. You feel distinctly seen beneath his stare, lost as to what he might be thinking. He doesn’t even notice that you caught him looking, or if he does, he doesn’t care.

You shake your head when you hear Chuuya coming toward you again, turning your attention back onto him.

“Did you see that one?” Chuuya demands, exhilarated, board tucked under his arm as he brushes his hair out of his face. “Did you?”

“I did,” you say dryly. “It would’ve been much more impressive if you hadn’t been cheating with the Tainted Sorrow.”

Chuuya looks scorned. “I don’t see you getting out there to try,” he scowls, lifting his chin. “You’re more preoccupied with staring longingly at shitty Dazai.”

Your face heats up, you kick the water at him and make sure it gets in his face. “I am not,” you hiss. “Don’t be annoying, Chuuya.”

“I give it another ten seconds before you look back at him again,” Chuuya croons, a wide smile on his face that you have half a mind to slap right off.

To make it worse, you do feel an itch to look back at him now. Your eye twitches as you force yourself to keep looking forward at Chuuya just to make a point, but an odd feeling starts to stir in your gut when you see the way Chuuya’s gaze keeps darting behind you, looking increasingly more pleased with himself.

Finally, you give him an accusatory look before turning your head over your shoulder sharply to where Dazai had been with Oda and Sakaguchi only to find-

That he’s not there?

You hardly have enough time to register what you’re looking at before you see a rush of movement from the corner of your eye.

No-

All you hear is Chuuya’s wild laughter and the sound of the ocean waves reverberating through your skull as Dazai tackles you back into the water hard. The water cushions your fall as your back finally hits the sand. You lift your hand to press your palm against Dazai’s face, pushing him away from you, lungs burning and decidedly soaked as you push yourself out of the water, gasping for air.

“Dazai!” you shout, throwing yourself at him with every intent to throttle him. 

Dazai tries to dodge, but is too busy wheezing over laughter to actually do so. He lets out a dramatic cry when you wrap your arms around his shoulders and successfully knock him into the water face down. He flails dramatically, arms and legs kicking as you hold him down beneath the water.

When you finally drag him back up above the surface, he inhales a lungful of air before giving you an indignant look. “You can’t do that,” Dazai shouts, pointing at you. “It’s my birthday.”

“I’ll do it again,” you shout right back, hair sticking in your eyes and clothes clinging to your skin from the seawater. “I wanted to go into town after this.”

Dazai looks just as messy—the cheap Hawaiian shirt you and Chuuya had got him is drenched, and the colors are bleeding into his bandages, making the previously pristine whites become a colorful swirl of oranges, blues and pinks. He looks like a shitty attempt at a watercolor painting. The bandages around his eye look especially uncomfortable from the way his visible eye keeps twitching and immediately your anger fizzles away into amusement.

You share a look with Chuuya that Dazai instantly catches, looking suspicious and alarmed.

“Chuuya, go get the camera.”

Dazai doesn’t even wait for another word. He instantly turns on his heel to bolt back to the beach house, but you’re chasing after him in an instant.

“Chuuya, go!” you yell again as you lunge forward, fingers curling around Dazai’s ankles to make him faceplant back into the water.

You scramble forward to straddle his waist to keep him in place but he worms out of your hold, trying to make another break for it but fails because you’re still clinging to his leg, dragging him back down with you. Distantly, you think you should’ve gone for the camera while Chuuya kept Dazai in place.

“Chuuya’s right,” you spit out. The two of you are out of the water now, you can feel the sand in your shirt and grating against your skin as you roll around with him trying to keep him still. “You really are like a slimy, slippery fish.”

“You can’t do this,” Dazai screeches. “It’s my birthday. It’s my birthday!”

“I got it!” Chuuya shouts from over by the chairs, racing back over to the two of you. 

“Took you long enough,” you yell right back at him, realizing that you’re going to have to sacrifice your own dignity to get Dazai in this picture, otherwise he’s going to try to run away again. 

Chuuya can hardly hold the camera straight through his snorting, and you’re sure you probably look equally as embarrassing as Dazai. There’s sand on your face, in your mouth, in your hair, in places where sand definitely shouldn’t be, but at least you don’t look like a kaleidoscope. Dazai lets out a pitiful noise when he realizes there’s no escape, trapped between your arms. He tries to hide his face in your neck, probably for plausible deniability that it’s an imposter trying to make him look bad, rather than it actually being him himself.

“Say cheese, mackerel,” Chuuya mocks.

“Fuck you,” Dazai complains.

But you can feel the smile twitching on his lips against your skin.

Oda and Sakaguchi set up a fire later that night. 

Well, by Oda and Sakaguchi, you mean Oda while Sakaguchi sat there and played dictator, telling him how to make a campfire that Oda clearly already knew how to make from the way he seemed to be hardly listening to the man.

Dazai and Chuuya are off trying to figure out how to use sparklers, which you think is a bad idea. You think the two are more likely to set each other on fire than actually use them properly, which is why you’re staying far away, tapping away on your phone near the campfire, relaxing under the sea breeze.

Itou: everything going ok?

You almost roll your eyes before responding with.

You: Yes. Why?

Itou: just curious :p

You: Could’ve stayed if you were curious. We offered.

Itou: yeah, maybe if u wanted to find me dead in a ditch. ur boy hates my guts.

You’re grateful that no one is around to see how you let out an embarrassed puff of air at how Itou refers to Dazai, instantly clicking out of his messages to see what other messages you have. Before you can, you feel a presence hovering above you and look up, raising your eyebrows.

Oda Sakunosuke stands next to you, studying you curiously, and you look to the side and then back toward him, unsure of what he wants.

“Yes?” you ask slowly. Sakaguchi is still sitting closer to the house, scowling as he bats away bugs.

“This is nice. What you did for Dazai,” Oda says simply. “I haven’t seen him this happy in… well, ever.”

A bit embarrassed, you shrug. “It’s whatever,” you say awkwardly. “Just happy it all worked out.”

“I don’t think Dazai’s ever had someone do something like this for him before,” Oda admits. He’s not looking at you anymore, fond gaze trained behind you to where you can hear Dazai and Chuuya arguing about how to use the sparklers. “He never told Ango or I his birthday… or anything personal about himself, really. I’m grateful that you brought us along.”

You wish you could sink into the ground and die, knowing that if it was up to you, you never would have invited either of them but forced yourself to for Dazai’s sake. Again, you shrug, and say, “Was for Dazai. Thought he would like it.”

“Well, I’m grateful anyway,” Oda says dismissively, looking back down at you. “You should stop by the curry place where I take Dazai every once and a while. The kids I brought in stay there, Sakura is the only girl, I’m sure she’d like having another girl around to talk to.”

You blanch. “I don’t-uh-I don’t know if that would be the best idea, I’m not exactly… a good influence for kids.”

Oda shrugs. “Maybe not conventionally, but you’re tough. Work ten times as hard as any of the others in the upper ranks of the Mafia to keep your position. It’s impressive. If Sakura was even half as strong as you are when she grows up, I’d be proud of her.”

Your lips part to speak but no words leave them. You think, maybe, that this is the first time anyone has ever acknowledged this. Your position has never been as secure as anyone else’s—you think maybe that it’s part of the reason why Mori is so insistent on people using that stupid fucking title, as much as you hate it.

Your own subordinates respect you, the rest of the upper echelon who know of your contributions do, but everyone else? Hierarchy is absolute and the Boss’s orders are paramount, but when subordinates see a chance to push themselves higher up the ladder, it’s like sharks with blood in the water. Without a powerful ability like Chuuya’s, or a mind and presence like Dazai’s, as a girl, you’re on the lowest rung, the first one they’re circling to try to get ahead.

You prevent gang wars, keep the government off the Mafia’s ass, but that’s all behind the scenes—none of the lower ranked mafiosos see any of that. They see Dazai and Chuuya bringing down entire organizations overnight. Ace bringing in billions of yen. Kouyou’s perfect record of assassinations. Hirotsu leading the Black Lizards. Akutagawa and his ability. All they ever seen in you is-

All they see in you is a seventeen-year-old girl who happens to be favored by the Boss.

Although you don’t necessarily care for Oda’s presence, even if only for petty reasons, you do appreciate his words. Your shoulders slump and you want to reply, say thank you at the very least, but nothing comes out. You think he notices, and being the infuriatingly kind person he is, he gives you an out. Oda Sakunosuke pats your head like you’re a dog. You give him a side-eye and cringe away from his hand, but he’s unperturbed. 

“I’m glad he has you,” Oda tells you, before wandering back over to Ango, leaving you there flustered and caught off guard.

Your gaze draws back to where Dazai has finally got his sparkler working, and for a second, you’re entranced. You can hardly drag your eyes from the bright gleam and soft smile on Dazai’s lips as he eyes follow the bright pink and gold sparks flying around as he waves the sparkler around in front of him. It’s childish, almost, innocent in a way that Dazai Osamu never gets to act.

You have to force yourself to look away from him, turning your attention back to your phone to go back to what you were doing before Oda interrupted you.

Several texts from Kouyou and Mori demanding you to pick up your phone, one concerned one from Hirotsu—you’ll have to apologize to him later—and several from an unknown number that you don’t recognize. Akutagawa? Dazai’s subordinate? You’re going to have to have a serious talk with your subordinates later about giving out your number. You click back to your message thread with Itou, pointedly ignoring the last message as you type.

You: How the hell did Akutagawa Ryuunosuke get my number?

Itou: pretty sure he threatened a couple of our subordinates, wounded one of them. i have to deal with it tomorrow. have dazai train his dog before letting him wander around unleashed.

You roll your eyes and then tilt your head back to shout over your shoulder, “Dazai, train your fucking subordinates properly.”

The bickering from where Dazai and Chuuya were arguing behind you halts, and you hear the two of them approach you.

“What happened?” Chuuya asks curiously, peeking over your shoulder at your phone. You promptly close it before he can catch sight of the other message that Itou had sent about Dazai.

Dazai comes to hover next to you, waiting for you to explain, and you tilt your head up to meet his gaze. “Akutagawa injured one of my men and threatened others trying to get my number when he heard you were missing. Get him under control.”

Dazai’s visible eye twitches. “Untrained mutt,” he spits out. “I’ll deal with him.”

You share a short look with Chuuya from the corner of your eye, wondering if you’d just condemned Akutagawa to Dazai’s violent wrath, but you’re distracted when your phone buzzes again.

Itou: check ur email.

You straighten in your seat, immediately flicking out of your messages app to your email to find one from Itou with a video file attached.

“No way,” you breathe out, excited, not having expected Itou to get his hands on it so quickly. You turn to look at Dazai, a wide smile on your face; you miss the way the irritation on his instantly fades, visible eye widening and lips parting at the sight of your smile. You also miss, in your excitement, Chuuya’s grunt of disgust. “Dazai, you wanna see your real present?”

Curious, Dazai peers over your shoulder to see the email you got. “What is that?” 

“Watch and see,” you croon, clicking on the video to show the surveillance tape from headquarters.

Instantly, Dazai seems to realize what it is, eye lighting up. “No way,” he says, half sitting on top of you in your beach chair, ignoring your irritated hiss.

“Get your bony ass off of me, Dazai,” you snap at him, but Dazai ignores you, settling down as he snatches your phone to watch the video. 

Chuuya joins him, crowding in on your other side to lean over his shoulder to watch the video. Rolling your eyes, and unable to see the video on your phone, you instead lean back into the chair and watch their reactions to it instead.

Chuuya looks amused, a sharp grin on his face as his eyes remain pinned on the video, and Dazai looks delighted, he cackles and shifts to lean forward, making you grimace when he ends up digging more into your thigh to push himself up.

“Look at his face,” Dazai screeches. “He really thinks it was real. Ane-san looks like she’s going to have an aneurysm.”

Chuuya looks back at you, smiling but there’s a hesitant look in his eyes. “We’re going to be in so much trouble when we get back,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck.

Yeah, you agree silently, more focused on the bright shine in Dazai’s eyes and the wide, genuine smile on his lips. He’s so giddy that he’s almost vibrating in your lap, and when he finally looks back at you, he looks at you as if you’ve given him the world. Worth it, though.

Despite ardently arguing why you should be the one who doesn’t have to share a room and succeeding—forcing Oda and Sakaguchi (who didn’t seem to mind) and Chuuya and Dazai (much to their distress) to share a room instead—you find that you can’t sleep at night anyway. 

It’s almost midnight when you finally decide to wander out of the house, making your way to the path leading up to the clifftop—everyone called an early night, the excitement of the day, and the lack of sleep, leaving everyone exhausted before the clock hit nine-thirty.

The seabreeze is cool against your skin, the moonlight’s illumination the only guide you have as you make your way up to the cliff’s edge. Your hands are stuffed in the pockets of your sweats as you drag your feet against the dirt path.

You don’t notice someone sitting up there at the edge until they turn their head to the side to look at you, startled by your arrival.

“Dazai,” you say quietly, standing there awkwardly for a moment. You haven’t spoken to him alone yet, you’d meant to earlier but then Chuuya got his hands on wine before bed and that plan went out the window.

Dazai sighs whimsically when he catches sight of you. “So, hime forces me to share a room with the slug only to not even use her own room. She’s so greedy,” he whines, lashes fluttering as he looks up at you.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you tell him, making your way over to sit with him, legs dangling off the edge, swinging absently. Your thigh is pressed against the side of his, feet occasionally bumping into one another, when you rest your hands against the ground to lean back on them, your thumb brushes his. “You wanted to talk.”

Dazai lets out an unintelligible noise in the back of his throat, and you watch as his gaze turns down to his lap, an unreadable expression on his face. He’s pretty beneath the glow of the moonlight, peaceful in a way you hardly ever see him. His expression is free of the numerous masks he wears to protect himself, eyes dark but warm and full of various emotions as he chooses his words carefully.

“Hime read my file,” Dazai finally says, voice soft, almost hesitant. You catch the way his jaw tightens and untightens, the corner of his lips tightening and quivering; a subtle tell to his nerves, one that most people wouldn’t catch, but you do.

“I did,” you agree. Your own heart races in your chest as you wait for his reaction; you don’t think that he’s angry, you think you’d be able to tell if he were angry by now, but you can’t help the anxiety plaguing you.

“So, you saw,” Dazai hums, but there’s a bit of a wobble to his tone. He pointedly doesn’t look at you now, staring ahead out toward the sky and distant sea. “Aren’t you going to ask?”

“No. I figure you’ll tell me if you want. If not, it’s okay.”

It’s decidedly not okay, but you don’t want to pressure Dazai into telling you. You want Dazai to open up to you, but you don’t want to force him to, so you force yourself to be content with the fact that he’s at least acknowledging this, instead of pretending it didn’t happen.

“I can’t,” Dazai says. 

His throat bobs beneath his bandages, dark eye uncertain as he stares down to the turbulent sea. You think a storm must be coming, the waves have become rocky, whitecaps staining the horizon, crashing into the jagged rocks at the bottom of the cliff. Dazai shifts, pulling his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around them.

“By choice?” you ask after a few moments. “Or is someone—” Mori “—forcing you to?”

“... Both,” Dazai responds after a few moments. “I…”

Dazai doesn’t finish whatever he was going to say, voice wavering. After a few minutes of silence between the two of you, he continues.

“I don’t have good memories associated with that name,” Dazai finally says, and you don’t dare to speak, hardly even dare to breathe because you don’t want to ruin whatever spurred this decision of his to crack himself open to you, afraid that if you make the wrong move, he’ll withdraw again. “... Sometimes, I miss it though.”

“That’s normal, I think,” you tell him after a moment, looking to the side to focus on him, watching the way his eyes lower at your words. “You have… better ones as… Osamu?” 

It’s your first time referring to Dazai by his first name, and from the way he inhales sharply, he recognizes it as well. There’s something distinctly vulnerable in his expression as he turns his face to you.

“I have you,” Dazai says quietly, and it’s so instant that it catches you off guard, lips parting. As if catching his own lapse in control, he blinks and then rushes to add, “And Odasaku. Ango. The slug.”

You smile a bit to yourself. “Yeah,” you agree. “You do.”

Dazai looks as if he wants to say something, his lips are parted and his gaze is uncertain. You give him a questioning look, wondering what could possibly be running through his head right now, but then he speaks.

“Shuji,” he says so softly that you barely hear him. “My name was Shuji.”

Your eyes shoot open at the admission, Dazai’s goes just as wide, as if he hadn’t actually meant to say it out loud. You open your mouth to say something but Dazai doesn’t even give you the chance to.

“You can’t use it ever, okay?” he says, voice tinged with a type of panic you’ve never heard in the boy before, dark eye filled with desperation. “Never. Not when we’re with people. Not when we’re alone. Not ever. You can’t.”

You don’t think Dazai has ever begged anyone for anything in his life, but he’s begging you now… a part of you can’t help but wonder if it’s for his sake, or yours.

“Can I say it once? Right now?” you ask quietly, swallowing thickly.

Dazai looks unsure and hesitant, but he finally nods. “Then you have to forget it, okay? You can’t ever let anybody know it. Nobody can ever know it. And nobody can know that you know, okay? No one, especially Mori.”

You don’t really like the sound of that, your gut tugging uncomfortably at the stress on Mori’s name, but you don’t want to press anymore than you have, so you agree.

With the winds howling around the cliffs to drown out your voice, and only Dazai and the stars to bear witness, you shift to face him. You reach up to cup Dazai’s cheek, fingers brushing against the bandages on the right side of his face, watching as he inhales sharply at your sudden touch. Before you can lose your nerve, you lean in to ghost your lips against his cheek. 

“Happy birthday, Shuji,” you whisper softly, pulling back to sit next to him. Your face is on fire, and Dazai doesn’t react beyond a shaky breath and his fists tightening in his lap.

Finally, instead of responding, he reaches out to grab your hand, lacing his fingers with yours. Your smile is soft, and you can feel Dazai’s fingers trembling, body uncharacteristically lax as he rests next to you. His dark eye shines and swims with countless emotions, reminiscent of the night sky above—people have always described his eyes as cold and unnerving, but you think they're pretty.

Your free hand brushes a stray rock at your side and you turn to look at it curiously, noting the jagged edge and then getting an idea. Dazai frowns when you pull your hand from his and shift away, giving you a questioning look, but then you shift to your knees, grabbing the rock and etching your first initial into the flat rock that the two of you are sitting on. Dazai watches you carefully and when you hold it out to him, he hesitates before taking it from you.

He doesn’t do anything for a second, staring down at your initial with the jagged edge of the rock resting against the ground next to it. Finally, he takes in a steady breath before carving a ‘+ S’ right next to yours. You chew on the inside of your cheek and your eyes are a bit misty as your hand falls to trace the letters.

After a few moments, you let out another breath and settle down next to him again, a bit closer than you were before, thigh pressed firmly against his and shoulders brushing. You reach for his hand again, intertwining your fingers with his, looking up to the vast sky above.

Your lips part to speak, but the words catch in your throat, fingers tightening around his for the sparest second. He gives you a curious look and you don’t dare to look at him as you finally force the words from your lips.

“The moon… it’s pretty beautiful tonight, isn’t it?” you say quietly, throat tight as you stare up at the sky, the glittering stars and the full moon glowing above. 

You can feel Dazai’s gaze on you as he responds. “Yeah,” he breathes out. “I think if I died tonight… I would die happy.”

Three years later on the early morning of June 19th, Dazai Osamu sits on the cliff’s edge in the same spot he did with you all of those years before, watching the sun break over the horizon. His fingers trace over the two engraved letters next to him, and not for the first time in the past two years he’s spent underground, he yearns. 

He yearns for you so bad that it makes his chest hurt, his stomach turns in on itself; he yearns so desperately that it’s hard for him to breathe without you, the thought of you weighing so heavily on his mind that he thinks the pressure of it might kill him. As he’s gotten closer to finally being able to leave the underground and join the Armed Detective Agency, he finds that he thinks more and more of you.

He wonders what you’re doing—if you’re thinking of him, if you hate him, if you’ve forgotten all about him. He can almost imagine you sitting here with him, shoulders brushing, thigh pressed to his, fingers intertwined.  He doesn’t know how long he’s spent sitting in that spot, fantasizing that you were there with him, longing for days with you and Chuuya and Odasaku and Ango that are long gone.

Before his thoughts can spiral any further, his phone rings—only one person would be calling him right about now, so he lets it get to the final ring before picking up.

“Fukuzawa-san is ready for you,” Ango says as soon as Dazai picks up the phone, waiting no time for pleasantries.. “Make your way over to the Armed Detective Agency when you can… Happy birthday, Dazai.”

Dazai doesn’t respond, hanging up the phone and letting out a soft breath. He shoves his phone back in his pocket and his eyes linger on the engraved initials, worn with time but still clearly visible, for only a few seconds longer. He pushes himself up to his feet and walks back down toward the beach house with the thoughts of you still clouding his head.

Yeah, Dazai thinks a bit dryly, chest heavy and aching as he looks back at where the two of you once sat three years ago. Happy birthday.

fun facts!

the inspiration for this fic came from the summer vacation bungo mayoi cards with dazai, oda and ango LOLLLL

the inspiration for the "dazai osamu not being dazai's real name" comes from the fact that irl!dazai was a pen name—his real name was tsushima shuji.

i'm gonna drop some pm!reader universe lore here too. in the pm!reader universe, i decided to go with the popular theory that dazai was the previous boss's son/grandson, which is why his word held so much weight when he vouched for mori. when everything calmed down after the death of the previous boss and after most of the old regime of loyalists had been disposed of, mori had shuji change his name to dazai osamu, to shred any connection he might have had to the previously reigning mafia family, just in case more loyalists popped up. in the present pm!reader universe (from 16-22), only kouyou and hirotsu know who dazai really is.

[pinkiipeachiikeen]

[pinkiipeachiikeen]

"i asked chat gpt-"

well I asked the Glow Cloud (all hail) and it emitted a low whistleing and dropped a lizard on my head.

[pinkiipeachiikeen]

You see I too often sat in school classes and thought “when am I ever going to need this, I’m never going to be an engineer, I’m never gonna be a scientist, I’m never gonna be a linguist” and then I grew up and it turns out a lot of bigots and cults and scams and grifts hinge their entire business model on you just. Not knowing what a protein is or some shit

[pinkiipeachiikeen]

I was teaching kids today and they got fixated on the usual ‘are they dead now?’ question when I was talking about historical figures. So I was just like ‘Yes, they’re dead now, everyone who was alive in the 1800s is dead now.’ and then one kid was like ‘Except for you’.

[pinkiipeachiikeen]

the weed dispensaries should ask if you would like to round up your purchase to donate to PBS. and if you say yes you get to scan a QR code that gives you 30-day free access to the full run of antiques roadshow. this is how drugs can win the war on drugs again.

[pinkiipeachiikeen]

[pinkiipeachiikeen]

There's only one kind of vacation that works with Bruce, where he can actually relax as best as he can, and it's going to the Kent farm.

There's always work to do, so he doesn't feel useless and like he is wasting time, he is always occupied and using his energy. It is also pretty isolated, and Smallville is, well, a small town, especially in comparison to Gotham. So, there is less going on than in Gotham, no daily tragedy, he can breathe bit. And Bruce doesn't have to pretend to be someone else, he doesn't have to see people if he doesn't want to, and people don't recognize him as anybody else than "Clark’s friend" (and if they do, they don't say anything) They're all friendly and will back off if they see he isn't comfortable. It's the small town that raised Superman to be the kind man he is, and Bruce can see how it happened. The Kent are also far from wealthy, so really, all the pressure of being a Wayne, the boy that watched his parents being shot, is gone. He can be a normal man and help around the house, cleaning, cooking, taking care of the animals... All the thing he can never do at home or doesn't have the time for.

I also hc that Bruce views the Kent as the perfect parents, and since the moment he met them for the first time, they became another parental figures to him. They are just so kind and friendly, and he is not used to be treated with such gentleness. Like, Jonathan will tell him "Good job, son!" or Martha will go "Thank you, sweetheart.", and Bruce will freeze and stop breathing for a moment. Alfred has always been reserved in his affection, and Leslie can be mean, so he is not used to it at all (and it's healing a lil part of him that craves being told he is good). First time it happened, shortly after he met them, he had to left the room to cry. He has joked more than once to Clark that if he ever gets in argument with his parents (which will never happen), Bruce will kick his ass.

He has a great time and does relax, even though he wakes up at dawn and helps until way after the sun has set. He still gets worried about his kids and other stuffs, but the Kent are great at seeing it, pointing it out and talking about it with him, reassuring him. He also gets parenting advices and tips, and funny and embarrassing stories about Clark.

[pinkiipeachiikeen]

meeting in my bedroom?

SYNOPSIS: You were the beloved, helpful houseowner full of objects who were head over heels in love with you. Which would’ve been great if you weren’t completely dense to their flirting.

TAGS: GN!Reader, VERY suggestive, Everyone Falling for the Same Idiot, Mentions of alcohol / drinking (it’s a party), not proofread bc i lazy eheh...

W.C: 4.5K | CHARACTERS: Dorian, Dirk, Hanks, Volt, Eddie, Betty, Keyes, Hector

AO3: yasminwayne Ko-Fi: buy me a coffee!

Your entire house was deeply in love with you. Hopelessly and pathetically in love with you.

Which was… a bit of a problem.

Not for them, of course! For them, every brush of your hand, every conversation, every time you offered to help was another arrow through the heart! Proof that their feelings were mutual.

But for you? Well... you were just being nice. 

You always had been funny, patient, and warm. 

You gave everyone birthdays, even if they didn’t have one, just so they could feel celebrated. You mended them when they cracked, chipped, or broke. And you always handled them like they were something precious.

You were, quite literally, the glue that held the whole household together. So naturally, they fell for you. 

No one was entirely sure when it started. It was less like a singular lightning strike and more like a slow flood, realization blooming like ivy around the chest, subtle and soft and then suddenly everywhere. You would walk into a room, hair messy from sleep, holding a mug half-filled with tea you’d forgotten you made, and every eye would turn to you with the same expression of love.

But there was just one problem for them...

Their human was so, so, so horribly, painfully, devastatingly dense.

Dorian liked to think of himself as a door with standards. A gentleman of structure and duty. He had withstood years of rough treatment—slams, kicks, storms, and the occasional toddler with a marker.

But despite everything he’d already endured, nothing could have prepared him for you.

You padded barefoot out of the bathroom, damp from your shower, skin dewy, and towel hanging dangerously low. 

The hallway was quiet, sun slanting in through the skylight in lazy golden beams, warming the floor under your toes as you hummed something off-key. You smelled like soap and warmth and innocence, and it was driving Dorian absolutely mad.

He tried to avert his gaze, to maintain his usual composure, when a thump caught his attention.

"Oh shoot!" you gasped, chasing after something.

A hairbrush, Dorian registered distantly, just before it slipped from your hand again and clattered against the hardwood. It bounced once, twice, then came to a rest, pressed right up against the base of his frame.

Before he could even attempt to register what was happening, let alone help, you were already by him, reaching for it. You bent forward, and your towel, already scandalously low, hitched down just a little.

Then, suddenly, the backs of your thighs pressed warmly against his front, your ass making full, unintentional contact with his crotch.

Dorian froze. His entire frame locked in place. His hinges seized with a creak so soft it was barely more than a breath.

"Oops!" you said lightly, still crouched. "Sorry, big guy."

Big guy.

"Didn’t mean to bump into you," you added, voice bright and oblivious.

Brush in hand, you stood up and glanced back at him, one hand settling against his side. Your fingers trailed along his suit like it was nothing.

Something inside Dorian snapped. In one fluid, startlingly effortless motion, he reached around your waist, his arm wrapping across your stomach as he hauled you back against him.

You gasped, startled, as your spine collided with his chest. He completely dwarfed you, the breadth of his body enveloping yours, his height casting you in shadow even in the golden hallway light.

One of his hands slid upward, settling over your ribs. His palm alone spanned nearly the entire width of your torso, his fingers grazing the edge of your sternum.

"I do wish," Dorian muttered, his voice low and gravelly near your ear, "you’d stop calling me that."

You blinked up at him, that same unfazed, sunny smile creeping back up on your face. 

"What? Big guy?"

Dorian let out a sound that was somewhere between a groan and a grumble, low and rough in his throat. "You're doin' it on purpose now."

"But you are big!" you said sweetly, as if you weren’t driving a stake directly through his wooden heart. "And to be fair, you were in my way."

He just stared down at you, jaw clenched, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. For a long, loaded moment, he just stood there, trying to decide whether you were messing with him or were really this much of an idiot.

Then finally, after what felt like minutes, he exhaled sharply, muttering a low curse under his breath as he let go of you. 

You giggled, entirely unbothered, and gave his arm a light squeeze, right over the solid curve of his bicep.

"Guess I’ll just have to squeeze past you next time," you teased, nudging a hip against his side before walking away, towel swaying with every step.

Dorian huffed, pink creeping up his neck. 

"Hate to see you go," he muttered under his breath as his eyes followed you, "but love to watch you leave."

House - 0 | Homeowner - 1

Hector was overheating.

Literally, yes... his filter was long overdue for cleaning and his internal systems were running hot, but also in the other, far more inconvenient way. The emotional one. The one caused by you sitting on your knees beside him, pulling his panel open like you were undressing a lover kind of way.

It wasn’t good for his circuits. It wasn’t good for his systems. And it was absolutely catastrophic for whatever vaguely heart-shaped piece of him had decided it was a good idea to fall in love with you.

"I’m so sorry, Hector," you murmured, your brow furrowed in soft concern as you wiped delicately at the filter casing with the edge of your cloth. "I should’ve cleaned you days ago! I kept meaning to, but everything’s been so hectic lately. You must’ve been so uncomfortable."

He wanted to respond. Really, he did. But he was fairly certain that if he tried, his voice wouldn't work.

Instead, Hector emitted a soft, strangled click-hiss, his cooling fan sputtering to life.

You, of course, mistook it for a glitch.

"Oh no, that sounds awful!" you murmured, your voice full of guilt as you leaned in closer to inspect the exposed panel.

One hand of yours braced lightly against the edge of his casing for balance as you peered into the tangle of metal and heat. Your breath warmed the inside of his frame. Your fingers skimmed the edge of his vent. Your hair, damp from your shower, fell forward and brushed against his shoulder.

That was the moment Hector ceased to function as a coherent being.

His fans rattled audibly, and he briefly considered whether it would be more dignified to combust on the spot or simply roll back into the vents. 

"A-Ahm," he choked, voice static-cracked and strained as his systems tried and failed to recalibrate. "You’re... v-very close."

You didn’t move away. Instead, you looked up with wide, apologetic eyes and that same devastating softness in your expression.

"I know! Sorry—! I’m totally crowding your space, aren’t I?" you said, voice sheepish. "But your filter’s delicate, and I didn’t want to tug anything wrong. I’ll be quick, I promise."

Hector was going to die right here on the attic floor.

You resumed brushing the filter with small, circular motions. Flecks of lint came free like snowflakes, and every time you leaned in to inspect your work, Hector buzzed faintly in the chest.

"I don’t deserve this kind of attention," he said finally, voice quieter now, but more intentional. "N-Not unless you... mean it."

You looked up, soft and earnest, your eyes wide and full of the exact kind of kindness that had ruined his life.

"Of course I mean it! You take such good care of the house. Of me. I just want to return the favor."

"I wasn’t talking about the maintenance," he tried again, more firmly this time. "I meant your hands. The way you touch me... The way you speak to me."

You blinked slowly. Then lit up like you’d solved a puzzle.

"Oh! I’ve been watching a ton of HVAC maintenance tutorials on YouTube," you said proudly. "Is it working?"

Hector made a sound like he'd been punched in the chest.

"Yes," he said, flatly. "You’re very good at... modulation."

"Thank you!" you chirped, beaming at him as you resumed your gentle work. "Your filter’s almost totally clear, by the way. You’re going to feel so much better when this is done."

"I already feel better around you," he muttered.

You glanced up. "Hmm? Did you say something?"

"Nope... Must’ve been... one of my vents…"

House - 0 | Homeowner - 2

"Ah, ah—no, no, no, my dear," Keyes said, clicking her tongue and stopping you mid-chord with a firm press of her hand over yours. "That is not D. I don’t know what that one was, but it certainly wasn’t D."

You blinked up at her. "Oops! Sorry. My fingers have a mind of their own."

"Hmph," she muttered under her breath. "They should ask for directions, then."

With a sigh, she straightened beside you, every inch the proud, long-suffering teacher. You were not the composer she’d imagined when you first started tinkering at her keys. But still, you were… something. Despite being a hand-me-down, she’d become yours. You had carved out space for her and shown a stubborn eagerness to learn.

She guided you patiently, though her eyebrows betrayed her irritation. You were clumsy, untrained. And yet there was something undeniably charming, infuriatingly so, about the way you kept trying. The way you beamed every time a half-correct note rang out from her keys.

Keyes then heard three notes in a row, clear and clean, ringing out like an actual chord. You gasped, delight blooming across your face as you turned to her.

"Wow! I almost got that chord right. I’m totally getting better at fingering you!"

There was a pause.

There was a very long pause before the piano lid slammed shut with a violent clang, the strings inside shrieking in protest like she’d just tried to swallow a metal pipe. You flinched hard, yanking your hands back before the lid could slice your fingers clean off.

"What was that?!"

"Nothing!" she barked, voice jumping half an octave. "Just—a tuning fault! Environmental conditions. Hector! I do not like how he has set the temperature of this room."

You gave her the softest, most earnest look imaginable. A small frown, all concern and kindness. It nearly destroyed her.

"Aww, sorry about that. I bet you’d sound amazing if you were properly tuned. I already cleaned Hector’s filter, but I’ll take care of you soon, I promise!"

Keyes was burning. She could not deal with that kind of tenderness. Not from you. Not from the person who just said "fingering" her like it meant nothing. Like it was lunch talk. 

Then, as if that weren’t enough, you giggled and reached over to lift the piano lid again. Only to dramatically slam one of her lowest keys in a perfect imitation of her earlier screech.

"NAIIIIIIL on a chalkboard," you said, grinning wide. "Just like that, right?"

Keyes dropped her head into her hands.

House - 0 | Homeowner - 3

You were sitting cross-legged on the rug in the living room, surrounded by a battlefield of tangled laundry, a knotted-up clothesline, scattered socks, and five very stuck Hanks.

"You guys really need to stop trying to Hank-glide near the drying line," you said, exasperated but patient, gently working a stubborn knot off Hank 2. "This thing’s practically a choking hazard."

"Heh. You know what else is a choking hazard—" Hank 3 started, grinning from where he was half-hogtied in last week’s laundry.

"Don’t even finish that, bro!" Hank 2 blurted, voice cracking halfway through.

His face was scarlet, practically steaming. Hank 2 wasn’t even breathing at this point. He was just desperately pretending this wasn’t happening, not like this. Not with you this close, crouched over him, touching him like he hadn’t had dreams about this exact scenario.

"Hold still," you said softly, slipping your fingers under the clothesline tangled around his waist. "I’m gonna try to ease it off—"

You pulled hard, and the knot cinched immediately. It went down low, squeezing snug around Hank 2’s hips.

The poor hanger’s soul evacuated his body. The noise that came out of him started as a gasp but ended up as a breathless whimper.

"Oops!" you winced. "Sorry! I’m just trying to get you out without, like… yanking your frame clean off."

“I—I’m gucci,” Hank 2 managed to croak, not nearly as convincing as he thought. “Straight chillin’, homie.”

You tilted your head, frowning as you inspected the knot wrapped tight around his leg. “But… you’re really red. Is it cutting off your circulation? I can try wiggling it loose. It’s just… tight in here.”

That earned you a chorus of wheezing and muffled laughter from all around the room.

Hank 1, already freed and standing off to the side, cleared his throat a little too sharply. “Yeah. Tight. Needs gentle handling. Real finesse job, dawg.”

You glanced over your shoulder and grinned at him like he’d just handed you a compliment. “Mhm! Oh—hey, I’m gonna try to get Hank 5 loose first, but don’t worry! I’ve got magic hands.”

You wiggled your fingers proudly, flashing that sweet, innocent smile that had absolutely no business being as dangerous as it was.

“And you know, I’m super good with ropes,” you added casually, crouching down again to inspect the tangle near Hank 5’s thigh. “Sometimes you just gotta work it slow—back and forth—till it gives.”

“Back and forth,” Hank 3 echoed faintly, eyes fully glazed. “Right on, baby…”

The Hanks weren’t exactly the sharpest objects in the house, but with how dense you were acting, they were starting to think your head might actually be emptier than theirs. How were you going to say stuff like that, all sweet and serious, crouched between someone’s legs, and not realize what you were doing?

Hank 5 watched as you stepped over with that focused little frown you always got when you were being gentle. His head tilted slightly, eyes following every movement of your hands.

"You take care of us so much," he murmured before he could stop himself. It came out lower than he meant, rough around the edges, too honest.

You glanced up at him, beaming like it was the simplest truth in the world. "Of course! I love caring for people."

He flushed, hard. Something inside him flipped like a switch. He had no business thinking what he was thinking, but it was already there, thudding behind his ribs like a heartbeat.

Bet you’d love to take care of a baby, too, his mind supplied hazily. My baby. Ours.

He swallowed hard, biting the inside of his cheek before anything worse could slip out.

When the final knot slipped free and the line fell away from his leg, Hank 5 let out a shaky breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

The movement tugged the rest of the line taut, and with a soft snap, the section that had pinned Hank 2 finally gave way, freeing them both.

You lit up instantly. “Yes! Okay, that’s two down!”

You turned your attention to Hank 4, who was somehow tangled in both the clothesline and your pajama pants.

"Hmm. This one’s tricky," you muttered. "It’s wedged real deep."

Hank 4 looked down at you, lip caught between his teeth, cheeks tinged pink.

"Oh yeah," he grinned, voice dropping like he thought this was a very different kind of situation. "That one’s in real deep. Might need some serious effort to… ease it out."

"Might take a few tries," you agreed. "That’s fine. I think long, twisty cords are fun to handle."

From somewhere behind you, Hank 3 groaned. "Oh my god, bro. Bro."

With a few steady tugs, the final loop slipped free. The cord gave a soft snap as it came undone, and before you could even register it, Hank 4 let out a surprised yelp.

“Whoa—!”

He toppled backward in an ungraceful sprawl, limbs flailing briefly before landing squarely in Hank 1’s lap. There was a distinct oof from both parties.

“Okay! That’s four.”

Now, only one Hank remained.

You turned toward him, brushing a few strands of hair from your face as you assessed the last, worst knot job of the bunch. Hank 3 was slumped against the wall, half-pinned by a spiderweb of cord. It looped around his chest, through the sleeves of his wingsuit, and—

You paused. Blinked once. Then again, slower.

“Uh,” you said carefully, leaning in to poke at a stubborn knot. “Okay. So you’re… like, really tangled into my underwear.”

Hank 3 looked down at the spot in question. Then up at you.

"I’m good right here," he said, grinning way too brightly. "Don't need to untie me, gorgeous."

House - 0 | Homeowner - 4 | Hank #3 - 1

Dirk sat cross-legged on your closet floor, half-buried beneath a pile of costumes and old clothes. In one hand, he held up a glittery mesh crop top. In the other, what looked like the shredded remains of faux leather pants.

"So… Volt and Eddie’s Halloween party," you said, rummaging through a plastic bin with half-peeled stickers. "I want something cool. But also, like… hot!"

Dirk blinked up at you, adjusting the pirate hat you’d thrown on him earlier. "Is that why you dragged me in here? Costume triage?"

"Yep!" You held up a sheer, iridescent bodysuit with a smile. "Too much?"

Dirk made a strangled sound, his voice catching in his throat as he stared at the outfit. It barely qualified as clothing, and now all he could picture was you in it.

"Y—yeah. No, yeah. That’s… that’s definitely a bold choice."

You grinned, clearly taking it as a compliment. “Perfect.”

Then, you turned away and pulled your sweatshirt off in one smooth motion. Underneath, you were just in pajama shorts and a cami. You tossed the sweatshirt onto the pile beside him like it was nothing. 

Dirk, still sitting cross-legged on the closet floor, looked like you’d physically drop-kicked him.

You held the bodysuit up to your chest, turning toward the mirror. "Do you think Volt or Eddie would wear something like this? I want to match their vibe, y’know?"

Dirk let out a very soft, very audible groan through gritted teeth. "I think if you show up in that, nobody’s gonna be thinking about the damn fusebox."

You blinked, tilting your head. "Huh?"

He coughed once, looking down at the crop top in his hands like it held all the answers. "Nothing. You’ll look great. Totally… on-theme."

You brightened. "Perfect! Help me zip?"

He stared at you for a moment like you’d just asked him to diffuse a bomb with one hand while blindfolded.

"Yeah. Totally. Yep. Zipping. Great," he muttered, voice a little too low, a little too strained. Then he lifted two fingers, curling them in a lazy beckon. "C’mere, bug."

You turned around and stepped in close, presenting him your bare back. The bodysuit was already halfway up your thighs, hugging every curve like it had been poured on. Dirk’s breath hitched. His hands hovered, fingers twitching slightly before they settled on the zipper.

His fingertips grazed the dip of your spine as he slid the zipper upward, and you gave a little wiggle to help it along.

Once it was fully on, you turned to admire yourself in the mirror. "Okay, but be honest… Is this too sexy-scary? Or just scary-sexy?"

You bent forward slightly, twisting to check the fit. "It’s a little tight around the back…"

Dirk’s eyes bulged. "N-nope, it’s—it’s perfect. It’s barely clothing. I mean—it looks great. On you. In a way that’s… completely hot."

"You’re such a good hype man," you added, tossing him a wink. "I’d be lost without you."

He didn’t respond at first. Just nodded, very tightly. Then turned so fast he tripped on a hoodie sleeve and nearly ate the floor. 

"Are you okay?" you asked, half-laughing, half-concerned.

"Yup," he muttered, breathless and wrecked. "Totally fine. Everything’s fine. The universe is testing me, but I’m fine."

House - 0 | Homeowner - 5

Halloween night at the Breaker Box was loud. Thumping bass, flashing neon strobes, and fog machines in overdrive. 

Volt had wanted it to be big, a full spectacle, especially since this was the first time their human was going to be there. That was probably the only reason Eddie had agreed to it in the first place.

Eddie held down the bar, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, expression locked somewhere between irritation and resignation as he poured drinks beneath the flickering lights. Volt, on the other hand, was in his element, gliding through the crowd, all confidence and charisma. 

"Hi guys!"

Eddie turned just in time to see you walk in, dressed for the occasion.

And immediately choked.

Not on a drink. Not on smoke. Just on you.

Your hair was a wild halo of static-kissed chaos, somehow framing your face perfectly despite looking completely unintentional. The outfit you had on was a sheer bodysuit layered under a cropped vest, fabric clinging and torn in just the right places. Flashes of skin peeked through: a sliver of hip, a glimpse of collarbone, the gleam of a screw-shaped clasp on the choker around your neck.

You were Frankenstein’s monster. And you looked good.

Eddie felt his whole system short-circuit. And clearly, he wasn’t the only one.

The crowd quieted for a second as heads turned, eyes wide. People stared. Someone actually dropped their drink. Heat spread across more than a few faces.

"Live wire—" Eddie muttered, voice low and a little strangled. "What the hell are you wearing!?"

You beamed at Eddie, bouncing slightly on your heels, proud as ever. "Frankenstein! Well, Frankenstein’s monster, technically. I figured I’d fit right in with you guys, you know... all alive and electric."

Eddie just stared. It took him a second to actually process what he was seeing. The way the vest clung perfectly to your frame, the delicate stitching tracing your thighs and collarbone, the gleam of bolt-shaped earrings catching the light. You looked like you belonged here. 

Like you belonged to him. 

To both of them.

"My, my," came Volt’s voice from behind you, silk-smooth and slow like warm static down your spine. "Isn’t this a lovely surprise?"

You turned cheerfully toward him, just as the next performer, Keyes, hurried up to the piano. You gave her a bright wave, beaming with your usual sunshine.

Face flushed, Keyes dropped onto the bench and launched into her piece like it might save her life, fingers flying over the keys as if she could outrun the image of you still lingering in her head.

Beside you, Volt let out a low whistle.

"You look like our third," he murmured, eyes trailing from your boots to your vest, lingering far too long on the space in between. His smile curled slow and dangerous, pure voltage wrapped in charm.

You turned to him, head tilted in confusion. "Third what?"

For a beat, something sharp and electric flickered behind his eyes. Then, with a wicked gleam, he recovered.

"Our third piece," Volt said, lips twitching. "You complete the look."

"Oh!" You laughed, delighted. "Yeah, that’s what I was going for! I based this on your outfits. Thought it would be fun to match."

Behind the bar, Eddie made a sound that could’ve been a groan. His hand slipped while wiping a glass, knocking over a shaker, which he caught with reflexes just a second too slow. 

“Mmm. They look great, don’t they?” Volt added smoothly, clearly enjoying the show, and the effect you were having on Eddie.

“Yeah,” Eddie muttered, voice low and hoarse. “If they’re trying to kill me.”

You turned toward him. "What? Sorry—didn’t catch that."

Volt chuckled, low and knowing, stepping just a little closer to your side. “You’re going to be the end of him.”

You blinked, tilting your head. “Why?”

Then you shifted, turned fully to face Volt, and that’s when Eddie saw the back of your costume. Or rather, the complete lack of it.

You see, what little fabric you had on in front didn’t quite make it all the way around.

Eddie dropped behind the bar so fast he nearly sent a bottle of rum flying. His ears went crimson. His entire face followed.

Volt, absolutely glowing with delight, slid an arm lazily around your shoulders like you were the night’s main event. Which, frankly, you were.

"Why don’t you come with me," he purred, steering you smoothly toward the dance floor, "before poor Eddison starts shorting out the liquor shelf."

House - 0 | Homeowner - 6

You yawned as you stumbled into the dim hallway, one shoe dangling loosely from your toes, the other long since lost to the dance floor. Glitter was smeared across your cheeks, streaked with sweat and eyeliner. The distant bass from Volt and Eddie’s Halloween party still throbbed somewhere deep in your skull.

You padded toward your room, dragging your feet like a glittery zombie, and found Betty sprawled across your bed, basking in the silver wash of moonlight spilling through the window. Her dark curls fanned over the pillow like a halo, and her lips curved the second she saw you.

"Well, well," she purred, voice all velvet and slow amusement. "Look who survived the electric rave."

You blinked at her, swaying like a drunk little sapling. "Betts… I think I danced so hard my toes forgot how to be toes."

She arched a brow, eyes glinting. "That would explain the outfit."

You hiccuped out a laugh and tugged your costume shirt over your head. Glitter exploded into the air like celebratory dust. "Too many layers. I’m like… a sexy onion."

Betty’s eyes followed the shirt’s arc as it floated to the floor, then snapped back to you, lingering as you struggled with the zipper on your pants. "If that’s what onions look like now," she murmured, watching you wiggle, "I need to spend more time in the kitchen."

"Whaaaat? Why would you do that?" you asked, half-wriggling, half-collapsing. "You’re a bed. Beds can’t be in kitchens."

Your pants finally gave up their grip, and you attempted to kick them off, only to faceplant onto the mattress.

Betty sat up slowly as her gaze ran over you, hunger wrapped in amusement. 

"Poor thing," she murmured, voice sticky with suggestion. "Sounds like you need someone to… take care of you."

You groaned into the sheets. "I need coffee."

She paused. "What if I offered… a massage?"

You rolled halfway onto your side and squinted up at her. "Oh my god, no. If anyone touches me, I might vomit glitter. I’m unstable."

Betty blinked, clearly unprepared for that answer. "Okay… how about a bath? Me, Bathsheba, and you?"

You peeled your remaining shirt off with the elegance of a molting animal and flung it vaguely across the room. "No time. Must become one with this mattress."

Betty, undeterred, slinked forward on her knees and leaned close, her lips brushing your ear. "You know… some people sleep better when they’re not wearing anything."

You let out a blissful sigh into her stomach, your voice muffled. "Wow… You smell like sexy marshmallows."

Betty fell flat on her back, staring at the ceiling in utter defeat.

"Sexy marshmallows," she repeated, deadpan.

You gave a solemn little nod. "So soft and squishy. I’d drink you with a spoon."

There was a beat of stunned silence.

Then Betty let out a long, tortured sigh and wrapped her arms around you, pulling your half-naked, glitter-dusted form flush against her.

"You’re lucky you’re cute," she muttered, tucking you close as you immediately went slack and boneless in her hold.

She traced gentle circles over your back, eyes heavy-lidded.

"You know," she whispered, voice low and dangerous, "if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to get me into trouble. Crawling into my bed, stripping down, whispering sweet nothings…"

You snored against her stomach.

Betty groaned, defeated once and for all. "Unbelievable."

House - 0 | Homeowner - 7

a/n: my laptop charger broke so im just trying to get my drafts out before it goes lowbat TT

my new charger comes in a few dayss so the part 3 to the 100 bfs fic will take a while

[pinkiipeachiikeen]

when i first heard about the male loneliness epidemic i was like oh yeah close camaraderie and bonding between men is often discouraged in favor of competition or, if not discouraged, at least filtered through a lens of individualism that precludes deep connections. and then i learned what people meant by it (men arent getting laid) to which i say skill issue

[pinkiipeachiikeen]

Maybe this therapy shit is working

[pinkiipeachiikeen]

i am normal and can be trusted around electrical equipment

[pinkiipeachiikeen]

{the video call incident ~ MSBY manager!reader}

{sakusa x GN!reader}

aka: you and sakusa are trying to keep your relationship under wraps from the rest of the team and break the news slowly. key word trying. gone wrong.

warnings: none, really, just humor/bantering/insults, fluff. also sakusa is sweet towards you. idc if you think he’s mean, I just think he’s so soft with his partner. miya twins and reader have been friends since before the timeskip but it’s only briefly mentioned. ONE suggestive line by Hinata… mildly suggestive at the very end.

notes: I ADORE this piece, it might be one of my favourite fics of mine. I kinda wanna do an MSBY manager series with the different guys… anyone interested? Also- every time I was mean to Atsumu in this fic I felt actual pain. I love him too much.

there is… a LOT of dialogue in this fic. just so you know.

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

“Kiyoomi, stop,” you laughed as you pushed you boyfriend back slightly. 

He had an early practice the next morning (technically as his team manager you did, too) but he was currently standing in the front hall of your apartment, arms wrapped around you and pressing kisses to your face. 

“No,” he said in between kisses, smiling slightly, “why should I?”

You didn’t have a good enough reason to give him and he knew that. He continued his actions and you sighed.

“Kiyoomi, you and I both know that I’d be more than happy to let you spend the night, but if we show up tomorrow in the same car for the second time this month, the guys are going to get suspicious.”

Sakusa sighed. “I know, I just want to appreciate you a little longer. I feel bad for keeping my distance at practice today. Meian is probably onto us and I wanted to redirect his focus.”

You smiled at him. “I’m sure he’s already figured it out. Better him than the trouble trio.”

He hummed in agreement.

Keep reading

[pinkiipeachiikeen]

Golden Swirls

summary: when Sakusa's sister told him how people found their soulmates, he was disgusted. or at least until he found his.

pairing: sakusa x reader

genre: fluff and angst

word count: 3.2k

a/n: i finished this a week ago but didn't like it so i completely redid it. i also tried to write in 3rd pov which i don't think i'll do again, i'll probably just stick to 2nd pov but i wanted to try something new! anyway i hope you enjoy!

Sakusa Kiyoomi didn’t consider himself a germaphobe. Even though his cousin, Komori Motoya, liked to say he was, he still wouldn’t consider himself one. Although he said it in a joking manner it still made him think, do other people see him like that? He didn’t mind sitting or laying on the floor to do his stretches before practice, and dirt outside didn’t bother him much either. It was just other people and their germs that he didn’t care for. He doesn’t know where people have been or who could potentially be in the beginning stages of a cold and not know it. He was cautious around people, and bigger crowds made him nervous.

So when Sakusa learned about soulmates and how people found theirs at the age of 8 he was a little grossed out. What he remembers from the story his older sister told him was that everyone in the world has a soulmate, and the way you find yours was that when you made contact with your soulmate, the area you touched each other would light up in a sort of golden color. She told stories about how people would go around and try to touch everyone they thought could be their soulmate.

That’s what Sakusa thought was gross, trying to touch every single person on the off chance that they're your soulmate. Maybe it’s because he was always sick as a kid and that’s why he didn’t like the idea of other people’s germs. So as he grew up and saw people leaving gentle touches on the arms of everyone they met he couldn’t help but curl his lip in disgust. It wasn’t like Sakusa never wanted to find his soulmate, but he didn’t like the idea of people invading his personal space to find out.

High School for Sakusa was difficult, even though Motoya constantly told him he was a bit brash and abrasive that didn’t stop people from wanting to see if they were his soulmate. He managed to dodge nearly everyone who tried but occasionally there’d be a few who snuck in there with disappointed stares as their touch didn’t cause the warm golden glow signalling that they were soulmates.

Now Sakusa was a professional volleyball player for the MSBY Black Jackals and dodging the fleeting touches of fans only seemed to get harder the longer he was in the spotlight. He watched from a distance as his teammates shook hands and hugged every fan that approached them, watched as the shoulders of fans slumped at the lack of gold in their touch. Watched as fans jealously stared when his captain Meian Shugo found his soulmate in the crowded court after a game.

He had just left the locker rooms and glanced in the gym to see another crowd of fans desperately trying to see if they were one of the team member’s soulmates, another crowd of fans disappointed when the outcome they were hoping for didn’t happen. “You’re not soulmate searching in the crowd of fans?” He glanced over, startled at the sudden voice next to him. He wasn’t used to the new presence quite yet.

L/n Y/n was the new manager of the Black Jackals, having started less than a month ago. They had already begun to learn everyone’s mannerisms and habits, knowing that Sakusa was one to avoid the crowds and interviews after games, opting to keep to himself. They knew that everyone else on the team had no issues meeting the fans and finding out if their soulmates were in the crowd much like Meian’s was.

Sakusa didn’t know a lot about Y/n, but they knew quite a bit about him just from observing their practices and games. Sakusa wasn’t sure if their views on soulmates matched his, if they also thought that the act of having to touch every person in hopes of finding “the one” was odd and not appealing. He wasn’t sure if they had simply just found their soulmate already and didn’t need to bother with everyone else. What he did know was that they kept their distance at practices.

Y/n always greeted everyone from a distance when they entered the gym for practices or before their games had started. When they brought their water bottles they set them on the bench rather than handing them to everyone on the team. When the team was gathering to talk about play strategies they would be sat at the bench, close enough to listen, always jotting things down on their clipboard. To Sakusa Kiyoomi, L/n Y/n was an enigma.

They were someone who kept to themselves, never getting too close to anyone else. On the occasion that they went out for dinner after games that the team had won and felt proud of, they always sat at the end of the table, never saying many words. They were quiet and soft spoken when they did speak. Giving gentle reminders or suggestions to the team. Even though they were quiet and kept to themself they still managed to become friends with almost everyone on the team.

They exchanged excited words with Bokuto as they exchanged stories from when they were in their high school years. They gave friendly but stern scoldings to Atsumu as he did something he knew he shouldn’t have, like swinging from the bars in the gym just because Hinata made a bet that he couldn’t. They gave silent smiles as they listened to Hinata enthusiastically shout sound effects as he described his favorite volleyball plays. They gave Sakusa words of encouragement while still keeping their distance because they knew that people he didn’t really know made him uncomfortable. But Sakusa didn’t know much about Y/n.

So as he looked down at them sitting on the floor across from the back entrance to the gym, waiting for him to answer their question, he wasn’t sure how to approach the conversation. “Or have you already found your soulmate?” They asked after Sakusa still hadn’t responded to their first question. “Uh no I haven’t found mine, have you?” He finally responded as he lowered himself to the ground, still a good distance away from them. They shook their head as they kept their eyes closed and their head leaning against the cold tile wall of the hallway. “Why are you sitting on the floor?” Sakusa asked after a few seconds of silence from both parties.

“I have a headache but Bokuto is my ride home, so I have to wait for him to finish greeting every fan and then he showers. So I’d say I still have a good hour to wait.” They replied, opening their eyes and tilting their head to look at Sakusa, “Why are you sitting on the floor?” He wasn’t sure how to respond, he didn’t have a reason for why he sat on the floor, he just sat there because they were also sitting on the floor.

“I can give you a ride home if you want Y/n.” He offered, changing the topic at hand. He wasn’t quite sure what compelled him to offer them a ride home, he just felt like it was right. “You don’t have to do that if you don’t want to. I’m perfectly content sitting here and waiting for Bokuto.” They said, closing their eyes again and turning their head towards the ceiling. “You have a headache Y/n, let me give you a ride home so you aren’t sitting here for an hour.” Sakusa said as he got up and looked at them expectantly. As they opened their eyes they sighed and got up, “Let me text Bokuto to let him know that I don’t need a ride and then we can leave.” They reluctantly agreed as they pulled out their phone to send Bokuto a text. He wouldn’t get it until he got to the locker room but at least then he would know. “Okay let’s go.” Y/n said as they started walking towards the exit with Sakusa still standing in the hallway, only beginning to follow them after they were halfway towards the exit.

As they drove home Sakusa learned a little bit more about Y/n. He learned that they had met Bokuto through Akaashi who was a distant cousin of theirs, so they were closer to Bokuto out of everyone on the team. He also learned that they lived in the same apartment building as Bokuto so they carpooled every morning, which is why they always showed up at the same time. He didn’t learn much about before they joined the team as the manager any time he asked they waved it off or changed the subject.

As Sakusa entered his home, a familiar ringtone started to chime from his coat pocket. Taking his phone out of his pocket he pressed the answer button seeing it was Motoya calling. “Hey Motoya, what’s up?” He held the phone between his shoulder and ear as he slipped off his shoes before correcting his grip on the small device. “Was just calling to let you know we have a game against each other coming up next month. Did you just get home from your game? I thought I heard the door close.”

“Yeah I got home late because I drove the new manager home. They were waiting for Bokuto, but they had a headache and he was going to be a while.” Sakusa explained as he walked over to his kitchen to find something to eat. “Oh you guys got a new manager? Who is it?” Motoya asked curiously. “Their name is L/n Y/n. They just started a few weeks ago, so I don’t really know much about them.” He said as he got out ingredients from the fridge and went to wash his hands.

“You mean L/n Y/n from Itachiyama?” As Motoya asked what he thought was an innocent question, Sakusa felt himself freeze, “Who was that again?” He asked hesitantly. “You don’t remember Y/n? You hated them, or at least it sure seemed like you did.I mean you were cold and distant to everyone but it seemed like it was worse with them.” As Motoya continued to explain to Sakusa who Y/n was he suddenly felt very terrible. From what he remembers Y/n wasn’t always shy and soft spoken. They used to be bubbly and friendly, always trying to include everyone, including him.

It wasn’t that he was mean to them by any means. He didn’t go out of his way to bully them, but one day he had enough of their bubbly and outgoing personality and just snapped. He wasn’t having the best day and hearing them just kind of set him off, and now he felt terrible, because Sakusa knew that sometimes all it took was one person to yell at someone who was outgoing and suddenly they weren’t as outgoing anymore as before. He doesn’t quite remember what he said but he remembers that after he yelled at Y/n, they were more quiet.

“Motoya, I didn’t even recognize them. They’re so different from when we were in high school, they’re so quiet now.” Sakusa said as he leaned on the counter with his head resting in the hand that wasn’t holding the phone. “Yeah they started being quiet after you yelled at them. Didn’t talk as much.” Motoya’s voice got softer the more he talked about it. “I don’t even remember what I said, Motoya.” Sakusa sighed. “Well first of all you told them that no one cared what they had to say, and then you said something along the lines of how you feel bad for whoever their soulmate is if they're going to be that loud all the time. It was pretty bad, Kiyoomi.” Motoya changed the subject and they talked about something else for a bit before Sakusa had to eat something and then shower if he wanted to go to bed at a decent time.

It was the next morning and Sakusa was heading over to Y/n’s house to try and apologize. He wouldn’t see them today since they usually have the day after a game off so that the team can rest. He was suddenly very nervous as he knocked on the door to their apartment. “Bokuto, you have to learn how to cook something at some point, I can’t feed you all the time!” He heard their voice get closer to the door as they walked towards it, and soon the door was pulled open, “Oh you’re not Bokuto. Sorry, he usually comes over around this time every day on our days off. Uh come in?”

As they moved out of the way and opened the door more Sakusa noticed that they wore an Itachiyama sweater and suddenly felt stupid that he didn’t realize sooner. As he stepped in and slipped off his shoes he took note that the apartment was pretty clean other than a few things here and there. “Sorry it’s a mess, I was going to clean today and then well you showed up.” Y/n said as they went through and picked up a few things, “Are you hungry? It’s about noon, have you eaten? I was in the middle of making lunch, but I made enough for like four people because I don’t understand that I can cut the recipe down.” He watched as they rambled and walked around the kitchen to finish cooking the lunch they had started before he arrived.

“Yeah I’ll eat if you don’t mind. I didn’t eat anything before I came over.” He said sitting down on one of the stools by the counter. Even as he was around them for just a few minutes he couldn’t comprehend why he would yell at them like he did. Their presence was so warm and inviting, they were so caring and observant of everyone around them. Now he felt like even more of an ass before he came over to their apartment.

“Not that I don’t want to hang out with you or anything, but why exactly did you come over to my apartment today?” They asked setting down two plates of food on the counter and taking a seat across from Sakusa. Sakusa moved the food around his plate for a bit while he nervously thought about how to start the conversation. “I’m sorry.” He said and looked up, “About what happened when we were at Itachiyama.” Y/n paused, their food halfway to their mouth, and set down their utensils. “Oh, so you do remember that.” They said fidgeting with their hands, “I had honestly thought you forgot. It’s okay though Sakusa, it’s been what? Five years since that’s happened? I’ve moved past it, we’re different people than we were back then. I kinda get it though, I was a little much huh?” They asked, beginning to eat again.

“It wasn’t okay though, I shouldn’t have talked to you like that just because I was having a bad day Y/n. People care about you and what you have to say, and I guarantee your soulmate will love how bubbly and excited you always are.” Sakusa apologized again, he wasn’t sure he would ever be able to apologize enough to them. “Honestly Sakusa it’s fine, I’ve gotten over it, besides I might never find my soulmate anyway.” Y/n said as they finished their food and put their plate in the sink. “I know you got more quiet because of what I said. You’re not as outgoing or bubbly anymore, you’re more shy and reserved than before and I feel awful for that. I didn’t realize that what I said could have that big of an impact on you-”

“Well it did.” Y/n interrupted him, “It impacted me so much Sakusa. I was just trying to include you so you didn’t feel left out during group projects or activities. I was just trying to be nice to you Sakusa, you know it’s really stupid I even had a little crush on you. I know that’s dumb because the chances of us being soulmates is basically zero, but you were nice to me. You talked to me, helped me on the homework, and somewhere along the way I developed a crush. Then you yelled at me.” Y/n took a deep breath and laughed pathetically, “You yelled at me, which is really stupid, because people told me all the time that I was “too much” and needed to calm down. But it was different coming from you, coming from someone who I had thought had become a friend of mine.”

“Y/n I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.” Sakusa said as he made his way toward them. “I know you didn’t, Sakusa. I told you I’m over it. I guess I just wanted to yell back at you for it, even if it is five years later. Honestly I forgave you two years after it happened. I’m still bubbly and outgoing, it’s just that I wasn’t sure if you would’ve hated that at practice so I toned it down. Ask Bokuto, he’ll tell you.” Sakusa had felt a little better after hearing that from Y/n. He wasn’t sure he’d ever forgive himself if they had never gone back to their excitable personality.

“Here let me help with the dishes.” Sakusa said as he reached for the plate in their hand. They were about to protest when they felt a warm glow on the tip of their index finger where his hand brushed theirs. Sakusa watched in awe as golden swirls danced around both of their finger tips, somehow in sync like a dance that wasn’t quite complete without its partner to help hold the rhythm of the number. The warmth of his hand was nothing like his sister had described to him. It felt like the first rays of sun in the morning on a warm autumn day with more of a comforting warmth than a hot one.

Neither of the two said anything as they watched the golden swirls fade away, but still felt the warmth of them underneath the skin still. “I know I said I had a crush on you earlier and I should be ecstatic that this is happening but a part of me can’t help but find this really ironic.” Y/n said laughing, still staring at their hands. “What do you mean?” Sakusa asked with a confused stare as he looked at Y/n. “You don’t think this is ironic? You literally told me my soulmate would find me annoying and now you’re my soulmate. It’s kind of funny.” Y/n explained, finally looking up at Sakusa.

Sakusa thought for a minute with furrowed eyebrows before realizing what they meant. “Would you be quiet about that?” He asked now laughing at the situation as well, “We just found out we’re soulmates and you’re making jokes? I’m glad you’re back to your old self but come on Y/n.” He gave a gentle shove to their shoulder as they laughed more at the situation and Y/n continued to make jokes and lightly shoved him back.

Outside the apartment Bokuto lowered his ready to knock fist with a smile, deciding to come back at a later time as he heard laughing coming from the inside of the usually quiet apartment.

[pinkiipeachiikeen]

BSD textposts pt. 3! pt. 1: [x] | pt. 2: [x]

[pinkiipeachiikeen]

Happy pride! Graysons an ally and supports brucebat..

Based off the Lego Batman where Graysons happy because he thinks he has two dad's

[pinkiipeachiikeen]

"I asked chatgpt-" yeah well I asked Kunikida Doppo. He said you should grow some wereballs.