hiraethwrote

[hiraethwrote]

MY HEART IS YOURS

pairing : osamu dazai x f!reader summary : you find yourself stood in the same spot you did five years ago, when you both said your goodbyes. it is sentiment and nostalgia that has brought you back, and you can feel how the scene is still haunted with all the pain and hurt that took place that night. it also seems like the anniversery of your heartbreak is not just calling on you, but him, as you're reunited on the bridge cw : exes, established relationship, hurt/no comfort, pm!reader, mentions/talk/jokes of suicide, guilt, reader is very self-conscious, emotions running high, no use of y/n word count : 2.1k

The sky was on fire with different hues of red and pink, watching over the city that seemed dormant from a distance.

It was a beautiful scenery you were not a stranger with, but it had been quite a while since you last saw it. And as the warm evening wind embraced you, the moment felt like a reunion with an old friend.

Letting the fresh air fill your lungs with a deep sigh, you leaned forward on the railing as you observed the steady stream traveling under the bridge — and a faint smile adorned your lips.

“Not thinking of jumping, are you?”

Your eyes closed at the sound of the familiar voice, your smile widening reactively — you knew you should fight it, the happiness that bubbled up inside you, but you couldn’t help it. He always sparked it in you so effortlessly.

“Not without you,” you said before finally turning to look at him.

Dazai.

His smile matched yours, posture relaxed as he had his hands stuffed in the pockets of his coat.

“So why are you here? Reminiscing about old times?” You turned back to the beautiful scene in front of you, knowing his overbearing charm would have your face heat up in a second, just like it used to way back when.

“Well,” he sighed, hearing how his shoes tapped softly against the wood beneath you, closer and closer until he leaned on the railing beside you, close enough to just barely grace your arm. “Was feeling a little sentimental.”

“Oh, were you now?” You teased, concealing how the fact had a knot form in your stomach.

“You know what day it is.”

His voice was soft, a strange mixture of contentment and melancholy. Daring to shoot him a quick and unnoticed glance, you had the time to see his face expressed the same emotions — a sad smile on his lips, and his eyes telling him he was at peace, though not necessarily happy about it.

“Yeah, I know,” you sighed, feeling how the optimistic lilt you had in you slowly slip away by the second. “Weather’s better today.”

“Better is relative,” he said dramatically, waving his hand about. It seemed like he too grasped onto an illusion of optimism — an illusion you saw right through. “I mean, it was a heartbreaking moment! The rain was only fitting, if you ask me.”

You wished you could laugh, chuckle — god, anything. Even just a huff to convince you both that you weren’t feeling the immense depressive weight that was closing in on you.

But you couldn’t — all you managed to do was let your finger trace the lines in the wood.

You shrugged shyly. “Maybe I would have been able to move on if the weather was better,” you whispered. And based on the silence that followed, you knew he heard. “That it wouldn’t have been as sad.”

“You don’t think it could have ended differently?” He challenged. You knew what he was hinting at — the same thing he always hinted at every blue moon when you crossed paths again.

“We could have jumped,” again, you tried to cling onto a false sense of joy by spewing the silly joke. “Would probably have been the best thing for everyone.”

“Always so tragic,” he sighed, and you could practically hear how he rolled his eyes at you.

“That’s rich coming from you.”

He laughed, a genuine one, “we were quite the pair, weren’t we?”

Finally, you turned to look at him. You didn’t know what expression you expected to be met with, but it wasn’t this one — a hopeful one, with an innocent and naive twinkle in his eye, something you couldn’t remember seeing in him since way before everything went to hell.

“Definitely one they’d write stories about.”

“Maybe then I would get the ending I want.”

You clenched your jaw, emotions tipping like a seesaw between anger and sadness — anger because he kept pushing at what you knew couldn’t be, and sadness because you wished it was different.

“Did you know I’d be here tonight?” The question sounded so innocent once you said it, like there was one specific answer you hoped for.

“Had a feeling,” he nodded and broke your stare to gaze at the sky — it was slowly fading from the bright colours into dark hues of blue.

It was unlike him to avoid eye contact like this. It only told you he found this moment to be as torturous as you did. He just knew how to hide it better.

Or maybe he just lived a better life than you did, and therefore, even though he found it painful, he managed to keep his head a little higher than yours.

“Had a feeling,” he repeated with a sigh, forcing his gaze back to you, “so took my chances in hopes I’d see you.”

You drew a deep breath through your nose to calm yourself, still having a desire to not to let this moment slip into an overbearingly emotional one — you knew you couldn’t handle that.

“Quite the romantic, Dazai,” you said, serving him with a faked smirk. “One of your many charms.”

Now it was his time to sigh, and you heard how it all was ever so slightly strained with frustration. “How long are we going to joke around it?”

You sucked in your cheeks, eyes watering with heartbroken tears now that he had decided to shatter the ice. Beneath your crossed arms, your body started to vibrate with restlessness, your instincts telling you to flee — this wasn’t a moment you wanted to face. Not tonight.

“You can still join the agency!”

“Dazai,” your voice quivered as you tried to interrupt him.

“You can turn it around. It’s not too late. They took me in, didn’t they?” You heaved sharply as he continued to argue, trying to jump in to cut him off, to make him see that it was useless, “I was worse than you ever were!”

His last comment had you hold your breath. The statement might have been true at some point in time, but years had passed since he left — five years to be exact — and a lot had happened since then.

“Dazai, please-“

“You can still be with me!”

He turned quiet, and a single, silent tear rolled down your cheek.

Even though his voice had been soft like velvet, it was desperation that shaped his statement — he was begging you to return to him.

Something in his eyes betrayed his seemingly cool exterior, and it had you wondering — exactly how often had he come here? To this spot, to this moment that would always haunt you as the worst one you could remember.

You had only ever been able to return to the bridge a handful of times. The days where your heart was the heaviest with longing for him again, your feet would carry you here in hopes the memory of him would provide some sort of company in your sorrow.

Then what about Dazai? Exactly how many times had he come back to this spot, reliving the painful memories you couldn’t bear?

You couldn’t explain what it was, but by looking at him, there was something that exposed him, telling you what the answer was; he had probably lost count a long time ago.

“I can’t.”

His shoulders fell as a reaction to your faint decline, lips parting with a quiet huff of despair.

“Why not?”

Like a child he asked the innocent question, big eyes staring inquisitively at you, expecting a proper answer — one he deserved.

“The agency is not for me.” It was a lame excuse. Even you could hear it, how it completely lacked any form of foundation.

“That’s what you’re going with?” He challenged, you only tightened your embrace around yourself. “You sure you don’t want to try again?”

A small spark of anger had eeled itself into his words, all due to the immense pain he was feeling as a result of what he somewhat saw as a betrayal.

You felt uncomfortable in your own skin, fingers digging into the flesh of your arms as if you’d be able to claw yourself out of the cage you felt you were trapped in. It was such an uncommon feeling to you — always confident, headstrong. Some would even say fearless.

But around Dazai all that vanished.

Partly because he was putting you on the spot, deliberately making you face questions you had avoided finding an answer to for years.

But also because in his presence you felt safe, which deemed you utterly defenceless

Not because he had the physical abilities to protect you — that had been more your style. But rather because someway, somehow, that sneaky little brain of his would always solve every puzzle, fix any issue and keep you away from danger.

You were allowed to shut yourself off when around him, because he bore the burden of saving you.

Though in this very moment, you were not thankful as you continued to shrink into yourself.

“It’s not that easy.”

“Make it that easy!”

You let a shaky breath release from your lungs, in no way helping in easing the tension in your joints.

“Guilt,” you stated simply.

“Guilt?” He repeated, eyebrows narrowing. You nodded to confirm. “And? We all feel guilt-“

“That may be so,” you cut him off, keeping your voice low and calm because it was the only way you were able to keep from breaking down completely. “But I cannot with good conscience take on the role of a good and true person, knowing what I’ve done.”

The strain in your muscles tightened when you saw how every cog in his brain was turning, trying to make sense of your reason. There was rarely a situation where Dazai wasn’t on top of things, therefore he so desperately needed to understand you. But even with your explanation he wasn’t able to wrap his head around it fully, and it frustrated him.

It hurt him.

Things used to be so transparent between you. From the very beginning there was a connection that transcended spoken words. One shared look and you were immediately on the same page. And it had inevitably pulled you closer to each other, locking you in each other’s orbit, unable to escape. Then he left — violently tearing himself out of your orbit, leaving a huge gap in your life that no one or nothing could ever replace.

Now you stood before him like a riddle he just couldn’t seem to solve. He heard the words, your familiar and trustworthy voice being the one to convey them, but his stubbornness refused him to make sense of it.

“But-“ he began, hoping the logical side of his brain would do him a solid one and formulate a sensible argument. He quickly understood that was wishful thinking as his brain was losing the battle against his heart. “You can be with me.”

The tremble in your chin grew more intense, pulling your lips into a thin line to hold back the violent cries that were looming.

“Dazai,” you whispered softly and dared take a step closer. You lifted your hand, which had him hold his breath. For a second you hesitated, wondering whether you should let the moment get the best of you or not, before eventually placing your palm against his cheek.

He exhaled the captive breath and instinctively melted into your touch — it was familiar, dejavu hitting you both instantly.

Five years ago you both stood in the exact same spot as right now, hand on his cheek — difference was that back then you were begging him to stay.

“Please.” You saw his lips attempt to express the word, but no sound was heard.

“I miss you so much,” you whispered. “And I really wished it was different. But I’m not as good as you. I can’t find it in myself to leave the Port Mafia, and I am sorry.”

Silence swallowed you, only the steady sound of the water below cutting through the thickness of it. And for a few minutes you just stood like that, him with his eyes closed. You watched how his lashes gradually glistened more and more.

Then he opened them, a newfound serenity swimming in his irises as he used both of his hands to grab yours. Slowly he guided it towards his lips, feeling them press tenderly against your fingers in a chaste kiss.

“Well then,” he breathed. “That’s where we leave it.” A sad smile adorned his beautiful face, to which you couldn’t help but mirror. “But no matter what, know that my heart is yours. It’ll always be yours.”

Blinking away your tears, you nodded in agreement. “And mine is yours.”

author's note : aaaaaah a little nervous about posting this...... not sure i manage to capture dazai in this, but i just had this scene so vividly in my mind i had to put it into words but just a reminder i am a very fragile girl, so if i have written him ooc, be kind and keep it to yourself thanks hehe <3

©hiraethwrote 2025 . all rights reserved. reposting, translating and otherwise plagarisim is prohibited

[hiraethwrote]

NAMELLYYYYYY about 'despite the right person, right time':

general things first: your writing style is soooooo beautiful, your comparisons, the realness of personality aspects that you depict and also how both feel and how it translates into the problem they have

then, things that stuck with me a lot:

the way i just know how "and now i can't think of a single person who has hurt me more.” hurt kuroo so bad, the way it must have punched his gut when the words registered in his head. super nice sentence and effective in bringing that gut punch forth

the read of "intentions over action" is so good, because i can see that. and the way you explained it, too, was sooooo incredibly good. the bus, the food, it's all things we all can relate to because we all had thoughts like this before

also the part about how old habits come back. yeah. that happens a lot, trying and trying and then it just...gets less important. and i love that reader is standing up for herself. not just with her boundaries but also with him showing up at her workplace (hooooly, he needs to be pummeled for that)

also i cringed when he had a new relationship, like WHY ARE YOU MAKING IT WORSE AHHHHHHHHHH. and it's that his mistakes arent just what happened in the relationship but also what transpired afterwards and THATS even more painful

also i love the connection again, the realisation of 'he's my best friend' was absolutely beautiful.

and i love especially how it's ending open-ended like that. it's the only way to end. it only made sense to end like this. ahhh it was kind of a rollercoaster of feelings because it felt so incredibly real

me staring at this rn:

like please marry me????? you’re so incredibly kind, the fact that you, first of, took the time to read it bc i know it’s a little long… and secondly write all this 😭😭😭 you have my heart forever and always now

gonna apologise for yapping, but you’ve opened the valve and i cant stop myself…. sorry

it was actually the “and now i cant think of a single person who has hurt me more” that started the whole thing lol. and it was supposed to be just a sad lil drabble… something easy

then the whole “he’s my best friend” popped into my head and it just snowballed. and this was also essentially the motivator behind it all

queue hea unable to stop talking about her breakup

ive talked about this before on here, but that was before we became mutuals — but i have a tendency to deal with my breakup through my fics hehe (this is not the first, and probably not the last time). and when i started writing it, i was in a deep spiral of not necessarily missing my ex, but missing my best friend

i think it’s quick to forget the best friend one have in a partner, which is really sad yk

(random lore drop as well… sorry… chronic yapper) but i remember one time when i was really young, my parents got into a huge fight, and they didn’t speak to each other the entire day. it was really bad my dad took my brother and i out for a walk bc they couldn’t be in the same room… and my innocent brain was just in panic mode. so when i had them alone, i asked them who their best friend was and they both said each other… i just think that’s really beautiful

idk, i feel like the pain of a breakup is universal whether it ended badly or not that just needed to write about bc tho the actual scene where they break up is rough, i feel like the whole thing is more… neutral? idk if that’s the right word to use

or maybe i am just talking out of my ass here and just spewed a shitton of words that made no sense

SO — thank you again for stopping by, i love you and how about we kiss now instead 🥺

[hiraethwrote]

how dead is dash today, and can i post?

[hiraethwrote]

[hiraethwrote]

thinking of making an ex![character] masterpost because i am back on my shit again

[hiraethwrote]

🥰🥰 aki hayakawa 🥰🥰

[hiraethwrote]

ROMYYY sorry i am late but at least i am here…. i love you btw

currently reading : before the coffee gets cold by tochikazu kawaguchi

last song : passing ships by ethel

last film : snow white (2025)

last series : bungou stray dogs, ginny and gerogia s3 (currently: chainsaw man)

sweet/savory/salty : it’s a tough competition between sweet and savory, but savory is ultimately victorious

tea or coffee : neither 💀 not adult enough yet….

working on : not completely shutting down due to working a shit ton while i am packing up to move across the country 😀

no pressure tags : @twilightsumu @chericos @tansypansydandy @spearofheaven @hellkaiserinphoenix @prettyiwa @ciapie @megapteraurelia @mosskissed

TAG NINE PEOPLE YOU WANT TO GET TO KNOW MORE

tried to reblog the original post but it was gone so here we are i guess. thanks for tagging me leigh!!!!! @poemeater <3 i love you to pluto and back come kiss me now

currently reading: nothing actually. walk of shame

last song: man in the mirror — michael jackson

last film: captain america brave new world

last series: new girl season 3, mha season 2 (rewatch), wbk s2

sweet/savory/salty?: savory + salty!!! but i would give up both kidneys for some cinnamon sugar pretzels rn

tea or coffee: tea always

working on: packing to move states in july, weeding through some rough friendships that no longer serve me, picking up guitar again, and. well. kinktober ‘25

no pressure tags 🤍 @carminechrollo @admiringlove @madaqueue @cheralith @bouqette @mochiqa @mosskissed @storiesoflilies @toadba @tokeposts @hiraethwrote sorry if you’ve been tagged i tried to choose people i haven’t tagged in awhile/at all hehe

[hiraethwrote]

hi! ive been sneaking around your page (super cute layout btw) and checking out your masterlist and wow!!!!!! you write so beautifully <3

aaaah you’re so sweet 🥹🥹 my heart just fluttered MWAH sending so many hugs

alsoooo… your theme, chef’s kiss!! absolutely so immaculate and creative — looooove

looking forward to interacting more with you and delving into your writing 🫶🏻

[hiraethwrote]

BUNGOU STRAY DOGS MASTERLIST

tags: ☁︎; angst | ✩; fluff | ☾; smut/nsfw | ♥︎; long fics | ❀; personal favs

⤶ back to masterlists

𝐎. 𝐃𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐈

oneshots

ଓ my heart is yours ☁︎

[hiraethwrote]

DOG ON A LEASH ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ IWAIZUMI HAJIME

iwaizumi does the one thing he knows he’s not supposed to do, and falls in love with a girl at the club

<- back to main masterlist

summary: after three months and six days of unemployment, iwaizumi finds himself a job: working security at a strip club. the hours are shit, and everyone gets tipped out but him. but by far the worst part about this new job, is that she works there.

content: exes to lovers, blended smau, angst, stripper reader, basically another version of bouncer iwa, violence, drinking, language, everyone’s out of character, mdni

taglist: open - complete this form to be added

INTRODUCTIONS: money hungry sluts | oikawa + high school peakers

CHAPTER ONE: bleached eyebrows

general taglist: @ottocre @sodaneko @dambxtch @angee444 @kameyyy @A-girl-can’t-decide-on-a-name @kodzu-ken @girlhooddiaries @boooolame @thatonecroc @nnnyxie @eclecticeggknightpsychic @manhattanstrawberry @evilari111 @nicerthanu @localgaytrainwreck @alcyneus @megapteraurelia @kiyokostan @jadeoru @sexylexy12 @kr1nqu @loveyislost

(those on gen taglist - please fill out the taglist form if you want to be tagged in this fic. otherwise you will not be tagged in each chapter :3)

[hiraethwrote]

ᡣ𐭩 LOVERS ROCK

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: there are very few things that leave dazai osamu at a loss for answers. you are one of them. more specifically, it's your relationship (is this a relationship?) with him that has him so disconcerted, and dazai is getting to his breaking point.

(wordcount: 3.6k; nsfw [kind of, very suggestive so will label nsfw], ada!reader, dazai has SEVERE trust issues & paranoia, this is set like half a year after he joined the ada, dazai also has a bad relationship with sex that is mentioned in his narration, he is terrible at communication too, accidentally hurts reader a little [nothing major])

AUTHOR'S NOTES: hiiiiiii guys <.< so i'm actually really proud of this ehehe. this is a universe that i'm tempted to expand on like wykyk, but we'll see.

Dazai hates giving up control. 

Ever since he was a kid, he’s been hyper-independent. First with his family, because they were never around and he had to learn to be self-sufficient otherwise he’d die a slow, painful death. Then in the Port Mafia, he quickly learned that asking for help is a weakness and being dependent on others is a vulnerability that people would take advantage of to subvert his influence and usurp his position as an underboss. As long as he’s remembered, it was all but a death sentence to rely on any other than himself. 

It wasn't until he became a member of the Agency that he finally began to allow himself to depend on others—banking on Ranpo and his mind, Kunikida and his ideals, Yosano and her tenacity. But even then, he never allowed himself to lose complete control over a situation, drawing things out in a way that would always leave him with a firm hand guiding the chess board. 

Until he met you, at least.

He wasn’t sure what made you so different—he still isn’t entirely sure, it’s a thought that frequently plagues him, and because of it, he can never allow himself to be fully comfortable with you. You joined the Agency a month after him with lips that spoke pretty words and gave him even prettier smiles. You’d been kind to everyone, but Dazai likes to think you were especially kind to him. Maybe it was just his imagination, but Dazai liked the idea of it.

Well, he didn’t at first. 

In fact, he was rather hostile to it. To you. The longing he felt for the casual, soft touches you laid upon the other members of the Agency felt more like a weakness than anything else. It scared him. He’d never desired anything of the sort before, he’d always been okay on his own—thrived in it, really—and now he was suddenly seeking you out at all hours of the day, and he didn’t even fully understand why. Every time he sought you out, it ended poorly with him saying something uncalled for and your expression twisting as you tried to hide your hurt. 

And yet he still continued to seek you out. He made the same mistake over and over again: constantly forcing himself into your space after getting jealous watching you doll out casual affection to the other detectives, waiting for you to give him the same attention, and then lashing out in some manner when you finally did.

He supposed it didn’t help that Dazai was uncomfortable in general with people touching him, which naturally made him even more hostile because why was he longing for something that made him uncomfortable? 

He also still isn’t sure how you managed to break through all of his walls—or why you even persisted when it became clear that he was at best incompetent when it comes to dealing with real emotions, and at worst, borderline malicious. 

But you did. And it scared him. Scares him.

Dazai lets out a shaky breath when he feels your lips ghost against his neck, fingers twisting the sheets below him. Your hands are sliding against his sides, gentle and soothing, and a part of him wants to melt into the sheets while another part of him wants to flip the two of you around, press you back down into the mattress and rip control over the situation back from you.

As if you can sense his conflict—maybe you can, Dazai has come to realize that unlike everyone else at the Agency, who he can fool with his mask of exaggerated dramatics and clownlike behavior, that you had somehow learned how to see right through him—you pause for the sparest moment and trace your lips back up his neck to brush them against his own, soft and comforting, as if to soothe his discord.

And it works somehow. Dazai doesn’t know how you do it because he can’t even quell his own mind when it starts to spin out of control, but the brush of your lips against his is enough to ground him again. 

“Everything okay?” you ask quietly, eyes searching his face for the answers that he knew his lips might not give.

“Yeah,” he breathes out, voice rough and cracking over the word. 

He thinks maybe a part of it is the way you always check on him to make sure he’s doing alright. For Dazai, sex has only ever been transactional—he was young when he was first carted off to a whorehouse so he could be taught how to use his body for intel and other miscellaneous advantages. No matter how hard he tried to enjoy it, he always found it to be underwhelming at best and loathsome at worst. And he did try to enjoy it, he forced himself to seek out women in his free time to try to learn to enjoy the activity that so many other people seem to find comfort and pleasure in. 

It wasn’t until you that he could.

His first time with you was earth shattering. He’s not exaggerating when he says it completely altered his perspective on intimacy. It was embarrassing, almost—he remembers giving you quick, flirty smiles, and he remembers the sly comments he whispered to you at the bar the members of the Agency were at to celebrate Yosano’s birthday. 

He knew that morning that he wanted you in his bed by nightfall—partly because he thought it would get you out of his system, that maybe all he needed was a good fuck to stop acting like he was brainless whenever you were around, and partly because he was curious. He was curious to know if that genuine demeanor of yours continued behind closed doors, or if it was all just a mask you liked to put up in public. 

Dazai’s hands were on you before the two of you even left for the night—they were creeping up your inner thigh, lingering on your bicep, he was resting his chin on your shoulder as he stood behind you, warding off any man that might try to approach you with cold looks you couldn’t catch. Eventually, like he planned, you asked him if he wanted to go back to your apartment, and Dazai agreed, of course, eager to get his questions answered. Eager to free himself of whatever shackles you’ve put on him.

And it all went downhill from there.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” you ask again, frown deepening and hands stilling on his waist when you don’t find an answer you like on his face.

Dazai tries to play it off—you’re here for sex, not all of his unstable thoughts. He gives you a practiced smile and slips his hand under your shirt to rest on your lower back, pulling you firmer against him—an easy tactic, one of the first he learned to distract his partner when he slips up.

He should have known better than to think you would fall for it.

Instead of returning to the lingering line of kisses you were leaving on his neck, you sit back to study him, and Dazai feels seen. He shifts under your scrutinizing gaze, averting his eyes to the ceiling and counting the seconds that pass as he waits for you to ask that dreaded question. 

“What's wrong?” you ask him quietly.

Dazai can evade it. He knows that he can—even if the sex is ruined, because he knows you’re not going to have sex with him if you think something is wrong, he can evade this question by refusing to answer. You never press it, although sometimes your lips curve down in a disappointed frown that makes him feel even worse than before.

But Dazai finds himself hesitating.

“I-“ he starts to say before cutting himself off abruptly, horrified by the realization that he was just about to admit to you what he was thinking. “Nothing.” 

The anticipation that had sprung to your eyes when he started to speak dissipates when he blows you off, and it makes his chest tighten. He feels your thighs tense and knows you’re about to get off of him, so his hands fly to your hips to keep you in place.

“Something,” he corrects, voice just a little too raspy for comfort. “… Something.”

You settle back down on top of him, tilting your head to the side. 

“Tell me?” you offer quietly, your hands drop to his arms, sliding up and down the bandages that cover his forearms slowly. Soothingly. He hates it.

“I just don’t understand this,” Dazai admits. “It’s… confusing.”

It's possibly the first time he’s ever spoken these words out loud. It’s a weakness he’s never allowed anyone to be aware of—even when Dazai has no idea what’s going on, he’s careful to put up an impenetrable facade of confidence, one that even the keenest eyes can’t see through.

And here he is, bare of masks and facades, admitting his weakness plainly to someone who could easily take advantage of it.

Oh.

“This as in…?” you prompt with a pondering frown.

Is that it?

“This,” he repeats more insistently as his mind races. “Us.”

You, he accuses silently.

You have the ability to destroy him. Dazai realizes, disconcerted, that this is what is confusing him. He's allowed himself to be weak in front of you. He's lowered all of his guards. He's let you in through his many walls of defenses. You’ve settled down in the treacherous beating thing in his chest that he’s tried to rip out too many times to count, and Dazai waits for you to take advantage of it. He waits for this to go wrong. Waits for you to prove yourself to be a Trojan Horse in the form of dazzling smiles and a beautiful face. 

But you don’t, and that’s what Dazai just can’t understand. He doesn’t understand what you’re getting out of this—he knows what he’s getting out of it. He’s getting comfort, he’s able to pretend he’s capable of being loved, he gets you. But you’re not getting anything out of this, so he feels like he’s just been biding time before the other shoe drops.

“… What about us do you not understand?” You sound perplexed, and it agitates Dazai. Worse, you can tell it agitates him because immediately you run your thumb over the pulse point on his wrist to soothe him. You add quickly with a small smile, “I'm not understanding now, help me?”

It is beyond disconcerting that even though he knows it was a ploy to distract and soothe him, it works anyway. Dazai needs to do something about this.

“What do you get out of this?” Dazai decides to ask the question plainly instead of dancing around his words, partially because of the agitation and partially because he just needs an answer. Desperately. “What do you get out of what’s going on between us? I don't understand why you keep agreeing to meet me, why you initiate it sometimes. I need to know what it is you get."

Sex is transactional—it always is. Each party has to get something out of it, and if you don't know what the other is getting, then you have made a perilous mistake somewhere along the line. Dazai has known this since the beginning, but he allowed himself too long to bask blindly in the comfort of your arms and bed. He can’t keep doing this without knowing what you’re getting, It’ll come back to haunt him.

You’re still confused by his question even with the explanation, he can see it in the way the thoughts race behind your eyes as you try to piece it together. 

Eventually you settle on a smile that’s almost playful as you answer with, “You?”

Dazai’s frown deepens at your words, his expression becomes a bit colder. He thinks you’re evading the question because you don’t want to answer it, and that’s dangerous. You joined the Armed Detective Agency not long after him—were you a plant sent to get close to him by one of his old enemies? By Mori? His thoughts start to spiral dangerously. These are questions he should’ve been having months ago when you first joined the Agency, not now. 

“What are you really getting?” His grip on your hips tightens. “Tell me. Stop avoiding the question.”

Your expression becomes a bit more alarmed when he closes off from you, he thinks maybe his grip on your hips might be painful from your wince but he can’t afford to let go until he has his answer. 

“You, Dazai,” you say again, more insistently this time. “I get you. I get to spend time with you. be with you. That’s what I get.”

“But why?” Dazai presses, raising his voice, holding you tighter. He is hurting you now, he can tell from the way you try to bat his hands away, but he couldn’t let go if he wanted to. His blood pressure is rising as he realizes how badly he might have messed up. All of Ango’s efforts—Odasaku’s last request—all down the drain because of one mistake. “Why? What information are you trying to get? Who sent you? Who are you work-“

“What?” you demand. The confusion in your eyes is almost believable—Dazai thinks you must’ve been sent by someone important if you’re this good of an actress. His thoughts track back to Mori and his mind starts to fog with fury. “Who sent me? What are you-Dazai-I want you because I care about you. I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

The fog clears, Dazai stares at you blankly, hands loosening on your hips. He's not sure he heard you correctly, so he says: “What did you just say?”

Your expression softens a bit, and you repeat, “I care about you. I want you because I care about you.”

“No, you don’t,” Dazai says immediately. Instinctually.

“Yes, I do.” Dazai has never seen you get irritated before, but your face twists when he instantly denies your words. “I do, Dazai.”

“You don’t,” he insists. “You can’t. You don’t even know me, you don't care about me.”

He thinks he almost would have preferred that you had some ulterior motive to this. He hates the way his chest swells with hope—hope is dangerous, more dangerous than any other emotion. Fear, anger, sadness, none of it compares to the light that tries to bloom within his rotted chest. He tries to cut it off before it can spread, but it’s notoriously hard to snuff out; it clings to anything it can get a hold on even as he tries to push it away. 

The idea is… more tempting than he expected. It’s concerning, that should be enough to clear his head, but it’s not. His fingers cling to your shirt desperately, he searches your face, trying to find the sparest indication that you may be lying.

He finds none.

Still, Dazai knows better. He knows this won’t last. you’ll find out who he was, all of the things he did, and then you’ll leave him. You’ll see him for what he is, and you’ll leave him. This will never last. 

Nothing good ever does for him. 

“But I do care about you,” you insist, and you’re cruel now, because you reach out to cup his cheek and Dazai leans into your touch. He can’t help himself from it. “I care about you deeply, Dazai.”

“You can’t,” he repeats, and to his horror, his voice wavers. “You don’t know who I am, you don’t know what I’ve done, and when you do-“

“We all have skeletons in our closet, Dazai,” you interrupt him quietly. “I don't think there’s a single ability user out there that doesn’t. I don't need to know your past to know I care about you.”

That’s not true, he wants to say, but can’t force the words out. Instead, he says hoarsely, “It would change how you see me. I'm not who you think I am. I’m-”

A monster. A demon. His blood is black—has been since the day he was born, will be until the day he dies. He is not someone who should be cared for. He's someone who should be left to rot, someone the world would be better off without. He doesn’t deserve this, not when there are so many other people in the world who are unfailingly good and do deserve it. 

“It won’t,” you say again, but Dazai knows it’s not true, you don’t know what you’re talking about. You don’t know how awful he is. You don’t give him the chance to protest though. “I care about who you are today. I care about who you are tomorrow. The day after tomorrow. Not who you were months ago. The past is the past, Dazai, leave it there.”

“It's not that simple,” he rasps. 

“It can be,” you say softly, tucking a stray strand of hair behind his ear, “if you let it.”

“It can’t be that simple,” he disagrees. There’s an odd lilt to the voice—pleading, almost, begging you not to give him hope only to rip it away when the truth inevitably comes to light. “It can’t.”

“It can for us,” you tell him again, and Dazai finds himself believing you. Wanting to believe you. Wanting to believe things can just be that simple. That easy. 

“Why?” Dazai breathes out, eyes searching your face for answers. “Why me? Why not someone…”

Someone better. Someone good. Someone deserving. 

“Because you’re you,” you say like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, you lean down to ghost your lips against his and it fogs his brain with a pleasant warmth he’s only ever felt with you. “Do I need a reason more than that?”

Dazai wants to say yes, because him being him is a reason for you to not want him. He’s despicable, he’s cruel, he lashed out at you for weeks all the while forcing himself into your space because he wanted to be near you but didn’t understand why. 

“I love your smile,” you say, thumb running along his bottom lip, “and I love even more when I’m the reason for it.”

“But-“

“And I love your eyes,” you continue, fingers trailing up his face to trace under his eyes. “I think they’re the prettiest shade of brown I’ve ever seen.”

“I know that’s not true,” he rasps—he knows very well that his eyes are unnerving, too black and too empty. People have been unable to look him in the eye for long even when he was a kid. “I-“

“But most of all, it’s just you,” you say softly, cupping his cheeks with both of your hands. “You make me happy. I like being around you. I always look forward to the time we get to spend together—missions, at work, after work. I’ll take you in whatever way I can get, Dazai.”

You don’t let him avert his gaze this time, you force him to look at you, force him to see the truth of your words reflected in the adoration on your face. No one has ever looked at him like this before, and it makes him feel bare. Seen. He’s always felt seen with you, but never like this.

“I was… mean to you.” He still tries to argue with you, lashes fluttering shut. “I was cruel for months because-“

You laugh at him. “Mean? You were like a puppy trying to snap at my hand to scare me off.”

Dazai gapes. “A puppy?” he demands, seriously offended. “Don’t compare me to a dog. I’m more like a… A…”

“A…?” you press, a pretty smile flickering at your lips.

“A panther,” he supplies confidently.

“A kitten,” you correct.

Dazai groans dramatically, flinging his head back, but he finds himself smiling. He finds his chest full of warmth, light and bubbly, and when he looks back up at you to meet your eyes, he finds the same emotion swimming on your face. He thinks again that no one has ever looked at him like this before—not with such fondness, not with adoration, not with…

No, Dazai doesn’t dare think that word.

“I care about you too,” he admits. He’s hesitant, like he’s scared to say the words out loud.

“Even with all of the skeletons hidden in my closet?” you tease, leaning down to brush your lips against his again, and then a second time, and then a third. He basks in it, eyes sliding shut as you kiss him gently—it takes a few moments for your words to register.

“They’re not worse than mine,” he replies, the pads of his fingers running up and down your thighs absently. After a couple of seconds pass, he asks, “… What skeletons do you have?”

You tilt your head to the side and say playfully, “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

Dazai isn’t ready for that, so he just tosses you a smile and a wink before murmuring, “How about you show me something else instead?”

You laugh at that, tossing your head back and giggling so genuinely that your hand flies to your mouth to muffle the sound. His lips part to make another suggestive comment, but he finds himself breathless at the sight of you. 

You’re beautiful, and Dazai can’t help but think again that he doesn’t deserve this. You.

“Deal,” you agree.

This time when you lean down to press your lips against his, Dazai’s hands are content to rest on your thighs. His fingers don’t itch to wrangle control from you, and his mind isn’t plagued with paranoia-induced thoughts.

He thinks, maybe, that he can get used to this. Used to you.

[hiraethwrote]

PLOT — Gojo wrote everyone letters before the Shinjuku Showdown, and it's time you finally opened yours.

CREW'S NOTES — disregarded working on a full fic rn in terms of some quick angst that actually did sober me up a bit 😁

You stare at it, the same letters sloped in scrawled, quick handwriting. Your name, scribbled on the front, and the paper is soft. What little choice do you have but to open it with careful fingers?

The moment the paper unfurls, you know.

He knew. Gojo must have known what the fight with Sukuna would entail. You look past his iteration of your name, the strokes heavy as if a hand had hesitated and allowed ink to pool underneath.

I thought about saying this in person. But you know me, always showing off when I should be serious, and being serious when I should be joking. Besides, if I looked you in the eye and said this, I think I'd lose my nerve.

I'm sorry.

I think I'm going to die.

Maybe not. Maybe, I'll win and we'll laugh about this, and you'll tease me for being overly dramatic. (Please go easy on me, I'm very fragile).

But if you're reading this, I guess I didn't make it and that bastard got the best of me, and I can only hope he didn't mess up my pretty face too bad. Sorry, I guess you're not laughing.

There's a lot I could say. A lot I should say. But none of it matters more than this: You made me so happy. God, you made me the happiest man on earth.

I don't know what it says about me that I was a sudden fool for Cupid, I fell in love with your quick, clever mouth and your eyes, and that spine made of steel that got into my bones so deep that I couldn't breathe sometimes.

You always looked at me like I was someone. Not just the strongest, not just a weapon. You touched me like I was worthy of love, and held me like I was yours. And I was, I am and I think I always will be. And when we next see each other again, I would still be yours.

If I could have built a world just for us, I would have. A stupidly big estate with ceiling windows for days, a dumb house that hates me, silk sheets you'd complain about, and a kitchen you would never use. I would love to introduce everyone to the new head of the Gojo clan, though you wouldn't have to take my name if you didn't want to. I wanted to see you, pretty in blue and silver silks, and I'd kiss your ring like a priest in love with his god, and scandalise all those fussy elders.

I wanted to grow old with you. Can you believe that? Me. Old.

White hair, back pain, stealing kisses from you like teenagers in love. I would have watched you glow in the sunlight, and watched you live besides me. And you would probably outlive me by a hundred years.

So, if I haven't come back, if this is truly it, then please remember me not for how I died (I'm actually a bit squeamish, so I hope it wasn't too messy), but for how I loved you. Because I did. I do.

And if there's any kind of after, I'll be there and I'll wait for you. Please don't forget to look for me, no matter how many years pass. Just remember to look for the smiling lovesick fool with snow in his hair, and hands in his pocket.

I love you.

Forever your idiot, Forever yours, Gojo Satoru

[hiraethwrote]

suna rintaro who responds with "that's crazy, i was thriving." when you tell him you miss him.

suna rintaro who leans close whilst you're talking, enough to fluster you and have your breath hitch, pretending like his hand isn't resting high on your thigh. he blinks passively, "what? i'm listening. keep on going."

suna rintaro who stares with the coldest look in his eyes when somebody throws shade at you, his voice sounding bored but you know him, know the sharpness in his tone, the concealed annoyance at somebody insulting you. though, once he shames that person away, he turns to you and directs that look at you, "anyway, you still suck. don't think you're hot shit now."

he keeps you close to him the rest of the evening, hand curled against your waist.

suna rintaro who pretends to break up with you over every little thing. the amount of times he slowly stands up when you steal his food?

"it's been a good run. i'll always remember you. kind of," only to snicker when you tug him back from his sleeves, allowing you to whine in his ear about how he's so mean as his hands settle on your neck, thumbs pressing down on your mouth. when he pulls your lower lip down to inspect your teeth, the quick peek of your tongue has his dick stirring.

he thinks he might just make you swallow his spit like that.

suna rintaro who doesn't like to leave hickeys where people can see them. he likes to do them on places that you'll feel, that are meant just for him — low on your ribs, behind your knees, near your hip bones.

suna rintaro who has his hands underneath your waistband, fucking in and out of you slowly, thumb ever-present on your swollen nub only to murmur, "you're shaking already? that's cute, baby. i haven't even done anything yet," sounding so composed, loves having you open wide and dripping wet on his lap, playing with you for his sake, "you sound so sweet when you're desperate, can't even think straight."

suna rintaro who withholds his touch until you've satisfied his ego, who makes you ask, not just once but over and over until your voice is shaking and your pride is beside his feet on the floor, "say please. again. again. hmm, yeah, one more time. that's not how you beg, baby. try again. prettier this time."

suna rintaro who replays your voice audios, breathy, wrecked, stuttering and moaning his name, at the most random of times; who loves to watch you grow embarrassed, who imitates you because putting you on the spot like that has his pants grow tight.

who enjoys recreating it even more, pushing your face into the bed sheets, who has you choke on your spit, "you're so loud. you want the whole building to know how much of a slut you are? how good i fuck you? nuh-uh, don't hide your face, let me see it."

suna rintaro, everybody.

TAGLIST | @sodaneko ; @takes1 ; @classicalelephant ; @pomigranit ; @sugacor3 ; @boktuoafterdark ; @reignpage (just gonna drag you along on this suna brainrot, don't mind meee)

[hiraethwrote]

Imagine handing divorce papers to your arranged marriage husband Zayne because the past 3 years of this marriage have been nothing but a farce and you're tired of chasing scraps of affection from a husband who's almost never home.

You leave the documents (signed from your end) in his office at Akso and skip on your way home, treat yourself to a luxury dinner, self care, a good soak in the bath all while humming under your breath. You go to bed, relieved that you'll be a free woman by the end of the week.

Except Zayne shows up in the middle of night still in his hospital scrubs kneeling by your bed (the first time he's entered your bedroom in a long while)

He clutches your hands in a death grip, tears in his eyes, begging you, "please don't leave me."

[hiraethwrote]

tf is happening to the world when i might be posting again tomorrow???

[hiraethwrote]

THIRD TIMES THE CHARM - S.GOJO

his nose is bruised and bleeding, hers is buried in a book. he’s constantly checking out a book (and her), she knows he’s illiterate. he’s stupidly in love with her — she just thinks he’s stupid. oh what could go so ever wrong

main masterlist

pairing: satoru x f!reader

status: ongoing

tags/warnings: reader keeps to herself, gojo is.. well gojo, modern au, black cat x golden retriever, characters are in their 20’s, he fell first she fell harder, opposites attract, lots of pining and yearning, smau, alcohol/drinking, crude humour, language, slightly suggestive, smoking, arguments, very slight angst buried under humor, probably will be out of character, please note warnings may change as story progresses, and to check each chapter for individual warnings

taglist: OPEN

official playlist

chapters with written portions will be indicated with a 🍀

GET CHARMED: double d’s & dui’s | 3 gay mice + gojo

001: juna

002: long term parking

003: satoru gojo vs the librarian

004: tbd

005: tbd

006: tbd

[hiraethwrote]

im just giving yall a warning — sorry for the person ill become when my selfship comms roll in