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ma3mae · 3 months ago

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I really want knight tecchou pt 2 that I've been looking at your profile constantly since it was posted praying for it to have many interactions, I really loved it :(

Frail Beginnings

Summary: "Tomorrow" was supposed to be the promised day and yet that rumored Tyrant of an Emperor had managed to put a halt to your plans. Refusing to let your resolve waver at the thought of meeting him, you`d continue to march forward but for how long?

Genre: sweet sweet drama, tetchou and reader being hopelessly in love, maybe some jokes here n there, tehee

Warnings: incoming toothrotting nsfw scene lmao so mdni 🤩 also this got political damn fast skks, maybe a bit ooc tetchou but hes just in love ok, hint of possessive tetchou! mentions ( or them legit doing it) of bj , fingering, short cunnilingus scene 😮‍💨tetchou begging bc yes, its just pure rly romantic smut heehe

Word count: 10k ( idk how i did that lolol)

A/N: im back after 2 years WHAT ?? This might not have gotten as much recognition as my other works but I was so in love with it that I just had to write a part 2 🤩this was sitting in my drafts for too long, m sorry guys omg 👹 also blame my exams rn, i dont wanna study 😭😭🗿 emperor dazai doesnt appear in person but he gets mentioned a lot so i decided to put him in the title too :(( hell be there in the next chapter ,guys. hope you`ll have fun reading this <3

previous Chapter

Knight! Tetchou x Reader x Emperor! Dazai

"Tomorrow"

Tomorrow, my ass!

You begrudgingly thought as you flipped through the 100th page of this month's most popular dress designs while chewing on a cookie as three tailors anxiously waited for your final choice.

One of the tailors flinched at your glare at him, the reason for their presence only etching the frown deeper onto your face.

It`s all that stupid Emperor`s fault!

Remembering the content of the torn letter abandoned on your study`s desk, you huffed out a sigh as you pointed at a design of your choice, the tailors let out a breath of relief as they hurried to bring out one of the designs out of the dressing room.

"All the dresses we`ve brought are mere concepts and can be improved upon by any choices of your preferences, Your Imperial Highness."

"The term" Princess" itself will suffice."

One of them let out a tiny shriek at your statement, the tailor with the signature Emblem of a Crow on one of his buttons, was shaking his head furiously.

Baffled by your blatant request, he spoke.

"B-But Your Highness, the Emperor had requested that we must refer to you only with a title befitting of your status and that we treat you with utmo-"

"Ugh, yes. With utmost respect, I suppose?`"

Flinching at the loud shut of the book in your hands, you gently set it aside onto the table infront of you.

"Your dear Emperor had disrespected not only me but this entire Empire by abprubtly declaring his wis- Wait, actually more like demand, that we hold a banquet to "commerate" our engagement. If his army wouldn`t exceed in size in comparison to ours, then we would have tried to get his head for that but oh well."

Not wanting to indulge too far into your not-so-well hidden distaste infront of his own people (not like it was far too late for that) you tried to distract yourself from such annoying thoughts as your fingers grazed over the meticulously crafted design of the book`s cover.

"Clearly shows us how power can win at the end of the day. Isn`t that right, Karl?" you sighed out, looking straight into the poor tailors eyes, unwillingly letting the dwelling frustration in your chest put words in your mouth.

Karl, one of that man`s most competent tailors, gulped at your question, desperately trying to ignore your sharp gaze at him.

Where was "the kindhearted and generous" part the Emperor had told us about when we would be facing the princess??

"W-Well I think tha-"

Sigh

Shoulders tightening at the soud of your seemingly exasperated sigh, he let his eyes stick to the floor like glue, not wanting to risk getting on your bad side.

Unbeknownst to him, you were just simply and utterly exhausted by this whole ordeal already.

"It's alright. You dont need to put your life on the line just to answer a silly question of mine. "

Trying to ease the tension with a lighthearted joke, you had to supress a groan at your own stupidity as you took notice of his evidently avoidant stance, prefering to look at the floor than atleast an inch of your heel.

Maybe hell tell his Emperor that I am of short temper? Heh, wouldnt be too bad.

Entertaining yourself with funny delusions, you decided to put your focus on atleast getting out of this session which that had been extended for far too long to your liking.

"Just show me the dress and let's get this over with before one of you might collapse from exhaustion. We wouldn't want the Emperor's most competent tailors to tell him that we`ve been working you to the bone, so I`ll give you this."

You beckoned your finger at Clara.

The three tailors let their eyes linger on her figure, following her movements as she went over to a cabin on her right, opening it and seemingly taking something out of it.

Their eyes widened as they caught side of the golden emblem of the chest, their fingerstips slightly trembling at the uneasiness that filled their heads.

Only one question formed itself in their thoughts.

What kind of torture might befall onto us now?!

Yet that uneasiness was slowly morphed into disbelief and confusion as Clara stopped to stand next to you, slowly opening the chest to reveal it`s contents.

"Is that a-?!"

"But Your Highn-?!"

"We possibly couldn`t-?!"

A sharp silence filled the air as you held up your palm infront of them, halting their pleads to stop you from giving them each a sack full of gold.

Letting you eyes glance at Clara to your side, you gave a her a curt nod as you picked one of the gold sacks out of the chest.

The rattling of the coins let a clump form in their throats, forcing them to try and gulp the nervousness down as you seemed to be assessing the item in your hand, feeling the weight of it as you let your hand lightly shake it.

"This might be what? A year full of your earnings?"

No one let out a word.

"Hmm, possibly yes? Yet I told you."

Holding your other hand out, you beckoned them to open their palms, another sigh escaping your lips as a tiny voice in your head wished, it would be as easy to handle the mere presence of their "Employer" as you handled his tailors.

Mere fantasy

Whispered the voice in your head as you let each of the three sacks fall into their hands.

As expected

The corners of your lips tilted upwards as you gazed at their baffled faces, their eyes trembling as they had gazed at you in not so contained excitement.

"I'll make you work but not to the bone. You'll be rewarded graciously as befitting of this house standards since you may be employees of his land. Yet you should remember, that you are also considered esteemed guests and shall be given the right payment."

Easing the tension further, you let a smile grace your lips at them.

"I have to sadly praise your Emperor for atleast having a keen eye when it comes to high achieving members of society."

That`s very blunt?!

Thought the three of them and yet their hearts couldn`t betray the giddiness inside of them as they let the weight of the gold fill their minds.

"Spend it for whatever you want. Family, food, your housings or any other selfish reason. It is yours after all."

Turning your head to your side, you first gazed at the chest then at Clara, lastly nodding at her as she had seemed to have understood the meaning.

Watching Clara turn away to put the chest back into the cabin , you took one last look at the three tailors.

" I shall dismiss you for the day since this must have been quite tiring for you. I shall depart for a break as well."

A quick bend in the knees for a curtesy, you let your feet take you to the table decorated with ready made snacks for your tea time at the far right of the room, a window perfectly displayed on it`s wall to gaze out of it and onto the garden.

The tailors could merely blink at your sudden change in behavior as your lady in waiting stepped infront of them, blocking you entirely out of their sight.

"The princess wishes to take a break. You may use your earnings as however you`d like as she had told you. We will notify you later during the day about the prefered changes of the dress. Sir Suehiro will accompany you while a maid will show you the way to your rooms for the upcoming days."

The clinking of a tea cup being set onto a plate echoed through the room.

"Clara, you may choose Sir Michizou to accompany them. I`d like for Sir Suehiro to stay here at his rightful place as my appointed knight after all." You stated as you took a bite of one of the many cookies infront of you.

Clara merely shook her head at your statement, a sigh leaving her a she slightly bowed her head.

"As you wish, Princess."

Said knight had been guarding outside the door with Tetchou, having heard tiny bits of the conversation.

"Damn, Tetchou. I keep forgetting how much guts the princess has for just constantly badmouthing the Emperor."

He couldn`t help let out a low chuckle at his own words, Tetchou also not resisting the quirk up of his lips at that.

"I know. She's funny."

Cackling at his friend`s blatant statement, he coughed into his hand as the door opened, the glare of the lady in waiting not going unnoticed.

Straightening their backs as the tailors came into their view, they nodded in acknowledgement at them as Clara spoke.

"Sir Michizou, could you please accompany them to their chambers? Just follow this maid and then you can return to your post afterwards."

Shooting her a quick glare at the barely hidden but more than annoying small smirk at him, he supressed a sigh as he nodded.

"Understood."

Nodding her head at one of the maids in the room, one of them stepped forward, hands crumbling the skirt tightly as she hastily made her way towards them before giving the guests a quick bow.

"F-Follow me, please..."

Sarah, the newest maid, hurriedly squeezed her way through the door as she quickly made her way down the wall, the tailors and the knight trying to match her quick tempo.

Deadpanning at her nervous form, Clara turned her full body towards Tetchou, him tilting his head at his stare.

"Does the Princess demand for my Presence?"

Shooing all of the maids out of the room, she closed the door behind them as she sat down onto the couch while Tetchou made his way towards you.

"Clara, you don`t wish to join me for a nice up of tea and enjoy these delicious snacks with us?"

Snatching a cookie from your plate as she proceeded to let her body flop onto the couch, laying on her back as she flipped through the book.

"No. I refuse to spend my time with any of you sick lovebirds. Don't even know how you're gonna manage that while being the Emperor's fiance. "

You watched her movements in amusement as she proceeded to sit up, letting her side lean and putting her arm onto the back of the couch, hand pressing against her cheek as she leaned into it.

"Also why didn`t you choose the other dress? It looks more flattering than the other one." Raising an eyebrow at her sudden question, you decided to be silent, knowing there would be more to come out of her mouth.

As expected, she accusingly pointed a finger at you.

"Also stop calling me by that wretched name when were alone. You seem to be enjoying teasing me a bit too much these days." A deadpan expression carried her actions, as you couldnt help but stifle a chuckle, all while you dismissinlgy waved a hand at her.

"Alright, alright. Sorry, Y-o-s-a-n-o."

"Ugh, kids these days."

Not bothering to supress her groan, she flopped down onto her back, admiring the carefully crafted different shapes which decorated the ceiling, tirelessly trying to ignore the lovesick atmosphere forming not far from her presence.

Tetchou`s eyes had never left your form since you had summoned him to join you, engrossed in the way your eyes would crinkle in amusement whenever you and your lady in waiting interacted privately.

"Also, may I ask why you suddenly had the urge to act like the "kind" and "generous" princess you are supposed to be? Gifting them sacks of pure gold coins?"

Letting a smirk slip onto your lips, you took a sip of your tea.

" Well, just see it as a way of poking at him for putting a halt to my plans."

She knew you couldn`t see her yet still shook her head as a smile made its way onto her lips, your playful side never failing to make things interesting for her.

"Well, atleast you've got yourself some good tailors on your side. Fairly better than the one's your dear mother had hired some time ago."

"Indeed, I have." You spoke as you sipped at your tea, glancing at your beloved knight still standing next to you, feeling the twinkle in his eyes even when you`d close yours.

"Tetchou."

Even after many years, the sound of his name falling out of your lips never failed to make his heart soar higher for you, always enticing him in wanting to hear more of it.

Your sweet voice, the way your hair would fall into your face whenever you~d let your gaze trace his features while letting your fingersd smooth through his barely tamed hair as he`d make himself comfortable on your lap.

The way your eyes would glisten like the morning sun and fill with him with energy to continue through the day.

His favorite was hearing his name through whines and mewls as he`d feel your nails dig further and further into his back, laboured breath leaving your enticing lips, swollen from all the kisses you had given him as you plead for him to go faster, teary eyes blinking at him as he feels you get tighter and tighter until h-

"Yes, Princess?"

Blinking at the sudden mention of his name, which had been some seconds ago, you raised an eyebrow at how a hint of red could be seen on his cheeks.

"You know that you are allowed to sit down onto the chair and grab some cookies if you'd like? I did ask for your company after all."

Tucking at his collar a bit as he felt the heat not leave his face, he raised a fist to infront of his mouth as he cleared his throat.

"If that is your wish."

He made his way to the seat across from you, heart fluttering at the slightest hint of your fragrance wafting through the air as he sat down.

Not restraining a happy smile at being finally to admire his face infront of you, you held up a cookie in front of his mouth.

Without any words, he took a bite of it, savouring it's sweet taste as his eyes still hadn't left yours, a lovely trait of his that would never fail to make your knees buckle underneath him.

"Even after all these years, you still look at me like the first day we met." You mentioned as you let him finish eating the cookie off of your hands.

Wanting to wipe the crumbs off of his lips, you stretched your hand out yet a hold of your hand stopped you. Pulling it gently towards him, he closed his eyes as he licked the remaining crumbs off of your fingers, the light falling into his eyes as he opened them to catch the sight of your heated face.

After having wiped your hand clean with the handkerchief you had gifted him at the yearly hunting tournament, he pressed his lips on each of your fingers before intertwining them with his, enjoying the shade of berries adorning your face.

"I refuse to lose sight of what is important to me. You were the one who had given me a new life and I had sworn to protect you. At the end, you were the one who had shown me what true love is and I want to cherish it together with you."

Glancing at the table, he frowned before his eyes widened ever so slightly, an idea popping up in his head.

Letting the chair screech a bit too loudly to your liking, he pushed it away as he stood up, moving around the table to suddenly stand infront of you, his hand never having left yours.

"T-Tetchou? Is something the matter?"

Cursing silently at your sudden stutter, you blink up at him as he gazed down on you.

He put his free hand onto the back of the chair for support as he leant down, pressing yet again a kiss onto your hand, his intense gaze still boring into yours.

"May I?"

Scrunching your eyebrows together at his odd question, you couldn't help but chuckle at the realisation of what he meant.

"What do you think my answer will be?"

"A yes?" A slight tilt of his head to the side as he had a hunch what your answer would be but the small fear of rejection would always refuse to die within him.

"See? Then you may."

With a smile stretching across his lips, he leaned down further as he pressed a gentle but long kiss onto yours, letting out a hum at the lingering sweet mix of cookies and sugared tea on them.

The clearing of a throat reached your ears infront the both of you.

Trying your best to not let any disdain be shown onto your face, you broke the kiss yet couldn`t contain the small huff leaving your nose at the small but noticeable pout residing on his face as he shot a quick glare at Yosano.

"Ha? What are you glaring at me for?"

Realizing what had slipped out, his eyes widened as he straightened his back, his cheeks adorning the color of chery blossoms.

"I apologize. I did not mean to glare at you like that."

He was met with nly a lift of an eyebrow and the noticeable exasperated sight leaving her mouth as she waved him off.

"No need to hide it, I know I disturbed you two but there are footsteps coming up so you better put your act back on before someone catches onto you."

Before straightening his back to take his rightful position to stand next to you, you gave him a quick peck on the cheek as Yosano took a seat across from you, acting as if the two of you had been conversing about various things.

Right after she had wanted to reach out for a cookie, a knock echoed through the room.

"Princess, may I enter your chambers?"

A smile etched itself across your face as the low and raspy voice of your father's butler rung from behind the door, immediately recognizable since your youngest ages.

"You may."

The tall yet slightly bent down figure due to of old age crooked back with a strong aura rivaling that of your father's made it's way through your door.

The strong loyalty to the empire for centuries dawning on anyone laying their eyes upon him as the golden empire's crest adornes his blazer that could make even the strongest soldier falter in his presence.

Your heart swells with pride and gratitude for having him part of your life, a mere "butler" to accomodate to your needs in the eyes of outsiders, but for you and the people in this castle, a figure contributing strongly to the growth of this empire and especially your own and many others as well.

A rightfully prideful man known for his eccentric and boastful personality throughout the closest family members of the empire yet remains hidden as a humble butler coming from a traditional family having served your bloodline for centuries.

As soon as he had closed the door behind him, you began to hastily walk towards him, your face nearly hurting from smiling as your heart ached at the thought of getting to catch a glimpse of him less and less with each passing year as he`d be occupied with solely serving your father.

"Fukuchi!"

A boisterous laugh erupted out of him as he spun you around, not an ounce of old age traceable in the strenght he had always seemed to hold inside of him as a giggle escaped your lips.

"Little Princess! All these years and you still seem to love to be spun around by this old man!"

"Well you're still going strong! Aren't ya, Old man?!"

"Haha! That's true for sure, you lil' runt!"

Yosano sighed at your antics as she took a side glance to Tetchou, only to deadpan at his expression.

"Please tell me, I'm not the only one concerned by people possibly hearing the sheer volume of this man's voice? I do not wish to be here for another sudden unwished sword fight between these two."

Trying to make sense of this situation as she had seen this scenario way too many times, she took a glance at your knight yet Tetchou's eyes never strayed from your form.

"You think I could also spin her around like that in his age?"

Covering her face with her hands, she surpressed a groan as she took a deep breath in.

Sighing, she crossed her arms.

"Well, it's not my fault if something happens and yet I'm still glad that there are many things and especially people that never fail to lighten up her day."

She said as the corner of her lips tugged upwards yet went the opposite direction as an unpleasant thought etched itself into her head.

"Yet I sadly believe, it will decrease in the future."

Tetchou's eyes narrowed at her words, a terrible foreboding in the gut of his stomach as she stepped forward towards the both of you.

And he might be here because of the reason for it.

Were the thoughts of both Tetchou and Yosano as their eyes locked onto your figures, a different degree of worry in their hearts.

Having gently set you down, you welcomed the slight throb of dizzyness in your head as a feeling of nostalgia buzzed through your body.

Petting your head with an adoring smile on his face, he looked behind you as he saw your lady in waiting and your knight approach you.

"May I ask for what you have come to visit the Princess? I thought you were busy preparing the ball to welcome the Tyrant?"

Letting out a good laugh at the sudden name calling, he shot her a smile before coughing into his hand, remembering the actual serious matter for why he had come.

"I deeply apologize for the delay, Lady Clara. I was sent to relay the Emperor's words to the Princess-"

What's with this 180° turn of personality?

Deadpanned all three of you as you continued to listen to him.

"- which entail that the "Tyrant" you speak of will be arriving a week earlier. Precisely spoken, this evening. "

"WHAT?! What do you mean already this evening?! Is he insane?!!"

I already had to delay my plans because of him and NOW he's also here way earlier than I was previously told to?!

"Why-?"

"What the f-?"

"Fukuchi, I demand an explanation! What is the meaning of that sneaky Emperor's hurry?"

Eyes shaking in near uncontainable anger as the fleeting image of yesterday's letter flashed into your mind, one that you had torn apart to spite said soon to be fiancé.

Is that what he had meant with "I'll be awaiting to soon finally let my humble self be graced by your presence, dear soon to be betrothed of mine."?!

You hadn't thought with "soon" that he had meant a week earlier!

Fukuchi had anticipated your reaction (and of the other two) as he himself was flabbergasted when the idea of a marriage between the you and that man first came up randomly during a delegation meeting.

A meeting he for once wasn't by his emperor's side due to an abrupt leave in concern of "family matters".

"What is this marriage that I have been hearing about, Your Imperial Highness?"

There he stood with his back turned towards him, watching you enjoy a cup of tea in the garden together with your precious lady in waiting.

A sigh left his mouth as he turned to look over his shoulder at his friend and ally of many years, guilt seeping into his body as he fought against the feeling of his shoulders slumping slightly under the pressure of it.

"I hope your family has been well?"

A dreaded silence fills the room as an unwanted shaky breath leaves the emperor`s lips. The buzz of people throughout the castle walls, the birds from the garden and your faint laughter as a smile graced your lips. Eyeing the portrait of his beloved wife and daughter, he closed his eyes.

Turning to greet his greet his friend properly, the frown deepens.

"It is exactly as you heard, my friend. The rumors are no mere rumors. It is as these gossipers speak. There will be a marriage between my daughter and that lying fox."

Fukuchi had never been one to hide his feelings if it came to things that "displeased" him.

Though "displeased" would be far too light to describe it.

The Emperor could see the disbelief morph into anger and disappointment, something he had been seeing in himself a lot emerge like a broading storm in his chest, which had begun to slowly erupt in its full form inside of his old friends mind.

"I have known you for years to know that you had entertained such ideas in your mind before my departure. Yet why did you choose to remain silent and bear the burden by yourself?."

Fukuchi had a hunch to why he had not told him about any of this.

Yet he refused to succumb to his theories on the "whys" and "hows" until he had heard the explanation leave the Emperor`s mouth.

Not that it would make this matter far easier to digest.

"There is a reason for why I have been serving this family for years and it is one of my duties to bear some of it as well. So do enlighten me, Ol' friend of mine."

The Emperor`s lips tucked upwards at the name for a second, a bitter taste beginning to reside in his mouth, his words lingering in mind as he sat down onto the chair in his office.

"I know for sure it saddens and angers you as much as it does for me. The failure of protecting my people and family properly lies entirely on my fault. If only I had more-"

"More people for your army? Then why didn't you simply say so? You knew that I have the capabilities to organize such a grand ordeal. It is nothing than something trivial if it's about recruiting competent people. You have seen what my men can do."

A lighthearted chuckle escaped his friend's mouth, only etching Fukuchi's frown deeper into his face.

"Fukuchi. That is exactly the reason why I have chosen to bear this burden alone. It is no rumor that his army surpasses that of mine in numbers and perhaps even in power. Yet it is perhaps the selfish nature of humanity I have chosen to succumb myself to as the feeling of not wishing to send any more people to war has become stronger over the years of peace."

"Then what about the Princess? Your own daughter whose happiness you had promisedto protect the most?"

The downcast eyes and the slight clenching of his fists were enough of an answer for Fukuchi.

He couldn't blame him.

It wasn't unheard of to "marry off" their own child, mainly daughters, to maintain a certain hold in society and perhaps even acquire more power because of such ties.

Yet the higher the position, the greater the burden that would befall onto them.

And yet, there was a part of Fukuchi which had chosen to believe in his friend as he presented him his heir from the first woman he had ever truly loved.

His friend who had united not only two nations together but also it's people after the Great War 30 years ago. Pouring his own being purely into the improvement of his Empire, focusing on one goal. It lead to many failed marriages, neglected children until he had found the love of his life while all the time, Fukuchi remained by his side.

He was loyal to the empire.

Loyal to it's people.

But foremost, to it's family holding the balance of this nation.

He wished for no such feeling yet the sense of betrayal to his oath lingered in his heart.

The strength in refraining from shaming his friend for such weakness waning with every word spoken.

""I have failed many children of mine. This time, I promised this one years of happiness with me by their side." These were your own words. You can not possibly wish to go against i-"

"Fukuchi!"

Not flinching at the sudden burst of volume residing in his voice and the sudden slam of his fist against the table, he held his gaze as the Emperor closed his eyes.

"You know damn well why I had to make this choice. The marriage will not happen immediately. Only after I have seen and witnessed him myself, will I let my daughter be wed off to him. Until then they shall remain bethrothed. It is a mere prolonging of the dreaded wedding since I do not wish such a burden to befall yet onto her shoulders. But I can not let my people suffer due to my selfishness."

He felt a dull ache in jaw as he realised he had been clenching it the whole time listening to this disgraceful Emperor's words.

Every attempt to derive his opinion of it's disgusting degree of naiveté and foolishness would just be futile and a waste of time.

The Emperor had chosen not to dwell any longer onto his friend's words as he had risen from his seat, back turned towards him yet again as he stared out the window, somber clouds beginning to approach the castle as he watched maids gather your things and carry them as you went back to shield yourself and the others from the approaching rain.

Deep breath exhaled through Fukuchi's nose as he put his hand onto his chest for one last bow.

"I understand, Your Imperial Highness. I shall no longer inquire you about this matter unless you wish to speak of it. I shall now excuse myself and start with the preparations since I do believe it won't be long until he will grace us with his presence."

Only a lowly huff passed the Emperor's nose at the thought of said person.

"Grace, you say? For his people and anyone eyes, he might seem like an angel gracing the lands. Yet none of them have ever bore witness to the sight of such a child's face stained with the blood of his enemies. Truly a frightful sight I have wished to forget but the Gods do not grace us with such mercy as it seems."

Another silence befell upon the room, both dwelling into unpleasant memories before Fukuchi broke it with a clearing of his throat.

"Then I may take my leave, Your Imperial Highness."

The Emperor followed the turn of his back with an eye over his shoulders as Fukuchi made his way towards the door, only for him to halt his movements as his hand gripped the door handle.

"I will repeat myself just like I have for many years now. Even if our opinions differ at times, it is no reason for our companionship to suffer under these circumstances. I believe it will only strenghten it's bond, so I will thank you as always for the patience you have gifted to such a meager and foolish man such as I. As always I'll entrust you with the plannings of the upcoming events and any aid you are in need of shall be given to you immediately."

A foolish man indeed you are.

"I thank you, Your Imperial Highness."

Were his only words as he opened the door, stepping outside of it as he felt the weight of their conversation make itself fully known.

Turning around to close the door, he faced the Emperor's back for a last time.

"I shall also regard to you my gratitude for worrying about my humble family. To ease your spirit, I can assure you that they have been well."

Gently shutting the door, his hand strained against the handle as the grip on his hand had tightened around it unbeknownst to him.

I must hurry with my plans.

It hurt.

Yet you weren`t sure what it was.

Was it the weight of your heart getting heavier with each passing second as Fukuchi`s words rang through your head?

Or the palms of your hands, threatening to be broken by your nails digging themselves further into your skin as your fists clenched to somehow ground yourself.

Yosano took a glance at Tetchou, only for her to shake her head at him, signaling him it wasn`t the right time to interfere.

Not like this

She mouthed at him yet tried to give him a half felt smiled to atleast show him that she felt the same sentiment.

It hurt her as well.

A shiver ran through your body as you suddenly felt something warm touch both of your hands, snapping you out of your trance.

Fukuchi let his gaze fall onto your hands, frowning at the tiny bloodstains forming and making themselves known through your delicate gloves as he lifted them up, slowly unraveling your fist until he could gently grasp your open palms into his.

"Your hands used to be way smaller, little princess. "

Slowly letting your eyes fall onto his eyes, a lump formed itself inside of your throat, his kindhearted smile trying to hide his crestfallen eyes as he continued to speak.

"And yet, you still have to treat them as if they were delicate. A treasure to be taken care of because only with these hands can you change your way of living."

Trying to stop your lips from quivering , you could only let out a whisper, fearing you might break down any moment.

" But how?"

You could see it in his eyes. You were glad it wasn`t pity, yet the answer was laid out in them, only fueling your fear and confusion of what is about to come.

"That, is something only time can tell. But know this, my little bird."

Your lips couldn`t help but quirk upwards as he let one of your hands fall onto your side, the back of your other hand receiving a peck.

" I shall always support the small sun of our Empire, no matter what kind of storm might befall us. Everything I do will be for your and the empire`s sake."

All of the words whirling inside of your head, all the pleas for wanting to run away, to make this stop and yet none of it could make it out of your mouth.

And the fact that it was Fukuchi made a small smile grace your lips as you knew that a silent nod was enough for him to understand everything that needed to be said.

Reciprocating your smile, he gently let go of your hands, your hands immediately seeking his father like love but knowing that he will be needed elsewhere.

A princess mustn`t be selfish

Whispered the tiny voice inside of your head, reminiscing you of one of your many vigorous etiquette lessons.

" Due to my duties I must depart now so I shall entrust the princess in your care, Lady Clara and Sir Suehiro."

"Yes, Head Butler Fukuchi."

"As I always do, Sir Fukuchi."

A sense of relief managed to ease a bit of the weight on your shoulder, knowing he could rely on your most trusted allies, especially havin known both of them since their younger years as well.

"Then I shall wish you a good day, evening and night." were his last words before turning his back towards the three of you, the shut of the door echoing in the far too silent dressing room.

You could only stare after him, your eyes fixated on the spot where he stood infront of you, suddenly feeling like the little girl that couldn`t get out of her room to call for help as the thunder rendered her frozen until Fukuchi had come to check on her during his nightly rounds.

"Y/N."

Startling at the feeling of a hand on your shoulder, you slowly turned around, magenta eyes filled with worry staring back at you.

"Do you want to be left alone or do you want us to stay with you?"

You let your eyes shift towards Tetchou, a shaky breath passing through your nose as you saw the look on his face.

You felt guilty. Guilty for being unable to ease the pain in coursing through his entire being as your pain was equally his but he knew.

He knew as you looked at him.

"I shall tell Tachihara to guard your door for the rest of the day."

He began to walk towards the door, giving the crown of your head a peck.

"I`ll be there as soon as you call for me." he whispered as he let his lips linger for a moment before unwillingly taking a few steps back , engraving your current state into his mind, already formulating plans in how to get you out of this predicament.

Giving Yosano a curt nod before exiting the room, he took one last look at you before letting the door shut behind him.

Never would it leave Yosano`s mouth that she actually admired the bond between the both of you, him knowing by seemingly just a look into your eyes in what you needed.

Or perhaps he was just more emotionally attuned than her but even that , she wouldn`t deny.

"And I will tell the maids to assist you in the evening with your night gown."

Were Yosano's only words as she quickly engulfed you into her arms, yours wrapping themselves back immediately in habit as she gave you a light squeeze.

You could only nod as you felt the lump begin to truly clog up your throat, her only putting a hand on your cheek to stroke it before exiting the room as well.

The sun stung onto your skin as some of it's rays made it's way into your room, nearly blinding you as it made fun of your predicament.

You had originally planned to perhaps take a walk around the garden yet the impending date of his arrival would not let you do so.

"It's no use to cry about it but..."

Before you had even realised it, tears had already begun to stain your face, sobs barely being held back as you continued to gaze at the azure colored sky.

"I really really hate this."

Night had befallen onto you faster than you had expected, a fact that had made you grip your sheets harder as you had been trying to fall asleep for what had seemed for hours now.

Hearing a knock on your balcony door made your heart thump greatly as you hurried towards it, having grabbed the candle holder from the nighstand beside your bed.

Fumbling with the lock on your door as the dim light of your candle merely gave you enough sight of his shadowed figure standing on your balcony, you had finally managed to open it.

A soft 'clack' came from the door as you had closed it after letting him in, the soft light glowing on his form as he stood before you in the garments worn underneath his normally knightly ones.

Long loose sleeves rolled back up to his elbows, the thin shirt leaving little to imagination as the knot on his shirt was loose as well, collarbone and a bit of his chest peeking at you as you quickly let your eyes drift towards his face, yet the small smile beckoned you to perhaps keep such thoughts to yourself for not too long.

Noticing him staring as you had lost yourself in your thoughts, you tried to wave the embarassment off, blinking up at him while you asked.

"May I know what brings you here? I thought you had wished to retire early for the night, Tetchou?"

Resolve wavering at the gentle call of his name, he softly grasped your free hand into his own, your grip on the holder tightening as he put your hand onto his face, your thumb immediately falling into a rhtyhm of tracing tiny shapes onto his cheek as he spoke.

"Not when I know that you're suffering alone in your room. I hope I am not disturbing your nightly rest, Princess?"

"Never."

Was an answer enough for him as you let him take the candle holder out of your hand.

"Then may I help you in getting your well deserved rest for the night?"

Heart thumping at the intention behind his words, you felt no need to act against them, the want in the thought of being held by him having invaded your mind much greater for the past month.

"We both know the answer already."

His eyes slightly lulled at your words, his heart never ceasing it's rapid thumping as if he were embracing you for the first time.

"Then allow me."

Letting a chuckle pass your lips, you wrapped your arms around his neck as he hooked an arm underneath your bottom, lifting you off the ground as he carried you with one arm while the other still held onto the candle.

"It never ceases to amaze me how truly strong you are." You spoke as he gently set you down onto the bed, the candle having been placed onto your nightstand next to your bed.

"It is my duty and wish to be strong enough to hold my place rightfully next to you."

He merely stated as you laid onto your back, head hitting your soft pillows.

Leg slightly twitching in surprise at the cold air from the outside still stinging onto his hands, goosebumps had began to rise onto your entire body in both anticipation and slow creeping up impatience.

"Strong enough to shield you from any harm."

He spoke as he had began to slowly climb his way onto the bed and onto you, gently placing a kiss onto your ankle as he began to trace the addictive form of your body with his lips, relishing the tremble of it underneath him as he continued to speak.

"Strong enough to bear any burden you'll carry."

Your breath hitched as he had put both of his hands on either of your thighs, giving him a nod at the lingering question in his eyes as he let his hands glide upwards, eyes widening at the sight infront of him as he had pushed your night gown up to your hips, his grip tightening, making your back slightly arch into his touch.

"W-Well, you weren't the only impatient one here so I thought I might... make it easier for us..."

Eyes shaking at letting the very image of your naked half seep into his mind ,only thin undergarments hiding little to no imagination while the desire to embrace you started to profusely cloud his sober thoughts, his wish to worship you in body and mind enveloping his entire being.

"Then I will not make you wait any longer since I-"

You felt your bottom lip tremble slightly at the sudden loss of his bare hands, yet a wave of arousal hit you as he pulled of his shirt, the muscles and scars on his chest screaming for your touch as a slight sheen of sweat began to build on it.

"- also seem to not be able to hold back anymore."

Lifting your bossom up as he put his hands on it, he pulled you closer towards his hips, a sudden stutter in them as you felt his groin pressed against your core.

You couldn't help but let out a whine at his firm touch as you instinctively wrapped your legs around him, arms stretched out as you batted your teary eyelashes at him.

"Don't hold back. Kiss me and embrace me as much as you want to. Give me your love just like I'll always give you mine."

Suppressing a groan at your intoxicating words, he let both of his hands press your arms next to your head, tracing their shape before finally intertwining your fingers with his, feeling his desire at the tightening grasp around them while he let his face draw closer to yours until the tips of your nose touched.

"Then I shall do so."

Were the last words he spoke before captivating your lips with his own, whining at the taste of his spit entering your caverns as you opened your mouth in haste, wanting to feel more of it as he replied with his tounge grazing every corner inside.

Pressing the sole of your feet into his back, he let out a groan at the feeling of you rolling your hips into his as he continued to suck on your tounge and engulf your sounds with his mouth.

A bite on his lips made him groan as he broke the kiss after a long while, both of you panting for air as he felt a damp patch beginning to form between his legs, the restraint of his pants growing with each passing second.

"Would you... Would you wish for me to help you with that?"

You knew his answer at the squeeze of your hand as he let you sit up. Helping you with perching you up onto his lap, he turned around as he let his back rest against your bedframe, your chest pressed against his as the soft flesh of your thighs sat on his, stopping himself just barely from cursing out at the feeling of your weight on his groin.

You gave him an open mouthed kiss on his cheek as you began to descend downwards, shaky breaths being exhaled through his nose as you engraved the form of his neck, chest and entire body into your mind, giving him every bit of his love for you back as you traced the shape of his body with your lips.

You let your hands roam, feeling the muscles you could always drool for, contradict under your touch.

The familiar slightly musky smell made your legs rub themselves together as you laid between his legs, face pressed against his very part as you gave it's clothed form a kiss.

You felt his hand gently weave through your hair, making you lift your eyes up to meet his worried ones.

"Do not overexert yourself for my pleasure, my love."

If he'd be a confectionary, then your teeth would be rotten immediately from it's addictive sweet taste.

"Oh, Tetchou. Your pleasure only makes me yearn for your embrace even more. You're always doing so well for me so let me give you something back."

A hiss slipped out of him at the feeling of the cool air hitting his very member and your hand gently wrapping itself around it's head.

"And don't you dare pull out until I say so. These are the only times where I can freely show you my greed and frankly, it is addicting to both you and I."

Were your last words before he let out a whine too loud for his liking as you engulfed him fully in your mouth.

Tears began to build themselves up in your eyes as you tried to inhale as best as you could through your nose while giving him one last reassuring gaze, before slowly beginning to move your head back and forth, tounge wetting and licking it as if it's your last meal, never failing to let your ears be blessed by the sounds slipping past his mouth.

You felt him tug at your hair, the slight sting only encouraging you to take him as much as you can, his shaky hand grasping teh back of your neck and labored breath forcing out whines out of you as you felt yourself get wetter at the sounds of him.

Letting your hand wrap around the lower half of his member as the other one began to cup his testicles, gently massaging them as you continued to suck with fervor while slurping sounds resonated through your room.

Listening to his shaky breaths and feeling his heaving chest made you unable to stop your movements, sounds escaping even louder out of him whenever you'd grip or suck a bit harder, sheets crumpled up under his trembling hands as he held himself back, not wanting this to be done too soon.

"Y-Y/N, please stop." His pleading voice spurred your movements further until you felt him tap your head two times with the hand grasping your hair.

Giving it on last suck, a smirk made it's way onto your face at the feeling of his hips bucking further into your mouth. He felt a shudder run down his back as he watched you lick your lips at the sight of his with already sweat glistening body, chest heaving in deep breaths while his member continued to throb, precum and spit sticking to it while your hands had moved to either one of his thighs, stroking him as he slowly calmed down from his nearly reached high.

"Tetchou~", you cooed at him, "Did you just reject me from getting my dessert before bed?"

Holding back a chuckle at the sudden widening of his eyes, yet yours still crinkling, as he pursed his lips at your words.

"N-No, I would never dare to. I just... I just wanted this moment to last a bit longer."

He really wanted to be ravished by you at this point. For many his honest and blunt words were deemed as "inappropriate" yet in this forsaken world that was led by lying and manipulation, it was welcomed in your palace, especially in the embrace of each other.

Inhaling strongly at the feeling of your core pressing up against him as you sat down on his lap, you felt the thumping of his heart against yours as you put a hand on his cheek, drawing closer for a kiss.

"I thank you for always being honest with me, my love."

Moans being exchanged between your lips, the air getting hotter with every passing second while you kissed each other with fervor, the need to feel the other as close as possible engulfing the both of you.

Soon, squelching sounds were accompanied by your movements, your undergarments deemed useless as they merely continued to get wetter with each thrust.

He reluctantly broke the kiss as he moved down onto your neck, letting his teeth graze and bite into your shoulders, marked spots only in places that would never inconvenience you and only for him to witness and enjoy the sight of them.

"Please, let it be my turn now to pleasure you, my flower."

He spoke as he lifted you from his lap, turning the both of you around as your back rested against the pillows on the headboard. You felt his lips move further down, a hitched breath stuck in your throat as you felt him give your core a languid kiss while he let either of his hands slowly run up and down on each of your thighs, lastly letting them rest on his shoulders as he continued to let his hands glide over them back and forth, mesmerised by their softness.

If he could choose a place to die as your honorable knight, it would truly be between your thighs as they resembled soft clouds embracing him into heaven`s realm.

"Will you allow me?"

Always prioritizing your needs, even when you could blatantly see how eager he was to finally give his full attention to you and pleasure you like no one else could, you only needed to give him a smile and a nod as you braced yourself in anticipation and excitement for what was to come.

Teeth digging strongly into your bottom lip, only the sting of it merely stopped you from whining out loud as he wasted no time to push your underwear to the side.

"T-Tetchou. Don`t keep me waiting for too long." wer you able to squeeze out as he had pushed his face between your thighs, his nose pressing up against your core, letting your fragrance enter his body like a drug that could render him unconscious from how addicting it was.

Embarassment thrown out of the window as you looked down at him, only to be met with yearning in his eyes, making you want to press your thighs together if it wouldn`t be for the firm grip he had on both of them.

"You`re just too addicting to me... But I also can not hold back anymore since..."

Hooking his finger onto your underwear, he pulled it to the site, barely able to stop himself from drooling at the sight of it glistening like the water in your favorite fountain whenever the moon would shine on it.

Letting your hands grip onto his head as you felt him press a lingering kiss onto your clit, you couldn`t stop your back from arching up as he took a long stripe at your core, now feeling the affects that it had been far too long since your last night together.

"You are truly divine." He whispered to himself yet loud enough for you to hear as he let his tounge trace the shape of your clit, changing from sucking at it to lapping at your core like a madman.

You felt your body heat up with each lick and suck as his shameless moans at the taste of your essence further lulled you into losing yourself in his embrace.

In the midst of it all, you twitched at the slight sting in your core as you felt him slide his middle finger inside of you, his other hand rubbing your thigh as an apology.

Not leaving your lower ips before planting a wet kiss onto it, you saw the pleading look in his eyes.

"`M sorry, I just... seem to be unable to hold myself back."

"Then don`t."

You panted out as you tugged his head downwards, your own eagerness nealry making him whine out as he felt the throbbing of his own member not cease, even after having rubbed it against the sheets while enjoying the taste of you.

"I truly love you, Y/N." were the last words you heard as you felt the grip on your tighs tighten.

"I l-love you, to- Ngh?!"

Head luckily hitting against the pillows he had placed behind your back, you pulled at his hair as he wasted not time in going back to work.

It didn`t take long until two and finally three finger fit inside of you, him taking his sweet time to finally feel as close as he could to you as he would always make sure to embrace you fully without any discomfort.

Helping you lie down onto your back as your legs quivered from your previous climaxes while he took his time in "preparing you", feeling too weak to hold back any whines and moans as you felt his member rub against your bare velvet purse.

As his own hands assisted you with pulling your night gown off of you, blown out eyes shook at the way your body glistened as the heat had made its way to you, the sweat clinging onto your body like exquisite jewellry, hair disheveled from all the tugging during your kisses.

Not even the most beautiful dress crafted with only the finest of materials could come close to your bare beauty laid out infront of him.

A sight only for him to cherish and to see.

He had tried his best to refrain from letting such carnal desires get to him in fear of accidentally hurting you and yet the thought of someone else possibly getting to see something for his eyes alone filled his mouth with a bitter taste.

Feeling him tilt your chin towards him, he captured your lips like a starving man, the sudden aggression only fueling your need to be taken by him immediately as he braced an arm next to your head, caging you between him and the bed.

He felt undeserving to utter these next words, his gut churning at the thought of it but even he wanted to be selfish for once, especially when the time to hold you in his arms would slip through his fingers like sand in no time.

"Y/N, would you wish to be mine?"

Surprise laid in your hazy eyes at his sudden question, the dumbfounded look om your face ceasing in seconds as you realized the intention in his words, the slight quiver in his voice not going unnoticed.

Putting both hands onto each of his cheeks, you let a thumb glide over his bottom lip as to seemingly help to put his frown away from his face.

"I have always been yours just as you've always been mine. Not even an Emperor could rip the love my heart holds for you out of me. I would be lying if I'd say i'm not afraid at all but we will always find a way to be with each other. Regardless of what's to come."

Giving him a peck on his nose, you felt a lump in your throat form as you felt the quiver of his lips on your thumb, the glisten in his eyes a sight you've seen on yourself too many times at night and yet, you could fully grasp and feel the bare fear of him losing to a man he'd dare to challenge if there wouldn't be the consequence of you getting hurt, making himself an enemy of the empire or getting beheaded.

"It is okay to fear, my love. We'll love and comfort each other tonight without a mind of this world. Would you like that?"

Nodding silently at your words, you lifted your legs up as he pulled your undergarments off, rubbing the head of his member against your core.

"I would love to, Y/N."

The slight sting of his bottom lip being bitten by him felt like nothing compared to the tightness enclosing around him, a moan slipping out of the both of you as he tried to silence you both with a feverish kiss on your lips, his hand slipping between the both of you as he began to rub your clit, easing the tension of him entering inside of you.

It didn't take long for him to be fully sheathed in, veins popping on his arms and neck as he held himself back from finishing to early, wanting to relish in your warmth for as long as he could as he gently pressed against your stomach with his hand at the sight of his bulge nestled in your walls, making your back arch into his touch.

"T-Tetchou! P-Please move. I can't wait any longer."

"B-But I do not wish to hurt yo-"

Grabbing him at the back of his neck, you pulled him in for a kiss as you pressed the sole of your feet against his thighs, moaning into each other's mouths as you felt him fill you even deeper with his length.

Not wanting to make you wait any longer, he began to pull out until he was barely inside before shoving it in with a slow drag until he was fully pressed against you, not able to push in anymore. He continued with the same rhythm for a while, slowly losing your mind as you kept feeling it his entire length deeply inside of you.

Only a ahort time had passed as he began to quicken his pace while your grip continued to tighten around him, your body fully locking him into a tight embrace just like his lips would never leave yours, only to mark your chest or shoulders in places for his eyes only.

His touch, smell and looks full of devotion and love made the build up inside of you approach you fast, his stamina unrelenting as he had been keeping a steady pace for over an hour now.

"T-Tetchou, 'm close!", you wailed as tears had long begun to roll down your cheeks, the feeling of his pelvis rubbing against your clit as he made sure to fill you up as much as he could.

"It's alright, Y/N. Just let yourself go. I`ve got you."

Whining at the feeling of him continuously shaping yout walls while he slowed his movements, you felt yourself ready to gush at any moment as he gripped the back of your thighs in each of his hands, pressing them against your chest.

"Tap me on my hand three times if it hurts.", were his last words before he began to pick his pace, your mouth hanging open at the way he kept hitting your cervix so deliciously with no intention in slowing down at all.

Your body began to tremble as the momentum continued to build up inside of you, his pants growing louder as you tightened around him with each thrust.

"Let yourself loose, my love. I'll take it all for you."

His tooth-rotting lovesick words edged your build up even further until you felt something snap inside of you.

Engulfing your moan into his mouth, he halted his pace, pressing further into you as you gushed around his length, slicking the sheets and his thighs with your juices.

He waited until your breathing had calmed down, breaking the kiss as he looked at your own blown out eyes, the heat spreading through your body as you saw him shift his eyes towards his thighs and your core, unknowingly licking his lips at the sight of the clear sheen covering your lower half including his, some of it even dripping down onto the sheets.

Gulping at his unbreaking gaze, you felt his still hard member inside of you, wincing slightly as he gently put your legs down yet still stayed sheathed inside.

"You can do more, can you?"

Thrown off by his sudden question, you threw your head back as he pressed deeper inside of you, always trying to stretch you out, shaping your inside to fit for him and only him.

"One more for me, my flower? Since only one isn't enough for the both of us."

Letting out a breathy chuckle at your eager nodding, he let his hands roam over your body before finally settling down onto your hips, his tight grip leaving bruises he'd know you'd love to see in the mirror in the next morning.

"Then I'll make sure to embrace you and satisfy us fully for the night."

It didn't take long for him to get back into his pace, the way he'd embrace you sooner or later not failing to possibly impregnate you, a selfish thought he'd never dare to utter out.

The night was young as you fully relished in the feeling of him and him alone, ultimately forgetting atleast for a night about the events that are about to befall unto the both of you and cherishing the somber moments of peace in each other's embrace as he coaxed out orgasm after orgasm out of you.

omg im back?? more like i had this sitting for AGES in my drafts and was like "wait a minute... This only needs to be proofread??" i thought i legit had like more than a half of it to finish this 😭 welp here u go yall 😋 cant promise when ill update again since im rly busy with exams 😭 so idk i can only say that my updates will pop up like surprises 👻 WHAT i can say is that in the next chapter, our "tyrant" will be introduced hehe, yall already know who 😋😋 anyway until next time and hope yall have been staying healthy!!

#bsd x reader #bsd dazai #bsd tecchou #bungou stray dogs x reader #dazai x reader #tecchou x reader #bungou stray dogs #bsd tecchou smut #suehiro tetchou #suehiro tecchou

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ma3mae · 11 months ago

Text

One of the best and heartbreaking works of fiction I have ever read

ᡣ𐭩 FRANCESCA

FEATURING: beast dazai osamu

SUMMARY: fate will always find a way. {wordcount: 22.1k; fem!reader; romance & tragedy}

AUTHOR'S NOTES: wow guys i can't believe it's over. i won't lie this chapter was an absolute monster to write, i cried and rewrote several times, but i think it came out the way i was hoping. i'll leave some more notes at the bottom so as to not spoil, but i hope you enjoy, it's been such a crazy ride, ily all lots. as always, reblogs appreciated

GENERAL WARNINGS: mcd. dissociation. explicit mentions of past self-harm & suicide attempts. dazai describes his scars as "gross" and "ugly". implications of child abuse. suicide. i believe that's all, if there's any i'm missing, pls let me know, this is a heavy chapter obviously.

SEE: UNREAL UNEARTH SERIES MASTERLIST READ: BADLANDS SIDE A

“... You said you have a brother?”

You look up from where your head is resting on Dazai’s chest, peering at him with furrowed brows. He raises his eyebrows, hoping the curiosity on his face comes across as innocent. In his defense, it mostly is—Dazai only wants to know because he’s wondering if he’s correct in assuming the mentions of your brother were in the present tense because he’s still alive.

If that’s the case, then that’s another first in this universe, he thinks. As far as Dazai is aware, in every other universe, your brother has been long dead by the time Dazai meets you and if that’s changed, it had to have been because of something Dazai unwittingly did, otherwise what else would’ve led to such a drastic change from the norm.

He doesn’t recall if you ever mentioned anything of significance about your brother in any of the other universes. The most he remembers is that in some, he passed away when you were sixteen and that he was involved with some shady business. You claimed that it was something to do with underground rings but if Dazai’s right in assuming that he is still alive, then Dazai thinks that the underground ring business was a cover for Port Mafia business, because the only thing that so drastically changed in the years your brother would have died was Dazai coming into contact with the Book and upending the Port Mafia’s operations.

“I do,” you say, shifting to prop your chin up on his shoulder, you lean in to brush your lips against his jaw and Dazai’s eyes flutter shut, lifting his hand to caress the small of your back. “We don’t speak anymore.”

God, Dazai doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to this. He lifts his free hand to cup your cheek, watching as you lean into his touch. He lifts his shoulders up off the bed to tilt his head down, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. He can feel you smile against his and he swears his heart is in his throat, hand sliding to hold the back of your head as he lets his fall back against the pillows. You settle back against his chest and Dazai cards his fingers through your hair as his mind spins.

It’s been two weeks since the event, and while the upcoming conflict with the House of the Dead and their allies has been eerily quiet, Dazai thinks it might be for the best because things with you have not been quiet. The past two weeks have been tense and strained, once the fog of the night the two of you spent together finally disappeared, the realization of your situation hit you hard.

It’s been cycle after cycle of you shutting yourself off from him—curling up in the corner of his bedroom and staring out the window before sending yourself into a steep spiral of fear and paranoia. You haven’t dared to leave the headquarters in two weeks, even when Chuuya and Atsushi and half the Black Lizards offer to escort you, too scared to even step out of his apartment and go down to the lower floors. Sometimes you lash out at him, angry and accusatory; other times, you just cry, terrified sobs that rip Dazai’s heart right out of his chest, and he can only hold you until it passes. And it does pass, it always passes, and he gets a day or two with you like this, peaceful and pleasant. He can pretend that the two of you are just a normal couple in love with each other and not have to face reality.

He hasn’t been much better off. Every day that passes, the corners of the pages of the Book edge further into his vision. He knows it’s coming—his face-off against Dostoevsky, the first trial he has to face to ensure you can live in this universe—and he knows he can’t let himself falter even once or make a single mistake. He’s good at putting up a front around the executives—although he’s sure that Chuuya and Kouyou are realizing just how anxious Dazai really is—but he has to keep his hands beneath the table to hide the way his fingers tremble. He thought he would have more time to prepare for this, he doesn’t know why the timeline sped up so much in this life.

He tries to distract himself from the growing fear by keeping his attention focused on you because you need him right now. Desperately. He’s never seen you like this before. And it’s his fault, he knows it. In most of the other universes, you never knew his enemies were hunting you down; and in the ones that you did know, you’d been eased into a life with him already, you’d known what you were getting into. He threw you into this life without any regard for how it might affect you, like tossing someone who doesn’t know how to swim into stormy waters.

Guilt claws at his throat again, as it always does when his mind drifts to what he’s dragged you into, so he forces his mind back to the conversation at hand. Another welcome distraction from the anxiety, a way to keep his fear at bay—trying to figure out who your brother is, a mystery that he hasn’t solved in any other universe. It’s easier to actively avoid the creeping fear than to face it upfront, especially when he’s not sure he’ll be able to overcome it.

“Why is that?” he finally asks, and then after a moment adds, “... I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” you say, but he can hear the strain in your voice and Dazai understands that it’s entirely not fine, and if your brother does happen to be part of the Port Mafia, Dazai is going to put him through the most excruciating and uncomfortable missions before forcing him back into your life because how dare he make you feel this way. “It’s been like this for like six years now. He cut off contact with me, I don’t know why, he never explained. He still sends me money but I don’t care for any of that, I just want to see him.”

Interesting. Six years ago. When he usually would have died in all of the other universes. Dazai’s mind spins as he tries to narrow it down. So many things happened that year. The Dragon’s Head Conflict, the incident with Verlaine-

The incident with Verlaine.

No.

Dazai shifts a bit and you instantly shoot him a disgruntled look, the apologetic smile he gives you in return is only half-hearted. He ghosts his lips across the top of your head before wrapping an arm tighter around you, fingers rubbing absent circles against your bare skin.

Of all of the events that occurred after Dazai came in contact with the Book, the incident with Verlaine had been the one that changed the most. Dazai had gone out of his way to ensure that the Flags survived the incident so Chuuya would still have people after Dazai finished the final stage of his plan, just like how he made sure to put things in place for Atsushi and Kyouka, Gin, pushing Akutagawa to the Armed Detective Agency. Everything would fall into place after the final stage, everyone could have their mostly happy ending.

Everyone but him.

His mind drifts a bit at the thought of his original plan, the phases that he’d enacted to ensure the preservation of this world—long, happy lives for you and Odasaku. Dragging you into his life shattered that and he still hasn’t figured out how exactly he needs to adjust everything to account for this.

You brought me here. I need you here with me. Don’t go off somewhere I can’t follow

Your words ring through his head. His eyes slide shut and the reminder of Phase Five flashes before his eyes. He can feel a headache coming on already, his throat swelling with frustration. No. Now’s not the time to focus on this.

The incident with Verlaine. The Flags. Is it possible…?

It doesn’t necessarily have to be one of the Flags. He’s sure that dozens upon dozens of subordinates managed to live in this universe with the Flags still around, Doc especially, butterfly effect and all, but Dazai can’t help but hesitate, a gut feeling drawing him to them. You didn’t recognize Albatross or Piano Man, obviously it can’t be Lippmann. That only leaves Doc and Iceman. Doc doesn’t have a family, Dazai remembers the man mentioning it offhandedly after he was wrangled down into the infirmary for a checkup a few years ago, but Iceman…

“Nah, Iceman ain’t gonna be around this weekend, his kid sister’s graduating uni. He’s going to the ceremony. Hit me with whatever you needed him for, I’ll get it done.”

Albatross’s words from a year and a half ago echo through Dazai’s head. He fully sits up this time, eyes widening, ignoring the way he jostles you around. You scowl at him and shift into a sitting position yourself but Dazai is already fumbling for his phone. You claim you haven’t seen your brother since you were sixteen, and Dazai supposes that doesn’t entirely fit in with the fact that if his theory is right, Iceman went to your graduation, but he also supposes that the man didn’t necessarily have to make himself known to you to attend your graduation.

What other pieces is he missing?

Dazai should have recognized Iceman in the picture on your wall, shouldn’t he have?

Not necessarily, he thinks—you and your brother had been young in the picture, no older than ten and fourteen, and Dazai doesn’t even deal personally with Iceman anyway. The man reports to Piano Man, and Piano Man reports to Dazai as the middle-man. He hardly sees Iceman more than once or twice a year, if even that.

And…

Oh.

Dazai exhales, realizing that Iceman being your brother might explain more things than just some oddities in this universe. His mind races as he tries to mentally flip through the pages of the Book, remembering some of the stranger universes out there. Some are so distinct from this one that there are hardly any similarities to this one—universes where the world is still being torn apart by the Great War, universes where you and he had been born hundreds of years prior during an era of warring feudal lords, universes where the world is entirely flooded and universes where the world has become a wasteland.

But there are other universes so similar to this one, with just a few distinct differences, that Dazai struggles to understand what makes them turn out so outrageously different. Everything is functionally the same until the two of you are thirteen or fourteen, where it’s as if the timeline abruptly branches off into countless routes for no apparent reason. Sometimes, he ends up with Odasaku rather than Mori, but in that same universe, you somehow end up with the Port Mafia. In other universes, he ends up with the government as a member of the Hunting Dogs, you end up with the Port Mafia too in that one. Sometimes you have an ability that manifests, sometimes—like in this universe—you don’t.

He never understood what causes the timelines to go down these routes when everything else is fundamentally the same. He assumed that he was somehow the root of it: it was a decision that he unwittingly made that caused the abrupt branching off of the timeline, but he was never entirely convinced of it because he couldn’t make sense of how him ending up somewhere other than the Mafia led to you joining the Mafia, or triggering the manifestation of your ability.

It makes a lot more sense if you already have a connection to the Mafia that he was unaware of.

That would leave your brother as the variable affecting where you end up, and whether or not your ability manifests. Not Dazai.

“What’re you doing?” you complain, flopping back onto the bed and tugging at his shirt as he puts together the mystery that’s been plaguing him for almost seven years.

“Gimme a second,” Dazai murmurs, only half-listening as he shoots a text toward Piano Man, telling him to summon Iceman back to headquarters from where he’s been dealing with a slippery target abroad for months, not bothering to wait for a response as he tosses his phone back onto his dresser and returns his attention to you, significantly more pleased than he was moments before.

The best way to test his theory is to drag Iceman back to base and see the man’s reaction to you being here. Is it smart? Maybe not, but Dazai doesn’t really care.

“What’s got you so happy all of a sudden?” you ask, eyes narrowing a bit in suspicion.

Dazai’s lips tilt upward as he leans down, half-rolling on top of you as he ghosts his lips against your forehead, nose, and then your lips before resting his head on your chest. “I’m spending my day with a beautiful woman.” He tilts his face up to kiss your jaw, relishing in the giggle you let out. “Of course, I’m happy.”

“Yeah?” you ask, nuzzling your face into his hair as you wrap your arms around him. Dazai thinks that if he died now, he would die in a state of bliss—tucked away in your arms with no threat of the outside world to weigh over him. You trace over the thin cotton shirt he’s wearing, drawing absent patterns over with the tip of your finger, up his chest to his shoulder, trailing down his arm.

“Mhm,” he agrees, eyes fluttering shut momentarily as he basks in your touch. He glances back down again when he feels your finger brush over the bandages covering his forearms, hesitating for a moment.

He peers up at you through his lashes, watching the curious expression cross your face as you look down at them, not noticing that he’s caught you staring—he knows what you’re thinking, how could he not? He’d known this was going to come sooner or later, that one day you’d wonder what was beneath the rest of the bandages. You’d never looked at him differently for it in any other life, but Dazai can’t help the lump that rises to his throat as he prepares for you to ask.

You don’t.

Instead, your gaze lifts back to his and you lean down to press your lips to his forehead. He hums lightly and tilts his head up, waiting to see if you’ll say something, but you only lift your hand to brush your fingers through his hair.

“Aren’t you going to ask?” he murmurs, eyes sliding shut again as you trace your fingers over his face, drawing along the slope of his nose down to his lips.

“I don’t plan to, no,” you say lightly, smiling as Dazai nips at your finger when you press it against his lips lightly.

“Why not?” he asks, gaze lidded as he looks up at you again. He almost frowns, wondering if you don’t want to see what’s beneath the bandages, but that would be ludicrous and makes him feel a bit insecure, so he waits for your answer instead.

“Because I figure you’ll show me on your own when you’re ready,” you tell him and the lump returns to his throat, bigger this time as he catches sight of the soft expression on your face.

He’ll never get used to it, he thinks again, breathless.

“What if I’m never ready?” Dazai questions quietly, watching your face carefully for a response.

You’re entirely unbothered by the prospect.

“I hope one day you will be, but if you’re not, that’s okay,” you say as your arms tighten around him, leaning down to bury your face in his hair again—he can feel you smile against the top of his head.

His lips part to respond but no words leave them. Instead, he lets out a sigh and takes one of your hands into his, smoothing his thumb over your palm. “What did I do to deserve you?” he says more to himself than anything else as he lifts your hand to his lips so he can kiss your knuckles.

His eyes flutter shut for a second as he considers what to do, but before he can make a decision, he feels you shifting a bit behind him. He glances back at you, brows furrowing in confusion when he catches the sudden conflict plaguing your expression. He twists around to face you, lifting his hand to cup your cheek, frowning at the downcast look in your eyes as you lean into his touch.

“What’s wrong?” he asks you, wondering if he said something wrong but he has a feeling that it’s something running deeper than that. He keeps his voice soft as he searches your eyes for an answer. You don’t respond at first, and Dazai feels significantly more concerned, shifting to his knees to kneel on the bed next to you, tilting your face to make you look at him. “Talk to me.”

“... I have orientation in a few days,” you finally say and Dazai instantly knows what has you suddenly on edge, swallowing thickly. “For school. On Friday. I can’t not go.”

He runs his thumb along your cheekbone, hoping that the small smile on his face does not convey the nerves that eat at him—he doesn’t need to stress you out any more than you already are. A part of him wants to curse himself for being so selfish; none of this was supposed to happen. You were supposed to live out your life happily without this weight hanging over you; you were supposed to go to school and graduate, not be so scared to leave the bedroom that you hardly even want to go anymore.

God, the guilt is suffocating; it takes all of Dazai’s self control to keep himself grounded here with you and not lose himself in regret.

“Sounds exciting,” Dazai hums, careful to keep his voice light. “You’ll meet all of your new classmates, you better not forget about me.”

He finds a small victory in the way your eyes turn up slightly at his comment, but it’s only brief, returning back to that downcast expression that makes Dazai feel sick to his stomach. He brushes his lips between your brows before pulling back to look at you again, the tips of his fingers running through your hair.

“I’m scared,” you admit softly, “what if-”

“Don’t be,” Dazai cuts you off, doesn’t even let you finish the what if that’s been haunting his thoughts since he came in contact with the Book all of those years ago. If you voice it out loud, he’s scared that it’ll shatter the dam that’s been holding back all of the fear threatening to consume him. “You have nothing to be scared of. Nothing will happen to you.”

“You can’t promise that,” you say, trying to look away, but he forces you to look at him again. His heart feels like it’s in his throat when he sees the way your eyes have welled with tears, one spilling over to trickle down your cheek—he leans down to kiss it away, trailing his lips up to the corner of your eye before hovering over you.

“I can,” he corrects gently. He tells himself the same thing he told you the night he decided to see you again—he has the knowledge, power, and resources, and Dazai is never as motivated when he has you as an incentive. Already, his mind is racing, making plans to get his own men into the building, trying to figure out what would be the best course of action to maybe have Chuuya pose as another enrolled student so he can keep someone close to you. “I can.”

You don’t look convinced, your bottom lip wobbles as you look up at him doubtfully and Dazai is instantly leaning down to press his against yours. Softly. Gently. It’s an innocent kiss, a plea for you to trust him to protect you because he will protect you.

“Do you trust me?” he asks and then falters instantly, reminded of the argument the two of you had two weeks ago. He amends the question and instead asks, “Do you trust me to keep you safe?”

You stare at him for a moment and for a terrible second, Dazai thinks you might be about to say no, but after what feels like an eternity, you nod, and Dazai lets out a breath that he didn’t even know he was holding. He has to go talk to Kouyou, and the Black Lizards, and Chuuya. He doesn’t give a fuck if he turns this into the Mafia’s biggest operation since the Dragon’s Head Conflict, if that’s what it takes to keep you safe.

Dostoevsky won’t win—not this time.

When he comes back to the penthouse after spending nearly the whole day trying to work out plans for your orientation on Friday, he can already tell that you’re teetering off of the edge. Dazai lingers in the door frame for a moment, the corners of his lips turning down and all thoughts of the upcoming operation fizzling away as he lets out a soft puff of air, studying you.

You’re sitting on the edge of the bed staring out the window blankly, hands sitting loosely in your lap. You’re still wearing the pajamas he’d left you in this morning, but there are stains on the front of it—he wonders if you tried to cook something but gave up halfway, it would explain the sudden influx of dirty dishes in the sink.

You look beautiful—you always do, even when you’re littered with stains and half out of it—but you look so fragile that it makes Dazai sick to his stomach. He’s never seen you look so fragile before than he has the past two weeks. You’ve always been willful, the most fearless and headstrong person that Dazai has ever known. Seeing you like this because of him, nonetheless, breaks something in Dazai that he didn’t even know was still capable of being broken.

“I’m back,” he says quietly, so as to not startle you, but you don’t react to his words anyway.

In fact, you don’t acknowledge his presence or even blink as he brushes his hand against your shoulder before coming to kneel in front of you, eyes searching your face. His throat tightens as he reaches up to cup your cheek and it’s only then that your gaze tracks down to him, but he can tell from the distant look in your eyes that you’re probably not even really seeing him.

“What’d you try to make earlier?” he hums, resting his free hand on your knee, drawing absent circles over your skin.

You stare at him for a moment and when your lips part to respond, he can barely hold back the sigh of relief—if you’re still responsive, maybe he can catch it before you steep down into your spiral, he just has to figure out how. He needs to distract you, obviously, drag you back from the ledge as you’ve done for him—not him—so many times before.

“… Cupcakes,” you finally tell him softly. “They burned.”

His lips curl upward into a smile, hand sliding up your thigh to grab your hand, lifting it to press a kiss upon your palm. “We can try to make them together later, hm?” he offers. “I’ve never made them before.”

“... Okay,” you respond quietly after a few seconds of silence, and Dazai considers it a win—or, well, he does until you start speaking again: “I don’t think I should go on Friday, Osamu. Maybe I should just unenroll… at least until things calm down, then I can figure it out. I’ll just start later. It’s fine. A lot of people do it.”

Dazai’s eyes slide shut. He holds your hand to his face and rests his forehead against your knuckles—this time he can’t hold back the sigh that slips from his lips. This is his fault, he did this to you. In a world where you’re supposed to be free of the dark, fulfilling all of the dreams you couldn’t because of him in other lives, you’re too scared to even start school, wanting to drop out rather than step outside his penthouse.

God, what has he done?

He drops your hand back to your lap and looks back up to you, hand sliding from your cheek to the back of your head, fingers intertwining with your hair as he looks up at you. Your expression hardly shifts, watching him absently as you wait for a response, but he doesn’t know how to convince you yet so instead he gives you a soft smile that he’s sure doesn’t meet his eyes, but he doesn’t think you notice in your distant state.

“Come take a bath with me,” he says, half a request, half a plea as he squeezes your thigh gently. “Then we’ll talk, yeah?”

You avert your gaze from his again, but you nod, so Dazai considers it another win. He stands up quickly, helping you to your feet before guiding you into the bathroom. You’d do this for him sometimes in the other universes; when he goes through really bad slumps and can barely bring himself to eat or move, you’ll coax him out of bed and into the bathtub, bringing him a tray of breakfast and letting him rest against your chest as he soaks in the hot water and picks at his food. Sometimes it brings him out of the slumps, sometimes it doesn’t, but it never fails to make him feel less alone so he figures it’s about time he’s able to return the favor to you.

He hums a familiar jaunty tune as he leans over to get the water running in the tub—hot, you always like the water just a bit less scalding than he usually has it—before turning to you. He crosses the bathroom in three long steps, standing in front of where you’re still leaning against the counter. He cups your cheeks and purposely smushes them so he can lean down and place an obnoxious kiss right upon your squished lips. You don’t look amused by his dramatics, but your eyes are tracking him now—another win. He’s on a roll now, maybe he’ll be able to pull you out of this before it spirals.

“Let me help you get undressed?” he proposes, smiling as he lifts a finger to his cheek and waits for your response.

“Okay,” you agree—a quicker response than the last ‘okay,’ a good sign.

Dazai doesn’t waste time as he presses his lips to your forehead, fingers curling around the hem of your soft cotton shirt. He carefully pulls it up above your head, placing it on the counter behind you. You’re not wearing a bra beneath it, so Dazai only lets his hands settle on your hips before he props his chin up on the top of your head.

He lets out a soft breath, eyes tracing the smooth skin of your back in the mirror before he lets them flutter shut. Just as he’s about to kneel down and slip off your shorts and panties so he can get you in the tub, he feels your arms wrap around his waist, and oh. Dazai’s throat tightens as you lean your head against his chest and press your bare body against his clothed one; one of his arms curl around you, large palm splayed against your lower back, while the other cradles the back of your head.

Dazai would do anything for you. Build empires or burn them. He’d gift you the sun and the moon and the stars. He can feel your body trembling against his and he knows that he’d rot in the depths of hell if it meant keeping you safe. There’s no length he wouldn’t go to, no depths he wouldn’t stoop to. His arms tighten around you and he presses his lips back to the top of your head, letting out a shaky breath.

Fyodor Dostoevsky will die. Agatha Christie will die. Both of their organizations will burn. Anyone who’s a threat to you—whether it’s ten bodies or ten thousand, he doesn’t care.

“C’mon,” he says softly, “let’s get you in there.”

He feels you nod against his chest and with much reluctance, his arms drop from where they’re wrapped around you as he kneels in front of you. He kisses your navel as his fingers curl around the hem of your shorts; he pulls them down until they’re loose on the floor around your ankles. When he scoops you into his arms, your eyes widen and he tosses you a playful wink before easing you down into the tub.

Once you’re mostly submerged in the water, you draw your knees to your chest and prop your chin on top of them, staring ahead. Whatever light had managed to return to your eyes fizzles out almost instantly and Dazai bites back a sigh, intent on getting into the tub with you and distracting you from the thoughts plaguing your mind. He slips off his jacket and drops it onto the floor, pulling off his tie haphazardly. He reaches up to unbutton his shirt and-

Oh.

Dazai has made a fatal mistake.

His vision tunnels in on the bandages peeking out from the sleeve of his shirt, envisioning the mess of ridged scars that stain the skin beneath them. Slowly, his gaze draws back to you. To the tub. To the water. If he wants to get in with you then-

You don’t seem to notice his sudden predicament, too focused on whatever spot on the wall you’ve been staring at since he set you down, but Dazai thinks that his world might be on the verge of collapse because he loves you, he does, but he doesn’t know if he’s ready to take off the bandages. Not yet. Maybe the fear is irrational, maybe it’s not—you’ve already done things in this universe that you’ve never done in any other, and he’s terrified that when you see the deep, ugly scars that litter his skin, you’ll look at him differently.

Shit.

His eyes slide shut, trying to figure out what to do.

He could leave the bandages on—he could, but they’ll become soggy and loose and they’ll probably slip off anyway, not to mention it’ll irritate his skin. And he’ll feel gross after. And he’s sure you’ll take notice of the fact that he won’t even take the bandages off to take a bath with you. He’s evaded it pretty casually up until now and the conversation yesterday morning, but this would be so glaring that there would be no denying that he’s actively trying to not let you see beneath the bandages. Yes, that is what he’s doing, but he doesn’t need you to be aware of that, though distantly, he notes that you probably are already at this point.

Or he could just… take them off. He’s going to eventually, he knows that; he’s not going to hide his body from you forever, but he thought he’d put it off for as long as possible. But maybe this is for the best—it happening now. Him putting it off for as long as possible is exactly what he tried to do with telling you about his position in the Mafia and that obviously blew up in his face—not only did it not happen on his own terms but it happened in the worst way possible. At least now, he can control the situation.

It is with great reluctance and severe anxiety that he finally starts unbuttoning his shirt. He fumbles a few times, fingers feeling extra clunky, but he pushes through because his comfort doesn’t matter right now, helping you does. He reminds himself of that over and over again. He can hardly even count the number of times that you’ve put aside your own comfort for him in all of the other universes, even in this one; he shouldn’t even hesitate to do the same for you. His shirt hits the floor and Dazai’s heart leaps to his throat, the first plate of his armor shed. His pants are next, and Dazai feels sick with nerves as his fingers brush the pin holding the bandages of his left arm in place.

Just do it.

His fingers work to unfasten the pin—he tells himself that he’s being ridiculous. That this is you. He wears his bandages like armor, a shield to hide himself from the rest of the world, but you’ve always been exempt from the ‘rest of the world.’ You’re you, the woman he’s loved since he laid hands on the Book when he was fifteen, the only person in the world who has accepted him for all of the good and bad and-

“How could I accept any of this?”

Your words from two weeks ago ring through his head and Dazai freezes from where he’s about to unwrap the bandages. Doubt sweeps through him—fear, cold and debilitating because he really doesn’t think he can handle your rejection. Not now, not ever, especially about this.

You won’t reject him, he insists again and forces himself to continue, but instead of looking down at the scars that line his arm, deep and discolored, lumpy to the touch—gross, he thinks again, ugly—he looks at you. You’re still staring ahead, oblivious to his rising anxiety and Dazai uses it as motivation to keep unwinding the bandages, letting them fall to the ground carelessly.

First, his arms, then the bandages around his calves and thighs, his abdomen and chest, and finally his neck—he grimaces as his fingers graze the rough scar that circles his neck, one of the more prominent ones that mar his body, a reminder of his near-successful attempt at fifteen after he first got his hands on the Book and couldn’t cope with all of the knowledge of the different universes. With the knowledge of Odasaku. With the knowledge of you. He was fifteen. Lonely. In the worst mental state of his life, desperately searching for a reason to live and only finding more and more reasons why he should die. He’d found out he was just as isolated from the world in every other life as he was in this one, just as empty—and that the only people who could fill the gaping hole in his chest died because of him in every other universe.

He was fifteen. It had been too much.

It’s still too much.

His gaze tracks down to the floor again, a heavy feeling settling over him. He’s second-guessing himself again, he’s feeling guilty again. He’s tired.

He’s so tired.

When he moves forward to join you in the tub, he’s hardly present; his body is moving on autopilot and it’s only when his toes dip into the hot water—a few degrees short of his liking, but the perfect temperature for you—that he’s finally drawn back to reality. He’s already in motion, so he can’t stop himself from joining you in the tub, but he is very hyper-aware now of the scars on his body, making an active effort to not let them brush your skin so as to not draw attention to them.

Luckily, his tub is large enough that you can sit comfortably between his legs without being too squeezed between them, so the deep scars that are littered across his inner thighs are not necessarily pressed against your outer thighs. But… the scars on his chest and abdomen are not as easy to evade, nor are the ones that line his wrists. His fingers brush your shoulder from where he was about to pull you back to lay against him and wrap his arms around you, eyes fluttering shut.

There’s no way you won’t notice them when you lay back.

The largest scar that mars his body runs from his shoulder to his opposite hip—he doesn’t remember how he obtained it. It was from before he found himself in Mori’s hands, and everything before his time with the Port Mafia is vague and blurry, if not entirely blank. Either way, it’s deep and ridged, discolored. Gross. And there’s no way for you to lay against him without feeling it rough against your skin.

He barely withholds the sigh that nearly escapes his lips, but he forces himself to close his fingers around your shoulder to pull you into him. He reminds himself that your comfort comes before his insecurity, you’ve put your own wellbeing to the side for him so many times before—it should not be so hard for him to do it once for you.

For better or for worse, you don’t react when your back lays flush against his chest. For better because you didn’t have an adverse reaction to feeling the worst of his scars against your bare skin. For worse because he thinks it might only be because you’re still half spiraling into a dissociative state. He presses his lips against your shoulder, wrapping his arms around your body, and instantly he flinches because he realizes that he’s just rubbed the scars on his forearms right against you and that has seemed to catch your attention. For better or for worse.

He’s frozen when he feels you shift against him, head turning down toward where his arm is tucked against you. He’s angled it so that you can’t see them, hidden in the water and against your skin, but you’re undeterred and Dazai can hardly bring himself to breathe when he feels your fingers curl around his wrist, gently easing his arm off of you to cradle it between your hands like it’s something fragile, turning over so you can look at scars that litter his skin.

He can’t see your face. A part of him is glad, still plagued with the terrible fear that you’re going to see the scars and be disgusted, but the larger part of him wants to know, wants to see you, wants to-

His breath hitches when you bring one finger to his skin. Soft, gentle, you trace your finger across the ridged lines. Dazai’s lips part to speak, he has the distinct urge to say something, to explain even though you haven’t spoken a word, but he doesn’t know how to explain the emptiness that has plagued him ever since he was a child, that only became even more exacerbated once he made contact with the Book. He doesn’t know how to explain that he was so desperate to feel something that he resorted to this to distract himself from the void. He doesn’t know how to explain that the only reason he never actually killed himself was because he knew he had to survive to ensure you and Odasaku’s survival in this universe.

But he doesn’t have to speak, because all of the air in his lungs whooshes right out of them when he feels you lift his arm up out of the water to your face—you brush your lips against the pulse point on his wrist before settling back against him, wrapping his arm back around you and covering his hands with your own.

Dazai’s cheeks suddenly feel wet—it was a simple action, short and sweet, you didn’t even say anything, and he doesn’t know why it affects him the way it does. He should have expected this, right? You’ve never looked at his scars and found them off-putting, you’ve always accepted him for how he is but-

“How could I accept any of this?”

“No amount of time or charm would have made me accept this easily. Accept you easily.”

Again, your words shatter his thoughts and Dazai has to force himself not to physically react. As if you can sense his distress, you shift in his arms a bit to tilt your head back to ghost your lips against his jawline before settling back against his chest, eyes fluttering shut. His arms tighten around you, heart steadying in pace to match yours. He rests forehead against the top of your head, shivering when he feels you nuzzle your face into his skin, nose brushing the wretched scar that mars his neck.

“Osamu,” you finally say, voice soft. He hums in response, waiting for you to continue. “What I said the night of the event…”

Dazai’s throat spasms. He swallows thickly and tries to play off your words with another soft hum and a brush of his lips against your temple. He’s careful to keep his voice light as he speaks. “You had every right to be upset, I-”

“I… have had a lot of time to think the past two weeks.” You don’t even let him finish his sentence and Dazai is suddenly frozen, no air gets to his lungs as he waits for you to speak. “What I said that night… it doesn’t reflect how I actually feel. I said them in the heat of the moment.”

“… Yeah?” Dazai’s voice is too raspy, too quiet, the vulnerability in the single word is so palpable that it almost makes him want to curl in on himself. Without his bandages, without his masks, he feels as if he’s been stripped bare to his core, his rotted heart laying in your gentle hands, thumping erratically as he awaits your judgment.

“The past few months I’ve spent with you have been the happiest I’ve been since my brother left,” you admit, lacing your fingers with his. “No matter what happens, I wouldn’t give this up for anything. If I could go back in time and redo all of this, I’d still choose to meet you that night at the club, and every time after that.”

He’s grateful that you’re not looking up at him now. He stares ahead at the wall blankly, tears streaming steadily down his cheeks. His chest is warm, breath a bit shaky, and he thinks he might be holding you too tightly but you don’t complain.

“Nothing will happen,” Dazai promises you, voice cracking. “Nothing.”

“I know,” you say quietly, and he can feel the small smile on your lips as you kiss his neck gently, right over his scar. “I trust you.”

“I’m so nervous,” you laugh as you smooth out the dress shirt you’re wearing. Dazai watches as you keep glancing at yourself through the window of the elevator leading down to the first floor. He smiles to himself as he leans against the wall, observing you. “Are you sure I look okay? I don’t even know what the dress code is for this thing, they didn’t say in the email. What if people are just wearing jeans? I’ll look dumb all dressed up.”

“You look beautiful,” Dazai murmurs, lifting his hand to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “You worry too much.”

“I’m not the best at making friends,” you say, voice quick and riddled with anxiety. Dazai raises an eyebrow, lips quirking up because he thinks that might be the silliest thing he’s ever heard you say. “I hope I can at least find a few people to talk to. I hate going to events where I don’t know anyone. I wish you could come with me. What if they all hate me?”

Dazai has an answer to that question, but he doesn’t think you’ll like it, so instead he hums softly, fingers brushing your cheek and smiling lightly to himself as you lean into his touch. “I wish I could come with you too. If only to make sure you don’t forget about me when you find yourself surrounded by all your new friends.”

Dazai wishes that he could tell you that you’re worrying over nothing. That in every other universe, you were quite literally the center of your class. Brilliant, beautiful, kind, Dazai sometimes struggled to get you away from people because you always had someone wanting to grab coffee with you. Struggled even more to understand why you wanted him when you could have any man of your choice. But he can’t say that, and he’s definitely not going to be pleased if he suddenly loses all of his time with you to a bunch of undeserving nobodies, so he resigns himself to just making you feel better.

“Dazai Osamu,” you giggle as you turn your attention toward him. “Nothing in this world would ever make me forget you.”

Dazai’s cheeks heat up, lashes fluttering as he averts his gaze from you. You grin at him and hook your arms around his waist, tilting your head up to look at him. He leans down to press his lips against yours, letting out a pleased sigh against your lips when he feels you kiss him back, smiling against him.

You’ve been better the past few days, a bit more excited over starting school, spent all of yesterday trying on new clothes for him to pick out something to wear for today. Dazai, on the other hand, has been a nervous wreck, although he’s been doing his best to ensure you don’t realize that.

Everything has been put in place—Chuuya should be waiting at the train station already, Albatross will be driving you there, the Black Lizards are going to escort you into Tokyo, and Mishima offered to have his men do sweeps of the streets to scope out for any enemies before your arrival. As long as everything goes according to plan, it’ll be fine. The riskiest part will be the train station with how busy it is, it’ll be easy for you to get separated from your escorts, but so long as Chuuya gets to you, no one will be able to touch you.

“Everything will be fine,” he unintentionally says out loud as he separates his lips from yours to kiss your forehead.

You look up at him, eyes searching his face for something, and he prays you can’t see his growing anxiety. Finally, you say without any doubt, “I know.”

Dazai lets out a soft breath as his eyes slide shut, reaching out to intertwine your fingers with his as the elevator comes to a stop at the first floor. He leads you out of the elevator and across the vast lobby, various lower-ranked members still linger around the room, but much less than there usually is considering he’s sent almost all of them out to ensure everything goes according to plan. For a moment, Dazai’s head throbs painfully—there are so many variables. He starts to question his decision of making this such a large operation but he knows that this is the only way.

He knows Dostoevsky. He knows that he’ll leap onto this opportunity. Keeping this a small, secret operation would do more harm than help when Dazai is sure that Dostoevsky is about to use the full force of the Three Deaths, the Pale Flame and the House of the Dead to make his move. He’d be shooting himself in the foot if he didn’t use all of his available resources to keep you safe.

“Can I ask a silly question?” you suddenly ask, playing with his fingers as the two of you walk across the lobby.

“Ask away,” he says.

“Do you think there are other universes out there?��

Dazai almost laughs, but he refrains. “I do,” he agrees, and then smiles a bit to himself, repeating words spoken to another him by a different you, a joke only he’s privy to. “String theory, multiverse. I think the world’s a lot bigger than just ours.”

“Yeah?” you ask, looking up at him, a soft expression on your face. “Do you think we’re together in all of them?”

This time Dazai does laugh, squeezing your hand gently when you jolt in surprise, giving him a dirty look. “I’m sure of it,” he says, trying to push away the smile that keeps threatening to rise to his lips.

Your smile softens at the edges, gaze averting from him, but before he can ask what’s wrong, you ask: “Do you think there’s maybe one where things aren’t so hard?”

Dazai suddenly has no inclination to laugh, smile falling and throat swelling. He doesn’t know how to respond to that, but luckily, he doesn’t have to.

Kouyou and Piano Man are waiting at the entrance of the building, both having remained behind to guard him while most of the Mafia’s other forces are elsewhere. Kouyou doesn’t look pleased, Dazai can see it in the way her brows are furrowed and her lips are tight, but Piano Man still has the same easygoing expression on his face that he always has, gaze focused on you.

“Lippmann told me to pass along his regards,” Piano Man sighs. “He’s been lamenting all morning not being able to be here himself to send you off. The struggles of celebrity life, I suppose.”

You laugh. Dazai can tell from the way your lashes flutter that you’re flustered by the comment. “It’s not a big deal, really. It’s only orientation. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“It’s exciting though,” Piano Man sighs whimsically. “We never have normal things to be excited about around here. It’s only ever bloodbath after bloodbath. It’s a nice change of pace.”

Dazai’s smile tightens and thins, eye twitching at Piano Man’s blase reminder of their occupation, noticing how you cringe a bit. Piano Man catches wind of Dazai’s irritation and his casual smile widens a bit.

“Sorry,” Piano Man hums, sounding not at all sorry and entirely amused. “But honestly, if you think this is bad, wait until your graduation. Iceman didn’t let any of us attend his kid sister’s graduation, we’ve all been dying to see what one’s like. I’m sure Lippmann and Albatross are already plotting out some type of party.”

“I haven’t even started yet,” you complain, but you look a bit giddy and Dazai can’t help but let his gaze linger on your soft smile, one rising to his own lips as he observes you. “It’s so far out. It’s a three year program.”

“I think they plan on making it the grandest event of the year, so it’s never too early to start planning,” Piano Man says easily, tossing you a wink before focusing his gaze on Dazai. “Speaking of Iceman, he’s on the way back now. Should be back in Yokohama in the next hour or so. Are you going to deign us with the reasoning as to why he’s been called back so abruptly?”

“Nope,” Dazai says dismissively, letting go of your hand to press his hand to the small of your back, leading you out of the building and toward the sleek, black car waiting for you.

Albatross instantly is rolling down the window, grinning wildly. “There ya are, doll. C’mon, let’s get out of here. We gotta make it to the train in ten.”

You suddenly look a bit nervous, turning back to look at Dazai as Tachihara steps out of the car and holds the door open for you to slide in the middle seat between him and Hirotsu. Dazai tilts his head, questioning as he lifts his hands to cup your cheeks gently. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you say with a sigh. “I just wish you could come.”

Dazai leans in to kiss your forehead one last time, hands settling on your hips, ignoring all of the gazes of his subordinates watching the two of you. “I know, I do too.”

Dazai thinks that the next six hours are going to be the worst of his life, only able to sit back in the meeting room with Kouyou and Piano Man and watch the CCTV, unable to do anything if something happens to go wrong.

“Stay with Hirotsu and Tachihara,” he finally tells you, voice taking a more serious tone. “They’ll stick with you the whole time. Chuuya is at the station already, went early to scope things out, he’s going to meet you there.”

“Mkay,” you agree, giving him one last long look before making your way into the car.

Tachihara nods deeply at Dazai before entering the car and shutting it behind him. Dazai feels a weight on his chest as soon as you’re out of sight, and he stands there waiting for the car to pull off.

It doesn’t.

After a few moments, the window rolls down, and Dazai watches fondly as you lean over Tachihara to prop yourself outside of it.

“I’ll see you later,” you say, leaning out the window of the car with a soft smile. For the first time in weeks, you look alive. Your eyes are shining, your lips curved upward, and Dazai falls in love with you all over again. The smile on your lips takes a more teasing edge as you push yourself out the window a bit more to grab his tie and drag him closer so you can brush your lips against his and whisper, “I love you.”

Dazai’s eyes shoot open, lips parting to speak but no words leave them, your words leave him caught off guard and dizzy, hardly even registering in his head. You let out a giggle and before he can even think of formulating a response, you let yourself fall back into the car, urging Albatross to start driving already.

“To think I’d ever see the day that the infamous Demon Prodigy is ever rendered lovesick,” Kouyou hums, fanning herself as she watches Dazai curiously. “You’re actually happy now, aren’t you?”

“Refreshing, isn’t it?” Piano Man sighs. “Now, we don’t have to worry about being shot in the head if he has a sudden mood swing.”

Dazai looks to the side to give Piano Man a look so withering that it has him instantly giggling to himself.

“Or maybe we do,” he sings, retracting his words. “Come, let’s go back inside. It’s gross out today.”

Piano Man instantly starts making his way back into the building. Dazai sighs as he casts one last long look to where the car is disappearing around the bend in the direction of the train station, gaze lingering before he turns his attention back to Kouyou, who’s still watching him with a contemplative look. Dazai is suddenly reminded of her late lover, who the old boss had killed after Kouyou tried to escape with him, and Dazai wonders if she’s feeling bitter.

As if she can hear his train of thought, she shakes her head and says, “I’m glad you’ve found someone, boy.” Then hesitates before adding, “For all of our sakes, I hope it lasts.”

Dazai doesn’t respond to that. Instead, he frowns and turns to make his way inside, but he doesn’t get more than a few steps before he’s freezing midstep, the sound of a familiar engine roaring down the street in the direction of the main tower reaching his ears. At once, everything tunnels around him, vision blurring and body stiffening. He can’t even bring himself to turn around. Distantly, he hears Kouyou asking him what’s wrong, reaching out to touch his shoulder.

He swears that his bones creak and ache as he physically forces himself to look over his shoulder, unfocused vision falling upon a familiar head of fiery red hair skidding to a stop in front of the building. Chuuya doesn’t even bother to turn his motorcycle off or prop it up, it thuds hard against the ground, metal screeching against the pavement as he rushes toward them.

“Chuuya,” Kouyou asks, as confused and caught off guard as Dazai feels. “What are you-”

“Get him inside,” Chuuya shouts. “Get him inside now.”

“Why are you here?” Dazai speaks the words so quietly that he doesn’t think anybody hears him. He feels Kouyou grab his wrist, Chuuya reaches them and pushes Dazai from behind, but their touches only feel like faint tingles. His chest suddenly feels cold, numbness spreading from his core to his limbs. “Why are you here?”

“Tolstoy just blew up our main port, Dazai,” Chuuya hisses, and just before Dazai’s shoved into the safety of the building, a bullet whizzes past his head, lodging into the sign behind him. Only a graze, but it stings, and Dazai can feel the blood seeping through the bandages of his left eye, sticky and uncomfortable. “This is happening now. I thought I could make it before they left. All cell lines are fucking down. That rat bastard Dostoevsky did something.”

No, Dazai thinks, head twisting to the side to look back toward the road you disappeared down with Albatross, Tachihara and Hirotsu, but before he can even force any words from his lips, he’s pushed into the building, listening as Chuuya gives sharp orders to immediately lock it down.

Dazai shakes his spinning head, body on autopilot as he’s ushered to the elevator and up to the most protected floor of the building. He tells himself to think, that now is not the time for him to start slipping up, for him to freeze. You’re out there—in danger—he has to think, he can’t afford to make a single mistake.

“You have to go. Chuuya, you’re supposed to be at the station,” Dazai says, finally focusing his attention on the one person who is not supposed to be here. The one person he trusted to protect you.

“You’ve sent three quarters of our forces out on a protection detail for her. She’ll be fine,” Chuuya spits, eyes wild as he turns to face Dazai. “You’re here in this building alone with a handful of men, Ane-san and Piano Man. You’re the one in danger right now. I told you—your head is mine to take one day. I’m not fuckin’ letting you go off and get yourself killed because you’re hyper-focused on your girl.”

“Get to the train station,” Dazai repeats, voice low and cold and entirely too steady compared to the way his mind is falling apart.

It’s happening.

He knew this was going to happen. He knew it. He knew this was coming. He knew Dostoevsky would take this opportunity to make his move, that’s why he had everything planned so carefully. That’s why he sent everyone out. That’s why Chuuya was supposed to be with you, because Dazai isn’t Dostoevsky’s target. He never is. You are.

Chuuya ignores him, stepping into the executive meeting room. Dazai’s blood pressure spikes. Fear begins spreading through him, cold and debilitating. The mindkiller. He needs to focus, he can’t let himself freeze up. Not now.

“Chuuya,” Dazai says. “That’s a direct order. Go back to the train station now.”

At that, Chuuya finally turns a furious look into him. “Me not being there isn’t going to make a difference. Me not being here might. You’re all but fucking defenseless and Tolstoy and Nabokov are coming now. We don’t have time to argue about this. Hirotsu and Tachihara, Atsushi and Kyouka, all of the fuckin’ Black Lizards—they’re all with her or at the train station, she’ll be fine.”

If Dazai was any less riddled with fear and rage, he might laugh or maybe even cry, or both—he feels close to hysterics, really—because of course now, of all times, is when Chuuya decides to grow a fucking brain for himself.

“And if you’re wrong?” Dazai doesn’t even want to speak those words, but Chuuya leaves him no choice. “If she dies because the dog thought himself smarter than the master? What then, Chuuya?”

Chuuya all but snarls at him, taking a step forward, but before he can say anything else, Kouyou clears her throat.

“Boys,” she calls quietly, eyes trained on one of the screens streaming the city’s CCTV feeds

Dazai follows her gaze.

On the top left corner of the wall of screens, one of the live footage is flooded with static—gray, shifting into a deep purple before a familiar symbol flashes onto it. The coldness in his chest spreads so quickly that Dazai almost shivers, dread anchoring his feet to the ground.

Dazai doesn’t have to look at the screen to know what’s coming next.

Oda Sakunosuke is a patient man.

He is. He really is. It’s just that Ranpo Edogawa enjoys testing the boundaries of said patience. He bites back another sigh, watching as the man—man, he questions—complains loudly about an ‘entitled mother’ who had the nerve to ask for his candy to calm her upset child down. Oda has half a mind to step away out of embarrassment, acutely aware of all of the eyes on them, but he knows that if he steps away even for a second, Ranpo is going to find himself lost and then Oda is going to have to track him down again.

Oda sighs, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he tilts his head up to look at the ceiling, listening to the announcements over the loudspeaker, signaling the arrival of the next train. Two minutes until it pulls into the station, an hour to get to Tokyo—gives him plenty of time to go back over the files for the mission. Should be a quick in-and-out case, probably won’t even have to stay the night in the city; a string of ability-user murders in Tokyo that have the TMPD in shambles trying to figure out, so they reached out to the Agency to come take care of it.

Oda doubts it’ll take more than half a minute for Ranpo to put the pieces together once given the known evidence by the TMPD, but the issue will be actually getting the ability user in custody. From what Ranpo theorizes, he has some type of invisibility ability that makes him slippery.

With Oda there, it’ll be an easy grab—with his ability, speed and reflexes, few people can outmaneuver him—but it’s just a matter of when he decides to show himself.

Oda frowns when he notices that Ranpo suddenly stopped rambling, gaze cutting to make sure that he didn’t wander off again, but he’s hardly able to turn his head halfway to the side before his ability is activated. Everything blurs out around him, watching as a girl a few years younger than him—panicked and not looking where she’s going—crashes right into Oda while he’s already off-balanced reaching for Ranpo, sending the both of them hurdling over the edge of the platform and into the tracks just as the bullet train comes barreling into the station.

Oda’s jaw tightens as he’s flung back into reality, surroundings reappearing. His head snaps over to where the girl had appeared from and he catches sight of you just as you’re about to throw yourself out of the crowd, eyes wild and anxious. He watches you trip, hands darting out to steady you before you crash into him; you look up at him, eyes wide and a bit starstruck, lips parting to speak but no words leave them.

“Are you okay?” he asks, voice a low monotone as he helps you stand back up straight on your own feet. His head tilts to the side curiously as he watches the way you stand a bit closer to him, eyes peering around as if you’re reaching for someone. “Hm?”

“Oh!” you suddenly say, looking up at him with a wobbly smile. “I’m sorry. Sorry. That was so rude of me. I… got separated from my friends. It’s really busy today, isn’t it? It’s not usually so busy.”

Oda hums, looking around curiously. It is a bit busier than it usually is—Friday trains are usually busy, but midday like this, people are usually at work. The late night trains are the ones typically packed and impossible to get on, people leaving from work and traveling for the weekend. Today’s not a holiday either, as far as he’s aware.

“It is, isn’t it?” Oda says, scanning the crowd once more before letting his gaze settle back on you. “You look rattled, is everything okay?”

Your smile wavers at the edges, and Oda frowns, eyes trailing over to Ranpo, who’s already frowning, green eyes squinted and trained on you.

“I’m just… not used to traveling alone! I’m nervous,” you answer, a blatant lie, but you don’t seem like a threat. In fact, you seem more scared than anything else. “I want to find my friends.”

“Is someone bothering you?” Oda asks carefully.

You hesitate, smile straining. Your eyes flicker around again, seeking someone out and Oda can see the despair in them when you don’t find whoever you’re looking for.

“I’m okay,” you say finally, nodding. “I’m trying to get to Tokyo. I have orientation today for grad school. I don’t like traveling alone.”

Oda tilts his head to the side, he takes a step closer to Ranpo than you as an experiment, watching as you immediately match his step, sticking close to him as you continue seeking out your ‘friends.’ You don’t seem like a threat, and his ability has yet to be triggered, but it wouldn’t be the first time underground organizations use civilians as decoys to set up traps for the Agency. He spares another look at Ranpo, knowing the man must’ve figured out whatever is going on, only to find him staring at you with a tight jaw and an uneasy expression.

“What school are you attending?” Oda asks in an attempt to calm your nerves and hopefully get some answers out of you.

You look at him, a bit more clarity in your eyes and smile more steady as you say. “Waseda,” you say, brighter now, more relaxed. “Their school of political science.”

“You tryna go into politics?” Oda asks curiously.

You nod. “One day, hopefully,” you say with an easy smile before giving him your name. “What’s your name?”

“Oda Sakunosuke,” he greets. “Nice to meet you.”

“You’re heading to Tokyo too?” you ask curiously, and Oda doesn’t sense any ill intent behind the question so he answers.

“Yes,” he says. “Going there for work.”

“Oh? What do you do for work?”

Oda pauses for a moment, choosing his words carefully on the off-chance this is some sort of setup, before saying: “I’m trying to write a novel.”

You light up. “Really?” you ask, delighted. “That’s so impressive, what about?”

“… Humans. The human experience,” Oda answers, glancing back at Ranpo again with furrowed brows, but the man hardly budges, gaze pinned on you.

“Oh yeah?” you ask, the smile on your lips becomes a bit teasing. Oda finds his own lips twitching up in amusement. “What’s your take on the human experience then, Oda Sakunosuke? Will your story have a happy ending?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” he tells you honestly, and then tilts his head to the side and asks curiously, “How would you end it?”

You click your tongue as if to chide him. “Shame on you, Oda Sakunosuke, trying to poach ideas from broke grad students,” you say, voice taking a dramatic lilt, but there’s a light to your eyes that hadn’t been there before, so Oda thinks his plan at least partially worked.

“Almost grad students,” Oda corrects, matching your tone as he lets his eyes drift around again, trying to pinpoint what exactly had you so frightened before running into him. “Take pity on an old man plagued with writer’s block, won’t you?”

“I suppose I can grace you with my boundless wisdom,” you quip, and Oda snorts to himself, eyes drifting back down to you as you grin up at him. After a few moments, your smile falls a bit. “I think a happy ending is nice to imagine… We like to indulge in such fantasies because real life is never so easy. I think if you’re going for an accurate telling of the human experience, a bittersweet ending would be more realistic.”

“Bittersweet?” Oda questions.

“Bittersweet,” you agree. “I think many people die content, or even happy… I don’t think many people die without regrets. So, I think a story on an accurate telling of the human experience should have a bittersweet ending to reflect that.”

“Hm,” Oda hums, considering you in a new light now, the way your eyes are a bit sadder, the smile on your lips soft on the edges. He finds himself far more into this conversation than he expected to be, so absorbed that he hardly even realized that the train has finally pulled into the station. “What about you, then? Do you think you’ll die with regrets?”

“Who’s to say?” You shrug with another bright smile. “I think if I were to die right now, I’d die with one regret. But I’d be happy.”

“Only one?”

“Only one,” you confirm. “I… wish I’d met someone sooner. That’s all. What about you, Oda Sakunosuke? If you died right now, would you die with regrets?”

“Countless,” Oda says quietly. “... But I think I would also be happy.”

“See.” You wink. “Bittersweet.”

Oda’s lips flicker up into a ghost of a smile, lips parting to speak, but suddenly someone is calling your name frantically, loudly from across the train platform. You light up, head twisting in that direction and Oda follows your gaze to where a young man with short orange hair is waving his hand, perched up on a garbage can, looking around for you.

“That’s one of my friends,” you say, looking relieved. “I’m going to head over to him. It was nice meeting you, Oda Sakunosuke.”

“Nice meeting you too,” he replies.

You toss him another wide smile before turning to leave, but before you can even take the first step, Ranpo finally moves, fingers curling around your wrist to stop you in place. Oda looks down at him, alarmed, and you look back, surprised.

“You should… be careful,” Ranpo tells you, more serious than Oda has ever seen him before, and Oda feels a sinking feeling in his gut as Ranpo lets go of your wrist.

You look a bit disturbed, but you nod. “I-I will. Thank you.”

“What was that?” Oda asks, voice low and concerned as he looks down at Ranpo, whose brows are still furrowed. He still looks uncertain, and Oda doesn’t think he’s ever seen Ranpo Edogawa uncertain before.

Dread weighs heavily on Oda’s chest, his gaze turns back to where you’ve started to quickly make your way across the platform along the yellow line in the direction of your friend, who has finally caught sight of you and is rushing toward you, looking too panicked for someone who’d just found someone they lost.

“Something is wrong,” Oda murmurs more to himself than Ranpo, and at once, he activates his ability.

The world slows and grays out around him, but his gaze remains focused on you. He watches.

One second passes, you take another step forward, your friend is still too far away.

Another second passes, another step forward.

A third second, and something is shimmering right next to you, a gold circle to your left, swirling with patterns—an ability.

A fourth second passes, and you turn, eyes wide and fear painted on your face as a gloved hand darts from the circle and wraps around your wrist; your friend reaches down to his waistband, revealing the gun strapped to his side.

A fifth second passes, and you’re gone.

His ability fades away, leaving him back reeling in reality, ready to act on what he’d seen. He rushes forward, heart racing in his chest, and he can hear Ranpo giving chase after him.

One second passes—you’re still too far away, you’ve made it across half of the platform already, Oda knows he won’t get to you in time, but he tries anyway.

Another second passes—Ranpo is yelling for him, Oda ignores him.

A third second passes—the swirling gold circle appears to your left, and Oda knows that it’s too late.

Oda Sakunosuke is fast, but this time, he is not fast enough.

Chuuya knows that this is his fault.

The sickening scene taking place on the screens set up in the executive meeting room has his stomach turning inside out. He has to manually force himself to breathe, slow and steady, because if he doesn’t, he won’t get any air to his lungs. Next to him, Kouyou stands stiffly, gaze trained on the damning video and on his other side, Piano Man looks resigned, head turned to the side, attention focused on the blacked out windows looking over the city.

Chuuya can’t see Dazai’s expression from where he’s standing, and he’s glad for it.

You’re sitting at a table with Dostoevsky. It’s a small, square table in an equally small, unassuming room. Tiled walls, a thick steel door, no windows—it’s an abandoned office room down in the lower floors of the metro, emptied out besides the table, two seats, and you and Dostoevsky.

A small room. Unassuming. Enclosed and suffocatingly confined. Cold and damp. There is no sun, no warmth, and no life.

Not a place where anyone should die, much less someone as bright as you.

“Ah, there we go!” Dostoevsky smiles as if this is all some big game to him and Chuuya’s temper spikes, blood simmering in his veins and eye twitching as he glares at the Russian. “The cameras should now be connected.”

Chuuya did not hold you in high regard for a long time. He thought you were a pretty face, but more than that, you were a distraction. You showed up one day and suddenly Dazai couldn’t focus on anything but you. He evaded important meetings, and the ones that he attended were spent either zoning out or tapping away at his phone talking to you. It left Chuuya as the one to pick up the slack, so yeah, he certainly did not hold you in high regard, and he’s not entirely sure when it began to change.

Or, maybe that’s a lie.

He thinks back to the day he ran into you coming out of the elevator, when you dragged him around half of the city looking for a very particular brand of white chocolate for whatever sugary concoction you wanted to make Dazai; and the way you pouted and begged and pleaded with him to try some when you make it for Dazai to the point that he wanted to agree, if Dazai wouldn’t have tried to blow his head off for intruding on his time with you.

He thinks that’s when his view on you started to shift, because it’s not often that Chuuya is treated like an actual human being, a twenty-two year old with a love for fine wine and music, instead of the mafia executive he is, a weapon of war that can bring down nations. As irritated as he was having to take time out of his day to babysit Dazai’s new plaything, he found you made for good conversation and that it was nice talking about things other than missions, politics and violence.

You like talking about music with him and you ramble a lot about conspiracy theories and history—he thinks he’s learned more about the classical era of Europe and the Sengoku period the past few weeks joining you on outings than he’s learned in his entire life. Chuuya thinks you might be the first real friend he’s made since the Flags. You have more life in you than anyone Chuuya has ever met before, and Chuuya thinks it’s fucking sick that you’ll be drained of it by the likes of a soulless bastard like Dostoevsky.

Chuuya also thinks, again, that this is entirely his fault.

“I had a nice talk with your lover, Dazai,” Dostoevsky says with a facetious smile. “She’s quite enchanting. It’s a shame that she ended up with the likes of you.”

Chuuya thought he’d be able to make it in time. He really thought he did. He thought he’d be fast enough to get back before you took off with Albatross, Tachihara and Hirotsu; he thought he’d be able to drag you with him and Dazai, lock the two of you up in the most well-protected room in the headquarters to wait out the assault of Dostoevsky’s tripartite alliance; he can still hear the gunfire now as they bombard the lower floors of the building. Chuuya should be down there helping his subordinates but he can’t bring himself to move, staring at what his decision had caused with a heavy heart and more guilt than his mind can come to terms with. It was never his intention to leave you out there to die.

He wouldn’t do that to you.

He wouldn’t do that to Dazai. No matter how much he can’t stand the asshole, he wouldn’t fucking do that.

“I have offered a deal to her, Dazai,” Dostoevsky muses, head tilted to the side as he looks up at the camera in the corner of the room, thin fingers wrapped neatly around your wrist. “A fair exchange. But I leave it in her hands, not yours. Either way, I will get what I want.”

How the hell does that work?

Chuuya lets out a shaky breath, gaze flickering over to Kouyou, who stares at the screen with a tight expression, brows drawn together and lips cut downward. He can hardly bring himself to look at Dazai, but he forces himself to shift to the side, looking down to where Dazai is sitting in front of the wall of screens, eyes trained on where you’re sitting with Dostoevsky.

Dazai’s expression is eerily blank, more so than Chuuya has ever seen it before. It makes his throat swell, the air to his lungs catching in his windpipe. He’s seen Dazai distraught before—the night on the roof years ago when he was drunk and screaming at Chuuya to just let him jump. He’s seen Dazai upset before—a few months after his sixteenth birthday, before the Dragon’s Head Conflict commenced, when he returned to headquarters with an expression so haunted that Chuuya didn’t dare utter a single snarky word to him.

He’s never seen him like this before. Visible eye entirely void of life as if whatever part of him that had been reanimated by your arrival in his life has been killed off. As if he knows exactly what’s about to happen, as if he knows there’s no stopping it. But Chuuya can see the way the corner of Dazai is pinched, the way his face, while blank, is hard, and Chuuya knows Dazai well enough to know exactly what that means: that if there’s any chance of preventing this, Dazai is going to do whatever it takes.

“Fair exchange is a funny way of saying I’ll die either way,” you say softly. Your voice is bitter; you’re not looking at Dostoevsky or the camera, instead your gaze is set on the wall next to you, an unreadable expression on your face.

Dostoevsky turns his attention back to you, eyes curious. “I am no liar, I gave you my word that you’ll leave this room alive, myshka,” Dostoevsky hums, lips curved up into an entertained smile. Chuuya’s eye twitches at the pet name. “Go on and tell Dazai what I ask for in exchange… I am quite curious to see how far he’s willing to go for you.”

How far?

Even Chuuya knows the answer to that, and from the expression on Dostoevsky’s face, he must know the answer too.

Ah, Chuuya realizes, his own question now answered. How does that work? Dostoevsky tells you the deal, and you have to make the decision of whether or not to tell Dazai. If you tell Dazai, there’s no lengths he wouldn’t go to fulfill Dostoevsky’s demands if it means saving you. And Chuuya suddenly understands why Kouyou looks so grave, because there’s only one thing Dostoevsky wants: Yokohama and the Port Mafia out of his way. Dazai out of the way.

Dazai would hand it all to him on a silver platter if it meant saving your life. Yokohama. The Port Mafia. He’d let Dostoevsky put a bullet through his head if it meant you’d get to live.

“Dazai,” Kouyou begins, and her voice wavers. Chuuya doesn’t think he’s ever heard Kouyou’s voice waver in the seven years he’s known her. “You cannot-”

Kouyou doesn’t finish her sentence. Doesn’t need to. They all know what she’s going to say, and Chuuya doubts that Dazai is listening anyway. He looks at Kouyou from the corner of his eye and she meets his gaze, a heavy expression on her face.

“You gave me your word that I’d leave this room alive. What happens when I step outside?” you ask with a sigh, looking back over to meet Dostoevsky’s eyes. “You’ll get what you want from Dazai and kill me anyway.”

You look tired and Chuuya’s stomach weighs down with guilt again. God, what the fuck has he done? You were on your way to your fucking grad school orientation and Chuuya signed your goddamn death warrant. You had so much ahead of you. You never belonged in this shitty world, and an instinctual part of Chuuya wants to curse Dazai for it, for dragging you into this and putting you into this situation.

But even as the thought crosses his mind, he tosses it away, because how the fuck is he supposed to condemn Dazai for clinging to the only damn thing that makes him happy as if Chuuya doesn’t do the same? His gaze turns back down to Dazai, frowning when he sees that he’s no longer staring at the screen intently. He’s leaned back in his chair, still looking at the screen but his eyes are glazed over, as if he’s not fully present.

As if he’s given up.

“So meticulous,” Dostoevsky murmurs, he reaches to brush his knuckles against your cheek. The noise that Chuuya lets out is close to a snarl when he sees the way your lips tighten in disgust as you turn your face away from him only for him to pinch your chin between his fingers to force you to look at him. He glances down at Dazai, only to find that he’s hardly even reacted to what’s happening. “You are very intelligent… I would have loved to have a woman like you at my side.”

“People like you are fated to be alone, Fyodor Dostoevsky,” you reply, lips curved down as you stare at him. “What a terrible fate. I’d always prefer a short and fulfilling life than a long and solitary one.”

Your gaze draws back up to the camera as if you’re desperately trying to convey something to Dazai: I don’t regret this. If I had the choice, I’d do it all the same.

Chuuya doesn’t even think Dazai can understand it in the state he’s in.

Chuuya’s stomach twists and turns, he has to take a step away, breathing in a shuddered breath as he pulls his hat off to run his fingers through his hair. He presses his hand to his face, trying to calm himself down, but his ears are ringing and the black coffee he’d downed before heading over to the train station is threatening to come right up his throat.

And if you’re wrong?

Dostoevsky’s hand drops from your face, but his other remains wrapped around your wrist. He smiles as if telling a joke that only he understands. “Maybe in another universe you and I can work together.”

Dazai jolts at the words and Chuuya looks at him again, watching the way he draws in a sharp, shuddered breath. Chuuya’s lips part. He doesn’t know if he’s trying to speak or force himself to breathe, but his eyes land on Dazai just as the man finally breaks.

If she dies because the dog thought himself smarter than the master?

It’s brief. His expression crumbles and he quietly wheezes for air, hand flying to his chest as if trying to claw his own heart out, as if his brain has only finally registered what was happening. Kouyou and Piano Man are too focused on you and Dostoevsky to notice, but Chuuya thinks if he stares any longer at the screen, he might fall apart. His expression smooths out again immediately after it shatters, his eye takes that distant look again, as if he’s totally separated himself from reality.

“Is that your decision then, myshka?” Dostoevsky asks, voice deceptively soft. Chuuya has to drag his eyes back to the screen, teeth grinding together when Dostoevsky’s hand leaves your wrist to cup your cheek, running his thumb over your bottom lip.

To your credit, you don’t look scared and for a second, Chuuya doesn’t know what the fuck you’re doing. Dazai would do anything for you, give up anything, you have to know that. All you have to do is say what Dostoevsky wants and Dazai will do it no matter the cost. The irrational part of him, the one riddled with guilt and regret, almost wants you to just say what Dostoevsky wants, tell them and maybe they can figure something out, buy enough time to get you out of there.

(Another part of him, deep down, knows that it’s hopeless. With Dostoevsky’s hand in contact with you, your fate is sealed. No one will get there fast enough to get you away from him before he can trigger his ability.)

Chuuya realizes, a bit dully, maybe you do know that and maybe that’s exactly why you’re not saying anything. Whatever Dostoevsky wants of Dazai is not something that you can allow him to give up.

Chuuya also realizes, chest sinking, that Dazai probably knows you well enough to know this too. To know that you’d give up your life for his. He looks over at Dazai, the vacant look in his eye and the hopeless air about him. He knew this would happen the moment Chuuya showed back up on base, desperately trying to get him to go back to you.

A crash against the heavy metal door leading to the room that you and Dostoevsky are sitting in shocks Chuuya out of his thoughts, gaze snapping up as Dostoevsky lets out an exaggerated sigh.

“It appears our time is up,” Dostoevsky hums. “What a pity. I would have liked to talk with you more.”

What then, Chuuya?

Chuuya’s vision spins as Atsushi and Kyouka burst into the room you’re being held in. Atsushi, half-transformed, throws himself at you, trying to get you away from Dostoevsky. Kyouka, with her cell to her ear, commands Demon Snow to sever Dostoevsky’s hand from where he’s touching you, trying to sever the physical connection between the two of you before he can activate his ability.

Behind Dostoevsky, a gold swirl appears, a hand reaching out to grab his arm.

For a moment, Chuuya’s chest swells with hope, breath catching as watches raptly.

And they do it.

Dostoevsky’s expression twists as Demon Snow cuts through his elbow, severing his lower arm from the rest of his body, Atsushi’s arms wrap around you as he tackles you away from the Russian onto the ground. Dostoevsky is dragged backward into the gold swirl—Gogol, the teleportation ability—and Kyouka and Atsushi focus their attention on you.

He watches with bated breath, waiting as Atsushi fumbles to shift you into a more comfortable position. He leans forward, eyes a bit wild and nails digging into the palms of his hands.

Kyouka kneels next to Atsushi, blue eyes wide, and Atsushi’s expression crumbles as he finally turns you over in his lap. Chuuya’s breath slows, he takes a step back as he shakes his head.

What then, Chuuya?

Blood stains the corner of your lips, eyes empty, body limp in Atsushi’s arms. No one is faster than the triggering of an ability. Chuuya knew this. How many people have tried to kill him only to be thwarted in a split second by Tainted Sorrow? Still, he had allowed the hope to claw its way up into his chest, clinging to the thinnest thread that maybe, just maybe, his decision won’t have cost you your life, and in an instant, that hope is stripped and Chuuya is forced to face the consequences of his actions.

Next to Chuuya, Piano Man lets out a shaky breath, turning away from the screen and pacing over to the window. Kouyou makes a soft noise in the back of her throat, eyes sliding shut.

Chuuya’s eyes drag from the screen back down to Dazai. Dazai stares ahead blankly, eye so black and void of light that if Chuuya didn’t know any better, he’d think he was staring into the eye of a corpse.

Dostoevsky might’ve been your executioner, but Chuuya had been the judge to impose the death sentence.

Onto you, and onto Dazai.

You thought that you would be scared of dying.

Your mind is distant and dazed as you fall backward to the ground, familiar hands wrap around one of your arms and your waist as you’re dragged away from Dostoevsky. You taste iron in your mouth, red tints the corner of your vision, you don’t feel any pain but from the way your limbs become numb and heavy, you know what’s happening.

Maybe you’re just in shock, mind unable to comprehend what’s happening, but you don’t think that’s it. You’d known what was going to happen the moment you were pulled through that ability into this room, the moment Fyodor Dostoevsky told you the only way you’d make it out of here alive is if Dazai offered his own life in exchange.

Dazai would’ve done it. You know he would have. He would’ve accepted the deal and laid his life down for yours in an instant, but you couldn’t let him do that. He’d face pushback from his executives, they might even lock him up to prevent him from following through, and then he’d have to live with the fact that he had the chance to save you but failed.

You couldn’t force that choice on him.

Your vision blurs and tunnels, eyes fluttering shut, but your body jolts as someone flips you around, hazy gaze focusing in on someone kneeling next to you, whoever is holding you in his lap. Two vaguely familiar wide swirls of violet, gold, and blue hover above you and your surroundings start to bleed out, the white tiles of the walls around you and the two people who’d barged into the room disappear, the violets and golds and blues spread across your vision, melding into a sunrise painted across the early morning sky.

The hand on your body falls limply to the ground next to you, the tips of your fingers brushing through soft white sand. Your head tilts to the side, something warm trickling down your cheek from the corner of your eye.

You let out a weak breath, your vision clouds red and for a second, you swear there’s a figure laying next to you—lips curved up into a small, sad smile, dark eyes soft as he reaches out to brush a strand of hair out of your face. Dazai wears tan instead of the black you’re used to, both eyes uncovered as admires you. You can feel the ghost of his touch against your skin, warm and familiar.

Osamu…

You can hear the commotion around you, more people bursting into the room. You can feel your body weakening, but all you can think of is him.

Maybe in the next life.

Dazai doesn’t know where he is. Doesn’t know when he is. Doesn’t know what he’s doing. Doesn’t know who he’s with. Doesn’t know who he is.

Every step he takes, every second that passes, his surroundings become more and more indecipherable. He can hear the vague sounds of Chuuya, Kouyou and Piano Man talking around him but he can’t make out what they’re saying or what’s going on. He finds himself walking but he feels like he’s trudging through slush, as if time has slowed around him and he’s trying to impossibly push through it.

“Pull yourself together,” Piano Man murmurs as Dazai mindlessly moves forward, unsure of where he’s even being led to.

Every time his eyes slide shut, he’s faced with the image of you in that room with Dostoevsky, the sight of his fingers on your skin. He turns to look at Piano Man and for a moment, he’s lost, wondering how a dead man is standing before him. His lips part to speak but no words leave them, the black walls fade into the vaguely familiar tan and brown walls of the Agency, the coat he wears lightens and Piano Man’s face morphs into Yosano Akiko’s as she tries to snap him out of the stunned stupor he’s left in after finding your body in your apartment. He’d figured out Christie’s plot, but he’d been too late, and his mind had been entirely unable to come to terms with it. Because Dazai never fails, everyone relies on him to know what to do but-

But when it comes to you he just can’t win. No matter how hard he tries, he’s never enough. He’s never quick enough. Never smart enough. Never enough.

“...ey, hey, boss, are you even listening?”

Dazai blinks, gaze focusing back on Piano Man and he notices that he’s in the elevator, heading down. Chuuya and Kouyou are watching him carefully but Chuuya doesn’t meet his eyes. Dazai realizes Piano Man must have said something—asked something—but he doesn’t know what.

“We’re heading down to the first floor,” Piano Man finally says again. “The onslaught from Tolstoy and Nabakov ended-” Of course it has, Dostoevsky got what he wanted. “Albatross and-Albatross and the others are on the way back… We must be there to meet them.”

Dazai doesn’t respond. Doesn’t think he’d be able to if he wanted to. His brain is slow, still hasn’t comprehended what happened, still doesn’t entirely know where he is. The pages of the Book keep piling around him, endless and suffocating. He jumps from one reality to the rest, each time seeing the same scene in different fonts. He sees Piano Man and Kouyou exchange a look with one another but Dazai’s gaze is already pointed ahead again, staring through the reflective surface of the elevator doors.

Dazai doesn’t even recognize himself.

They still talk around him but all of the words sound muffled and faraway, like he’s underwater and they’re speaking above the surface. As Dazai stares into the doors, he swears he can almost picture you standing next to him, tucked beneath his arm and leaning into his side as the two of you wait for the elevator to reach the first floor. You smile up at him, he watches it through the reflection, heart in his throat as you lean up on your tiptoes to brush your lips against his jaw and he swears he can feel the ghost of your lips, the warmth.

But then the elevator doors slide open and the illusion of you is shattered.

Dazai’s breath shakes as he forces himself forward but he’s careful to keep his expression flat, ignoring the lines of subordinates already awaiting his arrival. They kneel as he walks past but Dazai hardly takes notice of them, eyes trained ahead.

And then-

And then Dazai sees it.

Hirotsu is holding you, your body is limp and lifeless. Dazai stops dead in his tracks. You look small in his arms and Dazai feels bile rise to the back of his throat, threatening to burst from his lips. Even from a distance, he can see the blood staining the corners of your lips and eyes, can see the way one of your arms dangle loosely from your body, can see how you’ve been entirely drained of life by Dostoevsky.

He wants to move forward, wants to pull you in his arms and shield you from all of the prying eyes around you, hates the way everyone is staring at you, wants to scream and curse the gods above who play with human lives like they’re some sort of game, who are laughing at Dazai for thinking he could get away with defying fate.

Most of all, he’s tired, and he wants to be with you.

The crowds of subordinates who’ve gathered on the lower floor of the building whisper amongst themselves. Some of them, who havent seen you around the base with him, are trying to figure out who you are. Others, who know exactly who you are to Dazai, let out low murmurs as they watch Dazai carefully, waiting for some type of reaction from him. A few, likely those who’ve spoken to you personally, lower their heads in respect.

Dazai tries to make himself take another step forward, pull you away from Hirotsu into his arms, hold you close, stop them from taking you away, but his feet are rooted to the ground.

One voice rises above the whispering crowds.

“What the fuck?”

Dazai’s gaze slides slowly to the side, watching as a vaguely familiar figure pushes to the front of the crowd, walking in the direction of you and Hirotsu. He blinks slowly, not recognizing who it is until Chuuya and Piano Man start moving toward him, both with furrowed brows and concerned words.

Ah, he realizes. Iceman.

Dazai had called him back to headquarters from abroad—but why? The cogs in his mind move slowly as he tries to remember why he brought Iceman back, why the man is having such an adverse reaction to the sight of-

To the sight of you.

Dazai’s eye shifts back to you, all of the air pushes out from his lungs when he notices the way your head has fallen to the side. Your eyes are shut but your face is tilted toward him and you look so-

You look so dead.

Everything around Dazai begins to tunnel and crumble. The buildings around him blurting into indistinct blobs and all of the crowds of his subordinates melding into the background. Iceman’s arrival, Chuuya and Piano Man trying to settle him down, it all becomes white noise as Dazai stares at you blankly.

How did this happen?

He’d-

He’d done everything right, hadn’t he? He’d done everything to make sure you would be protected. He’d clawed his way to the position of boss, annihilated all of the Mafia’s enemies to ensure that Yokohama would be safe for you. He’d sacrificed everything, how did it still turn out like this?

The white noise, the buzz of people around him, it all slowly shifts to laughter. The sight of Hirotsu holding your body turns into Dazai—a different Dazai—hunched over your limp form screaming his throat raw in your apartment. It turns into him sprinting through knee deep water with Yosano Akiko at his heels to get to your lifeless form floating face down in the water of the same beach you met him at. It turns into Chuuya catapulting himself through the air, desperately trying to get to you as you fall because Dazai can do nothing but watch—he fails. It turns into Mori stepping out of the hospital room he was treating you in, Dazai can’t hear what he’s saying but he knows—then Mori turns into Fukuzawa, Fukuzawa into Ango, all the same grave expressions, all the same fate.

It was never the Port Mafia’s enemies that were at fault for your death. Wasn’t Mimic or an affiliation with the Mafia, like it was for Odasaku. Wasn’t Dostoevsky. Wasn’t Christie.

It was Dazai.

Dazai is the reason you die in every universe.

The only way for him to save you from your fate is to stay away from you, and he couldn’t even do that. The only chance for him to give you a normal life—a long life—squandered because of his own selfishness.

The laughter gets louder, more manic—they laughed at him when you stumbled into him at the bar, when he tried to stay away, when he gave in to meeting you again. They laugh louder now that things have played out exactly as they knew it would. Dazai danced along perfectly to their marionette strings, as they knew he would from the beginning.

Fate.

Fatefatefatefatefatefatefatefatefatefatefatefate.

The word that’s haunted him since he was fifteen years old tears apart his mind, claws open his rotted heart from the dark crevice it’s slipped into the past thirty minutes. His vision goes spotty and his head feels light. He knew better. He knew this would happen. He knew-

“That’s my sister.” Again, Iceman’s voice rises above the laughter, a broken gasp that jolts Dazai from his spiraling thoughts. “That’s my sister—what the fuck?”

Ah. Dazai suddenly remembers why he called Iceman back to headquarters. Remembers laying in bed with you a few mornings ago—you were in his arms, warm and happy and alive, and Dazai was excited, figured out the mystery that’s been plaguing him for years. He put together who your brother was, wanted to give you the chance to see him again. Wanted to do something good for you.

And now-

Iceman whirls around, eye wild and expression feral as he focuses on Dazai. Dazai doesn’t know what Chuuya and Piano Man told him, but whatever it was has the man unhinged as he pushes Piano Man hard out of the way to throw himself at Dazai.

“What did you do?” Iceman roars. “What did you do?”

He reaches for the gun at his side, pulls it out and clicks off the safety in a split second—quick and efficient, as expected of the Port Mafia’s best assassin. Around Dazai, other members of the mafia raise their guns in defense of the boss, Dazai only distantly has the mind to raise his hand to order them to lower their weapons.

Chuuya stops Iceman before he can steady the gun at Dazai’s head and pull the trigger. He wrangles the larger man to the ground, using his ability to keep him down, yelling at him to calm the fuck down and explain himself. Iceman clearly has no intention of doing that from the way he futilely tries to throw off Chuuya and go for his gun again.

Dazai watches absently until Kouyou ushers him back into the building, not even giving Dazai the chance to hold you one last time. His chest caves in as soon as you’re out of sight, breath weak and ragged. Kouyou pinches his arm hard.

“Pull yourself together, boy,” she warns. “You cannot let them see you weak.”

Dazai wishes that Iceman had pulled the trigger.

Iceman has never been a good brother.

He was four years old when you came into his life, and when his mother tried to introduce him to his newborn sister, he’d turned his nose up and pouted, upset at no longer being the only child.

He was nine years old when his mother died, sacrificing herself to save a child in Motomachi Shopping Center when a drunk driver barreled down the sidewalk. When you tried to cling to him and cry, he pushed you away to mourn by himself, angry and grieving.

He was eleven years old when his father started to see his mother in you, taking out the bitterness he felt for her decision on you with cruel words and crueler hands when he would come home drunk after a long night of gambling away all of his money. A good brother would have stepped in to protect his little sister, but Iceman chose to turn a cheek and plug his ears when you would curl in bed at night and cry.

He was thirteen years old when he came home to you physically hurt for the first time, blood trickling down from a split lip as you curled in the corner of your shared room. Iceman had already started involving himself with the underworld by the point, so it only took a few sniffles and your fingers curling around his wrist for him to stay up all night, waiting for his father to fall asleep so he could press a pillow to his face, smothering him to death and leaving the two of you homeless without a dollar to your name.

He was fifteen years old when he officially joined the Port Mafia, desperate to get a roof over your head. Sixteen when he killed his second man. You never asked questions when he came home covered in blood and wounds, even though you definitely should have. He lied and told you he’d joined an underground fighting ring to try to make some money for you. You took care of him in a way that he never did for you, patching up his wounds with an easy smile and tender hands.

He was eighteen when he met the rest of the Flags after making a name for himself as one of the Mafia’s best assassins. He stopped coming around as much, spending his time at bars with the Flags, afraid that one day you’d figure out what he’s been doing for money, afraid that you would start to see him as a monster instead of the brother you still loved for whatever god forsaken reason.

He was twenty when he cut you off. After his near death experience at the hands of Verlaine, Iceman realized his life was much too dangerous to keep you in it. To provide for you and give you the life you deserve, he had to abandon his name and leave you behind, otherwise you would forever be at risk of people trying to kill you to get to him.

The best thing Iceman ever did for you as an older brother was cutting you off to let you live a long, fulfilling life away from the dark. Away from him.

And for what?

Iceman sighs as he fumbles in his pocket for another cigarette, already on his second pack of the day. He tilts his head back against the tree he’s leaning against, the muddy ground staining his pants. He lights the cigarette and takes a long drag, tilting his head down as a heavy feeling sweeps over him.

And for what?

It’s been two and a half weeks since he came back to Yokohama.

Two and a half weeks since your death.

Your death, the words still make him sick to his stomach, make him feel as if the world is collapsing around you. Iceman had always been sure of the two of you, he’d be the one to go first. The thought of outliving you—his little sister, the one person in the world he’d sacrifice everything to protect—was never even an option in his mind.

He’s spent just about every waking hour with you, trying to make up for the times he didn’t while you were still alive. You’d always hated the dark; he used to bitch and complain when the two of you shared a bedroom because you couldn’t sleep without a night light, and now he feels sick to his stomach thinking of you stuck out here in the dirt alone and in the dark.

The Flags have tried to drag him away, Lippmann pleading with him to come inside and sleep and Piano Man trying to coax him back with promises of drinks and fine food, but Iceman refused to budge. Chuuya sometimes joins him, brings a nice bottle of wine, cracks it open and after three glasses, starts choking over air, apologizing and begging for forgiveness—sometimes to Iceman, sometimes in front of your headstone.

Iceman enjoys their company—he does—but he thinks he prefers to be alone with you.

Which, unfortunately, seems to be a rare occurrence.

He sighs as he hears leaves crunching on the path leading up to your grave, gaze drawing to the side. At first, he figures it must be Chuuya dragging himself back to your grave, ready for another round of drinks and regret, but he pauses when he recognizes the long black cloak and red scarf donning the figure making his way over to your grave.

His fingers twitch down to the gun holstered down to his side, resentment and anger simmering dangerously beneath the surface.

Dazai Osamu kneels in front of your grave for the first time since your death. He did not attend your funeral. Didn’t come to see you laid into the ground. Didn’t pay respects. He’s spent two and a half weeks holed up on the top floor of the centermost building of headquarters with only Chuuya and Kouyou as company.

Iceman thinks he has some fucking nerve, being the reason that you’re six feet under and not even bothering to come see you.

His first reaction is to make himself known, rise to his feet and pull out his gun—an offense worthy of execution in the eyes of the rest of the Mafia, pulling a gun on its boss, but Iceman’s self-preservation was thrown out the window the moment he came back to headquarters to see you dead in Hirotsu’s arms and Dazai Osamu standing there like an emotionless statute as if he didn’t cause this.

But he hesitates when he sees the expression on Dazai’s face, lips trembling and visible eye glassy. Iceman doesn’t think he’s ever seen the boss in such a sorry state before—his bandages are yellowed and grimy as if he hasn’t changed them in weeks, his coat is wrinkled, scarf dirty, lips chapped and cracked. Dazai Osamu is a man that most people see as untouchable and unflappable, and even Iceman, riddled with grief and fury, can’t help but pause at the sight of him breaking.

“I thought I could stop it,” Dazai breathes out. Iceman startles a bit, irrationally thinking that the man is talking to him, but settles down when he realizes that he’s talking to you, eyes slid shut as he kneels before your headstone. “I tried so hard. I tried so hard to stop it.”

Iceman’s eyes lower at the sheer pain in Dazai’s voice, the hoarseness of grief that has his throat red and raw, has him stripped him bare to the bone. From where Iceman is sitting out of sight, he can see the way Dazai’s fingers are trembling in his lap, shoulders shaking.

“All of this was for you,” Dazai’s voice wavers as he speaks, cracking over his words. “All of it was for you-I don’t-what am I supposed to do now? Shit. What do I do? It’s all gone to waste, I knew it. I knew I shouldn’t have-”

The noise that escapes Dazai’s throat is more belonging of a wounded animal than of a human. He curls over at his waist, blunt nails digging into the marble of your headstone, forehead resting against the cool stone.

Iceman squeezes his eyes shut, throat swollen, letting out a full body shiver at the sound. He forces himself to his feet, fingers enclosing around the grip of his gun, and makes his way over to where Dazai is kneeling. The man stiffens when he hears Iceman approach, straightening and tilting his head to the side to look at Iceman from the corner of his eye. His mouth dries a bit when he sees the tear streaking down Dazai’s pale skin.

“Are you here to kill me?” Dazai asks, voice raspy and throat sore. There’s a mocking edge to it that makes Iceman’s jaw click, as if Dazai is purposely trying to antagonize him. “Go on then, I left Chuuya behind. There’s no one to stop you this time.”

“You think you deserve to go see her already?” Iceman asks coldly.

He stares down at Dazai, watching as the facade cracks at Iceman’s words. The corner of Dazai’s lips twitch downward and his eye goes a bit hazy as it tracks back down to your headstone. He takes in another shuddered breath and Dazai’s shoulders finally slump over, lashes fluttering.

“I knew this would happen,” Dazai finally croaks out, voice weak and wavering. Iceman’s lips tightens at his words, flicking the safety off on his gun and pulling it from his holster. “I knew this would happen and I still sought her out.”

“Even a blind person could’ve seen how this would turn out,” Iceman spits out, pressing the muzzle of his gun to the back of Dazai’s head. He doesn’t even flinch, doesn’t react at all. A part of Iceman wonders if this is what he wants—to be put out of his misery. “This is on you.”

“I know,” Dazai says hoarsely. “... I know.”

Iceman knows that you loved Dazai Osamu for whatever fucked up reason. The same fucked up reason you probably still loved Iceman even after all of the bullshit that he did, and didn’t do, during your childhood. He forced Chuuya to get him the tape after he’d calmed down, watched the way you sat there with Dostoevsky, accepting your fate. Heard that you were given a choice, and the choice you made. He hadn’t been able to understand it at first—you’ve always been so full of life, excited for the future even at your lowest, he couldn’t fathom what could’ve possibly made you so accepting of death.

So he dug further, got Piano Man and Lippmann and Albatross roped up in his schemes. Heard the way you would act with Dazai, how happy you were and how happy he was. Forced Piano Man to get him tapes from around the base; he saw the way you looked at him and the way he looked at you.

You loved Dazai Osamu, and Dazai Osamu—a man that everyone had been convinced was incapable of emotion, a demon without a heart or conscious—loved you.

He takes in the dark bag beneath Dazai’s tired eye, the glassiness and lack of life within them, the sickly pallor of his skin, and the dirtiness of his clothes. His nails bleed from where he dragged them against the marble of your headstone and he can see a murky redness staining his yellowed bandages, peeking out from where his coat rode up his arm.

Iceman has not been the only one grieving you.

“Aren’t you going to kill me?” Dazai finally rasps out. Less of a question, more of a beg, a far cry from the cold and brutal mafia boss that Iceman has come to know, and Iceman knows that Dazai Osamu died in the same moment you did, only a walking corpse remains in his place.

Iceman scoffs, holstering his gun. “Nah,” he says. “Whatever you’re doin’ to yourself. That’s worse than death.”

“…oss. Boss.”

Dazai’s gaze drags from the photo on his desk to where Chuuya has entered his office, tilting his head to the side as he waits for Chuuya to say whatever he came here to say. Chuuya hesitates and Dazai’s jaw tightens in annoyance. He’s been like this since you-

For three and a half weeks. He’s been like this for three and a half weeks. Constantly hovering, afraid to leave Dazai alone for too long. If Chuuya isn’t hovering, Kouyou is. Dazai can hardly get a moment alone and it’s becoming increasingly hard to continue the preparation for phase five, the final part of his plan. Everything is set in place, if all goes according to plan, tomorrow morning will be the long awaited moment.

In a little over twelve hours, he’ll be able to be with you again at last.

Four hours until Atsushi is to go to the Armed Detective Agency with the files that will antagonize Akutagawa into attacking the Mafia headquarters. Dazai expects that by three in the morning, the Agency would have managed to fully infiltrate the building, and Atsushi and Akutagawa will be clashing on the roof of the headquarters.

By dawn, it’ll be time.

But one major obstacle remains.

Dazai’s gaze draws back to Chuuya, who’s still standing in the door of his office, becoming increasingly more irritated by Dazai’s lack of a response. As long as Chuuya is around, Dazai is going to have trouble following through with the final step. The executive will do whatever it takes to prevent Dazai’s death, so Dazai needs to get him out of the way.

“Chuuya,” Dazai hums, “Wh-”

“We’ve captured Gogol.”

Dazai halts, fingers pausing from where they’d been thrumming against the desk as he thought. His gaze sharpens as he tilts his head to the side, “Is that so?”

Gogol. Gogol. The one who captured you, handed you to Dostoevsky on a silver platter. Dazai might’ve been the cause of your-

Dazai might’ve been the one at fault for all of this, but that doesn’t mean he can let your executioners get off scot-free. He rises to his feet, the pads of his fingers pressing into the dark wood of his desk. For a moment, he doesn’t move, his ears ring and his eyes slide shut. Dazai didn’t think he’d get the chance to handle either of them—he’d resigned himself to accepting that he would have to forfeit personal vengeance to ensure that at least Odasaku will be able to live out his life in this world.

But now…

From the corner of his eye, Dazai swears he can see you barge into his office from his apartment, a wild smile on your face as you wave around the TV remote, claiming you found a good movie for the two of you to watch. It’s only for a split second, but Dazai’s heart leaps from his throat, breath catching. He hasn’t dared step foot in the apartment since… everything happened—it’s too big now, too empty. Your coffee mug still sits on his kitchen table, clothes strewn across his room from where you’d been having a fit trying to find the perfect outfit for orientation.

“Dazai.”

Chuuya speaks and the mirage of you is gone. Dazai lets out a heavy breath before shaking his head and making his way toward Chuuya. Neither of them speak again as they make their way into the elevator—they’ve hardly had a full conversation with one another since… since Chuuya chose to disobey orders—heading down to the belly of the headquarters where Gogol will be held. Dazai’s mind spins, lashes fluttering as he thinks.

He knew that Dostoevsky would be well out of reach, that he would have to leave your justice for when the Russian makes his real move in the hands of Odasaku, Akutagawa and the Agency, in the hands of Chuuya, Iceman and Atsushi. There’s no way that Dazai would be able to get his hands on the man in a timely manner, and Dazai can’t risk being in this world any longer than he’s already been. The longer he remains, the more Odasaku is at risk of meeting the same fate you did, and then all Dazai has done and sacrificed over the past seven years would be for nought. The only chance he had to protect the two of you squandered because of his own selfishness and incapability.

But Gogol. He hadn’t dared hope—Dazai lost any semblance of hope the moment he saw Chuuya show up at the Port Mafia headquarters—but he couldn’t help but want.

Kouyou and Piano Man are already waiting in the torture chambers when Dazai and Chuuya finally arrive. Gogol has silver shackles around his wrists, military-grade ability nullifying cuffs that the Mafia had stolen from a government shipment a few months back, and when he sees Dazai, he laughs wildly as if he’s just been told a hilarious joke.

“It’s really you,” Gogol cackles. “Dostoy thought for sure you’d have offed yourself by now.”

Dazai hums, but otherwise doesn’t react to the words. He supposes that they’re not too off the mark, Gogol is only unlucky in that he managed to get himself captured the day before it’s meant to take place.

“Are you going to kill me?” Gogol coos. “Avenge your pretty little thing? Not many people manage to catch Dostoy’s attention, y’know? I was so curious about her.”

Dazai tilts his head to the side and smiles thinly, a cold one that makes Gogol look impossibly more entertained.

“I hear that you enjoy freedom,” Dazai says more to himself than to Gogol, but finds a bit of sadistic pleasure in the way Gogol hesitates. “What makes you think I’d ever give you the mercy of death? The ultimate freedom?”

Gogol does not respond, so Dazai continues, “So long as you live—and you will live—you’ll never take another breath of fresh air or feel the wind against your skin ever again. My men will ensure you live to a ripe old age. They will feed you when you try to starve yourself, force water down your throat when you refuse to drink, they’ll heal you when you try to kill yourself to free yourself of this prison. For the rest of your life, until you rot of old age, you’ll be caged in the basement of this building. A bird clipped of its wings, trapped forever behind gilded bars… I think that’s quite the fitting fate for you.”

Dazai relishes in the way that Gogol freezes at his words, but even that is not enough to heal the gaping wound in his chest caused by your absence. The pleasure is hollow, like the hole you left in him. Dazai is so tired, he just wants to get back to his office so he can finish finalizing the last step for the final phase.

He just wants to be with you.

Dazai turns to leave, motioning for Chuuya to join him, but as soon as he turns his back, Gogol is speaking again, letting out another manic laugh: “Aren’t you curious as to what the deal was? I can tell you.”

Dazai stills, Gogol laughs louder.

“It was a life for a life. Your life for hers. I thought Dostoy was crazy for it, I mean, who would think a random girl’s life would be equal to that of the boss of the Port Mafia,” Gogol snickers. “But looking at you now?”

Dazai’s jaw tightens, he looks over his shoulder as Gogol doubles over laughing and then says quietly, “Her life was worth ten of mine.”

He doesn’t hesitate this time as he walks back toward the elevator, ignoring the way Gogol howls with laughter even as Piano Man has his men drag Gogol back into the most secure cell in the Mafia headquarters. Chuuya follows behind Dazai dutifully, and it’s only when they reenter the elevator does he finally speak.

“You sure you don’t just want him killed?” Chuuya asks, voice a bit stunted and awkward.

Dazai doesn’t respond. “I have a mission for you.”

“Hah?” Chuuya demands. “Now? What’re you talking about?”

“A meeting with Goldoni of the Family in Rome, he’s insistent that it’s done in person. It’s essential that it takes place as soon as possible. I’ve booked a flight for you, it leaves in two hours.”

“Two hours?” Chuuya hisses. “What are you planning, Dazai?”

Dazai doesn’t respond again. Instead, he turns his head to the side, looking at Chuuya dead on. “That’s a direct order, Chuuya.”

Chuuya draws back as if he’s been slapped, but he doesn’t speak up after that, and Dazai knows that he’s won. By the time Chuuya lands in Rome, everything will be over—the last step of the plan will be complete. His eyes flutter shut as he leans back against the wall of the elevator; he feels a type of contentedness that he hasn’t felt since he watched you drive off with Albatross, Hirotsu, and Tachihara.

Soon, he sighs to himself softly, eyes reopening to focus on his reflection. He swears he can see you again, feel the ghost of your touch against his skin as your fingers lace with his. All he has left to do is talk to Odasaku, and then he can be with you again.

We can watch one last sunrise together.

“I had someone once, y’know?” Dazai Osamu says, expression distorted and eyes distant, drawing to invisible figures sitting at the stools with them. Oda stares curiously, watching as he opens and closes his mouth, as if trying to figure out what to say. “It was hard. Without you and her, everything was so much harder. I tried so hard to do things right, to protect this world; I did what I could, but I couldn’t stay away from her.”

Dazai’s words disappear with his ragged breathing, dozens of emotions crossing over his face as he stares at his lap. Oda doesn’t speak, trying to put together whatever piece he’s missing—figure out who this her is that Dazai is referring to so that he can understand what’s going on. He keeps his gun steady, pointed at the boss of the Port Mafia in case this whole thing turns out to be a trap even if he’s slowly starting to doubt it.

“I didn’t get to say goodbye to her,” Dazai says airly, talking more to himself than to Oda. “She said she’d see me later. Told me she loved me. I didn’t say it back. Do you think she knew, Odasaku?”

The man in question chooses his words carefully when Dazai looks at him, black eye wide and imploring, much like a child seeking out advice from a trusted adult. After a few moments, Oda finally says, “Women are a lot more intuitive than men. If she said it, I’m sure she knew you felt the same.”

Dazai lets out a quiet laugh, a soft smile on his lips and a fond, but faraway expression on his face. “You always know what to say, Odasaku,” he murmurs softly, saying that odd nickname again. Oda frowns, but Dazai only continues. “She was good. A lot better than me… Deserved better than me. She was so smart, Odasaku, I think you would’ve liked her. She got into one of the best grad schools in the country, y’know? Was on her way to orientation when-”

Dazai stops talking suddenly, takes in a sharp and stunted breath, eye going a bit wild as if he can’t even force out the words. Oda is suddenly frowning, recognition sparking in his head as he remembers you, the sharp girl from the train station that he’d failed to save; the one who's been haunting his mind since the moment that golden swirl appeared and dragged you away. Ranpo had deduced it was mafia business rather quickly, but Oda couldn’t convince himself of it because he couldn’t figure out how someone like you was affiliated with the mafia.

This… It would make sense, wouldn’t it? Still, Oda couldn’t imagine you with someone like the man sitting before him, or maybe he could, he reconsiders, watching the adoring expression that paints the mafia boss’s face as he talks about you, the smile on his lips and the enamored look in his eye, the pride. Oda doesn’t think he’s ever seen a man look so entirely lovesick before.

Dazai looks at him curiously, must have caught the spark of recognition on his face. “Do you know her?”

Oda pauses, trying to figure out what to say. He doesn’t know if he should admit to seeing you in the moments before you were killed; Dazai Osamu is clearly not stable, fickle and capricious with his emotions, Oda worries that the mafia boss might abruptly turn on him, become hostile when he realizes Oda could have saved her but failed.

“You did,” Dazai breathes out, excited suddenly, eye lit up like a child who has been told Christmas is coming early. “You knew her, you did, didn’t you? How did you meet? Wasn’t she incredible? Tell me.”

Oda inhales slowly, testing the words on his tongue before he says: “... I met her at the train station… that day.” Dazai’s smile wobbles at the edges, a glassy look in his eye like he’s looking right through Oda. Oda continues speaking quickly, “She was brilliant. She gave me a good idea on how to end the book I’ve been writing.”

Dazai’s smile softens, the childish appearance disappears as he looks down at his drink. “Will you use it?”

Oda responds honestly, “I think I will.”

Dazai looks as if he’s been given a precious gift and for a moment, Oda hesitates, gaze lingering on the expression that is somehow both sorrowful and content at the same time.

“It’s almost dawn, isn’t it?” Dazai says, a bit distantly. Oda watches carefully as an unfocused look clouds Dazai’s black eye, his head turning to look out the window of the bar. “She loved sunrises… I promised her we would watch one more together.”

The sun breaks the horizon in the distance, Dazai smiles wistfully as the colors spread across the morning sky. Endless pink clouds dance in the dawn, orange paints the skies; he stands at the edge of the roof where you sat with him that first morning, leaning your head on his shoulder as you watch all of the shapes the clouds make.

“Doesn’t that one look like a cat?”

Dazai hums in agreement as his gaze traces the sky; he’s never been able to see all of the figures you point out in the clouds, but he likes listening to you talk. Sometimes, you’d spin stories as you rest on his chest, and he’d doze off to the sound of your voice. He wants to look down to where you’d normally be sitting, but he’s afraid that if he looks, he’ll find you disappointed—sad eyes staring at him as if you know what he’s about to do.

Worse, he’s scared that if he looks, you won’t be there.

Distantly, he can hear Atsushi and Akutagawa still arguing with one another, shouting questions at Dazai, but it all sounds distant and muffled—he couldn’t make out the words if he tried. He’s hyper focused on the sound of your voice in the billowing wind; he can almost imagine that each brush of the gusts against his skin is your touch.

He waits, even as he hears Atsushi creeping toward him, trying to get to him before he lets himself fall over the edge. He promised you one last sunrise, and it would be remiss of him to not stay long enough for you to watch your favorite part.

“She loved sunrises,” Dazai repeats again, this time for Atsushi and Akutagawa to hear. Atsushi halts at the words and he can hear a wavering ‘boss’ escape Atsushi’s lips. He closes his eyes and he can picture you in front of him, a soft expression on your face, lips curved up, and a dreamy smile tugs at his lips. “I’ve waited for this moment so long. I’m pleased, I really am… I just wish things had turned out differently. I wanted her to live, and I wanted to read his novel when he finished it, but I guess what I want doesn’t matter anymore… It’s enough to know that they were able to meet here.”

“Please wait,” Atsushi cries out, and Dazai can hear him moving again, stumbling as he tries to get closer. “Dazai-san, wait!”

“Atsushi-kun, Akutagawa-kun,” Dazai says. He opens his eyes again, watching as the sun finally crosses the horizon in its entirety, basking the world in an ethereal morning glow. His breath catches, and Dazai sees you again standing before him, haloed by the light. He reaches out hesitantly, but draws his hand back before his fingers can graze you, not wanting to taint you with his touch. “I’ll leave the rest to you.”

Dazai takes a step forward closer to you. He ignores Atsushi’s screams and Akutagawa’s shout. His eyes slide shut as he falls, the wind whistling in his ears and ripping the air from his lungs, but Dazai feels at peace for the first time in weeks. A smile curls to his lips, he swears that he feels your arms wrap around his waist, the familiar weight of your head resting on his chest.

Dazai hopes, maybe a bit irrationally, that there might be a universe out there that he missed, one where the two of you are able to live out your lives. Maybe if he’s lucky, Odasaku will be around too. He’ll have finished the novel with your help, just like in this universe; and Dazai will pout and whine whenever you push him out of the room to brainstorm with the older man, but he’ll always smile as soon as he’s out of sight, content, happy. He’ll get to read the novel once it’s published—you refuse to let him get any peeks until it’s done and you yell at him and Odasaku when Dazai tries to guilt him into showing him it—and he’ll get to be with you.

He’ll get to be with you.

Find me again. Next time, I’ll make it right.

I promise.

GUYSSSSSS WATERLOO IS OVER I'M ACTUALLY GOING TO CRY. this series has been my baby for so long i don't even know what i'm going to do with myself now that it's over. :(

some notes to share with u guys:

fyodor's ability. SIGH. the past few chapters fucked up my plans, so we're going to imagine that that his ability is still the kill on touch for the sake of my sanity. or maybe he used someone else's ability to kill her. who knows. i had this scene set in mind from waterloo day one so i didn't want to change it.

THE ODASAKU-READER CONVERSATION WAS ACTUALLY SO ANTICIPATED, i had the idea from side a when dazai chose to bring her to his grave, and then i was like ... wait, what if in side b... and i think it's a neat tie in to the beast movie too, because if i rmr correctly, he sought out fyodor later on and i think witnessing reader's capture & not being able to prevent her would give him even more of a reason to go after the man.

uu!chuuya hurts my heart truly. he really did care sm about reader the more he got to know her, and he blamed himself so much for her death. and then dazai uses the fact that he disobeyed orders and got her killed against him to make him leave so that dazai can kill himself. poor man will never not blame himself for everything

ICEMAN AS READER'S BROTHER. look, i know a lot of you wanted odasaku but it just didn't fit. she would've recognized his name in side a

badlands!reader -> i fear she is dead and gone, as you all probably have come to terms with by now at the end of the uu. but i want to add in HOW she dies because it's touched on in this chapter & i posted an ask about it a few weeks ago.

in badlands universe, fyodor isn't actually the one to kill reader, it's agatha christie when the order of the clocktower finally makes their move on yokohama for the book. for this, i also have to get into christie and what i think her ability might be - obviously we know it's based on "and then there were none" which is the mystery novel that involves 10 people w various accusations against them being killed/dying according to a nursery rhyme. i dont know exactly how i want the ability to be executed, but i know for the purposes of the fic that involves 10 ppl dying in various ways according to how they died in the book. christie targets various ppl that have been close to the agency/pm and reader is one of them. so over the course of 10 hours, the 10 people start dying. it takes to the 5th hour for them to realize that this is an ability user and not coincidences because by that point 2 ppl affiliated with the pm and 2 ppl that have close ties with the ada die and the two organizations approach each other about it, and obviously ranpo figures out during that meeting that it's an ability targeting ppl affiliated with both organizations. and that's when dazai starts getting a really bad feeling, tries to call her but she doesn't pick up, and then ends up ditching the meeting to go find her but </333 he doesn't get to her in time. her death is the death on the 5th hour and it parallels emily brent from the book: injected with cyanide after drinking poisoned coffee. dazai finds her in their apartment </3 he is too late to save her.

also a fun side note about badlands: reader and dazai were, in fact, engaged.

anyways, i love you all, thanks for sticking along the ride with me

(。♡ ‿ ♡。)

#dazai x reader #bsd x reader

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