#mori: i have a mission for you two

[i-eat-mold]

I am eating your sketch refs of teen skk

they are yummy and very scrumptious

apologies they are GONE now but nom nom nom

NO MY CHILDREN

i had to draw this so quickly on my phone but you don’t understand i HAD to. so here’s a snack for you my guy

they sent this to mori

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 I HAVE HOPE (SHE'S BLIND WITH NO NAME)

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: dazai underestimated just how hard it would be on him trying to get close to you again, and he overestimated his ability to separate his mess of emotions concerning you from the mission. that being said, he finds himself confused more than anything else, because he doesn't understand why you're not suspicious of him like you were the first time. and every potential answer he comes to makes his chest weigh heavier and heavier with guilt.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: PART THREE AT LASTTTTTTT I HOPE U ENJOY !!! this chapter was fun for me because we really see just how all of this is affecting reader, she's becoming much more reckless/careless about things & dazai is finally seeing it because it's directed toward him and its eating him up inside. next chapter is going to be VERY fun. reblogs and comments always appreciated!!

GENERAL WARNINGS: fem!reader, port mafia boss!reader, civilian!dazai, mentions of alcoholism, temporary amnesia, dazai is mentally unstable, so is reader (it's pretty apparent in this chapter), both of them are struggling LOL, grieving (reader), a bit of suicide ideation (that's a given from dazai, a little bit from reader too), as always: reader is part of the mafia, expect mafia behavior from her, she is not a good person.

SEE: THE LAND IS INHOSPITABLE (BUT ARE WE?) SERIES MASTERLIST

Usually, the cafe you get your coffee from is slow this early in the morning—you’re in and out within five minutes. The sun has barely just risen, and the morning air is still too brisk for comfort, and yet you’ve been waiting in line for twenty minutes now. Klaus has been complaining incessantly about wanting to go somewhere else for coffee and breakfast, but you want a muffin from here, and you refuse to start off what’s already going to be a bad day by having to go somewhere else.

“I think I’d rather kill myself than wait a second longer,” Klaus complains so loudly that people look your way. You sigh heavily and give him a withering look, silently telling him to be quiet. Instead, he repeats louder, “I think I would rather—”

“Quiet,” you say sharply, keeping your voice low, and Klaus slumps over with a scowl. “If you’ve forgotten, there’s currently an active manhunt for you. I shouldn’t have even brought you here—I should’ve taken Akutagawa or Atsushi.”

“Don’t say that,” he pouts dramatically. “I’m in disguise.”

You roll your eyes at him, but don’t respond. His disguise is a baseball cap and sunglasses, which is probably more suspicious than if he’d come in none considering it’s cloudy today. There are only two more people left in front of you, and you’re just about ready to get back to headquarters to prepare for your next meeting with Cao Xueqin. 

It’s going to be a long day of playing word games with each other—you just need to stall long enough to give Qu Yuan of the South’s Song a chance to make a move in Beijing. You’re not happy about having to go to the woman for help, but you know she’s been dying for the chance to knock the Red Chamber down a peg. The only issue now is that you’ll be forced to send your own men to help her when it inevitably blows up into war, which you were trying to avoid. But you suppose it’s a small price to pay to ensure you’re not facing a three-front war in the heart of Port Mafia territory.  

You step up to the register to talk to the girl behind the counter, who immediately lowers her head in recognition. “Ah! I, uh, didn’t realize you were waiting in line, Miss Mori. I’m sorry. Are you in a rush? We can speed along your order.”

You have to force yourself not to cringe at how she addresses you.

“Y—” You start to say, but pause when you see something—someone—from the corner of your eye. Is that the boy from the bar the other night? “Take your time. It’s no rush.”

“What!” Klaus squawks. “I’m hungry.”

“Put your order in and shut up,” you tell him, distracted. “Put mine in too.”

“Are you joking—” Klaus complains, but you wave him off as you wander over to the far side of the cafe, tilting your head to the side as you approach the small table Dazai is sitting at.

He’s so absorbed in whatever he’s writing in his journal that he doesn’t even notice you approaching him. Curious, your gaze tracks down to what he’s scribbling—a bullet list, you barely catch the name of the cafe, the time, and the bar you met him at before he notices you from the corner of his eye. 

He physically jumps, startled by your presence, “Jesus!” he gasps, shifting the papers out of sight as he turns to look. He looks like he’s not even sure that you’re there as he squints at you, uncertain. “You—you—”

“Me,” you say with a wry smile, raising your eyebrows as your eyes roam over him. There are dark circles under his eyes—he looks like he hasn’t slept in days. “Wow, look at those bags. Someone hasn’t been sleeping well.”

Dazai’s lips part at your words. He blinks twice as if he thinks he didn’t hear you correctly. “What did you just say?” he rasps. “I—”

“I said someone hasn’t been sleeping well,” you repeat, glancing at the empty seat across from him before, pushing it out and sitting down. Your lips quirk up into a teasing smile. “Too busy thinking of me to sleep?” 

“Yeah, right,” Dazai scoffs, but he looks a bit thrown off by your question, which makes you tilt your head curiously. He shakes his head and asks, “What are you doing here?” 

“Wow,” you repeat, not sure why you’re so amused by the rudeness—usually, it would only serve to piss you off, but it’s almost refreshing right now. “Someone’s in a mood. I’m getting coffee—is that a crime now?” 

“Here?” he asks with a frown, looking a bit too disappointed by it.

“Mhm. It’s my favorite place” you agree, leaning back in your seat. “Problem?”

“Just… funny coincidence,” he says, face all twisted up like he doesn’t really mean it.

“Or maybe fate,” you correct, a bit caught off guard by how playful you’re feeling. You haven’t felt this way in… a long time. Since well before you killed Mori. Since Itou was killed. You glance down for a moment, a bit rattled by the sudden thought of both of them. You have to force the next smile on your lips as you ask, “Don’t you believe in fate?”

Something strange crosses his face at your words, but you don’t get an answer from him because someone comes to a stop directly in front of your table. Klaus’s shadow looms over the two of you, you don’t even have to look at him to feel the malice radiating off of him.

“I have to wait on my danish because you want to talk to a boy,” Klaus hisses, glaring at you before turning a cold expression onto Dazai, who looks uncomfortable because of the attention. “Does Chuuya know about him?”

“Klaus, if you mention this to Chuuya…” You don’t finish the threat, giving the younger boy a long look. He sighs, rolling his eyes, but settles down for the most part. “Go away.”

“I really wanted my fucking danish,” he mutters, giving Dazai a suspicious look. “Why’s he so familiar?” 

You raise your eyebrows and say mockingly, “He shouldn’t be to you, you haven’t picked up a book since the EADF dragged you out of your kindergarten class.”

Klaus gapes at you. “I read—” he protests.

“You read takeout menus,” you agree.

“That’s so rude—”

“Go away,” you repeat firmly, rolling your eyes and shaking your head, waving him off.

Klaus casts one more cold, suspicious look at Dazai, but he wanders off to go lean against the wall. You side-eye him when he keeps his gaze trained on the two of you, but he only raises his eyebrows at you.

“Ignore him,” you say as you turn your attention back to Dazai. “He’s insufferable.”

“Who is he?” he asks curiously after clearing his throat. 

Your subordinate in the Mafia, who was stuck in a trafficking ring in Europe for over ten years before another crime lord gifted him to you like he was some sort of pet.

“My brother,” you answer instead after a moment. “What are you doing out so early?”

Dazai pauses like he’s trying to come up with an answer. You tilt your head curiously, and he finally asks defensively, “What makes you think I don’t get up this early usually?” 

Your eyes drift over him once because you say, “Don’t look like the type.”

Dazai scoffs, shifting in his seat. “And what type do I look like?” 

You hum, propping your elbow on the table and resting your chin on your palm as you study him. His shirt is wrinkled, and his bandages are haphazardly wrapped around him, fingers twitching against the wood of the table. Something about him feels off—not the same odd familiarity you felt at the bar, something different this time, you’re not sure what.

“I’ve got some thoughts,” you say after a moment, keeping your voice light.

“Share them with the needy, princess?” he drawls, the corners of his lips curling up into a sharp smile.

Princess. Hime. No one has called you either of those since you took over as boss. And you know it’s a coincidence, there’s no way a random author would be aware of your former title in the Port Mafia, but it still makes you pause to collect yourself.

“Hmm,” you consider, tapping your finger to your chin. “Maybe the next time we meet, I’ll tell you.”

“The next time?” Dazai asks. “You’re already planning our next meeting?” 

“Maybe, or maybe I don’t plan on meeting you again at all, so I don’t ever have to share them,” you answer, and then squint at him. “You’re not stalking me, are you? I’ve never seen you before, now suddenly twice in the same week.”

Dazai doesn’t answer for a second. His expression doesn’t change, but there’s a split second of tension in his jaw before he forces a chuckle. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” he asks. “You showed up at both places after me. I was here first.”

Before you can press further, the cafe worker clears her throat loudly from across the café. “Ma’am, your order’s ready,” she calls loudly, waving you over.

You sigh, standing up and smoothing down your suit jacket. “Well, One Hit Wonder, it’s been fun. Try to get some sleep, will you?” you say. 

“One hit wonder?” Dazai demands loudly, offended, but you only grin to yourself as you walk away, lifting your hand in a lazy wave.

Klaus is already at the counter, shoveling his danish in his mouth, holding both of your coffees, your muffin, and Albatross’s order. You take yours from him and nod for him to follow you out of the cafe. You give him a sharp look when you realize that he’s still scrutinizing Dazai.

“Who was that?” Klaus whispers loudly as soon as the two of you are out of the cafe. “Who—”

“Does it matter?” you ask dryly, smile fading as you take a sip of your coffee. Now to business—you need to figure out the best course of action to keep Cao Xueqin occupied until Qu Yuan can do her thing. “Let’s go.”

“I mean, yeah, kind of,” Klaus says, stopping in his tracks. You sigh as you turn to look at him.

“He’s a civilian, an author I ran into at a bar the other night. He’s not a threat—”

“That’s not what I mean,” Klaus interrupts, rocking on his feet awkwardly, gritting his teeth as he tries to figure out what he wants to say.

“Then what?” you ask, folding your arms over your chest with a frown. “Klaus, we gotta get going—”

“It’s just—” He starts to say, but cuts himself off with a frown. “For a second, you almost looked happy. I haven’t seen you like that in… a long time.”

You look away immediately, swallowing thickly and blinking as you shake your head. “It’s nothing, Klaus,” you tell him quietly. “He’s nothing. Let’s get back to headquarters.”

“If you say so,” Klaus murmurs, continuing down the street to where Albatross is parked and waiting for the two of you. 

Klaus looks like he doesn’t believe you.

You don’t even know if you believe yourself.

Who are you, Dazai Osamu?

------------

Every Wednesday night, you meet your associates at the rooftop restaurant near his campus—the same one you brought him to for your first date. Dazai knows this. You told him this while the two of you were eating dinner, and he finally asked how the hell every waiter seemed to know you personally. You own the whole building, evidently, and it’s your go-to place for wining and dining your Mafia associates. You meet a different one once a week to maintain relations, usually on Wednesdays.

Dazai hasn’t been back here since that night you brought him, mainly because he can’t afford it, but also partly because he thinks he won’t be able to handle being back there when his only memory there is of you. This Wednesday, though, he forces himself to put on the suit you bought him for that government event and drags himself to the restaurant’s bar. You get to your meetings early—always at least fifteen minutes before anyone else arrives, so that you can keep an eye out for any potential traps or set-ups. That’s when he plans on bumping into you.

He had a feeling he was making a mistake as soon as he stepped into the building. It was too… you. The last time he stepped into the lobby, your arm was around his waist, and you guided him to the elevator as you greeted the staff. He got weird looks because he fell out of place amongst the elite of society, but you would rub a soothing circle on the back of his hand or his hip, and he would feel at ease again because he was with you, and he always felt at ease with you. 

Now, you’re not here to keep him at ease, and you’re not around to chase away the lingering stares, and Dazai feels very much out of place sitting at the bar with a glass of whiskey that is far too expensive for his meager wallet. He isn’t exactly sure how he’s going to pay for it, and he’s pretty sure the bartender has realized this from the way he keeps casting suspicious looks in his direction—Dazai had a feeling that the fancy suit would only throw them off for so long. You told him once that the rich sniff out those who don’t belong like bloodhounds, so he knew it was only a matter of time.

“Wow, One Hit Wonder, I think you are stalking me.” He hears your achingly familiar voice say from his left, and Dazai nearly chokes on his whiskey, head snapping to the side to focus on you. 

He knew you were coming, he planned this, but he’s still startled by the sight of you. You look beautiful—always do, but especially right now—you’re dressed in a new suit, arms crossed over your chest, head tilted to the side as you look down at him. Your gaze is soft, fond, and Dazai almost forgets to respond to you because he’s so stunned by the way you’re looking at him.

“I–uh–wouldn’t you be the one stalking me?” he splutters. “I was already here. Both times. All three times. You showed up all three times. You’re the stalker.”

Because he was waiting for you to show up, but you don’t need to know that. Dazai’s mouth dries when you raise your eyebrows at him, amused, and then you take a seat next to him at the bar. Immediately, the bartender comes over to give you your drink—he doesn’t even have to ask you, of course, he would know what you want. Your gaze flickers over to his almost empty glass, and you nod at it.

“Fill his up,” you say. “You can put it on my tab.”

Dazai pretends his cheeks don’t heat up as he averts his gaze, and says loudly, “Well, if it’s going on her tab, bring me calamari too.”

It says right on the sign that food isn’t served at the bar, and Dazai isn’t particularly hungry, but he just wants to see the way the bartender’s face twists up when he realizes that he can’t say no to Dazai because of you. That’s what he gets for giving Dazai dirty looks.

“You heard him,” you agree lazily when the bartender shoots you a questioning look. “Who are we to deny a celebrity?”

“Stop,” Dazai complains, burying his face in his hands. “You didn’t even like the book, stop talking about it.” 

“I did like it,” you disagree, taking a sip of your wine. “I didn’t like the ending.”

“Then you may as well have hated it,” Dazai huffs, crossing his arms over his chest and looking away. “So you don’t get to talk about it.”

“No, I enjoyed it, really,” you insist, leaning back in your seat. Dazai is getting embarrassed; he really needs you to stop talking about his book. “I liked the plot, it was interesting. The romance—”

“Alright,” Dazai complains, flustered, turning his back to you and taking a long swig of his whiskey. “No more. Please.”

Your lips curve up into a small smile, and Dazai’s breath catches. It’s not the same as it was, but it’s close—so close that it makes his heart ache. Your smile is soft, and though your gaze isn’t quite there, it’s not as empty as it was when he met you the other day, and that’s enough to make his throat swell. 

“Fine, fine,” you agree, tossing him a teasing smile as you lean your elbow on the top of the bar. “What are you doing here, One Hit Wonder? Isn’t this place… mm, out of your pay range?”

“Well, that’s rude,” Dazai scowls, but you only look more amused by the expression he makes. “Look at what I’m wearing, what makes you think I can’t afford this?”

Now, Dazai is not and never has been stupid. That being said, he’s also never been particularly smart when you’re involved. He’s made a lot of silly decisions, ranging from trying to blackmail a mafia executive to running off to campus on some righteous mission to prove his worth while there were potentially three different criminal organizations hunting him down. So he realizes a second too late that maybe he shouldn’t have mentioned that his suit is from a luxury boutique that very few can get appointments at. You being one of them.

Your gaze flickers down, interested, and his breath catches when you reach out to touch the material of his suit jacket, pinching the sleeve between your fingers. You tilt your head to the side curiously and say, “This is one of Kido’s… who are you, Dazai?” 

Dazai doesn’t know how to reply to that. Doesn’t know how to tell you that he got this suit with you. Doesn’t know how to tell you that he hardly knows who he is without you anymore. He can’t tell you that he misses you. He can’t tell you that he hates you. He can’t tell you that he loves you. So he stays quiet for too long—so long that it should make you suspicious.

But it doesn’t.

You raise your eyebrows at him. “Well?” you ask, leaning in a little with a flirty smile that flusters him. “C’mon. Give me the crash course, I have to go soon.”

Why aren’t you suspicious?

Dazai takes the out you unintentionally give him. “You just got here,” he complains. “Where are you going already?” 

Why aren’t you suspicious of him? 

Dazai feels sick to his stomach when you roll your eyes at his evasion instead of narrowing them. You should be suspicious of him—you were suspicious of him the first time around. You were suspicious of him when he wasn’t even doing anything wrong, when everything was just chance. Now Dazai is actively manufacturing these meetings with you, and there’s not even a hint of suspicion. 

Why not? What exactly has happened in the last six months?

“Business meeting,” you drawl, waving your hand flippantly. “Terribly boring.”

Dazai swallows the uncertainty bubbling in him, smoothing his hands against his slacks as he asks, “What kind of business are you in?”

You pause to take a sip of your drink, and Dazai can imagine the thoughts running through your head. How do you explain that you’re a mafia boss to a civilian who has “no idea” about what your profession is? It makes Dazai bitter. He knows you, he knows what you do, and he accepted you, and now he has to sit here and pretend he has no idea who you are? It’s so fucked up that it’s almost funny, that he almost wants to laugh, but more than that, he wants to cry. 

“I, uh, took over my father’s company recently,” you say as you take a sip of your wine. 

Ah, that’s right, he thinks bitterly, the Mori Corporation. You’re not even technically lying to him, which somehow is even worse. You’re clearly uncomfortable at the mention of Mori, just like how you were at the bar, but Dazai can’t help the way he twists the knife in deeper by pressing.

Dazai raises his eyebrows in mock curiosity and asks, “Your father owned a company? What type of company?”

He doesn’t find any pleasure in hurting you. He’s vindictive and angry, but the satisfaction he feels when you have to mask the pain on your face dissipates instantly, and then he only feels pain. He doesn’t like hurting you, it hurts him to hurt you—but maybe that’s exactly why he can’t stop himself from digging his fingers into your open wounds and pulling them open more.

You inhale and then say slowly, “It’s a… conglomerate. We have stakes in a bunch of different industries.”

“Impressive,” he forces out, voice strained. “Sounds like a lot of work.”

“Yeah,” you agree faintly. Your gaze flickers up to someone behind Dazai, and you say, “I should go. My meeting is starting soon.”

“Right,” Dazai whispers, gnawing at the inside of his cheek. “Right, okay.”

You rise to your feet and then give him a small smile. It’s soft, gentle, and again, your eyes don’t match—not fully—but they’re not empty. It’s so close to what it used to be that it makes his chest ache with longing. 

“It was nice seeing you again, One Hit Wonder,” you say quietly.

Shit.

“You too,” he says weakly as you turn to leave, walking in the direction of a private room in the back.

You’re still not lying to him. Why not? Why not? Why not? Why was it nice seeing him? Why aren’t you suspicious of him? Dazai feels a bit manic, and he’s realizing too quickly that he might be out of his depth with this mission. Being around you is hell and heaven all at once, and it’s too much for him to handle. He’s so angry at you, but he misses you so much that it makes him sick. 

More than anything now, he’s confused—he doesn’t know what’s going on with you. You didn’t treat him like this the first time. You were so suspicious of him, Dazai could tell, and then at the end, everything with Mori confirmed it. Because even if you did ultimately believe Dazai when it came down to it, you hesitated. 

There was no faking the expression on your face as Mori told him about all of the “schemes” that Dazai concocted to get close to you. You’d believed him so easily because you were suspicious from the start, and Dazai doesn’t understand why you aren’t now. He doesn’t understand why you’re acting this way with him, doesn’t understand the teasing attitude and flirting, he doesn’t understand why you aren’t suspicious of him. You should be suspicious of him, he’s already set up running into you three times within a week and a half. 

You should be suspicious, but you’re not, and Ranpo’s words from the meeting the other day ring through his head. It makes his throat swell terribly with guilt.

Shit. He doesn’t know if he can do this. 

--------

You don’t know why you come to this place. It’s disgusting. The dumping ground by the ports stretches miles along the coast—piles of fragmented shipping containers litter the muddy ground, toxic substances disposed of in the area seep into the open soil, and countless rotting corpses are hidden in the guck, long forgotten, left for the earth to consume. You’re sure that one day you’ll be there amongst them once one of the many attempts on your life succeeds, and decisions like this certainly don’t help your odds.

It’s hard for you to get away from your tails on most days. Klaus is usually attached to your hip even when he’s not technically on duty—he has abandonment issues and gets anxious being apart from you. Akutagawa is impossible to lose if he’s the one meant to be your protection detail for the day. Atsushi’s tiger senses allow him to easily track you down when you try to slip away. 

And Chuuya is Chuuya—nothing else needs to be said there.

But on Fridays, one of the Flags is supposed to be your detail because Klaus and Akutagawa go into Tokyo to handle meetings with the Sun and Steel’s special operations unit, working with Hirotsu to get them merged with the Black Lizard, and Chuuya is busy in virtual meetings all day with Nicomedes Joaquin. The Flags are all too busy to be attached to you at once—usually, it’s Iceman or Albatross that tags along with you where you go, but sometimes it’s one of the other three. 

That being said, since they’re all busy, it’s not too hard to… confuse them. 

You tell Iceman that Albatross is with you, and Albatross that Iceman is. You tell Piano Man and Lippmann that Albatross took over for the day, because those two are more likely to seek him out if they think he’s available, and you tell Doc that Iceman took over for the day, because he’s more likely to seek him out if he thinks he’s available. This way, Albatross and Iceman are left alone to have a day off—Albatross, without fail, goes down to a club in Sakae-ku, and Iceman goes to a bar in Aoba-ku to meet some woman, no one bothers them because they think they’re working, and they both think the other is on the job, so you have at least a handful of hours to do what you want until Chuuya comes looking for you after his meetings. 

You don’t do this often because you don’t want them to catch on, but you have to at least once a month—you just need a few hours to yourself without someone hovering over you. Usually, you go to a park—the fresh air and… normality does you well after weeks of being cooped up in the black towers. But sometimes, you find yourself here: the southern ports in Naka-ku, wandering the edges of the dumping grounds the mafia uses for all of its most unsavory waste. 

You tell yourself it’s because of how forsaken this place is. Nobody comes to this abandoned shipping yard because everybody knows it’s Port Mafia territory—civilians keep a wide berth, even the government refuses to tread through the sludge when they know many of their cold cases would be solved here. You know you won’t be disturbed here—not even animals, field mice, even roaches, none of them come near this dumping ground. This is the only place in Yokohama where, at its center, you won't find a single living being within a mile.

You can think here. You’re not as suffocated by the lack of Mori’s presence and the reminder of what you did to him like you are when you’re in his office, and you don’t have to worry about eyes forever lingering on you. You’re left alone with your thoughts… whether it’s for better or for worse is still up in the air.

You exhale quietly as you step out of the car. You parked on the far end of the shipping yard. Whenever you come here, you walk along the edges of the yard. Usually, one loop is enough for you to clear your head, sometimes two when you’re trying to figure out how to proceed with whatever business is coming up, occasionally three or four if you’re in a particularly bad headspace. 

Today is just business. Two loops, most likely.

You shove your hands in your pockets as you walk down the long abandoned road. War has broken out between the South’s Song and the Red Chamber in Beijing, so Cao Xueqin is out of your hair for the time being. Qu Yuan hasn’t reached out to you for assistance yet, but she will. It’s only a matter of time. You haven’t decided yet who you’re going to send over to her—probably one of Tolstoy’s units, maybe Gorky’s. You don’t want to send over Chekhov’s, you need him available to come to Yokohama once things start heating up with the government. Gorky is more expendable.

But your first priority is figuring out who exactly Dostoevsky’s informant in the government is before any conflicts break out. You need to be able to funnel misinformation to him, because once the military police and the Hunting Dogs come down on Yokohama, you know he’ll follow. He’s always been a vulture, letting other organizations do the dirty work so he can swoop in once and pick at the corpses for what he wants. 

You’ve been testing it over the past few months of meetings with him. He likes flaunting information to you, taunting you with the realization that his rats are everywhere, listening to everything, even in the highest levels of the Japanese government. You know how information trickles down through the government, so every time you know that you’re meeting Dostoevsky, you’ll meet up with certain members of the Diet, Cabinet, and the military in the days before. 

You started broad. You chatted with groups of Representatives and Councillors at events, attended the Prime Minister’s sister’s wedding to whisper some words into the ears of his Cabinet, and met with some of the highest-ranking officers in the military for dinner under the guise of coming to an agreement. You narrowed down the rat to being somewhere within the military, high-ranked at that, because there wasn’t enough time for the information to trickle down into the lower-ranked officers between the time you met with them and the night you met Dostoevsky.

You hope that tomorrow you can figure out if it’s one of the high-ranking officers of the service branches or one of the special operations divisions. You’d prefer it if it’s the former rather than the latter, because the special ops divisions will be harder to clean. You’ve burned regular officers out of their positions before—bribed them, discredited them, and then fed them to the wolves—but the special ops officers don’t have the same arrogance that the ones in the service branches do. They’ll be more careful, more suspicious, and it’ll be harder for you to convince the rest that one among them is an imposter when it comes from an outsider—they’re bound through the shared experiences of all of the awful things they’ve done at the request of the government.

 You sigh as you lower your gaze to the ground, kicking absently at a stray piece of asphalt and watching it bounce down the road. Once you have an idea of where Dostoevsky’s informant is, you can start to plan out everything else. You’ll need to figure out when the government is going to send the Hunting Dogs to Yokohama, and then you just… need to prepare.

You lift your hand to rub your face. You’re so tired, you can feel the weariness deep in your bones, in your soul—it’s been conflict after conflict since you took over as boss, and you’re not sure how much more of it you can take. You just want to rest. You want one day without the weight of Mori’s scarf draped around your neck. One day that you’re not constantly reminded of what you did to him. One day where you can pretend to be normal.

You just want—

Your thoughts come to an abrupt halt when you see a familiar figure standing at the edge of the deserted road. It’s the author that you’ve run into a few times this week. He doesn’t even notice you—he’s staring down the steep slope leading into a particularly gross puddle of muck, an odd, conflicted expression on his face.

What the hell is he doing here?

You don’t even call out to him. You’re so flabbergasted by the sight of him that a part of you almost thinks you might be hallucinating him, but you’re not. He’s there, several yards in front of you in the heart of Port Mafia territory, dressed in a cream sweater and khakis, with hands shoved in his pockets and head hanging low. 

Your lips part to say something, but you don’t even know what to say. A part of you wants to demand to know what he’s doing here—because it’s suspicious, isn’t it? You swallow thickly, trying to come up with a reasonable explanation as to why he might be here. Maybe he doesn’t know what this place is (how wouldn’t he know? everybody knows). Maybe he does know, but he’s an author, authors do weird things for creative inspiration, don’t they? Maybe he purposely came here to try to get inspiration for a new book after the number of times you taunted him over being a one-hit wonder.

“Dazai?” you finally ask. Your voice wavers over his name, and you watch as he stiffens instantly, dark eyes cutting to the side. He looks… nervous, like you caught him somewhere you weren’t supposed to. “What are you… doing here?”

He doesn’t respond immediately, which sets off some alarm bells. Why would he be here? And why does he look like he’s just been caught red-handed? The only people who come here are… the cleaning crew. No one comes here, not even petty criminals looking to scavenge through the rubble for something to sell for a quick buck. Has he been… lying to you? But about what? Who is he?

No. There must be another explanation.

“Dazai?” you press again. “What are you doing here? It’s not safe.”

“What am I doing here? What are you doing here?” he asks instead of answering your question. Your eyes narrow, and like he realizes that he deflected, he stammers out, “I just—I come here to think sometimes. It’s quiet.”

“Right,” you agree quietly. “Me too.”

You don’t know if you believe him. His reaction to you seeing him here was strange, on top of the immediate attempt at deflecting your question. It was suspicious, definitely, because of all places, he’s going to come here? It doesn’t really make sense even if you attribute it to… eccentricity, especially taking into account how you’ve bumped into him three times, two of the places being mafia establishments.

Is it on purpose? Is he orchestrating these meetings? Sent by an enemy organization or the government to get close to you? 

More importantly… Does it matter if he is? 

You swallow thickly at the last thought that crosses your mind, blinking as you look down at the ground. Klaus’s words from that morning at the cafe ring through your mind: “For a second, you almost seemed happy.” 

You have enjoyed your brief encounters with Dazai. You’re not sure why, but you’re not sure if it matters why, because it’s been so long since you’ve been able to exist without the overwhelming weight of your life bearing down on your shoulders. And for some reason, during your brief encounters with him, it lifts. 

You can breathe. 

You can almost feel… normal.

It’s what you’ve been desperate for, it’s what you’ve needed so badly, so you think even if he is some sort of plant, you might as well… enjoy this while it lasts, right? It might be your only chance for it, and what’s the worst that could happen anyway? Your life is already as bad as it can get. What’s he going to do? Kill you? You’re at the point where you might welcome it.

“Um—”

“Are you—”

You both speak at the same time, and you bite your tongue instantly before raising your eyebrows at him, beckoning him to continue.

“Are you sure you’re not stalking me?” he finally asks, clearing his throat as the playful lilt returns to his voice. There’s something odd in his eyes, though—uncertainty, maybe? “I mean, four times now. Kind of weird. If you have a crush on me, you can just say it.”

“Right,” you repeat dryly, and then look around pointedly. “You come here to think?”

Dazai’s cheeks flush pink as he rubs the back of his neck. “It’s… hard to explain. I just—I think better here.”

“You’re pretty weird, y’know that?” you say absently, making your way over to him to glance down at where he was staring. 

There’s nothing there—just a puddle of dark slush dribbling out of a large pipe beneath the road—but for some reason, your chest gets all twisted up and for a brief second, you feel a familiar, heavy weight in your hand. Disconcerted, you look away and take a step back, shoving your hands in your pocket before returning your attention to Dazai, who seems to have noticed your odd reaction from how he squints at you.

“You’re here too,” he says with a scowl instead of calling out your strange behavior. “What does that make you?”

Your lips curl up into an easy smile as you shrug. “Pretty weird, I guess.”

Dazai’s expression softens, a smile matching your own tugging at his lips as he looks over you. It’s almost dusk now, and Dazai looks stunning beneath the setting sun. His dark eyes look like warm pools of honey, and there’s a pink flush on his cheeks as he looks at you. The expression on his face is strange—there’s a shine to his eyes and the corners of his lips are tight, like he’s trying to force them to stop trembling. 

He looks sad, you realize, wondering if maybe you interrupted him.

“You come here to… think too?” he finally asks, voice hesitant. When you nod, he asks quietly, “Why here?”

You don’t have an answer to that. You don’t know why you come here. You tell yourself it’s for the solitude, but you have a gut feeling that it’s something more than that. You could go anywhere for solitude—Itou’s old place up on the cliffside south of Higashikoiso or the property you and Chuuya bought on the Hokkaido coastline—but for some reason, you find yourself here every time. And it’s not like you ever feel better after coming here. In fact, you usually feel worse; the weight on your chest gets heavier, and you return to headquarters feeling all too lonely, heart in your throat and stomach churning.

“I don’t know,” you say honestly. “I don’t know why here.”

You don’t think Dazai will be satisfied with that answer. You expect him to press more, or make some sort of teasing remark, but he only smiles to himself, gaze lowering to the ground as if your answer pleased him for some reason.

“Guess we’re both weirdos then,” he says lightly, but you have a feeling that’s not what made him smile. Before you can question it, he continues, “What’d you come here to think about?”

You don’t really know how to respond to that. You can’t exactly tell him that you’re worried about a three-front war breaking out in Yokohama between the Mafia you’re boss of, the government, and Fyodor Dostoevsky’s slimy organization, but you don’t want to outright lie, so you say:

“Business issues,” you say, sighing as you lean back on your heels. “New government regulations… competitors trying to take advantage, pushing us into a corner. It’s a whole mess.”

His lips curve up into a small smile like he knows something you don’t, and you tilt your head to the side curiously, squinting at him, but he only shakes his head.

“Well, the best defense is a good offense,” he says airily. “Get them to back off by targeting them somehow.”

“It’s not—” you start to say, but then pause. Getting the government to back off is out of the picture, Dostoevsky will be just as hard, but maybe not impossible if you can get Nabokov involved. You don’t really want to get more people involved than you have to—you’re already displeased about Qu Yuan—but Nabokov owes you for handling the White Guard for him. “You’re smarter than you look.”

“So I’ve been told,” Dazai teases instead of getting offended, leaning in just a little with a sweet smile. “How do I look? Pretty, right?”

You scoff and roll your eyes before asking, “What about you? What did you come here to think about?” 

His smile falls, gaze averting to the ground for a moment. He hesitates for a moment and then says, “Someone I used to care about. A lot.”

You tilt your head to the side. “The same person that made you write that bitter ass ending to your book?” 

“It was not bitter,” he scowls at you, but it’s only half-hearted. His shoulders slump as he whispers, “Yeah. Same person.”

Dazai doesn’t look at you now. He looks crushed as he turns his gaze back out to the shipping yard. His eyes are glassy, and his lips are pressed together tightly, fingers trembling in front of his body before he shoves his hands back into his pockets. Something twists in your chest at the sight of him so hung up on someone who hurt him, and you’re not sure why, so you press your lips together and push the thought away, ignoring the sinking feeling in your chest. 

“Whoever they are, it’s their loss,” you tell him quietly. You’re usually good at knowing what to say and when to say it, but you find yourself at a bit of a loss here. You want to say something else, but you end up just resigning yourself to standing there with him.

“Right,” he agrees quietly, like he doesn’t believe it himself. “I should get going.”

“Right,” you echo, feeling a bit disappointed when he turns his back on you to leave. After a moment’s hesitation, you call after him, “Dazai?” 

He pauses and looks over his shoulder back at you. His voice is hoarse as he asks, “What is it?”

“I’m gonna be back at that cafe Sunday morning,” you say awkwardly, barely withholding a wince when you see the confusion fly across his face. “... If you’ll be there too.”

“Are you…asking me out on a date?” he asks, lips curving up into a teasing smile. His eyes light up, but they’re a bit distant, like he’s still lost in his own head. “How forward.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” you say dryly, rolling your eyes and turning to leave. “Bye, One Hit Wonder. See you there or not.”

“... See you there.”

-----------

Dazai doesn’t understand. 

It’s been three weeks since he first bumped into you at the bar. Three weeks since he started orchestrating encounters with you. Three weeks since he made the deal with the Armed Detective Agency to get close to you for information that can be used against the Port Mafia. 

Three weeks, and you haven’t accused him of anything.

No suspicious glances. No speculative stares. No questioning the way he just always happens to be there—on the same street, at the same cafe, in the same bar drinking a glass of whiskey he can’t afford. You smile when you see him. You talk to him like he belongs there. Like he’s welcome. Like you trust him.

He doesn’t understand. 

You should have noticed by now. You should have long noticed. You should have been suspicious of him that first day at the cafe, and you definitely should’ve been suspicious when you ran into him at the bar. He thought he was done for sure when he ran into you at the same place where you faked his death—that one hadn’t even been intentional, he really does go there sometimes to think, and he never expected you to go there too.

It was… welcome confirmation that maybe you still subconsciously remember him, because why else would you be drawn there to think? What else was that strange reaction you had when you looked over the edge of the road, where his body had dropped over the edge six months ago, and then immediately looked away, confused? Even with your memories of him wiped, your heart and subconscious still remember. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be drawn to such a disgusting area, and you wouldn’t have been so disturbed by the location where you once had to shoot him in the head. 

You seemed to be uncertain when you initially noticed him there. There was no disguising the hesitance on your face as you studied him, asking him what he was doing there, but when he thought that all was lost and he was fumbling out excuses so you didn’t actually kill him in the same place where you faked his death, your expression smoothed out and you teased him.

And Dazai doesn’t understand.

Or maybe it’s less that he doesn’t understand, and more that he doesn’t want to understand. Because if he’s right and you’re drawn to that area because you subconsciously remember him… It’s probably the same subconscious memory of him that’s leading you to brush off all of the things that should be setting off all of the alarm bells that he knows you have, and it’s making him sick to his stomach. That means he’s taking advantage of your memory loss, taking advantage of the trust you still unwittingly have for him to manipulate you. To spy on you. To hurt you.

And he doesn’t want to hurt you.

God, he doesn’t want to hurt you. He thought he did. He thought he was vindictive, he thought he wanted to hurt you half as bad as you hurt him when you wiped your memory of him, but he doesn’t. He feels nauseous with guilt knowing he’s doing exactly what he was once accused of. He knows you’re not doing well—he knew it the first time he ran into you, and he’s seen it in every subsequent meeting. Your eyes are empty every time you enter a room, you don’t hold your head high, and what’s even worse, you only seem to brighten when you see him. 

Your eyes light up, and you straighten up as you lift your hand to wave to him when you find him waiting for you at the cafe. You tell him in advance the mornings that you stop at the cafe, and he can tell that you’re hoping he’ll be there too. You look forward to your meetings with him, and Dazai feels sick every time he realizes it might be the only thing in your life you have to look forward to. 

And Dazai likes meeting with you, too. Not every time. Some days he’s bitter and angry, and he has to make an effort not to show it on his face or in his tone when he’s talking to you. Some mornings, he considers not going after he tells you he’ll see you there because he knows you’ll be disappointed. He doesn’t, of course, because he doesn’t want to hurt you; he’s just upset and resentful because he wants to be doing all of this with a you that remembers him. 

But it’s also because he likes meeting with you.

It’s… It’s not refreshing. He doesn’t really know what the word is for it, but there’s something about getting to know you when you’re not cold and withdrawn with suspicion, and he’s not analyzing your every word and action for answers as to who you are, that’s nice. He can let himself just be in the moment with you. He can let himself laugh when you tease him about his taste in literature. He can let himself engage you in debates about why you think Petrarchan sonnets are better than Shakespearan sonnets (which you get oddly passionate about). He can toss around ideas with you for his new novel, and he finds himself smiling at your enthusiasm. He’s even started writing again—not depressing poetry that he rage and grief writes, but his novel. He’s already written three chapters since he’s started meeting you again.

Dazai never stopped loving you, but somehow, he can almost let himself fall in love with you all over again. 

He can almost let himself forget what he’s there for. 

But he never does. Not for long, and not entirely. The moment always comes—after the laughter, after the coffee, after your hand brushes his on the table and you don’t immediately pull away, that crushing reminder of what he’s doing always returns.

You trust him. A part of you, deep down, still remembers him.

And he’s lying to you. Using you. Manipulating you. Hurting you.

Your early morning meetings at the cafe never last long—twenty-five, thirty minutes max—but he always walks away from them feeling like he needs to scrub his skin raw. He keeps telling himself that he’s doing what’s necessary. It’s this or the Hunting Dogs coming down on Yokohama, and you getting caught in the crossfire of it. It’s this or risking you getting hurt or killed. It’s this or losing any chance at you ever regaining your memories of him. 

He’s doing what’s necessary.

He’s doing this to protect you.

He’s doing this to get you back.

It doesn’t change the way his heart aches when you smile at him, and it doesn’t change the way nausea builds in his stomach when your eyes light up at the sight of him.

Sometimes, he thinks about telling you. Not everything—not about the Agency, certainly, because he doesn’t want to put them at risk. You’re still you, and as sweet as you can be with him, he knows there’s a cold and calculating mafia executive—boss, now—behind the pretty face and soft smiles. But sometimes, he wants to tell you something. He wants to hint at your past together and wants to see if your brows furrow in confusion or if your eyes glaze over as you try to remember a memory you no longer have.

He doesn’t, though. He doesn’t want to open that door. A part of him is scared of what he might find on the other side of it. As much as he wants you to remember—because he does want you to remember, that’s the whole point of this—he's not sure if he’s ready for it to happen so soon. The closer he gets to you, and the closer he gets to figuring out where those paintings are that store your memories of him, the more anxious he gets.

Because right now, even if it is all built on a lie, he almost has what he used to have with you. You look at him softly, and you smile at him gently, and Dazai wants to be able to enjoy it for a little while longer. He deserves it, he thinks, for the six months of hell he went through.

 Once he pulls the trigger, once your memories return, he doesn’t know how you’ll react, but he can imagine. He can imagine the anger in your eyes when you realize that everything you did to protect him was for nothing. He can imagine the frustration when you realize that he tore everything apart because he selfishly wanted you back. He can imagine the betrayal on your face when you realize the past few weeks with him have been nothing but manipulation, and worse, if you figure out that he’s been working with the Armed Detective Agency against you, that he’s been getting close to you to bring down the Port Mafia. 

If that happens, he might lose you entirely, even if you do have your memories back. You’ve never been one to take betrayal lightly. 

Dazai doesn’t think he can survive that.

So he keeps quiet. He keeps playing the part he promised to play, keeps working to get closer to you to gather intel for the Agency. He knows he’s been acting strangely and they’re probably getting suspicious of him—they know that he has a past with you, and they know he has his own reasons for agreeing to this—but he still doesn’t like the unreadable look Kunikida casts his way whenever he walks into the room, and he especially doesn’t like the knowing one that Ranpo sets on him. Yosano is the only one who still acts normally with him, and he knows it’s probably for your sake more than his. He still doesn’t know the full story of your past with her, but he knows Yosano cares deeply about you and worries about you even now after what you’ve become. 

He forces himself not to care, and he lets himself enjoy his early morning meetings with you. He lets himself bask in this before it’s inevitably ripped away.

He sometimes watches you absently stare down at your coffee and wonders if you feel it too—the hollowness, the yearning, the sense that something is missing, and no matter how many cigarettes you burn through or how many nights you drown yourself in alcohol, the emptiness never really goes away.

Sometimes, you say things that nearly make him cry. You’ll laugh at something he says and then pause, brows knitting, and whisper, “This feels familiar… weird, right?”

And he smiles, tight-lipped, and says something like, “Deja vu, maybe?”

It isn’t. He has a feeling you might know it too, but neither of you pushes it. He could, but he doesn’t know what will happen if he does, doesn’t know what he’ll do if he succeeds.

What will happen when you do remember? 

Would you still smile when you saw him or would your expression go cold?

Would you hate him for what he’s been doing the past few weeks or would you forgive him?

Would you cast him out or would you let him come home?

He wants to believe you would. He really wants to believe there’s still a version of this where you forgive him. There’s still a version of this where you understand why he’s doing what he’s doing, even if you don’t agree with it. There’s still a version of this where you choose him.

But life has proven time and time again that Dazai doesn’t get happy endings. 

“Dazai, are you even paying attention?” Yosano asks, hands on her hips as she stands near the whiteboard with Kunikida. She’s frowning at him, not in disappointment, but in concern, which Dazai personally thinks is worse. “This is important. It’s our only chance of getting in Port Mafia headquarters.”

Dazai grimaces. “Sorry,” he says quietly. “Was distracted.”

As he’s been for the majority of the last few meetings with them, but thankfully, they don’t call him out on it. 

“It’s fine,” Yosano replies after a moment, too understanding with him. “Just listen up this time, okay?” 

Kunikida sighs as he pushes his glasses up to the bridge of his nose. “We received intel that in two weeks, the Mori Corporation is going to be hosting an event at their headquarters.”

Dazai blinks. “What?”

Why would you do that? Dazai is baffled as his mind races, trying to figure out why the hell you would be hosting an event at Port Mafia headquarters when there’s so much suspicion on the organization. He knows through the Armed Detective Agency that the government has been on its ass for months, and he knows you know it because he’s pretty sure that whenever you’re ranting about “government regulations,” you’re actually talking about the military bill that passed a few weeks after the two of you separated. He also knows that the government is apparently only one of your problems, considering you’re also constantly venting about competitors that he assumes are enemy organizations.

So why would you invite more attention?

Unless that’s precisely why, he realizes, leaning back in his seat as he thinks to himself. If you’re drawing attention to headquarters in the middle of a storm of suspicion, then you’re not doing it as some arrogant flex of power. You’re not careless or stupid, so there’s a reason he’s missing.

“She’s trying to draw someone out,” he realizes quietly, barely realizing he’s interrupted Kunikida. “But who?

“What?” Yosano frowns.

“The event,” he says slowly, already going over the potential scenarios in his head. He doubts you’d be trying to draw out the government—one of the Port Mafia’s enemies, then? Or… “She wouldn’t just be hosting it to posture. She’s doing it to get someone’s attention—maybe even ours. She wants someone to come looking, to take the bait, that’s why she’s making the venue so obvious.”

Kunikida narrows his eyes. “You think it’s a trap,” he says. “Is she suspicious of you? Did you let anything slip?”

“No, she’s not,” he dismisses. “I—”

“Dazai,” Yosano interrupts, voice cautious. “If she’s suspicious of you, you could be in danger.”

“She’s not suspicious of me,” Dazai repeats loudly. He doesn’t mean for his voice to crack, but it does. That’s the whole problem—you’re not suspicious of him, and you should be, and it makes him sick to his stomach. “She’s not. I’m not in danger.”

There’s a moment of silence. Kunikida and Yosano exchange looks with one another at his abrupt outburst, and Ranpo studies him carefully. Dazai wants to shrivel and die.

“Well,” Kunikida finally says, tone clipped. “Whether it’s a trap or just a way to provoke chaos, it’s an opportunity we can’t afford to waste. If the Port Mafia is opening its doors, even for a single evening, we need to be there. It could be our only opportunity to stop a major conflict from breaking out in Yokohama.”

Could it be a trap for the Armed Detective Agency? Dazai isn’t sure. He knows he’s been extra careful not to implicate them in his conversations with you, so you shouldn’t know anything from what he’s said to you, but god knows what type of intel you get from your insiders. He knows you have some high up informants in the government. If you have any inkling that the Agency might be working with the government…

“You guys shouldn’t come to this event,” he says tightly. His throat swells as he remembers what you had done to Professor Ui and the journalists at the Ivory Eagle. “She… If it’s you guys that she’s trying to lure out… You don’t want to fall for that trap. But I can go. She trusts me. I’ll be okay.”

The words escape Dazai before he can really understand what he’s saying, and he shifts uncomfortably when Kunikida squints at him—not with judgment, but with something closer to worry. Worry for him.

“Are you sure you’re… okay with all of this?” Kunikida asks hesitantly. “You don’t have to keep doing this, we can find another way, I—”

Dazai shoots him a withering look. He doesn’t even want to know what expression must be on his face for Kunikida to be giving him that look and talking to him all softly like he’s about to break.

“Ah, Kunikida-kun, I didn’t know you loved me so much. You don’t need to worry,” he says, faux-playfulness in his tone but his smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’m fine. I’ll do it.”

Is he fine though? What the hell is he supposed to do? You haven’t invited him to this event, and he can’t show up without really blowing everything out of the water. If he shows up there, you’ll be forced to confront him and acknowledge that he’s been orchestrating these meetings with you. Manipulating you. Using you.

But if they go, and this is a trap for them, who knows what you’ll have done to them. And the detectives in the Agency have been here for Dazai in the last six months—all of them have checked in on him in some manner to make sure he’s okay. They took him under their wing so quickly when he showed up at the cafe that day. They didn’t press when he couldn’t answer their questions about you without choking up, and they didn’t take offense when he got vile and defensive if they caught him on a particularly bad day.

They accepted him as he was and with open arms, so Dazai wasn’t going to let them go out and put themselves in danger. Especially not when he knows what you’re capable of.

“If Dazai can get into this event through an invitation…” Tanizaki says, leaning forward. “We were going to try to sneak in as attendants, there’s a huge chance of us getting caught if we go about it that way.”

“It’s up to Dazai,” Yosano says, looking at him with a frown. “... But I really don’t like the idea of sending you in there alone. It’ll be dangerous. Pit of the snakes and all. If you get caught there, we can’t even use Tanizaki-kun for extraction because of your ability.”

Kunikida looks displeased. “I don’t like this at all.”

“I’ll handle it,” he replies, quieter now. “I can get the invitation.”

He doesn’t know how he’ll manage it. Maybe you’ll mention the event during one of your early morning meetings in the next few days, and he can steer the conversation that way and invite himself along. Maybe you’ll even invite him once you realize what he’s getting at. He doubts it—even if the event is under the guise of a Mori Corporation event, he knows it’s going to be a Mafia one, and he knows that there are going to be a lot of unsavory figures in attendance. You’ll need to be focused on all of the things happening there and whatever your plan is, not him.

Getting an invite is not going to be easy.

Yosano still looks like she wants to argue, but she relents with a sigh. “Be careful, Dazai. Please.”

Ranpo doesn’t say anything. He just stares at him with a gaze that sees far too much, and it takes every ounce of Dazai’s strength not to look away.

-----------

“And why is it that we’re here tonight, Dostoevsky?” you drawl as you enter the private room in the Ryugin, one of Chuuya’s favorite restaurants in Tokyo. You adjust your fur shawl with one gloved hand, lifting your chin as the man rises to his feet to greet you. “Have you grown bored of our shows?” 

“Hardly,” Dostoevsky replies, holding his hand out and beckoning you to place yours in it. You raise your eyebrows at him before doing as he wishes, watching as he leans down to brush his lips against your knuckles, lingering for just a moment too long. “But I thought tonight deserved a quieter stage.”

“Is that so?” you hum, careful to keep the expression on your face unbothered when his fingers brush the inside of your wrist. He releases your hand after a second, straightening as he tilts his head to the side to look down at you. “And why is that?” 

Dostoevsky’s smile is as enigmatic as ever, teeth sharp beneath the dim golden lights of the private room. There’s a glimmer in his eyes—dangerous, amused, and you know that this meeting is not going to fall in your favor. You’ve come out of the last two on top, narrowing down the place of his informant to one of the government's most elite special operation units, but you have yet to pinpoint the exact unit they’re in. This meeting will not be as kind to you—Dostoevsky is too at ease, and that’s never a good thing. 

“Because things are finally about to begin,” he says lightly. You press your lips together and wait for him to continue. When he does, he changes the topic. “Utilizing Nabokov was a good move. I had to divert more resources than I was comfortable with back to the motherland… It wasn’t quite enough, though.”

You had a feeling it wouldn’t be, but with Dostoevsky’s attention split, your job becomes easier, if only marginally. You don’t sit down right away, even when he beckons you to. Instead, you trail your fingers across the smooth lacquer of the table, gaze fixed on him. Dostoevsky has always been dangerous, but there’s something different tonight. You can feel it in the air, in the way the servers left so quickly, in the way only the two of you are here, in the way he’s looking at you. 

“Are they?” you ask slowly, ignoring his last comment. “I’ve only been waiting six months for you to finally make your move.”

Dostoevsky chuckles lowly, pulling out your chair. You sit down after a moment and let him slide your chair in. Your breath catches when he leans down behind you, lips brushing your ear and hands resting on your shoulders, slowly sliding down to your biceps.

“Not me, my dear,” he murmurs, voice soft as it is suffocating. “Not yet.”

Dostoevsky finally pulls away to lower himself into the seat across from you, folding his hands in front of him. You try to brush off the way his proximity left your hair standing on end. 

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised,” you reply dryly. “You’ve always been one to pick at the corpses after everything has settled. You’re much like a vulture, you know?”

Dostoevsky smiles like it’s a compliment, fingers drumming once against the edge of the table before they still. “And yet, here you are—dining with the vulture.”

“Here I am,” you echo flatly, watching as a waiter brings out two glasses of red wine. You wait for him to leave before asking, “If not you, then who?”

“Where is the fun in cluing you in?” Dostoevsky hums. “I would much prefer to watch it all unfold on its own. Unless, of course, you have something to exchange for the information.”

“Information doesn’t come free from either of us,” you reply coolly. “And I’m not in the habit of trading truths for your riddles. I know better than to deal with snakes—your exchanges are never fair.”

“Do you?” he questions, eyes glittering in a way that makes you pause. “Because it seems you’ve become quite… fond of one the past few weeks.”

Dostoevsky is a filthy liar. You know this. In the years you spent with him abroad, you watched him spin complex and meticulous lies at a moment’s notice—the two of you had made a game of narrating stories of your pasts, seeing which of you could get away with weaving in the most lies without getting caught. Dostoevsky has lied people into bankruptcy and the grave with the same soft eyes and pretty smile he wears now—you’ve laughed along with him as he did it. You know better than anyone what he’s capable of.

But he doesn’t seem to be lying right now, and that makes you hesitate. 

“Here,” Dostoevsky says, taking a sip of his wine. “How about instead of trading information, you trade an invitation?”

Your only response is to raise your eyebrows at him.

“I want to come to the event you’re hosting next week,” he explains with an easy smile. “It’s been a while since I’ve been able to attend a good party.”

“You can’t be serious,” you say flatly. “Absolutely not. Why?”

“I told you,” he replies. “It’s been a while since I’ve attended a proper party, and I have a feeling this one is going to be quite entertaining. I assure you, my information is well worth the invitation.”

You’re half inclined to laugh in his face, but you find yourself hesitating. Having a snake in your inner circle when the government is preparing to bring down its wrath on the Port Mafia is not in your best interests, but having Dostoevsky attend an event where you’re trying to lure out some of the Port Mafias more… reckless enemies before war breaks out is equally ill-advised.

But which is worse?

“Fine,” you finally say firmly. “If I suspect you’re plotting anything, you’ll long for death, Dostoevsky.”

Dostoevsky lifts a hand to his heart in mock sincerity. “I will be on my best behavior, I assure you. I only wish to observe.”

“The information,” you prod.

“I got word from my informant that the government has made a deal with the Armed Detective Agency,” he says, leaning back in his seat, a more serious expression settling on his face as he studies you. “They were… concerned that they were wasting time waiting for the detectives to fulfill their end of the bargain. They were under the belief that you were planning to use the event to draw out and assassinate some of the more persistent advocates for military intervention in Yokohama.”

You have to force yourself not to react. Even if the information about the ‘snake’ turns out useless, the invitation has already become worth it. You funneled that little piece of misinformation into the ears of one unit: the Hunting Dogs. 

Is Dostoevsky’s informant in the ranks of Japan’s most elite group of ability users? 

The thought is chilling. You’ll need to confirm it, but you have to share your suspicions with the executives as soon as you can, because the implications if you’re right… Well, they’re very dark to say the least.

“As if I would be that stupid,” you scoff instead. Then, you add derisively, “Although, I assure you I haven’t gotten close to any of the Agency’s detectives.”

“I told them as much,” Dostoevsky hums, taking another sip of his wine, eyes sharp and calculating as he studies your face. “I figure someone must have purposely fed them wrong intel.”

“I wonder why,” you say off-handedly.

“I wonder indeed,” he echoes, carefully examining your expression before frowning, evidently coming away answerless. “It’s not one of the detectives they’re using, my dear. It’s a civilian. An author.”

The amusement and satisfaction that settled in your chest immediately disappears as you sit up in your seat. A civilian, an author, ‘you’ve become quite fond of one these past few weeks.’ 

Dazai?

“The detectives would never risk using a civilian to do their dirty work,” you dismiss immediately. “They’re too honorable for that.”

“I thought the same,” Dostoevsky agrees lightly, “but it’s true. The government offered them two jobs: either get information to call for the removal of Walter Lippmann from office or capture and hand over the foreign terrorist who goes by the name of Klaus Mann. I assume since the civilian is trying to get close to you, that they’re attempting the former.”

Lies, you want to immediately spit out, but the word catches in your throat. You had been suspicious of how many times he bumped into you—especially that evening at the shipping yard—but you let yourself be willfully blind.

“Do you have proof?” you ask flatly, “or are you just spinning another lie?”

“Come, darling,” Dostoevsky drawls. “We know each other well enough to know when the other is lying. I don’t have proof for you, but you can prove it yourself… I’m sure over the next couple days, he’s going to try to find a way to get an invite to the event you’re hosting. When he does, he’ll be expected to immediately go back to the detectives so they can plan. Offer to walk him back to wherever he’s going—he’ll either refuse or lead you to the cafe beneath the Agency. Either way, you’ll have your answer.”

“Or he’ll just lead me somewhere else,” you say dryly, but your voice is tighter than you intended for it to be.

He won’t. You’ve noticed over the past few weeks that Dazai is extraordinarily smooth and good with words whenever he’s talking to anyone but you. Whenever you catch him off guard, he’ll fumble with an answer and get embarrassed, cheeks flushing a pretty pink as buries his face in his hands and groans. 

If you offer this, he’ll fumble and then refuse, and you’ll have your answer. 

But do you want it? Do you really want to know? 

You’re not sure.

“He won’t,” Dostoevsky confirms your thoughts. Then, he leans forward a bit, a playful smile dancing on his lips. “Although, I am curious, what exactly drew you to him? I must say, I’m a bit jealous of how fond you are of him.” 

You raise your eyebrows. “He entertains me,” you reply flatly, even though it’s in no way so simple to describe. You don’t even know why you’re so drawn to him. “Green is unflattering on you, and jealousy implies there’s something between us that makes you feel threatened by him. There is nothing between us.”

“There’s no color unflattering on me,” he dismisses, “and you and I both know that there is certainly something between us.”

“Yes, irritation. Mostly on my part,” you scoff. “There is nothing between us, though I often wish there was a wall.”

Dostoevsky laughs, delighted by the snide comment. Then, he repeats with a teasing smile, “We know each other well enough to know when the other is lying.”

“Sure,” you agree with a roll of your eyes.

“Are Tolstoy and his cousin still in the city?” Dostoevsky suddenly prods, changing the subject. When you raise your eyebrows, he says, “Just curious if I’ll see them at the event.”

“For your sake, you should hope not,” you tell him. “Tolstoy prays for your death every day.”

Dostoevsky sighs dramatically. “He never did get over Tula,” he says more to himself than to you. “So emotional. It was only business.”

“That business cost him all four of his siblings and his parents,” you remind him, “and you only got him involved through a lie.”

Dostoevsky waves his hand dismissively. “Collateral damage for a greater good.”

“I’m sure,” you agree dryly.

“Well, business has concluded,” he says with a contemplative look, dark hair framing his face prettily as he tilts his head to the side inquisitively. “Will you be staying for dinner?”

You know you should probably take the opportunity to go, but you find yourself hesitating—you don’t want to be alone with your thoughts tonight, not when Dostoevsky has thrown in your face that the one thing you’ve been able to look forward to these past few weeks might be a lie. Your gaze meets his, and he raises his eyebrows tauntingly. You let out a soft scoff, and then straighten your shoulders, unfastening your shawl and draping it over the back of your chair before tilting your head to the side.

Dostoevsky’s lips curl up into a pleasant smile, violet eyes lighting up in delight. “You always do manage to surprise me,” he breathes out. 

“Don’t make me regret it.”

“I would never.”

----------

Dazai is running out of time to try to get an invite to this event. 

It’s already Wednesday. He has less than two days, but every time he tries to bring it up to you, he ends up floundering and telling himself that he’ll just ask next time. He thinks maybe you can tell he wants to ask you something, because every time he goes quiet for too long, you squint at him, waiting.

He thinks maybe that’s why this morning has been so awkward. Usually, when you get here, the two of you slip into easy conversation about whatever the topic of the day is—sometimes the new book he’s started writing to spite your loathsome nickname for him, sometimes a random poem he wants your opinion on. This time, he didn’t say anything besides a quiet ‘hello,’ so the two of you have been drinking your coffee in silence. 

“Sorry,” he finally says. “I’m just… thinking.”

“Terrifying,” you reply instantly.

“Rude,” he complains, feeling a bit more at ease when he sees the way your lips curl up into a soft smile. “I just…”

His voice trails off again. I just need to come with you to your event so I can snoop around for information to give the Armed Detective Agency so that they can give it to the government to use against you.

Right, he thinks dryly, words immediately dying on his tongue. He just has to… ask you what you’re doing on Friday. Like he wants to take you on a date. And maybe that will prompt you into asking if he wants to come with you? Or maybe you’ll just say you’re busy—what should he do then? How is he supposed to press? Should he insist on knowing what you’re doing and then invite himself along? That’ll be so… suspicious and—

“Are you busy Friday?” you suddenly ask, and for a brief second, there’s a strange expression on your face. He can’t tell if it’s resigned or sad, and it’s gone too quickly for him to figure it out. “Hm?” 

Dazai stares at you, lips parting to reply, but no words leave them.

Your eyes narrow slightly and then you raise your eyebrows. “Well? Are you?”

“No?” Dazai offers after a moment, voice stunted and awkward. “Um, why…?”

“I’m hosting an event at our headquarters,” you say, leaning back in your seat as you sip your coffee. “It’s going to be miserably boring, and I don’t have a date. Come with me?” 

“You’re… inviting me?” he asks in disbelief, praying it doesn’t come out as suspicious as he thinks it does. “I mean—why me? I’m sure there are better options.”

“Because I like your company,” you say easily, so unguarded that it makes Dazai twist up inside. “Do I need any other reason?”

Yes, Dazai wants to scream at you. Yes, you do need another reason because just enjoying his company doesn’t explain why you aren’t looking deeper into this. It doesn’t explain why you haven’t used your resources to get information on him—if you had, you’d know he’s pretty much been an honorary member of the Armed Detective Agency for six months. It doesn’t explain why you’re not more suspicious of the number of times he coincidentally “ran” into you. It doesn’t explain why you’re letting him into your life so easily when you fought him at every corner the first time. 

He thought maybe it was because you subconsciously remember him, and because of that, you trust him—he still thinks that—but he thinks there must be something else going on. What’s happened to you the past six months? What happened after you wiped your memories of him and took over the Port Mafia? You must have an inkling of what’s going on here, what happened to make you not care?

“I guess not,” he whispers, and then adds, “I like your company too.”

Your smile is sadder this time—it doesn’t reach your eyes like it’s started to the past few weeks. Dazai’s lips part to say something, but he doesn’t know what to say that won’t make his stomach churn with guilt. 

“So, will you come?” you finally ask again, tilting your head to the side. “Or are you too busy for me?”

“Never too busy for you,” he murmurs, voice too raw. He clears his throat quickly, “But, I hope you’re prepared to be embarrassed. I’m notoriously bad at fancy events.”

Your smile is a bit more genuine as you avert your gaze. “You’ll be fine.”

Dazai breathes out a laugh that sounds too much like a whimper, masking it by taking another sip of his coffee. He thought he would feel relieved, but he only feels suffocated. He needs to get out of here and tell the Agency that he got the invite before they settle on doing something stupid because they think he wasn’t able to get the invite.

“I have a meeting in fifteen minutes,” he says after a moment. “I should get going. I’ll see you Friday?”

Something shifts in your expression as he grabs his bag and rises to his feet, he gives you a small smile that he hopes isn’t as shaky as he feels, but pauses when he sees that strange expression return. He was right—it is resignation, or something between resignation and dread, maybe. Why?

“Do you want me to—” You cut your question off abruptly as you look down at your coffee.

Dazai tilts his head to the side with a frown. “Do I want you to….?” he prods curiously.

“Nothing,” you say, shaking your head. “I should get going too. I’ll see you Friday.”

Dazai gives you a curious look but he nods, shouldering his back and giving you one last long look before he turns to go. He doesn’t let himself linger, doesn’t let himself ask the questions that he suddenly very desperately wants answers to. He can’t afford to think about the way your voice faltered or the hesitance on your face—if he does, it’ll consume him. 

He’s gotten what he wanted—needed—hasn’t he? He got the invitation, now he needs to go back to the Agency so he can let them know and they can drop their risky plan of sneaking in as attendants. 

So, he forces himself to keep going. He walks out of the cafe and toward the Armed Detective Agency with his heart in his throat and guilt heavy in his chest.

[kkooongie]

SITUATIONSHIPS WITH BSD

[♡] dazai always wingmanned you. you weren’t sure where this sudden enthusiasm of finding you a boyfriend had come from. all you knew was, ever since you left the port mafia, dazai was hell bent on finding you a boyfriend. your meetings with each other had become quite rare with him being an executive and you being… well, an ex-executive who was on the ‘good’ side now and all you wanted to do was unwind about your lives to each other but no! he had to ask you if you found anyone ever single time you both secretly met up, followed by him listing a string of guys he thought would be a great match for you. and you entertained him for some time until hastily changing the subject because you had a secret that would probably go to the grave with you. you loved osamu dazai. as much as a bitter truth it was, you couldn’t help falling in love with your best friend. the port mafia had always been a dark world and the only light that ever bothered embracing you was in the form of the man now sitting opposite to you in the bar, once again trying to set you up with ‘a fine police officer with a rather promising promotion up his sleeve’. finally, unable to bear the man you love go on about how you should be with someone else, you blurted out, ‘why are you so insistent of getting me a boyfriend, osamu?’ at this dazai freezes, eyes widening at you like a deer caught in a headlight. ‘insistent?’ he sputtered, and you could see the gears turning in his brain as though trying to find an answer to your question. looking away from you, he replied. ‘i just- i just want you to have a better life. to get away from this darkness. to get away from… me’. your clutch around the drink in your hand tightened, but you didn’t say anything. oh how you wanted to tell him that if anything, you wanted to be with him.

[♡] whenever you struggled to put on your clip, chuuya helped you. it wasn’t like you both were close; on the contrary, you both barely saw eye to eye and yet for some reason, mori often paired the two of you up for missions. it was true that both of you worked really well, your skills covering up his weak points and vice versa but it was like cooperation between the two of you started and ended within the fight to destroy the enemy. the port mafia was a dark world you had been thrusted into suddenly, and the only grasps of your previous life you had were the clips your father used to buy you regularly as a little girl. so as though to remind yourself that not everything was lost, you always wore childish clips during the missions. so here you were now, checking yourself out at the side view mirror of the car parked beside you as you attempted to put a pink strawberry clip on to your hair (without making it look like you had a balding spot). “what are you doing?” you heard chuuya’s voice come from behind you, breaking your concentration. closing your eyes you sighed, before turning towards him to glare at him. “trying to put this clip?”. chuuya raised an eyebrow, an action that always caused butterflies to erupt in your stomach for some reason. truth be told, chuuya nakahara was a beautiful man. and by that you didn’t mean only on the outside, but even in his actions you could see the remnants of a kind and caring person who just happened to be loyal to the port mafia. “well i guess it won’t hurt the enemies to see a beautiful person before they die,” he said. for a second you thought he was talking about himself and nearly hurled out another insult but then you realised he meant you, and you froze, unsure how to respond at all. he sighed as he walked over you, gently reaching out to take the clip from your hand. “here, let me help.” he murmured, leaning in closer as he held the back of your head with one hand and slid the clip on your hair with another. you could almost feel his breath dust your cheeks as time halted around you, you staring at his scrunched up concentrated face to get it right in one go. satisfied with the position, he looked back at you and gave you a smile, causing time to flow again. “there, you look even more beautiful now.” he took a step back and turned away and you slowly raised your hand to touch your clip, where the ghost of his touch still lingered. the port mafia had trained you to lie well but if anyone were to look at you now it would be a bit too obvious how much you liked chuuya. 

[♡] somehow jouno was always the one who happened to be there when you were crying, offering you the comfort you needed at the moment. maybe it was his super hearing. or maybe it was his instinct. (or maybe, he was the person you desperately wanted to see whenever you had a breakdown and the universe decided to toy with you each time). but embarrassingly enough, jouno would always appear out of thin air whenever you were crying, whether you were in an empty room or a public place. no matter how embarrassed you were that someone, especially saigiku jouno, had caught you crying, you couldn’t stop yourself from being a blubbering mess to him. there was something about the way he would patiently listen to you, softly pat your back and whisper consoling words as you rambled on and on about what made you cry. then when you would have finally calmed down, he would tease you, much to your dismay because the last thing you wanted your crush to remember was your embarrassing moments. and yet, when you would start becoming hard on yourself or start apologising, he would become serious and scold you, telling you that it was natural to feel conflicted about whatever situation you were in. the first few times it was awkward to have the guy you liked see you like this but soon, he became the first thing that popped up on your mind whenever you felt down. and you could swear to god that he could also hear your thoughts because no matter how much he teased you, he was always there for you. ‘you have your ears out on purpose to listen if i’m crying and that’s why you pop up everytime, don’t you?’ you accused him one day when you were crying, but this time because you just had a realisation that he would probably never see you the way you saw him. jouno just sighed, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you into a hug. ‘i don’t need to listen to you cry to know that you are upset’. you froze in his arms at his words, trying to understand what he meant. but your mind was so muddled up with sadness, and him softly patting your back was not helping the situation either, so you just found yourself sinking into his touch. maybe you would break over his words later on.

[♡] tecchou was always on the quieter side, except whenever he was with you. you had known suehiro tecchou since the two of you were kids. you had always noticed how he used to sit quietly in class even during break times so you took it upon yourself to talk to him, sure that this silent boy just needed someone to pay attention to him as long as that person did the talking but boy, you were wrong. he not only talked back to you enthusiastically but ended up becoming good friends with you. it was weird, really. because whenever you saw him hanging out with his other friends, he would barely talk. you even overheard some of the people talking about how silent and standoffish he was, and some of them even had the audacity to ask you how you managed to converse with him. you told them maybe they didn’t have anything interesting to say to him, to which some people would joke that ‘or maybe we aren’t as interesting to him as you are’. you would just shrug (and act like that statement didn’t just cause your stomach to somersault because tecchou treating you differently because he liked you? that was a bit of a leap in your one sided love even for you), thinking back on a previous conversation which tecchou would have brought up himself enthusiastically. one day you finally decided to ask him. “why don’t you talk to others? you’re always yapping whenever you're with me.” the two of you were watching a movie, one of his arms draped over your shoulders as he rubbed mindless circles on your arm (you had no clue what the movie was about by this point). at this, techhou looks gives you a quizzical look, before replying, ‘because they’re not you?’. ‘ah.’ is all you manage to say, feeling a little heat rise up your cheeks. but you also knew he didn’t imply anything in that statement so you just mustered back a smile and turned your attention back to the tv, letting the feeling of his fingers tracing your arms through your shirt satisfy your feelings for now.

[♡] the only person who won against fyodor in chess was you. it was a surprise to you too, to be honest. even though the reason fyodor took you in the decay of the angels was due to your brains, looking at his actions to infect both mori and fukuzawa, and get rid of dazai was enough for you to realise that this man was leagues above you in terms of intelligence. it was almost like he was another species. and yet, you were not sure what had come over you when you barged into his room one fine day, right when he was in the middle of a chess match between goncharov and him, demanding that he played chess with you instead so that it would be an actual workout for his brain. what you were thinking was beyond you too (maybe it was the fact that no one had ever outsmarted you in your entire life and then there was fyodor dostoyevsky, a man who thought a hundred steps ahead of you). at first, when you realised your grave mistake, you were sure fyodor would ask goncharov to use his ability to swallow you whole into the earth and you would never stand a chance because you were never a fighter. but to your surprise, fyodor just smiled, asking goncharov to get lost and indicated at the now empty seat opposite to you. sure that you had just sealed your coffin, you sat down with a gulp, determined to win (if that was even possible). and that was the most brain racking chess match you had ever played. dostoyevsky wasn’t just good, he was brutally amazing. but you didn’t give up. somewhere down the line you realised your life was probably on the line so you calmed yourself down and continued… until you won. and when you did you looked up at him in shock, only to find him smiling back at you, tenderly. and that must have broken something inside you because you jumped up and ploughed him into a hug. soon it became a routine, and not a single time did you let fyodor win. until one day, you overheard nikolai and sigma talking about how fyodor obviously let you win and that was weird because fyodor hated losing. at first you felt angry at this, but then you realised if fyodor wanted to kill you… he already would have done that. you didn’t even contribute anything to the team yet. and so, you let the happy thought consume you as you walked over to fyodor’s room for another chess match, determined to win and see him give you that smile once again.

[♡] nikolai always walked you home, no matter what. it had become almost like a routine now. after your work was over in the rats of the house of the dead (which was…almost never), nikolai, who would somehow know when your work was over, would be found waiting outside your office room to walk you home. at first you weren’t sure what he wanted from you. after all, everyone and their actions had an ulterior motive here. and considering that nikolai was one of the five decay angels (fyodor had introduced you to the group and you were secretly working for both), you were terrified of him. in fact the first few days of walking back to home was just him talking non stop, sometimes in that comical way he had, and sometimes in the philosophical, deep way all the while you silently begged to not be killed by him. but the more you heard him talk, the more you felt how… humanely he was. especially whenever he talked about the birds in the sky, you could see his eyes getting excited, but in a different way than it usually did whenever he was throwing his sudden quiz questions. those times his eyes held true awe and wonder, like he truly wished he could become a bird and fly away from this burden, before his eyes would dim away as usual into the fake smile he always had plastered on his face. and slowly, you began to understand him. you too started quietly giving your opinions in the talks now, laughing a little at times when he was being silly but also enjoyed baring your soul to each other. and then you started looking forward to the walks. looking forward to seeing his smile, looking forward to see his serious face and trying to console him. you loved the fact that he kept his promise to walk you back home daily, come rain or shine. but the day he walked you back home when he was running a temperature, not listening to your protests of you being fine for a five minutes walk all because he promised you was the day you realised you were heads over heels with nikolai gogol. but even you knew, no matter how sweet he was, no matter the reason he first offered to walk home with you, he would never love you back.

A/N || Hi everyone! This is my first time writing for bsd, let alone anime. Do let me know what you guys think! Also I went with whatever names they are referred to in the anime. Comments and reblogs are appreciated! If you want to be added to the taglist, dm me!

A/N || Also, lemme know which all bsd men you wanna read abt (preferably NOT atsushi cus i still see him as a child im 20 cus ive barely read fics in this fandom so im not sure?) and don't ask why only chuuya is on the banner.

A/N 2 || P.S loosely based on my situationship (SOMEONE GET ME OUT OF IT PLS)

© 𝐊𝐊𝐎𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐈𝐄 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓

[oikasugayama]

YOU CATCH HIM M@STURBAT!NG

NSFW, for adults ONLY, MDNI or I'll block you. No idea how many parts this will be. Let me know which BSD men you want to see ;)

pt. 1 Fyodor, Poe, Chuuya | pt. 2 Fukuzawa, Kunikida, Dazai | pt. 3 Ranpo, Akutagawa, Ango | pt. 4 Sigma, Mori, Tetcho | pt. 5 (finale) Atsushi, Nikolai

Fyodor

Walking in on him touching himself is REALLY surprising because he doesn't seem the type to masturbate, in your mind. You straight up couldn't imagine him touching himself until the very second you walked into his office and saw his bottoms around his ankles, his top hiked up around his chest, and his hand furiously pumping over his pale dick.

His head is thrown back, eyes closed, mouth lazily hanging open. You've never seen so much skin on him before. He's PALE pale which makes the brightness of his mouth and tongue and the tip of his cock seem so much brighter.

"oh love, yes, yesss" he moans, and your whole body flushes red with embarrassment and arousal at the same time. You shouldn't be seeing this but you're having a hell of a time turning away from him. You need to leave the room. You need to go. You need to turn around.

"y/n," he purrs, tilting his head and opening his eyes half-way, looking so fucked out and erotic. "do you like what you see?"

You can't formulate an answer, you're standing in the doorway short circuiting, trying to make words but only noises come out

"since you're standing there I thought you might be interested," he says as slow and calm as ever. Even jerking himself off his voice doesn't hitch or raise or speed up and it's honestly really hot right now. "Care to join me?"

"i-i, um... I'm really s-sorry, f...fyodor."

He moans softly biting his lip while still staring straight at you.

"say it again," he purrs. "say my name."

"fyodor..."

"again," he moans, hand working faster.

"Fyodor."

you walk in and close the door behind you.

Poe

You two scheduled a hang-out at his place but despite how many times you knocked on the door, he wouldn't answer...so you try the doorknob, and hey, it's unlocked! You've been to his place many times, you don't mind letting yourself in and don't suspect he'll mind either.

After you put your stuff down and take off your shoes, you register a quiet noise coming from a different room. you sneak closer and realize two things: it's crying, and it's coming from poe's bedroom

you open the door and rush in without thinking. "poe! what's wrong, why are you-- OH FUCK"

you rushed right into him kneeling at the edge of his bed, bouncing on a dildo and not crying, whimpering, moaning.

he calls your name and you can't tell if he meant to moan it but he absolutely moans it and he sounds like a wreck and he looks pathetic and fucked out, and you feel it when he says your name.

"I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have been this, I'm gonna go home--" you say, turning and rushing out of his room. he calls your name after you, multiple times, moaning and moaning and moaning--

you sink down against his front door, still slightly able to hear the sounds of him moaning and whining from his room. you're so horny now, absolutely drenched through your panties/rock hard in your pants. You know you should leave, you know you shouldn't still be here, but he never told you to go, he just kept saying your name...

a few minutes later, after the noises have subsided and the apartment has gotten deadly quiet, his bedroom door creaks open and he slowly peeks his head out. he must be crawling still because he's near the floor.

"[y/n]," he sighs, "I didn't want you to find out like this."

it takes you a second to collect yourself, but you manage to ask "find what out?"

"that i... i think about you... a lot..."

Chuuya

you're on a PM mission with chuuya and several other PM members. you've got to share a room with chuuya, but at least you have separate beds. it's fine. it's whatever. until.

until you wake up one morning--the clock on the bedside table saying it's only 6:23 a.m.--to the sound of a rhythmic slapping, some occasional huffs, a-- a moan?

you sit upright in bed quickly, your head turning toward chuuya's bed.

"are you fucking serious?"

"what" he huffs, and through the tiny bit of daylight creeping through the curtains you can see movement beneath his sheets.

"are you jerking off right now? dude we're sharing a fucking room."

"you were asleep," he says defensively. "not like you noticed yesterday."

"dude!!!"

"get over it, it's fuckin' natural," he says and his voice is getting tight and higher almost like he's biting back a moan or getting close to cumming.

"it's disrespectful when you have someone in the same room, chuuya," you say softer, subconsciously still trying to hear the sounds he's making. you're embarrassed at how intrigued you are

"i'm not stopping you," he says. "you can jerk it too for all i care."

"to what... to you jerking it?"

you can almost hear the smirk in his voice when he says "I never said anything about that, so you thought that up all on your own. is that what you're into, pet?"

[cheriecoke]

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ BY ANY OTHER NAME — dazai osamu

summary . . . dazai comes home after a week away, and you stay up late to surprise him with a gift.

contents . . . sfw, f!reader, pm boss dazai, dazai's pov, fluff, pet names, husband dazai <3, my unofficial valentine’s fic — 2.3k

notes . . . IM BACK !!!! he can stop whining about being neglected now (i missed him)

Dazai rubs his eyes as he walks in through the front doors of the Port Mafia headquarters, two of his men trailing behind him. The lights have been dimmed in the lobby, just bright enough to read through a sheet of paper without squinting. There are very few people loitering in the building, but that isn’t unusual for three o’clock in the morning. 

The sight of the lobby, as abysmal and dreary as it is, soothes the ache that’s been lingering in Dazai’s chest. It’s been a while since he’s been home; the past week was dedicated to doing business outside of the city. But it feels like it’s been even longer than that since he’s gotten to kiss you.

Dazai had called you every day when he was away — of course he did. His every thought revolves around you. It’s just that a few phone calls are nothing compared to being close enough to touch you.

“All set then, boss?” Chuuya asks, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He looks every bit as tired as Dazai feels. None of them had gotten much sleep on the mission away, and the weariness is finally settling down on them.

Dazai nods and waves his hands, dismissing Chuuya. “Get some rest. But don’t think that you can miss out on the meeting tomorrow just because we got back late,” he hums, and though Chuuya’s face twists up in annoyance, a fraction of a grin lingers on Dazai’s own. “I expect you there bright and early.” 

“Asshole,” Chuuya mutters under his breath, rolling his eyes. And, in all honesty, Dazai is too tired to even quip back. 

He watches as Chuuya and the rest of his team disperse. Some of them head to the elevator, choosing to remain under the safety of the Mafia’s ownership. Some leave the building, heading to their private homes, outside of the city.

Dazai doesn’t really care where they choose to reside, as long as they remain loyalty to him and the Mafia. So far, he hasn’t had any issues.

With a quick scan around the room, he notices that there are still eyes on him. Dazai refrains from yawning, even as the sleepy feeling creeps up on him, an almost uncontrollable strain of the muscles. It’s a simple bodily reaction, but it feels too much like an emotion, a weakness that he could reveal. How tiring it is, to be the boss, with every eye scutinizing him, searching for a mistake. 

He’s a lot more relaxed around the members he’d been a child with; they disliked the previous bosses more than they dislike him, but some still miss when Mori was alive. Some, he worries, know they’ll never be able to land a finger on Dazai — you are the much easier target. 

It’s a fear that has never left him alone, not since the day he fell in love with you. 

When his eyes slide to the corner of the room, he notices that Higuchi and Gin are still downstairs, conversing in whispers in front of a corner table. 

His eyebrows wrinkle together. They’re supposed to be with you, still watching out in case anyone decides to make a move before you’re back in his arms. 

Dazai heads toward them, straightening his lips into a scowl. He knows that neither of them particularly like him; their feelings are nothing short of neutral. But they are fiercely loyal to you.

As much as he’d like to snap at someone in his weathered state, he knows neither of them would ever do anything to put you in danger. He also knows that if you’d begged them to be left alone, they would’ve complied. 

“Higuchi,” Dazai says, his voice flattened, serious, as he tries to hide both his exhaustion and his confusion. “Is something wrong?”

The blonde straightens, her expression changing quickly from an easy smile to something anxiously stoic. Her eyes shift from him to Gin, and though she always puts on a very brave face, Dazai knows how much he intimidates her — just as Mori did before him. 

“Sorry, sir,” Higuchi says, and she steps to the side, a space between her and the other woman revealing you asleep on the table. “We thought you’d be back earlier. She wanted to stay down here and surprise you, but it got late, and…” Higuchi trails off, noticing that Dazai is already distracted, his expression softening. 

It is, perhaps, the reason that so many in the Port Mafia choose to win you over. There is very little that Dazai forgives, very little that he lets slide. You, though, have a heart that is much softer, a gentleness that he has never once in his life possessed. The bleeding organ caged within his chest is made of blooming flowers when it comes to you, ones with petals he’d let you pluck off without a single protest. 

“Oh,” Dazai says, the syllable nothing more than a puff of air, parting his cold lips. His eyes soften, body relaxing, every ounce of tension draining from his shoulders. He feels lighter, those sickening thoughts of blood and misery evaporating from his mind like a cartoonish puff of smoke. “I see.”

One of your arms is stretched out across the table, the other tucked under your head, creating a right angle from your wrist to your elbow. There is a dark shade of lipstick on your mouth, that has now smeared to your cheeks. Only one of your eyes is visible, the other pressed into your bicep. 

You’re a mess, but you’re so human; angelically beautiful, but not without the faults of a mortal. He loves you so dearly that his chest squeezes, and though Gin and Higuchi are watching, he knows—and they know—that he’s never been good at hiding his feelings for you. 

“Thank you,” Dazai says, tapping Higuchi on the shoulder. She seems to flinch at the sudden contact, but relaxes, and nods. “For staying with her.”

Higuchi is surprised by the acknowledgement, but she just bows her head, laughs, almost awkwardly, and backs away from him. “I consider her a friend. I don’t need to be thanked.”

“It’s polite to thank people for the work they’ve done for you,” Dazai says, and though he’s, perhaps, being uncharacteristically nice, you’ve softened him like butter, making him sickeningly saccharine. “Is it not?”

Higuchi opens her mouth, then draws her eyebrows together before shutting it. Better to let it go than question Dazai’s newfound benevolence — something he will spare only so often.

But she surprises Dazai with a small grin, her bangs falling into her eyes as she tilts her head just to the side. “Your darling wife has trained you well,” Higuchi says, much braver than she’d been months ago, braver still, than she’d been under Mori’s regime. 

Dazai thinks he’s grown too soft in his years with you. Though, one scan of your darling, sleeping figure erases any regret he could ever feel. 

He’s surprised by Higuchi’s reaction, but he doesn’t let it show, a smile sliding smoothly on his face before a sharp laugh escapes from him. “I’ve just grown to trust you more, Higuchi. I know that you would never betray her.” 

Higuchi smiles; there’s a fresh understanding between them that wasn’t there before. 

Dazai loves you, he loves you dearly, but he is lucky that so many others do too. How many people has he won over in the Mafia, just by being associated with you? How many have sworn their loyalty to him, only because they’re forever loyal to you? 

He supposes it doesn’t matter. You’ve got a pretty ring on your finger to prove that you’re as much his as you are the Port Mafia’s, and he doesn’t intend on ever letting you go.

Gin and Higuchi bid him a good night, and his exhaustion finally starts to overcome him, the stickiness in the back of his throat giving way to pain, his eyelids thin and scratchy. 

Dazai runs his hands over your head softly, stirring you back awake. It must be painful, the position you’re in, and he can only imagine how stiff you are. When he touches your cheek, you make a soft little sound under your breath; Dazai nearly melts.

“Sweetheart,” he hums, dragging his fingertips across your arms. “Let’s go.” 

It takes a few seconds longer before you jolt a bit, eyes fluttering open softly. You’d been in a surprisingly deep sleep, despite the lights on in the room, the rustling sound that follows the people walking around.

“Osamu?” 

Dazai hums an affirmation, and then he kisses you, just the corner of your mouth, the only part of it that he can reach. “You fell asleep,” he says, just above a whisper, kneeling slightly as you make your way to a seated position. “Time to go upstairs.”  

But you’re still half-asleep, and you fall forward, into his arms, throwing them around his neck. You smell something of fresh soap and roses, overwhelmingly sweet. Dazai almost can’t believe he’d been able to leave you for so long.  

“You’re back!” you mutter, and though it’s full of excitement, its also said through a yawn.

Dazai smiles, and breathes you in. “I am.”

“I missed you,” you kiss his shoulder, the juncture between it and his neck. “Sorry I wasn’t awake when you got here.” 

He runs his fingers up your spine and laughs, shaking his head. “It’s the middle of the night, my love. I would’ve preferred you were asleep, anyway.” A pout forms against his neck; he quickly remedies his words, and kisses the top of your head. “But I’m happy to see you. I was certainly surprised.” 

You laugh, breathless. “Not much of a surprise with me passed out on the table.” 

Dazai starts to pull away, but notices the bouquet of bright red roses on the table. It’s large — dozens and dozens of flowers stuck into the paper. They’re your favorites, ones that he always gets you, the stamp on the packaging from the same florist he shops from. His eyebrows wrinkle together. 

“Who are the flowers from?” he says, and though he tries to keep his tone unassuming, he knows how it sounds… Irritated, and perhaps a little too much like a man willing to skin anyone alive. 

You pull your head away from his shoulder and glance behind you, to the bouquet that is laid carefully against the table. “Oh,” you say, your eyes darting back down to your hands, in a way that is almost bashful. “They’re from me, actually. For you.” 

Carefully, you pick them up and hand them to him, smiling sideways and awkwardly.  

Dazai’s eyes widen. He glances at the flowers being presented to him, stares at the golden and diamond ring upon your finger, the vulnerability in your irises as you reach out the bouquet. His doubt is only obvious for a second, but it is enough to have you questioning your surprise. 

You frown, withdraw, and begin to set the bouquet down. “Do you not like them? I know they’re more of something I would like, but I just thought… Well, I love when you buy me flowers, Osamu. And you just have so many things, I thought this would be more—”

Dazai smiles. He is sick with affection, devastatingly in love with you and everything that you have to offer. You could have given him nothing, and he still would have stared at you with stars in his eyes, because you are the universe that he revolves around. You could’ve given him the world, and it wouldn’t have mattered, because he wants you and you alone, and no gift can compare to the way that you love him. 

He kisses you, catches you in the middle of a sentence, steals the air right from your lungs. The taste of you is even sweeter after so much time apart, and he curls his fingers into your scalp, traces your cheeks with his thumb. “I love you,” he says against your mouth, whispers the words, even though everyone around them sees his feelings on a flickering sign about his head. “You’re so sweet to me, even though I probably don’t deserve it.” 

You’re taken aback, and then you shake your head, rolling your eyes. You must get tired of how often he says it, how often he questions why you love a man like him. But it’s true. You are everything that’s right with the world, and Dazai is the opposite. Fate must’ve been on his side to match him with a soulmate that is everything he truly needs. 

“You spoil me too much,” you say in return, yawning again in the middle of the sentence, your hand covering your mouth daintily. “I never get the chance to do the same.” 

Dazai thinks your love spoils him enough, but he won’t bother you with anymore of those thoughts. Your eyes are drooping closed once more, and if he doesn’t get you upstairs soon, you might just sleep on the table for the rest of the morning. 

He takes the bouquet in one hand, and drags you to your feet with the other. You sway a bit, then nestle into his side, curling your arms around his waist tightly. “I’m sleepy, Osamu.” 

“Me too, sweetheart.” The two of you walk to the elevator in silence, and he realizes that he never properly expressed his gratitude. “Thank you for the flowers, angel.” 

You don’t respond, but squeeze him a little tighter. He smiles, and the elevator chimes. 

⤷ thank you sm for reading! reblogs appreciated!

[kokonoisgf]

jealousy - chuuya nakahara

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☆  character: Chuuya Nakahara

☆  tw: MINORS DNI 18+ sexual explicit content (fem reader) : jealousy sex, "princess", "doll", praises, idk yo I just love that man

☆ note: been ages lolz, anyways i'm trying to get back into writing so sorry if this is rusty UGHHH enjoy my loves *: .｡. o(≧▽≦)o .｡.:*

☆ word count: 3.8k

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

Intimate hues of the lights adorned the halls were oh so perfectly framing your face as you talked - or rather extracted information - from  a member of the X party. Abundance and richness dripped from every corner of the rooms: candles flickering lazily, buffets on silver platters filled with caviars, smoked meats and fruits, champagne, and lots - oh yes lots of diamonds. It looked as if everything was too good to be true, a glittering illusion masking darker secrets beneath. And that’s exactly why you were there with Chuuya by your side on a mission to gain crucial information about X- said information specifically requested by Mori. There had been news going around town that they had been stealing shipments late at night, and that meant stealing from the Port Mafia’s ground. Crossing lines that they should've never crossed, unless they wanted to end up six feets under. 

You walked through the crowd, the slit of your dress went  up your soft thighs, as it almost reached your waist, letting people swarm over you like moths enamoured by the brightest flame.  It was as if all the lights in the room were on you, your gaze looming over the executive, needing just that last piece of information to finally call it a night.

The mission went even more smoothly than you thought, your hand slowly touching the man’s arm, a sweet laughter dripping from your parted lips at his joke. Every gaze was filled with a desire to touch, to know, to possess.

His attention was easy to catch. He leaned in closer, clearly infatuated, eager to please. But you kept your smile soft, your tone disarming, and yet beneath it all, your gaze was sharp, ready to extract the information you needed. You were so close, one more well-placed word, one more laugh, and you’d have the final piece of the puzzle.

Chuuya, who was sitting at the bar a few seats from you, narrowed his eyes, sharp canine poking from between his kissable lips. Downing a drink in silence,  his eyes held a barely restrained fury ‘Fuck’ He cursed under his breath, low enough that only the nearest patrons might hear, eyebrows cocking as the man seemed to be about to devour you whole. Leg shaking under the table, he impatiently taped the side of his glass with his gloved fingers. Said gloved fingers slick from the condensation of the drink. A droplet slid down the side of the glass, slow and deliberate, before landing with a quiet plop on the polished oakwood of the bar. He could hear everything: the ticking of the clock, the chatters all around him, but more so how your sweet voice responded to the man. 

He was losing control, and he knew it. This wasn’t just about the mission anymore. It was about you, and the way this man had dared to even look at you, there was no way he could ever get away with it. Chuuya had to remind himself over and over—it’s part of the plan, it’s part of the plan—but the jealousy clawing at him was winning. The thought that maybe you didn’t see him the way he saw you ate at him, and he was two seconds away from tearing the whole operation apart.

And then it happened. The man, charmed  by your smile, your attention, let his hand slide lower, reaching out to grip your thigh. You could feel the roughness of his fingers skimming across your skin, and your body tensed instinctively. Before you could even react, a sharp sound cracked through the tension—a gloved hand smacking the man’s away, so forcefully the slap echoed across the room.

‘Sir!?’ Confusion filled  the executive’s  voice, as his eyebrows raised, clearly not ready to back out so easily. You could  only sigh internally, it had always been like that. Every time you worked to get close, Chuuya lost his cool just before the crucial moment.  It would have been a blatant lie to say that it annoyed you, in fact you found his jealousy strangely endearing.

‘Back off asshole, she’s with me’’ Growled Chuuya, Cerulean eyes boring into his. His arm was  firmly wrapped around your waist, bringing you even closer, gloved fingers digging into your soft exposed  skin as if to reiterate his point. He looked absolutely breathtaking like this -  when his possessive side showed like that, you thought in a haze. His cologne mixed with his natural scent only made your head spin even more. 

‘I believe we were having a discussion - ‘ The executive stammered, trying to assert himself until he was cut by Chuuya’s rough voice. 

‘Shut the fuck up’

The Mafia executive spat, cutting him off mid-sentence. He clearly was not having it, and before the man could even say another word, He whisked you away upstairs in a closed room where he slammed the door shut. He clicked his tongue in irritation, unbuttoning the upper half of his shirt, unveiling a sliver of his ivory-white skin with each pop. He felt  like he was  losing his damn mind, needing to cool down for a second, everything becoming way too much way too quick downstairs. 

Your gaze never left  his, cradling your face in your arms as you laid atop the plush mattress of one of the many many rooms in this mansion. You could see the storm raging inside him, the jealousy, the protectiveness, the raw need. And you couldn’t help but tease him, just a little 

‘Chuuya, focus on the mission, would you?’

Your teasing tone did  not go unnoticed as a faint blush dusted his cheeks, his jealousy so clearly put on display. Freezing for a moment, he was suddenly hyper aware of every breath he took.Turning  around to face  you, he frowned.

‘I can’t stand seeing any of those pieces of shit touch you’ He was more than bold, cornering you against the bed. ‘Would you understand that?’ He raised an eyebrow, playing with your words. You couldn’t help but enjoy this. This desperate jealous side of him that you always saw on missions like these. Flickering your eyes to his lips, you smiled innocently. 

‘It's part of the mission Chuuya, how else do you want us to get that information Mori asked for’

He only gruffed, leaning against the wall beside you.

‘There’s just no way I can see that and stay calm, y’know me’

He raised an eyebrow, as if this was the most evident thing in the entire universe.

‘Besides, I’d rather use my fucking fist then let one of the these dirtbags breath the same air as you’ 

Gosh - It made your heart flutter. You leaned forward, almost tauntingly letting the silky satin drip down your chest, exposing your cleavage. ‘Yea? You would? Tell me more’

Chuuya narrowed his eyes at you, a faint blush back on his cheeks, as his gaze desperately tried to avoid the valley of your breasts so prettily put on display for him. 

‘Cut that crap already’ He paused scowling, regrouping his composure slightly before letting himself sit next to you on the bed. You taunting him was enough to send him to heaven and back. Not to mention the way your dress hugged your curves so perfectly, the material dipping exposing your curves - Stop. He had to control himself. 

‘I mean it…’ You were now the one who was bold. Your hand coming to rest gingerly on his thigh. He tensed, his whole body feeling as if an electric current ran through him. ‘I want to know what’s on your mind right now…’ You cooed, your eyes drinking in the sight of his flustered face. You’d had wanted him since forever, and now it was enough, you could not hold back anymore. Seeing his possessive side shine through in missions always aroused you more than you’d ever admit, but today was your breaking point — The faint glow of the candle light illuminating the side of his face, taunt jaw, pursed lips, and furrowed brow. He was beyond handsome, but that was no news to you.

The tension in the room felt thick, like a cord pulled taut, ready to snap at any moment.You shifted slightly, the soft silk of your dress brushing against your skin, reminding you just how far you were pushing him. The material clung to you in all the right places, the slit revealing enough to make anyone pause in their tracks, but it was the way Chuuya looked at you that set you alight. His gaze burned with such want, that he felt himself getting dizzy with need. 

On the other hand,  you couldn’t help it. You loved testing him, pushing his limits just to watch him unravel. The way his jaw clenched, the subtle twitch in his fingers like he was fighting the urge to grab you, it made you delirious with want.

His sharp gaze, usually so bold and confident, held a tinge of timidness in the depth of it. Clearing his throat, his eyes zeroed on the way your thumb gently caressed his thigh, the sensation alone enough to send a surge of heat to his groin. It was as if he was at a loss for words,  a rare sight indeed. Years and years of longing for you coming to crash down on him like waves perpetually hitting the shore. 

‘You know…’ you purred, voice dripping with that teasing edge he loved and hated all at once, ‘if you can’t handle this, maybe I should’ve gone with someone else. Someone who could keep their cool on a mission like this.’ You just wanted to rile him up enough so that he could confess his feelings, and gosh — seeing the look in his eyes as his face snapped to meet yours. It was all too good.

His gaze  flashed, anger and desire swirling together in a dangerous mix. He shifted, grabbing your hand that once rested on his thigh  in one swift motion, holding it just tight enough to make you feel the strength behind his restraint.

‘You’d better not even joke about that’ he murmured, voice low and  eyes dark with barely restrained jealousy. ‘Am’ the only one who can touch you. Got that?’ His hand gently grabbed ahold of your chin, tilting it up to meet the seriousness of his gaze - and at that moment, you  wondered  if you pushed it too far. 

‘Touch me right now then..’ Your voice sent a deep shiver through every pore of his being. Chuuya's keen eyes flashed, pupils dilating with sheer lust as he took a moment to register your words. 

‘Yea? Sure’ you can handle it?’ His grip on your chin faltered until he pushed you down gently on the bed. You almost melted into a heap on the mattress, his nervosity seeming to vanish in one-go and you knew you were in for a ride. Chuuya did exhibit such a calm demeanour before you, yet his insides were twisting with a mix of want and apprehensiveness. Truthfully, he would have been lying if he said he hadn’t been dreaming about this moment for so long, and now that words had been spoken, holding himself back was not an option anymore. 

You felt your insides burn and turn as he lowered himself on top of you, cornering you between his body and the plush mattress. Your plump lips parting to voice your thoughts, but you remained silent as if in awe of the man above you: long ginger strands cascading atop his shoulder, cerulean eyes swirling with a twinkle of lust and his white button up slightly — oh so deliciously unbuttoned exposing the fair skin of his collarbones. 

He hummed, eyes taking in the sight of you sprawled below him, completely at his mercy. 

‘Hmm why you so silent now? Seems like just now you had so much to say’ He purred teasingly, leaning down to whisper against the shell of your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine.

“So what is it? Cat’ got your tongue princess?’ You just looked so damn edible underneath him, that the Executive couldn’t help but trail his gloved hand down your face, until his thumb rubbed soothing patterns on your cheek, tilting your face slightly to make your gaze meet his. The way you gazed at him, looking utterly vulnerable beneath him, lit something inside him as he gulped down, eyes racking over your whole body, until it met yours again.

Even though his teasing tone, his eyes held such pure and raw affection for you, that you felt time stop for a mere moment. Swirling in his sapphire gaze was years of love, jealousy and pure lust.

‘Can I kiss you?’ He blurted out, biting on his lips as if using all his crumbling self restraint to wait on your answer. Chuuya would never do anything to displease you — you were his muse, his reason to go on, his soulmate: all he did in life was for you, to one day be able to call you rightfully his. He was a romantic at heart, but just for you.

 Leaning his forehead on yours, he held your face affectionately pressing a chaste kiss on your forehead 

‘You don't know for how long I’ve wanted this- how long I've wanted you.’ He exhaled, eyes closing as he felt you nod, allowing him to finally seal his lips with yours, and gosh at that moment he swore the heavens made you just for him. 

Fishing a hand through his strands, a desperate whimper of his name caresses your lips as his tongue delves into your mouth wasting no time. He smiles into the kiss pressing himself against you, his hand moving to grasp both your wrists, pinning you against the mattress. He doesn’t want you to move nor do anything, he just wants the whole mansion to hear who you belong to. 

‘Fuck-’ He cursed under his breath, letting off a breathy exhales, a string of saliva connecting your mouth to his. At that moment you can truly say that Chuuya has never looked so gorgeous.

‘Need to taste you on my tongue doll- right now. ’ Oh- now he’s even bolder. Kissing was more than enough to send electricity racking through his being, but Chuuya was a greedy man when it came to you. After spending countless nights fisting his cock to the idea of his tongue buried deep into your soaked pussy he really can’t seem to be able to hold himself back anymore. 

Cutting straight to the point, all he cared about was tasting you, your own pleasure building his brick by brick. Besides, he swore he could most likely get off to pleasuring you—your pleasure his own.

You’re quick to hitch your leg up his shoulder, Chuuya’s breath hitching in his throat, fingers letting go of your wrists to instead dig into the subtle skin of your thighs. 

‘God- I could cum just from looking at you’ He cursed, and you see it in his eyes that he’s being truthful and it stirs the deepest blush onto your cheeks. Another moan of his name slips past your lips as he presses a series of kisses on your inner thighs, his eyes looking like he’s teetering on the verge of insanity, high on you and your scent. Lashes fluttering closed, he skillfully hooked a finger under your pantie moving it aside giving him prime view of your soaked cunt. 

‘Fuck- this wet just from kissing me, huh?’ He felt himself spinning, mind unravelling at the sight before him. You, on your back with your dress hitched up to your waist, a leg comfortably resting on his shoulder with your pretty pussy just waiting to get tongue fucked by him. 

‘How long you been wanting this, tell me princess’ He cooed such tease dripping from his tone as his eyes drank in the sight of your flushed face. 

‘Years..’ you confessed, as he chuckled the air that exited his lips caressing your drooling folds.

‘That’s it… that’s my pretty girl’ he purred, completely and utterly drunk on you, feeling you throb against his index finger collecting your slit, bringing it to his lips. He felt your fingers grasp his locks, gasps resonating throughout the luxurious room, before he slowly manoeuvred his finger up and down your slit, index delving into your cunt. His mouth gaped, as if entranced by the view of his finger disappearing into your pussy, your juices drenching him. It’s not long before he adds in his middle finger, almost salivating at the sight. 

‘Taking my fingers so well baby’ Chuuya praised, his tongue locked onto your pearl, pretty lashes of his fluttering shut, his hips grinding into thin air. Flicking his tongue against your poor fucked-out nub, Chuuya’s fingers were skilfully moving inside you, wasting no time to repeatedly abuse your sweet spot. 

’Mine — all fucking mine’ He possessively whispered, lips hungrily latching onto your clit, fingers relentlessly pumping in and out of you. You were bucking into his hand, à thin ring of cum coating his fingers. Eyes zeroed on your cunt so greedily swallowing his fingers, he babbled drunk on your pussy

’Made for me’ all of you, - Fuck’

Your body arched under him, every muscle tightening as the pleasure built and built, coiling inside you like a spring about to snap. Chuuya's fingers moved with such skill, as if he'd memorised your body long before tonight, knowing exactly how to bring you to the brink of release. His mouth on your clit, hot and demanding, had you squirming against him, but his strong hands kept you firmly in place.

‘Chuuya—’ you gasped, voice cracking with desperation. You were so close, oh so close to an  overwhelming climax. His name left your lips like a prayer, which only seemed to fuel him more, his grip on your thighs tightening as he fucked you with his fingers and  greedily ate you out like a starved man. 

Then suddenly, the  tension in your body snapped like a cord pulled too tight, and your orgasm washed over you in waves, pulling you under with such force that you could hardly breathe. You tried warning him, but you could babble moans of his name as your body trembled against him, and Chuuya never let up, his fingers still thrusting into you, dragging out every last ounce of pleasure until you were a shaking, gasping mess beneath him.

He groaned, feeling the way your walls clenched around his fingers, his hips grinding down against the bed in search of some kind of relief. He looked utterly drunk on lust—his face flushed, his lips wet with your juices, his eyes blown wide with lust and satisfaction.

‘You’re so fucking beautiful like this’ he rasped, pulling his fingers from you slowly, and bringing them to his lips to taste you again. He licked them clean, savouring the flavour of you as if it rivalled the finest wine.

You were still panting, your chest rising and falling with each laboured breath as you tried to come down from the high of your orgasm. Chuuya hovered above you, his body shaking with need, but he didn’t push you didn’t demand anything from you. He simply looked at you, as if the sight of you in this state of bliss was enough to satisfy him somehow.

Although,you wanted more- you needed him. After catching your breaths, you pushed him down, climbing on top of him. His eyes widened at your actions, a blush dusting his cheeks up to his ears as if he wasn’t just eating your pussy two minutes ago.

‘Need you inside me’  your hands made quick work of his dress pants as he sucked in a breath, eyes darkening further at your words. You could feel the hardness of him through the fabric of his underwear, the bulge leaving little to nothing to the imagination. 

‘A-Ah Fuck- wait-’ He cursed again, a whimper threatening to escape his lips as his gaze flickered between your beautiful angel-like face and your hand positioning him into your greedy cunt. A few strand of his long ginger hair stick to his face, cock already throbbing with anticipation to cum.

‘Won't last long I- got me so riled up earlier eating you-’ He bashfully mumbled, feeling beyond embarrassed only wishing that earth could open up and swallow him whole, looking off to the side. Cheeks now almost matching his hair. Truth was, he almost came from eating you out earlier, your soft moans of his name way more than enough to send him over the edge 1000 times over. 

His cock was so beautiful: flushed and leaking his precum dribbling down its shaft. Rubbing his tip against your soaked folds, Chuuya threw his head back against the pillow, eyes rolling into the back of his skull. His hands gripped onto your hips as if holding untold ear life, leaving crescent moon indents into your plush skin. He was desperately trying to suppress his moans and whimper, biting down on his lip almost drawing blood, until you slowly sank his length into you, seating on him.

A choked out gasp escaped his lips, curses filling the room, his hips gyrating upwards to meet your movements on top. 

‘S-So good to me’ He babbled out, drunk on your pussy, milking him, as if it was made to take him in. Cockhead kissing your cervix, he’s merciless, feets digging into the mattress to push his hips upward meeting your every thrust. Chuuya could revel in the feeling forever, whether it was the grip of your velvety wall around his pulsating cock, the way your lips parted shamelessly moaning his name like a mantra, or the way your tits bounced with every movement on his length. The pleasure was unbearable for the both of you already feeling your second orgasm creep out, impaling yourself on his cock at a faster and harsher pace. Your hands pressed against his chest leaning forward to bounce on him, and Chuuya swore he had been sent to the afterlife. 

‘C’mon baby- let me feel you cum on my cock-’ He choked out,and the words nearly sent you over the edge. His eyes met yours, and it was the way he gazed at you with such love  that finally gave you the slight push you needed to come undone on top of him. 

Tears streamed down your cheeks as the pleasure overwhelmed you, every thrust of Chuuya’s hips upward  sent shockwaves through your body, and you finally came on top of him. Fucking you through your orgasm, the redhead finally halted balls deep, knuckles turning white as he gripped your hips with sheer force enough to leave bruises indicating he reached his limit too. 

‘’C-Cummin-’’ He gritted through his clenched teeths, body twitched releasing thick long ropes of cum inside your pussy, his release flooding you with warmth. Collapsing on top of his chest, his hand tangled into your locks, slowly trying to catch his breath. He felt like his heart was right about to burst straight out of his chest. 

For a moment, everything was still. The world outside didn’t exist—there was only you and Chuuya, wrapped up in each other, your bodies still buzzing from the intensity of what had just happened.

And then, slowly, he cleared his throat, his eyes soft as they met yours. He wanted to say so much, yet his lips parted and his mind blanked looking into your eyes—your flushed face, parted glossy lips and doe eyes piercing right into his soul.You were so breathtaking, it completely made him lose his mind. Your fingers grazed the skin of his collarbone before you smiled softly speaking in a hushed voice

‘You wanna know something?’

‘Yea?’ 

‘If this is what happens when random creeps flirt with me on missions, I just might have to let it happen more often.’ 

Chuuya only chuckled, rolling his eyes, as his hand came to caress your hair lovingly. Pressing a chaste kiss on your forehead, he nuzzled your locks swearing that one day he’d make you his, and that this was only the beginning.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

+ back to masterlist

⋆ likes and reblogs are always super appreciated ⋆

[yokohamapound]

Hi! This is gonna be a wierd request but I just got really bad injuries on my fingers and I can't use them without being in immense pain (text to speech has become my best friend) so you think you can write something with B S D characters with an S slash O that can't use their hands after a mission/accident without being in a ton of pain? I just need some fluff to read while I recover. Thanks!

Hi, lovely. Sorry it's taken me so long to get to this one, and I hope you're doing well!

Characters: Dazai Osamu, Nakahara Chuuya, Nakajima Atsushi, Kunikida Doppo, Edgar Allan Poe

Contents: mentions of injury, medication, doctors, physical therapy, gn!reader, no graphic details

Dazai Osamu

Considering he spends 99% of his time in bandages, it's a safe bet that Dazai's injured his hands a time or two, so he'll get what you're dealing with.

While he likes to play the clown and act lazy and immature, this is only really an act—he can definitely step up when he needs to, and he's very capable...or he just manipulates other people into picking up the slack.

You won't have to worry about things around the house, because he'll just get Atsushi to do it!

As for looking after you, Dazai will actually do that himself. He'll skillfully change the bandages on your fingers after rubbing in whatever topical medication or painkiller your doctor has prescribed, an intent, focused expression on his face, even while he chatters.

"I need you to get better soon," he quips. "I want to hold hands without protection."

He grins, because he knows you can't hit him.

Nakahara Chuuya

Chuuya hates that you got hurt on the mission, and lowkey blames himself for it, whether he was there or not. He's a damn executive, isn't he? He should be able to prevent these things happening to his s/o.

What makes him feel even worse is that he can't just stay home and look after you—Mori won't give him that kind of leeway. What he can do is put money toward the problem.

It's not ideal, but having the best team of doctors (not Mori), surgeons, and physical therapists available is going to make rehabilitation go a lot smoother. Having stuff like food delivered, laundry and cleaning outsourced, and the latest in smartphones for text to speech is a godsend.

He also has you sending him voice notes all day, because he's used to the constant flurry of texts back and forth and he doesn't want to go without hearing from you.

Nakajima Atsushi

Atsushi will wait on you hand and foot. You won't need to lift a finger (literally, please don't) because he'll be vibrating with anxiety at your side, just in case you need something.

You'll probably have to tell him—gently—when he starts overdoing it, not letting you do anything for yourself. He doesn't mean anything by it; he just hates seeing your face scrunch up in pain.

He keeps trying to ply you with ochazuke—tea on rice—because it's his ultimate comfort food, but he'll have to feed it to you, because using chopsticks with injured fingers is a bitch. He apologises constantly because it feels awkward, even though he reminds himself of all the times you've helped him.

"I promise I won't make airplane noises," he jokes, holding up a spoonful of tea-soaked rice for you to lean forward and take a bite. "Heh. You're kinda scary when you glare like that."

Kunikida Doppo

Depending on where you are in the timeline, Kunikida has very real experience with the loss of use of his hands, though he lost his hands entirely. Temporarily, yes, but the end result is the same and hre remembers vividly the feeling of helplessness and frustration when you are unable to do things for yourself the way you are used to.

Kunikida shows love through organisation. Your medications, wound redressings, doctor and physical therapy appointments will all be rigorously scheduled in his notebook. He'll drive you to them himself, and chivvy you through any recovery exercises you need to do.

Most helpful of all, he can use his Special Ability to create specialised tools for your recovering hands—utensils, pens, etc with an altered grip so you don't have to move your fingers more than necessary.

Kunikida is more than happy to look after you, but he understands on a personal level how important it is to restore to you a sense of independence and autonomy.

Edgar Allen Poe

Like Chuuya, Poe can simply use his wealth to mitigate a lot of the pain, discomfort, and frustration caused by your injuries, and he will, but he's also got the time (and gothic, brooding hero dedication) to look after you personally.

With a side dish of melodrama of course.

"How can I serve you in your time of need, my dear? Do your hands pain you terribly?"

"Well, yes, but I was wondering if you could help me set up my audiobook—"

"I'll read to you myself! No inferior voice shall touch your ears!" He trails off, then peers at you over the top of your book. "My, this is rather..."

"It's smut, Ed."

"Indeed... Shall I fetch your headphones, dear?"

Honestly, Karl is your most useful companion here. He's pretty good at opening doors or prodding buttons with his little raccoon hands.

[cvntydazai]

underdog

when you and your boyfriend work for the port mafia, spending time together isn’t always going to be a top priority, especially when he’s an executive and you’re just an underdog.

pairing; chuuya nakahara x fem!reader

word count; 2.5k

content warning; heavy angst, fluff, cursing, lots of mentions of alcohol, bestfriend!dazai, miscommunication, unedited, slightly suggestive if you squint, chuuya is a sweetie pie who i love with my whole heart

a/n: my second post on here! i’m working on my masterlist and stuff right now but formatting that stuff can be so boring so it takes me forever.

you woke to the feeling of the cold morning breeze against your shivering body. the bed felt empty on chuuya’s side, as it always did. he usually left for work earlier than you did, claiming it was mori’s request that he be there at the crack of dawn but some days it felt like he did it by choice.

while chuuya was an executive under port mafia, you were simply an underdog, taking on miniscule tasks that don’t require the attention of any higher up. you tried to reason with your bitter feelings on the title, it was better to be out of the spotlight. so why did you want to be in it so badly?

your phone that laid on your bedside table rung, chuuya’s contact name stared back at you. with a sigh you reached for the phone and accepted your lover’s call. “hello?” you start, a moment of silence before chuuya speaks.

“hey, mori said there’s a job for you.” of course, mori wouldn’t waste time calling someone of such low importance so chuuya was tasked with it.

chuuya explained the details of the mission. it was simple, as they all were. you needed to collect missed payments from someone the port mafia worked with. you were also informed they weren’t hostile, that it was just to collect money.

“if you don’t feel comfortable going alone i can send akutagawa to go with you.” his concern was noticeable even through the phone.

“no, it’s fine. these kinds of jobs bore him anyways.” and they bore you too, but you never voice your complaints.

“okay, just.. be safe.” you agreed, ending the call immediately after.

you got ready in the time it took for the cab to arrive at your apartment. there was no small talk on the ride there, just the silent hum of lost radio signal on the stereo. this would take maybe an hour or two tops and then you would have nothing left on your schedule for the day. that’s how it typically went, no work of any importance.

“we’re here.” you thanked the driver and stepped out.

-

it took an hour and a half, only because the shop owner who owed money did not want to cough up the cash to pay his debts. eventually you had to threaten him, and he finally agreed to pay what he owed.

with the money in hand you headed for the port mafia in the same car you came here with. the same silence, same boredom. when you arrived there was no one to greet you so you decided to take the money up to mori yourself.

you passed akutagawa on the way there, he stopped you. “are you going to see mori?” you nodded, motioning to the suitcase that held the heaping amount of money. “just let me take it, i’ll let him know you went home after finishing the job.” he said, snatching the suitcase from you quicker than you could comprehend.

of course, you could never see the boss yourself. the higher ups had to always be the ones, why couldn’t it ever just be you delivering your work to your boss? it wasn’t fair, but you didn’t dare speak out.

“thanks, akutagawa.” he nodded, turning back to mori’s office.

when you reached the entrance again there was the same driver, you sat in the same seat.

“going home?” you thought about it for a second.

“no, take me to the nearest bar.” he complied without saying another word.

the nearest bar happened to be one you frequented, when you entered you were greeted by the bartender who was currently cleaning off glasses from previous customers. you took your usual spot at the center of the bar, ordering what you usually do. you drank in silence, playing with the hem of your coat while you thought to yourself.

the coat was chuuya’s gift to you after he noticed how much you loved wearing it. even after he handed it over to you, sometimes you would still put it on his side of the coat rack so it smelled like him when you wore it. he used to tease you about it, saying you could just start wearing his cologne too if you liked the way he smelled so much.

the coat that once kept you warm felt colder now. maybe it was because it had aged significantly since it was gifted to you and was now littered in holes, or maybe it was because you hadn’t properly seen chuuya in weeks and the coat doesn’t smell of him anymore.

he was always busy, always having missions to go on while you rotted away at home like the useless underdog you were. could being a higher up and risking your life be worth it, if it meant you could see him more?

“hey, stranger.” you knew that voice anywhere.

“hi, dazai.” you didn’t look up to meet his eyes, only feeling his presence sitting beside you.

even with dazai being in the agency now, he was still your closest friend. you still frequently saw him, usually to drink but sometimes to just talk. chuuya didn’t like it whatsoever but never made an effort to stop you. he would remind you that port mafia doesn’t meddle with the agency if it doesn’t have to, and you would reply with the same “i know” as you left.

he ordered a drink on his never ending tab and hummed a tune to himself. he was awfully quiet, so unlike him.

“you know i’m gonna ask you what’s wrong, right?” he broke the silence, and for the first time since he arrived you looked him in the eye. he saw the tears welling in your eyes and it hurt him to see you like that.

“is it chuuya? are you two fighting?” the only reason he could think of.

you let out a huff, taking the last swig of your drink.

“wish we were, at least we’d be talking to eachother.” you wiped your mouth, motioning to the bartender that you wanted another.

you could see the gears in dazai’s brain working in real time, deciphering your words like a case. you knew he would figure it out eventually, but all you needed right now was comfort so you gave into his curiosity.

“i want to ask for a job promotion, i’m so tired of being seen as a weakling in the port mafia.” you admitted, pulling your newly filled drink closer to you.

dazai didn’t seem the slightest bit surprised, his eyes held sympathy for you, you hated it. he cleared his throat, as if he was about to tell you the world was ending right then and there.

it felt like it was, you were losing your one and only love to a merciless job and no one in the port mafia took you seriously no matter how hard you tried to prove to them you could get work done.

“correct me if i’m wrong but.. is this really about wanting to move up in the mafia? or is it about wanting to see chuuya more?” he solved the case, just like that.

you didn’t bite back your tears any longer, letting them fall into your crossed arms as you sniffled. you were just about to take another gulp of your drink but dazai stopped you, giving you a knowing look, you didn’t handle your booze well and he knew it.

the alcohol wouldn’t solve your problems but maybe it would dull the pain in your heart. ignoring dazai’s pleading look, you drank again. nothing mattered right now, not even the hangover you’d feel in the morning.

dazai knew he couldn’t stop you, but at least he could watch you to make sure you were safe.

-

a couple of hours later and a few drinks down you were feeling the effects in full, your tears morphed into giggles and you felt on cloud nine. dazai had a few drinks in him as well, but not nearly as many as you. continuing to ignore his looks of concern you tried your hand at the dart board mounted on the wall ahead of you.

you were just about to take your shot when dazai’s ringing phone startled you.

“hey! i would’ve gotten it that time!” you shouted, slurring your words.

dazai rolled his eyes and accepted said call, already knowing who was on the other end without having to check the caller id.

“where is she?” chuuya’s harsh voice rang through the phone.

“the bar next to the port mafia building.” he replied calmly, ignoring the slew of curses from chuuya.

“i’ll be there in a second, make sure she doesn’t have anymore to drink.”

when chuuya arrived at the bar he walked onto the scene of you fighting dazai for a bottle of wine and the bartender watching with an unreadable expression. you wouldn’t have even noticed he was there if dazai didn’t greet him.

“what are you doing here?” you frowned, snatching the bottle of wine at last now that dazai was distracted.

“taking you home, put down the bottle.” he could tell you were shitfaced just by looking at you.

“i’ll go with you, but i’m taking the wine.” you reasoned, knowing chuuya wouldn’t be leaving this bar without you.

he agreed, sighing whilst digging in his pockets for his wallet. he slammed a wad of cash onto the counter, apologizing to the poor bartender who had to deal with two idiots the entire evening.

“i’m sorry about that, this should be enough to cover both of their tabs and the bottle of wine.” the bartender offered a smile of gratitude and wished chuuya a good night.

dazai followed the two of you out of the bar, hands stuffed deep in his pant pockets.

“do you.. need a ride?” chuuya asked, already regretting the simple act of kindness. you stood at his side, eyes trained at your feet with your bottle of wine tucked tightly under your shoulder.

“nah, i’ve got someone coming. i’ll see you around.” he took his leave, and chuuya quickly ushered you in his car.

the car ride home was silent, the only thing to be heard was your fiddling fingers. you wanted to say something, anything to break the tension but your brain felt like a melting pot of emotions. you were mad, yet you also yearned for him.

“i-“ you began, he stopped you.

“not right now, we can talk when i’m not driving.” if that wasn’t a dead giveaway that he was angry you didn’t know what was.

it was quiet the entire way back to your shared apartment. the anxiety bubbling inside you helped you sober up, you were still long gone. despite his obvious frustration, he still opened the car door for you and guided you up the steps into your home.

the second the door shut his mouth was moving.

“why didn’t you tell me you were going to be gone? do you have any idea how worried i was?” his voice raised and fired up, it sparked your own rage.

“well, i’m sorry i want to do something other than be your housewife.” a confused grunt left chuuya’s lips, never had he thought of you as his housewife.

his confusion only made you more upset, he truly had no idea how you felt.

“i’m sick of being here, never having anything to do.” you complained, walking into the kitchen to grab a glass for your wine.

chuuya followed you, a stern expression on his face as he quietly listened. he could see you were hurt in a way he desperately wanted to understand, but hearing you say you were sick of being home was like a bullet to the chest. this place was supposed to be a safe place for the both of you, had he done anything to give you the impression of otherwise?

“and no one in the mafia thinks i’m useful, not even you.” you mumbled, fumbling with cork screw that sealed the wine shut.

chuuya suddenly grabbed the bottle from your hand, now looking you dead in the eye. the grip on the bottle made the veins in his hand bulge, you weren’t sure how the glass hadn’t shattered from the force.

“who said that?” he asked, an unnerving calmness in his voice that worried you.

“said what?” you gulped, no longer worried about your wine.

“said you were useless.” silence on your part.

“no.. no one’s said it but i can feel their judgement. hell, even akutagawa thinks i’m useless.”

“akutagawa thinks everyone is useless.” he argues.

“not you, he respects you.” chuuya releases his hold on the wine, instead occupying his hands around your waist.

his touch is gentle, almost cooling against your flushed skin. he leans his head into your neck, breathing in your scent which you’re sure smells of a mixture of all the alcohol you’ve consumed. “and.. it’s not just that i want to be recognized more in the port mafia. i also want to see you more.”

your confession makes him smile, you can feel his lips curving upwards on your neck.

“is that was this is about? you miss me?” you’re half tempted to push him off of you now, his ego undoubtedly stroked. “why didn’t you just say that, sweetheart.”

“it’s hard sometimes, you’re always busy and i barely see you.” he hums in agreement, pressing light kisses your shoulders.

it was hard to stay mad at him for too long when this was his way of apologizing, drowning you in physical affection that melts not only your heart but your body.

“well, if you really don’t like where you stand in the port mafia right now, I'll talk to mori. no one thinks you’re useless, hell i thought you liked staying out of the dirty business.” the mafia itself was all dirty business, but you understood what the meaning was in this context. “and i’ll try my hardest to be home more, i never mean to be gone so long darlin’, work is just hectic sometimes.”

you turned to look at him, his beautiful eyes looking at you with all the softness in the world. “i know, i’m so sorry i made a big deal out of all of this. i just felt so lost.”

he understood, “don’t be sorry, you were hurting and i should have seen it. i’m sorry, i love you more than anything.”

“it’s okay, but i think that booze is catching up to me, i need to sit down now.” with a soft laugh he guided you to your shared couch.

the rest of the night he spent pampering you, making you two dinner and putting on a movie for you to watch in the living room. you laid there in peace, your head resting against his chest while his heartbeat lulled you to sleep.

for the first time in weeks, when you fell asleep beside him you woke to him in the morning.

[chuuyascumsock]

Where Gay Goes to Die || Minors DNI

Summary: I have no words, and no apology because this actually slapped so hard. Let’s go lesbians lmao. Happy pride month.

Tags: Female! Chuuya Nakahara/Reader/Fem! Osamu Dazai, Afab reader, Threesome, Brief Voyeurism, Pet Names (Baby, Doll, Belladonna, Love, Pretty Girl, etc.), Classic Dazai-Chuuya Bickering, Fingering, Nipple Play, Hair Pulling, Face Sitting, Squirting, Strap-on Use, Slight Bit of Aftercare, Hints of a Poly At The End, Idk Maybe I’ll Make a Part Two, Haven't Decided, Honestly Downright Filthy Smut, Literally Wanna Be Stuffed Between Them Like a Sub Sandwich.

How you ended up in bed between your co-worker and her ex-partner from the mafia was a mystery to you. 

One minute you were having drinks with the ADA earlier that night before slinking off to grab another drink from the bar. And the next you were being complimented by one of the five mafia executives herself who was sitting nearby, Nakahara Chuuya. You’ve never had anyone so boldly eye fuck you while smoothly commenting on the way you fought during one of your missions— and against their organization no less. Chuuya was ethereally beautiful, her russet tresses fell over her freckled shoulders, sleek dress hugging her physique tightly to reveal her curves. The most captivating characteristic of hers had to be her heterochromatic eyes, soft blue and brown that sealed your fate as she dragged you away from the bar shortly after your interaction.

Dazai had only noticed your disappearance after she was finished with her Sake. Whining and complaining to Kunikida about how much she missed you, Kunikida scoffed and fixed her glasses. “The last I saw her was talking to the bartender.”

Dazai was quick to jump to her feet and trail off to the bar, only to find no one but the bartender there. When asked, the bartender nodded his head off to the back door that led to an alleyway with a small warning that you had left with a woman described way too familiar with Dazai. Not only was it Dazai’s ex-partner back in the mafia, but you had fought against her just the other day. Dazai felt off when approaching the door, weary of what to expect.

Entering the alleyway, Dazai hadn’t been expecting to see Chuuya feeling your soft body up with her gloved hands while shoving her tongue down your throat and vice versa. 

It took minutes for either of you to notice Dazai’s presence, too caught up in one another to see her staring you down as Chuuya had her way with you. The woman had tugged at the neckline of your tight dress, freeing your breasts to the cold air for the brunette to see before cupping and squeezing them. Your soft and cute mewls had both women wanting more as Chuuya’s lips captured yours again in a sloppy kiss.

Something in Dazai snapped and she knew that there was no more hiding her want for you behind sweet, charismatic smiles and adoring looks from across the office. She cleared her throat, a small gasp of surprise leaving you and not much of a reaction from Chuuya. 

“The hell do you want, shitty Dazai?” Chuuya nearly rolled her eyes as she kept your plush tits groped and spilling between her gloved hands. 

“What are you doing here?” You timidly ask, embarrassed for getting caught, especially with someone who was supposed to be the agency’s enemy.

Dazai kept her composure. “You were gone for too long so I came looking for you— but I see that you’re busy.” She completely ignores Chuuya for the time being.

“Sorry…” You whisper bashfully, head tilting down in shame.

“Well she’s perfectly fine, so you can leave now,” Chuuya grumbles, leaning forward to litter your throat with more hickies.

“I don’t think so— it’d be a shame for the president and Mori to find out what’s happening right now. Why don’t we talk about this at your place, hm, Chibi?” Dazai was clearly planning something.

And that something ended up with you sandwiched between both women in Chuuya’s king sized bed— Dazai’s long, manicured fingers stuffed in your cunt to the knuckles while Chuuya’s tongue entangled with yours, her calloused hand pinching one of your nipples between her fingers.

The loud squelching of your pussy around Dazai’s fingers makes your ears burn as you moan into Chuuya’s mouth, kisses growing messy and mostly tongue filled. Dazai grins in satisfaction as she presses a thumb to rub at your throbbing clit, enjoying every second of your soft walls clenching around her fingers. “Look at how cute her pussy is, Chuuya. Such a needy little slut— wanting both of us at once.”

Chuuya’s lips disconnect from yours, leaving a small string of saliva to break apart from your panting mouths. “Can’t you keep your big mouth shut for three seconds? You’re ruining the mood with your annoying voice,” She mutters in irritation at Dazai’s voice while looking anyway, her gaze glued to your slick pussy as Dazai’s fingers thrust back inside. Chuuya bites into her bottom lip at the scene momentarily before moving back to marking your neck up with love bites.

Dazai blissfully ignores Chuuya’s snippy comment, curling her long fingers to rub into a certain spot that makes your thighs quiver. “She’s so soft, I bet she tastes good too.” The brunette hums thoughtfully, her eyes trailing from your soaked pussy up to your eyes. “Do you?” She smiles mockingly, watching you stumble incoherently over your words into a muddle of whimpers. Her bottom lip juts out into a small pout as she continues to taunt you. “Oh, poor baby… can’t even talk— do my fingers feel that good?”

There’s a small wince as you feel Chuuya sink her teeth into your shoulder just slightly harder than the other bites when Dazai talks, most likely annoyed by how much more she was doing. Wanting more attention, Chuuya growls out, “Oh please, she’ll be crying over my strap compared to your lousy fingers.” 

“Toys? A bit of a cheater, aren’t you, Chuuya? Can’t satisfy her on your own?” Dazai finally responds, mockery evident in her tone.

“Keep talking and I’ll throw your ass out to walk home in the cold.” Chuuya glares at Dazai before she moves away from you momentarily to crawl over to her nightstand to grab out a bottle of lube, harness, and a relatively long dildo. 

Your face must’ve shown just how intimidating the size of the toy was as Dazai gives a light laugh. “Too big for you, darling? Bet you wanna keep my fingers,” She says in a sing-song voice, curling her digits once more. It’s enough to distract you momentarily from their bickering as you feel a familiar feeling building in your lower tummy.

“Relax, doll. It’s only eight inches,” Chuuya sighs nonchalantly, already strapping the harness around her hips and prepping the silicon toy with a thick glob of lube. The sight of Chuuya slicking the toy up with her hand only makes you clench tighter around Dazai’s digits.

“Well some of us aren’t as loose as you are, Chuuya-dear.” Dazai gives a faux innocent smile, malice clear in her eyes and tone. Her fingers falter a bit at Chuuya’s next words.

“You’ve got to be out of your damn mind to talk— you should be considered a fucking graveyard at this point with how many bones you’ve had in you.” Chuuya scoffs, slapping Dazai’s hand away from you as she grabs one of your ankles with her other hand to drag you to her.

You give a small whine, eyes hazy as your orgasm was ripped away from you. 

Chuuya’s gaze falls back to a softer expression as she looks down at you, “I got you, doll.” Her hands move over to grab your hips and lift them until your lower back and ass are resting on the tops of her thighs, bright purple dildo resting between your ass cheeks.

“Well now you’re just being unfair,” Dazai complains, voice pitchy as she gives Chuuya a nasty look.

Before Chuuya could make a snippy remark about her leaving, you reach to lightly tap the brunette’s knee, signaling her to straddle your head. “Just so no one is left out…” You murmur, flustered.

“Well aren’t you just a sweetheart?” Dazai’s mopey expression washes away quickly as she shifts to make her way across the bed to straddle her knees on either side of your head. Her head tilts down to look at you, lips pulled back into a grin and lithe fingers threading into your hair. “You look cute between my legs, ‘donna…” 

Your eyes lull as your gaze drops from her face to her  cleanly shaven pussy, folds practically drooling with arousal which makes your mouth water. You nearly forget about the strap-on nudging against your entrance until it’s pushing in with no warning, the bulbous tip stretching you back open, though not as much as Dazai’s fingers had been. As your lips part to gasp at the sensation, Dazai is lowering herself down until your mouth is enveloping her, your tongue pushing through her folds and labia to lap along her tight hole.

You think you could drown in these women and let them fuck you until you’re nothing but a mindless, pussy-drunk slut for them, your hands coming up to grip into Dazai’s bandaged thighs and your hips jerking to take Chuuya’s strap deeper. And they don’t even keep it from you, letting you have your way as Dazai settles her weight fully onto you and Chuuya shifts to slip deeper into your aching core, walls greedily clutching around the dildo. Your moans are muffled by Dazai, your tongue laving through her succulent pink cunt, clit throbbing wildly against your muscle. She isn’t sweet like how it’s always described, a musky arousal evading your senses— but it isn’t unpleasant and it has you slurping noisily at her sloppy pussy loudly, making her moan and buck gently against your mouth.

It’s overwhelming how they both selfishly take as much as they give, Dazai’s free hand reaching behind her to rub your clit as she rides your face and Chuuya is sinking into you to the hilt and pulling away to create a tortuous pace, her hands gripping into the flesh of your hips. Your ears are muffled and you can’t tell if it’s from the pleasure or Dazai’s thighs pressing to your ears, hips rolling down to hump against your wriggling tongue.

“O-Oh, fuck, look at you… made for eating this pussy, huh, ‘donna?” Dazai groans, her fingers tightening in your hair painfully which causes you to gently scrape your teeth along her clit. She gasps and releases your hair slightly, fixing it almost apologetically and pets it down, her other hand now resting to cup your mound, middle and ring fingers gently rubbing circles into your clit.

You don’t let the stinging sensation in your scalp bother you when Chuuya’s pace picks up and her hips are slapping against yours, thighs jiggling each time she fucks the dildo deeper into your sopping pussy. That and Dazai’s insistent rubbing against your clit has that coil tightening in your lower abdomen once more. You wish you could see the way Chuuya thrusts into your eager pussy, the loud squelching of the dlido fucking into you being all you had to know how good she was treating it. 

“Shit… look at you taking it all, dollface— your pretty pussy is sucking me in so. damn. tight,” Chuuya growls, hips slapping harsher with punctuated words, your body jolting with choked breaths. 

“Don’t be so rough with her,” Dazai chides, not really caring about her being rough, but wanting to piss Chuuya off.

It works as Chuuya glares at Dazai and only picks up the pace, thighs stinging with each thrust as you feel her skin slap against yours and her grip grow tighter on your hips. “Don’t tell me how to fuck my girl, shitty Dazai.”

“Your girl?” Dazai humorlessly laughs out before letting out a small moan from your mouth sucking at her clit again. “Please— after this, she’s with me. I’m just nice enough to share this once.”

“Like hell, I made a move first, go find someone else to whore around with,” A huff leaves Chuuya, but her pace doesn’t change and neither does Dazai’s fingers against your clit. It has your mind reeling and body twitching, nearly teetering the edge of a climax— not that either woman noticed as they continued to bicker. 

“Well I SAW her first, I called dibs. Besides, she works at the agency with me so that means that she’ll be coming back with me anyways. You lose, face it, Chibi.”

“Doesn’t matter if you saw her first, you’re just mad that I acted before you did. You’re such a petulant child, can’t even handle losing to me for once.”

“That’s because I didn’t lose, she’s mine.”

“Oh, you fuckin’ bitch—“

Their arguing is cut off by a loud muffled whine from you and an orgasm that has your body shuddering deeply, your pussy creaming all over the purple dildo. A small, frothy ring of your cum forms around the base with each thrust, leaving the two women to finally quiet down as they watch, movements faltering to a slow pace momentarily.

“Fuck… I wanna make her squirt now,” Chuuya exhales quietly.

Dazai nods slowly before murmuring, “Finally, something we can agree on.”

You pick up on their muttering and let out a muffled groan into Dazai’s pussy in attempts to disagree, not sure if you were able to take another orgasm, but it falls upon deaf ears and their movements pick back up to a frenzied mess now.

You squirm beneath them, eyes squeezing shut and limbs spasming as they overstimulate your flushed pussy, folds puffy and clit thrumming as Dazai adds even more pressure to your sensitive nub. You try so hard to focus on Dazai’s rutting against your mouth, but it’s difficult when they’re double teaming you like this and Dazai takes over, allowing her hips to grind down on your face. Her clit bumps against your nose and your tongue occasionally slips into her clenching hole, serving her just enough as she tries to desperately reach her own climax.

“C’mon, hun, let go for us, yeah? We know you can come again— wanna see you squirt, baby,” Dazai pants out, her bangs sticking to her forehead from the sheen of sweat she was working up. You can’t see Chuuya, but you know she must look similar to Dazai’s state.

Your head feels like it’s underwater and you can’t help but give into what the two women want, thighs clamping around Chuuya’s waist as your eyes flutter closed and your second orgasm crashes over you more intensely to the point your ears start to ring. A stream of arousal squirts out, splashing against Dazai’s fingers and Chuuya’s lower abdomen. A soft gasp slips from their lips and Dazai can’t help but come at the sight, her viscous cum coating your tongue and slipping down your throat like honey. It’s a pleasant feeling and tastes almost like nothing with a hint of her scent, making you moan weakly against her as her hips falter to slow down but refuse to let up from your mouth, insides pulsing against your tired tongue.

It’s a couple minutes until you gather your bearings and Dazai finally lifts her hips, breath hitching at the string of your saliva and her cum connecting your mouth to her pussy that breaks when she pulls away. It nearly gets her worked up enough for another round, but she presses the feeling down and moves to lay beside you, clinging to your side and burying her face into your neck. 

Chuuya pulls out of you shortly after, slipping the harness off her hips and begins to clean up. She disappears off into the bathroom momentarily and returns with a small rag to clean your face off first of Dazai’s cum and then between your legs. The mafioso pecks your lips gently in comparison to her rough treatment earlier and glances at Dazai, throwing the rag at her lazily without a care. “Clean yourself up, would you?”

“What?” Dazai whines out, “How come she gets the princess treatment and I’m treated like a peasant?”

“Because you are one, you’re lucky I haven’t kicked you out at this point,” Chuuya clicks her tongue and turns her attention back to you and scoops you up into her arms. “I’m starting a bath, I don’t give a damn if you join or not,” She says to Dazai over her shoulder, leaving the brunette to complain about the unfair treatment she’s getting as she stumbles up to follow after the both of you. 

With your arms looping around Chuuya’s neck lazily, a small smile curls in your lips, knowing that this wouldn’t be a one time thing.

[sorcerersandskillusers]

Card Meanings in the new, The Day I Picked Up Dazai art.

Ok so im currently still in shock that were getting new day I picked up dazai content so bare with me, but onece again Asagiri has included playing cards in his art so of course I have to break down what they mean.

Lets start with side A (the right side):

First we see a joker:

While Gogol is the obvious fit for the joker, the card also describes Dazai extremely well. He is almost always acting like the fool in any given situation, even in the mafia he loved to be as weird and funny as he could as well as tease and annoy the people around him, something jesters famously did.

In fact, his dynamic with Mori is very close to how a king and a jester used to work, where the jester was the only person who was allowed to openly mock the king and would usually heckle him. They also played a key part in psychological warfare, which we see Dazai specialises in.

I think the whole; wit, intelligence and unpredictability kind of speaks for itself.

Next card is the four of spades:

This one is also really fitting, it shows how after the day I picked up Dazai side A, Dazai settles into his little routine of going to bar lupin with Oda as well as how he finally has someone who he can trust and be comfortable around. Finally, it is a clear message of optimism, something Dazai never shows before he meets Oda.

Next the two of hearts:

This one is pretty obvious, it's Dazai and Oda spending time at bar lupin. It actually fits so well, there's not much I can say about it other then how it shows the love and care Dazai and Oda had for each other (platonically)

Now for Side B (prepare to cry)

The first card is the three of spades:

Whyyyyyyyyyy... why Asagiri. This one is also fairly obvious but it has multiple meanings. It most clearly represents Dazai suffering in side B as he has to run the mafia without odasaku and live in utter loneliness while destroying all the connections he never got to have for the sake of a friend he never got to meet.

“It was hard,” muttered the young man. “It was really hard fighting Mimic without you in the organization. I had no choice but to take over for Mori and make enemies of everyone around me to expand the business. Everything I did was for this world’s—”

It also represents the moment on the platform where he nearly tells Odasaku the truth and goes with him to bar lupin, the horrible decision to abandon everything for Odas future

The next card is... the ace of spades:

The ace of spade has many meanings, most of which involve change or transition, but by far its most famous meaning it death. I really don't think I have to explain this one, Beast Dazai having the card of death has a pretty clear meaning.

But the ace of spade does have a secondary meaning, and this one is a little more hopeful, as it shows Dazai passing the safety of this world onto Atsushi and Auktagawa.

Finally, (it's a bit hard to see) we have the ten of diamonds:

I want to focus mostly on the highlighted part because it's what really applies to BEAST Dazai, he lived his whole life to create a world where what matters most to him, that Oda gets to be happy and write his books, becomes real. This card doesn't apply to Dazai directly, more to the fact that he made succeeding in his mission his only priority and discarded everything else.

Bonus round Odasku card; the king of clubs

the only card thats seen on Oda's section and one that clearly represents Odasaku as a character.

"King of clubs represents a dark man, who is loyal and kind. He is a good businessman, shrewd with money and investments, but isn’t selfish. In fact, the King of clubs is a very devoted father, husband and citizen. In a broader sense, the King of clubs encompasses idealized qualities of a fatherly figure. This card is universally considered as a very good omen."

I feel like this sums Odasaku up very well, the devoted father and loyal friend parts are just him to a t.

(this is also the card I think best represents Fukuzawa)

Right, I think I got everything, if you disagree with this or find something I missed, please reblog or comment with whatever you want to add, or send me an ask. I love discussing, and hearing other people's views as long as they're respectful.

If you add something, please add it in the post not the tags, so I can reply to it (or in the tags if that makes you more comfortable)

[oceaneyesinla]

Coming Home

I needed some soft Chuuya, so I wrote some soft Chuuya. This is VERY self indulgent and very fluffy

Slightly suggestive at the end - nickname used: angel

Divider by @/cafekitsune

Chuuya can’t help but release a tired, relieved sigh as the door to his apartment swings open. He’s been away for a week, and that’s a week too long when he knows just what’s waiting for him at home. You’ve ruined him for missions that take him away from Yokohama - how can he spend even a second away from the brightest star in the sky of his life? If you weren’t so important to Mafia operations in the city, he would bring you with him every time he leaves. Alas, it’s not to be - your biochemical knowledge and connections to the local hospitals make you too valuable to lose. 

Instead, the two of you spend all hours of the day and night on the phone; 3AM video calls, lunchtime phone conversations and good morning messages having to suffice even though all he wants is to wrap you in his arms and never let go. For now, he’s home, and the boss promised him at least a couple of days rest in return for going on this mission. It was an important one, and there were very few people Mori would trust such a task to.

The patter of footsteps pulls him out of his thoughts, and he can feel a smile tugging at his lips. Clearly, you heard him open the door. He makes quick work of taking off his shoes and he’s just depositing his bag off to one side to deal with later when you round the corner. Your face lights up as you skid to a halt, almost sliding straight into the opposite wall. The laughter that bubbles out of him is soft and affectionate, as if his body needs some way to release all the love he feels for you before his heart explodes with it.

You look cozy, all wrapped up in one of his sweaters and fluffy socks on your feet, and you look like the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. He opens his arms, already knowing what your plan is, and he’s absolutely right. You barrel down the hallway, jumping into his arms and clinging to him with all your strength. Your legs lock around his waist, and you burrow your face into the crook of his neck, leaving little kisses that he swears he can feel even through the all the fabric of his clothes.

“Hey angel.” The last remnants of tension bleed out of him as he holds you, breathing in the smell of your favourite body wash, the one you started using when you decided it reminded you of him. Now, it just reminds you both of home.

“Missed you.” You’re pouting when you pull away to meet his eye, but it doesn’t last long when he peppers your face in kisses, reducing you to a giggling mess in moments. 

Kicking the door shut with his foot, he carries you further into the apartment, bypassing the couch and heading straight for the bedroom, “Missed you too. Did you do anything fun while I was gone? Spend the money I left you?”

You launch into an animated description of all the things you bought while he was gone and Chuuya could feel the fond smile growing on his face. This is what he misses most when you’re apart - the light in your eyes and the excitement in your voice is never the same through a phone screen.

The squeak you let out as he drops you onto the bed makes him laugh once again, and he quickly strips out of his work clothes and changes into something more comfortable. You’ve already tucked yourself under the covers by the time he’s done, and he joins you, immediately pulling you practically on top of him. After he’s been away, he likes to have you as close as possible. If he could crack open his ribcage and tuck you away in there, safe and sound, he would.

“What’s the plan, Chuu?” Your sweet voice is music to his ears, and he leans in to press a kiss to your head.

“First, we’re taking a nap, because I want to cuddle and I know you do too.” He lets his hand slide down your back, trailing down to the plush of your ass and giving it a light squeeze, “Then I’m going to show you just how much I missed my pretty angel.” He moves his hand back up to rub along your spine, smiling when he feels you relax into him, “Then we’re going out for dinner.”

You shift a little, dropping a couple of kisses along the sensitive skin of his neck before you snuggle back into his chest, “Okay. Love you, Chuu.”

“Love you too, angel.” The last thing he sees before he closes his eyes is your soft smile, your features nothing short of angelic as you rest on him, content in his hold and infinitely trusting. His final thought before he slips into sleep is that heaven must feel like the love you share.

@pixelcafe-network

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 THREE TIMES DAZAI NEARLY BURNED YOUR KITCHEN DOWN + ONE TIME HE DIDN’T

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: dazai's attempts at doing something nice for you fail miserably every time—until finally, one day, things go right.

(wordcount: 4.7k, fem!reader, port mafia member!reader, mentions of dazai's depression, mori being an asshole, unedited.)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: GOOD EVENING FROM CARINA AND THE CRUISEZAIS!!! no picture update today because you guys get a FIC YAYYYYYYY (also because i can't get tumblr to load pictures), take comething more light hearted to soften the next blow of civzai hehehehe

You wake up to the smell of something burning.

At first, you think you’re imagining it—the lingering remnants of a bad dream. You sit up and rub your eyes, glancing over at your clock. It’s six in the morning; you have an hour until you have to be ready for a video conference with Mishima Yukio. It’s barely been over half a year since he took over as boss of the Sun and Steel, and he’s made a mess of the organization. He let too many members of the old guard keep their executive positions, and they’ve been causing him a lot of trouble.

It’s not really your problem, but it is partially your fault. It was you who had Mishima’s father assassinated at the end of the Dragon’s Head Conflict. Mishima Azusa was a right bastard who made too many enemies with his aggressive expansionist policies, and one of those enemies happened to be someone whom you were very keen on recruiting, so you promised a head for loyalty. 

It was best for the Port Mafia in the long run anyway. Mishima Azusa was not only a right bastard, but he was also far too traditionalist for yours, and Mori’s, liking. He never would’ve aligned with the Port Mafia, even in the face of foreign threats and even if it was what was best for the Sun and Steel. Mishima Yukio, on the other hand, is a fumbling idiot who is more concerned with his rebellious seventeen-year-old daughters than running an organization. You knew this about him when you first made your promise to Itou, and you were banking on Mishima relying heavily on you, and by proxy, the Port Mafia, to get his organization under control. 

He trusts you because you offered your help in the initial chaos of the power vacuum. He doesn’t know you were the cause of it, and he never will. He probably should have been more suspicious of your willingness to help, but your ability, combined with his frustration and fear for his daughters’ lives in the mayhem, led him to be vulnerable. You capitalized on it, and it's well proven its worth, but it's also left you very, very busy.

You yawn and then exhale heavily, resting your back against the headboard of your bed. You should get up and start getting dressed, but you’re exhausted. Dazai got home late from his mission last night, and he came home hurt, although he tried his best at hiding it from you. He refused to go see Mori for stitches, not that you can really blame him for that, but it meant that you had to stay up until three in the morning, making sure he didn’t bleed out in your bathroom. 

You didn’t particularly mind. It was amusing listening to him go on a two-hour rant about his “useless subordinates” and the other “equally incompetent executives.” He doesn’t usually vent like how you and Chuuya do; he usually takes out his frustrations on his subordinates and then gets over it within the hour. So it was a bit refreshing to see him melt down like that, but you’re tired now, and you have a long day ahead of you.

It's only when you push yourself out of bed that you realize that you weren’t imagining the burning scent. The smell is gross, so thick that your face immediately twists in disgust. You’re not sure how you thought that it was a figment of your imagination. You pause when you hear the elevator bing as if someone is arriving, or leaving, your apartment, glancing at your shut door. You quickly grab your phone and slip on a robe, rushing down the steps in the direction of your kitchen.

“Dazai!” you call loudly, nearly tripping on the bottom step as you get to the first floor of your apartment.

Your eyes dart around for a few moments before you realize he’s not there. You sigh as you rub the back of your neck and make your way into the kitchen, freezing as soon as you’re about to cross the threshold to the other room.

Your lips part in shock, eyes widening. There’s… batter everywhere. All over the wall. All over the counters. All over the floor. You don’t even know how this could happen. There’s a carton of eggs open by the fridge, butter on the counter, and two untouched plates on the kitchen table. You make your way over to the stove and turn it off, gagging at the charred batter in your ruined pan.

What the fuck?

“Dazai!” you shout, angry this time, but you get no response as you expected.

You pull out your phone and type furiously.

You: What the fuck, Dazai? Did you seriously just make a mess and run?

You pace angrily back and forth across the kitchen, nearly slipping on the mess he made as you wait for a response. You see the typing bubbles pop up for too long, and then they disappear and don’t return.

You: Dazai???? Get the fuck back up here and clean this shit. How did you even manage this??

Dazai: idk what ur talking about

You gape as you stare down at your phone. You half want to believe that you misread the text, that maybe if you stare at it long enough, the words will shift into something more reasonable, like: oh, sorry about the mess. Or you’d even accept, my bad had to run! 

You: You’re joking. 

Dazai starts typing again, and then he stops. Your eye twitches.

You: Dazai. 

Dazai: i havent been at the apartment. i left when you fell asleep.

Frustrated, you shove your phone in your pocket and storm back upstairs. You don’t have time to deal with this. You need to get dressed, and you need to get ready for your video conference with Mishima. You haven’t even gone over what it is that he wants to talk about. You toss your phone onto the bed and fling open your closet door.

You’ll just have to deal with this, and Dazai, later. 

What a headache.

(When you come home after hours of meetings later, the kitchen is clean and your pan is replaced. Dazai refuses to admit that he made the mess, and denies cleaning it, and if you find flour and batter-covered clothes and gloves in his laundry bin, then you don’t bring it up to him.)

---

Dazai is at the tail end of one of his episodes. This was a shorter one than the ones you’ve become accustomed to over the past eight months of living with him. Usually, they last a week minimum, sometimes over two when they’re particularly bad. This one has only lasted a couple of days. You know he’s on the tail end of it, because he actually dragged himself out of his room this morning to grab the extra cup of coffee you make every morning for him, and then left the apartment to yell at his subordinates for fucking up a mission he left for them.

You have the day off today, and you were planning on just rot in bed for most of the day, maybe get up to meet Chuuya at a cafe (probably not), but you decided to help Dazai get ahead on cleaning up his shit, because his room is always a mess after an episode. He doesn’t really like you rifling around his stuff, so all you do is grab the dirty clothes to throw them in the laundry and throw out the half-eaten crab cans and empty bottles of sake. You take the air freshener you hoard in your room (because he overuses it whenever you let him have it and the whole apartment reeks of lavender and vanilla), plug it in his room, and then you relax and eat some cereal while you watch a show.

You even decided to be nice and fold the clothes for him while you were relaxing because you had nothing better to do. So he should let you pick tomorrow night’s movie, because you don't want to watch the same documentary on sea lions for the third week in a row. 

Now, you’re out at a bar with Chuuya, and something is seriously not right. He’s been acting weird since he asked you to meet him, but now there’s no denying that something is up, because every time you try to leave, he forces you to sit back down and have another drink with him. 

You give him a side eye from where you’re sitting on the bar stool next to him; you stopped drinking forty minutes ago, not that he noticed, while he’s on his fifth glass of wine. His cheeks are flushed and his words are a bit slurred, but he’s still mostly coherent.

“Why won’t you let me go home?” you ask abruptly, voice riddled with suspicion as your gaze narrows onto him.

Chuuya immediately stiffens, and then he gives you an accusing look. “I’m not forcing you to hang out with me. Go if you want.”

Usually, something like that would work with you, because you do like hanging out with Chuuya, and you don’t want him to think that you think it's tedious to go out with him. But Chuuya is lying to you right now. It’s abundantly clear from the way his gaze keeps flickering to the door nervously, like he doesn’t actually want you to leave, and it’s even more clear with how he won’t meet your eyes. He’s usually a good liar, but not to you and especially not when he’s drunk.

You know very well the moment you rise to your feet to leave, he’s going to grab your wrist and say, “Wait! Have you tried this drink?”

You rise to your feet slowly, watching him carefully, and your eye twitches when Chuuya grabs your wrist and says, “Wait, hold on, have you tried this one yet?”

You exhale slowly, willing yourself to patience to deal with whatever is happening right now. Chuuya never lies to you. Dazai is the liar, so you don’t know what exactly is happening to make your only trustworthy friend lie right to your face. He’s stalling or something, but you don’t know for what. Is he trying to keep you here, or is he trying to stop you from going home?

“Tell me what’s going on, or I’ll tell Mori that you ignored his calls last week because you were sick of hearing from him,” you finally demand. “I’ll tell him you lied about your phone being broken.”

Chuuya gapes, sobering up quickly in response to your demands and accusations. “But that’s a lie. You stole my phone and hid it from me. I was covering for you because I didn’t want to throw you under the bus. The fuck is wrong with you?”

“And who do you think he’s going to believe?” you challenge, raising your chin and squinting at him. He flounders as he stares at you in disbelief. You threaten, “I’ll do it, Chuuya.”

“Yeah, I know you will, you bitch,” Chuuya scowls, crossing his arms over his chest and looking away. “Just hang with me here a little while more.”

“Why?” you press. “You’re acting suspicious. Are you trying to keep me here or stop me from going home?” 

Chuuya lets out a long sigh of suffering, rolling his eyes at you. For a moment, he doesn’t respond, so you’re about to ask again, but then he finally says, “Stop you from going home.”

Instantly, you’re on edge. “Why?” you ask slowly. “Chuuya, why?”

Chuuya shrugs. “Shitty Dazai called in on a bet I lost. He didn’t give me an explanation.”

“Oh my god,” you say, instantly rising to your feet, all of the worst scenarios racing through your head. “You are a fucking traitorous bastard. Don’t talk to me for the rest of the week.”

What could Dazai be doing that he needs you out of the apartment?

You hear Chuuya call after you, but you’re already racing out of the bar. Chuuya can deal with the tab, considering he betrayed you and for Dazai, of all people. Luckily, the bar the two of you went to is only a few blocks from base, so it doesn’t take you too long to get back to your building. Though it certainly feels like an eternity because you’re torturing yourself with all of the possible things Dazai could be doing in your apartment while you were gone. 

You don’t even greet your doorman, so focused on getting up to your apartment that you fly right past him to the elevator. Chuuya is texting you. You can feel your phone incessantly buzzing in your pocket, but you keep your gaze pinned on the numbers ticking upward until they reach the top floor. 

When the doors slide open, Dazai’s name is on your lips, but you pause when you see him sitting on the couch, lips curved down and expression eerily blank. He doesn’t even realize that you’re there until you make your way over to him. You cross your arms over your chest, brows furrowed as you look down at him; his dark eyes meet yours, but he doesn’t say anything.

“What’s up?” you finally ask him. 

Something smells off from the direction of the kitchen, but you keep your gaze trained on him. You notice a bowl of popcorn on the table in front of the couch, but it was clearly left in the microwave too long, from the way it's crusted black. Dazai will insist that he likes it ‘crispy’ if you say anything, but you know he doesn’t, so you just let it go instead of commenting.

He presses his lips together tightly and takes in a deep breath. His voice is sharp as he says, “Nothing.”

You’re not sure if you should push the subject, so you err on the side of caution and decide against it. You take a seat on the couch next to him, and he gives you a sullen look before averting his gaze. 

“Movie?” you offer. You’ll snoop around later and try to figure out what he was doing while you were gone. Right now, you’ll just sit with him for a while. He always needs it on the tail end of his depressive episodes, but he’ll never ask for it.

“Movie,” he agrees quietly. He reaches forward for the bowl of popcorn and offers you some. You hate the taste of burnt popcorn, but just this once, you take a handful and eat it with a smile. 

(Unbeknownst to you, that night was the closest Dazai ever got to admitting his feelings for you. When he got home from work and saw that you spent your day off helping him clean his mess, his chest tightened so much that he thought he might be going into cardiac arrest. He decided he wanted to do something nice for you, so he called in a favor Chuuya owed him to stall you while he tried to make you your favorite dessert. As always when he tries to do something nice for you, he fails and scraps any plans he might’ve had to potentially confess. A year of stress and heartache begins.)

---

You have not had a good day.

Your head is pounding, you hurt your arm on a mission, and tears of frustration sting your eyes as you lean back against the elevator wall. You don’t know what you expected from today, but somehow, as always, you were disappointed beyond expectations.

Today is your birthday. Or, it’s not your actual birthday, but it’s the only birthday you remember. Ten years ago today, Mori rescued you from the warfront, and every anniversary of that day since then, he has made it his goal to make it both the best and worst day of your life.

It always starts out nice. Mori takes you out to brunch in Tokyo; he rents out the restaurant for the morning and afternoon, your favorite place looking over the bay. He spoils you with presents and dotes on you for hours. A ruby necklace that matches the shoes he bought you a few weeks ago (for you to wear at the Port Mafia’s next event). A new suit from your favorite boutique (because he knows you’ve been meaning to stop by to get a new one but haven’t at the time). A five-day retreat at a resort on Lake Lucerne (because you’ve just been working so hard for him).

And an opportunity.

The opportunity is always where the day takes a turn for the worse. It’s always a trick. Always a setup. But you fall for it every time. He gives you a chance to prove yourself to him. He tells you that if you can succeed in this mission, he can entrust you with any. He promises you that if you bring him back results, you’ll be given one last gift for your birthday: a seat at the executive table.

It’s like dangling a carrot in front of a horse knowing that it can never reach it. Like giving someone wings, knowing that when they leap from the rooftop to fly, the wings will crumble to dust. It’s impossible every time. He wants a bloodless acquisition of a troublesome mafia that’s been encroaching on Port Mafia territory, an impossible ask, even for you, when the members of the troublesome mafia are bloodthirsty and have a personal grudge against the Port Mafia. He wants you to single-handedly stop the passage of a certain bill through the Diet with no preparation, no time, and no resources. And this time, he wanted you to retrieve a kidnapped informant from a locked compound in Kawasaki before the Port Mafia’s enemies killed him, and he wanted you to do it without Itou’s help.

You failed, as you always do. 

He sends you on a quest for the unattainable, and he knows it. The worst part is, he’s not even disappointed with you when you come back empty-handed. He expects it. He awaits it. He sits in his office, hands folded over his desk, lips curled up in a knowing smile when you enter his office with your shoulders a bit more slumped than usual.

“I see,” is all he says. “You are dismissed. Happy birthday, my dear.”

You slam your fist against the metal wall, gritting your teeth as you hold back a curse. You need to calm down before you get up to your apartment. You’re pretty sure Dazai is up there, and you don’t need him interrogating you on what happened. So you force yourself to take a few deep breaths, and push your lips upward into a smile just as the elevator doors slide open.

The smile instantly freezes on your face.

“What…” you start to breathe out. You smell it before you see it. A putrid scent coming from the direction of the kitchen. “Dazai!”

You hear clattering, and then a loud crash, and you drop your bag onto the table and rush into the other room, pausing when you get to the entrance to the kitchen. A thick green-ish-brown liquid coats the white tiles; your pot is still rolling on the ground in it. You can see the black crust inside of it, and you don’t even know what the food is that’s supposed to be in it. It’s charred black and looks hard as a rock. Your stove is on fire, and the wall behind it is burned. Smoke spreads through the room.

Dazai stands in the middle of the mess, visible eye wide, lips parted in shock, and a guilty expression on his face. He’s drenched in whatever that liquid is, but he’s wearing his coat still, so you don’t think it burned him at least. 

This is the last thing you needed today.

You’re fine, you tell yourself. You’re fine. It’s fine. It’s not a big deal. Dazai will just clean it up, and you’ll go to bed early instead of staying up to binge-watch that new drama that came out. It’s for the best anyway, because you need to get up early tomorrow to save some face after your failure today. Everything is fine. 

The guilt on Dazai’s expression shifts into concern, and you don’t know why until you feel something wet tracking down your cheeks. You lift your hand in confusion, staring down at it when you realize that you’re crying.

“Are you okay?” he asks, voice stunted and awkward. He’s never seen you cry before. How fucking embarrassing. “I—I’ll clean it up. And fix everything. I was just trying to…”

He trails off, grimacing as he looks away. You take a deep breath, willing yourself to calm down, and then you wipe away your tears. 

“I’m fine,” you say, and give him a forced smile. You know he can tell that it's fake because you can see his brows furrow. “It’s fine. I’m just going to go to bed. Please just… fix all of this.”

“Wait, but I—”

“I’m going to bed, Dazai,” you repeat, voice pitched this time. Strained. You can feel pinpricks at your eyes again. You just want to lay down and be alone. “I’m going to bed.”

“... Okay,” he says quietly after a moment. “Goodnight.”

You don’t respond.

(You don’t know that he had a whole night planned for the two of you until much later. He snooped through your files to figure out your birthday, and spent an agonizing amount of time finding the perfect movies for the two of you to watch together to end the night right. He wanted to have dinner ready for you when you got back, and that’s when all of his plans went to hell. You wake up to a cupcake from your favorite bakery on your nightstand.)

---

Dazai is baking.

You lean against the doorframe, arms crossed over your chest, utterly perplexed as you watch him squint at the recipe he’s trying to read. He’s wearing your red apron and his pink crab pajama pants, and there’s flour smeared all over his face. You tilt your head to the side, a small smile curving at the corner of your lips as you watch him lift a pen, brows furrowed as he scribbles a note on the paper he’s reading and crosses something out.

He’s so consumed with what he’s doing that he didn’t even hear the elevator arrive, and he doesn’t notice you standing there watching him. You finished up your meetings early today, so you decided to come back to your apartment instead of holing up in your office to get ahead on tomorrow’s work. Dazai, evidently, was under the impression he had the apartment to himself today, because there’s no way in hell he would let you catch him like this willingly. 

Quietly, you make your way over to him. Even when you’re less than a foot away, peeking around him to see what recipe he’s looking at, he still doesn’t realize that you’re there. You squint as you try to read the recipe from a few feet away; you don’t know why he printed it so small, because you know his eyesight sucks, and that’s why his face is an inch from the paper, but you think it’s cake from the small picture at the top.

“Why are you baking cake?”

Dazai startles so badly that he sends the spoon in his left hand flying up to the ceiling. You frown when the batter leaves a ring on the dark paint, and then catch the spoon when it starts dropping back to the ground. You raise your eyebrows at Dazai, who looks mortified as he looks down at the apron he’s wearing and then to you.

Your lips curl up into a teasing smile as you nod at his outfit. “Cute.”

“Fuck off. Why are you back?” Dazai demands, turning away from you as his cheeks start to bloom pink. “You have meetings all day.”

“I finished early,” you say, peeking around his shoulder to look at his face. He instantly glares at you and turns away again.

“Why are you back?” he repeats loudly. “You never come back early. You always stay in your office until late.”

“Well, I wanted to come home early today,” you say, smile widening when you hear him let out a frustrated groan. “Why are you baking a cake?” 

“It doesn’t matter now,” he snaps. “It’s been ruined. I’m not making anything.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” you complain, pushing your shoulder into his before looking down at the recipe. “Let's make it together.”

Dazai mutters out a few snide comments under his breath, but you ignore them as you look down at the recipe. It’s just a plain vanilla cake, not really anything special, but you can see from his messy notes at the top that this is his fourth attempt at it. You’re barely able to hold back a snort, but you don’t do it well enough because Dazai’s head immediately whips toward you.

“Did you just laugh at me?” he demands.

“No,” you lie, and then bite your bottom lip. 

“You’re laughing at me,” he accuses. “I’m trying to do something nice, and you’re laughing at me. What is wrong with you?”

“I’m not laughing,” you say through laughter, ignoring the furious look he gives you. “Is this attempt number four?”

“You—” he starts to say angrily, spinning toward you with exasperation written all over his face. “There’s something wrong with your oven. I’m following the recipe exactly, and it keeps turning into a disaster. This isn’t a me thing.”

You look at him from the corner of your eye, unbearably amused. “My oven runs hot. So does the stove. You have to drop the temperature by thirty degrees from whatever the recipe says if you want it to come out right. I could’ve told you that if you’d bothered to ask instead of pulling a stealth mission.”

Dazai’s lips part. “You’re kidding,” he says, and then he looks vindicated. “I knew it. I knew it wasn’t me. I was following it perfectly. I knew I was being sabotaged.”

“Yes. Dazai 0, kitchen… 4 now? Or is it more?” you reply, crossing your arms over your chest and tilting your head to the side. He gives you another dirty look, but you only give him a sweet smile in return. “Why have you been sneak cooking anyway?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he mutters, stubbornly looking away, avoiding the question like a sulking child. Then asks petulantly, “Well? Are you making it or not?”

You shoot him a scandalized look. “Am I doing it?” you ask, offended. “You are doing it. And I’ll supervise. You’ve already got the whole apron look going, might as well commit.”

You hop up to sit on the middle island, and Dazai’s cheeks flush again. He gives you a dirty look and then moves to take off your apron, but you quickly grab a spoonful of batter and fling it at his face. He freezes, batter sliding slowly down his cheek. Then he turns, eyes locking onto yours.

You give him a simpering smile. “Go on, chef,” you tease. “Do your best. I expect a gourmet cake by the time you’re done. Something worthy of a Michelin star.”

Dazai scoffs, but his lips betray him as they curve up into a smile. He makes his way over to you, resting his hands on the counter on either side of your thighs as he leans in, expression smug as he looks up at you. If your heart is racing a little extra because of his proximity, then you ignore it.

“I’m going to make the best cake you’ve ever seen now that I know your oven was sabotaging me this whole time,” he promises, dark eye glittering with amusement as he looks at you. “Just wait.” 

(Dazai fell in love with you many times over the course of his time living with you in the Port Mafia. This was one of them.)

[ghostlynightpanda]

Hii!! I don't know if you're taking reqs rn but if you are could you possibly do this one Dazai x reader idea I had?

So this is based off my bsd oc who works at the ada and like she's one of the ability users there. Her ability allows her to like kind of summon the characters she writes, similar to kyouka, koyou and moris ability. However, unlike the aforementioned characters, my oc actually sees the characters like her own children. She's quite protective of them, even if they cannot die without her influence. (Overprotective mom core)

Now for the main point, it's like how dazai is with that ability of hers (fun fact: the name of the ability is 'Through our eyes'. This is subject to change but I named it that since my oc is an author and it's based off a quote I made up for one of her books 'through our eyes, we share our wounds. Yet still, the weight of your pain never decreases.') As far as I know, dazai wont be able to physically interact with her characters due to his nullification but he should still be able to talk to them. Even if Dazai isn't the type to talk to them, the characters would nag him into talking and yada yada.

This is basically it. super sorry for the long request, you can skip this if you want. Have a great day!!

Inkbound Hearts

synopsis: In a city of chaos and shadows, a writer with the power to bring her characters to life finds unexpected belonging in the Armed Detective Agency—where her fictional family begins to see a distant, broken man as their own, long before she dares admit her growing feelings for him.

content/warnings: ADA!Dazai x reader, fluff, 3.808 words

Yokohama's old train yard was a wreck of twisted steel, smoke, and chaos. Kunikida's glasses were cracked. Atsushi crouched behind a derailed cargo car, blood seeping from his shoulder. Even Ranpo was grimacing—an unsettling sight, given he rarely bothered showing up unless success was assured.

The mission had been simple: locate and retrieve a smuggled artifact tied to the Port Mafia. Low-risk. Clean. Routine.

Now the sky glowed the wrong color, a contract ability-user had unleashed something molten and monstrous, and the retrieval team stood seconds from annihilation.

Then the pages fell. Literally.

Thin, parchment-like sheets drifted from the sky, ink gleaming midair as they curled into lines of prose—sentences forming before they even touched the ground.

"What the hell—?" Kunikida began, but a shockwave swallowed his voice.

And then—

"Scatter, Rika!" "With pleasure!"

Twin voices rang out, sharp and sudden, like a snapped chord in a string quartet.

From behind a rusted crate, two figures surged forward. A girl in a high-collared tunic, wielding a serrated blade taller than herself. Beside her, a boy with a matching blade held in reverse grip, wearing a grin too wide for the moment—like war was a game and he was winning.

They moved in perfect tandem. Fluid. Calculated. Inevitable. As if their choreography had been written long before the battle began.

Steel met shadow. The beast shrieked. The twins carved through the chaos, a blur of synchronicity and sharpened edge.

Mid-leap, Rika cleaved through one of its legs. "Mom said not to overdo it." Yori laughed, narrowly dodging a writhing tentacle. "Mom also said to enjoy ourselves!"

The team stared, momentarily stunned.

Ranpo blinked. "Did… did they say mom?"

Dazai, arms loosely crossed, tilted his head. "Interesting. I didn't know the enemy had metaphors."

"No," came a voice from behind them — calm, warm, and completely unfazed by the chaos. "They're talking about me."

You stepped onto the field with a worn leather notebook in one hand and a pen behind your ear. Your clothes were scuffed with ink stains, your boots caked in dirt, and your gaze sharp enough to cut glass.

You looked down at the page in your hand — an open journal entry, half-written — and flicked your fingers once.

Another figure emerged from ink and air: a massive man in bronze armor, carrying a curved halberd glowing faintly red. He stepped between Kunikida and an oncoming beast's strike like it was nothing.

"I believe you all needed some help?"

Back at the Agency office, the mood was a strange mix of awe and exhausted suspicion.

Atsushi sat on the edge of a desk as Yosano wrapped his shoulder, but his eyes kept drifting to the twins—now perched on a filing cabinet, legs swinging in perfect sync like they didn't just go toe-to-toe with a nightmare.

Kunikida, nursing a headache, flipped through your notebook with a gloved hand.

"These aren't ability blueprints… they're actual narratives?"

You nodded from the couch, sipping tea. "Every character I write becomes someone I can summon. But only if I believe in them enough. Only if they're real to me."

"That's why they called you 'Mom'," Atsushi murmured, blinking wide-eyed.

"Exactly," you said gently. "I create them, raise them, protect them. They're family to me."

Dazai finally spoke, voice smooth as always, but eyes narrowed just slightly. "And how long have you had this… army of storybook people?"

You tilted your head. "They're not an army."

"They fought like one," he countered.

"They fight to protect what I care about. That's different."

Your gaze met his.

He held it for a beat too long.

And then: "Hm. Cute."

You weren't sure if he meant you or the answer. Probably neither.

Kunikida made noise about protocols and clearances and power thresholds, but Fukuzawa approved your placement within hours.

"Abilities born from emotional truth are rare," he said. "And dangerous. But I believe yours is grounded. That's what matters."

You introduced the Agency to a few of your mainstays:

Rika and Yori, the sword twins — chaotic, loyal, eager to duel anyone who made eye contact for too long.

Kaoru, the former soldier, stoic and quietly polite, already trading tired nods with Yosano.

Momo, the half-winged beast girl who'd accidentally eaten four of Kenji's rice balls before realizing they weren't part of her world's food system.

Rei, the tactician, who had already tried (and failed) to beat Ranpo in a riddle match.

You warned them, though.

"There will be more," you said, hand resting on your notebook. "There have to be more. I don't stop writing. I can't."

Dazai watched you closely as you said it.

Like he was reading the spaces between your words.

Yokohama's morning sun cast a warm, gold light over the bay, glinting off the windows of the Armed Detective Agency's office. The peace was deceptive, fragile—like everything else in this city.

The quiet didn't last long.

"Mom! He took my sword again!"

A blur of blue hair darted down the hall, followed by a boy only slightly taller, both no older than twelve. The slightly younger girl was puffing with righteous fury, her ornate blade now in the hands of her grinning counterpart.

"Did not! You left it in the umbrella stand!"

"Because I was drying it!"

From his desk, Kunikida pinched the bridge of his nose with the restrained suffering of a man who had memorized his ideal schedule by the minute. And none of it included a sword fight before lunch.

"You know this is a government-sanctioned office, not a kindergarten, right?"

At the center of it all, standing calmly with a cup of tea in one hand and a pen behind the ear, was you.

"I'm aware," you said sweetly. You snapped your fingers once, and both children immediately froze mid-run, blinking at you like guilty puppies.

"You two—outside, five laps around the block. And no summoning elemental bursts this time, Yori, Rika."

"Yes, Mom..." the two mumbled before darting out the door with a supernatural speed that made Tanizaki flinch in his chair.

Your ability Through Our Eyes manifested as an extension of your writing—your soul, quite literally, poured into words. Whatever characters you crafted in your stories could be summoned into the real world with form, emotion, and purpose. You didn't just give them roles—you gave them lives. Names. Histories. Pain. Joy. And love.

They came to life like flickers of imagination carved into reality—some warriors, some children, some ethereal beings. They were family to you, and you were their creator, guardian... mother.

They couldn't be destroyed unless you allowed it. Pain and injury were real to them, but death was negotiable. Their connection to you wasn't just magical—it was emotional. They felt your grief, your fear, your rage—and responded in kind. When you hurt, they hurt. When you smiled, they danced in the sun.

It was an ability born of empathy and imagination—a dangerous power wrapped in softness.

Despite the initial chaos, the ADA adapted—more or less—to your unique presence. You've been with them for a few months now and you felt home here. 

Kenji had taken to your younger characters like a duck to water. He spent his breaks rolling around in the grass with them, showing them how to fish, or trying to ride the winged horse girl you wrote for a fantasy short story once.

"I think Momo's part cow," he had said once, completely straight-faced. "She's got those eyes."

Momo, the aforementioned winged girl, had mooed out of spite and kicked a lamp off the wall.

Kunikida on the other hand had not adapted.

"This is not a daycare!" he barked one afternoon as a pair of your summoned twins reenacted a pirate duel behind the filing cabinets. "There is paperwork being trampled!"

"They're technically centuries-old sword spirits," you offered helpfully. "They just like to stay in child form."

"That does not help!"

You had to rewrite one of them as allergic to ink just to keep them off his schedule sheets.

Atsushi, poor sweet boy, had no idea how to handle your characters—especially the older girls.

They'd swoop in, touch his face with curious fingers, giggle at his stammering, and coo about his "puppy eyes." One even offered to braid his hair.

Atsushi turned beet red. "I-I'm not a doll—please stop petting me—!"

You eventually had to stop a flirtatious sky-warrior named Kaida who kept calling him "My little tiger cub."

Tanizaki mostly avoided eye contact. Naomi tried to get fashion advice from one of your more stoic female characters, who unfortunately didn't understand the concept of modern clothing and suggested Naomi wear a breastplate and fur cloak.

Naomi was delighted.

Yosano was fascinated. You caught her chatting with one of your battle-worn soldier characters, Kaoru, comparing scars and talking field medicine like old war buddies. It was oddly heartwarming... until you heard Yosano ask if Kaoru had ever tried battlefield amputation for fun.

Kaoru requested to go back in the book after that.

Ranpo didn't care at first... until one of the characters, Rei, solved a riddle he was working on, then bragged about it for two days.

From that point on, they were locked in a silent battle of wits—he would leave puzzles out, Rei would try to solve them first. Ranpo always won. He never said anything. But he smiled a little wider when Rei got close.

Despite the chaos, your presence felt like a strange kind of glue. You brought warmth—messy, loud, infuriating warmth—to a place that was often soaked in darkness.

The Agency was slowly, grudgingly, adjusting to having not just one new member—but an entire cast of them.

And in the center of it all, you stood—writer, summoner, mother, and soldier—pen in one hand, stories in your heart.

Dazai didn't dislike you. In fact, that was the problem.

He watched you from the corner of his vision more often than he cared to admit—pen tucked behind your ear, hands always moving, pages scribbled in ink and coffee stains, hair mussed from the breeze your "children" caused when they rushed around the office like a thunderstorm of feelings and half-finished story arcs.

You were messy. Warm. Full of empathy that made his skin itch in a way he didn't understand.

And your ability? It was unlike anything he'd ever seen.

Through Our Eyes—a strange, beautiful title for something so dangerous. The power to pull characters from your mind, from your stories, to give them shape and substance. Not just tools, not weapons. People. Emotions. Families.

It should've disturbed him.

Instead, it unsettled him. Because he could never touch them.

The first time it happened, it had been an accident.

One of the twins—Yori—had tripped near Dazai's desk. Instinctively, Dazai had reached out.

Yori vanished with a snap of nullification, evaporating mid-gasp like smoke from a snuffed-out candle.

Your head had whipped around, just in time to see Dazai's outstretched hand and the faint ripple of ability cancellation still fading from his fingers.

You didn't say anything—no anger, no blame—but your eyes… your eyes.

Hurt flickered there for just a second.

Dazai never touched them again. Kept his distance. He dodged their playful jabs, skirted around their boisterous presence, and avoided their relentless curiosity like it was a particularly persistent headache.

But they didn't take the hint.

Rika and Yori became expert annoyance artists—poking, prodding, and rattling Dazai's carefully maintained calm with relentless questions and teasing barbs.

"Why do you always look like you're hiding something?" Rika would demand, circling him like a mischievous shadow.

Yori would chime in with a grin, "You're like a puzzle wrapped in a riddle and dipped in mystery sauce."

He'd sigh, half amused and half exasperated, but they wouldn't relent.

The others joined in too. Kaoru quietly offered unsolicited advice on his posture, while Momo's sharp eyes would study him like a curious beast sizing up prey. Rei, ever the tactician, analyzed him with cool detachment, dropping cryptic comments that left Dazai wondering if he was the subject of some secret game.

No matter how much he tried to avoid them, your characters found ways to get under his skin—not physically, but emotionally.

And then, there was the breaking point.

It wasn't during a battle or an Agency mission, but a quiet moment turned sour when an offhand insult from an outsider caught one of them off guard.

Kaoru—the soldier—had heard a cruel remark, dismissive and sharp. The weight of it pressed down harder than any wound, harder than any physical pain.

Without warning, Kaoru appeared at Dazai's side, silent and steady.

Before Dazai could say a word, Kaoru reached out, placing a hand on his arm.

The world seemed to ripple—the edges blurred—and Kaoru vanished, retreating back into the worn pages of your notebook.

The office was suddenly quieter.

Later, when you found the spot where Kaoru had faded, you understood.

These characters—your family—needed refuge. When the chaos, the pain, the harshness of the real world overwhelmed them, they came to the one person who seemed able to hold that strange calm within the storm.

Dazai.

He might avoid them on purpose, but when they needed him, they found their way to him.

And when they touched him to disappear—returning to the safety of the stories—they found peace.

Until you summoned them again.

Dazai's reluctance to engage with your characters—your children— had always been clear, but beneath his cool, evasive exterior, something else was quietly unfolding.

What he didn't know was that your characters' persistent antics weren't random. They were driven by more than curiosity or mischief.

They knew.

They knew about you. About the way your gaze lingered just a bit longer when you looked at Dazai. The soft catch in your voice when his name slipped from your lips. The way you'd scribble furiously in your notebook, pages upon pages filled with stories that felt less like fiction and more like a secret confession.

Every stolen glance. Every shy smile you tried to hide behind a sip of tea.

Your feelings—careful, complicated, and still blossoming—wove themselves into the very fabric of the characters you created.

So it was no accident that Rika and Yori, Kaoru and Rei, Momo and the rest, took a particular interest in Dazai. Not just as an Agency colleague, but as a magnet for the attention they knew you wished you could give freely.

They taunted and teased him, prodded at his composure, not because they disliked him, but because they sensed his guardedness—and wanted to draw him out.

"Why do you act like you don't care?" Rika asked once, sharp eyes catching his every twitch. "We know you do."

"You're just scared to admit it," Yori grinned.

Dazai's smirk was slow to form, but when it did, it was reluctant.

What they didn't realize—what you hadn't yet voiced aloud—was that their restless energy was a reflection of your own tangled emotions.

After long days of watching the subtle dance between Dazai and your creations, you found yourself pouring those feelings onto paper.

The pen in your hand became a conduit for your heart—writing stories that blended reality and fantasy, crafting scenes where the quiet moments between two people said everything words couldn't.

You wrote about a man who was both distant and near, enigmatic but achingly familiar. A man who wore his walls like armor, yet somehow carried the weight of others on his shoulders.

Your characters echoed those stories, their personalities shaped by the nuances you poured into your pages—the laughter, the frustrations, the tenderness hidden beneath sarcasm.

And as the characters grew to like Dazai—not as a crush, but as something almost paternal, protective—they mirrored your own complex feelings, embodying a family you'd begun to build in this strange new world.

Later, in the solitude of your room—your pages scattered, your fingers stained with ink—you found yourself writing again. Not just to ease your thoughts, but to understand them.

You wrote about walls and doors. About people who closed themselves off because the idea of letting someone in had once led to ruin. You wrote about patience, about small kindnesses that chipped away at those walls without ever demanding they fall.

The next day, Dazai returned from a mission with a quiet sort of exhaustion in his eyes. No injuries, no dramatic flair. Just a weight in his shoulders that told you something had gone wrong.

He didn't speak to anyone—not even Kunikida. He simply walked to the break room, sat at the window, and stared out at the street below.

You entered a few minutes later, alone. No sword-wielding twins. No elemental bursts. No scribbled pages fluttering behind you.

Just you. And him.

You poured two cups of tea and sat down across from him without asking.

He didn't acknowledge you, but he didn't leave either.

"I rewrote Haruki," you said eventually, softly. "He didn't want to fight anymore. I changed him into a healer."

Dazai glanced sideways, having met the former soldier a few times. "And did he thank you for it?"

"No," you smiled faintly. "But he cried the first time he saved someone."

There was a long pause.

"You change them because you love them," he murmured. Not a question.

You nodded. "They grow. Just like we do."

He turned back to the window, his voice quiet but deliberate. "I don't know how to grow without breaking first."

You swallowed, the ache in your chest blooming like bruised ink.

"Then let someone hold the pieces," you said. "Even if it's just for a while."

His gaze lowered to his tea, fingers tracing the rim of the cup. For the first time since you'd met, he looked… unsure. Not lost. Not masking. Just tired.

And still, he didn't leave.

Outside, the city carried on in its usual rhythm—cars moving, people walking, birds weaving across the rooftops. But inside the break room, everything had slowed, softened.

No confessions. No declarations.

Just two people, quietly sitting at the edge of something not yet spoken, but deeply felt.

The shift between you started small.

Dazai didn't seek you out—but he stopped avoiding you. He'd drift near when your characters were out, pretend he was simply walking by when really, he'd linger near the edges of your quiet presence. You learned not to startle that fragile nearness. You let him arrive and leave on his own time.

Some days, he'd speak.

Some days, he wouldn't.

But he always stayed longer than he meant to.

Once, after a mission that left half the Agency nursing burns and bruises, he showed up at your door without knocking. His coat was torn, his expression unreadable.

"I don't want to talk," he said.

You stepped aside to let him in.

He didn't speak a word for over an hour. You just sat with him. Two cups of tea between you. A soft hum of wind through the open window. One of your newer characters drifted briefly into the hallway, then vanished again at your subtle shake of the head.

Later, when he stood to leave, he paused. Something almost apologetic in the curve of his shoulders.

"Thank you," he said. Barely above a whisper.

You didn't ask for more.

It became a pattern.

Not daily. Not scheduled. But real.

He'd show up sometimes in the middle of the night, sometimes between missions, sometimes with eyes hollow from seeing too much. And you would be there—with tea, with silence, or with stories if he needed them.

You never asked what happened. You never pried.

And in return, he began offering more than you expected.

He'd mention things he noticed—"You haven't eaten today," or "That new character you summoned… she's a little like you." He remembered details. Made observations that didn't seem important until they nestled under your skin hours later.

One evening, as twilight painted the Agency in amber light, Dazai sat beside you on the rooftop. Your notebook was open in your lap, ink smudging the corner of your palm.

You glanced over, feeling the weight of his presence settle like a soft exhale beside you.

"I wrote something today," you murmured.

He didn't move, but his gaze shifted to you.

You flipped to a page—not new, not recent. One that had been revisited many times. Your fingers grazed the margin where a line was underlined and circled, again and again.

"Through our eyes, we share our wounds. Yet still, the weight of your pain never decreases."

Dazai looked at you.

Really looked.

And for once, you didn't look away.

"I don't ask you to share it," you said. "I just want you to know… you don't have to carry all of it alone."

His voice, when it came, was so quiet you almost missed it.

"I don't know how not to."

You nodded, returning your gaze to the page.

"Then let us keep walking with you," you said. "Even if we can't take the weight, we can still be there."

A silence stretched between you. This time, not tense or uncertain—just full. Like something had finally shifted into place.

You didn't touch. You didn't confess.

But you stayed.

Your characters noticed, of course. They always did. They became gentler around him, even the rowdy ones. They still teased—especially Rika and Yori—but the flukes grew softer. Familiar.

They orbited him like he was part of their story now, not just a passing name in the margins.

And then one morning, as Dazai walked into the office with his usual disinterested slouch, the twins ambushed him at the doorway. They stood in front of him, not letting him pass if he didn't want to accidentally sent them back in their books when touching them.

He raised a brow. "Am I being arrested?"

"You're stalling," Rika said, eyes narrowed.

Yori nodded solemnly. "We've been patient."

Dazai sighed. "For what?"

Rika tilted her head. "For you to admit it."

"Admit what?"

Yori grinned. "That you're part of this family."

Dazai went still.

Not sarcastic. Not smiling.

Just still.

You entered the hallway a moment later, holding a cup of coffee in one hand and your notebook in the other. You paused when you saw them—but didn't interrupt.

The twins looked back at you, then up at him again.

"You can pretend all you want," Rika muttered.

"But you're not just 'some guy' anymore," Yori finished.

Dazai's gaze flicked from them… to you.

You didn't say a word. Just offered the faintest smile. Open. Steady.

He didn't answer.

But he didn't deny it either.

And that, for now, was enough.

Masterlist

[remlionheart]

Sex, Money, Feelings, Die (part two)

* ˚ ✦ MDNI ✦˚ *

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ ask and you shall receive ~ you guys wanted more, so here it is! 𓆩♡𓆪 thank u so much for all the love on this ♡ i didn't expect my first shot at Chuuya to gain so much traction but i'm really glad it did (he's just soooo ♡‿♡ u know?) hope you like a good slowburn bc buckle up, heavy "we shouldn't be doing this" vibes, Chuuya would honestly be the most arrogant yet easy to break dom because of how badly he wants to please you and you can't convince me otherwise, porn with a plot, 5.6k words. this fic once again had me swooning and gnawing at the bars of my enclosure writing it so pls lemme know whatcha think, also big shoutout to @bratbby333 for helping me edit this ღ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ ♡ here's part one if you're new here ♡

You stared at yourself in the bathroom mirror with a sigh, tugging at the neck of your shirt. It was late August, 90 degrees outside, and you were on day three of wearing a turtleneck.

You felt like you were attending a funeral in your black top, black heels, and black tennis skirt - but it was all you had left. You'd already worn your other patterned and pleated options earlier in the week. Already paired each stifling hot sweater with the nicest necklaces you had to make them look more business casual than walk-of-shame.

But no matter how nonchalant you'd tried to seem about your sudden change in wardrobe, it was impossible to ignore the curious stares you'd been getting. The suspicious glances from Akutagawa who just a few days ago could barely even look in your direction without tripping over his own feet. There was a palpable sense of skepticism that followed you and it only seemed to get worse with each high-collared shirt you wore.

You let out another sharp exhale, surveying yourself one last time before heading back to your office. You were busy trying to decide on which expletive you were going to spend the next 7 hours cross-stitching when you rounded the corner, a sudden rush of warmth spreading across your face as a pair of cerulean eyes locked with yours.

Out of all the looks you'd gotten recently, his were by far the hardest to avoid.

Time seemed to slow as you passed him. A subtle but taunting smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth while he continued his conversation with Mori. Something about his upcoming assignment in Osaka and how it'd require him to be gone for at least two weeks.

You disappeared into your office, closing the door behind you as you took a seat and diligently began working on a new project.

Your thread kit had become invaluable over the last few days. It wasn't just a way to pass time anymore - it was an escape. A tool you used to steer your thoughts away from the one place that they kept relentlessly trying to wander back to.

Since the announcement of his solo mission, there'd hardly been a chance for you to see Chuuya outside of the lingering glances you'd exchange in passing. Mori had been keeping close tabs on him, constantly barging in and out of his office to go over the details of his assignment. You tried to remind yourself that it was probably for the best. That the safest thing you could do was keep what had happened between the two of you a onetime fling and nothing more.

It hadn't mattered in the moment how careless you'd both been when you assumed that you'd never see him again, but now that your time here had been extended, you were quickly realizing how critical it was to keep your wits about you. Up until arriving at Port Mafia, you'd barely been skating by. Living off of a dwindling savings account and more often than not having to choose between dinner or rent.

The first check you received from Mori alone was more than you made all of last year working as a barista. You knew that this sort of opportunity would never come again. That it was absolutely fleeting and subject to change at any given moment, but that's what made keeping it for as long as you could so important. The money you were making now would put you through college. It would grant you a future that didn't involve debt. A sense of stability that you never would've had otherwise.

You had no choice but to lay low, for real this time.

You moved your tapestry needle with ease, adding small, strategically placed hearts around the words, "choke me" as you stretched out your legs with a yawn.

The coffee they had here wasn't nearly as good as the coffee you'd usually get from the cafe down the street, but you decided it was better than nothing as you set your cross-stitch pad on your desk and ventured down the hallway.

For as dangerous as this place was, there was still an odd allure of normalcy about it. There were mundane things like work meetings and fax machines and a breakroom that stayed stocked with beverages and snacks. If it weren't for the people that worked here, this truly would be just another business building in downtown Yokohama.

Your suede pumps tapped against the tile as you entered the breakroom, grabbing a k-cup out of the drawer and popping it into the machine before walking over to the cabinet. Despite the three-inch heels you were wearing, you still had to resort to using your tiptoes to reach the mug you wanted.

Your waist leaned into the counter, your arm reaching as high as it could go when your entire body suddenly froze.

You felt him before you heard him, a pair of gloved hands stealthily gripping around your hips. He rested his head on your shoulder, his breath sending chills along your skin as it broke through the barrier of your shirt and danced across the nape of your neck. He pulled you in closer, your ass meeting the firmness of his growing bulge while his palm slowly drifted up past your skirt and brushed against your inner thigh.

"You know you can't ignore me forever, right?" It was posed as a question but held the weight of a threat with the tantalizing way he touched you.

Your pulse raced, heat gathering at your center as he began to toy with the lacy outline of your underwear. His fingers were dangerously close to where you wanted them and where you knew they shouldn't be. Where they couldn't be if you wanted to stay here.

It was cruel irony that just last week it had been him who was trying so hard to keep himself together and now you were somehow the one struggling to maintain your composure. Failing to stop yourself from arching your back against him. Nearly whining when he abruptly pulled away from you and disappeared without another word.

You swallowed hard, looking down at yourself while you straightened out the hem of your skirt, your body still aching from the disappearance of his touch. It was only then that you realized just how fitting your outfit for today actually was.

You were attending a funeral, mourning the loss of your dignity that had died so easily at the hands of Chuuya Nakahara.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

Two days had passed since your run-in with the redhead and you'd barely seen him since. You knew he was set to leave for Osaka tomorrow morning from the conversations you'd overheard while wandering the hall and you knew he wasn’t looking forward to it.

Maybe it would've been easier to not care about what he was doing if you weren't forced to be here every day, but there was no such thing as a break when working for Port Mafia. No weekends. No time off. Even as arguably their most useless member, you were still expected to show up day in and day out without complaint.

You didn't like to admit it, but his assignment had been weighing on you since you'd first found out about it. You didn't understand why he was being asked to go alone. Why he'd have to be there for two weeks. Why you even cared to begin with.

It'd been bleeding into everything you touched, your embroidery going from mindless patterns to things you couldn't possibly bring yourself to say out loud.

Your fingers moved with precision, adding dainty purple flowers around the words "please be safe" when the landline on your desk let out a shrill, unexpected ring.

You paused, staring at the phone with hesitant curiosity. You'd assumed up until now that it was a decorative prop. A piece of outdated technology to help add to the illusion that you had a real office rather than just an empty room to keep hidden away in for 9 hours. You were floored that it actually worked.

On the fourth ring, you finally caved, answering it with a reluctant, "Hello...?"

"You'd make a terrible receptionist, y'know that?"

You hated the smile that crept across your face as you twirled the phone cord around your index finger. "Don't you have anything better to do besides bother the help?"

"Nah, not really." You could hear the smirk in his voice. "Mori's finally out of my hair for a bit. Somethin' about needing to go check the status of one of our bases out in Tokyo so he should be gone the rest of the day."

"Hmm," You hummed, still fidgeting with the tangled wire. "Guess you'll have plenty of time to clean your office before you leave then."

He let out a semblance of a laugh, his tone still riddled with salacious arrogance as he said, "Get your ass in here." and hung up.

You drew in a shallow breath, mentally kicking yourself yet again for how little self-control you had as you stood up and made your way down the hall. Your skin had just healed from the marks he'd left on you and here you were, flirting with the possibility of getting more.

The door opened seconds after you'd knocked, a set of narrowed blue eyes and tousled red hair greeting you as you stepped into his dimly lit workplace.

You took a seat on the leather couch he had in the corner of the room, pretending not to notice as he locked the door behind you.

"Does Mori not pay you enough to have more than one lamp in here?"

He stood in front of you with his arms folded over his chest, a cocky grin breaking through his nonchalant demeanor. “Sorry, where does he have you working again? That tiny ass room that used to be the broom closet? Yeah, I bet the fluorescent lighting is way better in there.”

You bit back your own dumb smile, rolling your eyes as you crossed one leg over the other. "Did you drag me in here to just insult me or do you actually need something?"

"Depends, do you like being insulted?"

You could feel your body betray you, a telling shade of pink decorating your cheeks as you averted your gaze from his.

"Really?"

You didn't have to look at him to know how much it’d piqued his interest.

"Why are you going to Osaka?" You asked, eager to change the subject.

There was a subtle wave of seriousness that washed over him. His voice losing its playful edge as he rolled his shoulders with a sigh. "I can't really go into too much detail without making you a liability. The less you know about the shit that goes on around here, the better."

Your mouth open and then closed, the objection you had lined up dying on the tip of your tongue as you quietly nodded back at him. Even if you didn't want to accept his answer, you knew he was right.

"Aw, don't tell me you're actually worried about me?" He tilted his head at you, his stare softening when he caught the sincerity in your eyes as you looked back at him. "I'll be fine. Trust me, compared to the other missions I've had to go on, this is nothin'."

You had no choice but to trust him, you knew he was blunt enough to tell you the truth and if he wasn't stressed about leaving, then you couldn't be either. As easy as it was to forget, he wasn't just another member of Port Mafia, he was an executive. There was no way Mori would send him alone if he didn't think it was something he could handle.

"Honestly, I'm more worried about you." He said, breaking your train of thought by nudging your leg with his foot. "What're you gonna do for two whole weeks while I'm gone?"

You buried the rest of your concern with a shrug, uncrossing your legs as you shot him a small smile. "I don't know. Guess I'll have to start fooling around with Akutagawa to pass the time."

He nearly snorted he laughed so hard.

"What? You don't think I could have him if I wanted to?” It was infuriating how easy it was to banter back and forth with him like this. How effortless it was for you to both volley off one another without missing a beat.

He shook his head, trying not to burst into laughter again from the thought of you and his perpetually flustered coworker. "Nah, you could. Just think you'd be disappointed is all. Akutagawa wouldn't know what the fuck to do with a girl like you."

There was something about the way he said it that made the blood dance in your veins.

"Fine." You pressed, still wearing the same slight smile. "Tachihara then."

It was becoming a real problem, the way you loved toying with him as much as he loved toying with you.

"He wouldn't."

"I bet he would."

He bent down to become eye-level with you, butterflies flooding your stomach as he reached out to rest his hand under your chin, a gentle but firm grasp holding you in place. "You can try," he said, his thumb lightly dragging across your bottom lip. "But I don't think you'll have much luck."

"Why?" It was barely a whisper let alone an actual question.

You knew him well enough to know where this was more than likely going, but there was a depraved part of you that wanted to hear him say it. Needed to hear him say it.

"'Cause," His eyes glazed over as he leaned in, closing the already small gap between you so that you were forced to share the same breath. "Tachihara isn't dumb enough to touch things that belong to me."

Your heart was threatening to beat straight out of your chest. A week's worth of pent-up arousal nearly dripping onto his couch as you looked back at him without the faintest bit of restraint left in you.

All of the reasons why you'd been trying so hard to stay away from him suddenly held no real merit. They were lost to his touch. Completely eviscerated the moment his lips finally caught yours and his tongue swirled against you with the same tender urgency you'd been daydreaming about for the last five days. The future didn’t seem so pressing when the present was this heavenly.

Your legs parted without him having to ask, inviting his body to come between them while your hands travelled to the back of his neck. Desperate fingertips sinking into his skin in a feverish attempt to somehow pull him even closer.

"'Take it you're finally done ignorin' me?"

You nodded as you watched him push your skirt up, briefly pausing to take his gloves off with the same toothy method he’d used the last time you were in his office. You could tell it was a seldom act for him. Something he had to consciously remind himself to do, but only when he was with you.

"Good."

His mouth attentively returned back to yours, calloused but gentle fingers digging into the softness of your thigh while his thumb swiped your underwear to the side, granting him access to your weakest point.

"Fuck," he groaned, drawing light circles against you, reveling in the way your hips thrusted up for more.

As eager for a challenge as he was, he secretly loved how easy you were to please. How little it took to rob you of your composure and have your legs shaking around him. How pitiful you looked from only two of his digits slipping in and out of you. How your pupils would dilate in this delirious way each time he went deeper, but how you were still submissive enough to never break eye contact no matter how much you writhed and squirmed beneath him.

"Chuuya -"

"What is it baby?"

He could feel how close you were. Knew it wouldn't take much more to have you soaking him, but he couldn't leave for two weeks without making you cum on more than just his fingers. He needed to know what your walls felt like wrapped around him. What absolutely fucking dazed out noises you would make once he was inside of you.

He undid his belt with his freehand, not letting up on you as you grabbed onto the collar of his shirt.

"Fuck, yes. P - please." You whimpered, watching him stroke himself as he carefully lined up with your center. "Please, Chuuya, ohmygod, please."

"Jesus Christ." He choked out, reeling in how pretty you sounded begging for him. Almost not being able to stop himself as he watched you come completely undone, still pleading for his dick.

He moaned against you, forehead pressed to yours as he finally found the willpower to pull his fingers out of you. His tip had just barely made it past your entrance when a loud knock brought both of you to an insanely cruel and abrupt pause.

His hand flew over your mouth, fire flickering across his blue eyes as he drew in a sharp breath.

"What?" he called out through gritted teeth.

"Plan's changed." It was Tachihara. "Mori's back. He wants you to leave now instead of tomorrow."

"Now?" The anger in his voice was palpable. "Like, right now?"

"Yeah, he's waiting in the jet."

"You can't be fuckin' serious." He grumbled, a pained expression taking hold of him as he looked back down at you, removing his hand from your mouth.

"Gimme a minute." He yelled, silently trying to ration what he was supposed to do with your body still splayed so beautifully under his.

He wanted to fuck you. God damn, he wanted to ignore everything else in the entire world and fuck you into oblivion at this point, but he knew it wouldn't be fair to either of you to have to rush through it or be stressed about the fact that someone might barge in at any second.

It needed to be the right time because you both deserved it. Especially with how many mutual pent-up emotions there now were between you.

Pulling out of you was torture, but he didn't have a choice.

You could've cried, your heart and pussy both grieving the loss of something they'd never even had.

"I swear," He said, forehead back against yours, "As soon as I get back, it's me and you, okay?"

You nodded, doing your best to swallow down your emotions.

"Okay." You finally agreed, eyes still locked with his, a faint smile poking through your frustration. "But if you're not back in two weeks, don't be surprised when you see me and Akutagawa holding hands in the hallway."

He let out a half-hearted laugh as his lips met yours, kissing you in a way that he hadn't before. Soft, lingering... affectionate.

"Hey," you whispered seriously this time, "Please be safe."

"Promise."

And with that, you began redoing the buttons on your blouse and smoothing down your skirt while you watched him grab a jacket out of his armoire, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of the pocket.

"You smoke?"

"Only when I really need one."

He shot you a wink, wrapping his arm around your waist as he walked you out of his office, not caring at all who saw.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

You knew it would be awkward without him around, but you hadn't anticipated just how slow the next week would go by. You were tired. Out of ideas for cross-stitch patterns and nearly positive that your curled fingers weren't capable of creating anything else even if you wanted to.

You read manga to keep yourself busy. Looked up recipes on your phone. Took naps at your desk that left kinks in your neck. Called your friends from back home, trying to keep the conversation going long after there was nothing left to say. You were bored. Grateful to still be here, but ready for a day off that you knew wouldn't come.

The check you received on Friday was enough of a reason to stay though. It made the long days of staring at a wall worth it. You reminded yourself again and again that there would never be another job like this. That you might actually miss it one day.

You had no idea, however, just how quickly that day would actually come until you were rounding the corner back to your office and ran into Kyoto. She was the same peach-haired woman who had recruited you from the bar, only she was standing with a fresh face. A girl who looked to be about your age with big brown eyes, flowy blonde hair, and a skirt that was somehow even shorter than yours.

When you had first started, they'd told you that there would be other 'administrative assistants' coming eventually, but you'd almost forgotten about it until now.

Your eyes drifted from her to Kyoto, thinking there was surely no way you'd both be expected to share the same office with how small it was.

You started to extend a hand out to the blonde, ready to introduce yourself when you were promptly cut off by Kyoto.

"Your time here is up." She said curtly. "If there's anything you need to get out of your workstation, I suggest you do it now."

A vicious mix of anger and embarrassment churned in your stomach. "My time here is up?" You repeated blankly. "Why?"

"Mori's decided you're a distraction." She shot you a pointed look. "Especially to that of Nakahara. Now, get your things before I have you escorted out."

Your ears were ringing, your vision blurred by tears at how cold and sterile this all felt.

You went into your office for the last time, grabbing the thread kit and books out of your drawer as you made your way down the hall, looking back to see your replacement excitedly taking over the spot that was once yours.

Goodbye college, goodbye easy money, goodbye Chuuya.

You were able to hold yourself together on the train ride home and on the walk back, but the minute you made it into your apartment and closed the door behind you, everything all spilled out at once. Your crafts and manga falling from your hands as you sank down to the floor and sobbed.

You thought nothing could've been as mortifying as your first day with Port Mafia, but your last day had proved to be far worse. You were right back at square one and it felt terrible.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

The next few days were a blur of filling out online job applications and revamping your resume. You'd hardly eaten. Hardly showered. Hardly done anything that involved getting out of bed.

It was Sunday and rent was due tomorrow. You'd done the math in your head - you had enough money in your savings account to live here comfortably for the next three months without any additional income. If you really pushed yourself and lived uncomfortably, you could probably even skate by for four.

But no matter how much you tried to remind yourself that there was time, you still couldn't shake the feeling of failure that you'd been left with. If you'd been fired for other reasons, it might not have hurt as bad, but the fact that it really was your fault haunted you.

You took a breath, looking over yourself in the bathroom mirror. A combination of three-day old clothes and a knotted side-bun staring back at you. You decided if you were going to continue to sulk, you could at least do it in some fresh pajamas and washed hair.

The hot water felt good beading across your skin as you scrubbed off the grime and regret that had been stuck on you since the day you’d been let go. The air filling with the smell of vanilla as you exfoliated your legs and ran a conditioning treatment through your tangled locks.

You still didn't feel great, but you felt better and that was a start.

You threw on a white tank-top with a pair of oversized grey sweatpants, running a brush through your hair when you heard the buzz of your doorbell. You froze, looking down at your phone to see the time 11:11 flash across your screen.

You hadn't had a visitor since you'd moved here, let alone had someone stop by at almost midnight.

Your footsteps were light as you crept down your hallway, cautiously peeking through the slit in your door watching him impatiently ring the buzzer again, running a hand along the back of his neck while he waited.

"Chuuya?"

"You'd make a terrible doorman, y'know that?"

It was the first time you'd laughed in the last six days, your arms wrapping around him before you even had the chance to think about what you were doing.

He didn't seem to mind though, his hands locking around your waist as you both pulled each other closer. "How did you -" Your thoughts were everywhere. "How did you find my address?"

He let out a slight laugh, his breath fanning across your neck. “I told you it'd be me and you when I got back.”

There was something so sincere about the way he said it. Something so overwhelming about the way he was looking at you. Out of all the things you'd lost recently, you were incredibly thankful he wasn't one of them.

You let him in, locking the door as he followed you down the hall.

“Sorry," you said sheepishly, realizing that you were about to bring him into the messiest part of your apartment. "It's not always like this."

He took a moment to look over your bedroom. The thumb-tacked pictures of you and your friends that decorated the space above your bed. The string lights and cloud-patterned tapestry adorning the walls. The matching baby-pink sheets and comforter set.

It looked like you. It smelled like you. And no matter how many clothes there might've been scattered across the floor or mugs piled up on your nightstand, it was still way cozier than the hotels he'd been staying at over the last two weeks.

"Looks fine to me." He shrugged, taking off his jacket and tossing it onto a velvet chair next to your dresser. "How've things been since I've been gone?" he asked, taking a seat next to you on the bed with a small smirk. "You and Akutagawa official yet?"

Your eyebrows furrowed as you stared back at him, "Mori didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

"I, um..." Your gaze was suddenly on the hem of your shirt as you began to fidget with it instead of looking at him. "I got fired."

"Mori fired you?" There was a sobering sharpness to his voice as he repeated it. "For what?"

You knew he'd find out one way or another, but it was still embarrassing having to relive your conversation with Kyoto. "For 'being a distraction.'" you sighed, your eyes hesitantly dragging up to his. "To you."

There was a brief moment of silence and then, a laugh.

“Huh,” he mused. “Well they're gonna be in for a real fuckin' surprise when you come in tomorrow then.”

You shook your head at him in quiet confusion. "Chuuya, I can't just show back up. Kyoto threatened to have me escorted out when I took more than five minutes to get my stuff out of my office."

His brow arched in a way that made your heart skip a beat.

"Did she?" The question was somehow calm despite the scornful undertone it carried. "Well," he breathed, gently tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. "She's gonna really hate it when the entire building has to hear me fucking you. Every. Single. Day."

A sudden warmth washed over you, beginning at your cheeks and ending at your core as you blinked back at him cluelessly. "What are you talking about?"

"You're gonna be my personal assistant." The smirk he was wearing was lethal. "And I'll pay you more than that asshole ever did. Weekends off. Full benefits. Alla that."

"Are you -" He'd never lied to you before and you weren't sure why he'd start now, but you were struggling to wrap your mind around the fact that you'd just gone from being unemployed to promoted in a matter of minutes. "Are you serious?"

"Well yeah," He said simply, his grin softening a bit. "I mean, who else is gonna clean my office before I go on trips?"

You both smiled this time before your lips were immediately back on his. Eager, unreserved, bliss.

He fell back into the bed with you on top of him, his hands gliding along your curves while you straddled him. The flimsy straps of your tank-top slipping down your arms as you hovered over him, kissing and nipping at his neck.

He didn't care if you left marks on him. Didn't care if he showed up tomorrow smelling like your perfume with blatantly obvious bites covering his collarbone. He wanted everyone to know if they didn't already. Wanted them to stare and whisper and drop fucking dead at the sight of the two of you walking in together. It made him feral just thinking about it.

Your hips were rocking against him, your center aligned perfectly with his as you moaned at the friction your movements were creating. You could feel him growing hard beneath you, his fingers tugging at the waistband of your sweats.

"Here." he said in-between breaths, helping you out of them and tossing them onto the floor.

You started to pick up where you left off, but he stopped you, swiftly undoing his belt and adding his pants and boxers into the sea of discarded clothing too. You hadn't even been able to see it until now. Hadn't been able to fully appreciate the length and fucking girth of his cock up until this very moment.

You left another kiss on his neck and then on his chest and then on his torso, meticulously leaving them all over while making your descent down to the one place you so desperately wanted to be.

He watched you with wide eyes, your hand wrapping perfectly around him as you looked up and slowly ran your tongue along the side of his base.

"Fuuuck." His voice was heady, his hands tangling into your hair as you made your way up to his tip.

You opened your mouth wider, almost wondering how it was going to fit, but you managed. Taking him inch by inch, going down further each time until you developed a steady rhythm.

You understood why he liked going down on you so much. The noises he was making were gorgeous. Groaning out sweet little nothings the faster you went. "Doin' so fucking good for me, baby." "God, you're so pretty, y'know that?"

You kept one hand on him, gliding him in out of your mouth as the other trailed down to your clit. Feeling your own slick between your fingers only made you all the more blitzed out. You were sucking and moaning and watching him stare down at you like you had put the stars in the sky as you fingered yourself while somehow still staying focused on him.

"C'mere." It was the first coherent thing he'd said since your tongue had so lavishly graced him.

He gave your hair a gentle tug, pulling you back up so that you were almost sitting on top of him.

"I need to feel you so fuckin' bad, you have no idea." he breathed, lining himself up with you, feeling how wet you were before you'd even lowered yourself onto him.

His hands rested on your hips, your grip back around his base as you centered yourself over him.

It’d been so much just to take in your mouth, you were almost afraid of how bad this would hurt, but he was aware of his size. Letting you go at your own pace as he helped keep you steady.

The stretch he provided you with from the first couple of inches alone was noticeable, but heavenly. Your eyebrows knitting together as you looked back at him. A dazed, poutiness taking over you the further down you went.

You took him in deeper and deeper until finally, you were fully riding him.

"There you go, fuck - just like that."

He watched your head lull back, your hand reaching for his as you continued to grind against him. Both of you losing control as he began to thrust into you.

Your eyes went wide, his name echoing across the room while your walls spasmed around him.

"Sucha good girl."

His praises only made you go faster, one of your hands still locked around his and the other now palming at your chest. Squeezing your nipple between your index and ring finger as you looked back down at him. "Chuuya - 'm -"

It was hard to tell where his moans stopped and yours began, the carnal sounds synchronizing the deeper he plunged into you.

He felt another clench, and then, he was suddenly drowning in you. Completely unable to hold himself together anymore as you soaked him.

"Cum inside me." you whimpered, "Please, Chuuya. I wanna feel it. Please, please - fuck, baby, please.”

It didn't take you begging to convince him, but it certainly made it happen faster.

His ocean eyes rolled back as he thrusted into you, absolutely enamored by the sounds you were making. The way you were pleading and pouting as he filled you.

It somehow made every daydream he’d had about you seem lackluster in comparison. You were beautiful you were his.

You both stilled for a moment, trying to catch your breath before looking back at each other with the same exhausted smile.

He pulled out of you slowly, letting you collapse onto his chest as he ran light fingers through your hair. "You should probably set an alarm for tomorrow." He exhaled. "I heard your new boss is a real asshole."

"Oh yeah," You mused, leaning up so that your lips were ghosting his. "He's the worst."

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

[welivetodream]

Dazai, slamming his glass: why doesn't he love me, dammit!

Oda: maybe you should calm down a little; following him around and spying on him would come off as creepy to him.

Ango, massaging his temples: I have no idea how you haven't gotten arrested for spying!

Dazai: maybe because we are fucking criminals that work in the Mafia, Ango? I don't think Chuuya would report ME to the police of all people....

Oda: what if he reports you to the boss?

Dazai: the boss is the one who gave me the idea of spying on Chuuya to get his attention! He has been helping me all along!

Oda:......

Ango: that sounds like him.

*Meanwhile*

Chuuya: that idiot mackerel has been following me around for a week! Can you stop him?

Mori: interesting, have you thought of giving in and going out with him?

Chuuya: of course no----wait a minute! THAT'S your question? Shouldn't you stop that crazy ass behaviour?

Mori: I have decided to send you two on a joint mission to Hawaii....for a month.

Chuuya: huh? What will we do there? Have a honeymoon?

Mori:....

Chuuya: NOOOOO

[nyxi-pixie]

'omg dazai treating akutagawa like he did literally makes no sense he just did it because he sucks and i hate him for it'

can we. have a conversation about this without being fucking stupid please. yes dazai fucks him up and its really awful and sucks so bad. yes it isnt necessary for akutagawa's improvement. but like everything with bsd, theres nuance to it that you are ignoring.

the initial meeting between dazai and aku is aku wanting a reason to live and dazai wanting to give him one. a repeat of what mori wanted to give him. (this does not mean those two relationships are the exact same. please guys. please things are different sometimes). Now. dazai assumes the way to give aku a desire to live is to give him purpose. he ISNT training aku to be a mindless killer - thats literally the Opposite of what hes doing. he wants aku to be More than a sword without a sheath. hes teaching aku to be efficient. not just killing people, being smart about it. being what the mafia wants. giving him a purpose through making him useful.

it also probably comes back to the fact that dazai is WRONG about what made him want (barely) to live. he believes it comes from being surrounded by death, thus making the mafia the perfect place for him. booo hes stupid boo hes wrong!! bc it doesnt. hes bored by it and he says that directly in dark era. that he thought being around death would content him with life and it HASNT. bc he was wrong in fifteen. he didnt suddenly become interested in life bc he was doing violence and masterminding for the mafia. it was bc Someone intrigued him.

dazais whole problem stems from apathy, he wants to die because hes Bored with life. nothing interests him. Except people. so he meets chuuya in fifteen and is Interested by him. and that happens to coincide with his first mission for the mafia so he thinks its the death aspect. but it isnt. and we see this repeated with the other people he cares about (oda and ango most obviously). dazais motivations for his plans arent fucking around w death for his own personal entertainment. its looking after his friends. thats the same no matter what canon material ur looking at. and that same reason is why hes alive.

his misinterpretation of that leads him to be wrong abt aku too. aku needs people, he needs a gentle hand to develop best (beast). dazai says himself that aku needs to find someone to be his sheath and that dazai cant be that person (he doesnt know how to be). ofc, the sheath is eventually atsushi and now that we see aku gain strength both with his ability, with strategic thinking, and just emotionally in general its bc of the development hes gone under w atsushi. but guess what? this is more to the thing of bsd being based on human connection. dazais alive bc of the people he cares for. aku does better around people he cares for.

this isnt to say dazais actions are at all justified, and thats not the point of this. bsd is full of grey characters. but i do wish that u guys at least understood the dynamic u want to complain about.