#₊ ⊹˚✉︎𑁤 with love; reverie

[aureatchi]

⛇₊˚ʚ₊˚✧ AND I CHOSE YOU, ‘CAUSE YOU’RE ALL I NEED ft. dazai, chuuya, fyodor, nikolai

some winter prompts/scenarios with the bsd men…and other romantic things they spoil you with.

info. fem!reader. fluff fluff !! domestic moments. profanities from chuuya. established relationships. kissing. mentions of a fake! machete from nikolai lmao.

DAZAI says: it’s too cold to get out of bed! can’t we just stay in and cuddle?

As soon as your eyes fluttered open, you were greeted with the realization that it was far too late to wake up at this time on a weekday. You could see the sun outside your window, overlooking the blanket of snow that had fallen the night before. Panicking, you tried to turn towards your nightstand to catch a glimpse of your clock to confirm your thoughts, but a leg wrapping around your waist stopped you.

“Osamu?”

“Morning, beautiful,” Dazai’s sleepy voice replied, continuing to trap you in an embrace with his arms.

“What time is it?” you asked.

“Don’t worry about it,” he replied, but that only made you feel even more uneasy. You forcefully shifted out of his grasp to look at your clock—woah, you were both supposed to be at work an hour ago.

You sat up on the bed, startling Dazai. “Osamu! We’re supposed to be at work! Why didn’t the alarm go off…I haven’t played with it lately…”

Another realization. You sharply eyed Dazai with a frown, who, in contrast, had his signature mischievous smirk on his face, even through tired eyes.

“Did you turn it off?!”

“Huh?” He yawned. “Now, why would you accuse me of such a thing? I don’t see why the alarm should be turned off.”

“Exactly!” you replied. “But who else could’ve done it? A ghost?”

“Hmm.” He tapped his index finger on his chin in thought. “Oh, I know!

“How about fate?” His hand moved to cup your cheek as he answered you in a flirtatious voice. You tried not to cringe at how corny he sounded. “What if fate wanted us to miss work today so we can stay in and spend time together inste-”

“Now this is where you gave yourself away!” you cut him off, moving towards the end of the bed to stand up. “Who said we’re missing work? It’s better to be late than not show up at al-”

Dazai grabbed your arm, pulling you back in.

“Osamu!”

“Yeah, unless you’re sick! Wouldn’t want to infect everyone else with a cold, right?”

“But none of us are sick?”

“Too bad,” he whispered, pulling you back under the covers. “I already called the Agency. I told them that…” he made dramatic coughing sounds, “...you were sick, and of course, you got me sick too!”

“What?!” you were in disbelief. “You liar! You could’ve at least not put the blame on me!”

“Oh, don’t be mistaken! I said it was my fault—you just looked so adorable while sick, I just had to cuddle up with you the whole night! So naturally, I got sick too. Isn’t that believable? I’d do the same if it actually happened.”

You facepalmed. “You’re not making it past Ranpo.”

“Don’t worry about him. I’ve taken care of that too,” Dazai smiled. There was no getting around Ranpo, but it would only be a problem if he exposed the lie. So, Dazai had bought him a stockpile of snacks to keep his mouth shut.

You sighed before snuggling up against him. It looks like you weren’t going anywhere today. Not that you were complaining anymore—if your lover handled everything anyway.

“So why did you want to stay in?” you asked.

“Because I knew I’d feel cold if I got out of bed.” The brunette’s fingers started stroking through your hair as you rested your head on his chest, relaxed by both his hand and the faint thump of his heartbeat.

“That’s it?” you laughed. “You didn’t want to be cold?”

“That, and because I want to spend time with my belladonna, duuh.” Dazai turned you around so he could see your face.

“You look pretty. Just like an angel, more bonny than any other snow angel.” He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear as his eyes studied you in admiration, flustering you. You were in awe that he could call you that when you had just woken up—you probably looked like a mess. He was the one who looked lovely—amber eyes peeking through his untidy hair and pretty eyelashes, the faint pink that surged through his cheeks when you kissed his knuckles, his bandaged chest that was revealed under his slightly unbuttoned pajamas…Dazai looked as dreamy as hearing his morning voice. And man, was it attractive, too.

He gave innocent pecks from one corner of your mouth to the other, and you reciprocated. You gently peppered each other’s faces with sleepy kisses until you rested on his torso again.

“That’s right, bella,” he cooed, rubbing your back. “We can relax today.” You wrapped your arms around him, enjoying the warmth he provided. “And if you’re hungry, we can order something from wherever you want later, yeah?”

You nodded with a smile. “Sounds perfect.”

CHUUYA says: let’s go ice skating, darling!

“C’mon, doll, it’s okay. Promise I’ll catch you if you slip!”

A local lake had frozen over, and you’d always wanted to learn how to ice skate, so Chuuya saw it as the perfect opportunity to teach you. Yet now, you stood at the edge with your skates, intimidated by the sapphire water that rested below the thin layer of ice and having nowhere to hold onto for support. Thankfully, it was just the two of you there; you would’ve felt even more nerve-wracked if others were watching.

“You’re so rude, Chu! You left me!” you whined, your voice traveling across the serene scenery. Chuuya simply laughed—he had skated a few feet off into the lake, waiting for you to follow. Yet, to you, it seemed so much farther than that.

“I’m right here!” he replied. He motioned for you in a way that reminded you of how a parent encourages a baby to take their first step. “Here, baby!” He cooed, holding his arms out. “You can do it.”

“Are you mocking me?! You’re talking to me like a little girl!”

“You are my girl though, sweetheart,” the ginger responded.

You sighed, your breath visible as it fanned out into the cold. “There has to be some sort of compensation, though, if I do fall!”

“I’ll massage whatever hurts if anything does,” he promised.

“Fair.” Chuuya’s massages were priceless.

You slowly stepped onto the ice, trying to keep balance on the blades attached to your feet. You looked up at Chuuya, panicking.

“Bend your knees.” You immediately followed, which helped you stabilize yourself.

“Now push off from one knee to the other,” Chuuya continued. Slowly, you started moving towards him, skating into his arms when you reached him.

“Wasn’t so hard, was it?” he smirked through the embrace. “Good job. Now c’mon.”

Chuuya started leading you across the ice, helping you get used to the rhythm and being in sync with each other. Once he saw you get the hang of it, he suggested something.

“We can go really fast, yknow,” Chuuya proposed. “If you want…I think it’ll be exciting.”

“Exactly how fast?” you asked.

“I’d use my ability to enhance it,” he smiled. You knew that would speed you up tons.

“Okay,” you said after contemplating for a few seconds. “I trust you.”

Chuuya moved in front of you to hold your hands in his. “Hold on tight, baby!”

You gripped onto the executive as he activated his ability. And with one push, after making sure you knew it was coming, you two zoomed across the lake, wind breezing past you. You screamed—in surprise, fear, and exhilaration, as Chuuya steered you both, even more talented doing it backwards.

“Damn, you’re flying, doll!” he exclaimed and loosened his grip on one of your arms. Chuuya spun you around on the ice as he slowed the both of you down, bringing you to a complete stop with a kiss.

“Already like a pro,” he praised. “You learned so fast. And what’d I say? I promised I wouldn’t let you fall.”

You chuckled, feeling warmth heat up your frost-nipped cheeks as Chuuya cupped your face with his fingers. “I still want a massage, though. Pleeease?”

He smirked. “Fuck, I could never refuse since you asked so nicely. And I guess you deserve something for doing so well on skates. Of course.”

“Yay!” You cheered as you skated in a circle around Chuuya before connecting his lips with yours once again.

“This was incredibly fun, Chu.”

FYODOR asks: is the fireplace not enough? you need me to warm you up, too?

“It’s cold.”

You and Fyodor were in a cabin high up in the mountains, the epicenter of planning his next mission. Fyodor often traveled, and you always accompanied him, despite his warnings of how boring those journeys would be because his attention would be mainly focused on his paperwork and mapping out the areas by the temporary headquarters.

You always reassured him you were completely fine with it. You understood his job and were used to him not having his attention on you all the time. You were content reading through his collection of novels with his cursive annotations scribbled throughout the pages to pass the time while he sat devising schemes.

Though right now, you were starting to shiver, even below the three layers of your sweater. The heat radiating from the candle on the desk you sat reading at wasn’t enough—you were still cold.

“Put your coat on,” Fyodor replied from another table. He had let you have the true desk by the bookshelf with the comfy chair to lounge in while he took the dining table.

“It’s too bulky. It’ll be uncomfortable,” you said, gliding your hand over a page.

You heard a sigh. “Must you always choose comfort over practicality?”

“Of course, when I have the privilege,” you chuckled. “Can I light the fireplace?”

Fyodor looked up from his work. “Yes, I’ll help you.”

“Are you sure? You seem busy. I can do it myself.”

“No worries, as long as you don’t distract me with anything else.”

You gave him a knowing smirk. “I’m not sure if I can guarantee that,” you replied as you headed for the wooden logs in the back. Fyodor followed you, helping you carry a few over to the fireplace.

You ensured all the air vents were open as he threw the wood in, starting the fire with a lighter. Fyodor sat in the single armchair right in front of it, checking to see if it was stable from afar.

“How’s this?” he asked, watching you on the floor, getting close to feel the flames. “Warming up?”

“Yes,” you responded, turning towards him.

“Good. You can sit here while I return to-“ he was both cut off in speech and from getting up when you lowered yourself onto his lap. “Milaya…“

“I warned you I couldn’t guarantee it,” you whispered, straddling him. You weren’t forceful—each move was as graceful as a ballerina’s glide, and it was probably because, despite his words, Fyodor differed to fight back.

“Stay for a little, please,” you softly pleaded, trapping the ravenette even more by wrapping your arms around his neck. “Can you take a short break?”

“You’re asking me as if you’re giving me a choice,” Fyodor chuckled, still seeing you give him no room to leave. “Fine. I’ll indulge in your wants this once.”

“It’s more of indulging in my needs,” you corrected him, looking into violet eyes. You then picked up the book you had been reading earlier to continue.

“Enjoying it so far?” he asked, moving the hair out of your face and tucking it behind your ears.

“Yeah. But I’m not going to lie, I think I like your annotations more than the actual book.”

“How flattering.” Fyodor smiled. “I enjoyed reading it a lot, too, though. That’s why I wrote so much.” You flipped open to the page you left off on when you suddenly had an idea.

“What if you read to me?” you asked with a giggle.

His face showed rare, genuine surprise for a moment. “Hm? It’s not like this is some bedtime story…

“I’m not against it, though.”

And so, he started reading to you. You sang in victory in your head because though you would never admit it to him—Fyodor had too much ego for you to heighten it even more—you loved his voice. His accent laced the words of the plot that resumed as he spoke from page to page.

You couldn’t think of anything more perfect. Hearing the satisfying tone of his tongue accompanied by the ambiance of the fireplace and the flipping of pages…you could stay nuzzled up against him like this forever.

“I thought you said you were enjoying it,” Fyodor paused after some time, noticing your eyelids drooping and head limp against his shoulder. “Yet you’re falling asleep.”

“I am,” you said, your words slurring. “I’m just really comfy like this. It feels cozy…makes me sleepy…”

You tucked your face into his neck. Fyodor gently closed the book before wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Well, it can’t be helped…” he whispered. “Sweet dreams, dorogaya.”

NIKOLAI says: let’s build a snowman!

“Why are you putting the carrots for eyes?” You shook your head in disappointment as you watched Nikolai create his ‘snowman.’ It hardly looked like one, honestly. The only thing normal about it was the base—which you had helped him with. Three spheres of snow stacked upon each other to make the snowman’s body. The rest…was very Nikolai.

He had put the carrots as the eyes. And the snowman had three orange, pointy eyes. As for the mouth, he sculpted a smile out of clay, which was fine, but of course, he made it in a way that looked very ominous. Then, the jester had decorated it with a bunch of colorful pom-poms. The whole thing was very random, but you knew something like this was coming.

“And finally!” Nikolai pulled out a fake plastic machete.

“Kolya, what the heck?! Now, we really can’t leave this here! What if some kid stumbles upon it and takes the knife?”

“It’s fake, baby, don’t worry!” He replied, running his finger along the sharp end.

“Well, yeah, but still! I don’t think anyone’s parents would appreciate that!”

Nikolai sighed before a portal appeared, swallowing his entire snowman and the machete inside.

“You play too safe sometimes, love.”

“Where did you transport that to?!”

“The Sky Casino,” he giggled. “I’m sure Sigma will find the new decoration lovely!” You immediately felt pity towards the poor man—you imagined him having to clean up a puddle of melted snow and other objects in the casino.

You just stood for a moment before Nikolai spoke again.

“Okay, I’ll actually make something you like,” he said. “Could you help me with the base?”

You didn’t know what he was going to do next, but you helped him anyway after making him promise he wasn’t going to pull out anymore weapons, real or fake. You stacked the snow on top of each other and waited to see what he was going to do next.

Nikolai transported two buttons that reminded you of your eye color to place on the snowman’s face as its eyes. He then used two sticks to create a cute smile. Then, he pulled out a hat and scarf that looked like the exact ones you were wearing…

“Wait, huh?” You glanced down at your attire and then at the articles, you saw Nikolai dressing the snowman in. “Where did you even get that?”

“The place where you got yours, duh!” he responded. You tried to push away the thought in your head that he most likely stole it. But now, you understood what he was doing. So, while he finished replicating you, you started a snowman right next to his.

“Kolya, can you please let me borrow your top hat? And a green and a gray button?”

His face grew elated. “Sweet dove! You’re doing what I’m doing!” He summoned what you had asked for. “Here you go!”

In the end, Nikolai had created a snowman of you, and you had built a snowman of him. It made your heart warm at how sweet it was.

“Yours looks so cute!” you exclaimed, looking at the one of yourself. You then teased him. “Honestly, I’m surprised you were capable of this.”

“No snowman will ever be as cute as you,” he responded with a wink. “And what can I say? I’m full of surprises.” He then threw himself onto you.

“And you made me! My heart could burst right now…look at us together!” You felt everything happen at once after that—one moment, Nikolai was spinning you in the air, absolutely thrilled, and the next, his lips sealed yours in a passionate kiss.

“Quiz time,” Nikolai whispered on your mouth.

“What must’ve I done to deserve the best girl in the world?”

rbs are cherished; they are your christmas gift to me <3

tags : @kissesmellow21

© AUREATCHI 2023. no reposts or translations. do not steal. support banner + heart lights divider by benkeibear.

[aureatchi]

“I GET LOST INSIDE ALL THE STARS IN YOUR EYES, IT’S A GALAXY.” ft. dazai, chuuya, ranpo, nikolai, sigma

— how do the bsd men kiss you? (& other things.)

a/n. rev writes this knowing well she’s awkward w physical touch ‘n has never kissed a guy. hdjshsh.

info. fem!reader. fluff !! + a bit sugg. established relationships. kissing, making out. mentions of bsd s5ep11 spoilers for dazai. pinch of angst if you squint.

DAZAI loves to listen to you ramble. he loves listening to you pour out your mind’s lively ideas to him out loud, whether it’d be something super philosophical that could match even his intellect, or something insignificant like the tv show you were watching last night before you fell asleep, waiting for him to come home. he is fascinated by anything and everything you say—so much, he wants to shroud the part of your body that speaks with love.

Which, of course, applied when Dazai finally returned to you from Meursault, after what had seemed like himself or you trying to cross the infinite sea of time.

You ran towards Dazai, his face clear and unhidden from the full moon’s light. He stood there with the biggest smile on his face, waiting for you to wrap your arms around his neck and envelope his taller figure in your embrace, but oh, he shouldn’t assume and expect loving gestures so quickly.

Instead, he was met with a fist to his chest, a punch with quite some power packed into it. Not enough to actually hurt him, of course, but Dazai would react dramatically either way.

“O-Ow! Bella!? What was that for?”

He looked down at you, catching an emotion as intense as fire in your eyes as you met his concerned, honey-dipped ones back, realizing you were being serious. Your fist was still connected to his upper body, and he stole a quick glance to observe your state—good, she’s been taking care of herself; she hasn’t skipped her meals—before meeting your face once again.

You let him bathe in a few moments of anxious silence before you finally started shouting.

“You didn’t even warn me!”

“I had no idea where you were!”

“Do you know how scared I felt?!”

Dazai continued to stand in place, not backing away when you continued to throw feeble punches at his torso with every frustration you cried out, when tears started to fall from your eyes, and when you stopped boxing him to surrender into his chest but not holding your tongue just yet.

“You’re so stupid and insane for this one, Osamu. Prison?! And you couldn’t even get a telephone to…yknow? Call me? Talk to me? I hate y—”

“Shh.”

Dazai had cupped your face, and before you could speak anymore, he sealed his lips over yours. Immediately, you kissed him back, abandoning all anger toward him by his action.

His eyes were half-lidded as he admired how yours looked in the silver moonlight. Up close, you were encompassed in his signature smell of green tea and a hint of mint, tempting you to keep him close to you even more.

“I…missed you so much, ‘samu” you said in between kisses.

“I’ve missed you even more.” You were lifted off of your feet, legs wrapped around his waist, as Dazai continued to press his mouth onto yours. He meant what he said—he savored the feeling of your warmth on him and the taste of your lips once again after not having it for so long. And robbing you of the same bliss along with it.

“I’m so sorry. I’ll make everything up to you, love,” he whispered as your hands found their way to sift through his soft, brunette hair. “I’ll kiss you as many times as you wish.”

“I’m sure you will even when I don’t wish,” you replied as you both pulled away for air, chuckling. “You’re not sly—we both know you kiss me to shut me up.”

“And I don’t see a problem with it?” he asked, his usual smug smile returning to his face before he gently peppered your forehead next.

“No. No, I don’t either.”

CHUUYA loves to spoil you. the top mafia executive spoils you with gifts, jewelry, accessories, breakfast…lunch…dinner, you name it. he also loves to spoil you with affection. after long days at work, he is always relieved to come home to the one good and comforting person in the world.

“Welcome home, Chuuya!” you greeted as you heard the front door open, the ginger-haired entering the house.

“Whatever you’re making smells delicious, doll,” he responded in a delightful tone, probably the first time he spoke so pleasantly all day.

You smiled. “I just finished making dinner.”

He walked toward you in the kitchen, pulling you into a hug.

“What’s up?” you replied, giggling at embrace as you wrapped your arms around him in return.

“Just missed you, that’s all,” Chuuya replied. “ You’re heaven-sent, yknow.”

You felt touched by his words. “I missed you too, Chuu,” you replied. “And I’m glad you feel that way. You deserve the best, and that’s what I’m trying to be.”

“Doll, you are the best. And you deserve the best,” he responded.

“Like this.” He gently lifted the custom necklace clasped around you. It was his present for one of your anniversaries, brought from some foreign country.

“But you deserve even more than material things.” He moved hair out of your face as he looked into your eyes.

He then moved closer to your face until his lips brushed over yours, and you could feel the warmth of his face.

“Something like this,” he said and then kissed you.

Luxurious as he was, his cologne smelled the same, completely engulfing you in his world. Chuuya showed you just how much you deserved by trailing his hands down to your waist, soothingly adoring every part. Meanwhile, his cerulean eyes gazed into yours, recording how pretty you looked to save in his mind.

“You’re so beautiful, doll.”

He felt you smile against his lips. “And you’re so handsome.” You broke away and then took the hat off of Chuuya’s head.

“You’re like…the person who can pull off the fedora the best.” You placed the hat on your head, his scent even more prominent on that accessory.

“You say that, yet I think I have competition now. Y’look cute with it on too.” Chuuya smiled, approving you with his signature hat.

You placed a kiss on his cheek. “Let’s eat now before the food gets cold.”

RANPO was very high-maintenance. you had to buy him snacks, you had to give him hugs, you had to do anything in the best wishes of the world’s greatest detective or else…he’d whine. and once he started complaining, he would not back down until you gave in. yet, however childish he was, you found him cute and didn’t love ranpo any less for his call of your affection.

“Ranpo! What do you need?”

Your boyfriend had run into the bathroom where you were trying to do your makeup, currently putting lipstick on your face.

“ ‘m really hungry,” he said, obnoxiously staring at you apply the red shade to your lips.

“Hungry? Oh, the snacks are in the pantry. I thought you’d already seen them?”

“No! I don’t want them!”

“Huh?” You paused and immediately turned toward him in utter disbelief that he had just declined his favorite food.

“Are you okay, Ranpo?”

“No!” He was unanticipatedly so loud that you flinched, accidentally running the lipstick off your mouth.

“…You’re not looking for snacks?”

“No!”

“Then what do you want?!”

“You!”

There was an awkward silence, and you noticed Ranpo’s face had gone entirely the shade of your lip as he stood, pouting.

It was apparent he was embarrassed for what he just blurted out. You almost wanted to laugh.

“You could’ve just asked me!” you replied with a chuckle in your voice. “Come here.”

Ranpo trodded toward you, still visibly frustrated.

“What do you want?” you asked.

“Well, first of all, you didn’t kiss me before I left for work this morning!”

You sighed, amused that he was whining so much because of that. And how he would never directly admit what he wanted from you—always making you have to solve puzzles and guess riddles to figure him out.

But it was also incredibly endearing how Ranpo took all your affections toward him to heart, no matter how big or small they were.

“Awh, I’m sorry I missed that,” you replied. “I’ll make that up to you.”

You kissed Ranpo’s cheek, stamping a red signature on the spot. You moved to his other cheek, and then his forehead, and then everywhere in between until he was covered in your smooches.

“Look!” you turned Ranpo toward the mirror for him to see what art you’ve created on him.

“You’re forgetting one place,” he said, turning his face to look at all angles.

“Really? Where?” you asked. He surely didn’t need anymore—his whole face showed proof you touched him everywhere with your lips.

“Here stupid, duuuuh,” he responded, kissing you on the lips. He moved your back to the edge of the sink counter, and then lifted you up to sit on it.

“Hungry, are you?” you giggled as he teased you with his tongue. “I avoided that spot on purpose, stupid.”

“Who are you calling stupid, stupid?” He ran his thumb over the stain your lipstick messed up on. You could feel him smirk.

“You, stupid! It was your fault after all. And look at your face!”

“Sweetheart, if you’re calling me stupid, you are too. One, you’re just stupid, and two, you’re stupid for being with me!”

You pulled back, laughing. “If I must be stupid to be with you, then I guess I’m stupid.”

“There’s a solution! If you call me smart, it’ll make you smart.”

“Fine, Ranpo. You’re the smartest person I know in this world.”

NIKOLAI loves surprising you. he finds your sudden reactions nothing short of adorable. which is why he caught you off-guard so much, so that he could see the cute responses you made, duh? widened eyes, mini jumps, and yelps were a few things he oddly took delight in.

Which is why the jester loves to surprise you with a kiss whenever he greets you. Though, whenever he does, you receive no warning. And you never know whether he wants to give you a simple peck on the lips or a full-on makeout session. It was expected to always be unexpected.

You were walking down the hallway to your room with a basket of clean laundry when you suddenly heard the all-too-familiar cheery, charismatic voice.

“Dove being productive, hm?” he chirped.

You scanned the entire room with your eyes, but you couldn’t see Nikolai anywhere, even though there was nowhere to hide.

“Kolya?”

“Hehe…I think it’s time for a quiz time!! Where am I?

“Am I here?” You heard a swift movement to the right of you, but as you turned, nothing was there.

“Orrr, here?” Now, you felt something brush your left side, but once again, when you turned to look, you were greeted only by Casper.

“How about here?” His voice was suddenly quieter but closer, more intimate.

You felt his frame against your back.

“Kolya!” you jolted in reflex, dropping the laundry basket—not expecting Nikolai to appear right behind you—but then, he surprised you even more by turning your face to the side and crashing his lips into yours.

He was so tall that he could easily lean over you to kiss you from behind your back.

You made a muffled squeal, and in the next moment, Nikolai had you against the wall with your hands above your head.

He stared at you as if nothing else in the world mattered because he already knew the reaction he would get out of you. You felt so shy and vulnerable under his complete gaze, but Nikolai was also mean—he didn’t allow you to move an inch to save face.

He wanted to enjoy the full show.

“H-hey! You can at least blink…” you blurted out when he finally let your face go, though he immediately grabbed you again seconds after.

“Hm? What’d you say, dove?” he asked, kissing you again. Your cheeks were flushed, and your lips were so soft and tasted like candy—how could he not be greedy for more?

“You’re so cute, baby!” he exclaimed when he finally pulled back. You were panting—Nikolai showed no mercy when he wanted you to himself.

But you still smiled in return when he gently bopped you on the nose with his mouth, a stark contrast to what he just did.

“Ah, did I get carried away?” He only then noticed you out of breath. “Sorry, I just missed you so much!”

“It’s alright,” you replied, hugging him, the scent of strawberry cake lingering on his body. “Though, whatever happened to a hi; hello?”

“You’ll never get anything boring from me, dove,” Nikolai giggled. “That’s one thing I’m certain of.”

SIGMA treats you like the most precious thing in the world, a princess. you need your shoes tied? oh, he’s on the floor with the laces. you need to go somewhere? he’s driving you there. you want to visit the sky casino? he would rig all the games so that you’d win every time. sigma is sweet and polite—he would always make sure you are fine with something before going ahead with it.

“How about here? I think this is a nice spot.”

“Okay! Let’s set our stuff here then.”

You and Sigma set down everything you brought for your evening picnic on the hills. The spot he had pointed out was directly in front of the sun setting behind the mountains, its golden glow bathing the earth in the day’s final hour of light.

Once all the food was organized on the blanket, you took out a couple of ribbons from your pocket.

“Do you want me to help you?” Sigma asked as you tried to figure out where to put them in your already-styled hair without a mirror. He noticed your struggle.

“Oh! Sure,” you replied with a shy smile, and immediately after, he was behind you, taking the braids in your hair and tying the ribbons onto those.

“Thank you,” you replied when he was done, and when Sigma stepped back, he smiled in admiration.

“Of course.” He took your hand as you both sat beside each other.

“It’s so pretty here.” You turned to face the mountains, the sun halfway below the horizon. “You were right; this is the perfect spot!”

You looked back at Sigma, but it seemed like he paid no attention to the view at all. His eyes were only on you.

“…Sigma?”

“Y-you look really pretty,” he said, eyes not leaving once you made eye contact with him.

“…Can I kiss you?”

Immediately, you felt your heart melt because your lover was so innocent and lovely. You had been together for months, yet he was still asking for permission to kiss you.

“Of course, Sigma! We’re literally dating, you can kiss me whenever you want.”

“O-okay!” You giggled at his smitten reaction.

You closed your eyes and puckered your lips in a dramatic act of preparation.

It seemed you had been mistaken, though. Because, he had kissed you on the forehead.

“O-Ohh—oops, I thought you meant-”

But then, Sigma’s lips were over yours. His hand that wasn’t holding yours gently guided your face towards his. His touches were all tender, expressing how much he adored you.

You wrapped your own free hand around his neck, pulling him closer. You opened your eyes slightly to take a peek, seeing his own were fluttered closed under such pretty eyelashes, and his expression content, basking in your comfort.

It was as if you and him finally breaking away was the moon’s cue to rise. The sun had set entirely by the time you were done, shades of warm-toned colored clouds left as a trail.

“That was sneaky of you, Sigma,” you laughed, cheeks warm and your head a bit hazy from how everything in the setting was so dreamy. “You tricked me by going for my forehead first.”

“I wasn’t going to kiss you straight-up like that! It was intimidating, you just waiting!”

You laughed some more, seeing his own cheeks tint a light shade of pink. “Come on, let’s eat.”

if u rb this post, i heard that ur fav will kiss u tn! reblogs are cherished; they support me as a creator. <3

© aureatchi 2023. no reposts or translations. do not steal.

[aureatchi]

⚕ ᡣ𐭩 . ° . AND IF THERE WAS A PLACE I HAD TO CHOOSE…IT’D BE IN YOUR ARMS TONIGHT. (bedroom session) ft. dazai, chuuya, fyodor, akutagawa, sigma

— how the bsd men treat you when you’re sick. (& more)

a/n. started writing when i was sick djsjsja. tagging my moots who were under the weather anytime this month <3 to them & anyone else unwell, feel better soon !!

info. fem!reader. fluff. established relationships. light angst & hospital in akutagawa’s. chuuya plays the guitar. you play the piano in fyodor’s. sigma’s a chef. some inspo from RED for dazai & fyodor’s (our hcs!)

DAZAI will cuddle with you anyway, even when you are buried under bundles of blankets. he still thinks you need a little more warmth…and you look just too cute wrapped up in what resembles an igloo to not nuzzle with you! however, don’t be surprised when he blames you for making him sick once you recover, as if it wasn’t his fault.

“A-choo!” Your eyes were watery, you felt too cold for your liking, and it was harder than usual to breathe through your nose. Your sneeze made you sit up in discomfort, and you hastily pulled the covers toward you.

“‘Bella? Are you alright?” Dazai sat up next, meeting your eyes as you turned your face toward him.

He noticed how flushed your cheeks were and how watery your eyes were as you frowned—no, the first thought Dazai had wasn’t Oh no! You’re sick!

“Aw, love! You look so cute!” And he tackled you back down.

“Osamu!” you shouted as he lay practically atop you, squeezing you like a teddy bear.

“‘Samu!” you repeated once more. “You’re going to suffocate me!”

“You feel so cold, though, darling!” His reply was muffled as he buried his face into your neck.

“It’s like you’re trying to get yourself sick!”

He sat the both of you back up.

“H-huh? What’d you mean? Why would anyone willingly get sick?”

“Oh, I’m not sure either!” you exclaimed. “Maybe so you can use it as an excuse to skip wor-“

You sneezed again, interrupting your statement, seeing through Dazai’s plan.

“Bless you ‘bella!” he replied, a bit too excited. “What were you saying?”

“I. Was-” you sneezed again. And then twice. And then thrice.

“Aw, my poor baby!” Dazai spoke in his infantile voice. “Looks like you’re super sick…don’t you worry your pretty head about that. I have a solution.”

“Yes, please,” you responded—as best as you could with him pinching your cheeks—thinking Dazai would finally get up and bring you medicine so you didn’t have to do it yourself. That was, in fact, a terrible assumption.

“You trust me so well you didn’t even wait for me to tell you!”

“Uh-”

He then proceeded to pepper your entire face with kisses.

“Get-well kisses! They work better than medicine, trust me. Because these ones are made from lo-ove~.”

“Osamu!” you shouted. “You’re really going to get sick!”

“Do you really think I care, pretty?” He moved his face so his nose was touching yours. “I’ll tell you a secret. I know why I’d get willingly sick. So that I’ll be taken care of by my favorite girl in the world-“

“You’re so stupid!” you facepalmed. “You see being ill as a reward?”

“Yeah, I’ll make you believe so by the end of the day,” he winked. “I’m not going anywhere.”

…

Thankfully, Dazai did give you medicine to clear your stuffy nose. And then he told you to stay in bed while he would prepare you…breakfast.

“Oh no,” you said, knowing well that you mostly cooked the meals for a reason. Dazai was good at many things, but there were exceptions. He wasn’t the worst cook, but he certainly wasn’t the best.

“Wait, please trust me on this one!” he pleaded before you could get up. “I promise you I won’t burn the house down.”

The brunette was staring at you with dramatic puppy-dog eyes, and you were too tired to object any further.

“You have to make sure it’s edible, too,” you glumly replied.

…

It felt like almost an hour passed. You started to get worried—was he really struggling with cooking you something? You imagined the kitchen would be a chaotic nightmare by now, and it was enough to make you want to check on him.

But the moment you decided to get up, the door opened with Dazai bringing in a bowl of hot soup. Surprisingly, you could smell the aroma—and it was good.

“You really underestimated me, ‘bella?” Dazai smirked as he placed the bowl on a portable bed tray. “Bon appétit!”

“I haven’t even tried it yet,” you smiled back. “It might be the worst soup I’ve ever had.”

It wasn’t bad. You hated to admit it, but it tasted delicious.

“The virus must’ve affected my taste buds, too,” you chuckled. “Because for someone whose forte isn’t cooking, this tastes really good.”

Dazai wiped his head with a phew! “I actually…put in a lot of effort. I wanted to make sure I did it all right for you. Sorry it took so long.”

You wanted to hug him. You found it so adorable that he had really taken his time to make you something.

“Awe, thanks, Osamu,” you responded. “This was really sweet.”

“So…do I get a few kisses and back rubs as a thank you?” he asked.

“Sorry, back rubs? I’m the one sick; you should be the one giving me them!”

…

Dazai ended up giving you the massages in exchange for continuing to cling to you without complaint. You accepted and were defeated at this point—the man really wasn’t going anywhere.

He continued to stay with you until you felt better, and very unsurprisingly he spoiled your recovery celebration by becoming sick himself.

“Heh…” he mumbled as you looked at the thermometer with a frown. Contradicting was Dazai with a large smile, despite just finding out he had a fever.

“Your turn, ‘bella!” he exclaimed. “I already called Kunikida saying I’m going to be out for another week! This almost beats a vacation.”

“Osamu!”

“What? Any time spent with you feels just as amazing. And this is just a result of how well I’ve taken care of you.”

CHUUYA wants to make your recovery as comfortable and entertaining as possible—he doesn’t want his darling feeling mopey the entire time. after all, enjoying something distracts one from the botherations of being sick, right?

You hadn’t done as much as you would’ve liked today. Unfortunately, you were sick, but not to the point where you had to visit a doctor or were stuck in bed. It was an inconvenient gray area, where you were still able to do things but accompanied by the mild symptoms of a cold.

“Nah, doll, you’re just a workaholic.”

Chuuya laughed as you pouted while trying to do your laundry. Just because you were sick didn’t mean you should skip your chores. You would probably still go to work the next day, too—as long as you weren’t dying, you’d be alright.

You sort of felt like you were, though. You were overcome by a haze of debilitation, whether you wanted to admit it or not. But you couldn’t just sit around all day.

“I’m fine though, Chuu,” you replied, but a contradicting sneeze immediately followed.

“Your nose is saying something different,” he replied, handing you a tissue. “If you’re so bored, how ‘bout we do something actually fun? And won’t exhaust the life out of you?”

“Well, what are you thinking?” you asked, curious as you wiped your nose.

…

Chuuya had you sat by the table with a bowl and a box of cornstarch.

“Out of all people, it was Q who showed me this.” You raised an eyebrow. “Don’t worry, baby, it’s not dangerous. It’s weird, but I can’t deny this entrances me.”

Chuuya poured some cornstarch into the container and added a cup of water. “It gets a little messy, but…” he started combining the contents until it became a gooey mixture.

You started giggling. You didn’t know what you were expecting, but it definitely wasn’t the sort of crafts experiment you did as a kid.

“Chuu, this is quicksand. You’ve never made it before?”

His eyes widened in surprise. “Quicksand? Nope. But look—if you play around with it, it becomes solid—isn’t that amazing? But if you let it go-“

“It turns back into liquid, yes,” you replied before you sneezed again.

“It’s so weird! What kinda manipulation is this?

You couldn’t help but laugh at how the Port Mafia executive was captivated by such a simple science project. You watched as he played around with the oobleck.

You realized you could live this day simply as well. You proceeded to make your own cool mixture as well.

“You got some on your face,” Chuuya said a little after you were finished with your venture and were washing your hands.

“Where?” you asked, about to touch your head.

“Right here,” you felt his thumb gently rub your cheek and then move around your neck to tug you closer.

“Just kidding.” He stole a kiss in its place.

…

Chuuya sat down on the edge of the bed with his guitar. It was late afternoon, and you decided for once a very needed nap. But not before your lover entertained you with one more thing.

“I’m gonna give ya a little performance.”

He strung his guitar several times and ensured everything was correctly tuned.

Your widened eyes in curiosity made his heart warm. You were so enamored with everything he did—just as he was utterly obsessed with you.

He started playing a familiar tune. Your favorite song. You immediately smiled despite your oncoming headache.

“One day, I think I’ll write my own song for you,” Chuuya said. “You work so hard, how couldn’t you be the inspiration of a ballad?”

You cherished times like these. Even though you were sick, you had the company of the soft, sweetheart side of the Mafia Executive.

FYODOR is full of surprises, and you falling ill is no exception. unexpectedly, he decides to let go of his schemes and responsibilities for the day, to make sure you’re feeling better.

He could already tell by your unusual exhaustion yesterday evening. You didn’t do anything that required more exertion than usual, and it was too frigid in the year for you to feel so hot.

Fyodor already knew you wouldn’t feel so good when you woke up the following day. Your cheeks were flushed, and your head was pounding. It even ached to sit up. It was the worst combination.

Feverishly, you sneezed. A tissue was immediately placed over your nose.

“Blow, milaya.”

You looked up at Fyodor, who was standing by the bed. His amethyst gaze fell upon you—his usual amalgam of tranquility and complacency looked a bit different today…was there a hint of concern shining through his eyes?

You took the tissue from his hands and blew your nose.

“You’re supposed to be at work, no?”

You tried your hardest not to get sick because of this reason. You would be another hassle on Fyodor’s list of endeavors. You hated the thought of contributing, especially when he was already stressed and occasionally neglected his own needs with what he already had to do.

“You would really expect me to when I had to carry you to bed last night?”

The previous evening was a blur. Sometime after dinner, the weather immediately flew over you, and all your energy just drained out.

“Ah.” You sneezed again into the tissue. “Well, I think I’ll be fine on my own. I know you have a lot on your hands. I can take care of myse-“

“Please believe me. You’re not being a burden,” Fyodor cut you off and directly addressed the point you had been dancing around. His hand found yours and started to massage your fingers. He felt ice cold against you—or perhaps, you were on fire.

“Is your throat sore? I’ll make you some tea.”

…

He didn’t leave you alone for too long. Fyodor returned with a cup of hot ginger tea that you immediately took, desperate for some relief for your throat. Your nose was quickly soothed by the warm, sharp aroma of the ginger as you held the mug close to your mouth.

If there was one thing you learned, there was a type of tea for every occasion. Fyodor had an entire cabinet dedicated to those beverages—all precisely arranged.

“Is it alright?” Fyodor asked as you sipped, the liquid alleviating the soreness in your throat.

“Yes, of course,” you replied. “Maybe after I can try to get up…” your voice trailed off as you struggled even to shift your position.

“What’s wrong?” Fyodor moved beside you again as you frowned.

“I feel really sore. Like I ran a marathon without stretching at all yesterday,” you dryly chuckled, even though that had not been the case at all. Your whole body ached; it felt uncomfortable to move anything, and you felt awfully weak.

Fyodor didn’t respond for a moment, thinking.

“You can still entertain yourself without moving. Do you want to read? I’ll bring you to the living room.”

You curtly nodded your head and picked out one of the many books on the large shelf before Fyodor carried you to the sofa in the next room.

“Stay on my lap,” he said, holding you by your waist when you tried to move away.

“I don’t want you to get sick too,” you replied, confused.

“I won’t, don’t worry. Besides, I’m doing a favor for you.”

He motioned for you to enjoy your book and not pay attention to him. So you did as he said—you flipped to the page you left off on and tried to immerse yourself in the plot.

It got easy to do so and lose track of reality because Fyodor started to massage you—hands moving in circular motions on your shoulders to ease and relax the pain on your joints.

You felt both too hot and cold alone on your bed earlier. But here, in the embrace of your lover, you could see the end of your little tunnel of fever.

“Thank you, Fedya,” you whispered sometime after.

…

He got up to do something on his own a little later, but not before tucking you into the softest blankets you owned on the couch. He admired you for a moment right after—a touch of amusement in his eyes.

“What’s so funny?” you asked with a pout. You felt like you were made into a burrito.

Fyodor had thought the same.

“Milashka,” he simply smiled.

You thought he went away to attend to the business he was able to at home—Fyodor was infamous for being a workaholic after all, but you were surprised once again when amidst your reading, you heard a melody coming from the other room. Rich and resonant, you realized he was practicing his cello.

You placed your book down and freed yourself from the warm blankets before making your way over to the next room, disregarding the dull pain that still accompanied you.

Fyodor didn’t pause as you entered and sat down on the piano’s stool. You opened the cover and placed your fingers on the keys before smoothly joining in with the composition you had secretly been learning while he was away so you could play with him.

He probably suspected it anyway, but you still smiled and felt a little pride as you harmonized with him without error—and while sick.

♬♩♫♪

There was a moment of silence after the final note. You felt at peace. The tune made you sleepy.

Fyodor stepped towards you, and you lifted your head to meet his gaze.

“You played it perfectly, lyubov,” he said before kissing your forehead. “How about a nap now as a reward?”

…

After a glass of water and an adjustment of the heater, Fyodor tucked you back under the covers. He checked your temperature with the back of his palm, and he was appeased to find that your fever had noticeably gone down.

You suddenly giggled, catching Fyodor off guard.

“Why are you giggling?”

“I had an observation,” you chirped. You wanted to tell him it was evident he had been stealing physical affection from you throughout the day and that he wasn’t sly, but alas, exhaustion had overcome you again.

You took his own hand in yours. “Wash your hands after,” you whispered before placing a kiss on his fingertips. “This was nice. I feel better because of you staying.”

AKUTAGAWA feels that the roles have been reversed because it is usually him who is sick, and you helping him get better. however, this time it’s you, and so he wants to repay all the care and love you showed him. for once, not to prove something, but to show proof of your adoration towards him.

You didn’t want Akutagawa to visit you that day. You had sent him a text earlier that you were sick—your pneumonia was so severe that you were admitted to the hospital. He immediately rushed over right after.

You told him he didn’t have to—truthfully, half of your heart didn’t want him to because of his already weakened immune system and his tendency to get sick easily.

Yet he still showed up at your bedside with a “get-better” box and pink tulips, a mask covering half his face.

“Ryu, I appreciate this so much,” you told him, a cough accompanying your statement. “But I promise you don’t need to stay—I don’t want you to get sick too.”

He didn’t respond before striding over to the sink as if he were in his own house, grabbing a vase and filling it with water. You watched him trim your flowers, place them in the container, and then putting it on the counter.

“Ryu…”

“You’re in the hospital. Do you think I could just go about my day like my girlfriend isn’t sick?”

Even though his tone was straightforward, his hand gently brushed away the hair covering your eyes.

He was visibly bothered. He hated seeing you in the hospital gown, lying on the bed. He hated the IV line attached to you and the distant beeps! of your vitals. Akutagawa went through this experience more often than not, and if not painful, it was always irritating and unpleasant.

He would never want you going through this, even once.

“Are you comfortable? Should I move you to one of the VIP rooms?”

“That’s not necessary, thank you though,” you replied. You noticed the exhaustive distress in his argentine eyes.

“I’m going to be okay, Ryu,” you reassured him. “I promise. Just don’t touch me for now.”

Akutagawa nodded. “Are you hungry? Is there anything you’re craving?”

“I want…something sweet,” you bashfully replied. “All the hospital food was savory…they missed a dessert.”

You could see the corners of his mouth slightly lift up—an unlikely smile, especially in a place like this. “No explanations are needed. I’ll be back.”

…

He returned with one of the sweets you always picked up whenever you went grocery shopping and a couple of figs for himself. Akutagawa didn’t like sugary things that much, but this fruit he could eat for days. He indeed ate one a day—you were able to observe how long he would be gone on a mission based on how many figs he brought with him.

Akutagawa had brought two today. Was he planning to stay with you overnight? You knew he hated the hospitals—he would never willingly go to one.

Yet here he was, pulling up a chair by your bedside.

“I brought a book,” he said. “Can I read to you?”

“Of course,” you replied. “I didn’t feel like using the TV here anyway, so nothing’s been entertaining.”

The onyx-haired pulled out a book from his coat.

“Once when I was six years old I saw a magnificent picture in a book, called True Stories from Nature, about the primeval forest,” he started.

When Akutagawa was sick, you often read him children’s stories to combat his restlessness. He was calmed by your voice and fell asleep faster than any over-the-counter medication ever worked.

The first time you had found him in the hospital before you were even in a relationship with him, you introduced him to The Little Prince. At first, he scoffed and turned his back the other way, pretending not to listen. But his furrowed brows relaxed, and his frown lifted as you continued with the story—the theme of the openmindedness of children compared to adults, loneliness, love, and loss all gave him something to think about.

Eventually, the book became a source of comfort and light to Akutagawa, and now he had his own copy.

"‘And now here is my secret, a very simple secret: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.’” By the time Akutagawa had gotten to that part, you had dozed off into a nap.

…

When you finally awoke, the curtains were closed, and the only source of light came from an ambient lamp on the nightstand. And in this night, you also felt a soft pressure on your legs—Akutagawa’s head. He had fallen asleep too, with the book still flipped to a page.

You felt both adoration and woe in your heart. He was sacrificing comfort and possibly his health for you. You desperately felt the need to stroke through his white-tipped raven hair, but you didn’t want to heighten any more chances.

You fell asleep again after minutes of watching your lover’s chest delicately rise and fall, just as he carried his true self without his violent front.

…

Akutagawa stayed until you woke up the following day. He went out to do some errands and then returned with a small gift for you he picked up during the day. That was the routine he followed for the next three days, always content to find you better than the previous day until you were all better.

A nurse came in with a final evaluation and discharged you. You changed into new clothes Akutagawa had brought you before running up and embracing him.

He hugged you back tightly, relieved that you were finally out. He turned to the vase of the pink tulips, which were starting to wither.

“Just in time,” he said.

“The get-well-soon flowers,” you giggled, taking your first good look at them. You loved how he knew of flower symbolism.

“Let’s get out of here,” Akutagawa said, holding out his hand for yours to take. “I despise dwelling in this place any longer.”

SIGMA is worried sick, even though you’re the one sick. how could he not, especially when he isn’t with you? are you feeling alright? drinking enough water? eating well?

“You’re sick?” Sigma asked over the phone.

“Is it my fault? I mean, I was feeling unwell last week, but I got better in a day, so I didn’t think it was that serious…”

“No, it wasn’t; please don’t worry,” you replied. You hated when your lover blamed your problems on himself. “But yeah, it sucks. I even lost my smell! I can’t smell anything.”

“Really?” You sensed his worry through the call.

“Do you need to go to a doctor? I can pick you up and take you there—or I can call the doctor to your house if you’d prefer that-“

“No, it’s okay! It’s not that serious; I’ll be fine in a few days,” you said. “I just wanted to let you know because I won’t be able to see you for a week. But don’t worry about me. I’ll update you.”

“Oh, I see,” Sigma responded. “Alright then.”

Firstly, Sigma was most definitely worried. Secondly, you couldn’t smell? He knew how much you loved the dulcet scents of the desserts he created and the delicate fragrances of your favorite flowers. You must’ve been even a little upset when you realized that sense was gone.

Of course, he wasn’t going to leave you to battle the viruses alone, despite you having just said you didn’t plan to see him until you got better. So, the part lilac, part pearly-haired immediately set out to plan a sweet surprise for you.

…

The next day, Sigma showed up at your front door with a homemade bento box and a few bags of groceries.

“What are you doing here?”

“I at least have to check if you’re eating well.”

One thing that hadn’t changed since meeting Sigma was the butterflies in your stomach feeling. He always showed nothing but ultimate consideration and compassion towards you, treating you like royalty.

“I’m trying,” you replied honestly. “Everything tastes the same. I can’t smell any of it.”

“Maybe it’ll be more appealing if the food looks nice.” With that, he walked to the dining table.

“You haven’t had lunch yet?” You nodded, expectably to him.

“Sit down, love.” He pulled out one of the chairs. You followed him, taking a seat as he prepared your meal—putting a placemat on the table and setting the bento box on top.

You opened the container, and you were revealed with an assortment of the prettiest foods. For the first time this week, you were hungry.

The ones that caught your eye the most were the rice balls decorated to look like chibi versions of you and Sigma. A part of you didn’t want to ruin something so cute.

“What—this is so cute, Sigma! You’re so creative,” you complimented him. “It’s like you cook with magic.”

You noticed Sigma’s cheeks tint a rosy pink. “T-thank you. Go ahead and eat while I prepare your dessert.”

“Dessert?” you asked as you eyed the remaining grocery bags he was holding.

“You’re going to bake here?” You weren’t complaining, but you wondered why he didn’t decide to do it at his place.

“Yeah. That way, it’ll taste the best. Everything tastes the best when it’s freshly baked.”

…

You ended up eating everything. Sigma’s cooking never failed to impress you, even for a previously sated stomach.

“I finished!” you exclaimed, earning a smile from Sigma in the kitchen.

You hadn’t paid attention to what he was making in the meantime. He had put the tray of mystery into the oven a few minutes ago, so you were unable to see what it was.

“It’ll be done in twenty minutes,” Sigma said, walking over to you and taking your hand. “Was it good?”

“Very tasty; I’m full now,” you replied, looking up at him. His ashen eyes shone a gleam of fondness once he made eye contact with you, causing him to fluster again. He was so cute—at times, Sigma still acted like a schoolboy with a crush on you.

“You know your body makes room for dessert,” he noted coyly.

He guided you to stand up, and as you did, a familiar scent softly breezed past you.

The smell of your favorite muffin—and the smell of Sigma’s kitchen. It was faint, but it was there. Your eyes widened in wonder.

“Wait, Sigma—I can smell this!”

Even though it was a bit dramatic, you were cheerful to finally be able to smell any thing after a couple of days. You spun with Sigma around the room in delight. Surrounded by the aroma that made you feel truly at home and the sunrays through the windows, you started to dance together.

“You’re sure you’re okay?” he asked, a bit concerned you were spinning around while feeling unwell.

“Yes,” you reassured him, drawing Sigma into an embrace. “I’m just thrilled right now. I think you’re cooking does have magic.”

…

The muffins were out and looked mouthwatering. Sigma took the first one from the tray and peeled down the wrapper.

“First taste is yours,” he said, taking your palm and placing the pastry in your hand.

“Today, I’ll be Sigma’s food critic,” you joked among the two of you. “He’s baked my favorite muffin—I’m rea-ally picky about this dessert, for your information. So I’m going to be really harsh on this review…”

Catching him off guard, you ate the entire sweet in one bite. You started laughing when Sigma abruptly gasped.

“Mm! That was delicious!” you declared, trying to sound like you were trying this for the first time. However, it contradicted the way you were reaching for a second one. Sigma had made this for you hundreds of times before—there was never one time you refused a muffin from him.

“Eleven out of ten!”

“And so are you,” Sigma added, bopping you on the nose. “If my cuisine does involve magic, then I hope that the food works better than medicine.”

bea’s acoustic songs are always so calming & pretty; in my mind, this is what chuuya plays for me. <3

i saw you said you were sick on the dash this month, i’m glad you’re feeling better by now/feel better soon, this is for you <3 @lovedazai @cheriiyaya @chuuyrr @osaemu @atlasnessie

i heard if you rb, your fav will give you get-well kisses until you feel better !! reblogs are cherished; they are what support me the most <3

© AUREATCHI 2024. no reposts or translations. do not steal. dividers by cafekitsune.

[aureatchi]

⛇₊˚ .࿐₊˚✧ BUBBLES IN MY CHAMPAGNE, LET IT BE SOME JAZZ PLAYIN’ . . .OSAMU DAZAI

⟢ SYNOPSIS. the port-mafia was infamous for throwing glamorous holiday parties every year. not only were you attending this time, but you were also finally going to be introduced as the port-mafia boss’ pretty girlfriend! or…that was the plan.

of course, things never go according to plan.

a/n. merry christmas !! adding onto the xmas dazai fics jdjsjwn <3 this one’s vv chaotic.

info. fem!reader. pm boss!dazai. pm exec!reader. fluff, angst, pinch of sugg. there’s DRAMA. mentions of drinking. lil jealousy. dazai is a 💩. the pm is filthy rich lmao. pazenia is a made up country. wc. 3.4k

“Oh my.”

“How do you like it?”

“It’s beautiful.”

The brunette chuckled as he waltzed towards you. You saw him appear behind you through the sizeable full-body mirror, wrapping his arms around your waist as you finished applying your lipstick.

“It looks even better on you.” Dazai’s fingers wandered playfully, tracing the curves the red dress he gifted you hugged so well. The tailoring was so impressive—the dress could fit noone else but you. And indeed, it was made exclusively for you, for the largest and most luxe corporate event of the year.

It was the Port Mafia Christmas party. Everyone was required to attend, and plus-ones were allowed too, stirring even more chaos into the affair. You were a Port Mafia executive—of course you were going, but the night was going to be unique for another reason.

Tonight, the Port Mafia boss would confirm all the rumors…all the gossip circulating the past few months. He was finally making your relationship with him official in front of everyone.

As if everyone still doesn’t know.

Yet you were nervous. Keeping things an enigma actually worked in your favor—besides suspicious stares with muffled voices and jealous women, you didn’t have to worry about much. Dazai would take care of any problem. After all, you trusted him completely.

But now, everyone would know. You and Dazai had gone through all the downsides—you could become a potential target for any enemies, your name would rise even higher on the wanted list, and you could be stalked by frustrated, jealous men…honestly, you two were almost too hot for your own wellbeing.

Just almost, because “I’ll take care of it all. I’ll make sure nothing ever hurts you, darling.”

He whispered those words into your ear, sensing your anxiousness as you continued to look at your reflections.

“Please don’t worry.”

He did not speak in his usual teasing, playfully amorous voice. The brunette’s face matched the seriousness of the topic you had both gone over multiple times, making sure that the other wanted to still go through with it. You both didn’t want to force the decision of your relationship upon the other—though it was Dazai who had suggested the idea, the choice rested entirely on you. He ensured you knew you could change your mind anytime you wanted.

And Dazai wished you could see that he truly, would go to the ends of universes to make sure you were safe.

You gave him a reassuring smile. “I won’t,” you replied. “I’m only worried about you. I need to be by your side at all times to fight any bad guys that come for you.”

And girls. If you were being honest, you always felt a bit sick thinking about other women wanting him. Maybe this is why your nerves hadn’t backed you out yet…you wanted everyone to know their leader was indeed taken.

Dazai laughed more heartily than he intended to at the comment. He, the now Port Mafia superior commander, known even before as the Demon Prodigy, was being talked to in concern that he needed a sidekick to help him.

Though, he was also the same man whose mind was full of fervor for one girl. You giggled, seeing the apparent blush on Dazai’s face when you fixed his black tie. He was matching with you, of course—his red attire was the ruby scarf.

“Perfect,” you mused when you were done. “Wow, you’re handsome.“

“And you’re ethereal,” Dazai responded, putting on your coat. “Ready to go shock everyone?”

“As if half of the mafia doesn’t already suspect anything between us, Osamu,” you smiled.

“Hmm…you’re right.

“Of course they’d think I’d sought after the prettiest woman in the world.” A coy grin snuck back onto his lips.

…

It was evident your lover had good taste, not only in outfits. He chose to rent out one of the big hotels as the venue for the party—very fitting for the filthy-rich organization.

The first thing you noticed when you stepped out of the limo was the massive Christmas tree in the center of the hall.

“Woah.” There were at least fifty gifts under it already.

You noticed Dazai’s brows suddenly furrow as he, too, inspected the presents.

“Osamu?”

“Bella, remind me who this person is again.”

He picked up a present, showing you a familiar name.

“Oh!” He was the assistant under your wing. You two had worked together for years—you had built up a lot of trust and a friendship to have him in charge of some of your responsibilities.

“I see. Don’t mind that; I forget some of my men sometimes.”

You nodded, though you felt a bit unsure about his response. Regardless, you cast the thought aside.

What you didn’t notice was the way Dazai showed you the package. The present was from your assistant, but the name it was for was entirely covered by the brunette’s hand.

“Well, are you ready to go in?” Dazai asked, holding out a hand towards you.

“Yeah, I’m-”

“Dazai!”

It was Kouyou, another executive. She saw you and greeted you, too.

“My, you’re looking lovely today,” she chirped. “So you and the boss are dating.”

You smiled. “Yes.”

“Well, better tell everyone soon,” she told the both of you. “Dazai, a daughter of a very infamous organization in Europe, is at this party as a plus-one. She wants to discuss a business proposal…‘as soon as possible,’ she said. It’s confidential, too; she only wants you. Do you have a few moments to spare?”

Dazai immediately turned toward you, to which you nodded at him. “It seems important, especially if she’s from Europe.”

“You’re sure?” Dazai asked. You were supposed to walk into the dining hall together to introduce yourselves as the power couple of the evening. “What about…”

“Yeah, the mafia is the priority. I’ll find you soon.” You were an executive, after all. The mafia existed to protect Yokohama City, so work should be an urgency.

“Alright,” he replied. He took another look at you—a singular, amber eye softened once he met your gaze. The other was hidden behind bandages, and so were the emotions of his heart. You couldn’t tell what he was feeling at the moment.

“Let’s go, big sis.” He turned towards Kouyou, who led him out of the room.

Now alone, not counting the guards, you glanced at the presents again, picking up the one Dazai had previously questioned you about.

Oh! Your assistant gave you a present. You found it sweet; your assistant hadn’t gifted you anything until this year. Now Dazai’s reaction made sense—perhaps he had thought you had a secret admirer or something. You giggled at his assumed jealousy.

…

You walked inside the dining hall by yourself, a large crowd already entertaining themselves inside. Everyone who saw you stopped to greet you—their executive, and you wished them a merry Christmas back with a friendly smile.

“Huh? So she’s not dating him?”

You turned your head the slightest, pretending to grab a drink while you instead eavesdropped on two employees you hardly knew. Thank goodness they weren’t the ones going out on missions to spy—they were terrible at not being obvious.

“I’m not sure. But that underground aristocrat from Europe that everyone knows has a crush on the boss showed up to meet him. That huge Christmas tree by the staircases is actually a gift from her.”

“Really?! So…maybe she was the boss’ plus-one? Now that’s wild. Everyone really had me believing he was seeing the executive.”

“Yo!” Your attention was suddenly pulled from their conversation.

“You good? You’re overflowing your cup.” You had poured too much drink, so liquid was running all over the floor.

“Shoot, I think she heard us!” you faintly heard behind you as the employees moved away.

“Oh, yeah. I’m so sorry,” you responded to your assistant who had found you. He handed you a few napkins to clean your hands and dropped a few more to mop the floor with his shoe.

“You didn’t need to help, and thank you,” you said as you cleaned up, too, feeling bad.

“All good! Merry Christmas, by the way. How’s your evening going so far?”

“Good, thank you,” you responded, half-truthful. You needed to find somewhere to process what you had just heard. Even if they were only rumors…they bothered you.

“I saw you got me a gift in the lobby,” you added, recalling earlier. “I was surprised! You haven’t done that before, so I found it so sweet.”

“Oh yeah!” he replied, and you didn’t miss the pink that tinted his cheeks. “Who knows…I may have had a change of heart this year.”

You chuckled innocently. “Well, whatever the reason, thank you! I’m excited to see what you got.”

“Of course. I do hope you like it! Also, your dress. It looks good on you.” His voice sped up at his last comment.

“Oh, uh, thanks-”

That was really awkward. You gave him mercy, though…you hadn’t even told him you were in a relationship. So, you tried to say to him that it was your boyfriend, Dazai, who had the dress made for you, but you were cut off.

Dazai had finally entered the room, but he was accompanied by that noblewoman everyone was speaking about.

Wow, she was gorgeous. Her hair was in a perfect blowout, and she wore an emerald green dress that fit her like a glove.

And with each step Dazai and this new woman took into the hall to be regarded by everyone, your heart sank a bit more into your stomach.

What??

“You don’t look so well. Are you okay?” Your assistant paid no mind to the mafia boss’ new commotion. He was wholly concerned for you.

“Yeah. This drink tastes weird, but I can’t put my finger on what.” Yet, you took another sip. What was going on? You had never doubted Dazai’s love or loyalty toward you. Had you been so blind by your own to miss this?

Dazai didn’t even bother trying to search for you. And the way the lady’s arm touchingly clung around his infuriated you.

“He was seeing some foreign princess all along?”

“The boss always has to cause a scene with something new.”

“They’re kind of hot together, though.”

Now you really wanted to puke. You stared until the noblewoman’s eyes finally caught yours and dwelt on your figure briefly before turning toward Dazai and asking him something.

Dazai’s lips read, “Okay!” before a guard approached you.

“The boss is summoning all the executives to him,” he whispered in your ear, and you nodded, strolling over to him.

Fuck. You wanted to cry. Your heart was beating out of your chest.

You felt a bit better when the other executives—Kouyou and Chuuya showed up before you.

“Miss, these are the Port Mafia’s three executives.” He introduced you individually, not meeting your eye when he went to you.

You wanted to leave. There was no point in being here anymore. What you thought would be a cheery Christmas Eve turned out to be the worst night ever. It couldn’t have gotten any worse…

“And this is the Lady of Pazenia,” Dazai said, introducing the woman. “Our most important foreign guest tonight.”

“So, uh? I’m kinda confused,” Chuuya commented. “Mackerel boss, ya dating her or something?” He glanced at Dazai, the girl on him, and then you.

She responded for him. “We’re getting acquainted tonight, that’s all,” she replied smugly. Dazai chuckled. “Yes…we’ve communicated online a few times, but this is the first time we’re meeting face to face.”

What the fuck.

“Oh, uh, okay.” For once, Chuuya didn’t pester, didn’t tease anymore. Because he was just as startled as you. He, too, suspected that you were dating the boss.

“I’m sorry, will you please excuse me? It was nice meeting you, m’lady; I hope you enjoy your Christmas with the boss.” You didn’t even wait for a reply. You stormed off in the direction of your assistant. You were going to ask him to drive you home, and then you’d pack your things and then stay at a friend’s house for a few days to figure out what to do next.

Everything was crashing down like an avalanche.

But before you could get to him, the bastard’s subordinate stopped you.

“Akutagawa? Hi, Merry Christmas. Sorry, I’m in a rush-”

“Merry Christmas, miss,” he responded, moving in front of you again when you tried to shift over. “Aren’t you going to rescue the boss? Has your emotion clouded your rationality so much you can’t see things clearly anymore?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

You turned back towards the scene, and yeah—what you saw was your final straw. Akutagawa misjudged. Not even a glimmer of hope remained in you.

Somehow, they had ended up at the corner of the room. And lo and behold, Dazai and the Lady of Pazenia had ended up under the mistletoe, and many of the upper ranks surrounded them. There was even a Paparazzi.

You tried to push past Akutagawa, but he stopped you.

“Watch.”

Why? Did Dazai place him there to make sure you suffered through it all? This was so cruel. Tears welled up in your eyes as the room went quiet to watch.

“Oh! Silly me…how did I manage to get here?”

“I’m not sure…” the woman replied flirtatiously. “But you can’t break a tradition, boss of the Port Mafia.”

“I guess I can’t,” Dazai replied, leaning in. “But, can we make a deal, Miss?

“You can kiss me, but tell me where the real Lady of Pazenia is. The exact coordinates where you’re keeping her hostage. If there’s anyone kept in place to secure or torture her.”

And the crowd suddenly gasped. She did, too, and a hand flew to her mouth.

“Shit!”

About ten guards ran towards her, restraining her before she could do anything. Dazai calmly backed away, continuing to explain.

“The business proposal was crafty and would’ve led to our doom quite quickly. You’re trying to overthrow your own government. So, you devised a cover-up to get the mafia to help you, with a deal to help us on our end, but just like your original goal, you want our city’s government to fall into anarchy, too.

“An underground noblewoman. You are exactly that—quite literally.” Dazai sighed. “No, I’m not in a relationship with her, I…”

Dazai finally met your eye, and his heart immediately sunk seeing you cry.

“Oh my gosh,” he whispered, and he ran towards you, tightly embracing you.

You wanted to punch him, throw him away—something, but you were surrounded by half the corporate. There was already enough scandal tonight, you didn’t need to add any more.

“Hah, it’s okay,” you responded audibly, hastily wiping tears. “You’re a great actor, Osamu, really got me believing you were cheating on me for a second.” Words spurred out of your mouth—you hoped you wouldn’t regret it later.

Dazai’s grip on you tightened to silently show you gratitude before he turned to your audience. “Now that the problem is out of the way—Merry Christmas to you all.” A waiter handed him a glass of champagne, who had also gone around with multiple others to hand out drinks to everyone.

“And a special Merry Christmas to my girlfriend, right here.” He gave you a kind smile, and you tried your best to reciprocate your own. There were “awe”’s and “that’s so cute”’s about.

Dazai held his glass up towards everyone else’s before toasting with yours.

…

You stayed away from Dazai for the next hour. He respected your space for that long—in the meantime, you acted fine. You conversed with others, you laughed. Your assistant apologized for his comment on you earlier—“I was completely oblivious to you and the boss! I’m so sorry; I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable.” You laughed it off, telling him it was okay.

“Hey, bella.”

Dazai had finally found you alone. You looked at him, facing the inevitable.

“I’m getting tired. Wanna sneak away with me?”

You hesitated. “Where would we go?”

“The drinks suck here, besides that champagne. I know Chuuya was definitely not in charge of this part.”

You had to agree with that one. You couldn’t even finish the glass you overfilled earlier.

…

Bar Lupin was surprisingly empty that night. The bar was Dazai’s safe place, his getaway. You were constantly reminded of his genuine, complete trust in you whenever he took you here.

“I’m sorry,” Dazai apologized as you waited for your drinks. “What I did was brutal.”

“It really fucking hurt,” you said, finally able to release your true feelings now that nobody else was around.

“I had to keep up the act to expose her. Her vulnerability was that…she had a crush on me? So, the most rapid way to gain her trust was to make her believe she had a chance. She didn’t know I was seeing someone.”

“You take acting too seriously. You’re the Port Mafia boss, not some goddamn movie actor. You couldn’t even…make eye contact with me? Give me a reassuring look or something?”

“You’re right. That’s no excuse.” He took a breath. He had actually messed something up. He could predict and do everything else flawlessly until it came to the people he loved.

He always screwed it up.

“I set aside our relationship for a mission. I’m really sorry, love. And I understand if it takes awhile for you to think through it all. The only thing I ask is for forgiveness.”

“I dunno…it kind of seems like you enjoyed it…”

That was a lie. You were just saying things out of spite now. You had rethought the previous events after recalling what Akutagawa had harshly told you without context—rescue the boss? Yeah, Dazai clearly didn’t enjoy it. He never touched the woman back in any way, and his word choice was very cautious. Except one line.

“Us communicating online? Yeah, I knew she’d just go along with it. I had to say that so Chuuya would stop pushing and blow my cover. Besides, you literally have my email login, darling. You see everything.”

“I really hate you sometimes, Osamu, you know?” you muttered as the bartender finally handed you two your drinks. You took a thirsty sip out of yours. You couldn’t even stay mad anymore.

“Is that your way of saying you forgive me?” he chuckled, knowing the mood was lightening.

“No. You’re just too…attractive. Like, why are you so hot? All the girls want you…I was actually quite relieved when you asked me if we should make things official so everyone could finally know that we belong to each other…”

Hah, if only you knew.

“You don’t assume I think the same? You almost pissed me off by hanging around your little assistant, too, belladonna. He clearly fancies you.”

You gulped, remembering his earlier compliment. “Don’t do anything to him—he didn’t know. He does now.”

“He better,” he simply replied. “And everyone else. There’s no excuse now—you’re the Port Mafia boss’ girlfriend.”

You felt like there were butterflies in your stomach. The protectiveness was attractive. You pulled on Dazai’s tie, reeling the rest of him towards you.

“And you’re my boyfriend,” you smiled.

To everyone else, Dazai was known as evil, suicidal, murderer, demon, saint. But to you, he was simply Osamu. Your boyfriend. And perhaps that’s what he loved most of all. Across universes, you would not fail him—not even Odasaku succeeded so highly.

“Are you going to kiss me, bella?” Dazai asked, the signature smile back on his face.

“No,” you teased, pushing him back. “I’m still mad at you. Nothing went according to plan.”

“Nothing did,” the brunette replied. “But isn’t that what’s so exciting about life? Life is unexpected, yet some good things can come out of it, such as…”

He revealed a piece of mistletoe in his hand, holding it above you two.

“Even if you’re mad, you can’t break a tradition,” Dazai spoke, swinging the plant back and forth.

You sighed before you both leaned in to kiss each other. Dazai pulled you onto his lap, and you kissed him even more feverishly. Your hands ran through his hair until the bandage around his head finally came undone, unveiling the rest of his pretty face.

You focused on his dilated, honey-colored eyes. Finally, they revealed what he was feeling. Comfort in having you in his arms again. In your warmth.

Everything felt too intense after that. He had started making out with you again, his hands were wandering you curiously, the dim lighting, the jazz instrumental, how tipsy you felt from the drinks…

“Let’s just go home.”

…

You were swaddled in Dazai’s arms under the bed's covers at home. So sleepy. Dazai promised that the next day would treat the both of you better—a peaceful Christmas gift.

“Let’s stop doing such large parties,” you said, looking up at the ceiling. “It just calls for trouble, to be honest.”

“Yeah…we’ll have a small houseparty next time. Everyone else can do what they want.”

You were gently kissed on the forehead before the brunette softly whispered to you. “Merry Christmas, belladonna. I love you.”

“I love you too, Osamu.”

dazai told me he’d kiss u if u rb this. rbs are cherished; they are ur christmas gift to me! <3

tags: @kissesmellow21 @osaemu @ruanais + @lovedazai @chuuyrr @anqelically (i think u guys would like this <3)

© AUREATCHI 2023. no reposts or translations. do not steal. support banner + animated divider by cafekitsune. heart lights divider by benkeibear. manga header made by me - DO NOT save/use.

[aureatchi]

⛇₊˚ʚ₊˚✧ SATORU SAYS: YOU’RE ON THE NICE LIST ! . . .SATORU GOJO

synopsis. you wake up to see your snow white-haired boyfriend dressed up as santa. and even better…he decides to act like him! for the entire day, gojo will give you whatever you wish for.

info. fem!reader. fluff it’s so fluffy, crack? established relationship. just gojo spoiling u tbh. kissing. he makes a dirty joke. wc. 1.2k

There were good and bad mornings. This morning would be a best morning. Sun rays overshadowing nimbostratus clouds that snowed the night previously peeked through the windows. Though the room was cold, your soft blankets were warm. You stirred in bed, tossing once until your arm subconsciously found and clung around a broad shoulder. The corners of your mouth tugged upwards in satisfaction, and you finally opened your eyes. Everything seemed so ideal, when…

“Uh…”

“Morning, baby.”

Satoru couldn’t tell if the way you looked at him right then was stomach-clenching hilarious or adorable. Regardless, he wanted your reaction framed. Your half-asleep self suddenly shook awake, jolting a few centimeters back in shock. Your eyes were wide open as you registered the sight before you.

“What the hell, Satoru?!”

“Those kids didn’t call me Santa for nothin’.”

You immediately shook your head on your palm. This idiot had actually let those thoughts get to his head. It had been a few days since you and your lover were taking a stroll in the park, where the surroundings matched the color of his hair, when a couple of boys suddenly came up to you two.

“Are ya Santa?” one of them asked.

“Look at his hair!” the other one exclaimed. “Did you shave your beard?”

“And you’re Santa’s girlfriend?” the first one turned toward you. You hesitated, but Gojo swiftly picked up for you, playing into the idea as he always does.

And now, he had actually done it. He was lying on the bed beside you, dressed as the real thing. With the beard, too.

It was your turn to laugh as you took in his entire costume. Though he actually…looked good. You weren’t sure how someone could pull that off, but he was yours, so there were no complaints.

“So, what’s the whole point of this?” you asked. “Are you just going to wear that around all day or?”

“Well, yeah,” Satoru replied. “But also, I’m literally Santa.”

“I see that, yes…”

“So that means, today, I’ll give you whatever you wish for! Because…” he pulled out his phone and opened his notes app before showing it to you.

The title was SATORU’S NICE LIST.

And under it was singularly your name.

“…It seems like my pretty girl is on the nice list!” Satoru winked. You could almost chuckle…this was actually really creative. And you kind of liked it.

“So, what does my sweetheart want first? Don’t be shy.”

“Uh…” you stopped to think. In that moment, everything you’ve ever wanted disappeared from your head.

“I can give you some ideas. I can wake you up real good with some mindblowing hea-”

“No!” you choked, flushed. “…Not right now, anyway. I’m kind of hungry…”

“What do you want, dear? Chef Satoru is right here.”

…

“This is so delicious,” you complimented as you and Gojo had your favorite breakfast and coffee. You always loved it when he cooked this particular dish.

“I’m glad you like it,” he replied. He had barely touched his food and had instead been watching you fondly. “We’re going to the mall next, so get ready when you’re finished eating.”

He smiled at the way your eyes lit up in excitement. “Okay!” you responded eagerly.

“What about you, though? Are you actually going out in that?” You pointed out his bright red costume once again, which stood out from his black apron.

“Duhh,” Satoru replied. “Why wouldn’t I? It’s comfy and warm, too.”

“Just take off the beard,” you said.

“But that’s the best part!”

“…Everyone’s going to mistake you as a mall Santa!” Honestly, he would probably like that. He would indulge in all the photo taking and signatures.

“Well, whatever my baby wants…” the Santa in disguise finally said in a sulky tone, taking off the white beard.

…

“Get whatever you want, pretty,” Gojo had told you when you guys walked into the mall. “I was going to give a budget…just so I wouldn’t go broke, but you look so beautiful today that I don’t think I can.”

You gave him a kiss on his cheek shortly after. “You don’t have to worry about me breaking the bank,” you laughed. “Because there’s only so much the two of us can carry back home!”

“I’m afraid I’ve alleviated that problem, too,” Satoru chuckled back before looking at his watch. “They should be arriving just about now…”

Looking down the plaza, you saw two familiar faces scurrying towards the two of you.

“Megumi? Yūji?”

Followed behind them more gracefully came Nobara, who already had a couple shopping bags of her own.

“Of course, Santa can’t work without his elves!” Satoru smirked, hugging both Megumi and Yūji, who were confused as to why their teacher had invited them on his date with you and was dressed up as Santa Claus.

“I’m sorry, what?” asked Megumi.

…

You (and Nobara) shopped for hours with a lunch break in between until you were exhausted, Yūji and Megumi taking your bags. Gojo’s plan had sort of worked counterintuitively because you didn’t want to make the boys suffer so much, so you didn’t break the bank in the end. All the attention was on you guys—the amount of gifts, the receipts, the white-haired man with a girlfriend…

After your purchases, you all got hot chocolate before all your things were loaded into the back of your car.

“Merry Christmas [name]-san!” the three students said in unison to you before leaving.

“Merry Christmas, thank you for helping me!” you responded.

…

“You look tired,” Satoru said as he drove, one hand on the wheel, the other in your grasp. It was already dark outside—the sun set so early nowadays.

“Shopping’s exhausting,” you yawned, playing with his fingers. “I want to go to one more place, though.”

“Wherever you want.”

“Let’s go to the beach.”

You were glad you had used one of your warmer coats today because the freezing ocean and breeze always made the beach feel so cold in the winter.

Yet the seaside looked so pretty in the evening, and you knew that though there were good and bad nights, you wanted this to be a best night. You walked through the sand, arms clinging onto Satoru to stay warm, admiring the sound of the waves and the stars that revealed themselves in the skies.

“I loved today so much, thank you,” you whispered to Satoru, even though nobody else was around. “Five stars for Santa—you checked off almost everything on my Christmas list.”

“Oh?” he asked. “What did I miss?”

“Hmm…” you replied and then looked at him.

“I haven’t gotten a kiss from you yet.”

“Of course, baby, how could I forget?” Satoru replied, tucking strands of hair misplaced by the wind behind your ears.

With the sun no longer in the sky, the ocean appeared deep and dark, but its cerulean color seemed to be replaced in your lover’s azure gaze, so full of awe for you.

Satoru kissed you gleefully, lips soft and tasting like that one sweet peppermint chapstick you loved. He paid no mind as his Santa hat slipped off, releasing the rest of his snowy hair.

“Merry Christmas, baby,” Satoru said. “I choose to give the presents because why would I need anything myself? When I already have the best present of all—you, love.”

i heard gojo puts u on the nice list if u rb. rbs are cherished; they are ur christmas gift to me! &lt;3

i hope this wasn’t too ooc! it’s my first time writing 4 gojo ‘n i haven’t acc finished jjk (i’ll b [re]watching everything soon dw lol)

tags: @kissesmellow21 @osaemu

© AUREATCHI 2023. no reposts or translations. do not steal. support banner + animated divider by cafekitsune. heart lights divider by benkeibear. manga header made by me - DO NOT save/use.

[aureatchi]

⛇₊˚ʚ₊˚✧ SANTA TELL ME IF HE REALLY CARES ft. dazai, chuuya, ranpo, fyodor, nikolai, sigma

the pm is hosting a christmas party for yokohama! everyone is encouraged to bring a gift for the people they love…so what do the bsd men get you?

info. fem!reader. sm fluff. profanities from chuuya ofc LOL, them trying to outdo each other for you. pm hq has a rooftop floor here. implied reader is in the ada. wc. 3.1k

You walked inside the lavish lobby of the port mafia headquarters to be greeted by DAZAI, who immediately embraced you in his arms.

“Bella! You made it!” he exclaimed, pulling you in. You could feel the heat of his body warming you up, relieving you of the chilly weather outside.

“Of course, Osamu,” you giggled. “Wouldn’t want to miss something super special as this.”

Still trapping you in his hug, he led you down the hallway, one hand moving to playfully pat your head. Security guards parted to let the two of you through, entering the room where everyone was.

“So many people!” you exclaimed when you entered the headquarters’ formal dining hall decorated in Christmas festivities. Everyone was either chatting about or gathering by a table to get sweet desserts or hot chocolate.

“Want some hot chocolate to warm up, angel?” Dazai asked, looking towards the line.

“No thanks,” you replied. “You’ve warmed my heart up already.”

He gave you a smug smile in response, but you didn’t miss the light pink that also flushed his cheeks.

“Come over here.”

You followed Dazai as he made his way to a different table filled with wrapped presents and bags alike.

Dazai took one of them—the gift bag in your favorite color and handed it to you.

“For the gift exchange,” he smiled. “Merry Christmas, bella. I hope you like it.”

Your eyes lit up in joy, grateful and excited to see what he had gotten you. “Thank you!”

The first thing you pulled out of the bag was a custom heart pendant in your preferred metal—Dazai knew whether you liked silver or gold better. When you unclasped the locket, you saw matching pictures of you and Dazai inside, both bundled up in the snow. It was a good memory to look back at.

“This is so cute, Osamu.” You closed the locket and let the brunette place the jewelry around your neck.

“It looks even better on you.”

The second thing inside the bag was a box. Pulling it out, you saw that it was a Lego flower set.

“As much as you love flowers, they don’t last forever. However, these do!” You grinned widely at the thought and matching gift—Dazai always easily recalled your favorite things.

“We can build them together, too,” he continued, and you gave him a kiss on the cheek. “I love them. You’re amazing at getting gifts.”

“I wouldn’t expect that at all.” Your attention was brought to the ginger-haired who had his arms crossed beside the both of you, a cheeky grin on his face. CHUUYA had a mug of eggnog in his hand, though you knew for sure he’d rather have a glass of red wine reserved for the evening party instead.

“Chuuya!”

“What’s up, doll?” he smiled, a different, sweeter tone entirely, as he strode towards you.

“What do you mean by that?” Dazai asked, referring to Chuuya’s earlier comment.

“Thought your taste in gifts would be shitty, just like you,” he chuckled as you greeted him with a hug.

“Hey, that’s a bit rude,” you whispered.

“Oh really?” Dazai responded with his own sarcastic laugh. “I’m not sure you could do any better.”

“You really underestimate me! Come with me, baby…we’re going to prove to the-thing-that-comes-with-the-discounted-bandages who really knows what to get a lady for Christmas!”

Dazai stood, jaw dropped, dramatically offended as Chuuya pulled you away.

You two walked to the other side of the room, where there were even more gifts under one of the many Christmas trees in the hall.

“Bastard,” Chuuya sulked under a scowl, picking up a box wrapped in crimson red, his statement color.

You chuckled in amusement. He riled up so easily, over something so trivial. “Don’t worry about him, Chuu. I already know I’m going to like what you got.”

“Ya better,” he replied, but cheered up from your words. “Are you able to hold it?”

He handed you the box, hovering his arms below for support in case you dropped it. Though it was a larger package, it was still a bit heavier than you expected.

“Yeah, I got it.” You then raised an eyebrow. What could be inside this gift?

You set it down on the nearest table, undoing the pretty bow of ribbon and wrapping paper that kept the mystery intact.

Inside, you were received with a record player.

“Oh, wow!”

You loved music, and you’d always wanted to start collecting vinyls as it looked cool, but everyone knew it was an expensive hobby.

Not only had Chuuya gotten that—a very nice one, too—he also got the records of your top ten favorite albums.

You looked through the covers, smiling with each new one you saw.

Chuuya explained a few things—how he was setting you up for good because he made sure you got a turntable player instead of a suitcase one, how you should replace the black slip mat with the white one he bought instead so your vinyls look prettier, how to not damage the records…you could hardly pay attention to him though because you were overjoyed at how thoughtful he was for that.

“You seem passionate. Do you collect them too?” you asked.

“No, I just wanted to research to find something good enough for you.”

You could feel your heart melt. He had really spent time picking this out after you’d only mentioned you finding record players vintage and cool twice, and you’d never even pointed out you’d want it as a gift.

“Thank you, Chuuya,” you said, leaning towards him, burying your face in his neck. “I love it…especially how you recall my favorite albums, too.”

“Of course doll,” he replied, running his hands through your hair. “Merry Christmas.”

You could’ve stayed like that, but your little moment with the port mafia executive was ruined when Chuuya glanced over at one of the snack tables to find all the food had just disappeared.

“Now what the fuck?”

You followed, looking at what he was looking at. Then, you realized the man standing by the table with a piece of cake—the last piece of cake.

RANPO caught your gaze and jumped, hyper from all the sugar he consumed. “There you are!” He ran towards you and shoved you on the ground, away from Chuuya.

“Hey man, what the hell is wrong with you?!” he shouted in annoyance.

Ranpo acknowledged the ginger-haired only then, looking up from where he had you suffocating in his arms. “Huh? Oh, sorry, didn’t see ya there.”

Chuuya grew even more infuriated at the provoke.

“You tryna pick a fight?”

“You still want to after knowing how last time turned out?”

Ranpo was referring to their last encounter, where Chuuya had embarrassingly lost against him from a single blow. But you didn’t need to know that.

So, Chuuya used all his willpower to keep silent under an outraged glare as he watched Ranpo drag you away to make sure he didn’t bring up any details about it.

“I got you a gift too!” Ranpo exclaimed as you walked back towards where the other agency members were hanging out. “Wanna guess what it is?”

“Hm…some sort of treat, that’s for sure,” you replied.

“Partly correct!” he replied. “That’s not all that I got you though.”

“Oh? How generous!”

“No!” his response was stern. “A princess like you deserves more…as the world’s greatest detective, noone would know that better than me.”

You smiled. “You’re right, Ranpo.”

With that, he handed you one of the cutest gift baskets you’ve seen. The actual basket was snowman-themed, and inside was everything you wanted that could fit in it—that pajama set you had in your online shopping cart, the new skincare products you’ve wanted to try, your favorite candle—you hadn’t even ever mentioned it to him before. And, of course, a lot of chocolate. Of course, Ranpo would also be the best gift-buyer, using his knowledge to his advantage.

The one thing that really stood out to you, though, was a jar of Hershey kisses, with a note on it that said:

KISSES WHEN I’M NOT AROUND.

It even had a chibi-fied face of the cute brunette on it.

“This is my favorite thing in this gift,” you said.

“Of course, because I know you always miss me when I’m not there to kiss,” Ranpo confidently stated. “Which is why I came up with a solution! They’ll never be as sweet as me, but it works.”

You laughed in delight. It was a very creative idea. “This is amazing; thank you, Ranpo!”

Never knowing how to respond to thankfulness directly, he answered it with something else. “Hey, there’s something on your nose.”

“Really?” You moved a hand to feel what was on there, but Ranpo grabbed your wrist to prevent you. Instead, he bopped your nose with his lips.

“There was frosting,” he said, probably from when he excitedly greeted you earlier.

“You enjoyed those desserts, huh?” you asked, glancing at the depleted table once again.

“Yup! It was just lying there, and noone said anything about how much you could take, so…!” He paused, trying to remember something.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

…

You chatted with agency and port mafia members alike a while after. Everyone was having a good time, even when Chuuya started bickering with Dazai and challenged him to a duel.

“Shithead!

“Mackerel!”

“How about you talk once you grow another two inches?”

As everyone was being entertained by Chuuya breaking an entire wall by throwing Dazai through it, your eyes were distracted by an elaborate bouquet of roses and baby breaths that you hadn’t noticed before.

Curious because it wasn’t by any other gifts, you left the crowd to inspect it.

You were surprised when you picked the arrangement up and saw that it was addressed to your name on a note. However, there was no name to say who it was from.

You looked around to see if anyone was nearby that could’ve placed the flowers there. But everyone else was watching the fight.

You flipped the note over, seeing a sketch of an elevator and a four-number code on the back.

An elevator?

You scanned the hall once again. The only elevator there was the one at the corner, restricted to the port mafia. The guests weren’t allowed to use it, and a security pad was guarding it.

You hesitated but then decided to approach the door. If someone gave you the code they wanted and were permitting you to use it, right?

Once again, no one protested because they were all distracted watching Chuuya on the ceiling, making sure Dazai couldn’t touch him. You pressed the four numbers into the pinpad and were congratulated with a correct ding! sound and the elevator sliding open.

You stepped inside and realized there was only one button—to go up. You pressed it, and the doors closed, moving you up.

Luxurious as always, the elevator had a glass window, the entire city of Yokohama coming into view as you went higher. A few seconds in, you realized that the elevator wasn’t going to stop until you reached the top.

You still weren’t sure who had mysteriously invited you to meet them. You hoped it wasn’t the boss—the doctor in charge creeped you out, if you were being honest. But you figured it couldn’t be him because he was also downstairs, chilling with the agency’s president.

Your heartbeat raced as the elevator stopped and the doors slid open, adrenaline surging in anticipation of the surprise, coupling with the chilly breeze outside. You had reached the rooftop.

“You’re so easy to tempt; those flowers drew you in faster than a blind mouse to a piece of cheese laid in a trap.”

You smiled as you heard the foreign accent of the person near the edge riddle you while admiring the entire city below. “Hi, Fedya.”

FYODOR turned around, violet eyes meeting yours.

“I should’ve known.” Of course, the enigma was him—conundra was the Russian’s signature.

“How in the world did you even get here?” you asked, though you already knew the answer. He always had his ways to infiltrate anywhere—through deception, through hacking, anything goes.

“I invited ourselves,” he smirked, and only then did you notice his two subordinates on the other side, one in fear as the other tried to trip him over the ledge. “Didn’t want to miss out on the gift-giving either.”

Fyodor took out a jewelry box. “I hardly get to see you. So I thought to get you something that you could wear everyday.

“And this one is special, to remind you of my presence even more.” He opened it, revealing a bracelet, and like Dazai, he also knew what color jewelry suited you best. It was nothing too showy—it was simple, but it was classy, timeless, just like him.

And you noticed what made it special. There was no clasp. It was made to be welded on the person’s wrist—a forever bracelet.

“Choose wisely,” Fyodor said as you looked in awe. “Which wrist, milaya?”

You quickly contemplated and held out one of your wrists towards him as he took out tweezers and a small laser. You watched as he delicately fastened the bracelet around your arm, making sure it sat on your wrist perfectly.

“Finished, fine with it?” he asked when he was done, and you lifted your hand toward the horizon.

“It’s perfect, thank you,” you responded candidly. Then, Fyodor lifted up his own sleeve under his coat, revealing a matching one. You were almost stunned, because you didn’t think he would be the type to wear anything other than a necklace.

“Merry Christmas, dorogaya,” he softly said, pressing you against his chest in a hug.

“WAIT, WAIT! Dove, there’s still me! Don’t seal away your heart just yet!”

“Huh?” You both turned towards NIKOLAI, who kindly but quickly moved Fyodor away from you.

The next thing you knew, there were foil snowman and reindeer balloons in your hand, white confetti popped over you, acting as snow, and the jester standing in front of you presenting a large gift.

“To be honest, I’m scared,” you admitted, knowing his chaotic, playful nature.

“Why?” he giggled. “Think I’m going to scare ya, baby? You can take my word, there’s no jumpscares in this one.”

“You better not be lying,” you said and removed the lid of the black box that reminded you of a magician’s top hat.

And he was being truthful because you were greeted with the exact opposite of remarkable. He had gifted you plain, white socks.

“Wow, Kolya. I never even knew you were capable of being mundane.”

He laughed once again as he just set the box in front of you, not saying anything more as you stared at him in confusion.

You took the socks out. Surely, there was a catch. He was acting too suspicious. And the entire gift was odd. You found nothing tampered with on the socks, though. And there was nothing else in the box. So why was it so big? And why did it look deeper than where the bottom stopped?

You nervously looked at Nikolai before sticking both hands in. You felt your way around the level until you realized the entire package floor felt like paper machete, something used in piñatas and things like that.

By instinct, you lifted a fist and punched through the box. You immediately punctured through the false bottom, uncovering your true gift.

He celebrated. “Smart girl!”

There was an assortment of plushies—many of them. You always asked Nikolai to help you get some whenever you found claw machines at amusement parks, so he knew you loved stuffed animals.

Then, there was a large, fluffy throw blanket, perfect for winter.

“I got that because I know you’re probably so cold when I’m not hugging you.” True. Nikolai encapsulated you like a blanket whenever he came over.

“The thought of having this didn’t even cross my mind,” you said. “Well, that goes for everything you do,” you chuckled.

“That was really creative; I love it, thank you!”

Nikolai popped more confetti, this time in pink hearts. “She loves it! Happy, happy Christmas!”

He swung you off the ground, spinning you with ease until your own head started spinning the opposite way.

“Gogol! I think she’s dizzy!”

The two-tone-haired casino owner had a concerned look on his face, and you couldn’t tell if it was because your eyes were unfocusing or because Nikolai was throwing you around so easily. Strong guy.

Nikolai stopped, realizing he had gotten too excited. “Sorry, dove! Are you alright?”

“Y-yeah,” you responded, unable to keep your balance as you tripped over yourself. You landed on SIGMA’s torso, and he helped guide you to stand up properly again.

“Thanks, Sigma,” you replied. “How are you?”

“Good, now that I get to see you again.” He lightly blushed, breaking eye contact as you smiled. “I’m glad to see you too.”

“I got you something as well,” he replied, showing his own present. “I’m not sure what the people downstairs got you, and mine isn’t as fancy as Dostoevsky’s nor as extraordinary as Gogol’s, but I hope you like it.”

You felt warm, even in the icy weather. “Awh, just hearing that you got something for me is more than enough,” you replied. “I am so grateful no matter what.”

You took the present and opened it, first greeted by a new set of poker cards. However, this one was different because when you sifted through them, you realized it was the Decay of Angel’s custom set. You had been wowed by Nikolai’s Joker and Fyodor’s Jack when you first saw them, always using the set when you played a game with others.

But there was also a new addition to this stack. You were on it, taking your place as the queen.

“What? Sigma, this is so cool!”

There was one more thing inside. Your favorite lipstick in your favorite shade.

Sigma loved the color and even more how it looked on you. He loved how his cheeks would stain whenever you kissed him there—the pigmented contrast to his paler skin. You hardly needed restocking as you loved the lipstick yourself, but it was always good to have another extra.

“Merry Christmas,” Sigma said as you opened the container and swatched it on your face. You looked as beautiful as ever.

“Merry Christmas, Sigma,” you responded, kissing his forehead. Then, you pulled a cookie wrapped in a napkin from inside your coat and placed it in his mouth.

“Saved it for you,” you giggled. “There’s a lot downstairs. Maybe they’ll let you guys in if I say I invited you. Well, at least you.”

i heard if u rb, u will receive x2 gifts this xmas from ur favs! reblogs are appreciated; they are your christmas gift to me! <3

tags : @kissesmellow21

© AUREATCHI 2023. no reposts or translations. do not steal. support banner + heart lights divider by benkeibear.

[aureatchi]

˚୨୧ ｡ ˚ IT WAS A NIGHT TO REMEMBER . — osamu dazai

⟢ SYNOPSIS. after a long week of work, you and your best friend retreat to a bar to distract yourself from your responsibilities. however, you find it unfulfilling and decide you need to just go home. as you head out the door, you bump into someone more than familiar.

a/n. it’s the way i immediately thought of him when i first heard this song. <3

info. fem!reader. exes to lovers!au. we have the full recipe…fluff; light angst; gets really sugg. mentions of drinking; scars. your best friend hates dazai. hc dazai doesn’t bandage his tummy. (ᗒᗜᗕ) ﾉ wc. 3.6k

“It’s just a lot.”

You just finished the final shift of your job for the week, and you were more than exhausted and burnt out. You had called your best friend immediately after to get some comfort, and despite how busy she was, she agreed to meet you for some drinks and listen to you rant.

“My coworker’s getting on my last nerve,” you continued venting. You had already told her about select crappy people you had to interact with during the day and then your boss, who regarded you with no empathy whatsoever. “Today’s already been bad enough, and then she decides to just pile more stress on me.”

You swished the ice around your emptied glass, creating clanking sounds while coating the cup in water.

“Maybe you should just quit,” your friend replied, taking a sip out of her glass. “I would’ve been long gone if I had to deal with annoying people all around, nine to five.”

She looked up at you. “Besides, you’re well off anyway. I don’t see why you’re working. Are you…trying to distract yourself?”

You sighed. She knew you too well.

“Love, don’t tell me you’re still hung up over—“

“It’s not what you think,” you cut her off, yet you avoided eye contact. It was easier to lie that way. “I just feel I’d have too much free time on my hands. I’m not sure what I’d do with it.”

You let out a dry chuckle. That wasn’t wholly false in itself, either. At your age, everyone had their own things going on—your best friend being an example. Therefore, you couldn’t find much time to go out with any of your friends, and you weren’t interested in meeting new people either.

You could blame your job. Perhaps the ones you meet every day put a sour taste on your tongue, making you lose any desire to interact with strangers. You could blame your exhaustion. Or…

“Honestly, I think that calls for someone new in your life,” your friend replied. “That’ll surely cure your boredom.”

“No thanks. I don’t feel like dating anyone right now.”

“I’m just kidding,” she laughed. “But it’d help you feel less lonely, no?”

“…you didn’t believe my answer to your earlier question, huh?”

“No. Of course not.”

It had been over five months since you broke up with your boyfriend. You tried seeing people after that, but in truth, you were only using them to try to move on.

Once you realized that it wasn’t working and it wasn’t fair for others to play with feelings, you decided to take on a new job on the other side of the city so you’d still get out of your house and have a change of scene.

“…But you know what? Screw him. I will keep saying again and again, I hate that man. Suicidal maniac. I know it’s hard, but you’re too hot to keep dwelling on this. You need to learn to move o—”

Your friend’s phone suddenly buzzed, interrupting her little lecture.

She picked it up, and you waited for her to finish speaking.

“I’m sorry, I think I got to go. I left my boyfriend with my cat, and he just told me he lost her already…” she shook her head. “Have you gotten out everything you wanted to say?”

“Yeah, thanks,” you replied. “I think I’ll go home soon, too. Not really feeling it.”

She stood up, handing you a bill with a smile. “Drinks on me tonight. Don’t complain—I’m sorry I couldn’t stay longer. And we didn’t order much anyway.”

“That’s okay; I appreciate you coming to listen to me anyway,” you replied.

“The offer is still open, by the way! If you want to find someone, I’ll schedule a date by this weekend.”

You rolled your eyes. “Whatever. Thanks.”

…

You only had one more drink before you decided to leave, still mostly sober—you figured it’d just be best if you’d take care of yourself at home.

Another thing your job was also distracting you from was witnessing all the relationships around you. Your friend had to go home for her boyfriend. You noticed a few couples at the bar you were at. You’d probably see more when you walked outside.

Not that you minded, is what you tried to tell yourself every single time. You didn’t have to be with someone. It’s okay to have a break.

But was it okay to still have a particular person at the back of your head all the time?

You stood up, leaving the bill and tip for your bartender before you walked toward the door. Opening it caused the bell attached to it to jingle. You were greeted by a cool, night breeze—and someone’s torso.

“O-Oh, sorry,” you replied, too tired to even catch the face of the person you bumped into.

But you had no choice when the man didn’t move out of the doorframe to walk in or allow you to pass.

So, when you met the almost-surprised, caramel-kissed eyes on a face framed with dark brown bangs and wavy hair, you felt your heart plunge into your stomach.

You whispered his name—almost scared to say it, the syllables feeling foreign from not having spoken it aloud for months.

“…Osamu.”

He was halfway through saying your name when you dashed for the exit, shoving him aside and speed-walking out.

“Wait! Bel—“ he caught himself and shouted your name once more.

You started walking down the parking lot, unsure of where you were trying to go, except away—away from Dazai. You had forgotten this bar was in the heart of the city. You didn’t know Dazai came to this one, but you knew his work was somewhere close.

“Hey!” you felt a breeze behind your back, and then a hand gently land on your shoulder, stopping you in your tracks.

“What…why are you following me?”

You turned around, getting your second full view of your ex for the night.

His hair was a bit longer. He still had those bandages on his neck—did he bother to change them out recently? His scent was as still as you remembered—grassy and toasty, a resemblance to green tea.

“I’m not sure why I’d leave a girl I know to walk alone at night,” he shrugged. “It’s dangerous!”

You continued walking, not responding to his reply.

“Where are we going?”

“Who’s we?”

“Aw, that was really rude.”

You ignored Dazai, making sure your stroll stayed a few feet in front of him.

You then entered a park, him trailing behind you.

“Why were you at the bar alone?”

“That’s none of your business.” You walked down the path, trees casting dark shadows onto the grass under the moon’s light.

“…And I wasn’t alone the entire time. I was with a friend, but she left to attend something.”

Dazai nodded, trying to catch up to your face. You immediately gave him more than enough space when he reached you, not wanting any invasion of your personal space.

“But you usually don’t drink unless you’re either celebrating or stressed,” he said. “And from what I’ve seen, it looks like the latter.”

You stopped again. “Again, it’s none of your business. Maybe you should focus on yours. You go and drink tons when you’re stressed, too.”

“Hey, I’ve actually gotten better at that��”

“You still ended up at a bar midweek.”

“But I didn’t even go in, no? I’m with you at a park right now.”

You were silent once again. But now you couldn’t complain that he was following you.

Why do I care if he drinks or not?

No. It’s normal. You’d care for the well-being of anyone you know.

You approached a set of swings in the center of the park. It had been ages since you’d been on one, swinging back and forth in carefree.

“Want me to push you?” you heard Dazai over your shoulder when you examined the equipment.

“Heck no,” you responded.

“Why not? It’d be fun!” He moved closer.

“No! I’m not sure if it’d even carry me,” you laughed. “It’s for kids.”

“You can try it. Just sit. And I’ll catch you if it breaks—“

“Shut up. I can catch myself.” You lowered yourself onto the seat, seeing that the metal poles did hold. You swung yourself a bit to test if it’d keep up your weight.

“It works.”

“Great! Can I push you now?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“I don’t trust you.”

“I won’t kill you, bel—I won’t! I promise.” Dazai childishly held out a pinkie toward you.

You sighed. “Fine. Just please don’t push me too high.” You clasped your pinkie around his.

“I got you!” You felt palms on your back, and then a light push that moved you forward, and then gravity pulled you back toward him.

Everything pulls me back to him—my mind and the universe both.

You were suddenly pushed higher, catching you off guard. You felt yourself fly multiple feet off of the ground, and you clutched the metal in panic.

“H-Help—Osamu!”

“You’re fine. You won’t fall,” Dazai chuckled. He pushed you again, sending you even higher than the previous time. You wanted to scream, but it came out more as a laugh.

“Is the thrill fun?” he asked while you were in the air, noticing your smile.

“Yeah, it is—HEY!”

Dazai had pushed you hard, sending you swinging all around the equipment, in a complete three-sixty.

“Osamu!” you cried, the momentum spinning you around once more. You couldn’t stop it—it was too fast.

You were clutched from behind, arms tightly wrapped around your torso to stop the swing. You could hear the sound of Dazai being dragged through the rocks below, but he was able to ground the both of you before you went flying again.

And you felt warm. Despite the evening’s cool air, you felt like you were encompassed in a fireplace’s heat on a winter day.

“Got you.”

You let out a giant exhale of relief. And then, you turned around in anger.

“I told you not to push me that high!”

“But I didn’t kill you, did I? You stayed on the swing the entire time! You were safe! Plus, I think you enjoyed it.”

You stood up, causing Dazai to let go of his arms. “I’m dizzy now.”

“Do you need water? We can buy some. And did you drive here?”

“No, I took a taxi.”

“Let me drive you home then,” he said.

“I think I’m fin—“

“Please,” he cut you off almost urgently, but then he caught his tone and reverted.

“I mean, many kidnappers disguise themselves as taxi drivers. Especially at night.”

“You’re still so cynical,” you replied. “Stop being so protective. It’s not like we’re…nevermind, sorry.”

You didn’t dare look at Dazai’s expression.

…

You each got a yogurt drink, and it helped soothe your dizziness immediately.

You walked by Dazai silently, but compared to earlier in the night, you were no longer repulsed to standing by him.

He opened his car door for you before getting in his seat on the other side.

“What have you been up to these past months?”

You asked as he found his keys, turning them into gear.

“A case. It’s something huge going on.”

Dazai’s work accounted for part of your breaking up with him. He was too secretive—despite you knew that he trusted you so much that he explained to you exactly what his job consisted of, and he only left details out to protect you from getting involved, you couldn’t handle it.

Maybe you were selfish for that. But you needed to know what your boyfriend was up to—if he was safe. Perhaps that was another reason why. You would never let him go if you knew of the exact danger he was volunteering himself in.

“I see. Sleeping okay?”

“If I do, sure.” He was suddenly reaching over your body, grabbing your seatbelt.

Your heartbeat fastened as Dazai hovered over you, pausing to look at anticipating eyes and a risky glance at slightly parted lips.

He sighed before fastening the buckle and moving away, acting like nothing happened.

…

You two drove in silence, you gazing out of the car window to admire how the city looked in the absence of the sun.

A song was suddenly put on. You looked at Dazai.

“Do you still like this song?”

“Yeah,” you replied. He had put on your favorite song, indeed.

You silently thanked him for it. The awkward tension to speak to one another had vanished; you could indulge yourself in music.

Until it ended, of course, but by then, you could see you were almost home.

“Osamu.”

“Yes?”

“This was a really bad idea. I hope I never see you again after this.”

“Probably, but maybe I wanted it to happen. Maybe I thought about you so much that I had to seize this opportunity.”

“What?”

“What if I hope to see you again after this?”

“You can go flirt with any other girl for entertainment.” He did a lot of that, too. Even if it was Dazai’s most efficient tactic for getting information, he had also said he simply couldn’t help it sometimes.

“I don’t find that interesting anymore.”

You looked at his distant, faint reflection through your window.

“…you think about me?”

You were answered with a nod.

Dazai turned, pulling you into your driveway.

“I’ll continue to even more after tonight,” he said. “Whether we see each other again or not. It plagues my mind every day. What I could’ve done better—how much you deserve that I failed to reach.”

He parked. “Of course, I’ve tried to move on. It’s the most fair thing to do for you. But if someone were to ask me, bella, saying that I don’t still love you would be a lie.”

“You’re selfish,” you commented.

“I know. I’m very.”

You opened the door, stepping out of the car.

“Thank you for driving me,” you said.

You walked towards your front door and then looked back at Dazai, who was standing by his side of the car.

You contemplated for a second.

“D-do you have something to do for the rest of the night?” you carefully asked.

“No.”

“Can you stay? Just for a bit. We can talk about things. And hopefully, you get some answers that will help you stop occupying your mind of me.”

You said that as if you were trying to convince yourself, rather Dazai.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” You pushed open the door.

Dazai followed you as you walked through the house—through the hallway and to the kitchen.

“Do you want something to eat? Or drink?”

“I’m okay, thanks,” he replied.

“Alright. Uh…feel free to make yourself at home. I’m going to change, I’ll be right back.”

…

You walked into your room, first washing your face in the bathroom. You stared at your face through the window, noticing how pigmented your cheeks were.

Why did I do this?

You were in the middle of changing your pajamas when Dazai knocked on your door.

“Can I come in?”

“Uh—“ you hastily buttoned two thirds of your shirt before, “Yeah.”

A smell of your favorite scent immediately flowed into the room as Dazai came in. It was of the candles you had around your house.

“You lit my candles?”

“Yeah. I got curious because the flavors looked nice. I like them. The scent matches you perfectly.”

“Oh…thanks,” you mumbled. You didn’t know how else to respond.

Dazai glanced around your room. Some things changed—you had moved some things around, redone the decor on your nightstands, changed your bed sheets…what he didn’t know was that you actually donated them after the break-up so you would never see them again.

“Did you need something?”

“Yeah. Do you still happen to have bandages?”

“Yes.” You had Dazai sit on the bed while you searched your closet for the box of bandages you would keep for whenever he came over. Unlike your sheets, you had kept them for your emergency first aid.

Or in case he happened to be in an emergency.

“What do you think you could’ve done better?”

There was a silence right after. You had hit Dazai with a hard question first.

“I’d stop disappearing so much without warning. I only realized how much I took that for granted when we stopped seeing each other. I would try to communicate better…” He looked down. “I’m terrible at it, I know, but I would try harder.”

“Why me? You could move on and find some other girl to treat right the first time.” You found the box, pulling it out.

“Because I would feel like a loser,” he added your name to the end of the sentence. “I was a total jerk to someone who loved me, and then I decide to switch it up for someone new and pretend to start on a clean slate? No, bella—I’m cursed with not forgetting and forgiving myself of the past. It feels cowardly.”

“Osamu, stop. You hurt me, yes, but you weren’t the only one in the wrong.

“I-I’m sorry.” You hadn’t apologized to him yet, through months.

You noticed his eyes almost widen, surprised.

“And I also forgive you. It took awhile, but I’m forgiving you of the mistakes that hurt me,” you continued. “And I’m apologizing to you too. So please forgive yourself. You don’t need to feel guilt.

“It’s only fair to you as well to move on.”

“Why, bella? How is it fair? How is it fair when the only person I want to see is you?”

“Osamu.”

You were right in front of him, the closest you’d been to him that night, discarding how he had tightly hugged you on the swing earlier. You were drowned in emotion that surrounded his desperate pleas.

“Can you please bandage me?”

“Why?”

“I miss your touches.”

You regret asking. He had no shame in expressing his thoughts, no matter what you two were going through. You regret asking, yet…

“Your coat.”

You climbed behind and rid Dazai of the top portion of his clothes—his vest and dress shirt. Then, you started unwinding the bandages on his arms, chest, and neck.

Gently, your fingers grazed the scars that hid underneath his attire, and his mind. Months ago, you had learned what every single mark came from after knowing where each one was—it was one detail Dazai fully opened to you about.

You were thankful you couldn’t see scars of the heart.

He would have thrice as many. Perhaps one of them would include you.

You rewrapped Dazai, leaving only his stomach unbandaged. You moved to do his neck when he paused you with his eyes, mere inches away from his face.

“You still haven’t answered my question.”

You wish he weren’t so pretty. You would’ve been able to rationalize yourself quickly—you would’ve been able to give him a final answer without hesitating. But he ended up being the face of your dreams and the depth of your heart.

“I tell myself it’s fair,” you whispered. His nose was almost touching yours. “I tell myself it’s better that we’re done. But my heart isn’t so sure. It asks the same—how is it fair? To keep myself longing?”

Your arms were around Dazai’s neck with the bandage, yet you did not move to finish.

His gaze moved to your lips. A hand moved to your hair.

“Is it fair? If it truly is, push me away, bella.”

He didn’t force himself any closer, leaving you with the choice despite his yearning appearance. You could feel the warmth of his body on yours and the soft air of his breaths on your cheeks.

“Yes. It’s fair, Osamu.” You came to your conclusion.

Yet, you dropped the bandages, cupped his face towards you, and pressed your lips on his.

“But I’m selfish too.”

You moved your hands to waft through brunette locks as Dazai pulled you onto his lap. He held you tightly—desperate at the acceptance of your invitation.

Closer, along with the fresh scent of green tea, there was a note of sweetness as intoxicating as chocolate. You came to know this pleasant surprise every time you were pressed up against him, tucked well into his embrace.

A hand moved down your waist, tracing your curves. Meanwhile, his kisses became sloppier, changing course to your jaw.

“Bella,” he whispered.

“Osamu?”

“Too much? Just let me know.”

“Don’t stop.”

He planted his lips on your neck, leaving a mark when he moved to the next area.

“I don’t want to lose you again. I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too,” you replied, pulling him down over you.

“Everything about you,” Dazai continued. “It’s enchanting. How you smile when you’re flustered—like right now, and how you react when I touch you here…”

His hand found its way under your shirt, and you started laughing. He knew how and where to draw every specific reaction out of you, including where you were most ticklish.

“Osamu! Stop, hah-!”

You let him stay hovered over you and left his curious hands to wander your skin. Dazai looked free of emotional distress for once—being able to calm just by admiring you. It was like medicine.

“Do you still keep a spare pajama set?” he asked.

“Yes. However, the guest room is being renovated.”

“It’s fine. A couch was a luxury for me at one point.”

“Or you…could stay here. And you can have your favorite side, the side closer to the window.”

“Because I always see how the sun’s rays lay on your skin when I wake up,” he smiled. “And how spellbound your eyes make me when you open them and the light hits it.”

“You remember so much.”

“I told you how much I think about you, belladonna. I remember every night that I’m with you.”

dazai listens to music w/ u if u rb. reblogs are cherished; they support me as a creator. <3

© AUREATCHI 2023. no reposts or translations. do not steal.

[aureatchi]

⋆ 𖤓 𓂃 ࣪˖ BUT CAN YOU SEE IT TOO? THE WAY THE SKIES ARE TURNING BLUE . . . ft. OSAMU DAZAI

⟢ SYNOPSIS. a dream constantly on repeat…you wake up in the arms of your lover after weeks gone by not spending time with each other, greeted by the serendipity of the blue hour and his content, honey-bathed gaze.

ᡴꪫ a/n. schedule changes have caused me to wake up so early. + i haven’t been able to rest well lately so i dread getting up, but the one i do like is the calmness of deep-blue tone light seeping through the windows. :)

ᡴꪫ info. fem!reader. fluff; a pinch of angst. sleepy mornings. reuniting. poetic, yearning dazai. ﾉ wc. 1.3k+

Lately, the land of fantasies had appealed to you the most. Busy days without a moment of quiet serenity ravaged through your schedule unannounced, and before you knew it, half the month already passed.

The only way time stopped was in your dreams. Places where your life didn’t have to be so chaotic—you could control the fact you didn’t have work on a day; you could control if you wanted the weather to shower the blossoming flowers or have not a single wispy cloud in the sky.

“I have a cheat code to lucid dreaming. I’ll only explain if you promise to take me with you, though.”

Above all, you could assure Dazai Osamu was always by your side. That he did not have to leave for days—weeks on end for missions, risky missions. In dreams, he would never have to gamble his life again. Never would Dazai have to feel the level of heartache he was so familiar with.

However, not one soul could stay in the land of fantasies forever. You were soon forced to open your eyes to the empty space in your bed. Another morning without your lover and another lingering thought of being unknown to what he was going through.

So, you longed for the day you would instead wake up in his arms.

…

You were aware you were in a moment between unconsciousness and awake. Lazily, you shifted positions into a more comfortable one, but instead, you landed in someone’s embrace.

“Osamu.”

It was not framed as a question. Your eyes were closed, but you recognized his touch—the way his hands lovingly cuddled you, slipping under your pajama shirt to warm your back amid the bedroom’s intense air conditioner.

“Good morning, ‘bella,” Dazai said.

Oh, how his drowsiness affected his speech. His voice was noticeably a few notes lower than usual.

He moved his fingers up to your face to move strands of hair away from your features. With that gesture, you slowly opened your eyes.

A good morning indeed. You were not blinded by bright sun rays, but rather coaxed into soft, relaxing blue hues of aurora.

And Dazai’s charming face. He looked like a prince, even just woken up. Your faces both reflected the cerulean light in the room, except his caramel eyes that contrasted against it. You kept his gaze for a few undisturbed moments before he spoke.

“‘Guess beauty-rest is a real thing. You look beautiful.”

You giggled before replying. There was no way—you thought you looked like a mess whenever you got up.

“And you look handsome.” The brunette’s wavy hair was even more disheveled than usual, yet he somehow looked more attractive.

“Only because I’m here with you. I got my beauty rest because of you.”

He gently nudged his pointer finger on your chest to empathize. Meanwhile, a sensation of warmth suddenly flowed through you—a mix of bittersweet joy and affection.

“You were able to sleep?” you whispered.

“Yeah,” Dazai replied and then held up his finger to his mouth, as if he wanted you to keep the fact a secret.

He had been gone for almost a week this time. Who knows how long he hadn’t had the opportunity to sleep?

Dazai shifted, and for a second, you thought he was getting up to leave. In a moment of panic, you tugged down on his shirt to keep him down.

“Wait-”

“‘m going nowhere ‘bella, don’t worry,” Dazai chuckled, amused. He laid your head on his chest, where you were calmed by the soft beats of his heart.

“It’s far too early to, anyway. The sun hasn’t even risen yet.”

You slowly nodded. “What’s the day today?”

“It’s the weekend, darling,” he replied. “Even if not—I’d make sure you’d miss work.”

“I wouldn’t plan on going,” you smiled. How could you miss a precious day with your favorite person?

“How was your week? Any stories for me?”

“Lonely. It was pretty uneventful, too. I just missed you,” you replied. You inched closer to Dazai despite already being pressed onto him, nuzzling your face into his neck.

“How about yours?” you asked as his fingers ran through your hair.

“Don’t worry about that.” He couldn’t see your frown. “Just the typical mission.”

Still, he sensed your unease. He gently kissed your forehead. “I promise I wasn’t in danger. You forget how strong I am sometimes, hm?”

You pulled back so Dazai could see you roll your eyes. “Strong enough to beat all the big bad guys,” you responded, a statement he constantly repeated to jokingly lecture you.

“Exactly!” he winked. “To protect you, of course.”

He held up your hand and clasped it between his, once again making you re-realize the indigo light of the morning.

You turned towards the window whose curtains had been drawn away probably earlier in the foreday. The view was completely uniform in color—the sun had not yet arrived to paint the sky with various shades.

…

“If our love had to be described in a specific hour of the day, I’d say blue hour.”

You turned back to see his eyes on yours, slightly squeezing your hand. You had zoned off for a few minutes in relaxation.

“Why do you say that?”

“Multiple things,” Dazai smiled. “Such as the deep blue stretching across the entire horizon representing the depth of our love. And how the calmness of the hue reminds me of the way you never fail to give me peace when I’m with you,” he responded.

“How poetic,” you teased, but you couldn’t hide how touched you were by his unexpected sentiment.

“I have more.” His blush did not go unnoticed. “This time of the day is rare to catch. Only appearing in dawn and dusk and only lasting minutes—you’d be lucky to come across it. I’ve stumbled across the most gorgeous girl in the world; I’d had to have some luck. She’s more beautiful than the sunrises and sunsets, and I’ve never met anyone like her.”

Dazai lifted you up, and you straddled his waist. He moved his face towards yours until your noses were touching.

“And finally, in this hour, we are in between night and day. The moon is still visible, yet the clouds are too. Helios has still yet to wake, but there is enough light to point out all your divine features.”

He stole a quick kiss on your lips before continuing.

“A dream surpassing the boundaries of night. One that I haven’t woken up from. You remind me of this very moment.

“Do you know why I asked you to take me with you in your dreams?” he asked.

You cusped his face in adoration. Of course, you knew. He seldom slept, and in turn, he hardly experienced life’s gift of reverie.

“I want to be by your side wherever you go. In every universe, in every moment of time. Not a second goes by when I’m apart from you where I’m not reminded of you.”

You’ve had this dream many times before. A longing for Dazai told your mind to conjure him at a peaceful hour of the day, in the warmth of his arms. You’d repeated this scenario so many times that you’d sometimes forget it wasn’t actually real.

However, you were hit with a realization that, for the first time, this was real—Dazai was home; you would not be woken up to an empty side of the bed.

You knew this because, just as you recognized his touch, you felt seeps of rare vulnerability through his kiss. His human emotion of yearning your consciousness couldn’t single-handedly recreate—the warmth of his body and heart as Dazai pulled you close.

You remind me of this very moment, Dazai had told you once. Whether in dream or the present moment before you, there was something extraordinary about your souls. He knew every experience with you.

Dazai found wherever you were among the cosmos. He transcended night and day—space and time, until he would see your face once again.

He did not need to visit the land of fantasies. You were one already real, his solace and love.

i heard dazai cuddles w/ you in bed if you rb; reblogs are appreciated, they are what support me the most! <3

© AUREATCHI 2024. no reposts or translations. do not steal. support banner + animated line divider by cafekitsune; gradient line divider by benkeibear. manga header mine.

[aureatchi]

.🕷.𖥔 ݁ ˖ WHAT A SCAREDY CAT ! — nakahara chuuya

“aw, poor baby. movie too scary, doll?” “shut up chuuya.”

a/n. it’s spooky szn !! so of course i need to write something fit for the occasion…so,, why not do it w my fav ginger-haired!

info. fem!reader. fluff. lowercase ✎. profanities. horror movies, drinking, small argument. it gets suggestive sjwsj, neck kissing. wc. 1.9k

“oh, this is so cute.” 

you and your lover both shared an eye for aesthetics. that’s why you gazed so proudly at the coffee table in front of you when you stepped back to see the finished product—the rounded table was filled to the curved edges with your favorite takeout meal, bowls of junk sweets to indulge in after, popcorn, two wine glasses, and accompanying of course, a bottle of wine. other than the food, there were two lit candles to set the ambiance of the space, and a jack-o-lantern chuuya had carved himself. 

all were organized beside each other to make it look like it came out of a pinterest post.

“i agree,” chuuya replied with a smug smile, also proud of your combined work. he joined you on the side. 

you grabbed your digital camera resting on your couch and took a picture of the cozy scene. 

“before it all gets ruined,” you chuckled. 

chuuya then took the camera, turning the lens towards the both of you. 

“let’s take a few together,” he said, wrapping an arm around your shoulder to pose. you and chuuya were also wearing matching pajamas: black tees and halloween themed pants. 

“okay!” 

click! click! click! 

the trio included a picture of you holding up a heart with your hands as chuuya’s arm encased around you, a picture of you turned towards him with your arms around his neck (you realized the flash was very bright), and one more of you kissing his cheek. 

“awh!” you widely grinned as you looked through them, giggling to yourself when you noticed how the camera captured chuuya’s conspicuous blush in the last photo. 

“what’chu laughing at?” he asked, looking over your shoulder. 

“nothing, it’s just cute,” you replied, putting your camera away. “can we eat now?” 

“yeah,” he replied, motioning towards the snug sofa nuzzled with your cushiest of blankets.

you enveloped them around you as chuuya grabbed the remote control to browse movies on the tv. 

RANKED #1 HORROR MOVIE THIS YEAR!

“wanna watch this?” chuuya asked, hovering the selection over the movie. “i just realized we’ve never watched a horror movie together.” 

“yeah, if you want me screaming and retreating on your lap every five minutes.” 

“exactly,” he replied, smirking. “that would be nice⎯”

“too bad. i was joking. i don’t get scared easily.” 

you held an opposing smirk back, but in reality, you did get agitated easily, especially when jumpscares were involved. but you felt stubborn and didn’t want to give what chuuya wanted, so you decided to take it on as a challenge. 

and he seemed to sense your game too. “better not catch ya lying, doll. there’s consequences for everything.” 

“what do you mean by that?” you asked, your face heating up, but he gave no answer to your avail. now you really had a challenge. 

“…whatever. i don’t need to know anyway. i’m not getting scared.” 

“hm,” chuuya said as he clicked on the movie. up popped a screen with the synopsis of the two-hour film, including all of the content warnings. 

…murder, blood, sudden jumpscares…

oh shoot.

chuuya pressed play, and immediately, the movie started.

…

the first twenty minutes were actually okay. there hadn’t been anything too much to frighten you yet⎯eerie music, corporate workers, and dark rooms were the only thing you had seen so far. 

“damn, when does this good?” chuuya mumbled, finishing eating the last of your main course. 

you were glad things hadn’t been intimidating to you so far. but you also knew your lover was awaiting for something to happen, something to cause him to win.

that wasn’t going to happen. 

you were snacking on the bucket of popcorn when suddenly, a creepy humanoid creature engulfed the screen, accompanied by a petrifying sound. there was no way to see that coming⎯there was no warning. you couldn’t help but squeal and jump slightly on the couch, the bucket of popcorn following. luckily, it wasn’t so much that it fell and made a mess. 

“o-oh shoot! chuuya, i thought i saw a spider!” you said right after the moment passed, turning your head and making it look like you were searching the cushions for a spider. you knew he was watching for your reaction the entire time. 

“spider, yeah?” chuuya asked, amused. “nice excuse, sweetheart.” 

you crossed your arms. “okay! that was a mild reaction! i didn’t jump on you so that doesn’t count.” 

“scared yet?” 

“nope!” you popped the p. yet, a shiver went down your spine.

you continued watching the movie. more horror started to seep in, grisly scenes causing unease. you weren’t sure if you preferred those drawn-out sights to the jumpscares, but you could hide your reactions better with the former. you hadn’t seen any more sudden clips yet, thankfully. 

“yikes,” you and chuuya said when a corpse got shot multiple times even after they already died and then mutilated. 

“i’m opening the wine,” chuuya said about an hour and thirty minutes into the movie. 

“alright,” you replied, not opposing. you probably even supported it. maybe if you drank a little, you wouldn’t scare so easy.

especially because you could feel the plot’s climax approaching. you were already suffocating a couple of pillows on your lap in anxiousness. 

chuuya poured the glasses and handed one to you. you quietly finished yours quickly so you could have it refilled. 

“oh shit!” you shouted when the main character suddenly made a super stupid decision⎯as you probably did too by pretending that you didn’t spooked⎯of course resulting in a chase by the disgusting creature that popped out of nowhere earlier. you clutched the pillows even harder, but you couldn’t take your eyes off the screen. you needed to prove to chuuya you weren’t lying to him. 

the wine was not strong enough against the fear-fueled adrenaline that surged through you, paralleling the intensifying background music. 

stupid chuuya. he made sure the volume was cinema-loud. it did not help trying to drown out the creepy atmosphere that engulfed the entire room. 

the figure suddenly appeared in front of the protagonist with a dramatic scream.

“AHH!” you screamed too, but immediately bit down on your hand right after. 

but then it happened again. the main character turned a corner, and it popped up again, even more disturbing than the last time. 

“AHHH!” 

you screamed again, jumping on chuuya to try and bury your face on his neck. your heart was racing from the images you had seen. 

but he had other plans. 

“aw, poor baby. movie too scary, doll?” 

“shut up chuuya!” you replied, yet you still gripped tightly on his shirt. 

but then, chuuya pushed you off of him.  

“chuuya!” you tried to climb back on him, but something was preventing you from making contact with his skin. 

“…are you using gravity manipulation?!”

“i thought you said you wouldn’t get scared,” he taunted with a smirk. “eyes on the screen, brave girl.” 

“you’re so mean!” you shouted, but faced back toward the tv. he had even gone out of his way to use his ability to turn your own words against yourse⎯

“AHHH! WHATTHEFUCK!” 

you were already screaming as the creature finally caught the main character, but you weren’t alone as chuuya cursed and pulled you on top of him, horrified.

“DAMMIT. what the hell was THAT?” 

“put us down, we’re FLOATING!” you cried. it didn’t help at all that you were both scared and floating above all solid surface, even though it was only about three feet.

“s-shit, sorry!” 

he rested the both of you down on the sofa once again. you had missed most of the eerie epilogue, but you didn’t really care when your brain had now conjured a new character for your nightmares. 

chuuya poured the last of the bottle’s contents into your glasses and handed you yours. you finished the cherry-red liquid instantly to try to get some relief. 

you turned towards chuuya right after to see that he had done the same. and then, you broke out laughing. 

the ginger-haired raised an eyebrow and glared back at you as you continued to stare at him and snicker.

“i-i didn’t know YOU were a scaredy cat,” you tried to speak, but it was hard when you were overcome by laughter. your stomach was hurting and your chest was heaving, but you couldn’t stop. 

“shut up!” he shouted. 

“i-i can’t!” you replied, continuing to laugh. “how ironic⎯it’s one thing for me, but the port mafia executive? getting scared?!” 

you were only silenced when chuuya had pulled you on his waist once again. 

“if you didn’t think you were in trouble for lying, you definitely are now.” 

you immediately stopped, staring into his eyes. you had forgotten about his temper.

“wait, i’m sorry!” but your apology was futile because you were immediately lifted once again but this time, higher and alone.

“put me down, chuuya, i’m sorry!” you screamed, about eleven feet off of the floor. you really hated his ability sometimes.

“why should i?!” he observed you from the couch, trying to grab onto something but stuck inside a sphere of air. he would never try to hurt you, even while he was mad, but currently, his ego had been offended by your words.

“i was joking, chuu! i didn’t actually mean it⎯i promise! i’m sorry, i’ll make it up to you.”

you were slowly lowered, relieved once your legs hit the couch.

“i’m sorry,” he said, quietly after you had made sure you could stand on floor again. “i got carried away, plus you weren’t wrong.” he sighed at the confession.

“it’s okay,” you replied, straddling his lap. “that just makes the two of us scaredy cats. i think that’s cute.” you booped him on the nose.

“but you’re the bigger one,” chuuya provoked.

“no! you are!”

“you are!”

“you are!”

“who’s the one on my lap?” he asked, moving a piece of your hair out of your face as he smirked. “just as she foreshadowed earlier too?”

“shut up,” you replied, but he had gotten you where he wanted in the end. “want a trophy or something?”

“no, you’re just gonna make it up to me now.“

he pulled you closer, and kissed you softly, seeing if your reaction would allow him to continue.

you pulled back. “if this is what i have to do, that’s easy.” you leaned back in and resumed the kiss, lifting your hands to play with chuuya’s hair. you could still taste the wine on his lips⎯it made you feel even more high combined with the tension between you two as he kissed you deeper.

he pulled back for the both of you to catch breath and then spoke.

“you’re funny if you think that’s it, doll.”

he moved one of his hands to move your hair away from your neck and the other to cup your cheek on the opposite side.

he started kissing there, and then, sucking.

“…chuuya?”

“this is for lying to me,” he said, focusing on the spot. once he was done, he moved to another.

“and for making fun of me.” he sucked again, until your neck had two new red marks.

“…keep going.”

“yeah? want more?”

“yes. it helps me not think of that scary murderer in the movie.” chuuya laughed.

“alright, i’ll help take the scaredy cat’s mind off of the things that bring her fear.”

“hey! stop calling me th⎯”

you were silenced as he went back to what he was doing, until your entire neck was filled with shades of red.

reblogs are cherished. <3

© AUREATCHI 2023. no reposts or translations. do not steal — including this post’s banners (they’re mine).

[aureatchi]

⋆·˚ ༘* A NIGHT @ A JAZZ BAR! ft. dazai, chuuya, & ranpo!

a/n. i've never been to a jazz clb myself (hopefully in the future <('o'<3) !) but i keep seeing videos of them on my tiktok fyp ‘n i could vividly visualize the snug, intimate atmosphere...i was immediately reminded of these bsd men,, imo the vibe fits them v well !!

info. fem!reader. fluff as chambré as the ambiance. mentions of lots of drinking ‘n reader gets tipsy. to have the full experience i recc. listenening to jazz music while reading! \(^_<)\ wc. 6k (total)

DAZAI :

You needed a break. You had been working yourself morning to evening this past week for extra money—you wanted to make sure you still had a decent amount of savings in your bank account after all the shopping you had done with your friends the previous weekend. Thankfully, your final shift had ended earlier today, so you went home, indulged a nice, hot shower, and decided you should treat yourself for getting through the long week.

You had never been to a jazz bar before, but you thought it would be a fun twist in comparison to a regular bar—which is what you needed anyway. You wanted something to wind yourself down, and some drinks along with incredible music would certainly satisfy the interest.

So here you were, sitting on one of the tall, cushioned barstools as a bartender prepared your first drink. The atmosphere in the bar was cushy and cozy, already relaxing your mind.

“I’ll take what the miss ordered over here,” you heard from the handsome man who sat on the stool next to you, brunette hair covering his eyes.

He noticed your gaze and then turned towards you. “I haven’t seen you before; this your first time?” he asked, a friendly smile on his face.

“Yeah,” you replied, a shy smile in return. “My first time at a jazz club in general.”

“Ooh, how exciting!” he responded in delight. “I hope you’ll like it here.”

The bartender handed your identical drinks.

“What’s your name?” the dark-haired asked. You responded with yours, asking for his in return.

“Osamu Dazai,” Dazai replied with a wink. “Nice to meet you, bella.”

You were initially confused because you had just told him your name, and it wasn’t Bella (unless it was, ignore this!)—maybe he misheard? But he gave you no time to correct him when he raised his glass towards you.

“What brings you here?” he asked. “To try this out for the first time?”

“To celebrate still being alive after working my ass off this entire week,” you replied with a half-hearted laugh.

Dazai chuckled with you. “I could say the same for myself,” he replied, a hint of thoughtfulness in his voice. “Well then! Let’s toast…to being alive!” He raised his glass higher, and you did as well, meeting his in the middle.

Clank!

“And to a new friendship! Or possibly even more…” his grin turned smug as your expression contorted in confusion, and you felt your cheeks warm up.

“…Hey Osamu, we just met,” you responded with your own smirk, playing it off after your initial reaction.

“Just a possibility,” he giggled. “Because your response helped me figure out you were single, anyway! If you weren’t, you would’ve been like, ‘Oh Osamu~ I regret to inform you that I have a boyfriend…'”

“How sly.” You shook your head in amusement.

He simply laughed as you both took a drink of your cocktails.

...

You were on your fourth drink now. You and Dazai had conversed a lot throughout the evening—you had learned his occupation was a detective agent of sorts, and on that topic, he babbled on about how one of his coworkers would always complain about him being lazy and obnoxious.

“Kunikida’s always pissed at me,” Dazai giggled. “But he plays right into my entertainment—I get on his nerves on purpose! Actually, I was supposed to be investigating something this evening…wait ‘till he finds out I was at a bar all night gossiping about him with a fanciable lady!”

You laughed in response, cheeks tinted, while your eyes admired how the ambiance of the balmy-toned light in the room complimented his features. His gaze was soft and his eyes rosed in honey. Meanwhile, brown bangs rested gracefully on his face, while a strand of hair was tucked behind his ear. To further add to the dreamy atmosphere that surrounded you two, the smoothness of the melody in the background—especially with the use of piano, could be compared to a romantic candlelit dinner in itself.

“You’ll be fine slacking off, though, right?” you asked. “Your job seems important, so I wouldn’t want you skipping someth-”

“Don’t worry, bella, I’m more capable than you think,” he replied. “Or at least, you can have my word that I won’t get fired.” He gave you a playful smile.

“You’re so cute, though! Caring for my well-being. Awh, and now you’re smiling. Wait—don’t turn away; you don’t need to be shy!”

You also observed this man was a huge tease, quite literally pointing out your reactions to his flatter out loud the entire night. It was all Dazai’s doing though—how could you not fluster whenever he called you adorable? Especially when he looked as pretty as he was—there was no doubt your new friend was very attractive.

Your face was still turned away from him when you noticed other people in the room start to get up from their seats and move towards an area not crowded with tables and chairs, in front of the band playing the music live.

A new song had begun, and people started to dance with each other.

You turned back to Dazai and were greeted with an outstretched hand toward you as he stood up.

“Mind if I do?” he asked. “You need to experience the dancing too.”

You took his hand with a smile, and then he led you across the floor. “I’ll need help, though, Osamu. I'm not familiar with dancing here.”

“Don’t worry bella! I got you.” He dragged you into the center of the crowd and started guiding your movements—the dance was a fashion of stepping back and forth to the rhythm. His hands clasped around both of yours.

“The most important part is footwork,” Dazai whispered. You turned your head to see other couples and their movements, and you did your best to replicate them. You then focused your gaze to admire the band—seeing instruments such as the saxophone, piano, drums, and clarinet being played. You looked back at Dazai, both of you happy you had gotten the hang of the swing.

He suddenly stepped back at the same time you did, stretching both pairs of arms. He pulled you back in, and with it he let go of one hand and spun you around.

“Here’s one move,” he chuckled as he spun you once more, in the opposite direction. "Let's see how long it takes for you to get dizzy!"

...

The rest of the night was lovely. You danced with Dazai until the songs ended, and then you two had a few more drinks until he realized you had drunk too much.

“Are you fine?” Dazai asked, noticing your flushed cheeks and unfocused gaze.

“Hm? Yes,” you replied, though it was evident you were very tipsy.

“I think that’s enough drinks, hm?”

“Aw,” you replied, swishing around an ice sphere in your glass. In this state of intoxication, you had taken to stop looking at Dazai while he looked at you, because whenever you made eye contact with him now, you couldn’t control hiding being smitten by his charm anymore.

You stole a glance at him this time though, seeing through your peripheral that he wasn’t looking.

“Oh!”

Dazai had noticed your little solitaire’s rules and decided to join in your game too. He immediately caught your look and stared back.

Unconsciously, your chairs had gotten closer throughout the night, and at this point they were touching. Your personal bubbles had eloped, and Dazai was now very close to your face.

Your lips slightly parted, your heart racing in anticipation of what would happen next, a stark contrast to the flow of the slow music. Dazai’s breath on your neck, his eyes on yours, and his attention completely focused on you. The tension was unmistakable, especially when his pupils darted to your mouth—it truly seemed like he was going to kiss you right then.

But then, he pulled back, calling the server, leaving you stupefied.

“I’m paying for Miss too,” Dazai said to the bartender, handing him his card before looking back at you. “You should go home before midnight at least,” he looked at his watch. He then noticed your dismayed expression, and simply laughed.

“I want to get to know you to where I’ll know for certain I can do something like that while you’re in this state first. And you’ll be fine with it when you’re sober again—you’ll even let me do it when you’re sober,” he joked whilst giving you a reassuring smile.

He was so considerate. You were glad and thankful that he was a polite man—you would’ve definitely freaked out once you were sober if you let someone you just met at a bar kiss you.

Because you would’ve definitely let him.

“Okay, Mr. Gentleman,” you replied lightheartedly, but you too smiled to show you were seriously grateful for his self-control when he had an advantage.

After paying, he stood you up and put his beige coat that he hadn’t been using around you. You both walked—or you rather stumbled out into the cool evening air, and you immediately sobered up at the breeze.

“Thank you for keeping me company. My first experience was amazing thanks to you,” you said, merry.

“I thank you as well,” Dazai smiled too. “It was a pleasant night.

“Keep the coat for now. It’s an excuse for us to meet again.” He winked, and you chuckled, nodding your head in agreement.

Dazai then signaled for a taxi to come over to take you home.

He outstretched his arms a bit, an invitation to hug.

“May I?”

Your lips curled upwards, and you wrapped your arms around him too as he embraced you warmly. He gently kissed your forehead.

“Have a lovely night, belladona,” Dazai said as you both pulled back, the taxi vehicle stopping close by you. You realized then that he wasn’t calling you by the name, Bella—just the abbreviation for the romantic endearment he had called you by the entire time.

“You too, goodnight Osamu!” you responded.

…

At home, you went through the pockets of Dazai’s coat to see if he had left anything by accident. You found a small piece of folded paper, and opening it, he had left his phone number for you.

“Give me a call, bella!~”

CHUUYA :

“Almost done, doll?” Chuuya asked as you looked at yourself in the full-body mirror, seeing what your outfit looked like from all angles. You were dressed up—classy black corset top with a frilly skirt, under a matching blazer that belonged to your lover. 

“Yeah,” you replied, smiling when you saw the ginger appear behind you through the reflection, who gently lifted your hair and clasped a ruby-jeweled necklace around you. 

“We look s’good,” he said, looking into the mirror as well after putting on your necklace, both of you posing in your attire. You couldn’t have agreed any more. Chuuya was equally dressed as flamboyantly as you—designer branded black suit and tie with a matching fedora to tie it all together. 

“We’re like fashion icons,” you added, earning a smirk from him. It was always like this whenever you two went out—you and Chuuya would always subliminally earn the title of best dressed in the room, no matter the occasion, no matter how casual or formal the event was. 

“You’re right,” he agreed, planting a kiss on your cheek.

“Well, shall w’go now, mon amour?” Chuuya stepped back, holding out his palm for yours to take. 

You giggled at the extra-ness of the ginger-haired. 

“Lead the way, Chuu. Or what was it…oh! Monsieur Chuuya.” You took his hand as he led you out of your elegant hotel suite. 

Chuuya Nakahara had brought you all the way to Paris. He had gotten a week off from his work—this was seldom; he barely got any breaks from the Port Mafia, so he knew he had to do something special with you while he had more time on his hands. And what better to do than take you to the City of Love? 

Tonight’s evening plans included dinner at an elaborate restaurant—very lavish (usually, a table would have to be reserved about a month in advance, but Chuuya used his PM connections and money to buy you two a spot—you didn’t know this of course). 

Your dinner was delectable. You knew you would be dreaming of the delicious flavors of all seven French courses for days after finishing eating. 

Though, you and Chuuya weren’t tired yet, and it was still pretty early in the night, so you two decided to go to one of the underground jazz bars in the city. The warm, sultry air immediately filled your senses as you ran your fingertips through the texture of the auburn brick walls; the atmosphere of the place complimenting you and Chuuya’s aura perfectly. 

Some people even turned to you both as you made your way across the room, admiring how attractive you two looked together—the way your outfits highlighted your best features and coupled each other’s from the head accessories to the shoes you wore. Chuuya guided you from behind with one of his hands on your waist and wore a smug smile on his face as he noticed the glances. 

“Baby, they’re looking at us,” Chuuya whispered close to your ear, chuckling. “I know they all think we’re hot.” 

“Shh, Chuuya!” you responded in embarrassment, playfully swatting him away, but you too observed the other people in the bar gazing at you. 

You two sat at down at a booth, crimson red velvet cushions decorating the wooden sofa. 

“I’ma get drinks, alright?” he asked and you nodded before Chuuya made his way towards the bar. Meanwhile, you sat and watched the band on stage play. 

You and Chuuya were no strangers to jazz bars. It was an activity that became a statement in your relationship—back in Yokohama, whenever any of you needed destressing or just wanted to go out an evening without any plan, he would take you to one. So it was nice you could finally visit one in Paris, too. This one in particular was less known than others—usually, only a local would be able to find this jewel of a place. All knowledge credited to the expert Chuuya!

You also thought he enamored the vibe so perfectly. The setting of the place radiated of the top mafia executive so well—alluring nature; soulful, captivating music; the sophisticated selection of home-specialty cocktails on the menu—or even better, just the wine. 

Which is of course what Chuuya came back with, in red.

“Now what is this?” you asked, amused. You knew the ginger’s upscale taste in wine—after all, you’ve walked through his entire cellar worth multiple banks at home. You were awestruck, to say the least. 

Chuuya set the bottle down on the table. 

“This is a Pinot Noir. Domaine Georges and Christophe Roumier Musigny Grand Cru 1990,” he pronounced while you stared at what you bet on the Eiffel Tower cost thousands in front of you. “I love this place. Didn’t think they’d have such a good bouquet here.”

“Chuuya! That’s such a long name?!” you responded, jaw-dropped. “Why the hell are these titles so long?”

He simply smirked. “Well, I think this is perfect for the occasion, doll. Do ya know why?”

“Hm…because we’re in France?” you guessed, knowing how most of Chuuya’s favorite wines were imported from the country. Since coming here, he’s tried a lot. 

“Not wrong, but there’s something else,” he continued. 

“You remember Musigny, right?” You nodded, recalling the previous three times Chuuya mentioned a wine from the Le Musigny vineyards while educating you about what he was drinking. 

“The story b’hind this wine involves a Musigny girl who marries a lad in 1924. As a dowry, he receives parts of the Chambolle Musigny vineyards. Then, Domaine Georges and Christophe Roumier were born, and this wine was produced. Kinda romantic, huh?” 

“Awh! Yes, it is,” you replied, smiling. You found it adorable that Chuuya had chosen a wine with some sort of lovey story behind it for this event. 

He smiled back and then opened the bottle, pouring you about a third of the glass of burgundy liquid. 

“Here, nana.”

He sat down beside you after pouring his own glass. You took yours and clanked his glass, seeing a smug smile on his face. 

You sniffed the wine first, a sous-bois—earthy aroma filling your senses, redberries and spices akin. Then you tasted it, intense, grapey flavor on your tongue. 

“Miam!”

…

You and Chuuya had finished the bottle and moved on to other cocktails. And though Chuuya did like liquor on special occasions, he also could not hold it very well. Tipsy yourself, you didn’t realize he too was intoxicated until he randomly jerked you up from the seat. 

“Let’s dance pretty girl,” he said, dragging you across the floor. 

“Wait, hang on Chuu!” you stumbled, trying to find your balance. 

You made it to the middle of the floor where many other people were and joined in with the vitalizing, fast-paced song. You and Chuuya swung around, dancing to your heart’s content. Though your mind was hazy, you made an effort to step in the right places, so you wouldn’t topple Chuuya and both go down. 

Except, it seemed that he was too drunk to focus as well. He had accidentally lingered his foot on the floor too long, causing you to slip when you accidentally moved yours to the same spot. You gasped and fell backward.

An arm swiftly wrapped around your back, though, saving you from hitting the ground. 

“Sorry baby!” Chuuya had snapped out of his fuzziness the moment you tripped, acting fast to stop your fall. Your eyes widened as you looked into his concerned face above.

You realized a few moments later that everyone in the crowd had parted, leaving you and Chuuya in the middle, still in the same position. Unintentionally, he had disguised your slip-up as a dip in dance, and everyone there was impressed! They started clapping as you both remained there, confused looks on your faces. 

But then, Chuuya smiled and pulled you back up into a kiss. He started chuckling as his lips lingered on yours, finding the entire ordeal funny that it had worked out so pleasantly. You smiled too, wrapping your hands around his neck while you heard shouts of “Ouah!” and “Comme c’est romantique!” from spectators. 

Chuuya wasn’t done yet, though. Even the band had stopped playing music to acknowledge this interlude, so Chuuya jumped up on stage headlong without hesitation and took the microphone. 

“This princess right here deserves everything,” Chuuya spoke, eyeing you with a grin, causing you to heat up in embarrassment. “I brought her to Paris ‘cause why shouldn’t someone as lovely as her experience the city of romance? I say I’m one damn lucky man to have her.” 

There was another applaud while you melted in your lover’s broad proclamation of endearment towards you. You almost couldn’t believe it—surely you were just drunk and imagining things; there was no way Chuuya had gotten on stage with the band and started speaking. But the reality of it proved when he jumped back off, and embraced you again. 

“Love you,” he whispered in your ear. 

“Or, the French say ‘Je t’aime.’”

“I love you too,” you giggled back, enjoying the warmth of his hug. 

… 

You were both exhausted by the end of the night, yet Chuuya still carried you bridal-style back to the hotel room. You scrambled to get ready for bed, showering and changing into your pajamas, and in no time, you were both tucked in under the covers. 

“That was fun,” you sleepily said as you wrapped an arm across him. 

“I’m glad it was,” he replied. “You deserve to enjoy every day.”

“I do enjoy everyday because I’m with you, Chuuya. What you said earlier…

“I’m one lucky girl to have you.”

RANPO :

“Ranpo-ohh, c’mon!” you exclaimed as you practically dragged your lover out of the kitchen. 

“Why do we gotta go!?” he whined back, trying to grab another cookie out of the glass jar on the counter. 

“It’s—literally a mission from the President?” you used all your force and pulled Ranpo away before he could latch his hands on the sweets. 

“Why does he gotta send us?” he continued to complain, but fortunately, no longer trying to escape from you. “He always gives me such boring missions…I should be getting much more important cases as the world’s best detective!” 

He ended his exclamation with a hmph! and crossed his arms. You sighed as you looked at his stubborn state, but couldn’t help but smile when you realized he looked kind of…adorable like this.

“Ranpo, your missions are probably so trivial because you’re just that smart! You can figure out the answers and solutions to people’s questions and problems right away, so of course, everything that isn’t some huge, world-threatening issue would be mundane to you!” 

“Yeah, ‘cause humans are stupid,” he responded, but it was evident in his eyes he appreciated your words. You’ve grown to learn this over time—Ranpo absolutely loved praise, tripling in significance when it came from you, but he was too prideful to admit it. You’ve seldom seen him thank other people when they complimented him, but he always made sure you saw it, even if it was in an indirect way…She’s brilliant anyway. She’ll know I cherish it. 

“But! Seriously? A jazz concert? Why couldn’t the President send someone more suitable for that setting? I have no interest in somewhere like that!” 

“Why not?” you asked. “It seems fun! There will be music and dancing and stuff.” 

“I’d rather stay here! There won’t be snacks—probably just drinks! And I don’t like drinking; nothing is sweet enough for me!” He pouted once again.

“Well, the point of the mission won’t be to entertain ourselves anyway. We’re going to find a suspected murderer and possibly stop another murder caused by this one from happening. Therefore, drinking isn’t even important—it should be out of the question. For tonight, anyway.” 

“Fine. Let’s go!” 

“Wait—just a minute! We need to be dressed for the occasion! So we blend in?” 

You found it ironic that the world’s best detective could easily solve any case with a snap of a finger, yet he couldn’t even use the train. His ignorance of things was quite amusing; something such as an event’s dress code had slipped his mind.

“Why, what’s wrong with my outfit?” Ranpo asked. 

“Or do you just want a reason to dress me up?” You could see a slight smirk forming on his lips. 

“Well, I wasn’t lying with what I just said, but yes, picking out an outfit for you would be quite fun…” 

…

You and Ranpo were dressed and ready to go to the event. You had styled him in a cocoa-brown button-up paired with some slacks and yourself in your favorite little black dress. 

“Earth tones fit you the best,” you commented as you admired him in the outfit you put him in. “They compliment your eyes really well.” 

“Really?” he asked as he strode over to a mirror and shoved his face directly in front of it. He opened his viridian eyes, wide, and tried to examine why you thought that by holding up a piece of the fabric to his face.

You giggled as he felt you wrap your hands around his waist, hugging him from behind. 

…

“The murderer is going to be in this large crowd,” you repeated facts that the both of you already knew. “They’ll be unsuspecting—they’ll blend in with everyone else like us.”

You walked through a slim door but were greeted by a vast, lively room of vibes and music. The concert hadn’t started yet, but there was already a sea of people inside conversing with each other and ordering drinks. 

“The murderer may not have bought a ticket,” you said just loud enough for Ranpo to hear after you showed your entry tickets. You scanned the guest list and saw that everyone currently in the room did buy one, casting aside the staff, so you ruled out that everyone there right now could be a suspect. “So that their name wouldn’t be documented here. We should keep watch to see who tries to sneak in.” 

Ranpo nodded. “There are definitely other entrance doors in here, though. There’s probably an emergency exit in another corner of the room, and there is the backstage door.” 

“So they can sneak in through here, bribe the doorman, or sneak in through the other door,” you clarified. “And if not…they would hide among the band performers and enter with them.” 

“Or! They could be one of the band players.” 

“Hm, really?” you asked. “I looked into this band when we first got assigned the mission. It doesn’t seem like any of the members have any dirt or sketchy controversy surrounding them.” 

“Just a possibility! But yeah, any of those three ways would be how the murderer will get in.”  

You nodded in agreement. “I’ll go around to find the other entrance then. We’ll text each other if we see anything; otherwise, we’ll meet back when the concert starts. 

“Okie dokie!” 

… 

Thirty minutes had passed. You had found the back entrance and idled by it to see if anyone would enter, but noone came. You waited for a text from Ranpo, but it didn’t seem like anything suspicious happened on his end either. 

You heard a smooth voice through a microphone that sounded the entire room as the lights dimmed. 

“Welcome. The concert will begin on stage shortly.” 

Taking one last look at the door, you left and made your way to the stage where many other people started to gather. You sifted through the congregation, trying to find the pretty brunette among them. 

“Boo!” 

“Hu-uh?!” You slightly jolted, immediately turning around. You were undoubtedly greeted with a brunette. But instead of Ranpo, you were met with… 

“Dazai?!” 

“Hey-y!”

“What are you doing here? And why are you dressed as a bartender?” 

“Oh!” he replied, taking your hand. “Well, Ranpo was trying to find you, so come with me first.” He led you through the group until you were at the bar area. 

“There you are!” Ranpo shouted, seeing you appear with Dazai. 

Dazai brought you to Ranpo and then went behind the counter. 

“Well, to answer your question, long story short, I got punished. For ‘being lazy’. Kunikida caught me trying to catch a nap on the couch and went and complained to the President. He came in, saw me still there, and decided to punish me by leaving Kunikida to punish me.” You lifted an eyebrow in amusement. 

“So, Kunikida said I’d have to work here for the night. To prove I’m worthwhile doing a job.

“But anyways, drinks?” He glanced at you and Ranpo. 

“No thank you,” you replied. “We’re on a mission right now. There’s a murderer we have to catch tonight.” 

“Oh yes, Ranpo already told me,” he replied, looking at Ranpo. 

“Dazai helped us a little,” Ranpo said. 

He explained that when Ranpo discovered he was here too, he helped by counting everyone in the room after one of the band members announced the concert was about to start. Then, all left was to ask the doorman a question that would tell them how many tickets were sold. If more people were in the room than tickets sold, they would’ve already entered. 

“And since you and I didn’t see them trying to enter through the two doors, that must mean that the murderer came in the third way,” you contemplated. “They would sneak in with the band.” 

“Or again! Be part of the band!” Ranpo exclaimed. 

You sighed while Dazai chuckled in amusement. 

“You don’t believe so?” Dazai asked. 

“I just don’t see how. I mean, there’s no way all the members would have such clean slates if one of them turned out to be the killer.” 

“Or you’re just biased,” Ranpo sparred. “I know you’re really fond of jazz. That’s why you were so excited to go on this mission. You probably don’t want to think one of the jazz musicians could turn out to be a criminal.” 

You frowned. “Ranpo, that’s not the only reason-” 

“Whatever! We need to see how many people bought tickets for here.” He cut you off.

“Alright, I’ll go,” you replied and walked over to the security man at the door you came in from. 

“Hi, I run a blog and I was interested in making an article about my experience here, would you mind if you could answer a question about something?” 

“Of course, I don’t mind,” he replied. 

“I was wondering how many people are here tonight,” you said. “This place seems popular. I was curious to see if the atmosphere makes it seem like there are more people than there are, haha.” 

“If everyone shows up, then there should be one hundred and seven people here,” he replied. 

“Cool, thank you!” 

You walked back over to Ranpo. 

“He said one-hundred-seven,” you told him. 

He and Dazai looked at each other. 

“I counted one-hundred-eight people here,” Dazai said. “Ranpo double-checked, by the way.” 

“Oh,” you said. “So, they did show up with the band.” 

“Let’s go check backstage,” Ranpo said.

…

You two snuck behind the stage with ease, no one paying attention to your trespassing when the band was already playing the third song. Dazai stayed behind; he had been greeted by a pretty woman who wanted a drink and seemed eager to serve her. 

“I don’t see anything odd here,” you said, scanning the room. Luckily it was empty, so you didn’t have to knock out anyone there. 

“Here’s the entrance,” Ranpo pointed to the door. 

“Yeah, so can’t you use ultra-deduction to figure it out now?” you asked, out of leads. There was an extra person in the concert, and they entered through the backstage, but you didn’t know anything else.  

“I told you! They are part of the band! Look, there’s a fingerprint scanner for security,” Ranpo said, pointing to a screen. “If you open the door, the scanner is on the outside. That means only they can enter.” 

“We can’t assume!” you argued back, running to a computer. “I don’t believe it! There’s no way one of them could be the murderer…I—I’ve been a fan of this band for years…” You turned on the computer to see the live recording of the security cameras in the room, one of the screens peering at your back. 

“Are you saying you’re doubting my ability!?” Ranpo clamored childishly.

You ignored him, rewinding the footage to earlier that evening when the jazz members arrived. And to your disappointment, no one else entered throughout the whole timeline until you and Ranpo. 

Is the murderer…really among them? 

“The final song will now begin.” The instruments had lowered in volume, and the same voice spoke in the microphone again, announcing the concert was almost over. 

“Found any other suspect, sweetheart?” Ranpo mocked immaturely. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” 

“What are you going to do? Jump up on stage and tell everyone one of them is a murderer?” 

“Mhm,” he replied, looking up at their backs. “They’ll all be interrogated, the murders will match up with one of them, and-” 

“There just has to be another explanation! I know we found one thing, but we should at least have more proof than just who entered this room to convict someone! I just think you usually have more reason for your conclusions, Ranpo!” 

He stared at you. It was obvious you and Ranpo were frustrated at each other, but you both fought to not cause a scene or verbally displease one another. 

“…I actually can’t figure it out. I tried but…it’s not giving me an answer. I don’t know why. It’s like, in reality, there’s no murderer here at all!” 

He looked disdained, and you immediately felt concerned. But before you could respond, Dazai walked in the room.

“What are you guys doing?” He pulled you with one arm and Ranpo on his other. “There hasn’t been a murder yet, so shouldn’t you be keeping an eye out for it in the crowd?” You three entered the show again, and you eyed the musicians on stage. 

Which one looks most like a murderer. And how will they murder? Will they bring someone on stage and do it there? Or after the concert ends? Or will they abduct the victim and then kill them?

And then the last song ended. The band thanked everyone for coming, and the audience started to either file out or go to the bar for some final drinks. 

It’s going to happen sometime now! 

You immediately tracked down the musicians, keeping them in your sight, even following them as they went backstage. You hid behind the doorframe so they wouldn’t see you watching them. 

But it seems that one of the members noticed. 

“Hey!” he spoke out, the one who played the saxophone. 

Shoot! Now I’m going to be their victim! 

He walked up towards you, and now you couldn’t escape. 

You didn’t even bother to tell Ranpo what you were doing before you ran off. 

“Hm, are you looking for a signature?” he asked, a friendly smile on his face. Fake friendly, possibly. Inviting and warm. So that you’d fall into his trap. It has to be him. 

“Y-yes!” you replied, trying to conceal your fear. “I’ve been a fan of your group’s music for a few years. I am glad I was able to hear it tonight.” 

“Wow, thank you!” he replied, humbly. “That really means a lot. Here, you can come in and I’ll sign wherever you want.” 

And this is where it happens, huh. You debated stepping inside when suddenly, Ranpo appeared in front of you. 

“Back away from my girlfriend!” 

Hu-uh? 

The musician immediately stepped back, seeing the livid face of your lover as he outstretched an arm in front of you for protection. 

“You’re not murdering [Y/N] next! I won’t let you touch her-” 

“Woah-woah!” A new face popped up in the room as the entire jazz band group looked terrified—“Dazai?”

Dazai ran in between Ranpo and the saxophone player, pulling Ranpo and you back. 

“I sincerely apologize for this matter,” Dazai groveled frantically, almost dramatic. “It seems our friend here has gotten very drunk and is acting impulsively! I’m responsible for both of them, so I’ll be taking them now…” 

…

Dazai dragged you and Ranpo out by the collars to the bar counter. 

“Now what was that about?!” you both asked simultaneously, dumbfounded that Dazai had stopped your confrontation with the murderer and even made up a whole excuse for the suspicion. 

“The fact is there is no murderer here,” Dazai calmly said. “The entire case was a setup.” 

“WHAT?!” 

“The President just wanted you two to relax a little because of how diligently you worked; you solved about two cases a day this week, after all. He thought maybe you’d catch on quickly how this was just a scheme, but-” 

“That’s why I couldn’t figure it out! Because you planned this, Dazai!” Ranpo was pouting with his eyes sealed shut and arms crossed, but you could tell he was also a bit relieved that it was only a silly prank by Dazai instead of it being a case he couldn’t find the true answer to. 

Dazai was one of Ranpo’s countable competitors, after all. His intelligence was almost if not as equal to your lover’s. 

“But the extra person in the room?” you asked. “That was still true unless you also hired the doorman to lie about the number.”

“Oh! Well—oddly, the security hasn’t noticed me yet. I’m not even a worker here. I snuck in!”

“So you’re telling me YOU were the extra person at this concert?!” you and Ranpo screamed. 

“Shh! So loud, you two! So now that this case is solved…drinks?” 

…

“I’m sorry for getting frustrated over you,” you apologized to Ranpo as you two sat on the bar stools. “You weren’t wrong; I was being biased whether this was a true mission or not. I really like this jazz band.” 

“Duh, I know,” Ranpo replied, having one of the sweeter cocktails. Of course he did—you had a massive poster of them on your wall.

“…We can come to their concert the next time they perform. Dazai was mean for watching us get worked up over nothing. The music was pretty cool anyway.” 

He gave you a wide grin. You smiled back, shoving a cookie in his mouth. 

“Saved it. Because I knew the best detective in the world would prevail in the end.” 

“Usually you say ‘solve the case in the end’.” 

“Okay well, technically, this wasn’t a case at all—y’know what, forget it.” 

“I’m just kidding. Thanks. For the cookie.” 

You smiled once more. You knew Ranpo meant more than just the sweets by how his cheeks blushed a soft pink. 

reblogs are cherished. <3

reverie is back and in her bsd era i fear...daz’s hair tucked behind his ear>>. ugh he was so polite here. chuuya ‘n his expensive tastes ‘n his expensive dates mwah! lit researched wine lists ‘n wine etiquette for this. v much got carried away on ranpo...it’s okay he’s the cutest and intelligence bows before him! thoo, he’s so so stubborn.

© AUREATCHI 2023 — no reposts or translations. do not steal.

[aureatchi]

⋆ ☽˚｡ 𓂃 ࣪˖ AND THAT DAY THAT WE’LL WATCH THE DEATH OF THE SUN . . . ft. FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY

⟢ PRÉCIS. restless at an hour far too late to be awake, you take a quest to the personal library lit only by warm-toned ambient lamps and candles. however, you are greeted by one who chastises you to rest, and despite his pretty face you remain stubborn. in turn, he takes up a mission on his own; one that he alone will always win: to coax you to sleep.

◞ OR fyodor knows time is limited. if only you realized this was his labyrintian way of saying au revoir for now.

ᡴꪫ a/n. it’s always his lap. been thinking about this scenario for awhile + re-inspired by the friends who played with my hair this week hehe. it makes me feel so sleepy. started to cope with ch113. :’) i hope this is decent ᡣ𐭩

ᡴꪫ info. fem!reader. fluff; sweetly suggestive in one part…and then hit with a train of angst; i warned u. soft fyodor. comfort/hurt ↻. religious imagery. it’s u trying to get him to sleep too. both poetic and shakespeare ramblings. bsd manga chapter 113 + s5 finale spoilers. russian may be incorrect. ﾉ wc. 3.1k+

“Is there anything you find more powerful than manipulation?” 

Seated on the armchair across from yours, the ravenette took a sip of tea from his mug before setting it down. A bantering parley had taken place in between you two, filled with giggles and smiles, but in a moment without thought, you had brought up a more serious topic. 

“Actually, yes,” he responded. 

“A woman’s intuition.” You didn’t miss how his gaze slightly lowered. “The woman’s gut feeling is superior. If a man were to try manipulating her, she would know. No matter how naïve she was, the body would give her a single signal that could unravel his entire disposition at the fingertips.” 

You discreetly smiled, looking down at the mug. You knew Fyodor was referring to his experience with you. At one point in time, he tried to finesse you in schemes of calamity. But in response, you ruined him—he would dare not admit out loud that you had forcefully taken whatever mess his heart was and sewed it back together with the strings of your own soul. You did so without ever realizing either. After so many years on this earth, even he did not know how to mend himself. 

Now, he could only look at you as being the single thing that didn’t go wrong in the wasteland of the world. The ravenette almost considered you not of the world—you were as divine as the angels, after all. Perhaps it was his excuse to add along another duty the Father had commissioned to him—Fyodor would assure your safety and happiness through the rest of time—even once he got his hands on that book. 

Because if not plans that surged through his mind, it was his most cherished memories of you. 

…

Even though the room wasn’t too hot and the bed wasn’t uncomfortable, you could not go to sleep. You had tried counting sheep in your head for hours, but you still ended up awake well past midnight and had enough sheep for dozens of herds. 

You turned over in annoyance before you finally sat up. You didn’t understand why you felt such unease—maybe you drank your coffee too late in the day. A bad decision at that. 

You tapped the other side of the bed for a final check. Empty. Fyodor was still up. You would visit him in the office later, but for now, you’d give him the privilege of being unbothered. You decided on another place to visit—somewhere that would calm you down so perhaps you could finally catch slumber. 

The personal library. 

It was the coziest place, especially during the late hours of the evening, where the lights were warm and dim, not too hard on the eyes. Where the shelves were packed with literature and knowledge permeated the room with its philosophy. Fyodor annotated everything—so most books were scribbled in almost illegible cursive Russian. You always told yourself if you didn’t start to learn his lingo, you would be locked away from the library’s secrets forever. 

You tiptoed down the hallway until you reached the door at the end. You were thinking of picking up one of William Shakespeare’s tragedies and reading until either you fell asleep or the sun rose. You prayed it wasn’t the latter—though restless, you were exhausted too. And you didn’t want to suffer the consequences the next day. 

However, you were surprised to see the door already narrowly open. The lights were on and the candles were lit, too—was Fyodor not in his office? He seldom worked anywhere else and would always go to you as soon as he finished. 

You peeked through the slight crack in the door. He was indeed there—your lover’s back turned towards you, capturing all his charming enigma. How the man carried himself with the poise and elegance of a white dove, despite starting wars among nations. His mouth spoke of divinity while he ravaged the harmony of life with his hands. It was fitting; Fyodor was a juxtaposition in himself—you knew this, and so did he. 

“You can come in.” A second of pure silence passed before you opened the door to step inside. Not even a single noise was made, and yet, he recognized your presence. 

Almost shyly, you shuffled towards him. You did not plan for Fyodor to catch you—you were still in between deciding whether going inside was worth his lecture. 

Because although the handsome workaholic stayed up until absurd hours of the night, he did not want you following his ways. 

You circled the lounging area until you were in front of him, who closed the journal he was writing in. 

“Lyubov, why are you still awake?” he asked. 

Usually, you only stayed up out of anticipation in waiting for his return—whether from a mission or just to the bed. You were so stubborn that Fyodor would actually halt his work for a few days after being gone for awhile to sleep with you so that he was sure you were resting properly.

It was different this time. He had been home for the whole month, and despite being in his office for the majority of this week, you didn’t have any problem with going to bed without him until now. 

You shrugged with a quiet, “I’m not sure.” You eyed the unfamiliar journal. “Are you still working?” 

“Sort of,” Fyodor replied. “Would you like some chamomile tea? That will help.” 

You shook your head. “What do you mean ‘sort of?’ Last time I checked, you were either working or not.” 

“It’s not any more important than addressing the current problem at hand,” he calmly dejected the topic, leaving you confused. 

“What’s the current problem?” 

“You’re awake. You shouldn’t be at this hour.” 

“Well, now that I’ve found you here, I don’t think I can return to bed unless you come with me.” You dramatically yawned before stepping closer to him.

“Let’s go sleep, Fedya.” You tried dragging him up by the arm, but he stayed sat on the armchair, much to your disdain. 

“I cannot, I’m not done yet,” Fyodor replied. As you froze, he took your hand in his and brought you to his lap. 

“However, you must sleep.” He let you shift so that you were comfortable. “You came here to read?” 

“Yeah,” you replied as he handed you a book. What a mind reader Fyodor was—you were presented with The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark. It would be the perfect reread. 

“Why this play?” you tested. 

“The pile of books you never put back on the shelves over there shows you’ve been reading a lot of tragedies lately,” he nodded towards the stack of books you read this week. “I thought you’d probably be in the mood for one by none other than the master of catastrophe.

“Plus, it’s fitting for you, too,” he added, voice a bit lower as he fidgeted with the hem of your shirt. “You’re so dramatic.” 

“Hey!” You pouted, moving away from him, pretending you were insulted. Though you knew too that further proved his point. 

“Maybe we should act it out,” you joked as you scanned through the pages to find a poem you were familiar with. “Act two, scene two.” 

“Hamlet’s letter to Ophelia,” Fyodor recalled. 

“Doubt thou the stars are fire;

“doubt that the sun doth move; 

“doubt truth to be a liar; 

“but never doubt I love.” 

“Dlya neye, v iskrennosti,” you squinted, reading the little note by the quote you did not understand. The Russian laughed at your terrible pronunciation. 

“Some scholars say that Hamlet used his words toward Ophelia as a manipulation tactic,” he stated. “He had a larger strategy at hand, and he rarely mentioned her unless she was on stage, with the exception of her death. If he harbored such a profound love for her, would Shakespeare not make it more direct? What do you think?” 

You contemplated for a few seconds, eyes drifting amongst the shelves of books as you felt your lover behind you gently run his fingers through your hair. 

“I think Shakespeare didn’t give us clarity for a reason. I’d like to believe Hamlet did love Ophelia. The story does not revolve around romance, after all—it revolves around revenge. A man with ambitious plans would not have love at the forefront of his head. Or, he wouldn’t speak aloud about it, at the least. Perhaps he was more reserved about that aspect of his life, too—he could’ve been shy to speak about it in front of all aristocracy—like you, for example.”

You giggled with a shrug, expressing your last phrase as lighthearted, but you still earned a slight frown from him. It was amusing that the nationwide terrorist was timid in everything concerning his love life. 

“Obviously, it could be taken as manipulation, too,” you continued. “But again, it’s not stated upfront for a reason. Shakespeare mirrors the complexities of a person in real life. You never quite know the truth of other people, no matter how much you think you know them.” 

Fyodor nodded, satisfied with your interpretation. “I wholly agree. It is why Shakespeare is enticing to many—he creates characters that simulate life’s universal themes and relatable human emotions when reacting to those situations. I only disagree with one point you made.” 

“Which one? You being shy?” you asked. He shook his head with a smile. 

“Perhaps I will reward you with that knowledge if you sleep.” He chuckled when you groaned in disappointment. 

“How about you just do your work while I read? Then, when you finish, we can leave together.” 

“If it were that easy. You’re a distraction, milaya.” 

You rolled your eyes. “No, I promise! I originally came here to read anyway—I won’t distract you this time.” You moved to one side of Fyodor’s lap so he would have space to do what he wanted. 

He did not answer you, instead making a quiet “tsk” when his fingers caught on a tangle in your hair. Fyodor worked to gently separate the knot. The terrorist was a perfectionist, but the mindset further stemmed past reaching twisted goals to create a world without flaws. Three spoons of jam in his tea, faint scratches on a deck of cards, and ensuring he had the satisfaction of reaching the ends of your hair with his fingertips were a few details he keenly paid mind to. 

You took his silence as a comply, and started to play out the tragedy of the Danish prince in your head while your lover brushed through your locks. Eventually, he picked his journal back up and continued to write information you paid no mind to.

…

You did not know how much time passed before you felt your eyes grow heavy. The faint ticks of the clock on the wall combined with the warm candlelight’s glow drew you to slumber. You closed Hamlet and shifted positions until you ended up straddling Fyodor. You buried your face in the crook of his neck until you could see nothing but dark. 

“Sonnyy?” 

He started stroking his fingers through your hair again, relaxing you even more. 

“Lublu tebya, kak angel boga, kak roso lyubit solovey. S toboy vremya ostanavlivaetsya, yi ya zhivu lish mgnoveniam ryadom s toboy.” 

However, the sounds of seconds passing by and intimate lighting adorning the room could not compare to the persuasion of your lover’s voice in his mother tongue. Foreign words spilled from his lips as rich as velvet, as soothing as a lullaby. If his voice, in general could put you in a trance, here he harbored the garden serpent’s master of temptation itself. Even if you did not understand him. Worst of all, he knew this. You had fallen into his trap long ago.

“Ya boudou skucha—what are you doing?” 

You were drowsily planting kisses on his neck. You stopped once the room became silent and looked up, catching his half-lidded amethyst gaze. The conjurer’s expression was for once softened—or perhaps it had been the entire time you were with him. It was a gift only you were blessed with. 

You smiled, a tad smugness in your look, before sitting up and giving him a shy peck on his lips. 

For a few seconds, you were both frosted in that moment of time—his hands wrapped around your waist, massaging circles onto your skin under your shirt as you straddled his own, your eyes fixated on his almost surprised, slightly flustered violet stare. The candles illuminated the room in such a way that made you think it was really only you two who existed in the world—your two souls someplace faraway where nothing else mattered but the sounds of your heartbeats and what you would do next after his mouth slightly parted. You were the most beautiful thing Fyodor had laid eyes on, throughout eras of people. 

You kissed him for the first time that night, and the ravenette kissed you back. It escalated to become sloppy—you were both too exhausted to care whether your lips were on his or if they instead trailed down to trace his jawline as sharp as those of the greek gods. Or when you were back on your lover’s neck—however, this time almost sucking, mesmerized by how easily you could bruise him. You did not need to wear lipstick to create deep red marks on Fyodor’s pale skin. 

“I told you that you’d end up being a distraction.” 

You shivered at cold fingertips dancing across your lower abdomen, though they were still quite far from anywhere you wished. You winced when Fyodor bounced you up in order to fix your position, but it offered a different effect. 

“Careful,” he warned. “That spot is visible to others.” 

Being the leader of the Rats in the House of the Dead and member of organization Decay of Angels placed the Russian at a high status in the underground world. He always restricted the places you could leave visible traces of affection on him whenever he had a new operation in front of him—Fyodor was one to uphold modesty. 

You sighed softly before disconnecting your mouth from his neck, only to unbutton the top half of his shirt. 

Like his hands, the demon’s heart was cold. He bore at least some sense of insensitivity to death—he had to; granting silence was part of his duty. However, something about you ignited a fire in him out of nothing, out of no help amidst ice—you were not given a flame nor torch to aid you.

If he was the one to destroy the world to pay the price of ridding sin, you were the one who rebuilt creation from the ground and up. You were unfazed by the city ruins; you were unfazed by Fyodor Dostoevsky, the man most feared in the world. A duality: to them, his hands soaked in crimson blood, but to you, they clasped around yours in adoration.

And since he’d met you, his heart was filled with the foreign warmth of love. Accompanied were trust, vulnerability, and your sweet, honey-like kisses that you littered all over his broad shoulders and chest, because he deserved love everywhere. 

He whispered against your ear, promising he would indulge you more another day, when you weren’t so sleepy. When both he and the moon had a little more time in the sky, was what he didn’t say. At the same time, he took a free hand to slowly guide your eyes to close, hovering barely above your eyelashes. 

You complied, with no more complaints, as he kissed you on the forehead. 

…

As Fyodor carried you down the hallway to the bedroom bridal-style about half an hour later, you dozed into dazy consciousness once again. 

“You have…another mission, hm?” you whispered, recalling the preceding hints he had given you. 

“Yes,” he quietly replied, walking into the dark bedroom. He tucked you under the covers before getting in right beside you. 

“Truly, why were you in the library?” you asked, getting out your final curiosity before you fell back to dream. 

“I did have a ‘sort-of’ job,” Fyodor replied. “Taking care of you. I was aware you’d show up.”  

“Please stay safe, Fedya.”

…

You knew something was off with the thunderstorm that came several weeks later. A vampire apocalypse—however fictitious that sounded—was happening back in Japan, but Fyodor kept you overseas at where you two stayed before departing. 

You didn’t ever touch his plans, but your mind finally processed how every event leading up until now seemed so wrong. The month-long stay—Fyodor had never done that before. The week you decided to read tragedies—you felt one even worse than those acted out in the theatre was coming. That night you stayed up—your gut was already screaming that he was about to depart again. 

And how this time would be different than before. Your intuition had warned you, yet you still fell asleep and let him leave. You stood before the journal the conjurer made sure caught your eye that night. With shaky hands and heavy rain beating down on the windows, you flipped through the pages. Confusion and tears formed in your eyes at the vague implication of what was written. 

Do not worry yourself with the death of all things that are seen and unseen by you. It is not an end, but the start of all things that are left to do. 

Rodnaya, you asked what I did not agree with concerning your thoughts about Hamlet loving Ophelia. Have you ever considered a man having both love and ideals at the forefront of his mind? Isn’t love a dream itself? 

…

Fyodor swore this when he judged how all could go wrong in the next step of his plan. Prior to meeting you, the calculating, confident smirk he always had on his face was authentic, and he simply assumed he would never fall to a mistake. 

But now the plans were adjusted to work around you; the schemes all ended to benefit you, too. If he misjudged something, not only would it fail the perfect world God deemed it to be, but it would also affect you through and through. 

Perhaps that was why he only almost saw you as an angel no matter how much you resembled one—no, you were far more glorious than one. You were human—so human that instead of looking down at him from above, you came down onto tainted soil and blessed him with a piece of heaven. Real empathy that now made him think of you as he sat with a rod pierced through his torso in the escape helicopter, doomed to death. 

You truly did ruin him. 

…

“Is there anything you find more powerful than manipulation?” 

And Sigma wondered how such a man so immoral and cruel actually loved someone else. As he searched through the demon's memories, he realized he must go much further back in time to find any helpful information for the brunette ability-nullifier who assigned him. 

Because if it was not anything relating to his plans that showed up through his search, it was every memory of you.

translations: (please pardon me if they’re bad, :’) correct me if you are fluent and would like to!)

dlya neye, v iskrennost : for her, in sincerity

sonnyy : sleepy

lublu tebya, kak angel boga, kak roso lyubit solovey. : i love you like an angel loves God, like a nightingale loves a dew.

s toboy vremya ostanavlivaetsya, yi ya zhivu lish mgnoveniam ryadom s toboy. : with you, time stops, and i live only for moments next to you.

ya boudou skucha[t po tebe] : i will miss you.

i heard if you rb, fyodor will come back to life. :’) reblogs are cherished; they are what support me the most. <3

someone should’ve warned me about hozier. only started listening to him last month and i…can’t stop.

© 2024 AUREATCHI. no reposts or translations. do not steal. support banner + gradient line by benkeibear. animated line by benkeibear. manga header mine.

[aureatchi]

ᰔ 𓂃 ࣪˖ FOR ONCE, I WAS THE MUSE IN THE ARTIST’S EYES; I WAS THE POEM ON THE POET’S TONGUE. . . ft. FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY

⟢ PRÉCIS. it only took a singular person to make you feel like, for once—in a sea of murals and sculptures, you were the one sought after. OR, after months of admiring the other in silence, it is on your birthday when someone finally makes a move—on a rainy day in the heart of renaissance history.

. ࿓ a museum date with fyodor dostoevsky.

ᡴꪫ a/n. little late but…written for my birthday! plain self indulgent djsjjw.

ᡴꪫ info. fem!reader. bestfriends to lovers. pining. soft fyodor. light angst; fluff. confessions. kissing. reader overthinks a lot. you’re on vacation in florence, italy. history/art rambles-mentions religious imagery & greek mythology. sly…fyodor pulled many strings here. you both do art. mention of implied dazai. save this for ur bday :-). ﾉ wc. 3.7k+

“How do I explain it? I feel…I’m always the artist, always the poet. Never the muse, never the poem—that sounds dismal, I know…I have friends, people who care about me, and have fallen in love before, so I know I can love. But that’s me. Most times, I’m the photographer, I’m the giver, I’m the lover—never in pictures to be cherished, never the receiver of love letters: never the beloved. It probably doesn’t make sense to you, but-”

“You must also think you are perceived, never understood?” The keen ravenette sitting beside you listening added to your homology.

“Yes. Does no one wonder about the artist? No one notices that they long to be adored, too? Or perhaps I am projecting—maybe it’s just me. Sorry for my babbling, Fedya. My mind is all over the place right now.”

“...Do you fancy someone currently, by chance? That’s causing the negativity of your internal monologue to surface?”

He was always too straightforward. Yet somehow, he also always nailed the target of your distress.

“Sort of. He would never reciprocate, though.” You dryly chuckled. “The thought has me feeling lonely overall, unfortunately. And before you tell me I’m dramatic, I’ve had feelings for him for quite a while.”

“Hm.” Violet eyes focused on your glowing frame until now cascaded to the candle that illuminated the both of you. “If it’s that brunette you’ve been around lately, I’m sure he’d feel the same.”

“What?”

“I’d actually hope it’s him—I feel he’d make you happy.”

You simply sighed. “And this is why.”

“Why, what? Do you doubt he would reciprocate your feelings because he would fulfill your happiness? You’re self sabota-”

“Nevermind, let’s just change the subject. Please.”

…

It had been months ago since that chippy conversation was spoken within the walls of your apartment. Like the dusk of the room at the time, the words you said to each other had also been left in the dark.

However, even though the question of what you meant that night was never brought up again, the entire dialogue replayed like a film on loop in your head every other night you tried to fall asleep.

You honestly didn’t know what to call Fyodor. He was everything a best friend, but that title didn’t acknowledge and frame the emotional dynamic you had with him justly.

It was odd. He was always there for you—since university when he first showed up as a transfer and quickly made it apparent he was challenging you for the top of the class. It wasn’t intentional at first—until he found out you wanted to outsmart to beat him.

Your intense rivalries and teasing eventually settled down into a close friendship, and you’d grown to admire him. Lies—you admired him the moment you saw how well the foreigner spoke your language so well.

Fyodor had seen you at your worst. Through your breakdowns due to school, when you got sick, and whenever you just needed to talk…you didn’t hide anything from him. It didn’t feel like you could because no matter how many times you expressed aloud that no one could understand you, he did.

He grasped onto your emotions like strings that grounded you back to reality. He being there let you feel not so lost in your head and sentiments. It was as if he knew your entire soul by a single glance. That was the true reason why he became the prince in your reveries and the fixation in your unsent journal entries.

Though, he never talked heartrendingly himself. He never showed even a fourth of the vulnerability you let him access so freely. And that’s why Fyodor would never reciprocate, even if he also hadn’t plain-out said you would be a good match with someone else, sealing proof of his uninterest.

He wasn’t the best person in the world—you knew he had grandiose plans that were morally questionable, so sometimes you wondered if you were simply a step in his achieving them, nothing more.

Knowing if so, why did his face still cover your sketchbooks and prose?

…

You were woken up by the faint vibrations of your phone.

Happy birthday!

How fast time passes! Birthday messages were sent in by friends and acquaintances. You would be celebrating with them this weekend, but for now, you were halfway across the world.

Sporadically, you were on a solo trip to Florence, Italy. A few weeks ago, the airline rewards program you were a part of emailed you saying you were eligible for an entirely free trip to the country with an exclusive ticket to the Uffizi Gallery.

Although it was entirely out of the blue, it was a lovely surprise. It was no shock you loved art—you and Fyodor both.

“You draw?”

“Yes. Did you think I was not the type of person to?”

“I’m not sure,” you replied. You were still in university at the time—it was well past midnight, and everyone else had left the library you were at but you and Fyodor. You had noticed him take out a sketchpad, standing out from scholastic books. “I could never see you taking an art major, but you’re also practically able to do everything, so it’s not even shocking.”

He simply smiled. “I’m probably not as refined as you.” Fyodor stopped his sketching and then looked at you. “But you never show me your own drawings.”

You averted your gaze. You couldn’t show them—not when almost half of them starred him.

“Show me yours first,” you spoke.

“Someday," he smiled.

…

The special ticket to the museum allowed you to skip the line—and the crowds too. You would be let in early morning so that you could enjoy your first couple of hours admiring the paintings in serenity.

Ring!

Someone was calling you, not through your cell phone but the telephone. You stood up from the bed in your Airbnb—the company had even given you a vacation rental that was more than enough for one person. You swore you won some secret lottery for this to happen. Multiple rooms, a balcony—you walked through them all. Except for one, it was locked. It was likely storage for the owner.

“Hello?” you picked up the phone.

“How was your rest?” a recognizable voice chimed.

“...Fedya?”

“Are you up yet? Would you mind doing me a favor?”

“Uhm, sure?” you responded, bemused. How did he know you were staying here? You had told him you were going to Italy, and he had even helped you clean your home before you left, but you didn’t specify everything about it.

“Go to the dresser from across the bed and open the first drawer. There should be something inside.”

Okay, now this was weird.

“Did you plan this ou-”

The phone suddenly hung up before you could finish your question. For a moment, you just stood in the room, still lost. You moved when another buzz went off on your phone, a text message from Fyodor.

Would you meet me at this cafe in thirty minutes? Bring an umbrella, it’s raining.

And your suspicion was confirmed when he sent the address. He, too, was in Florence, and the cafe was close to the Uffizi Museum.

I’ll be there. :)

You walked towards the dresser and opened the drawer that Fyodor instructed. There was only one thing—a silver key necklace.

I guess this is his birthday present. You smiled to yourself, clasping the jewelry around your neck. He played with your heart so fondly. Did Fyodor not realize how much he was driving you crazy with the sweet things he did?

Or perhaps he did. And you were foolish for feeling this way when you knew he did not feel the same.

…

“Buongiorno dolcezza.”

“Showing off your linguistics?” you playfully scoffed, sitting in front of Fyodor by the window. You could hear the faint pat-pat-pat sounds of the rain outside, even through the buzz of the cafe.

“I said, ‘dobroye utro,’” further rousing your response with a smug smile. You had allowed his ego to speak.

"Good morning," he said, you thought. “Good morning, Fedya.”

“Was everything alright so far? Your flight?”

“You didn’t have to do all of this.”

“Hm?” In the slightest way, it was almost like he was taken aback.

“This is so elaborate. I’m truly grateful, please don’t get me wrong, but you did all this for me—and it’s not like I’m that special. It’d be more appropriate for someone you were dati-”

“Hello miss, would you like anything to order?” A waiter stood before you, cutting you off. He spoke in Italian—you could barely understand him.

Fyodor responded for you—In Italian, too—and you were able to pick up your usual order and something about “…mia amata.”

“Grazie,” you said after the waiter had taken your order. Compared to Fyodor, your vocabulary was laughable because of how limited it was.

“So, you were saying?” Your eyes moved back to Fyodor.

“Oh, nevermind.”

“Someone I was dating? Well then…could we go on a date?”

“What?”

The waiter came back to you with a cup of your favorite hot liquid. You sat agape, eyes still fixated on Fyodor as your drink was set down in front of you.

“Oh, did you not hear me? I asked could we-”

“I could do a date.”

Gosh, that sounded so reluctant and backward. Truthfully, you would more than love to—and not just one, either. But that was so unlike him. He was only doing this for the sake of the statement you had told him, or perhaps he was just fulfilling one of your wishes because he knew your feelings and wanted to give you a taste of something you could never have.

His expression was momentarily unreadable before Fyodor pulled out a small ticket and smiled.

“Let’s go soon, then.” A second ticket to the Uffizi Gallery lay on the table.

…

Luckily, the rain had stopped for some time. Even so, there was already a line forming by the museum—tops of umbrellas covering the heads of all the people there.

It wasn’t opening time. Yet you followed Fyodor, hand holding onto his arm to not lose him, pushing through the crowd of people right to the front door.

“Wait, Fedya.” You tugged on his coat as soon as you made it past everyone.

“Hm? Yes?” He stopped, looking back.

“There’s about an hour until we can go in. I thought we came early so the line wouldn’t be too long—why did we just cut everyone?”

“What time does your ticket say?” Fyodor asked.

You glanced at your ticket, then a watch on Fyodor’s wrist, and then at his lovely face himself, who smirked at being correct.

“Oh…just about now.”

What strings did he pull for this? It felt unreal as you were let through security, ahead and excluding everyone else who waited outside. You pieced together that this man probably hacked your airline company’s website to get your flight and stay, but this was an entirely different matter. How did he get you not only early but private access to the institution? Bribes? Connections? It was useless pondering—he would never tell you.

Just as he would never tell you the true feelings of his soul.

A historic ambiance encapsulated the air as you stepped into the gallery. Classical-style architecture embodied the halls from ceiling to floor, and your enamored eyes scanned the place in wonder.

Your footsteps echoed throughout the open corridors and checkered floors. You somehow felt like royalty. It was so empty, so quiet—just two hearts who had an eye for both art and understanding. Fyodor watched as you eagerly fluttered around, running up to any statues in sight to absorb knowledge about them. You became as hyper as a little kid—you ran back and forth and back to Fyodor to swing him around.

“Woah-” It was a rare sight. He was caught off guard by your action, and for once, his violet eyes widened in surprise. Pleasant surprise. A moment after, he joined your movement, spinning the both of you around. You smiled in joy, and he did too, seeing yours.

The first hall you entered was Niobe’s Room. It was beautiful—the ceilings were elegant and accented gold, the largest canvases of the gallery looked even more surreal in person—paintings depicting war stretching almost from one wall to the other, and the thirteen statues were wondrous, which you were desirous of rambling about…

“The sculptures all show different ways of them being killed. This is the Greek myth of the murder of Niobe’s children. She was the wife of the king of Thebes, and she had bragged of being a better mother than Latona, who, ironically, is the goddess of motherhood itself. So, she punished Niobe by sending her two children, Apollo and Artemis, to slay the fourteen kids she had.”

You walked toward Niobe’s statue as Fyodor watched with total interest, gone unnoticed by you. “The myth ends by saying that Niobe never stopped weeping, and her tears turned into an eternal fountain.”

“How tragic,” Fyodor replied. “To think this could’ve all been avoided if she kept her mouth shut.”

You were suddenly overcome by self-awareness and felt embarrassed. Maybe you were speaking too much as well. He probably didn’t even care-

“I wouldn’t say the same for you, though. You carry fascination in your words, and it translates to your explanations. It’s always been that way. I enjoy listening to you, especially the things you are passionate about.”

You didn’t know how to respond to that, even more so when his eyes dwelt on yours a bit too long.

…

“The Uffizi was actually not intended to hold the Medici family’s artworks and sculptures,” Fyodor started a little later. “The literal name means ‘offices,’ and the Duke of Florence wanted the complex to unite all administrative departments under one roof.”

“There you go with your intelligent rambling,” you chuckled as you walked into the Tribune despite having just done the same. This was the room you wanted to see most. A table was set in the center, and off-white sculptures were scattered throughout. “Next, you’re going to explain that this room…” you spun around the eight-sided space—“is octagonal because the number eight is considered the number that draws near Heaven, according to Christian tradition.”

Fyodor smiled. “I would already expect you to know. However, there are also literal sentiments—there is a lantern outside the dome doubling as a sundial. It teaches those unfamiliar with the movements of the celestial bodies.”

You only nodded.

“You knew that too?”

“No. I was also waiting for you to say the second thing. You mentioned more than one idea.”

“Unfortunately, you pick up on all my words.” You were confused by his statement, even more so when he stepped forward. You stepped back until you hit the table behind you, losing your way of escape.

“The room repeats its theme of drawing near to Heaven through the symbolism of the design and the cosmos. I would argue it must be true because…there’s also an angel right here.”

Your mind couldn’t stick to one thought as you tried to process what Fyodor meant by his words. And the recognizable complex scent as intricate as his individuality that followed him you could smell. He was so close now—you weren’t sure why you felt so nervous. How was this any different from the other times your friend broke personal space?

Though, he had never called you a term of endearment before, right? Doesn’t matter anyway. He probably only said that for the sake of a date.

But could you still say that when he closed the gap between you? And when he asked, “What do you find most beautiful about the museum?” and you were barely able to respond with “The frescoes you are greeted with when you look up towards the skies.”

And when he said, “You’re as beautiful as the frescoes,” intertwining your hand with his.

He embraced you. It felt so different from all the other ones he gave you—they were always so friendly, but this one felt almost ardent. When he pulled back, it almost looked like he would kiss you. But he completely withdrew.

It’s just for the sake of a date.

You were reminded a little later that the museum didn’t only belong to you. It had opened to the public, so you started seeing a few people around. That didn’t hinder your visit, though—you went to Michelangelo’s Room, saw Leonardo’s works, and Raphael’s—all the Renaissance artists.

And even though the Doni Tondo and even the Birth of Venus prevailed before Fyodor, he was not found admiring the Holy Family or the undressed Greek goddess of love and beauty. He stared at you instead in a way that made it seem like you were more breathtaking than any mural.

You stayed for a few more hours until you were content with everything you’d explored, and the rain had picked up again.

…

“I swear I locked the door.”

“You did,” Fyodor said, jingling a pair of keys.

“What?” Confusion flashed through your face as you checked your pocket for your own set of keys. He had not stolen them—you held up an identical pair.

“I own this apartment,” he jested, motioning for you to walk in before following behind.

“No way you actually set up everything!”

“Don’t deny it; I did it this way because I know you’re enthralled with my schemes.” You rolled your eyes in response, though you did not object.

“Point out what you found enigmatic here.”

You furrowed your brows while you thought of any mystery in the flat. Then, you walked up to the locked door.

“What’s behind this?”

“Unlock it, milaya.”

You looked at him for help as Fyodor joined you beside the door.

“But how-”

His hand brushed your neck before tucking your hair behind your ears and readjusting your necklace.

Ah.

“Smart girl,” he smiled as you unclasped your necklace and unlocked the door. You felt your cheeks become warm.

“Unfortunately, this was really creative,” you admitted sarcastically, a reminiscence of your rivalry.

“You haven’t seen it yet.” He waited for you to go in first—it was not a storage closet like you’d expected, but a hallway to another room.

It was silent as you walked to the end, where another door stood before you.

“Another one?” “Open it.”

You pulled down the handle and entered. Natural light seeped into the room from all sides, and you realized it was a sunroom.

Even though it wasn’t sunny, the room was swaddled with something empyrean—something more beautiful than the frescoes on the museum ceilings.

You fell to your knees—in surprise, in emotion, and in that, your heart was about to explode with that feeling of love. Those months ago since that chippy conversation spoken within the walls of your apartment…

“Does no one wonder about the artist? No one notices that they long to be adored, too?”

In truth, those words should’ve been taken with a grain of salt by anyone. You were just speaking your head—you were being theatrical over secret feelings you had for the person listening to you.

But someone had seemed to take them literally. He had your favorite flowers and plants growing in the room. And there were paintings—canvases stood by each other depicting the same person, you. There were sketches and polaroids of you on the walls without windows—some of them including him—and all picturing your happiest moments that year. Some of them had captions written on papers below them, too. They looked more like letters because their descriptions were detailed and lengthy.

It was like your very own museum, where you were exactly the muse in his eyes.

Fyodor, who had been standing in the doorway, walked and stood in front of you.

…So sometimes you wondered if you were simply a step in his achieving them, nothing more.

Could it really only be that way if he stooped down too, kneeling on the floor and cupping your face in his hands?

“I really feel like you don’t realize. You know…mi piaci molto, right lyubimaya?”

“Huh?” you asked as he stood the both of you back up in the center of the room. He was confusing you so much with everything, and more literally with his combination of Italian and Russian.

“Ah, I apologize, it’s hard to verbally—may I just?”

Fyodor leaned in a little closer, his arms around your waist and his eyes on yours.

Your mind would label it the definition of perfect serenity. The sounds of raindrops beating on the windows outside were distant and calming, while the sounds of heartbeats shared between you and Fyodor were close and warm.

You shyly nodded and closed your eyes, giving Fyodor his answer. He kissed you tenderly. So softly at first, as if you were fragile. But then, you moved your arms around his neck, drawing him closer.

You kissed him back, growing more passionately as your unsure doubts gradually dispelled into dust. He was so pretty—more charming than any of Michaelangelo’s sculptures. For his violetto eyes glowed at your presence, standing out from fair skin and dark hair. God knew not to put him in a museum where he would overshadow and be envied by all.

You only drew back to catch your breaths. And even so, Fyodor took your hands in his and started to play with them.

He was avoiding your gaze. Even though he was looking down, fidgeting with your fingers in attempt to hide it, you could see that his cheeks were flushed.

And you became flustered at the sight, too. You had never seen him look like that. You started to giggle. He finally looked at you with another new facial expression. Confusion.

You laughed even more, even when he asked what the matter was.

“The Fyodor Dostoevsky, going shy from a kiss,” you teased, poking him.

He scoffed. “Meanwhile, you’re stupid. You didn’t get the hint I was…am fond of you. At first, I thought you really had your sights on someone else…” he trailed off for a bit, “but then, I stumbled across some things while helping you clean your room…”

Sketches. Journal entries. Unsent letters. He had seen them in your drawers.

“Hey! Have you ever heard about privacy?”

“I respected your wishes. It said, ‘If Fyodor somehow sees this, read it.’”

“Damn.”

It was his turn to chuckle. Then, he kissed you again on the forehead.

“Happy birthday, darling. You are more beautiful than every piece of artwork that exists on this earth. Because you breathe—words and thoughts and interpretations, and that is what fascinates me with you. You are not just to be perceived on the walls but to be understood by another heart. My heart.”

fun fact: the real dostoyevsky really did art. he liked to sketch!

you are so lovely if you read this. reblogs are cherished; please indulge me in your thoughts through rbs, they are what support me the most! <3

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